Page 54 of Wicked Dance
“Jessie, you’re on Livia,” Amara says. “Keep her hydrated and do what she asks.”
A young girl with wispy blond hair, barely sixteen, hurries over with the easy grace of a dancer. She wears all black, like the crew did the night of the show, which I assume means she is backstage help.
“Hello, Livia,” she says, her voice a squeak. “I’ll hold on to your bag.” She takes it from me. “I’ll be your gopher. If you need something to eat, or to get a prop or dance shoes or anything, I’m the one who does it for you.”
“Thank you, Jessie,” I say. “Are you a dancer?”
“I want to be,” she says. “I was about to start in the corps at a ballet company until this happened.” She points at her ankle, which is wrapped in a bandage. “I got this job so I can at least do something until I’m cleared to dance again.”
“Does it hurt?” I can’t imagine losing my dream to an injury.
“Not really. It’s just not up to the dance work I need to do to stay in the company. They won’t risk it. I’m not worth the risk.” She says this very matter-of-factly, as if it is just part of life.
“I’m really sorry, Jessie.”
“This is fun. I’m lucky.” She waves to the stage. “They are still working.”
The music has stopped. When I look beyond the stage wings, I see Blitz lowering Mariah out of a lift. She has on a wispy skirt now. Amara is shaking her head.
“I should have been out here,” she says. “That was completely wrong.”
Conflicting feelings of relief that someone besides me has displeased her, and chagrin that her time with me was a burden that made her angry, rise up in me. “Is she always this harsh?” I ask Jessie.
She shrugs. “I’m new. She was pretty tough yesterday, though, with the other girls.”
I feel pressure on my shoulder and turn to see Giselle hanging on me, her pale red hair twisted up in a knot. “We’re about to see what the ballerina has to show us,” she says.
My face feels hot. I sincerely regret not spending every waking hour at the academy working on my ballet skills. But there was the DVD trip, and the craziness of the fans wanting a rematch. Valentine’s. And before that, all the trouble with Denham.
Excuses. All of them. I should have been dancing. Now it was going to get me. That producer would be right. I’m not up for this.
I sincerely want to turn and leave, but Amara motions me out onstage. “Come on, Livia. And Giselle, back off her. We have to assemble a show here.”
Blitz turns and fires an angry glare at Giselle. She blows him a kiss and turns away. “Come on, Mariah. Let’s eat something.”
Mariah doesn’t appear to want to seem chummy with Giselle, but they both head back to the hall, followed by two girls in black, their assistants.
I walk out onstage. Blitz holds out his arms. I fold myself into him and he kisses my head. “How are you holding up, Princess?” he asks.
I can’t even answer. I just want to stay right here, away from this pressure, the expectations, and the competition.
But sharp hand claps make me pull away.
It’s Amara. “Okay, yes, we see who the love affair is. We still have to put on a dance show.”
Devon saunters over. He’s the director, dressed in jeans and a dark turtleneck much like the night I met him during the finale. He hugs an iPad to his chest, completing the picture that he looks like Steve Jobs, and frowns. “This star-crossed love worked great for the surprise appearance, but it’s not going to sit well with the audience who wants a competition.”
Blitz pulls me back against him. “I couldn’t care less about your competition. And you know damn well all the fans want to see me with Livia.”
“I don’t know that,” Devon says. “The rematch fury was pretty intense. It’s my job to figure out how to spin this into a workable format.”
“He’s not going to be able to hide how he feels,” Amara says. “He’s not an actor.”
Devon shakes his head. “I don’t believe that either. We all saw him buying that diamond ring for nobody. That was good television.” He walks in a circle around us. “We have to drive a wedge between the couple.”
He tucks the iPad beneath his arm and holds out his arms in a V shape. “This allows a chance for the other girls. Only to snap shut,” he claps his hands together, “when true love is threatened.”
Amara steps forward. “All right. You work your drama. It’s my job to create a dance number. She’s not as strong as the others. We can work with that. Make him disappointed.”
