Page 21 of Wounded Dance
“I wonder what he does in there all day,” I say.
“WatchesDance Blitzwith his hand down his pants,” Blitz says. “I’ve heard I’m pretty handsome.”
“Blitz!”
We pull into the lot and drive through to the side of the building. I don’t know if the back entrance will be unlocked, but I can call Danika if I need to and ask her to let us in.
Of course, then we’ll have to explain why. But it’s worth a shot.
Blitz looks at himself in the rearview mirror and smooths his mustache. “I just might grow one myself,” he says.
We get out of the car. There’s no one near us, and the green truck isn’t visible from this far back. We hurry to the metal door near the delivery platform.
Blitz tugs on the handle, and thankfully, it opens. We step into the backstage area still crowded with Christmas recital props.
“I have you in the dark again,” Blitz says, pulling me against him. “Will you fall for the exotic mustachioed man?” He turns my face to his and kisses me.
“Ick!” I say, pulling away. “Your fake mustache is prickly!”
Blitz runs his fingers along it. “It’s soft as a baby’s butt!”
“A baby porcupine, maybe!”
Blitz laughs and pulls it off. “I guess if it’s going to get in the way, I don’t want it.” He tosses it toward an open trash can near the door.
“We need to get to class,” I say.
“Slave driver!” Blitz says, but takes my hand and leads me through a side door to the storage room.
I squeeze his fingers as we pass through the racks of costumes. Blitz kissed me for the first time here, and we have a lot of fond memories in this space. I spot the top hat he wore once and smile. Blitz has always made my life easier and more fun. If the public really knew him, they would never have tried to burn him at the stake for one terrible Tweet.
Even though it had been a bad one, an image of a naked show contestant in his bed and a very disparaging message. But Blitz has worked hard to apologize and get his public image repaired. WithDance Blitzbehind us, we could fade into obscurity if we wanted.
The exit of the storage room comes out at the end of the hall where all the dance studios hold classes. The corridor is bustling with young dancers, mostly preschool children since it’s a Tuesday morning.
We head into Studio 3, where Janel teaches the wheelchair ballerinas. I’ve assisted this class for over a year and lobbied for its existence shortly after Gabriella’s accident. It’s the first place I got to know my daughter.
And I will not let Denham know about her if I can help it.
Two of the girls have already arrived and are warming up with arm lifts.
Another comes in right after us. Janel asks Blitz to grab the sparkle batons. She’s looking for new ideas for the girls to dance with.
I love how he instantly goes to the corner to grab them. He’s no diva, despite his incredible popularity and fame from his show. Once again, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.
Gabriella rolls in, and Gwen waves at us. I wonder if I should warn her about Denham. What if he sees Gabriella in the parking lot and thinks she looks like me? Would he go up to them and ask about her?
But he can’t know she’s here. He’s stalking me, not her. Nobody knows. What is he doing, exactly? Intimidating us, I guess. He thinks we will snap. Maybe once I would have. But with Blitz, I feel strong. I won’t give in.
Despite our anxiety and the green truck outside, class goes on as usual. We work on the girls’ turns and arm positions. As much as I loved dancing with the Nutcracker music, it’s nice to move on to other things now that the recital is past.
Blitz’s phone buzzes nonstop during class and he finally shuts it off. I look at him quizzically from the other side of the room where I’m working with one of the girls. He shrugs and shakes his head like it’s nothing.
When we’ve finally escorted all the girls out, including Gabriella, Blitz takes my arm and leads me to a bench in the hall. “I got a bunch of info from the lawyer,” he says.
His finger swipes through message after message. “Your sweet boyfriend has built up quite the rap sheet in his meager twenty-one years.” He pauses at one of the miniaturized document scans and zooms in. “Three counts of assault, two burglaries, three check frauds. Done some time, about eighteen months. Just dumb luck he saw the show between stints in the slammer.”
He scrolls some more. “And this is all just since he started getting tried as an adult. Sounds like he had more as a juvenile that’s probably still sealed.”
