Another day of rest is really all I needed, and I’m back to full rehearsals by Wednesday. The cast settles back in with me as Carabosse, and even as we do our last performances in Baltimore, we prepare for the adjustments to the stage and props for the longest run of the ballet in New York.
My twentieth birthday marks our second night in the Big Apple. As a gift to me and the whole cast, Blitz buys tickets for everyone to the New York City Ballet’s production of Swan Lake, which has just opened for the start of their fall season.
It’s a big night as everyone dresses up to see the dream career for a ballerina. Dancers begin training at age six with the School of American Ballet housed across the street from Lincoln Theater.
None of us will ever dance on this stage, as their apprentices are taken very strictly from their own school.
So watching Swan Lake is bittersweet for many of the cast, since it is too late for any of us to be a part of this ballet tradition. I sit with Blitz and Ted, who will be helping as a driver and security as we start the DVD shooting in a few days. Our seats are low and center, as I wanted to be right up on the dancers. Most of the cast is scattered throughout, whatever last-minute seats Blitz’s assistant Shelly could gather up at such a late date.
I look around during intermission, spotting friends and cast members chatting in clumps. Many of them approach me for hugs and to wish me a happy birthday. I feel very much like the belle of the ball, a complete turnaround from Baltimore.
Andrew stays close to Bluebird. Fiona and Carla hang out with them. Carla sees me looking and glances away. I’m not sure how to bridge the gap between us. We should talk about it, but now that I’m staying with Blitz full-time, there never seems to be an opportunity.
We settle in for the last part of the ballet, where Odette realizes she has been betrayed and will be a swan forever. I hold on to Blitz’s hand. It’s interesting to me how so many of these classic ballets revolve around love. At least Sleeping Beauty isn’t tragic.
After it’s over, Blitz and I escape in the limo to Times Square.
I’ve never been to New York and feel overwhelmed by the crowds and blazing signs. There are so many people everywhere. Each sidewalk requires careful navigation or you get pushed into the street or jostled by people walking faster than you.
Blitz takes us to a set of red stairs that lead to nowhere. They are lit and covered with literally hundreds of tired tourists just taking in the sights.
“I love it here,” Blitz says, leading me to the top. “It’s one of the few places in the world that matches my level of high-octane energy.”
I believe it. From atop the steps, we can see everything, the blinking signs, the giant screens flashing commercials and news. Lines of taxis fill the streets as people pour out of theaters and try to find their way home.
“Well, look at that,” Blitz says. “I think New York is happy to have you.”
He turns me and points to a TV screen so huge it takes up half the height of a skyscraper. An image of him and me flashes onscreen. We kiss, and fireworks light up the image and it reads “Happy 20th Birthday, Livia.”
I squeal. “How did you do that?”
He bows. “Anything for my love!”
“This is the most amazing thing!” I exclaim. I can’t even take it all in.
But, as almost always happens in crowds, we’re spotted, and suddenly cell phones are lighting up.
“Blitz Craven! Over here!”
“Livia is with him!”
“Will you sign this?”
The rush begins, and we could easily get trapped on the steps.
But Blitz thinks quickly and lifts me up on his shoulder. The wide pleated skirt of my blue dress covers his arm and chest in his suit jacket.
I know what he’s thinking and immediately roll across his chest, landing lightly on a stair and spinning out.
People back away to give us space to dance, cell phones in the air.
We make our way down the steps, the crowd parting to let us dance by. A couple guys with bongos start a beat and we match it. The moves are simple, things we could do in our sleep. Lift, turn, step step step, out, in, and then do it all over again.
But it’s enough for the crowd. When we get to the bottom, we bow and quickly dive into the walking masses. Everyone’s too busy figuring out if they got good footage for many to follow, and soon we’re back in the flow and anonymous again.
“Should have brought a hat,” Blitz says.
“That wasn’t too bad. You were brilliant.”
Blitz squeezes my hand. “I try.”
“Did you talk to the director of the DVD today?” I ask.
“Yep, while you were in rehearsal. We’re all square for filming on Tuesday.”
It’ll be fun to be somewhat back in our world. I won’t feel quite so subservient to Ivana.
“Have you given thought to Houston yet?” Blitz asks.
I frown. We’re away from all the bright lights, just walking along souvenir shops and late-night diners. “You mean the tickets for my parents?”
“Yes, those.”
“I’ll mail them tomorrow,” I say.
“You’ve been saying that for weeks.” He slides his hand through the crook of my arm.
“I know.”
“What are you more afraid of? That they won’t come? Or that they will?”
I picture my dad calling me a dirty whore in front of Ivana and snort. “I don’t know. Both are bad.”
“Do it for Andy. He’d love to see his big sister dance.”
I know Blitz is right.
He squeezes my hand. “How about we go back to the hotel and have crazy porn sex, then we’ll put those tickets in an envelope? It’s your birthday. It’s a lucky day. What do you say?”
Blitz makes me laugh. “Okay.”
“That’s my princess,” he says. He’s about to correct himself when I cut him off.
“It’s okay to call me Princess,” I tell him. “I was just upset then.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I was going to start calling you Porn Star instead.”
I smack him on the arm, which he totally deserves, but he makes me laugh. Having Blitz helps me think less about my first birthday without the people who gave birth to me.