Page 85 of Wicked Dance
Chapter 29
The last half hour before we go live is incredibly intense. Everybody runs from place to place with wardrobe emergencies or lost shoes or wondering where the heck the hat boxes went.
I’m dressed and made up and calm. I go on first, so I am in and out before any of the other finalists. Now I hole up in my dressing room, supremely glad I get this small space of my own.
Jessie sits nervously on a chair near the door, checking her phone every ten seconds. “This is so exciting!” she says. “I’m so worried I’m going to screw up!”
“You’ll do fine,” I say, finding comfort in calming her. I haven’t seen Blitz since we passed in the halls a few hours ago, him pulling off a necktie on what looked like a forties getup.
There’s a knock at my door. Jessie opens it to a huge arrangement of flowers that hides the person coming in.
“Oh!” Jessie says, propping the door wide. “Look at this!”
I stand up. The arrangement is at least three feet wide, an explosion of roses and white lilies.
“Who is it from?” I ask.
The flowers move to the side and I see it’s Blitz!
Jessie takes the flowers from him and sets them on the counter, then quickly exits the room.
“You ready for this?” he asks.
“Honestly, this isn’t nearly as bad as the last time I came,” I say. “I know what’s going to happen.”
“True,” he says. He gathers me close. “Gigi will kill me if I wreck your makeup, but I just wanted to see you before it all starts.”
“I’ll be here when it all ends.”
He touches my shoulder, my cheek, my hair. “You look breathtakingly lovely. You’ll captivate every viewer out there.”
“Let’s hope they agree when they vote,” I say.
He laughs. “You’ve been turned to the TV dark side,” he says. He presses a light kiss on my forehead. “See you onstage. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He’s headed for the door when I see a strange red light in the corner. As Jessie comes back in, talking excitedly about the flowers and the people outside, I step closer to it.
It’s coming from an ornate mirror hanging on the side wall of the dressing room. Jessie stops talking as I peer closer at it. It winks out.
There’s another knock and another delivery of flowers.
“This one’s from Bennett Claremont,” Jessie says.
But I’m still looking at the small oval mirror. I lift the edge to take it off the wall, but it won’t budge. I pull harder, and it finally swings open.
There’s a camera inside.
“Oh!” Jessie says. “Was it recording you?”
I glance around, wondering how many times I’ve changed in here, what footage it would have. I close it back up.
“There are cameras everywhere,” I say. “It’s in the contract.”
“That’s so creepy,” Jessie says. “They should tell you where they are.”
“They told us we’d sometimes be filmed in the dressing rooms. I just didn’t think about it being run without a person in here too.” I turn to the main mirror, wondering if there’s something behind it as well. “From now on, when I change, I think I’ll have you hold something up.”
