Wardrobe fits me into a pale blue dress, my signature color from the show. Kendra, the production stylist, comes to supervise the adjustments and choose shoes. The dress is rather nondescript, giving me no hint about the sort of dance we’re going to do. Definitely not ballet, though. All the shoes have heels.
I pause at the makeup chairs to give a quick hug to Cecilia, a hairdresser who is dear to me after she helped me the first time I arrived on Dance Blitz, a shy, frightened nineteen-year-old about to storm onto live television.
“So glad you’re still here,” I tell her. Her spiky hair isn’t blue anymore, but pink and green.
“It’s not the same without you and Blitz around,” she says, leaning against the back of the tall salon chair.
The other makeup and hair stylists crowd around as she fills me in about Mack and the more memorable dancers from this season.
“Any Giselles this time?” I ask. Giselle was one of the three finalists who made Blitz’s life hell during season two and during our abbreviated rematch. A tweet about her nearly cost him his career.
I’m not entirely sure she isn’t behind the boobs in the sky. It’s the sort of thing she’d do.
“Two, in fact,” Cecilia says. “But not as toxic, really. Just drama queens.”
“We’ve been watching the episodes,” I say. “But we’ve been totally out of the loop about what’s going on behind the scenes.”
“They really ramped up the bitchy behavior to try and stand out,” Cecilia says. “It’s not the same at all.”
“I did notice more interaction between the contestants and fewer dance numbers,” I say.
“Uh-huh, you got that right,” one of the other stylists says. “It’s like this isn’t even a dance show anymore.”
A pair of women enter the room, and the freeze coming off their attitudes is like a chill in the air. I recognize them as two of the current finalists, Dolly and Veronica.
“I’m not talking to you,” Dolly says, as if they’re continuing a conversation. She is strikingly tall, with dark brown hair to her waist. “Save it for the cameras.”
“Hey, Dolly,” Cecilia says. “I’ve got my instructions for your hair. We’re going to do a practice run on your style for the live show.”
I step back as Dolly sits in the chair. She sees me, and her face changes completely. “Oh my God, it’s Livia!” Her voice is sweet and false. “Does that mean Blitz is here?”
“He’s rehearsing with Mack,” I say, my guard going up immediately. What does she want with Blitz?
Veronica sits in another chair. She is extremely petite, barely five feet tall. Her blond hair is twisted in a bun and shows its dark roots.
She tilts her head at me. “I guess we’ll be doing rehearsals with you?”
“I haven’t seen the itinerary,” I say.
“Are you doing a dance with her?” Veronica asks Dolly.
“I didn’t see a number like that,” Dolly says. Cecilia starts back combing her hair. “Ouch, take it easy!” She turns to give Cecilia a dark look.
Cecilia says nothing but waits a few moments before resuming her work.
“I’m Veronica,” the blonde says, extending a hand. “It really is nice to meet you. Everyone talks about how you stormed the stage. Impressive move. You can’t buy that sort of publicity.”
I shake her hand. “I didn’t do it for publicity.”
Veronica shrugs her shoulders as if she expects me to say that. “Everyone has tried to do something similar, stomping on set during other dates, interrupting private conversations.”
“They had to keep the filming schedule secret in the end,” Dolly says. “I didn’t do any of that nonsense.”
“They eliminated those girls pretty fast,” Veronica says. “I think Mack was upset they cut Felicity.”
“Mack didn’t cut her?” I had seen that tearful episode a couple weeks ago. She had been a fan favorite.
“She got the blue card,” Veronica says.
Blitz told me about those. Anyone could report another contestant, and if enough people agreed, the bachelor had to cut her.
The girl who led me to wardrobe jumps from her seat in the corner, her iPad blinking black and white. “Livia, you’re needed in rehearsal right now.”
“Nice meeting you both,” I say. “Good luck.”
“Oh, Livia, I would just love it if I could get some pointers from you before the live show,” Dolly says. Her voice has that syrupy quality again.
“Both of us,” Veronica says. “We could use it.”
I nod at them. “We’ll see how the schedules go.”
The two women glance at each other with something akin to annoyance and wave goodbye. I’m not sure I want to get either one alone. I don’t have anything I could say to help them. I had no idea what I was doing.
Still don’t.
And they’re both good dancers. The quality of the performances gets better every season. The third finalist, Beth Ann, is a stunning ballerina. She’s struggled with the contemporary numbers, same as I did. Even though the staff feel like the dance numbers have become secondary, they are still very prominent and the only part of the show I still enjoy.
The hall is busier now. A man I don’t recognize pushes a rack of costumes down the hall. A cluster of former contestants turn the corner, all decked in white swan outfits, and let up a huge squeal when they see me.
“It’s Livia!” they shout, and I’m surrounded, drawn into hugs, women holding my hands and lamenting their lack of cell phones for selfies.
“I have to get her to rehearsal,” the girl says. I really need to get her name if she’s going to be my assistant. I miss my last girl, Jessie. She got me through season three.
This one pushes through the group and leads me out. She’s tougher, for sure. More aggressive.
I’m not sure why the other contestants are so excited to see me. They’re more famous than me right now. They’ve got reporters and cameras following their every move. I’m quietly in the background.
Although I guess once the live show airs, it will be wild again.
Especially if they insist Blitz proposes.
We enter one of the rehearsal studios, and I’m introduced to a new trainer, Vince.
“You’ll be waltzing with Blitz,” Vince says, starting the music to a sweeping classical piece. “Everyone wants you the way you were. You’re like old Hollywood already.”
Old at twenty-one. Crazy.
At least the dance will be easy.
We spend an hour moving through steps and turns and sweeps. There are several lifts, but after a year of grueling ballet, none of this is hard. It’s more a matter of learning the choreography. I’ve come a long way.
Partway through, Blitz arrives and sweeps me up into his arms. “Dancing with another hot young thing already?” he says, kissing my neck.
“I am,” I say, laughing as his rough whiskers tickle my skin.
“We’ll run through it again,” Vince says.
I forget how well Blitz and I move together until we’ve launched into the dance. Vince gives us commands, and even if we don’t follow the moves exactly, we still dance fluidly with the music.
“You guys don’t even need me,” Vince says. “Amara might flip if you don’t follow her plan, though.”
“You got that right,” Amara says. We haven’t noticed her walk into the space. “That was lovely, but the show has a lot more snap to it now. We’ll want to get those extra lifts back in there.”
Even with Amara’s nagging presence, I still enjoy the next hour with Blitz. It will be nice to do a number with him again. We don’t dance together all the time like we used to. It’s how we first got to know each other.
So maybe I’ve missed the show, a little.
It will be good for us.