The dancers meet at Jenica’s to take a van together to the airport. It’s all been very organized, which bodes well for the travel between the legs of the tour.
I decide to have Ted drive me to the studio, preferring to say good-bye to Blitz away from all the squealing girls who would undoubtedly steal the moment.
Blitz and I hold on to each other inside the front door, Ted waiting patiently out by the car. “I can be there by bedtime if you need me,” Blitz says.
“I know.”
My cheek rests on his soft cool T-shirt as he wraps his arms around me. I’m dressed way down myself, the sort of cute workout outfit you don’t actually work out in, black and pale purple with everything matching. I bought it at Target. I don’t want to flaunt my position in front of the other dancers by dressing expensively or in a showy way. There will be enough resentment as it is.
Blitz kisses me softly, his fingers sliding down the braid that falls across my shoulder. Then he pulls back, his eyes earnest as he looks into mine. “You will be wonderful. Don’t let anyone get you down.”
I nod. This is what I wanted. To do something for myself. And I’m on my way.
I turn to the door. I’m not carrying a thing. The car is already loaded. I probably should have packed a little more lightly, but my anxiety about what to wear and having the right things means that I have loaded three large suitcases and a carry-on. Oh, well. They can ridicule my excess if they want. It is six months.
Blitz stands in the doorway as I head down the walk to where Ted waits by the car. He didn’t bring the Ferrari, per my request, and has a simple black Mazda. I don’t want to be flashy, and I sit in the front seat so no one will notice I’m being chauffeured.
Blitz waves as we pull away from the house. I feel a sense of panic as we turn the corner and I can’t see him anymore. What was I thinking? Six months? He’ll find someone else. Girls will throw themselves at him. It will be over!
I press my hand against my chest, trying to slow down my panic.
“You okay, Livia?” Ted asks.
I nod.
“Exciting day,” he says.
I stare out the window. I’m leaving another hometown. Putting everything behind me.
It’s too much.
My phone buzzes. I pull it from my purse. It’s Blitz.
Miss you already.
This makes me smile a little. I should not doubt him. He’s been steady through everything. And he’s proud of me. If we weather a separation and get back together, then we’ll know for sure this is the right thing.
The landscapes slide by, some still green from spring, others already suffering in the Texas heat. Some people prioritize their yards. Others do not. We all pick what is important to us.
When I return, it will be close to Thanksgiving. Dreamcatcher will already be rehearsing the holiday recitals. My throat thickens.
Another buzz. This time it’s Mindy.
I think you’re gone already! Slowly working on my parents to see if I can get them to go to your ballet! It seems a million years away! Can’t wait!
P.S. Preston finally switched workdays. I see him tomorrow!!!!
Now this makes me smile for real. We text excitedly about this for several minutes until Ted says, “We’re here.”
I look up. The parking lot of Jenica’s is a madhouse. A huge bus. Dancers everywhere, surrounded by suitcases and duffel bags.
I’ve chosen the right clothes, because everyone is in some form of dance wear, leotards covered with shorts or skirts, tennis shoes, flip-flops. I spot Weeza. She’s not wearing tights today, but does have a denim jacket with the sleeves cut off over her black leotard and jean shorts.
It’s miserably hot as I step out onto the steaming asphalt. Quite a number of the people are fanning themselves with anything they can get their hands on. Folded paper. Magazines.
Ted gets out to unload my bags. I sit another moment in the air-conditioning. I wonder if I would have ever gotten a role like this without Blitz, if I had just worked on it for my own.
Certainly not a world-class ballet like Dominika’s. But maybe something small.
I open my door and step out. A couple dancers notice me but don’t react other than to observe Ted getting my bags.
I quickly head to the back of the car to lug one out myself, so he can appear to be a friend, not a driver.
There is no sign of Dmitri or Alexei or any of the people I’ve met. Probably they are inside and out of the heat.
I snag handles and roll two of my suitcases toward the mass of people. A girl with a clipboard approaches. She’s the one who checked us in for auditions. When we get close enough, she says, “Oh! Livia! You can go inside with Dmitri and the others. You have a separate van coming.”
Ted arrives with my bags. “Should I load them for you?” he asks.
This gets a few people’s attention.
“Oh, hers can go inside the building,” the girl says.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’d rather ride with the corps.” Then hastily add, “If there’s room.”
“Well, sure,” she says. “But wouldn’t you rather be with the principals?”
“No,” I say. “I’m fine out here.”
She shrugs. “Okay. Just hold on to your bags another minute. The driver is pulling some phony baloney about shift times and he won’t open the bus to load our stuff yet.”
“I can wait and load them for you,” Ted says.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it,” I tell him. I want him to go!
He gets it, heading back to the car without another word. I sigh with relief.
A burly man wearing black gloves shoves up the door to one of the under-bus bays.
“Finally!” the clipboard girl says and hurries over.
The mass of dancers surges forward, anxious to load up and get out of the heat.
I have too many bags to take them all at once, so I hang back. I might regret letting Ted leave.
I inch forward, dragging the first two bags closer, then going back for the other one. I keep this process going until a male dancer who has pushed his way back out of the crowd notices and comes over.
“Need a hand?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say. “I may have overpacked.”
He takes two bags and rolls them forward. “Not all of us travel light.”
He’s the definition of a career ballet dancer, lean and muscled with a fine, chiseled face. Young, too, twenty at best.
We can’t quite get to the bus. There’s a crush of people trying to shove their bags inside, plus another wave trying to push back out.
I wait with the man, both of us sweating in the unrelenting sun.
“I’m Andrew, by the way,” he says, letting go of one of my suitcase handles to extend a hand.
My stomach turns a little as I shake it. “My little brother is named Andy,” I say.
“Then you’ll remember mine,” he says with a jaunty smile.
“I’m Livia,” I say. “Thank you for helping.”
“I know who you are,” he says. “Everyone here does. The TV show star who gets to be the evil fairy. Everyone’s excited you are here.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Guaranteed publicity. Good ticket sales. The ballet could be extended, and if this new troupe holds together, another production for us. You’re a golden ticket.”
“Oh!”
This is not what I had expected.
We move forward.
A few of the girls who have already settled their bags come over. One is short, pixie like, with short brown curls. The other is taller with blond hair.
“Andrew!” the curly-haired one says. “You’re sitting by me, right?”
“Count on it!” he says.
They hang around for a minute, looking at me with wide eyes until one finally elbows Andrew.
“Oh, right,” he says with a laugh. “Carla, Fiona, this is Livia.”
“Hi, Livia,” says Carla, the one with curls.
“Hey,” I say. I feel a little overwhelmed by all the new people. But now that we’re loading, the whole demeanor of everyone has changed. Instead of hot and miserable, there’s a party atmosphere. Smiles and laughter and high excitement. It’s a little like when all the former Dance Blitz contestants arrived for the final show.
We finally make it to the bus bays. They are pretty stuffed, so Andrew has to move some things around to fit in my suitcases. The crowd has mostly loaded into the bus, including Carla and Fiona.
I hold on to my small carry-on and thank him for his help.
“No problem,” he says. “Let’s see what sort of seats are left.”
I follow him up the stairs. When we reach the inside of the bus, the air-conditioning is absolute bliss.
“Andrew! Over here!” Carla calls. She’s about halfway back.
There are tons of empty seats. Whole rows with nobody in them.
I aim for one when I hear “Livia!”
I look up. It’s Fiona, Carla’s friend. She’s sitting opposite Carla and Andrew.
“Come with us!” she says.
I hesitate, then walk toward them. I certainly didn’t expect this to happen. I sit on the aisle next to Fiona. Andrew is just an arm’s length away.
One of the girls behind us pops her head up over the seat back. “Okay, Livia, if you are going to ride with the riffraff, you have to DISH about what it’s like to be on Dance Blitz!”
There’s a chorus of YES all around, and suddenly it’s like a sleepover when everyone wants to hear your ghost story.
I can do this.
So as the bus finishes loading and the grumpy driver pulls us out of the parking lot, I start to talk about the sets, the makeup people, the cameras, and the mayhem. I answer their questions, which aren’t particularly nosy, mostly about how long we had to learn new dances and how we were trained.
And honestly, I have the time of my life.