Page 87 of Wicked Dance
We exit the stage and are plunged into the semidarkness of backstage.
“I must run, my love,” Blitz says with a quick kiss on my hair. “See you after the show.”
He heads to wardrobe to prepare for Mariah’s number. I hesitate a moment, watching the chaos of the set change, the new chorus dancers, and the crew shifting everyone around.
Mariah passes me.
“Good luck,” I say. “Your Paris number is beautiful.”
She looks back a moment, not sure what to say, it seems, then nods and moves on. The pattern begins again, commercial break and montage. I realize she’ll have to go out alone and wait for Blitz. I was lucky to be the first one, so he was dressed and ready for me. He’ll be increasingly harried as the show goes on.
Not that it will matter. He’s a professional. But it is only his second live show.
I lift my skirt to avoid tripping and head out into the hall. Only when I’m back in my dressing room, now full of flowers from all the producers and one from the girls at Dreamcatcher, do I relax and watch the rest of the broadcast.
