Page 4 of Wicked Dance
Lewis reminds me of the used-car salesmen I used to see on TV ads. But he seems friendly. He introduces four employees who will be helping organize the line and keep things moving. We follow Lewis as we cut through shelves of movies and CDs to a set of stairs.
“We’ll control access to you via the stairs,” Lewis says, pointing up. “Fans will go up these, cross to you at a table up there, and then come down the other side.”
Hannah walks up from the back of the store as he’s finishing. “I assume you have an emergency exit in case of a rush?” she asks. “We need a safety plan.”
“Freight elevator is directly to the right of the signing table,” Lewis says. “We have six security guards. My staff will brief you on the situation. Former presidents have held public events here. We have it covered.”
Hannah nods.
“There is a private room where you two can wait until we begin,” Lewis says. “About fifteen minutes until we open the doors.”
I turn back to the windows. “Can we see outside from up there?” I ask.
“Yes,” Lewis says. “It’s a nice view of the street. Would you rather wait there?”
“Yes,” I say. “I want to see everything.”
Blitz steps aside and gestures to the stairs. “Lead the way, my lady. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
We head up, Lewis behind us. Hannah and the staff have moved elsewhere.
The front of the store is all glass, so when we reach the second floor and look out, all the fans piled up outside can see us. Most are in an orderly row that snakes around the building, but others are clumped together on the sidewalk outside the doors.
“We’ve given away three hundred wristbands to the ones we think you can get to during your allotted time. We estimate there are about eight hundred more who won’t get in,” Lewis says.
“That’s terrible!” I say. “They wait all night and don’t even get in!” I turn to Blitz. “That isn’t fair!”
“It’s part of the deal,” Blitz says. “We can only sign so fast.”
“We’ll have to be faster!” I say.
Blitz puts his arm around me. As we stand at the rail overlooking the store and the crowd outside, I start to actually feel a little like royalty. I lift my hand to wave at everyone, and the sudden increase in volume is audible even from inside.
A girl in a red shirt approaches. “Ten minutes, sir. We have six media representatives downstairs asking to set up. What should I do with them?”
“I’ll handle it,” Lewis says. He turns to us. “I’ll confer with your manager about the press. Enjoy your last quiet moments. Sharon, can you show them where the private bathroom is and what the plan will be should they need a break?”
Sharon nods. “This way,” she says.
I’m impressed by her laid-back manner around Blitz. She acts like he is any customer. Maybe that’s why she has this particular job. She isn’t impressed by fame.
Sharon shows us the table, the path to the bathroom, and talks about the security that will be at the tables. Then another girl in a red shirt races up the stairs.
“Don’t let them go to the bathroom alone!” she says, huffing from her dash. “His manager says to keep them apart.”
Blitz and I look at each other for a second as Sharon’s face blooms red. Then he laughs, so hard and so long that I can’t help but join him.
“Challenge accepted,” he says, and pulls on my hand to take me to the bathroom.
The other girl panics, trying to block our way. “Your manager says you will destroy her hair and makeup.”
“I like it when he does that,” I say.
She looks horror stricken, as if she will be personally held responsible if I have an eyelash out of place.
Blitz lets her off the hook. “Don’t worry about it. We don’t have any plans to deflower your private bathroom’s innocence.”
“We don’t?” I ask, and both girls’ faces match their shirts.
