Boobs are in the sky.
Two of them. Crudely drawn, of course. You can’t get very accurate in airplane exhaust.
The boobs are definitely not mine.
Mine don’t, well…hang. Not yet, anyway. Give it a few years.
Blitz steps out of the limo. “Some people will do anything for publicity.” He turns to take my hand as I slide forward toward the door.
“Who did that?” I ask. I peer up at the sky. The little plane has finished its work and motors out of sight. In the parking lot, several crew members have stopped to look up at the pendulous boobs and take shots on their cell phones.
“No telling,” Blitz says. He leads me to the back door of the studio building.
I haven’t been here in ages, not since Mack Williams took over Dance Blitz, the TV show that Blitz used to host. But this week we’re here in LA for rehearsals for the final episode of Mack’s first season. The one where he will supposedly choose a partner.
I hope he does, because they’ve already started the search for a bachelor dancer for season five. Mack is right out. Unlike Blitz, he won’t get a second season to try again.
A security guard opens the back door, speaking into his headset. He’ll let people know we’re here. It will be a whirlwind few days.
A tiny girl, barely five feet tall, approaches, also wearing a headset and cradling an iPad like a baby. “Blitz, Livia, so glad to see you. Let me get you to wardrobe.”
“Jumping right in,” Blitz says with a grin.
“Just like old times,” I say.
I pause to look at the sky one more time, feeling some anxiety. Maybe the boobs aren’t meant for us. Maybe it’s a joke for some other show that is also filming right now. It could even be a publicity stunt for a strip club.
I shake it off as we walk into the building.
After practically living at this studio during the five episodes I shot with the three other finalists, it’s strange to have been gone so long. Well over a year has passed. I’ve been a ballerina for an entire production of Sleeping Beauty, and several other offers have come my way since the release of the DVD version of the ballet.
I haven’t taken any. Blitz hasn’t accepted any long-term jobs either.
We’ve been planning our wedding. A small ceremony on a cruise ship. Just a few friends and family. It’s a very exclusive cruise line, so we don’t have to worry about spies or paparazzi.
Devon, the director of Dance Blitz, catches up with us as we’re led down the hall. I smile inside, remembering how he tries to channel Steve Jobs with his black turtleneck and jeans. It’s all he ever wears.
“Blitz, good to see you again. Livia.” He nods at me. “Did you get the script of the show?”
“Nope,” Blitz says.
Devon’s expression gets hard. “I sent them to Hannah a week ago.”
“I’m not speaking to my agent,” Blitz says.
“Still? It’s been a year,” Devon says.
“I hold a grudge.”
“All right. It’s nothing much,” Devon says, motioning us to follow him. “You have two dance numbers. One with Mack, followed by a little session where you give him some advice. Then one with Livia. Where you propose, of course.”
“I what?” Blitz stops dead.
“You propose to Livia. You know that has to happen on camera, right? It’s in your contract.”
Nobody told us that.
Devon glances down at the engagement ring on my hand. “How many people have seen that?”
I clutch my hand to my chest. “We’ve kept it quiet.”
“Any public appearances with it on? Any pictures?”
I shake my head. “Not that we’ve noticed.”
Blitz proposed at a small recital at the dance academy where we train. A few of the parents who saw it might have posted something, but probably on private feeds.
“You would have known,” Devon says. “Blitz going off the market would be big news.”
“You forget,” Blitz says. “We’re out of the spotlight.”
“Not for long,” he says. “But if you’re right, your proposal will seem real to everyone.”
Blitz and I glance at each other. Of course it’s real! We’re getting married!
I’m about to protest when Amara, the show choreographer, pops her head out of a rehearsal room. “Finally! I need Blitz in with Mack as soon as you can spare him.”
“I need them for wardrobe,” the girl says.
“I’m briefing them on the storyline,” Devon says.
Amara rolls her eyes. “Send Livia to wardrobe. Her gown is the issue. I’ll take Blitz. Devon, you can fill him in during breaks.”
Devon shakes his head. “You can see who wears the pants around here.”
“Shut it,” Amara says. “Or I’ll send you out on camera without pants.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Devon says.
Blitz sighs and gives me a quick kiss. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Then he disappears behind the door.
“This way,” the girl says.
She hurries on down the hall, but I don’t follow her just yet. I’m still stuck between the idea of a televised proposal and the lack of pants.
I stare at the door, then look down at my ring.
The girl stops and turns back. “You’ll probably want to take that off before any of the cast sees it and tweets something. The producers will be pissed if word gets out before they’re ready.”
“It’s our lives,” I say. “Our engagement.”
“Hardly,” says a cold voice.
I whirl around. It’s Hannah, Blitz’s agent. She’s standing down the hall all stark and skinny, like a coat rack.
I tense up. We haven’t spoken to Hannah since she orchestrated a comeback for the three jilted finalists, the ones who lost their chance with Blitz when I stormed onto the finale of the show and claimed him for myself.
Blitz was justifiably angry that his agent involved them, sparking a lawsuit that caused us to do a shortened season three of the show.
I still won.
But I lost a lot in the process. My anonymity. My privacy.
And, almost, access to the little girl I gave up for adoption when I was fifteen.
“Where is wardrobe?” I ask the short woman. I don’t want to talk to Hannah, especially without Blitz. She isn’t my agent. I have no business with her.
And I hold grudges too.
The girl recognizes a fight, though, and doesn’t move.
Hannah approaches, her heels ringing on the shiny floor. She’s as stilted and perfect as always in an immaculate lime green pencil skirt and matching jacket. Her blond hair sweeps her face in a smooth bob.
“Livia,” she says, “why don’t we put that ring someplace safe until it’s time for Blitz to give it to you on the air?” She reaches out a hand.
I turn away from her. “No.”
“Be reasonable. Blitz’s contract specifically states that in the event of an engagement to one of the finalists of the show, the proposal is the property of the franchise and will be aired exclusively by the network.”
“It’s my engagement,” I say.
“You’re under contract too,” she says coldly.
I look at her then. “You don’t manage me.”
Hannah sighs. “I’ll send someone to reason with you.” She waves her hands airily. “But I wouldn’t let anyone see it. I would hate for a breach of contract lawsuit to wipe out your earnings from the show.” She starts walking down the hall, the sharp tap of her shoes starting up again.
I clasp my hand around the ring. “We already got engaged,” I call after her. “You can’t erase that it already happened.”
Hannah laughs but doesn’t turn around as she calls out, “If his millions of fans didn’t see it, then it didn’t happen.”
She turns the corner and disappears.
“Great,” I say.
“Nobody likes her,” the girl says. “She’s a pill to be around.”
I gaze down at the ring. “You think I should hide it?”
“I’ve got a Band-Aid in my bag if you want to cover it.”
“I’ll put it on my necklace.” I tug the ring off my finger and unclasp my necklace, sliding the ring along the chain. Once the necklace is back in place, I tuck the ring beneath my shirt.
I can’t believe Dance Blitz has already taken over my life again.