Chapter Text
The black SUV idled outside Lincoln Center, engine humming against the October chill. Cate pressed her palm against the tinted window, watching students in leotards and leg warmers hurry past like they were late for something important.
"Remind me why we couldn't just use body doubles for the wide shots?" Rihanna stretched her legs across the leather seat. "I'm just standing there looking pretty anyway."
"Because Gary wants authenticity." Sarah's hands moved while she talked, sketching shapes in the air. "The camera's gonna be, like, right up on our faces during the dialogue. We need to actually look like we know what we're doing, not like we're faking it."
"Easy for you to say." Sandra scrolled through her phone, thumb moving in quick flicks. "You and I have to carry the actual dancing while Cate keeps our mark distracted. That's choreography and performance and pickpocketing all at once."
Cate watched a group of teenagers practice lifts through the Lincoln Center windows. One girl got tossed in the air, spun twice, landed like it was nothing. "It's ambitious, but we've done harder things."
"At least you don't have to make it look effortless while stealing shit." Sandra's laugh was short. "Try waltzing while you're palming a security card without the guy noticing."
"Y'all can stress about the technical stuff." Rihanna adjusted her sunglasses. "I'll take my thirty seconds of background elegance and call it a day."
Sarah flipped down the visor mirror, checking her lipstick like she was about to go on camera. "So what are we thinking about this Beaumont woman? Like, young hotshot who's gonna make us feel ancient? Old battle-axe who's been teaching since dance was invented?"
"Please let her be under sixty," Sandra muttered. "I can't handle another Madame Volkov situation."
"That woman made me do arabesques until I literally cried," Rihanna said. "For a fucking car commercial."
"I'm betting mid-fifties. Serious. Probably French or Russian. Definitely intimidating."
"Why definitely intimidating?" Cate asked.
Sarah grinned. "Because the good ones always are."
The driver caught Cate's eye in the rearview as they pulled into the circular drive. Lincoln Center rose in front of them, all limestone and glass, windows reflecting gray October sky. Cate had worked in places like this before, but never as someone who needed to prove herself in three weeks.
"Right." Sarah grabbed her bag as the car stopped. "Everyone ready to charm the pants off our dance instructor?"
"Speak for yourself," Sandra said, but she was smiling. "Some of us have actual work to do."
They were fifteen minutes late.
Traffic had been a nightmare, and Sarah had insisted on stopping for coffee despite Sandra's increasingly pointed comments about punctuality and professional courtesy. Now, walking through the marble lobby with its cathedral ceilings and wall-to-wall photographs of dancers who looked like they were born in pointe shoes, Cate felt their tardiness sitting heavy in her chest.
A young woman with posture so straight it looked architectural approached them. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun that could cut glass. "You're here for the private ballroom instruction?"
"That's us." Sandra extended her hand. "Sorry we're running behind."
"Madame Beaumont is waiting in Studio C." The woman's smile looked like it had been stretched on a rack. "She had to move her regular four-thirty student to accommodate the schedule change."
The way she said 'accommodate' made Cate's stomach twist. She'd never gotten comfortable with how celebrity status reshaped other people's days like water around stones, disrupting routines that mattered to them.
They followed her through corridors lined with practice rooms. Through each window, Cate saw dancers at different stages of training. In one room, teenagers worked through lifts that looked impossible. Their instructor called corrections in rapid French that cut through the air sharp as knives.
"Madame Beaumont usually works with our advanced students," their guide explained, "but she also takes select private clients. She's worked with several film productions—mostly period pieces that need authentic ballroom technique for close-up work."
"What made her agree to work with us?" Cate asked, though she was pretty sure she knew.
"The studio fee was quite generous, and she understands the specific needs of film production."
Sarah bumped Cate's shoulder. "See? Hollywood money talks, even in temples of high art." Then, to their guide: "Is she single?"
The woman's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "Perhaps you can ask Madame Beaumont yourself."
They reached a door marked with a brass nameplate: Studio C - E. Beaumont, Private Instruction. Their guide knocked twice, waited for a response in French, then opened the door.
"She'll be with you momentarily."
The studio was smaller than Cate had expected but perfectly proportioned—a jewelry box of polished wood and light. Mirrors covered two walls, ballet barres running along them like musical staffs. Late afternoon light streamed through tall windows, casting geometric shadows across the floor that gleamed like honey. A sound system sat in one corner, surrounded by neat stacks of sheet music and several pairs of shoes—character shoes with small heels, ballet slippers, ballroom shoes with suede soles.
"Damn." Rihanna dropped her bag and headed straight for the mirrors. "This place means business."
Sandra wandered to the windows, looking down at the courtyard where students scattered across benches—some stretching, others hunched over textbooks. Her face shifted into the same expression she got when she was studying a particularly challenging script.
"It's very... serious, isn't it?" Sarah was already moving around the space, testing the floor's bounce with little hops.
Cate stood near the center, taking in details. How the afternoon light created patterns on the floor. The faint smell of rosin and wood polish. The almost church-like quiet that demanded reverence.
Voices in the hallway drew their attention—rapid French in two different tones, one apologetic, the other reassuring. An adjoining office door opened, and a woman emerged, laughing at something being said behind her. Clearly a dancer—long limbs, posture that would make a military officer weep with envy—but she was only wearing a black sports bra as she pulled a gray sweater over her head.
"Merci beaucoup, Elizabeth," she called back toward the office, accent American despite the French. "Same time next week?"
"Bien sûr, Marie-Claire," came the reply, voice warm but distant somehow. "Practice ze transitions we worked on today."
Marie-Claire noticed them and grinned, completely unbothered by her half-dressed state. "Sorry, didn't know you had company." She finished pulling on her sweater, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door. "Hope you survive whatever she has planned," she added with a wink before disappearing.
Sarah turned to the others, eyebrows climbing. "Well, she doesn't sound sixty."
The office door opened wider.
Elizabeth Beaumont stepped into the studio.
The reaction was immediate.
Cate's breath caught in her throat. Sarah straightened like a hunting dog spotting a bird. Sandra blinked twice, then forced herself to look at sheet music like it was suddenly fascinating. Rihanna stopped checking herself out in the mirror entirely, but her response was different—curious rather than captivated, like someone watching an interesting show.
Elizabeth was not what any of them had expected.
She was tall—five-eight, maybe nine—with posture that made her seem to take up more space than should be physically possible. Her hair was deep auburn, the color of autumn leaves right before they fall, catching the light as it moved in loose waves to her shoulders. When she turned to close the office door, Cate saw her profile—sharp cheekbones, straight nose, lips that curved slightly even when she wasn't smiling.
But it was when Elizabeth faced them fully that Cate understood why the room's energy had just shifted completely. Her eyes were green—not muddy hazel pretending to be green, but actual green like spring grass after rain. Freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks, more visible in the direct sunlight, tiny bronze constellations like someone had flicked gold paint across pale skin.
She wore a simple black dress that moved when she moved, fitted through the waist and flowing to just below her knees. Her feet were in low-heeled character shoes—black leather with small straps that clicked softly against the wood floor. Everything looked carefully chosen without seeming calculated.
"Good afternoon," she said, and her accent transformed the greeting into something like music played on a cello. "I am Elizabeth Beaumont. You are ze actresses from ze new film, yes?"
Her eyes swept across them, taking each one in with the attention Cate imagined she gave when evaluating new students. Nothing flirtatious, nothing suggesting she was impressed by celebrity status, but Cate noticed Sarah immediately shift her weight, angling her body closer.
"Yes, that's us." Sandra stepped forward. "I'm Sandra, this is Sarah, Rihanna, and Cate. We're sorry we're running late—traffic was heavier than expected."
Elizabeth nodded once, a small movement that acknowledged both apology and disruption. "Yes, I 'ad to move my four-thirty lesson to tomorrow morning." Her tone was perfectly polite, but Cate caught something underneath—not anger exactly, but gentle disappointment that made her stomach clench.
"We really are sorry about that." Cate heard herself speaking. "We know your time is valuable."
Elizabeth's attention shifted to her, those green eyes meeting hers directly. "Time, yes. But also ze rhythm of ze day, you understand? Dance requires a certain... flow. When zis flow is interrupted..." She made a small gesture with elegant fingers, indicating something scattered, disrupted, like leaves blown by sudden wind.
Cate nodded. She'd felt that same disruption on set when scenes needed reshooting, when carefully built emotional momentum broke and had to be reconstructed from pieces.
"But," Elizabeth continued, her voice softening, "we work with what we 'ave, yes? Zis is also part of working in film."
Sarah stepped forward. "Well, we're completely at your mercy, Elizabeth. Just tell us what you need."
Elizabeth's smile was small, unreadable. "What I need," she said, moving toward the center of the room, her character shoes clicking softly, "ees for you to forget you are famous actresses and remember zat you are students."
Cate watched Sarah's confident smile falter slightly, saw Sandra's eyebrows rise. Rihanna let out a small snort.
"Can you do zis? Can you put aside your... 'ow do you say... your personas, and simply be women learning to dance?"
"Absolutely," Sandra said quickly, hands smoothing down her clothes.
"Good." Elizabeth moved to her collection of shoes near the sound system. She bent to slip off her character shoes and replace them with ballroom dance shoes—black leather with suede soles. "First, I must understand what you already know, and what ze dance will ask of you. Sarah, you 'ave some partner work, yes? Sandra, you 'ave ze technical sequence with ze misdirection. Rihanna, you are mostly background presence. And Cate..." She straightened, now moving with the silent glide of dance shoes. "You 'ave ze extended solo sequence with dialogue."
"That's right," Cate confirmed, feeling nerves spike at hearing it laid out so clearly.
"Three minutes of continuous dancing while maintaining conversation." Elizabeth tilted her head, studying Cate. "Zis ees... ambitious. Ze dance, eet will demand much from you."
"I've done some dance work before. Ballet for Benjamin Button, some partnering for Carol. I'm not starting from zero."
"Ah." Something knowing entered Elizabeth's tone. "But ballroom ees different, non? Eet requires... 'ow shall I say... a different kind of conversation."
"Is it doable?" Sandra asked. "The timeline?"
Elizabeth was quiet, her eyes moving between Sandra and Cate with careful assessment. "Many things are possible." She paused. "'Ave any of you studied ballroom dancing before?"
Sandra raised her hand hesitantly. "I took lessons for a film about fifteen years ago. Basic waltz, foxtrot."
"And ze rest of you?"
A chorus of nos and head shakes.
"D'accord." Elizabeth selected a CD with care. "We 'ave three weeks. Zis means Sandra and Cate, you will need intensive daily sessions. Sarah, you can work with zem when your sequences overlap. Rihanna..." She glanced over with a small smile. "You 'ave ze easier assignment, but even background presence must be... authentic."
"Thank God," Rihanna muttered, and Elizabeth's smile widened.
"For today, we start with basics for everyone. But understand—Cate and Sandra, what you need to accomplish ees considerably more complex than what most actors attempt in three weeks."
She slid the CD into the player. Piano music began to fill the room—Chopin, something melancholy and flowing. "First exercise. Find a space on ze floor and close your eyes."
Cate positioned herself near the windows, hyper-aware of where everyone else chose to stand. Sarah claimed a spot directly in front of the mirrors. Sandra moved where she could see both Elizabeth and the door. Rihanna found a place near the ballet barre.
"Eyes closed," Elizabeth repeated, her voice taking on a different quality. "Now, feel your feet on ze floor. Feel ze weight of your body, 'ow eet wants to shift and settle. Don't fight zis—ballroom ees about working with ze body's natural inclinations, not against zem."
Cate closed her eyes and immediately felt more aware of everything. Warmth of afternoon sun through the windows against her left cheek. Slight vibration of music through the floor traveling up through her feet. The presence of the other women even though she couldn't see them.
"Good. Now, imagine zat ze floor beneath your feet ees not solid but liquid—water, perhaps, or something even more fluid. You must find your balance not by being rigid, but by being responsive to ze movement beneath you."
Elizabeth's voice moved around the room as she spoke, and Cate found herself tracking the sound, trying to determine her location without opening her eyes. The suede soles made almost no sound against the wood.
"Now, shift your weight from one foot to ze other. Lentement. Feel 'ow your whole body must adjust to maintain balance. Zis ees ze beginning of all partner dancing—zis conversation between intention and response."
Cate shifted weight to her left foot and immediately felt what Elizabeth meant. Her right hip adjusted, shoulders shifted almost imperceptibly, even her breathing changed to accommodate the new position.
"Open your eyes," Elizabeth said, and Cate blinked against the brightness.
Elizabeth had positioned herself where she could see all of them, and Cate noticed her expression had shifted from polite professionalism to something more engaged, more watchful. She observed them like a conductor watched an orchestra, head angled slightly, eyes moving from person to person.
"Sarah, you are fighting ze music. Ze rhythm wants to take you somewhere, but you resist. Why ees zis?"
Cate watched Sarah's face as she processed this feedback, saw the moment when she stopped trying to control her movement and let rhythm guide her instead. The change was subtle but immediate—shoulders dropping, breathing deepening.
"Better. Sandra, your mind works very 'ard, non? But ze body 'as its own intelligence. Perhaps you could... 'ow do you say... let zem speak to each other."
Sandra's jaw tightened slightly, but she nodded.
"Rihanna, you understand ze music naturally. Zis ees a gift, but even gifts must be... cultivated."
Rihanna grinned. "Years of music videos. You learn to feel the beat or you look like an idiot."
When Elizabeth's attention turned to Cate, those green eyes met hers with the same watchful assessment, but Cate sensed something deeper—a more intense scrutiny.
"Cate, you 'old yourself very carefully. Very controlled. But even basic dance requires a certain... surrender. Can you find zis?"
The question felt loaded with more meaning than it should, and Cate felt her cheeks warm. She nodded.
"Try again. Zis time, dance as if no one ees watching. As if you are... entirely alone with ze movement."
The lesson continued with fundamental exercises—learning to walk together, match rhythm, maintain basic frame while moving. Elizabeth demonstrated each element with fluid grace, arms flowing from position to position, feet landing soundlessly despite the suede soles, spine holding a line that never wavered.
When she needed to show complex footwork, she paused to slip back into her character shoes, the small heels clicking as she demonstrated turns and direction changes before switching back to silent dance shoes.
She was clearly used to working with actors on tight schedules. Her corrections were clear and specific, never impatient, though Cate caught those moments when her expression suggested she was calculating something beyond what was immediately visible.
Cate noticed Sarah watching Elizabeth's every movement like she was memorizing a script. When Elizabeth demonstrated a simple turn, Sarah's eyes tracked the motion of her arms, placement of her feet, even how her hair moved with the rotation.
Sandra had stopped her usual multitasking entirely and stood with unusual stillness. Every time Elizabeth spoke to her directly, Sandra's posture became more attentive.
Even Rihanna, despite her easier role, seemed drawn into the instruction. She watched Elizabeth with the appreciative gaze of someone who recognized skill and artistry.
"In ze film," Elizabeth said as they worked on maintaining frame while moving across the floor, "you will need to appear as comfortable partners, even while delivering dialogue. Zis means ze basic frame must be so natural zat you can focus entirely on ze story you are telling through ze movement."
"How realistic is that timeline?" Sandra asked, slightly breathless from the concentration required to maintain posture while moving. "Especially for the more complex sequences?"
Elizabeth considered this carefully, and Cate didn't miss the slight pause before her response, the way her eyes moved between Sandra and Cate like she was weighing something. "Time ees... relative, non? Some people learn in weeks what others take years to understand. Ze question ees not time—ze question ees willingness."
It wasn't exactly reassuring, and Cate felt her stomach tighten. Sandra caught her eye with a look both sympathetic and grimly determined.
"For now," Elizabeth continued, changing back to her character shoes for final demonstrations, "we focus on ze foundation. Tomorrow, we begin learning ze actual choreography for your scenes. But today, you must understand 'ow to listen to each other through ze dance."
She paired them for basic partner work—Sarah with Sandra, leaving Cate with Rihanna, who approached the exercise with good humor and natural rhythm.
"Don't think about eet," Elizabeth instructed as they began walking together in basic ballroom frame. "Let ze music decide 'ow fast, 'ow slow. Trust zat your partner will follow ze subtle signals you give."
Cate tried to lead Rihanna through basic steps, but she was hyper-aware of Elizabeth moving around the room, observing each pair, offering corrections in that accent that made even criticism sound like poetry. When Elizabeth paused behind them, Cate felt her attention like physical weight.
"You are afraid to take ze space you need," Elizabeth said quietly, close enough that Cate could catch her perfume—bergamot and white flowers with something clean underneath, like fresh cotton dried in sunlight. "Ze leader must be confident in ze direction, or ze follower cannot trust. But zis fear... where does eet come from?"
"I don't want to force her into anything she's not ready for," Cate replied, then immediately realized how that sounded.
Elizabeth's smile suggested she'd caught the double meaning. "Ah, but zis ees ze paradox, non? You must be strong enough to guide, but sensitive enough to feel when your partner needs something different. Eet ees not about force—eet ees about... clarity of intention."
She moved behind Cate, placing one hand on her back just below her shoulder blade, the other lightly on her arm. The contact was instructional, but Cate found her breath catching at the certainty in Elizabeth's touch. Elizabeth's palm was warm against her back, fingers steady and sure.
"Like zis. Feel ze difference? Ze strength without ze tension."
With Elizabeth's hands guiding her posture, the steps felt entirely different—more connected, more purposeful. Cate could sense exactly how much pressure to apply, how to communicate direction through subtle shifts in frame.
"Yes," Cate managed.
"Good. Now try ze movement again."
Elizabeth stepped back, and Cate immediately felt the loss of that guidance—her back cooler where those hands had been. But the understanding remained, and she found herself moving with more confidence and clarity.
"Much better. You see? Ze body knows what to do when ze mind stops... interfering."
Across the room, Sarah was attempting a turn with Sandra, stumbling slightly and laughing. "Oh my God, this is like, way harder than it looks. I feel like I have two left feet and they're both broken."
Sandra kept glancing toward Elizabeth even when she was supposed to focus on Sarah. "You're overthinking it. Just let her lead."
"I'm trying! But like, my brain keeps going, 'Don't step on her, don't step on her,' and then guess what I do?"
The lesson continued for another hour, Elizabeth gradually building their understanding of basic connection, timing, and the subtle communication that made simple partner dancing possible. By the end, they were all visibly tired but visibly improved.
"Zat ees enough for today," Elizabeth announced, moving to turn off the music. "Tomorrow, we begin learning ze actual choreography. Sandra and Cate, you will need to arrive an hour early for additional work on your complex sequences. Sarah, you join us for ze partnering work. Rihanna, you may come for ze full session or just ze final hour—your background work ees straightforward. And please arrive on time—we 'ave much work to do and very little time to do eet."
The reminder about punctuality stung, and Cate caught quick glances exchanged around the room. They had disappointed her today, not dramatically but enough to matter, and none of them wanted to compound that mistake.
"Same time tomorrow?" Sarah asked, gathering her things and somehow managing to position herself closer to Elizabeth in the process.
"One o'clock for Sandra and Cate, two o'clock for everyone else," Elizabeth confirmed. "And please wear appropriate shoes—something you can move in safely. We will be working on actual choreography, not just exercises."
She was clearly winding down from teaching mode, her posture relaxing slightly as she moved around the studio, straightening things that didn't need straightening. Cate found herself lingering near the windows, not quite ready to leave.
The others were filtering toward the door, chatting about dinner plans and tomorrow's call times, but Cate watched Elizabeth select tomorrow's music, noticed the care with which she handled each CD.
"Cate?" Sandra called from the doorway. "You coming?"
"Just a second," Cate replied, then found herself walking toward Elizabeth, who was now organizing sheet music with focused attention.
"Thank you," Cate said when she was close enough that the others wouldn't overhear. "For adjusting your schedule for us today, even though we made that more complicated than it needed to be."
Elizabeth looked up from her music, and for the first time since they'd met, her professional demeanor softened slightly. "Eet ees... 'ow do you say... an occupational 'azard, working with film productions."
"That doesn't make it okay. You moved your regular student for us."
"Yes," Elizabeth agreed simply, "I did." She paused, considering. "But perhaps zis too was meant to 'appen, non? Sometimes ze disruption ees part of ze pattern we cannot yet see."
There was something in her directness that Cate found both refreshing and slightly intimidating. No deflection, no polite minimization—just acknowledgment that their lateness had had consequences, wrapped in something that sounded almost like philosophy.
"We'll be on time tomorrow," Cate promised.
Elizabeth's smile was small but genuine. "We will see."
"You don't believe me?"
"I believe zat you mean what you say. But I also know zat meaning and doing are not always ze same thing, especially in your industry."
It was fair, and Cate nodded, accepting the gentle skepticism. "Then I guess we'll have to prove ourselves."
"I suppose you will."
Cate started to turn away, then stopped. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why did you agree to work with us? I mean, you must have students who could use more long-term attention."
Elizabeth considered the question, fingers still straightening sheet music, moving each page into perfect alignment like someone who noticed details. "Because even commercial dance can be art, if eet is done with enough commitment and 'onesty. And because..." she paused, seeming to weigh her words, "film work pays well enough zat I can afford to take on students who cannot pay ze full rate."
"That's generous."
"Oui. But also, I was curious to see if actresses could learn to forget ze camera and simply be present with ze movement."
"And? What's your initial assessment?"
Elizabeth's green eyes met hers directly. "I think some of you will surprise yourselves. Others..." she shrugged elegantly, "we will 'ave to see."
"Which category am I in?"
The question surprised Cate as much as it seemed to surprise Elizabeth. She hadn't intended to ask something so personal, so direct.
"You?" Elizabeth angled her head slightly, studying Cate with renewed attention. "I think you are someone who is very good at appearing to be in control, but who might discover zat dancing requires a different kind of strength than ze kind you are used to using."
It wasn't exactly an answer, but it was more honest than Cate had expected, and somehow more intriguing than a simple compliment would have been.
"I guess we'll find out."
"Yes," Elizabeth agreed, her accent making the simple words sound like a promise. "I believe we will."