Page 63 of Wounded Dance
Blitz lets out a gush of air. “That’s tough. Do you know where they live?”
“Yes, but I can’t exactly show up there.” I throw up my hands. “Hello, Gwen, we stalked you all the way to your house to force your daughter to do a dance lesson!” My voice is shrill. I feel on the verge of hysteria.
“We can handle it delicately. We can say that we agree that the academy isn’t safe and we have a new location.” His voice is calm, but this only upsets me more.
“Do you know how crazy that sounds?” I cry. “I just have to accept that I’ve screwed up. As soon as I went on your show, I put everything at risk.”
Blitz holds my head, his palms on both my cheeks. He bends down until he’s looking right in my eyes. “No, Livia. When you went on my show, you saved everything. You saved us. You saved me. And we’re going to make this work.”
“He’ll tell everybody,” I say. “Gwen will find out. God. It’s over.”
Blitz drags me against him and holds me tight. “Not if he’s on our side,” he says.
I hold my breath for a moment. I couldn’t have heard him right. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s go bail him out of jail. Get him a lawyer. Clean him up. Let’s help him, and work out a deal we can all live with. You. Him. Gwen. She had to know this day might come. They didn’t have a signature for a father. Did you ever look to see who your dad wrote down on the birth certificate?”
“I did.” I force out a laugh. “Engelbert Humperdinck.”
“The singer?”
“Yeah. Dad was always fascinated with his name.”
“Well, that should have been a red flag for the adoption agency,” Blitz says. “For Gwen. They ignored it. They’ll know they did.”
“They let it go, I guess. I don’t know what Dad told them. We’d have to ask him.”
“This is great, actually. The sort of thing a lawyer can build a case on.” Blitz lifts me up and sets me back on the ground. “Let’s call Jeff and have him refer somebody local to help us out. Then we can go bail out your baby daddy.”
I follow him back to Studio 3 to change out of my ballet slippers. I don’t know if helping Denham is the right thing. But it’s a plan. It’s something.
Chapter 23
By mid-afternoon, Blitz has secured a lawyer to meet us at the city jail to bail out Denham. His bond was set by the judge right after lunch, so it’s just a matter of heading there to pay it and get him out.
We take the gray car to the courthouse. The lawyer said we won’t be allowed back to see Denham, but he assured us that he’ll meet with him and make the necessary arrangements.
“Are we liable for what happens to him if he does something once he’s out?” I ask Blitz as we wait on a stiff row of chairs in a waiting area.
“I don’t know. I’ve never bailed anyone out before,” Blitz says. He holds my hand in both of his.
I smooth my simple black skirt and soft sweater. I’ve tied my hair back, trying to look as plain as possible. Blitz wears his sunglasses so he won’t be spotted at a courthouse, casual in jeans and a sweater.
The room is large and filled with anxious people. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the room without a tattoo. One very tattooed grandmother watching a passel of small children talks with exasperation into a cell phone until an officer asks her to put it away or step outside. She tosses him an angry look, but shoves it in her bag.
A girl keeps staring at Blitz. I keep an eye on her, worried she has recognized him, but she is careful not to meet my gaze.
A man in a sharp navy suit comes out of a door and looks around. He spots me and Blitz and approaches. “Benjamin,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Jeremy Trudeau. Let’s go back to a private room to discuss the situation.”
We stand up right as the officer barks “No cell phones” again. The room jumps. Must be the grandmother. I sympathize with her, probably having to wait on one of the parents of all those children.
We follow Jeremy through the door, held open by a uniformed officer. We go down a quiet hall and turn into a small stark room with only a table and a few plastic chairs.
Jeremy sits on one side, and Blitz and I settle in across from him.
“I had a conversation with Denham Young, and he says he doesn’t want your help unless you’re going to tell him the location of his daughter,” Jeremy says. “We put together a provisional agreement.” He pulls a sheet of paper out of a briefcase. It’s covered with handwritten notes in tiny print. Denham’s signature is at the bottom.
“That’s all he wants? Her location?” Blitz asks.
