Despite how much it bled, the cut really isn’t much. Blitz and I lounge around his hotel room, me walking every now and then to test it. I don’t really feel anything.
But I’m not sure of my status with the troupe. No one has called to tell me what will happen. I’m not even sure who makes that decision. Surely not Ivana. If it is, then I’m out.
“Man, ballet really is a different world from TV,” Blitz says. He’s perched on the sofa, intent on his phone.
“How so?” I ask, feeling my anxiety soften just looking at him in a pale blue T-shirt and jeans, no shoes. I think I will ask him to finish the tour with me, if he can. If I’m still on it. I want him close.
“Well, when a girl in season one fell on my show, there were six zillion Tweets about it, news shows picked it up, and the studio got flooded with flowers and messages,” he says.
“You think I should be on every network news?” I ask. He’s funny about things like this, as if it really matters.
“No, I just find it interesting.”
“Why are you searching so hard?” I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his shoulder. It’s after noon, but I haven’t bothered to get dressed, wrapped up in a hotel robe after a bath where I kept my foot out of the water.
“Just looking for bargaining chips,” he says. “I’m not going to let that chick kick you off the show. The DVD is worthless without you. Have you seen the sales on these other ballets? Peanuts.”
“I think ballet is probably best live onstage,” I say.
“Nonsense,” he says. “It’s elitist. Not everyone can afford a ticket. And tons of people live in places where there isn’t a ballet for two hundred miles.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” I ask.
“Start a shit storm,” he says. “Make sure they remember you’re important.” He taps angrily at the phone.
I cover the screen with my hand and push the phone to his lap. “Don’t Tweet me,” I say. “It’s fine. We’ll talk to Dmitri and figure this out.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders and draws me in even closer. “I guess you do have to live with these people.”
Even Carla, I think. So weird how many times we’d talked in our rooms or on airplanes or waiting for our scenes in the rehearsal space, and she never mentioned she was a mother.
Of course, I didn’t either.
I wonder if she looked me up after we met and saw the gossip about my secret baby. It had mostly died down by the time we left for rehearsals, but it’s definitely something that pops up when you Google Livia Mays.
Blitz and I didn’t really talk about what happened last night. I was tired and strung out. He always respects my need to think during this time and doesn’t push.
But now he finally asks, “So where was the glass that cut you?”
I close my eyes. “Outside in the alley.”
“You went outside?”
“I needed some air.” I shift against him, my fingers plucking anxiously at the soft belt of the robe. “It gets really crowded backstage.”
“This was before the show?” he asks.
“Yes. I realized I was hurt but tried to dance through it. It just bled more than I thought.”
“You going to try and practice tomorrow?”
“I’ll do some stretches and light work. Probably not pointe. I’ll see the regular trainer and let him tell me what to do. Unless I’m really fired.”
He just accepts my explanation. I could tell him about Carla, but it’s really not my secret to reveal. And the why doesn’t matter.
My phone rings from the bedroom.
Blitz jumps up. “I’ll get it. You stay still.”
When he comes back, he says, “Looks like Dmitri.”
I lay my head back. “Can I ignore all this?”
Blitz smiles and taps my screen. “This is Livia’s management agent,” he says.
Then laughs, “Yeah, it’s just me.”
Then “Let me ask her.”
He presses mute. “You want to talk to him? He’s checking on how you are.”
I shake my head no.
Blitz returns to the call. “She’s resting from her injury.” When I sit up, he quickly adds, “Her very minor, not very bothersome injury. Really, she was up all night reviewing her moves on this very important role she has.”
God, Blitz! I reach for the phone.
“Actually, here she is.” He makes a “sorry” face while he passes the phone.
“Hello?” I say.
“Livia!” Dmitri says. “How is our Carabosse?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “The nurse says I can dance in a couple of days.”
“Good to hear,” he says. “I guess you know Ivana is very concerned about your ability to dance.”
I slide back onto the cushions to stare at the ceiling. “I got that feeling last night.”
“We want you back on the tour before New York, so we’re hoping everything looks good by next weekend to close out the shows here.”
“Blitz is concerned about having a different Carabosse on the recordings for the DVD,” I tell him.
“We all are,” he says. “But Dominika does have a clause about her principal dancers. We’re hoping you will impress her upon your return so that everyone’s concerns are laid to rest.”
“I intend to,” I say.
“Very good. You rest today. We’ll see you soon.”
I shut off the call and drop the phone on the carpet. “Great,” I say.
“What’s going on?” Blitz sits on the floor by the sofa.
“I have to be approved to come back on the show. By Dominika.”
“I knew we should have eliminated that clause. You think Ivana will try to pressure her to kick you off?”
I shrug and cover my eyes with my arm. “Probably.”
“I thought you and Dominika were getting to be chums,” he says. “Sharing a makeup girl and all.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t know anything.”
He strokes my hair. “It will be fine, Livia. One way or another, we’ll get past this.”
My eyes smart. This has been the worst summer. Just the worst. All the grief and frustration swirls together. I can’t seem to separate them anymore. My family. Gabriella. The harshness of dancing with a troupe.
I roll into the back of the sofa to block out everything, even the beautiful room, even Blitz.
But Blitz knows me. He gets it. His body takes up the space I’ve left on the cushions to curl up behind me. I’m cocooned, safe, protected.
I can’t let this overwhelm me. I just have to keep going.