Blitz calls an emergency meeting that night. Only Drake Addler is actually in town, so we have to do it by video conference.
My face is still a little pink in places from the frosting stain. Kendra is supposed to come by later with some sort of cleanser that will take it off. Regular soap isn’t cutting it, no matter how much I scrub.
I stay out of range of the web cam as Blitz conducts the meeting. There is plenty of shouting on his end. Drake and Taya assure him that the order to bring in Giselle didn’t come from them.
“We have given Devon free reign,” Taya says.
“We need to discuss his future in this production,” Blitz says. “What happened was uncalled for. If he wants to save this show on the back of Livia’s humiliation, I will kill the franchise myself.”
“I’ll speak to Devon,” Taya says. “I’ll make it understood that this is supposed to be a sweet, lovely fantasy. Giselle is disrupting it.”
Blitz motions me over. I hesitate but walk a little closer. “I want you to say it to her. She’s the one Giselle is going after.”
The screen is split to show all their faces. I give a little wave.
“We’re so sorry,” Drake says. “Devon was out of line.”
I want to say that everyone had to be in on it, not just Devon, but I don’t. It doesn’t matter now. It’s done.
Blitz shuts down the computer. “I don’t buy it,” he says. “Nobody was surprised.”
“Jessie was,” I say.
“Is that the only person loyal to us?” he asks. “Jessie?”
“I guess they’re worried about their next paycheck. What’s the word on the next season?”
Blitz pushes away from the desk and heads to the sofa. He looks tired. I know how he feels. I’m tired too. And pink.
“They’re not casting the next bachelor until after our wedding. The network isn’t positive the show can sustain another season.”
He plunks down, letting his head fall back on the black leather. I sit beside him and lay my head on his shoulder. His T-shirt is soft and warm. He puts his arm around me.
“You think they’ll try something else to boost ratings?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Blitz says. “Is Devon working alone? Is someone paying Giselle?”
“Lance was noticeably absent from the call.”
“I know,” Blitz says. “He’s always had a thing for Giselle.”
“Why is she doing this? Can’t she move on?”
“Not until she’s got somewhere to go. This is her best shot at staying on people’s minds.”
We sit for a while, just close and quiet. Eventually Kendra buzzes us from the lobby and we send her up.
Blitz stays on the sofa as Kendra and I head to the bathroom. The pink is definitely faded, but in the harsh lights over the mirror, I can still see an outline of a reddish tint along one cheek.
“Stupid cheap dye in that stuff,” Kendra says, turning over a bottle and soaking a cotton ball.
“When did you find out it was going to happen?” I ask her.
She stares at the yellow-soaked cotton for a moment.
I don’t know if she’ll be truthful. I’ve never been close with Kendra. I only see her on shooting days when she comes to do the styling of our clothes and the set. But she has been with Dance Blitz since the first season. Surely she cares at least a little about the show’s reputation. And Blitz.
She sighs and lifts her hand to rub the cotton ball on my cheek. “This morning. Just before you got there, we got the briefing about a surprise visitor. Nobody knew about the frosting. I assure you that.”
“Who told you?”
“Devon,” she says. “I think the plan was for Giselle to show up and provoke Blitz to say some things that would make for good promo clips. I’m pretty sure the frosting was her idea.”
This makes sense. Giselle would see an opening and take it to the next level.
I’ll have to tell Blitz this. He might not be as angry with Devon if he knows it was just the usual antics that were planned.
“She’s supposed to be a bridesmaid, you know,” Kendra says. “I got the specs on her dress and all. Maybe they’re keeping it hush hush, but I know her measurements.”
My stomach turns to lead. Giselle, at the wedding? If she’s willing to do frosting on camera, what will she do during the ceremony?
“Surely they won’t let her after this,” I say.
“You never can tell. Dance Blitz has been a cash cow.” She drops the cotton ball and turns my cheek to the light. “It’s not just the show. But all the merchandizing and reruns and DVD. It’s a lot to lose.”
She soaks another ball and runs it over my skin. “We’ve just about got this.”
The lights buzz as she works. Otherwise the suite is silent.
Finally, Kendra sits back. “I think we’ve got it.”
“Thank you for helping. I would have no idea how to get that color off.”
She nods and tosses the used cotton into the trash. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground about what’s planned for tomorrow’s bridesmaid outing. I’ll let Jessie know if anything is untoward.”
“I guess she was supposed to be a surprise again?” I ask.
“I can only assume. There is definitely a dress in her size waiting to be tried on at the salon tomorrow.”
Suddenly I’m dreading this thing. I already have to face red-silk naked girl. And now Giselle? There isn’t a single one of the ten bridesmaids on the list that I know. Mariah and Christy, the other two finalists from my season, turned it down. I don’t blame them, really.
And if Giselle would spray frosting, what would the red-silk girl do? Have a wardrobe malfunction during the vows?
Kendra packs away her bottles and cotton. “I can see this whole thing is a strain on you. You can always walk away.”
“Sixty-three million dollars,” I say.
She nods. “I get it. But sometimes you have to wonder what the price of your freedom is.”
I walk her to the door. Blitz just waves from the sofa, his face covered with his arm.
When she’s gone, I stand with my back to the wall, looking at him, casual in sweats and a T-shirt, his foot tapping with anxiety. He looks anxious, miserable.
We both are.
How much should we have to sacrifice to Dance Blitz?