A live show with this many girls is an entirely different animal than the ones with only finalists. The halls are often filled with people, girls in their costumes, small prop tables, and extra crew. I get the idea that this is what the early parts of each season were like, as everyone seems familiar with the setup.
Backstage has to be controlled, as all the girls want to watch everything and it’s too hectic, plus the noise level is too much for a live show. Duke ends up doing some security work keeping the girls corralled and out of the stage wings.
Watching his eyes light on one scantily clad dancer after another, it’s clear that he does not mind.
The show begins with a bit where Barry shows clips of some of the highlights of the show. The girls are all rapt, watching for mentions of themselves on the screen in the dressing room.
After a few minutes of that, I decide to wander down to Blitz’s dressing room. I’d rather spend the last few minutes before our final show with him.
A hulking man in the crew’s black outfits stands outside Blitz’s door, presumably to keep the girls out. As far as I know, they aren’t doing any live bits anywhere beyond the stage. All the clips were prerecorded.
He looks at me as I approach, and I think he’ll keep me out, but he doesn’t. His meaty hand opens the door. “Good evening, Miss Livia,” he says.
Shelly is inside with Blitz, as well as a wardrobe girl. They arrange all his costumes in order.
Blitz is lying on a bench by the back wall, his forearm across his face.
“Is this a preshow ritual I don’t know about?” I ask.
He moves aside and smiles when he sees me. “You have entered the den of iniquity!” he says.
I look around. “The camera-filled den,” I say. “Between me and the girls, we’ve got all the ones in our dressing room covered up.”
“They won’t allow me to do that,” he says, sitting up and patting the cushioned bench beside him. “But we should be done with them. I don’t think there will be any surprises tonight other than the winner.”
I sit down next to him. I’m in a sparkly royal-blue dress, very traditional for dance, with a fitted top and short skirt. All the girls are wearing the same type of dress for the opening number. Mariah’s is emerald green, the color they have always favored for her. Blitz’s fitted body suit is half blue, half green. It’s all designed so you can pick the three of us out easily. Most of the other girls are wearing subdued colors, pale pink, yellow, peach, mint.
Blitz reaches for my hand and runs his thumb across my palm. He seems nostalgic, and maybe even a little sad.
“Hard to let your show go?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Technically, I let it go when you came on the finale last December,” he says. “It was such a shocking end, though, I guess I sailed right through it.”
“But not this time,” I say.
Shelly and the wardrobe girl discreetly step out of the room.
Blitz draws me closer. “This show made me a household name,” he says. “I’m not sad to leave it behind, but it’s still a sentimental moment.” He glances up at his TV screen, in commercial now, the sound muted. “I like to think it was a success because of me.”
“Of course it was,” I say. “You’re the Blitz of Dance Blitz!”
“It’s going to go on without me,” he says. “They are going to cast a new bachelor for next season.”
“You okay with that?” I ask.
“Hell, yeah,” he says. “I’m on as a producer. It will be a steady income long after I’m gone.”
“When did this happen?”
“Earlier today. Signed provisional agreements.”
“Will you need to be in LA?”
“Not at all,” he says. “No more than Bennett is.”
“Is he still a producer?” I ask.
“Nope. Sold me his share.”
I lay my head against his shoulder, realize I’m crushing my hair, and sit up again. “Tomorrow we get to go back to real life,” I say.
“We do. I thought we could hang out another week or so in the LA place, then fly back.”
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
Shelly pops her head in. “Time for the opening number,” she says.
We get up, fingers still entangled, to head to our final moments on the stage.