Roger cleared his throat and launched into some of the smoothest businesslike patter she'd ever heard. In order to get the loan for the franchise fees, he said, he had to show that he had receivables on the books. To get receivables on the books, he and his staff would have to sell lessons. But of course, without a studio, there would be no lessons to sell. A Grand Benefactor would pay a monthly fee for full access to the club and all the group lessons and parties, plus ten hours of private instruction free of charge.
"And the price for this privilege is…"
Roger stated it without missing a beat. "A cool five hundred dollars."
It was what Linda used to spend on dancing, back in the good old days of the mid 2000's, before the economic meltdown and the mini depression. She could do it again, but she and Stephen were maxing out their retirement funds. Roger would have to wait. There was no way she was making a commitment today. But she did want to know one thing. "Can I ask you a question? You said you were offering me the first position as Grand Benefactor, so I must be the first one you approached, right?"
Roger grinned, nodding, suddenly looking very boyish even though he was probably getting close to forty now. "Yes, pretty much." They stood in silence for a moment.
There were so many others whom Roger could have hit up for the money. Many white haired matrons, who'd become rich when they widowed or received fat divorced settlements, had taken lessons at The Next Step. The very foundation of the business came from these old women, anxious to live a glamorous fantasy at least once in their lives. Yet, Roger had come to her first, a well-paid but ordinary working woman. "So what are you thinking?"
She took a long, deep breath and looked over the sad, empty studio, imagining marble pillars and beams, and ornate stonework in the archway. "So, why did you come to me first?"
He once again smiled warmly. "You're a special lady, Linda Herron. I'll never forget that first lesson we shared."
She was touched. "Roger, I'm going to tell you a story about how I first became interested in dancing." She told him about her days as a poor college student, way back in the seventies, and how she accepted a job as an Oneironaut in the Psychology department. In vivid detail, she described her dream with the mysterious gentleman, dancing in the marble hall. She mentioned how the dream failed to show on the department's sensors, which had always mystified her. In some way, she concluded, she was always trying to recreate that experience every time she stepped onto a dance floor.