The subway train's brakes shrieked, and it ground to a halt at a station on the west side of Manhattan's Chelsea neighborhood. Nina, a piece of paper clutched in her hand, exited the train. She had been released from Roosevelt Hospital a week prior, after a stay that ultimately lasted two weeks, and, unfortunately, involved a consultation with the staff psychiatrist. Her would was healing well; she had been fastidious about cleaning and bandaging it, not that she'd had much say in the matter. Her mother had spent the week since her discharge hovering over her virtually around the clock. Under Erica Sayers' watchful eyes she had carefully cleaned and dressed the wound several times per day and slept for nearly sixteen hours out of twenty-four, only leaving her bed to use the washroom and to shower. The little time that she had spent awake was spent carefully counting out and sorting medications, of which there were now several. She was on a six-week course of a broad-spectrum antibiotic to ward off Tetanus as well as any number of other possible pathogens, codeine for the pain, and, courtesy of the psychiatrist, a high dose of antidepressants, a mood stabilizer, and a benzodiazepine to control for anxiety. Adding insult to injury, she would be required to attend therapy sessions twice a week as a condition set by the psychiatrist for her discharge, as well as by Thomas Leroy as a condition of her continued employment within the company.
"Nina," he had said, "I can't have someone on my stage who could be a danger to herself and the other dancers," He'd said when her first reaction had been a flat-out refusal. And so, reluctantly, she had agreed. Her first appointment was scheduled for later in the week.
All of this was carefully presided over by Erica Sayers.
Nina had lived with her mother's constant infantilizing all of her life; she didn't quite know why she had suddenly begun to chafe under it now. But then again, she'd been chafing for months, hadn't she? Ever since she'd been cast, really. But she had a sneaking suspicion that her mother's subtle and not-so-subtle attempts to control and manipulate her had been at least partially responsible for her rather spectacular breakdown, and she'd be on the stage again in just over five months. She'd made a commitment to the company to be ready, as well as to herself to grab some control of her life.
And she knew the perfect place to start.
So Nina Sayers exited the subway tunnel and glanced down at the slip of paper in her hands, following the broad streets and avenues of Chelsea to the address she had taken over the phone and carefully transcribed. A slim woman with a messy shock of bleached blonde hair, flashing black eyes, and dressed in a crisp black business suit and matching pumps was there to meet her.
"You must be Nina!" She greeted her. "You're Thomas Leroy's friend, right?" She held out her hand for Nina to shake.
"Not exactly," Nina said, a shy smile playing across her lips. She took the proffered hand. "He's my director; I'm a dancer in his company." In fact, when Nina had mentioned to Thomas a few days prior that she was interested in real estate, he had referred her to the woman who'd sold him his own apartment.
"Well, he spoke very highly of you," the woman said warmly, and Nina began to feel a little more at ease in the woman's presence. "I'm Vivian Schneider. Shall we go up and take a look at the apartment?"
They passed the building's super and rode an elevator to the eleventh floor of the building, where Vivian Schneider let them into apartment 1123 C. She led Nina through its' rooms, enthusiastically delivering a sales pitch, which Nina, truthfully, barely heard. The apartment was spacious by Manhattan's standards, with open, airy rooms and large windows that offered an eye-catching view of the Hudson River. Unlike the dark, claustrophobic apartment on the Upper West Side that she currently shared with her mother, the walls were a pristine white, the floors made of cheerful honey colored wood. It had an extra bedroom, which Nina really didn't need, but she decided, if she installed floor to celing mirrors and a barre, could be converted into a perfect home dance studio.
She hoped the downstairs neighbors wouldn't mind.
Chelsea was a little farther from Lincoln Center than her current home, but, Nina decided, that probably wouldn't be too much of a problem. It might add an extra half-hour to commute, but the prospect of being out from under her mother's thumb was well worth the extra effort. And her financial situation had improved. Her new spot as the company's principle dancer had come with a significant increase in her salary, and she received a larger portion of the receipts on top of her regular salary than she had as a member of the corps. She still wasn't back at work; she had taken a six-week leave of absence in order to give her body the time it needed to heal. But, she was expected to return in another three weeks, and her regular income would start flowing again. She surveyed the apartment one more time. It was a little pricey, but she could afford it if she lived frugally for a while.
Nina hadn't mentioned the fact that she was considering moving out to her mother; she was sure the news would be met with a less-than-enthusiastic, if not downright hostile response. In spite of her controlling nature, Nina loved Erica, and the last thing she wanted to do was to further damage their already fractured relationship. And truthfully, Nina was a little unsure of whether or not she was quite ready to live on her own. But she was still the Swan Queen. She was going to be dancing the part again in twenty two weeks, and she was certain that she couldn't handle the relentless pressure that came with the territory of living under her mother's roof. Thomas, she was sure, would continue to be demanding and diminutive, and that was more than enough pressure. The role had almost destroyed her once; she didn't think she'd survive a second time.
And that made her decision easy.
Nina smiled softly to herself. "It's perfect," she said.