I spent the whole evening wondering whether Tara would pass by. One minute, I sat around, feeling bad about myself for not agreeing to help her sooner. The next, I changed my mind and felt stupid for going back on my decision. Why take a risk just to make Tara happy?

It was a little past 9 p.m. when the doorbell finally buzzed. Despite her tiredness, Tara found the nervous energy to fidget nonstop with the hem of her jacket. Like a lot of my clients, she was eager to get her problem fixed, but she was apprehensive about the price to pay for it. A bit like needing open-heart surgery to save your life and having second thoughts at the idea of someone playing around with your organs.

“Are you really going to help me?” she muttered.

“I’ll do my best. Let me explain first what this entails.”

I paced around to get my thoughts in order while she settled on the sofa. I used to have a speech ready for this situation. “To establish a contract, we must agree on four things: the goal, the deadline, the price, and the penalty. First, what do you want me to help you with?”

She started answering before I finished my question. “I want to become a principal dancer with the MBT.”

I repressed a gurgle of despair. “Sure, and what is the deadline?”

“One year from today.”

I gulped. Her stare became icy. You know, some clients are thrilled that I even consider their demand. Tara acted as though she did me a favor by accepting my help.

“Let me warn you right away that the greater the powers I will have to use to fulfill your demand, the higher the price and the penalty. In other words, the more unrealistic the goal, the higher the price.”

Her reserves about this whole deal returned. “Are you going to ask for my soul?”

I didn’t mean my chuckle to sound evil. It’s just that the innocence of her question caught me off guard. People know so little about the work of freelancers. “Don’t worry. I won’t ask for your soul unless I’m willing to lose mine. Besides, it’s illegal.”

She seemed reassured. I kept going with my explanations, “While the price is something you give me in case of success, the penalty is something I lose in case of failure. The two have to be proportional and I don’t want to risk too much. Therefore, I must refuse to fulfill your goal with this deadline. It’s much too risky for me.”

She threw me a skeptical glare. “Are you sure you’re not a scam?”

“It won’t benefit anyone if your goal is too unrealistic. Don’t you have something more modest?”

The idea of compromising seemed physically painful to her. “Okay, then I just want to get a principal role. Something like Aurora in Sleeping Beauty, or Giselle.”

“And the deadline?”

“Still one year.”

I tried to swallow my remarks. She was obviously trying her best. “Sure. Let’s see. How about a tier C package? Minimal penalty on my side, minimal price to pay for the client, acceptable chances of success.”

I went to the calculator on my phone and entered a few numbers. “Based on the information I have, you have two percent chances of succeeding on your own. If I add in my services at the level I’m offering, your chances climb to 60 percent.”

I turned the screen toward her so she could see for herself. Off course, that didn’t explain anything at all, but I liked to do this to create a sense of trust between myself and the client.

She seemed taken aback. “Two percent without your help…”

I felt bad once again for being blunt. That two percent probably hit her like a confirmation that she was statistically untalented. “Don’t take it personal. It’s a harsh environment.”

“They’re still only 60 percent with your help.”

“If you push back your deadline by even a year, they might become higher.”

She pondered the suggestion for a good second and a half. “No, one year remains the deadline.”

There was nothing obviously wrong with Tara. She was talented, she put in the work, she was pretty. Yet, there were some people who possessed that extra something that made their performance fascinating for the audience. From what I had seen of her, I couldn’t say whether she could ever have that “extra something.” As someone who used to have it and lost it, it was hard for me to say what it really was and whether I could help her gain it. No matter the time and efforts I put on her, it might end up being a waste of time.

Tara, however, had no doubt about it. “I know every principal role possible, but the director won’t even let me understudy any of them. I just need one opportunity to prove myself.”

I used to see stubborn clients as challenges. They were nothing but a pain in the neck now. “Sure. What do you offer as a price?”

“What do you want?”

I observed her carefully. What could I ask for? I knew nothing of her. Was there anything she owned I might like? Not all prices had to be material possessions. With influential clients, I could ask for a few connections. If someone was educated, I could take their knowledge of a subject.

“From a tier C client, I won’t take anything too extravagant. I like your hair color.”

She recoiled. “You want my hair?”

“Just the color.”

Tara had rich golden-brown hair. Mine was darker, a bit duller. Not a bad thing in itself, but I wouldn’t mind a change. I thought I might look good with hers.

“What’s going to happen to my hair after?”

“It’ll turn white. You can dye it if you don’t like it.”

She slowly recovered from the shock. “S…sure, if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want anything from her. A price was required, that was all. I continued, “As for the penalty…”

I looked around me. I checked my pockets and got an idea. “See that mole…” I lifted my shirt a little and turned around so she could see the mole in the middle of my back. “I’ll give this one up.”

Tara squinted. “Is this serious? I’m giving you my hair color. Is that tiny thing equivalent?”

“When I connect the moles on my back, it makes a kitty face with a bow tie. It’ll ruin the whole pattern if I lose it.”

That kitty face pattern was actually something I had received from a previous client.

I gave Tara five seconds to object. She remained silent, so I summarized, “I’m offering you 60 percent chances of success. If you get a principal role within the next year, you give me your hair color. If I fail, I lose my mole. Simple?”

“I guess. Where do I sign?”

Right, the contract. I went over to my desk by the couch. A bunch of bills and other useless stuff were scattered on top. I opened the drawers and I finally found what I was looking for. I took a blank sheet from a pile and placed it in front of Tara on the low table.

She looked up at me with a questioning look. I smiled and went back to the desk to grab a pen. I tested a few before I found one that still worked.

“That’s a joke?” Tara asked. I interpreted it as a rhetorical question. I gave her the pen and indicated where she needed to sign. “Read this carefully and then sign here.”

She looked at the paper again and gasped. A text had appeared on the blank page, outlining the terms of the contract. I didn’t need to do it like this, but it tended to shut up the most skeptical clients.

Tara signed and I did the same. Then, I took the contract and made a copy appear out of nowhere. I handed her one of the two sheets. “Here’s your copy.”

She touched it, then the other. Something told me she was checking that both were real and identical copies, with the same signatures at the bottom. I smiled at her reaction. Why would I try to fool her?

She finally picked her copy. “So…that’s it?”

“Yes.”

As she left, I couldn’t keep a twinge of excitement from creeping up in my chest. To be honest, maybe I kind of missed it. The challenge.