chapter 12

Blue followed therunner from the greenroom, down the hall, to another room, with a screen set up and a microphone hanging above it. A camera operator waved from her position behind a camera on an elaborate tripod. The woman who had led Izzy in indicated that she should sit on the stool in front of the screen. A man Izzy hadn’t met yet hurried in a minute later.

“Blue. Right. Okay. I’m going to ask you a few questions. Just speak from the heart, and I’ll let you know if we need you to adjust your content.”

“Speak from the heart but you’ll tell me if I get it wrong?”

“Exactly.” The man didn’t get the joke. He pointed to the camera operator. “Action. Blue Lenox, tell us about yourself.”

What had she put in the initial personal history surveys? The more accurate she was, the sooner she could get back to the greenroom. Maybe one of the innumerable sound and light checks had delayed Lillian’s performance.

“I grew up in a small town in eastern Oregon,” she said. “My mom was a talented singer, and she inspired my love of performance. In high school I did theater, choir, dance team, even cheerleading.”

Or maybe they wanted her to be spontaneous and dramatic. They’d keep her here until she cracked.

“My mother never came to my shows.” That had pathos. And truth.

“How about, I always wanted to follow in her footsteps?” the man said.

“What?”

“Say, I always wanted to follow in her footsteps.”

Speak from the heart, but don’t get it wrong. It was a joke, and it wasn’t. Izzy repeated the line.

“When I went to college, I majored in dance and computer science,” she went on.

“Say that again without computer science,” the man said. “Let’s keep it simple.”

“When I went to college, I majored in dance, but I noticed there wasn’t a lot of room in dance for diverse bodies, genders, and abilities.”

“Cut diverse and say different,” the man said. “And cut genders.”

“Different bodies and abilities.”

How long was this going to go on?

“So I founded Velveteen Crush. It’s a no-audition burlesque group. Everyone is welcome, no matter their skill level.”

“How do you think you’ll win The Great American Talent Show if you let everyone in?”

“Only five of us decided to go on the show, but we represent our whole troupe. We represent anyone who’s wanted to dance or sing or juggle and has been told they couldn’t.”

The man gave a thumbs-up and went on with his questions. Eventually, he checked his smartwatch, swore something about being behind schedule, and walked out.

“I’ll walk you back to your greenroom,” the woman who’d brought her said.

Would it be okay if she ran?

“Did Reed-Whitmer go on yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

Back in the greenroom, Izzy flung herself onto the sofa in front of the TV. The Reed-Whitmer Ballet Company had just emerged onstage. The show had enhanced—or detracted from—the performance with a stadium’s worth of flashing lights. It must be dizzying to perform in that barrage of visual stimulation, but the dancers didn’t miss a beat. The Star Maker shot up.

When the performance ended and the lights calmed down, a few of the dancers were panting, but Lillian looked as calm as if she had walked out of a café. Izzy wasn’t supposed to notice the way Lillian’s leotard cupped her body where Izzy had touched her and made her gasp with pleasure. Izzy wasn’t supposed to find this sexy. Ballerinas were sexless, like a cross between angels and Barbie dolls. But Lillian’s tights and leotard perfectly matched her dark skin. It looked like she was naked—and those legs! Izzy had ridden a fast orgasm on Lillian’s thigh. Her body ached to do it again. She shifted in her seat. She was probably emitting pheromones that screamed, I’m lusting after that woman.

She had to be chill.

“I wonder if we’ve got any Fizz Bang soda.” Don’t pay attention to me. I’m just thinking about drinking soda, not drinking the nectar of Lillian Jackson’s body.

“There’s literally soda everywhere,” Sarah said without taking her focus off the judges on the screen.

Alejandro said the company’s technical precision was unparalleled.

Christina said the performance made her cry, although she didn’t appear to be crying.

The Prime Minister steepled his fingers, considering.

“Very good, very good. Like Alejandro said, the level of skill…” He pressed a hand to his chest. “But a little advice for next time…”

The cameras zoomed in on Christina turning to the Prime Minister. “How could you have advice?! They were perfect.”

“I want you to feel the dance, Ms. Jackson,” the Prime Minister said.

“Damn, they’re perfect,” Izzy said.

“The perfect is the enemy of the good,” Axel said.

Arabella sighed in his direction. “That’s what you say when something isn’t perfect, and you don’t mind.”

“No,” Axel said. “They just crushed good. Good just went crying home to its mother.”

“I wonder if they have to secure the rights to use that choreography,” Tock said.

They all looked at him.

“They were amazing, and that’s your takeaway?” Arabella asked.

Tock shrugged.

Izzy felt Sarah trying to read her. Are you impressed by her dance, or are you developing a crush on yet another woman who’s going to break your heart?

“I think that’s classic choreography. It’s old enough they don’t need to get the rights,” Izzy said, not looking at Sarah so Sarah couldn’t read anything in Izzy’s eyes.

Tock muted the screen as the cameras once again broadcast shots of the empty stage and the judges drinking soda. Then Velveteen Crush went back to waiting in purgatory. Izzy pretended to nap on one of the sofas, wishing she were alone so she could relieve the tension she felt remembering Lillian’s hard thigh beneath her as she came and trying to get her mind around the fact that she had slept with that woman. That impossibly talented goddess who was longing for a last straw. They’d recognized something about each other in that moment. And she wanted to ask her, How can you be so amazing and still be real?