Much was in disrepair—broken panes of glass, holes in the plaster—but none of it seemed impossible to fix.
The Realtor said, “The old tenant had a kitchen just outside. And there’re bathrooms somewhere around here, too.”
I nodded. “What used to be here?”
“Lion’s Den. Some kind of club.” The Realtor made a face.
“Before that,” I specified. “What was the original purpose?”
The Realtor turned on her slate. “Um, let me see. It was a library, maybe? You know, paper books, something like that.” She wrinkled her nose as she said “paper books.” “So, what do you think?”
I wasn’t necessarily a believer in signs but the lion statues outside made me think of Leo, and paper books of Imogen, of course. I knew this was the place for me, but I wanted to get a good deal so I kept my face blank. “I’m going to sleep on it,” I said.
“Don’t wait too long. Someone might snap it up,” the Realtor warned.
“I doubt that,” Charles Delacroix said. “You can’t give these old ruins away. I used to be in government, you know.”
Charles Delacroix and I walked out into the sticky New York June.
“So?” he said.
“I like it,” I said.
“The location is good, and it has some kind of historical significance, for what that’s worth. But the main thing is the gesture of it—if you take a space, it becomes real to people, more than just an idea. I doubt you’ll have much competition for the lease.”
“I’m going to speak to Mr. Kipling,” I said. Mr. Kipling was managing my finances until August 12, when I turned eighteen. As yet, I had not felt any need to run my business plans past him.
Upon returning home, I slate-messaged Mr. Kipling that I needed to talk to him at his office. I had not seen him since Simon Green’s return.
When I arrived at his office, he greeted me warmly, and then he embraced me. “How are you? I was about to call. Look what came yesterday.”
He passed an envelope across the desk. It was my GED. I must have used my business address. “I didn’t know it would be paper,” I said.
“Important things still are,” Mr. Kipling said. “Congratulations, my dear!”
I took the envelope and slipped it into my pocket.
“Perhaps we could talk about your post-graduation plans?” Mr. Kipling cautiously suggested.
I told him that that had been exactly why I had come and then I described the business I planned to open and the space I wanted to rent in Midtown. “I’ll need you to arrange two payments for me. The first is a retainer for the business lawyer I’ve hired”—I purposely didn’t mention who the business lawyer was—“and the second as a deposit on the space I’d like to rent.”
Mr. Kipling listened carefully and then he said exactly what I’d feared he would say: “I’m not sure about any of this, Anya.” Although I didn’t ask him to, he began listing his objections: mainly that the idea could potentially anger the semya and that a business of any type was a financially risky venture. “A restaurant is a money pit, Anya.”
I told him it was a club, not a restaurant.
“Can you really say you know what you’re getting into?” he asked.
“Can anyone?” I paused. “You honestly don’t think this is a good idea?”
“Possibly. I don’t know. What I think is a really good idea is you going to college.”
I shook my head. “Mr. Kipling, you once told me that I would never escape chocolate so there was no point in hating it. That’s what I’m trying to do. I believe in this idea.”
Mr. Kipling didn’t say anything. Instead, he ran his fingers through his imaginary hair. “I may not be your lawyer anymore, but I am still the keeper of the trust, Anya.”
“In two months, I’ll be eighteen and I won’t need to ask your permission,” I reminded him.
Mr. Kipling looked at me. “Then I think you should wait two months. That’ll give you more time for research.”
I informed him that I had already drawn up a detailed business plan.
“Still, if it’s such a good idea, it’ll be good two months from now, too.”
Two months. I didn’t have two months. Who knew what the situation at Balanchine Chocolate would be two months from now? Who knew where I’d be? Now was the time. In my heart, I knew it.
“I could take you to court,” I said.
Mr. Kipling shook his head. “That would be foolish. You’d eat up money in legal fees, and it wouldn’t be settled by August anyway. If I were you, I’d wait.”
Mr. Kipling put his hand on my arm. I shook him off.
“I’m only doing this out of love,” he said.
“Love? That’s why you killed Nana, too, right?”
I left Mr. Kipling’s office, feeling despondent but also determined. I tried to come up with someone who could lend me the money I needed for the deposit on the lease. It was only five thousand dollars to hold on to the room, and I didn’t want to lose the space. I couldn’t think of anyone, or at least not anyone to whom I wished my brand-new business to be indebted. I thought of whether I had anything worth selling, but nothing was worth much in those days.
I was on the verge of despair when Mr. Kipling called me. “Anya, I know we’ve had our struggles this year, but I’ve thought about it. I’ll draft you the payments if that’s something you really want. You’re right when you say it’ll be your money in two months anyway. In the meantime, though, I want you to sign up for some extension school classes in business or law or restaurant management or medicine. That’s the price of me drafting these payments or any others.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kipling.” I gave him the name of the Realtor and the amount.
“You mentioned a business lawyer? Does this person have a name?”
“Charles Delacroix. I suppose you don’t need me to spell it.”
“Anya Pavlova Balanchine, have you lost your mind? You have to be kidding!”
I told him that I had thought about it, and for a variety of reasons, Charles Delacroix was the person who best met my needs.
“Well, it’s a very bold choice,” he said after a bit. “Certainly unexpected. Your father would probably approve. You’ll need to open a corporate account.”
“Mr. Delacroix said the same thing.”
“Of course, I’m glad to help you with that or anything else you need, Annie.”
On my way to the nightclub formerly known as the Lion’s Den, the place where I was meant to meet Charles Delacroix to sign the lease, I walked past St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I decided to go in to say a quick prayer.
It wasn’t that I was having doubts exactly. But I knew that once I signed that paper, everything would start to become real. I guess I thought it would be a good idea to ask for a blessing for my new venture.
I knelt down at the altar and bowed my head. I thanked God for the return of Leo and for keeping Natty safe. I thanked God that my legal problems were behind me. I thanked God for the time I’d spent in Mexico. I thanked God for my father, who had taught me so many things in the short time we had known each other. And I thanked God for my mother and Nana, too. I thanked God for Win because he had loved me even when I was pretty sure I was unlovable. I thanked God that I was Anya Balanchine and not some other girl. Because I, Anya, was made of pretty sturdy stuff, and God had never given me more than I could bear. And then, I thanked God for that, too.