Hannah calls that afternoon. Blitz sends her call to voice mail, then phones his assistant Shelly to deal with her and get the details of the production schedule. Neither of us feel any love for his manager. When the show is over, she is too.
We sit on our balcony, watching the sun set on the San Antonio skyline. It probably won’t be long before we have to go to LA.
Blitz scans some of the messages coming through and sighs.
“I’m actually going to miss this hotel,” he says. “But we’re going to be gone almost three months. We should pack our things.”
I nod. “We have a lot.”
“I’ll have a service do it. Where would you like to live while we’re in LA? A hotel like this? A condo? My place is still full of cameras. We’ll only go there when we’re contracted to do so.”
“The hotels feel safe,” I say. “But I would like to be able to cook a little. Feel like something is mine.”
“I’ll have Shelly send us some properties. I don’t think I’ll buy another one, just rent something. You don’t want to live permanently in LA, right? We’ll come back here for Gabriella.”
I nod, my voice feeling thick. “We’ll have to tell her we’re going to be gone for a while.”
“We’ll do the wheelchair class on Tuesday and let them know then.”
My head falls back against the chair. It’s cool out, and the tear that squeezes out of my eye feels chilly by the time it slips down my cheek.
We get the schedule the next day. Rehearsals are supposed to start on Monday, but Blitz insists we will arrive Tuesday night. They agree to delay until Wednesday.
We spend part of Friday with Bex at Jenica’s, working on more aerial silks. When she hears we’re leaving town next week, she gives us the name of another instructor in LA. There’s a lot of them there, and some specialty trainers in Vegas if we need help with particular moves. I know we probably won’t have time for it. But everything is temporary. We just have to get through the five shows.
We pack some of our things over the weekend, the items we want to take with us ourselves. Bennett offers his plane on Tuesday, saying nothing about the lawsuit or the result. We accept.
Soon there is nothing left but good-byes. I know they aren’t forever, but it’s still a big change. I’ve never lived anywhere but Texas and have only spent a few days here and there in LA.
I haven’t made up with my parents, who still won’t speak to me.
And there’s Gabriella. I won’t see her for months.
Blitz has new ribbon sticks made for the class, ones they can take home. Each stick is the girl’s favorite color, all made from the same type of sheer shiny fabric. It touches me that he knows each of them so well.
We place the girls in a semicircle at the start of class and Blitz passes out the sticks. He talks a little about each girl and her strengths as a dancer.
When he gets to Gabriella, my heart clenches. I take pictures with my phone, glad for an occasion to get really good, close shots without revealing how important she is to me.
“You, our spunky dark-haired queen,” Blitz says, “have a smile that will light up the stage and a passion that makes every dance of yours something extra special. Everyone who sees you will know that dance is the thing you love most in the world.” He hands her an emerald green ribbon stick.
Like the rest of the girls, tears are streaming down her face. She hiccups, trying to say something, but instead just buries her face on his shoulder when he hugs her. I know how she feels. That shoulder is the best.
Janel brings the music tempo up after that, and we have a good time rolling around the room, free dancing and doing conga lines. When the lights blink to signal the end of class, the girls clutch their new ribbon sticks and roll over to say their good-byes.
I focus in on Gabriella. She’s holding up better than she did an hour ago, watching Blitz with bright, sad eyes. “I will miss you,” she says to Blitz. Then she turns to me. “You too, Miss Livie.”
When her gaze meets mine, it takes everything in me not to lose it. I bend down to hug her, and she clings to me. It’s the longest embrace we’ve ever had, and I revel in the feel of her, the strawberry shampoo, her slight little figure bending forward in the wheelchair.
She is the most precious thing I have.
The next class starts to trickle in, and the moms arrive to escort out the reluctant dancers. Blitz and I hang back, watching them all leave. He squeezes my hand.
When Janel has started the new class, we pick up our bags and head out into the hall. Only moms are outside, chatting or watching through the windows. A few glance over at Blitz, but nobody says anything. We’re lucky nobody here gives up our location.
“One more time in the storage room?” Blitz asks.
I nod, looking down the hall as if Gabriella will appear again, although she’s surely gone by now.
He leads me to the back wall and through the door of the storage room. It always feels magical to me to come here, light slanting through the high windows. It lands in fine beams on the mats, equipment, and costumes stored here. A round cap sparkles over the edge of a box, a jaunty feather coming off one side.
“Time for a montage,” Blitz says merrily. He leads me behind a rack and takes on the voice of an announcer. “Right here in this spot, Blitz Craven first kissed the young and lovely Livia, catching her by surprise.” He pulls me close and presses a gentle kiss on my lips.
Then he twirls me out, making me laugh. “And on this wall right here…” He lifts me up, turns in a circle, and sets me down next to a blank spot by the shelves. “The less innocent Livia wrapped her naughty, naughty legs around the wayward dance star.”
He lifts my legs so they encircle his hips.
I speak up next. “And then the clumsy wannabe ballerina knocked over a box of shakers, and the secretive couple was discovered by a fellow instructor.”
Blitz laughs. “I forgot about that.”
He wraps his arms around me and turns, holding me up against him. My hair flies out. “This has been a wonderful place for us, and I promise you.” His face gets earnest, his lips in a serious line. “We will come back here. Together.”
My breath hitches. I want to think our love will not be in question. That we’ll weather everything that is about to happen. But when I am admitting things to myself, I know this is going to be a hard road. It will be everything Blitz said. A social media storm. A barrage of criticism and scrutiny.
“I believe in us,” I tell him. “We’re going to do this.”
He holds me close. “We’re going to rock it.”
I have to believe him.