We know her well from her years of friendship with Aunt Rachel and Uncle Jaxson, but that was before everyone found out what she did to our cousin, Emma.
Cora got ousted.
Big time.
I greet her with a, “Ms. Williamson?” more question than welcome.
“Your hair!”
“Oh uh…”
She touches my wild curls, and if we weren’t outside our church and I didn’t have better manners, I’d probably punch her. “Haven’t seen your hair like this since before you hit puberty.”
Sam and I lock eyes.
Our parents taught us to be respectful even when removing ourselves from unwanted manicured clutches like the ones poking around my untamed ‘do.
But it’s awfully hard for me.
And I usually don’t succeed.
Knowing me well, Samantha answers as if she’s me, “Thank you, Ms. Williamson. Were you at church today?”
Cora sees my scrunched lips, and turns to my sister. “Yes, I’ve just begun to attend.”
I mutter, “Bout time.”
Cora blinks to me, “Excuse me, Lexi?”
Zoe starts whistling, and pops the entire fourth donut hole in her mouth, eyes attempting innocence but instead looking more like Beeker from the Muppets.
Samantha’s perfected skill is lying to cover my ass. Or my big mouth. “It’s about time we were heading home, Lexi was saying. We were just saying to each other that we’re starving and these are so good but not good for us.”
Zoe pops the final donut hole in without having swallowed the other yet, eyes more huge.
Cora stares at her, then scans our faces, eyes sharpening. “It was good seeing you girls. Been a while.”
Zoe looks at me, chewing dramatically. Poor thing is terrified I’m going to be mean right here at church, our sanctuary.
I’d never do that.
She’s being silly.
Samantha says, “Bye Cora, have a nice evening.”
“It’s not even noon.”
“Afternoon then.”
Peach pumps and matching power-suit exit and we turn to each other, triangle reformed.
“Oh Lexi!”
My head turns in slow motion. “Hmm?”
Cora waves at my hair. “I liked it better straight.”
Conversations suspend as members of the congregation glance between us, curious.
“Don’t do it,” Zoe begs me with her mouth not yet empty, “Please don’t!” chewing fast.
Sam warns, “Careful Lexi!”
I listen to them long enough to ignore them. “Cora, I liked your hair better when it was absent from my sight.”
Her eyes narrow and she hisses, “You Cockers! Every single one of you!”
No need for the woman to elucidate her meaning — hatred and jealousy transparent to anyone watching. Especially us. We know her story well, and it’s just plain sad.
So I turn away from her.
Sammy closes her eyes and sighs.
Zoe shouts, “Don’t try to talk to us then if you can’t be an honest, nice person with good intentions!!!”
Sam and I stare at her — Zo has never yelled at anyone before!
The rarity even flusters made-of-iron Cora Williamson who spins in a lost circle before hastily rushing away from the highly interested post-Mass crowd.
Samantha whispers, “Wow Zoe, that was amazing.”
I give her a huge hug, and find her shaking. “You okay?”
“She just made me so mad!”
I embrace her tighter, whispering in her ear, “You did good, Zo, you did good!”
“I yelled outside of church!”
I pull back and hold her eyes. “You stood up for our whole family.”
She nods, tears hovering.
I take her right hand and Sammy takes her left, squeezing it with a proud, “Let’s go home.”
Over my shoulder I call back, “Show’s over! But we’ll be here next week! Tip your waitstaff!” and earn a lot more laughter than I'd expected.
I doubt Cora will be back here.
Remembering my conversation with Gage, I smile to myself, yep, do what makes you feel good. Not a bad philosophy.
My smile fades though at the memory of my one-night stand. No phone numbers exchanged. No promises to see each other. Just one solitary amazing night.
Does that make me feel good?
Chapter Ten
LEXI
K ept company by the calming scent of lavender, sandalwood and eucalyptus, I’m deep in the quarter financials of Om This yoga studios, owned by my cousin’s wife, Paige Cocker — one super laid-back boss.
Gabriel’s merely a silent partner who helped her expand with the awareness that she’d be paying it back — and she has — since he knows nothing about running anything except his legs away from fans screaming his name.
I’m listening to one of his songs right now on my hits-playlist via earbuds. Can’t interrupt the Yin Stretch class taking place in one of Paige’s warmly-lit rooms of bamboo flooring.
It’s not just for them that I’m listening to this.
There’s music playing on the other side of that wall to my right so relaxing I fall asleep whenever I hear it.
Snoozing is not at all conducive to number crunching and problem solving so I can ensure we rise out of the red and remain in the black. I’m here to support Paige’s dream, even though it’s not my own, because I believe in her.
I haven’t found my dream yet. It might be just to support others. Who knows? I’m perfectly happy where I am, surrounded by boxes of candles, a stack of new and colorful rubber mats ready to supplement the ones we have ready for newcomers who don’t know to bring them.
A yoga studio isn’t always the most profitable enterprise. You’re relying on people overcoming their own innate resistance to bettering themselves and that’s a bitch of a struggle. They’ve gotta squeeze into workout clothes, climb in their car, and get over here.
After every single class we hear the same announcements: “I’m so glad I came,” “I feel so much better,” and “God, I needed that!”
It’s the getting here that’s the problem.
Paige has read a lot of personal development books on her spiritual quest to help the world — or at least all of Atlanta — and she says it’s part of the human condition, having to make a choice. That’s what free will really is: choosing.
“Unfortunately, the dark side is very seductive,” she’d sighed.
I made a joke about Star Wars and she laughed, but it was tainted by her battle with everyone’s darkness. Paige’s personal mission is spread through the classes and community of Om This.
Om is the word chanted to achieve nothingness, peace, Zen, and it’s called Om This as a play on words, like Fuck This, only its opposite which is caring and changing in order to achieve the ultimate dream — happiness.
My thing isn’t that I have a problem getting here. I love coming to work. She’s an awesome boss. I’m always treated with respect. We laugh a lot together. We weren’t born blood, but she’s family by marriage and more than that, since we spend so much time together, Paige has become my friend.
Gabriel chose a great one.
We all think so.
Ben sure did.
I also don’t fit in with normal work environments, probably from being raised by parents in the shiny music industry where authority isn’t part of its make-up. Bosses are artists with eccentric ways who don’t just think outside the box, they don’t know there ever was one!
Even though I’m not into yoga, personally, being in this ultra-feminine space feels good and that’s my driving force in all decisions.
There are men who come here but, for the most part, they’re super chill. They get down with their evolved selves.
We have a no meat-market policy — flagrant hitting on members of either sex — which frankly we’ve never had to enforce since I’ve been here.
Any meathead who’d come to
leer at women in spandex stretched into crazy sexy positions like Downward Facing Dog and Happy Baby Pose, don’t come back a second time once they realize the price they have to pay. Their hard-earned muscles aren’t flexible, the music is peaceful rather than badass, and sweating just from holding a stretched pose longer than their bodies want them to makes their dicks shrink.
The men who do return multiple times usually want to stretch not only their bodies but the impact this spiritual practice has on their cluttered minds. They’re not thrill seekers.
Like I am.
Yep, I’m not into yoga.
I’m into dance.
I didn’t go pro like Samantha did. Because I didn’t like the competitive nature and it wasn’t in my blood to go far in that field, I left classes long ago.
I don’t do it to perform for other people. I do it alone, in the morning. And if I’m alone at night, then, too. I’ll shove earbuds into my excited ears and dance in my room with nobody knowing I’m doing it.
Total abandon.
Feels awesome. Working up a sweat. That sweet heat in my veins. Catching my breath. Smile coming up from my soul.
Sure, going to bed with newly showered hair makes straightening it in the morning difficult but, so what?
It’s worth the high!
And if I don’t wanna wrestle my curls come sunrise, I simply take another short shower to rinse off and start from scratch, water hot on my skin and…
Oh no.
I’m thinking about Gage again.
Why can’t I get that guy out of my head?!! He was just some dude I dragged off his barstool and had my way with and…he’s a mechanic.
Paige walks in with a takeout cup of tea that’s, if I had to wager a guess, dandelion, since she grimaced and said she was sick of decaffeinated green tea phase last week. There are predictable phases I’ve come to know, and it’s dandelion’s time to return in circulation.
In a lavender maxi-sundress, she pushes stylish sunglasses up to hold back her warm brown hair, matching eyes crinkled in a smile. “Good morning!”
I yank one of my earbuds free, greet her with a friendly, “Why the fuck isn’t there coffee in your other hand?”
“I thought I was going back home, but Gabriel’s gone for that show in Vegas. I wanted to be around people. I miss my classes.”
She’d been out with a nasty cold so I ask, “How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” she shrugs. “Tired but good. Definitely not contagious anymore.” Lifting a small stack of mail I left on her desk’s corner by the pitcher-sized smiling Buddha statue, she says a distracted, “Sorry about not bringing you coffee.”
“I’m trying to cut down anyway. One is fine. I don’t need three. But they’re so delicious!” I tap on the screen, “I have some good news,” and quickly pull my finger back because she hates oil on her computer. “We’re in the black this quarter.”
The shuffling freezes and she blinks at me. “Really?”
“We had an increase of 12.3% over last quarter.”
“Seriously??!”
“I have to say, I’m taking full credit.”
She bursts out laughing — from excitement. What I said wasn’t that funny, but it gave the news flight. Guiltily shutting her mouth, Paige’s long eyelashes dart in the direction of a class who should not be disturbed.
We listen for a second and can’t tell if they heard her.
Hurrying around the desk, Paige plants one palm down for balance as she leans in to have a look, gold bracelet shining, unopened envelopes lightly gripped in her diamond-laden left hand.
I watch her reading the numbers, growing smile making me happy to have such great news to give.
It’s a fear of hers to ever have to rely on Gabriel. Early on, I tentatively had conversations with her about it — he’s a multi-millionaire and all that.
“I don’t care about that though. I’ve got to make my own money. I need something independent of what he’s doing to feel secure.”
Paige came into their relationship with a history of addiction and abandonment in her family that made her feel survival was a monster breathing down her neck to do more, be strong, never falter.
Never rely on anyone.
Trust is hard.
The idea of leaning on anyone is impossible, even abhorrent to her, especially on fame she didn’t earn.
I cross my legs on the chair’s pleather to smile, “See? That marketing we did worked. If you want to help people, but they don’t know that you’re here or the things you can give them, you’re both losing out.” Rolling my eyes I mutter, “And then what happens? Some chick with shitty classes who doesn’t care about them at all is the only one they find because she advertises and you don’t. Not cool.”
Paige sighs, “Like my old boss,” straightening up. “I’m so glad she’s gone. She hated yoga. Her starting this place was bizarre. It was like you owning it.”
“Right!” I throw up my hand. “Perfect example!”
Absently sifting through the mail, she’s not seeing it, my news too good to be forgotten. After a moment, Paige sets the stack down for later by an Om This cup that houses pens and pencils, quietly confessing, “The only thing I’ve ever wanted was to reach more people so I could help them feel good.”
“Because that looks like it could be coffee,” I point at her tea, “I want some. I am seriously obsessed. But about you wanting to help people? You helped me.”
Her eyebrows hike. “Oh?”
I let a dramatic pause fill the air because she knows all too well that I don’t take Om This classes.
How has she helped me exactly hovers in the air between us and I let her breathe that in until the breaking point where she becomes exasperated. “I finally felt what The Now is.”
Paige sits on the desk. “I’m listening!”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbow on crossed legs, my other hand on the desk. “It was really interesting actually. I was with someone, and we got to a place where we were completely focused on each other in that moment. I was focused on him and he was the same with me and it made everything else outside of us disappear, but between us became crystal clear, yet without thought.”
Paige tilts her head, amused. “You’re talking about sex, Lexi.”
Covering my laugh so we don’t interrupt the class, I insist, “No, it wasn’t the sex! It was the moments in between! The feeling was palpable, like everything of the mind disappeared. Any insecurities, gone. Any thoughts about what was even happening, gone! I was just there with him. Really there! In my own skin, present, yet not of this world, if that makes any sense.”
A grin spreads as recognition lights her eyes. “That’s what we’re doing in my classes, Lex, that’s the goal. And it’s always driven me crazy that you’re not into it, but at least you got there somehow!”
“I know, I know!”
“So, are you and Brad finally in a better place?”
My smile falters. “It wasn’t Brad.”
Her eyes light up. “You have a new guy?”
“No, I don’t. I just uh…” turning back to the computer, I plug my earbud back in, “…don’t have his number. He doesn’t have mine. It was just a one night thing.”
I hear her dress brush against the desk as she stands up, causing me to look over. Picking up her tea, Paige reflects back to me, “You had a one-night stand with a guy who made you feel what it’s like to be out of your head and completely in your own skin?” Cocking an eyebrow at me, she reaches for the door knob, tea brought to her lips as she opens it. “Maybe make it a two-night stand? Or I don’t know…ten?”
The office door clicks shut.
I stare at it.
And frown.
Chapter Eleven
GAGE
Strolling into The Local, I scan the bar for an empty seat, finding only one, the same barstool she pulled me off of.
Hesitating momentarily, I walk over, calling to my friend, the bartender, “Hey Ralphie.”
He juts his chin, “Gage!” while pouring a Sweetwater draft as I take a seat and dust crumbs from the wooden bar weathered with carved initials and stains preserved by layers of verathane.
The rugged vibe draws exactly what the name claims — locals. Nobody comes here to show off. It’s where you relax and that’s it. And I need that right now. Been a rough week.
Here you could put your feet up anywhere and nobody would tell you to stop. Unless you put them on somebody else’s back, I guess.
I know the menu by heart, but I lift an abandoned one from where it lays near the guy on my left. He’s got his back to me, facing his date and glass only a quarter full. Menu’s probably been there an hour or more.
I thumb it open just for something to look at, keep my mind busy to avoid the reason I’m here. I’m kicking myself because all I want to do is scan the place for a redhead I didn’t get the number of, hoping I’d run into her and have an excuse to get permission to call.
I know where she lives.
Not the exact apartment.
But it wouldn’t look good if I trekked through four buildings in search of one door. It did occur to me, though.
Didn’t act on it. I’ve got more self-control than that. I’ve just got no other way to get ahold of Cherry and it’s been driving me nuts.
Ralphie strolls up. “I’ve gotta bring my Mustang in again, Gage.”
I set the menu down and meet his eyes. “What’s wrong with it?”
“AC went out.”
“Easy fix. Expensive though.”
Ralphie laughs, “Everything’s expensive when you restore an old car.” He swipes up a dirty coaster to my right and frisbee’s it into the trash bin. “But do we care?”
I smirk, “Nope.”
“No, we do not. I would rather sink money into her than a real girl.” He dips down, sliding open the half-fridge to pull out my favorite beer: Monday Night Brewing’s “The Tears of My Enemies.”
I almost, almost, turn around to survey the place, but force myself to focus on that beer.
Nice and frosty.
His fingers leave a mark.
Top popped and tossed.
Lexi Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 25) Page 6
