Page 67 of Wicked Dance
I’m back at the top of the stairs. There is a sharp turn in them near the bottom, so I can’t see around the bend until I make it most of the way down.
“All on the face,” Devon says. “Long, medium, and tight.” Then to me, “Livia, come on down. This time, he’ll be waiting.”
My chest relaxes out of its tightness just knowing I get to see him. I touch my hair, then place my fingers on the banister as before. Everything feels heightened, the light beaming in through the stained glass, the gloss of the wood, the shimmer in the moiré pattern of the wallpaper.
I take each step carefully, with intention, as if I’m a ballerina coming out onstage. I can sense everyone’s interest in what I’m doing, the cameras rolling, crew members sliding their rigs along a smooth track.
When I make the turn, I see him. My breath catches. He wears a white shirt and a black vest over dress pants. He’s perfect. I’m as swept away as the first time I saw him.
His eyes dance as they light on me. My focus is only on him as he holds out his hand to me. Now I feel like I’m floating.
The cameras slide farther back as I take the last few stairs. At his feet are a blanket, a picnic basket, wine glasses, and cheese on a china plate.
“You look beautiful,” he says, “like a princess.”
I feel my cheeks heat up. “Is that why you chose a castle for our date?” I ask.
I hear the quiet sighs of the crew. They are thrilled with our exchange. I have the sense that this moment is both real and unreal, scripted and spontaneous, planned yet still ours.
I reach him, and he takes my hand to kiss my fingers as he always does. “I could think of no place more suitable.”
I look around. “It’s very fancy.”
He pulls my hand to his chest. “You want to look around?”
I sense that this move has been suggested to him, but I nod and play the part. He leads me to a fireplace, then to a dining room, and we exclaim about the details of the woodworking, the ceilings, the intricacies of the space.
Soon we’re back at the blanket and the wine and cheese. I kneel down and he sits with me.
This time, Devon interrupts.
“Let’s place them for the lights,” he says.
Blitz grins at me. “They let us go longer than I thought they would.”
I look around. There are so many people. A dozen at least. Gigi rushes in and powders my face and shifts one side of my hair behind my shoulder.
An older woman in a bright tunic and tights comes forward.
“Blitz, you should be here,” she says, tapping the corner of the blanket. “And Livia, I want you more here.” The center.
Devon also comes forward. “See that camera there?” He points at one dead ahead. “That’s our primary angle. Make sure you don’t block each other from that one.” He points up. “Jerry, get that shadow off Blitz.”
A photographer snaps a few stills as we rearrange.
“Now that you’ve got the position,” Devon says, “let’s take it back to the dining room, walk in, and take it straightaway.”
I nod. Blitz helps me up and we head back to the dining room.
Now the spontaneity is truly gone. I remember a scene with Blitz and one of the early girls on his sofa, kissing. Did they do this then? I lean in. “Will they be there telling us how to have sex?”
Blitz chokes back a laugh and starts coughing. “They record every word we say,” he whispers. “Take it easy.”
“You didn’t answer the question!” I hiss.
He shakes his head. “That part is just for us.” Then he pauses. “Unless that turns you on.”
“No!” I squeak. We’ve made it to the dining room.
