From a drawer beneath the desk, Maggie pulled a short stack of laminated placards, which had been written in old English script. "We have our gold, silver, and bronze instruction programs. First, the gold. This would be the program you'd want if you want to become a competition dancer and dance coach." The words had been stenciled across the placard with neat precision. "We have 100 hours of instruction, 100 hours of group lessons, and three years of dance parties. How does that sound?"
Linda shrugged. "It sounds wonderful. What's a dance party?"
Maggie and Ron glanced at each other and grinned conspiratorially. "We have them every Friday night," she said. "All of the students from the school are invited and we play three hour's worth of foxtrot, swing, cha-cha, tango, and rumba music. You get to socialize with the other students, practice your dancing, and enjoy a classy night out all at the same time."
"That sounds great," Linda said, envisioning the dance studio filled with students swirling past each other, schooled in the latest steps. "What does it cost?"
A flicker of anxiety fluttered across Maggie's otherwise confident features.
"I'm glad you asked," she said. "It shows me that you know a good thing when you see it. We're prepared to offer you a substantial discount if you'll enroll today, tremendous savings."
"How much is it?" Linda prodded, knowing in advance that she would be shocked by the answer.
Maggie reached into the stack for another placard and Linda looked at the bottom.
There was a dollar sign with four figures after it: $4,220.
"Four grand?" Linda exclaimed, letting her mouth drop open. "That's almost as much as a car! How can you possibly charge four grand? Are you crazy?"
At that point Ron leaned in. "I've got to get to my next lesson. I'll see you next time, sweetheart." He quickly kissed the top of her head.
"Yes it is almost as much as a car," Maggie said, nodding confidently. "But it's better. Nobody can ever take it away from you. You don't have to wax it, or insure it. You can enjoy it anywhere."
Linda continued to look at the dollar figure at the bottom. She suddenly remembered something even more outrageous. "And this is with a discount! What, in God's name, is the regular price?"
"Over seven thousand," Maggie replied, quickly.
"Seven grand?" Linda did some quick math in her head. "That's seventy dollars an hour! You're charging seventy dollars an hour, for dance lessons?"