Page 90 of Forbidden Dance
“Our dresses don’t have tags,” she says.
I guess in shops like this, you don’t care about the price.
When I make it out to the main part of the shop, Juliet has already paid the bill and takes the bag from me. “Put this on her,” she says, passing a thin silk cloak in pale gold to the woman who has been helping us. “I don’t want to give anything away.”
The woman wraps the cloak around my shoulders, fastening it at the throat with a loop around a rhinestone button. It floats around my body like a mist, but is opaque enough to hide my dress.
“Perfect,” Juliet says. “Now, hair and makeup.” She checks her watch. “And we’re heading straight into LA traffic. We should have taken the helicopter.”
Helicopter!
We hurry back out to the car. Bennett is finally off the phone.
“I don’t think we’re going to make it in time,” Juliet says as we settle in the backseat.
“We don’t have to make the beginning of the show,” he says. “Only the end.”
“True,” she says.
The drive is stressful and long. Traffic is jammed. Sometimes we don’t make any progress at a congested light. I check my watch. It’s 7:30 Texas time, so 5:30 here. The live show starts in half an hour.
It’s been a long day of testing, escaping, flying, shopping, and driving. Thankfully we had a nice meal on the plane, or I’d be dying.
I press my face to the window like a little kid when we finally make it to the gates of the studio. We’re stopped and then waved through. There’s a parking lot off to one side.
“This is as close as we get?” Juliet asks.
Bennett laughs. “I’m nobody here. Everyone is rich and the talent gets the perks.”
She leans forward to speak to the driver. “Don’t park yet, drive as far down as you can.”
He nods.
Bennett turns to look at me. “You ready for this, Livia?”
“I think so,” I say. We pass people pushing rolling racks, and clumps of others talking earnestly as they hurry from building to building.
“This is it,” Bennett says, and the car slows to a stop.
He opens his door, and I open mine, too anxious to wait for the driver. We step out into the cool air. Evening is about to fall and lights are starting to pop on overhead.
“This way,” Bennett says, taking my arm to lead me to a rather ordinary-looking building with a loading dock and a side door.
We enter a hallway and a young man standing nearby looks up from his iPad. “Hello, Mr. Claremont,” he says.
“We need to see Devon,” Bennett tells him.
“He’s probably on set.” The man glances at a big digital clock on the wall. “They are just about to go live.”
“We’ll find our way. Thanks,” Bennett says.
We follow him down a labyrinth of corridors. Signs along the way say “Dressing Room B” or “Caution: Live Shooting.” Some of them have red or green lights over them.
We turn down a hall and Bennett takes us inside a door. It’s a nice room with sofas and a buffet of food along one wall. Inside, several people are sitting and watching a large screen mounted in the corner.
“It just started,” says a blond woman in a gorgeous red dress.
I look at the screen. TheDance Blitzlogo is lit up over a stage and a man who often narrates the show is talking. Everything else is black. No Blitz. I’m dying to see him, but anxious because this is his world, not ours.
