Page 97 of Wicked Dance
I sense a scramble in the back, some shouts to crew. I guess they’re going to have to scrub the footage during the slight delay before it broadcasts.
Giselle is not done. “You fucking crucified me, trolled me, and now you think you can get me off your show?” She pushes Blitz in the chest.
“Folks, this is a little off the plan tonight,” Barry says.
“Giselle, I don’t even know how that Tweet got out,” Blitz says. “I would never have done that.”
“This is my big fucking break,” she says. “And you wrecked it.”
“America cast their vote,” Barry says, his voice still in announcer mode.
“Then America fucking sucks!” she says.
“And with that, let’s have a commercial break,” Barry says.
As soon as the feed is cut, two burly crew members come onstage.
“Don’t grab me,” Giselle says. “I’ll take myself out of here.”
Blitz goes to her and wraps her in an embrace that makes me have to steel myself. But I can’t leave. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. So Mariah and I stay near the edge of the stage.
Blitz pulls away from Giselle and looks her straight in the face. I can see he’s loading up his charming playboy act. “You’re going to take away my last dance? I sure hate to miss that. And I don’t want anything to cost you that legal drama you are angling for. Show everyone you’re a pro.”
This gets her. She breathes fast, out her nose. “I was promised I would be one of the final two.”
“It was a legit vote,” Blitz says. “None of us have anything to do with it.”
“Right,” Giselle says. “And pigs fucking fly. We all know everyone’s voting for Livia.”
I look out in the studio audience. A sea of rectangle lights in the seats means people are videoing this left and right. They should have put the phones in locked storage. Some shows do that now, I hear, to stop illegal videos. This is going to go viral if nobody stops her.
I’m about to go out there myself, but Mariah holds me back. “Let them handle it,” she says. “After next week, this whole thing is over.”
She’s right. What does it matter what Giselle says?
But she’s a risk now for the live broadcast. Without a microphone, I doubt any of the phone footage picked up what she was saying. “You think she’s right?” I ask Mariah. “Did they bother to use the vote?”
She shrugs. “There is no way to know.”
Devon approaches us. “New plan. No dance. We have four minutes to kill. Let’s do some individual backstage interviews, one with each of you. Go.”
Mariah and I are separated by crew members and hurried to our dressing rooms.
Inside mine, a cameraman is setting up as fast as he can.
An assistant director stands next to him, tapping on his tablet. “Coming up on the end of the break,” he says.
I start to panic as he starts a countdown. I’m all alone in here!
“And in five, four…”
Barry walks in, and I sigh in relief.
“Three, two, one.”
The camera turns to Barry. “We’re backstage with one of our two final girls in this crazy episode ofDance Blitz.” He turns to me. “Livia, how surprised are you to be one of the last girls standing?”
Ugh. What a question. If I say I expected it, I’m egotistical. If I say I didn’t, it suggests I don’t have a special connection with Blitz.
