The Yoga Club

by Cooper Lawrence

  Coco didn’t get the chance to respond, but she knew he was right. Well, about the poaching anyway. Her product did what it said, so he was wrong about that part. She hadn’t intentionally poached and she didn’t mean to make an enemy, but the damage was done. Over the years she and Blanks had appeared together on panels about health, fitness, and weight loss, and even though he was cordial, Coco knew that his gaze was filled with disdain for her product and thus, by association, for her.

  As if he had just read her mind, Rory turned to her and smiled. “Oh, by the way, Billy Blanks isn’t here. He’s in Vegas this week.”

  “Who?” Coco acted cool, like it hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  Rory looked at her with a wry smirk. He knew her too well, she feared.

  “Our booth is this way. I think you’ll love it,” he said reassuringly.

  Boy was he right. They got to the booth, and there was a cardboard cutout of Coco and a giant picture of her face next to the logo for Butt-B-Gone. In even larger letters was a banner that read “Now Introducing Bags-B-Gone.” She was the star of the booth. Take that, Jordan what’s-yer-face, she thought. Damn, too bad Blanks wasn’t here to see this.

  As Detective Casey sat in his office that evening, he was energized to finally do some real police work. Olivia’s envelope could yield fascinating clues, he felt, but if he were being honest with himself, he was mostly excited about the prospect of helping this quirky little damsel in distress. He didn’t exactly understand what had caused her to start blurting odd noises and bolt out of the café, but he had a pretty good idea that she had a mild problem that slightly resembled Tourette’s—he’d had to study neurological maladies a bit at Quantico, of course. The abrupt departure he could only attribute to her absolute mortification. She was cute, and somehow the outburst endeared her to him even more. He felt like she was someone who needed to be cared for, and he thought he might be the right person for the job; maybe he was a little too blue-collar for this community, but it seemed as though she liked him. And, yeah, she was cute. Really cute, especially considering she’d just had a baby. He liked a woman who cared about her body. So, if working on her house issue would get him a little closer to her, and help her at the same time, then it was all good.

  The call to his buddy Gary had put him right back in business. All of this Patriot Act legislation had given the feds a silent back door into just about anyone’s network. He wasn’t a computer security expert, but he knew enough, and he had a trusted colleague in the Justice Department who knew that Casey would never abuse his privilege…. unless it was in pursuit of a real case.

  With the software and the codes needed to gain access to computer files on the police station network, Casey would be able to read through his boss’s files. Files that were proprietary, but absolutely necessary to see if he were going to investigate the chief of police. He suspected that Bruno was corrupted and in deep. And he suspected the chief had something to do with the forged documents that had so distressed Olivia. Up until now, Casey didn’t have any hard evidence; he just knew that something about Bruno simply wasn’t kosher.

  In the meantime, Detective Casey dusted Olivia’s envelope for fingerprints, but there were so many it would take him a while to decipher whose were whose. Ah, the perfect ruse to call Olivia. He could tell her he needed her fingerprints in order to rule her out, and he figured she was not in the federal database, unless she’d been arrested as a teen, which he truly doubted. He called but got her voice mail. The message he left was as businesslike as he could muster, since he didn’t want to presume anything, especially after she’d run out of the café. He asked her to come down to the station to answer a few more questions. He hoped that would take care of it.

  Back at the trade show, Coco was being shown off like a prize pig. Between Butt-B-Gone selling its five millionth unit and the product being accepted into Walmart stores across the country, Coco was Rory’s hottest commodity, and he wanted to boast. They had almost two hours until the launch announcement of her new creation, so Rory took advantage of the time by parading Coco past all of his colleagues, detractors, anyone who had rejected them in the past, and anyone who didn’t pick up Butt-B-Gone for their stores.

  As they went by the CVS/Pharmacy sales team, he bragged, “She’s my little workhorse, wait till you see the new invention!” The folks at HSN were told, “Butt-B-Gone sold its five millionth unit this week. Have you met my cash cow?” When he ran into the fellas from Costco, who were surprised to see him back at a trade show, he said, “Make sure to come by the booth, gentlemen. The chickens have come home to roost.”

  That was it. Coco couldn’t take any more.

  “Hey, farm boy, what’s with all the animal analogies?” she asked.

  “What? I’m proud of you,” he said, surprised by her tone.

  “Horse, cow, chickens—what are you, Old MacDonald all of a sudden? E-i-yi-yi.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll try to stop using animal analogies,” he said. At that moment he saw the reps from Dillard’s, who originally, albeit reluctantly, had put some of Coco’s cream at a few of their makeup and skin counters. They congratulated Rory on the big news.

  “They’re selling like hotcakes, huh? Bet you’ll want the whole enchilada now! Stop by the booth today, we’ll get into the meat of it,” Rory said, as he escorted Coco by the small of the back.

  “Really?” she said, rolling her eyes.

  “What? You said no more animals.”

  “Oh, for god’s sake. I’m going to take a look around, I’ll see you back at the booth in a few,” Coco said, disappearing into the crowd before Rory could even respond.

  Coco liked to look at the other products being introduced; it inspired her before a presentation. She especially loved the ones that were not in her category and bordered on ridiculous. She got a kick out of seeing pancake batter in a single-serve can, or the fishbowl toilet tank. She knew that this year wouldn’t disappoint. Amid the bacon-flavored envelopes and pens that doubled as toothpicks, there was an LED doormat, which could be programmed to say anything from “Welcome” to “Go away!” There were costumes for your cat designed to look like characters from The Lion King, and a dieting mask that could only be described as looking like Hannibal Lecter teamed up with Jaws from 007. It came in fashion colors too, so one could wear it on a night out with the girls if she so desired. There were shoes with adjustable heel heights and bras with adjustable cups, to look bigger or smaller as the need warranted. She stopped to watch a demonstration of an automatic bed maker that had a giant toilet paper—like roll with disposable sheets. This one looked promising, she thought. She hated making the bed.

  Just then, an arm grabbed her out of nowhere, causing her to start. She was even more surprised to see that it was Lois Thomson, Rory’s wife.

  “Well, hello, darling! Isn’t this place just precious? All of these inventions are so lovely and so clever, aren’t they?”

  What the heck was she doing here?

  Lois continued. “I came down for another event, and I ran into a very important person who’s going to come to your presentation. It’s a surprise, a lovely surprise. Oh, you will be just thrilled!” She beamed.

  “Thank you for coming to support us, Lois. It means a great deal,” Coco said, cringing. A guest? What? How dare Rory allow this?

  “Oh, of course, darling girl. Oh, and by the way, did you see those kitten Mona Lisa paintings, and the kitten Whistler’s Mother? Aren’t they wonderful? Just precious!” Lois was simply unbearable. How could kitsch be so easily lost on someone? Coco wondered.

  “Yes, they are, Lois. Fabulous. Okay, well, I’ll meet you back at the booth in a bit, all right?” Coco needed a few more minutes to Zen out. Why hadn’t she worked harder in yoga this morning?

  “Oh, of course, darling. Toodles!” Lois sang as she traipsed down the aisle.

  Crap. Who the heck was Lois Thomson’s surprise guest? This did not sound good at all.

  When Olivia drove up
to the police station, Detective Casey was waiting outside. Jeez, he didn’t even give a girl a second to collect herself. She was going to have to face him right when she got out of the car. She was anxious after what had transpired at the coffeehouse and would have liked a minute to breathe and gather her thoughts before seeing him.

  “Hi, Rob,” she said, emerging from her car, overstuffed bag in tow, as usual. Years of therapy for her echolalia had helped her to manage these “morning after” situations. Still, she’d called her therapist to go over how to deal with this particular case. Olivia’s rather long mantra was that this was part of who she was, and, if someone was not going to accept all of her right from the start, it was good to know that up front.

  While getting ready to leave the house, she’d discussed the matter with Simon, which was perfect since it was like a rehearsal, and it made Simon coo and laugh to hear his mama talking to him like he was an adult. She presumed he too thought she was just some silly lady.

  “So Mommy had another one of her verbal volcanoes, my little boy,” she had said to Simon as she changed him. On cue, he burst out in giggles. When she didn’t reply in kind, he adopted a more serious look, almost a scowl.

  “But she did it in front of a very nice man, a man you would just love!” Well, she certainly hoped so; that was the fantasy she’d already concocted. “So Mommy’s going to go and face this man. He’s seen the worst Mommy has to offer, so he should be happy to get this out of the way. If he still likes us, then he’s right for us, right? If not, then we didn’t want him in our lives in the first place, right? Right, my little pumpkin?” She tickled Simon’s bare, pink belly, and he screamed in laughter. He approved of this approach. Okay, she was safe to go.

  Detective Casey helped her open the door and awkwardly held out his hand for a shake while she sort of leaned in for a cheek kiss. Both, realizing their miscues, switched. He went for the cheek kiss, and she held out her hand. Both laughed nervously before she went right for it:

  “I have echolalia.” The subtext was “Deal with it!”

  “Oh, you mean the tiny little guitar they play in Hawaii?”

  “Huh? No. I think that’s a ukulele.” She was now completely thrown off her game.

  “Oh, okay. So, echolalia then.”

  God! He was so matter-of-fact about all of this. Maybe this was a good sign. There didn’t seem to be any judgment in his tone.

  “Yes. In case you don’t know,” she began, “it’s a sort of tic that I have where I have to repeat unusual sounds I hear. Like at the coffeehouse when the barista said ‘latte’ the way she did, I had to repeat it. Does that make sense?” she asked.

  “Is that why you ran out?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, I wondered what was going on. Okay, good to know. So, you want to go grab a bite to eat, and we can talk more about those papers?”

  Olivia didn’t know what kind of response she was expecting, but this certainly wasn’t it. Did he not care because it wasn’t a big deal, or because he didn’t care about her and who she was? That’s why it sucks being a girl. Girls think like that. Olivia was no exception.

  “Wait. That’s it? Don’t you want to know more about my thing?” she asked.

  He gave her a bit of a sideways glance and a knowing smile, turning her comment into a double entendre. Finally, an indication he might be attracted to her!

  “Stop it,” she said coyly while gently touching his arm. “I’m serious.”

  “Sure,” he said, “tell me more about your ‘thing.’” He smiled and chuckled.

  “No, forget it. You’re not interested,” she flirted.

  “No, that’s not true, I’m interested. I just didn’t want to pry. C’mon,” he said as he touched her arm back, but higher up, by her elbow.

  “I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal. Most people don’t see past it. I guess there isn’t much more to tell. It was worse when I was a kid. I walked around the house all day saying, ‘They’re GRRRREAT!’ and my father thought I was just a really annoying child.” She laughed, a bit self-consciously. “But when I was twelve and in counseling because of my parents’ troubles, I was diagnosed. They put me on a medication that doesn’t always work, but it usually does.”

  “Why does it still happen then, if you are on medication?”

  “Usually it happens if I’ve had too much to drink, or when I’m particularly stressed out. That’s pretty much it.”

  Olivia had been waiting for the face—the one that men got when they learned she had this weird affliction. The one that was a combination of pity and “um, yeah, I won’t be sleeping with you, thanks,” but it didn’t come. Boy, that was easy, she thought. She then realized that a cop’s probably seen it all, and that there wasn’t much that would surprise him about the human condition. Wow, this could be better than expected, she thought.

  “You didn’t seem drunk at Everyman, so I’m guessing all of this stuff with your mother is stressing you out. I don’t want to talk here at the station since yours is kind of like a side project I’m doing,” he told her. He looked over his shoulder, slyly pulled a small electronic device out of his pocket that slightly resembled her iPhone, and poked at it a couple of times. “Do me a favor and put your fingertips on this thing.” She did. “Great, now the other hand.” She did as he asked.

  “What’s this all about?” she said.

  “I needed your fingerprints so I can eliminate yours from the ones I’ve taken off the envelope. Don’t worry, they won’t go into any kind of database. This is just for my use right now.”

  “Okay.”

  “So let’s have dinner tonight, so we’ll have more time to talk, okay? I’ll come pick you up at eight thirty. And I wouldn’t mind seeing this much coveted house I’ve been reading about.” He chuckled.

  “That sounds great,” Olivia said. She allowed her gaze to linger, trying to read his face. Did he just ask her out? She didn’t know which expression to have since she wasn’t quite sure what had happened

  “I want to help you. And I really think I can help you,” he assured her.

  He sounded confident. No, he was confident. She realized he also thought she was adorable, echolalia and all. He’d passed the test. Oh, god, he’d passed the test! She wanted to call her therapist immediately.

  Coco was in the ladies’ room fixing her hair just before her presentation, which basically entailed staring blankly at herself in the mirror making sure she didn’t look like a five-year-old girl. It was possible she knew less about hair than she did about makeup. As she walked back to the booth, she could see Rory’s snow-topped head above the crowd. He was both very tall and prematurely gray, so it was easy to spot him amid the multitudes. She drew closer and saw Lois Thomson talking to a man in a suit, whom she didn’t recognize from behind. Lois spotted Coco approaching.

  “Oh, don’t you look marvelous!” Lois exclaimed.

  Well, at least she didn’t say “precious,” Coco thought.

  “Here is your surprise guest! Mayor Quilty was in town for a GOP fund-raiser, which is where I found him. So I dragged him along to show off some of Greenwich’s finest. Isn’t that lovely?” Lois was so proud of herself and so clueless.

  “Ms. Guthrie, the Thomsons told me of your good fortune. You do Greenwich proud. It sounds like you have a big future in front of you if you keep doing what you’re supposed to,” the mayor said.

  WTF? The son of a bitch! Boy did he have a pair. Figuratively only, from what she could recall of his ridiculous outfit.

  Coco’s experience as a top-notch saleswoman jumped right in to save her neck. “Mayor Quilty! What an honor! I’m so flattered to have you here. It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she said loudly enough to be heard over the thudding sound in her chest.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize the two of you had never met,” Rory said.

  “No, I haven’t had the pleasure until now,” the mayor said charmingly.

  Just then Lois took the mayor by
the arm. “I have one more quick introduction to make before the presentation, Your Honor. You absolutely must meet John O’Hurley, he’s just darling. He’s the emcee for tonight’s event. Come along,” she sang.

  Rory pulled Coco aside. “I thought you met the mayor at the Halloween party.”

  “Nope. He wasn’t there when I was, as far as I know.”

  “Ah, right, he had to leave early, so you probably missed him. He had a pipe break in his house that night. It flooded the entire living room. Poor bastard. Those old Greenwich houses, eh?” Rory said.

  “Yep, the upkeep can be murder.” Coco laughed to herself. The presence of the mayor was disconcerting and was about to make the rest of her weekend and that night’s awards ceremony tenuous at best. Coco knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it alone, so in desperation she ducked behind the booth to call CJ. After his disastrous visit to Malcolm’s office, he’d surely be needing some camaraderie, and so was she. She begged him to get his butt down to Philly, even offered to pay for his train ticket, though he would have to share her room since the convention had the town booked up. None of this was remotely enticing to a wealthy, fashion-forward producer of the Rachael Ray show, yet CJ, her savior, was on the next train.

  A few hours later Coco was back at her hotel, in the lobby awaiting CJ’s arrival. He phoned from the taxi to say that he was just blocks away and rather nervous that they were going to be in the same town—nay, at the same event—as the mayor. Why was he in Philly anyway?

  CJ wafted in like he was on the red carpet trying to avoid the paparazzi. He was the type of gay man who always made an entrance, no matter where he went.

  “Don’t panic, but if I act a little weird it’s because I may have taken my Prozac twice tonight. I’m gonna be eighty milligrams of fun,” he declared.

  “God, I’m just so glad you’re here! There’s no way I can face that jerk-off by myself tonight. Rory and Lois think he hung the moon.”

  “Did you say ‘hung the moon’ or ‘hung like the moon’?”