The basement of the community center in Brooklyn smelled of damp concrete and old coffee.
Dosha stood in the center of the room, wearing a grey tracksuit. She was sweating. She had just finished a monologue from A Streetcar Named Desire. She had screamed, she had wept, she had broken down.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, scattered applause from the twelve other students.
Sloan, a blonde actress who had once had a three-line arc on Law & Order, rolled her eyes.
"Great acting," Sloan said loudly during the break. "Too bad nobody wants to hire you. I heard your husband works in... what was it? Logistics? Does he drive a truck?"
A few people snickered.
Dosha unscrewed the cap of her water bottle. She didn't respond. The NDA prevented her from correcting them. If she said My husband owns the network that airs your favorite show, she would lose the settlement.
Sloan walked past Dosha's bag and "accidentally" kicked it. Scripts spilled onto the dirty floor.
"Give it up, Dosha," Sloan sneered. "You're blacklisted. You're going to rot in the mud."
Dosha crouched down to gather the papers. "Better to rot in the mud than on a casting couch, Sloan."
Sloan's face twisted. She raised her hand.
The metal door of the basement groaned open.
Two men in black suits stepped in. They were wide, tall, and radiated menace. The room went dead silent. Sloan's hand froze in mid-air.
Then, Eleanor Stuart walked in.
She was wearing a vintage Chanel suit, cream-colored, immaculate. Her silver hair was pulled back in a severe chignon. She looked at the peeling paint on the walls, the water stains on the ceiling, and finally, at the group of aspiring actors in their sweatpants.
She looked like a queen who had stepped into a sewer.
She didn't look at Sloan. Sloan didn't exist to her.
She walked straight to Dosha. She reached out with a gloved hand and tilted Dosha's chin up.
"This is why you missed breakfast?" Eleanor asked. Her voice was soft, cultured, and terrifying. "To roll around in this... filth?"
Sloan turned pale. She stepped back, realizing she had made a terrible miscalculation.
Dosha slapped Eleanor's hand away. "This is my work, Eleanor."
Eleanor pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped the glove where it had touched Dosha's skin.
"Get in the car," Eleanor said. "I have a business proposition."
Dosha followed her out. She left Sloan standing there, mouth open.
A Rolls Royce Phantom was idling at the curb.
Inside, the air conditioning was set to a crisp sixty-eight degrees. Eleanor handed Dosha a blue folder.
The title read: Dissolution of Marriage & Asset Settlement Agreement.
"Casper is losing his mind over that model," Eleanor said, looking out the window at the graffiti-covered street. "It is embarrassing the family. But you... you are becoming a problem. You are becoming defiant."
"I am becoming expensive," Dosha corrected.
"Sign this," Eleanor said. "I will lift the blacklist on your acting career. I will fund your production company. And I will give you two hundred million dollars in cash."
Dosha looked at the number on the page. $200,000,000.00.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. It was freedom. It was power. It was everything.
"The only condition," Eleanor said, turning to look at her with ice-blue eyes, "is that you disappear. You leave Casper. You leave New York. You never speak the name Stuart again."
Dosha picked up the pen. The weight of it felt good in her hand.
