Chapter 4 - The Cost of Being Seen
Lena stood in front of the redevelopment notice until the glass fogged from her breath.
"How long have you known?" she asked.
Marina brought her back into the office and showed her the letters. The landlord had been in negotiations with a company controlled by Blake Urban Properties. A proposal called for renovating several neighboring buildings into luxury residences and retail space. The studio's existing lease ran out in four months. The owners had offered a relocation allowance, but nothing nearby could be rented for the same amount.
"Is the project approved?" Lena asked.
"Not completely. The company can still change it. But the building is worth more to them without us."
Marina was not accusing Alexander of personally drafting the notice. She was showing Lena what decisions made in distant offices looked like when they arrived on a studio door.
Lena photographed the correspondence with Marina's permission. She had no intention of speaking for the tenants without asking them. But she needed to know whether the billionaire who had mocked her even knew what his company was doing.
That afternoon, she received an email from the club.
Her next week's shifts had been removed, as Mr. Bell had promised. The message said her employment status was under review. The pay for the completed shift would arrive on the usual date.
She checked her account balance twice.
Eleven days had become nine. The rent had not changed. Her father's prescription costs had not changed. Millions of strangers might have watched her dance, but not one of those views could be taken to the pharmacy.
Her father found her making columns of figures at the kitchen table.
"You haven't eaten," he said.
"I'm calculating."
"That's what you call worrying when you want me to stop asking."
She tried to smile. He sat opposite her and read the unpaid bills upside down without comment.
"I could pick up more cleaning shifts," Lena said. "Mrs. Alvarez knows a building that needs weekend help."
"And your audition?"
"An audition doesn't guarantee a job."
"Neither does deciding not to try."
Lena looked at him. He lowered his eyes.
"I remember what I said when you were fourteen. Dreams don't pay rent. I still wish I'd found another way to say what frightened me."
"We needed money."
"We did. But needing money shouldn't have meant you had to stop being yourself."
Lena reached across the table and covered his hand.
The next morning she returned to Mercer Street to practice. Marina began with the simplest exercises. Lena found them unexpectedly difficult. Her turnout was uneven, her left ankle less steady than she remembered, and her shoulders rose whenever she thought of an audience.
"Again," Marina said.
Lena tried again.
At the end of an hour, her blouse was damp and her legs felt heavy. Marina made her stop, drink water, and stretch. Talent did not excuse carelessness, she reminded her. Nor did desperation.
Later, Victoria arrived in a plain dark coat instead of the shimmering silver gown Lena remembered. Without Alexander beside her, she seemed quieter.
"I spoke to him about Mercer Street," Victoria said.
"And?"
"He says the redevelopment is already in progress. He'd never been inside the studio."
Lena glanced through the interior window at a little girl counting steps beneath a teacher's patient eye.
"Does he know what's inside it now?"
"I sent him the plans. I don't know whether he opened them."
"He was happy to look at me when he needed a joke. He can look at a building before he takes it away."
Victoria didn't defend him.
Instead, she explained how the residency audition would work. Five people on an independent panel would select candidates. Because Victoria knew Lena from the club, she would not sit on that panel. Selected dancers would receive modest stipends and rehearsal access, not a guaranteed career.
"I don't want him paying for me to win something," Lena said.
"He won't. And neither will I."
That evening Lena found a message from an unknown number. It was Alexander's assistant requesting a private meeting at the billionaire's office. The note described a possible "mutually beneficial solution to recent publicity."
Lena almost deleted it. Then she decided there were things she wanted him to hear.
She went the next day, wearing her cleanest blouse and the black trousers she saved for interviews. Alexander's office occupied the upper floor of a tower with windows overlooking the river. He greeted her with a smile she did not return.
"The video has become something," he said. "We can help you manage the attention."
"Mr. Blake, I'm not here about publicity."
He hesitated.
"All right."
She laid the photograph of the redevelopment notice on his desk.
"The Mercer Street Studio is where my mother taught me. Your company plans to remove it. Did you know?"
Alexander looked down at the paper. "I know the project. It's one of several properties in the portfolio."
"Then you know a dance school operates there."
"I knew there were tenants."
"There's a difference."
He straightened. "These decisions are made through a formal process."
"So was your invitation to dance. You had a glass in your hand, everyone was watching, and you decided I didn't matter."
The words reached him. His expression changed, although she couldn't tell what he thought.
"I can compensate you for the trouble at the club," he said.
"I need the work I earned and a fair chance at another job. I don't need your apology packaged as a favor."
She stood.
"I came so you couldn't say you never knew what was happening."
Alexander did not stop her at the door. Lena rode down in the elevator, furious that her hands were trembling.
That night the tenants at Mercer Street received a revised schedule for the redevelopment process. A decision on whether their leases could be extended would be presented to the Blake Urban investment committee in two weeks.
Marina read the message twice before calling Lena.
"We have fourteen days," she said. "If we want the studio to survive, we need more than a beautiful performance."
Lena looked at her audition shoes beside the door.
May you like
For years she'd believed stepping onto the dance floor was the hard part.
Now she knew the harder work had only begun.
