Page 22 of Wicked Dance
Chapter 7
We had planned to stay in LA through Monday, but when we arrive at the hotel, Blitz gets on the phone with his travel agent and manages to book a flight for that evening.
“I’m sick of this city,” he says as he tosses clothes into a suitcase. “Everybody is in it for fame and glory and nobody cares about anybody else.”
I walk carefully around him, picking up my own things and painstakingly folding them in a perfect arrangement in my bag. I know he doesn’t want to do the show anymore. I’m with him on that. But something about the finalists is really getting to him.
We’ve really only been together a couple of months. I’m not sure how to handle the rage version of Blitz. I wonder how much of him I haven’t really seen.
“We have lots of time before we have to leave,” I say. “Sit with me.”
Blitz sighs and plops onto the bed next to me. “I’m sorry, Livia. I’m not doing so well with people forcing me to make long-term commitments I don’t want.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “That would get to anybody.” I hold on to his hand. “What is so bad about doing the show?”
“It would be a huge fake,” he says. “I would have to dance with those girls and pretend to be considering them. It was hard enough when I was half-interested in a few of them. It will be impossible now.”
He presses his fingers against his eyes like he’s tired. “I’ve made my own bed here. I know it.”
“Giselle really made you mad,” I say. “Big-time mad.”
“She’s the queen of manipulation,” he says, his voice edgy. “I don’t even know what she wants, just to be noticed, to make headlines, or what. It definitely isn’t me. She was banging half the crew and trying to get in the pants of Tom.”
“Tom?”
“The red-faced producer who threatened to sue.”
“Oh, that lovely man.”
“Right. He’s trying to show he has balls by pushing me around. I’m sure she was probably blowing him in the bathroom before the meeting started.”
“If all that is true, then they should be happy wrestling the show from you and leaving us out of it. Let the girls have their revenge auditions for male dancers of their own.”
“I don’t know if they’ll go for it. The first season ofTheBachelorettekilled it, but after that, it just dropped like a stone.”
“Well, then they should kill it with these girls, right? First season.” I stand up, pacing the room. “It’s perfect. Lots of drama. Dancing. Scandal. We don’t need to have anything to do with it!”
Blitz leans forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “There’s a lot of money at stake here,” he says. “A huge show. I don’t know what they’ll do.”
I can see he’s had enough. I kneel down in front of him and slip my fingers around the back of his neck. His muscles are in knots. “We’ll get through this,” I say. “It seems big, but it’s not in your heart, you know? It’s just business and career.” I press my hand against his chest. “It’s not going to affect what’s in here.”
He lifts his head and presses his palm on top of my hand. “You’re right. How can we even worry about something as silly as a TV show when we have wheelchair ballerinas to train, and a little girl to watch grow up?”
“Their class is on Valentine’s Day,” I say. “I thought we could buy them all red sparkle sticks to dance with and take home.”
He kisses my hand. “That sounds perfect.” His eyes meet mine, dark and expressive. I can picture the camera close-ups from his show, how millions of women swooned over this very look. But it’s real now. It’s mine.
His mouth shifts into a mischievous grin. “Are you still going to love me when I’m sued into poverty and can’t afford sparkle sticks for dancers?”
“Of course,” I say. “I think when I showed up here in LA for that finale I had nothing but a backpack with a change of clothes.”
“It’s true,” he says, pulling me to him so that our foreheads touch. “Not even a toothbrush.”
“Also true,” I say. “Just don’t ask me to live with your parents.”
He laughs. “Hell, no,” he says. “I’ll teach dance lessons to Weeza before I resort to that.”
God, Weeza. She was a dancer from San Antonio who had called Blitz a sellout.
