I’m back in the light blue leotard, the one Blitz likes, on Thursday. I’m skating on thin ice at home because Mom is unhappy I’m going to the academy in the afternoon instead of the morning.
But I performed beautifully at lunch for Dad, being extra useful with Andy’s studies and showing him my latest practice test results for my SAT.
It was only afterward, when I came out in my leotard, that Mom tried to put her foot down.
“You’re going up there every day now,” she says. “Your father won’t like it.”
I admit to being a little flip with her, saying, “You act as though he is the only one in this family who can have an opinion!”
My heart doesn’t slow down until I’m well along the path to the academy. I’ve never given my parents pushback about how they limit my activities. I let my shame control me, assuming I deserved what happened. I had taken a fall. A big one. With exactly the wrong person.
But I feel differently now. I’m awake again, fully alive. And I don’t want to live their way. I want to choose my own.
Danika is in the foyer when I arrive, dressed for a meeting in a suit and heels, not dance clothes. She pauses when she sees me. “This isn’t your usual day.”
“I want those toe shoes!” I tell her.
She nods and passes a set of keys to Suze. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she says to her. “Lock everything up for me tonight.”
I’m relieved she’ll be gone. That means she can’t catch me with Blitz. Hopefully I’ve beaten him here so she doesn’t even have to worry.
“What’s open?” I ask Suze.
“Two, three, and four,” she says. “It’s quiet back there until the after-school classes begin at three.”
“Awesome,” I say, practically skipping as I head to the studio hall.
The corridor is quiet. In Studio 1, Betsy is doing a private lesson. All the toddlers are napping at home, and all the school-aged kids are in class. So there isn’t much going on.
I head into Studio 4, the one with the Dance of the Shades, because it is officially my favorite. I met Blitz here for the first time, and it’s also where he taught me to waltz.
I sit on a stack of mats and change out my tennis shoes for ballet slippers. I wish I had ballroom shoes, but I can’t possibly ask for a pair. Tipping my father off to my dancing with a man would definitely put my ballet work at risk.
Blitz has to know I don’t have much money. It’s obvious in the leotards that I wear over and over again and my worn shoes. This doesn’t seem to matter to him. Maybe it’s even a point in my favor.
I go to the barre and begin a warm-up routine. I really do want to try and get some ballet in before Blitz arrives. The thought that he might get to watch my first relevé on toe shoes is a powerful motivation.
Not that he’ll be there that long. As I run through my pliés, I picture the day he drives off in his cluttered red Ferrari, back to LA. My eyes burn, and I flick the back of my hand across my face. I have to stop that.
Blitz is a happy space for me. A temporary reprieve. I can’t think of him as anything else. I’ll go crazy.
“What has the princess so sad?”
I pop up out of my plié. Blitz is here, standing by the door!
“Oh!” I say. “Nothing important.”
He walks up to me and is about to kiss me, when I point at the two-way mirror. “Everyone out there can see us.”
“There’s nobody out there right now,” he says, and presses his lips to mine.
I accept the kiss, but my anxiety is still high. Blitz feels it and pulls away. “Did you know you can defeat a two-way mirror?”
“How?” I ask.
“Well, it only works because it’s so bright in here.” He gestures to the room. “And dimmer out there.” He points to the mirror that is a window to the hall.
“Really?”
He walks over to the light switch. “All you have to do is make it dimmer in here than out there.” He flips off half the lights. “And now it’s equal.”
I can see in the hall now, the mirror turning to glass. “Why did I not know that?” I ask.
“You’ve never had to be sneaky.” He pulls me to the corner, where it is dark and we’re not easily spotted in the wall mirrors on the opposite side, and kisses me again.
This definitely feels forbidden. Sneaking in the academy gives me a thrill I haven’t known for a long time. I’m anxious at first, but as his tongue slides against mine and I taste him, feel him against me, I’m lost.
It’s safe here, things can only go so far. A surge of boldness courses through me and I lift one leg to wrap around his hip. He grabs my outer thighs and pulls both legs around him so that I straddle his waist. He presses me against the wall, his kiss heated and urgent. When my ankles are locked behind his back, he frees up one of his hands and goes straight to my breast.
I gasp, shock waves blasting through me. I can feel him now, erect against me, our dance clothes hiding nothing. For a moment, I’m weightless, floating in a void where there is no academy, no studio, no window, no world. Just Blitz’s hands and mouth and body.
Outside the window, the lights flicker. A transition is starting. There’s no one to move about the hall, but some may come if there is a class in the next session.
Blitz groans and releases me. “We have got to stop doing this here,” he says. “I can’t take it.”
My body is pliant and warm. “Agreed.”
“Can I see you tonight? I want darkness and cover and just you.” His eyes are pleading.
I can’t think of any way to make that happen. My parents. Dinner. Bedtime. Check-ins. My house is a prison.
“My parents are very strict,” I say. “I’ll have to think of something.”
Something flickers across his face. “How old are you, Livia?” he asks. I can tell he’s picturing another scandal, statutory rape or some underage sting operation.
“Nineteen,” I tell him. “Nothing to worry about.”
He releases a rush of air. “Thank God.”
A couple figures pass the window, and Blitz pauses by the light switch, waiting for them to enter Studio 3 across the hall. When the corridor is clear, he turns on the lights. “Being alone with you is bad for my self-control,” he says.
I have nothing to say to that, so I return to the barre, holding on with one hand as I stretch the muscles that are critical to toe work, calves and feet and ankles.
“I could watch you all day,” Blitz says. “I wish I’d done ballet first.” He comes to the barre and mimics my movements.
“You’re doing pretty well without it,” I say. “Pretty much every dancer wants to be you.”
“Not lately,” he says.
He’s very good at matching my poses. I’m sure he learns choreography very fast. “What happened to all the staff people on the show?”
“They had contracts,” he says. “They should be okay. But many of them will have moved on, so even if we get to do the finale back, I’ll probably only have half the staff.”
“Wasn’t that one going to be live?”
“Yes,” he says with a sigh. “I’m not sure we can risk that without the team. But again, they haven’t exactly agreed to do it. I haven’t made a lot of headway.”
“Kissing a pig didn’t help?” I tease.
“It made for some funny Tweets,” he says. “There’s a meme going around where they caption the image. My favorite was ‘He ate him like bacon.’”
I shift away from the barre and hop in place, warming my legs. Blitz continues to copy everything I do.
“Is the charity work embarrassing for you?” I ask. “You seem okay with it.”
“It’s all by design,” he says. “Hannah set up the embarrassing stuff to give everyone a chance to purge their feelings. But it also keeps my name out there. The worst thing in Hollywood isn’t to be hated or ridiculed. It’s being forgotten.”
I run through the five basic positions as I think about what Blitz said. If I were going through all the hate that Blitz is, I would want to be forgotten fast. But then, I’ve always shied away from the spotlight.
“And now she thinks the ballet class will help?”
Blitz holds fifth position. “Hannah thinks so. Nobody’s talking about the scandal anymore, just the pig. She’ll keep the social media manager feeding them topics to shift their attention.”
I begin to practice my turns. Blitz should know as well as anybody how long the public’s memory can be. But I do hope their plan works.
Or do I?
“If you don’t get the show back, will you stay here?” I ask.
He stops his spin and grins at me. “I’m starting to see some reasons why I might.”
In three quick steps, he’s crossed the space between us and taken my hand. “Would you like to try a lift?” he asks.
“Okay,” I say.
He drags a mat to the center of the room and unfolds it. “I’ve never dropped anyone, but we usually have spotters,” he says. “We’ll do something easy.”
“I’ve seen some of the dancers practice on the floor to start,” I say.
“I remember doing that in the early days,” he says with a smile. He kneels down. “The dancers on the first season of my show weren’t as experienced as this last group. I had to start some of them from scratch.”
“Like me,” I say.
“There’s nobody like you,” he says.
My body warms over. “So show me what I don’t know,” I say.
“Come here.” He motions me close. “Now sit on my shoulder.”
I turn around and prop myself against him. One of his hands steadies me at my rib cage and the other goes beneath my thigh.
With a powerful movement, he moves to standing. I’m high in the air, trying to keep myself from gripping his head.
“Now act as though you are going to lie facedown, straightening your body while letting your head fall in front of me.”
It’s hard to do, sort of like choosing to fall off a shelf, but I follow his instructions.
The hand on my ribs slides forward to encircle me and the other grasps my leg. I tumble down in a roll, but when I’m facing out again, Blitz has caught me with a hand on my thigh. I’m head down, legs angled up and away, like a swan dive. We’re facing the mirror, and it’s beautiful. I quickly arrange my arms so that they are not just hanging there.
“Nice,” he says. With a quick shift of my weight, I’m back on my feet. “The whole concept is that when I go low, you go high.”
He stands directly beside me and bends over at the waist. “Now lean over me but keep your body straight as a board.”
I do as he says, and soon I’m lying across his back. He stands up partway. “Arms down,” he says. “To the floor and cartwheel out of it.”
I drop my hands and bring my legs around. When I’m upright, he says, “See? Easy!”
We do that move a few more times.
“Now we’ll combine,” he says, back on one knee. “On my shoulder, roll across my back, and come out with the cartwheel.”
I’m panicked about trying this, but I turn my back to him.
His hand pushes me as we go up. I lie flat on my back as he stands, and cartwheel out.
“Wow!” I say. “This is fun!”
“It is when it works,” he says. “And nobody lands on their head.”
“Does that happen?” I ask.
“Yes, when a pair isn’t a good fit.” He places his hands on my waist. “Jump when I squeeze.”
We move across the room, me jumping with his guidance. To the mirror, it appears that he is lifting me across the room, but really it is a coordinated effort.
“Now spin in my hands,” he says, his hands lightly around my waist.
I turn, feeling his touch telling me when to go faster and when to stop, communicating just as we had in the waltz.
When we finish the turn, I ask, “What makes a couple a bad fit?”
“Height, body style, strengths and weaknesses,” he says. “But more than that, it’s the power struggle. Some dancers want to be in control no matter what. It can be hard for some to give up the lead.”
I spin again, paying attention to the pressure, then jump, and suddenly I’m up on his shoulder, rolling across his back, and cartwheeling down.
“Oh!” I say. “You just told me how to do that without talking!”
He grins at me. “That’s what good partners are made of.”
The door to the room opens. Suze pops her head in. “I hate to be the dance police, but this room is about to be for hip-hop.” She looks at the two of us, and I can see her biting her lip. She wants to say more, but she doesn’t.
“Thanks,” Blitz says.
Suze nods. She backs out, but leaves the door open.
“We should have a couple minutes,” Blitz says. He bends down and snatches up my string bag. “Come with me.”
I don’t ask questions, just follow him out. The hall is starting to get busy for the afternoon classes. We’ve been dancing for over an hour. I should feel tired, but I’m exhilarated, like I could do anything.
He heads to the back of the hall and the doors to the storage room. My pulse leaps when I see where he is going.
Blitz glances back to see who is noticing us, then opens the door. We duck inside, blinking in the dark.
The door is barely closed when he pulls me to him. “God, I want you alone,” he says, then his mouth is on mine.
His hands lift me, pulling my thighs around his waist again. We take a few steps through the room, then he presses me against an empty wall. His hands immediately go to my breasts, cupping them and thumbing the nipple.
His erection is instant. I feel it against my body and everything wakes up, all the need and emotion I’ve stuffed down for four years. I want him, desperately. I’m willing to do anything he asks, to get alone, be together, all the way.
I don’t hesitate, but give back every kiss, nibble, and bite. I run my hands down his neck and back, rocking against him, creating friction that makes him groan.
His kiss is deep and long and demanding. But the leotard is impossible, everything connected and layered. He can only touch me through the fabric.
I’m not as hindered. His shirt is open on bottom, so I lift it to run my fingers across his skin. He breaks the kiss, burying his face into my neck. “Please say I can come get you tonight,” he says. “I can’t beg any harder.”
I think about the evening. My parents go to bed at ten. Could I get away, sneak out my window? Dare I do it?
“I’m not sure I can,” I say. “I can try.”
“What is your phone number?” he asks.
I’m trying to think of a way to explain about my lack of phone when the storage room door opens.
Jacob, the jazz instructor, comes in and heads for the wall of props.
I quickly drop my legs to the floor. All he has to do is turn and he’ll see us.
Noise filters in from the busy hall. Blitz holds his finger to his lips and motions for me to move behind one of the costume racks.
But when I try to move, my elbow bumps a box of egg shakers, and it falls to the floor.
The noisy eggs roll everywhere. Jacob jumps straight in the air and whips around.
“Blitz? Livia? What are you two doing lurking in the dark?” He looks from one to the other, then says, “Oh.”
My face flames. God, if he talks to Danika, we’re doomed. Blitz will be out of here. I think fast. “Blitz was teaching me lifts and we thought we might need to double up the mats.”
“Is that why the mat was out in my room?” Jacob asks.
“Yes,” Blitz says. “Livia is a very quick learner. Sorry if it’s in your way.”
Jacob waves his concern away. “I’ll have the boys move it. Are you helping with our class today?”
“Yes,” Blitz says. “That’s why I was here. I saw Livia practicing and thought—”
“It’s all good,” Jacob says. “Say no more. Just watch out for the boss lady. If she thinks you’re going to take advantage of sweet Livia, she’ll cut off your balls.” He picks up a box. “And I do not mean figuratively.”
He heads out. Blitz hesitates, looking back at me, but I scurry out behind Jacob. As much as I want to figure out a way to be alone with Blitz, I have to think this through.
If there is a way, I’ll find it.