Tales from the Yoga Studio

by Rain Mitchell

  “Do you really think I give a shit about Frank and Janet? Just start the car, Alan. Start the car and drive me home.”

  “Fortunately, she has enough social skills to pretend you hadn’t said anything.”

  “Fortunately, she’s so pathologically self-absorbed, she wouldn’t have noticed if I’d pushed you through one of those windows, which is what I felt like doing.”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  “Start the car, Alan.”

  “I’m trying to find my keys.”

  “Try harder.”

  There are so many zippers and tiny Velcroed pockets on the pair of yoga pants Alan is wearing, he keeps losing track of where he’s already looked and where he hasn’t. What, Lee wonders, did the designer have in mind: a different pocket for each coin?

  “And you haven’t answered my original question,” she says.

  “I’m not going to honor that with a response, Lee.”

  “Oh, yes, you are. And you’re going to honor it right now.” For so many years, Lee has been practicing equanimity and calm, breathing into anger, releasing, relaxing, letting go. But she feels a completely unfamiliar rage churning inside her, almost as if she’s losing control of her thoughts and her actions. It’s a physical sensation as much as anything else, a tingling in her arms and legs and across her scalp. “In case you’ve forgotten, I asked: You’ve been fucking Barrett, haven’t you?”

  “I haven’t slept with her, Lee,” he says, pulling the keys out of a pouch below his knee. “And we’re not having an affair, either.”

  “Oh, my God,” Lee says. “Oh, my God! In other words, you’ve been having sex.” She punches at the button on the glove compartment, and when it doesn’t open, she fishes through her bag until she’s found her own keys. “She’s a kid, Alan! She’s a senior in college!” Lee opens the glove compartment and roots around until she’s located the pack of cigarettes she stashed there that night Alan moved out, months ago. She knew they’d come inin handy sometime. “And she’s our kids’ babysitter. That is so . . . fucking . . . tacky and clichéd.”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “I’m lighting a cigarette,” Lee says. “Isn’t it obvious?” The Marlboro is bobbing up and down in her mouth as she nervously tries to strike a match. “And once I have it lit, I’m going to smoke it. Right down to the goddamned filter.”

  “Are you out of your mind? What if Zhannette and Frank saw you?”

  “Do you really think I care about them? Do you really think I have any intention of working for them? They’re horrible. I mean, he’s a complete corporate pig, and she’s so clueless, I’m tempted to feel bad but am resisting the temptation. She just referred to us as dogs, Alan. Which is actually completely true in your case, but not for the reasons she thinks.”

  Alan puts the car into drive and slowly pulls away from the house, glancing up just to make sure no one spotted them. Lee rolls down her window and sticks her head out and shouts, “I’m smoking a cigarette down here, Janet! Want a puff?”

  “You’re out of your mind. You’re so full of hostility.”

  “And what do you call fucking the girl—girl, Alan—who works for us? For me?”

  “It only happened three or four times.”

  “Oh, well. Is that all? Only three or four times? Gee, I guess in that case it doesn’t count, does it? In that case, I can just forget it. In that case, I can let you move back in so we can be a happy little couple and go work for the animal trainers. Bow wow, baby. You should have told me sooner! If I’d known it was only three or four times, it wouldn’t have even bothered me, darling. I wouldn’t have cared! And I’m sure Barrett doesn’t care, either, does she? She doesn’t have any feelings, either, does she? I’m sure you didn’t tell her we were getting a divorce, did you? Just so you could get in her pants.”

  “I did not tell her that. If she got the idea somehow that—”

  “You’re despicable. You’re horrible. And do you know what’s almost the worst of it? Any idea, Alan? My mother knew you were a creep all along, and I didn’t. Blinded by love or stupidity or self-righteousness because I’m such a good and goddamned centered person. So now I not only have to reevaluate my entire opinion of you, I have to start thinking of her as someone with more insight and better judgment than me. And I hate that!”

  “We have a contract with YogaHappens, Lee. It’s signed. It’s a done deal. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Lee is getting a little out of breath and the smoke is starting to make her dizzy and a little nauseated. “I do, darling,” she says more softly. “I do, indeed.” Lee tosses the half-smoked cigarette out the window. If you’re going to be bad, you might as well litter, too. She shakes all the remaining cigarettes out of the pack. “It means I’m going to have to get a really, really good lawyer. And guess what? Stephanie, one of my most devoted students, just happens to know one. And while he’s breaking that little contract, I’m going to have him negotiate me one amazing freaking divorce.”

  She rubs her hands together until she’s got a fistful of tobacco and then she rubs it all over Alan’s face. “So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

  In most ways, Graciela is relieved that the shoot is over, even if it was, no question about it, the most fun she’s ever had in her life. Ever. And not only the most fun, but also the most challenging and the most rewarding. But at the same time, it was exhausting on a day-to-day basis in ways she’s never experienced before. It drained her physically, and pushed her emotionally, and there were times she thought she’d crack. She literally did start doing some of the routines in her sleep, thrashing in bed, flailing her arms and legs to a soundtrack that only she could hear. Many times, she woke up Daryl in the middle of the night. It amazed her how sweet and supportive he was about the whole thing, the entire time she was doing it, starting with rehearsals. Sometimes she’d see a little flash of anger or resentment in him, but the important thing is, he held it in check. Many days over the weeks she was doing the shoot, she’d come home and he’d have dinner prepared for her and a bottle of wine open. He’d give her a massage and serve her her meal. There was a moment, all those months ago now, when she thought she might have to leave. But suddenly, everything just fell into place.

  For a while.

  As she’s driving to Edendale for Lee’s class, the first one to celebrate the reopening of the studio, she tries to piece it all together. Yesterday she got a call saying that the editor of the video was in love with her work on the shoot and that everyone is talking about how good the video is turning out. Much better than anyone expected. Does she have any idea how amazing she looks in that silver corset? What her hair looks like when the lights and the wind machines hit it? “The next ‘Single Ladies’ ” is what they’re all saying about the video.

  She isn’t going to get her hopes up about that, but if it’s even one-tenth as good and one-fifth as popular, it will transform her career. And she knows, given the life expectancy of most dance careers, that she is going to have to drink it all in and enjoy it for what it’s worth.

  The choreographer who called yesterday went on and on about the video and then casually (casually!) told her they were contacting her agent to officially offer her a job as one of the dancers on Beyoncé’s upcoming tour. About ten minutes after she put down the phone, her agent called. The money, compared with what she’s been making, is incredible, and the exposure is more than she ever thought possible. Naturally all the dancers will be in the background, only there to support Beyoncé, but between this and the video, well, suddenly Graciela’s agent, who’s always treated her with lukewarm enthusiasm, the way you might treat a promising student, is sounding excited, talking about playing “hardball,” and calling her “honey.”

  “I don’t care about hardball,” Graciela said. “I just want to make sure I get a contract!”

  With a contract and a steady paycheck for the tour, she could take Daryl on a vacation, a real vacation
, something they’ve never done the whole time they’ve been together. Maybe Hawaii. And she could afford to hire someone to clean her mother’s house a couple of times a month. A way of helping her out that doesn’t involve putting her own mental health on the line. And then there are the blinds for their windows.

  She was the one who prepared a special dinner for Daryl last night—a complicated recipe her mother had taught her. She’d shopped and cooked all afternoon and had the apartment looking beautiful. She had flowers on the table. She told Daryl about the tour over dinner. The first thing he said was, “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t get all the details. But they said there would be breaks in between some of the dates. It’s not like I’d be gone for six months straight. Plus you can come with me some of the time.”

  “I guess you’re really at a different level now, aren’t you? Are you still going to love me? You still going to be mine?”

  “Always,” she said.

  Then he took her in his arms and carried her to bed. When he made love to her, it started off so tender and sweet, she thought Daryl had tears in his eyes at one point. “Are you still going to be mine?” he whispered in her ear again.

  “Yes,” she whispered back.

  “Are you?” he said again.

  “Yes,” she said, a little louder.

  But he kept asking, not as if he hadn’t heard her answer, but as if he didn’t believe it. As if she was lying to him and he’d caught her. There was something so intense and urgent in what he was doing that at first she found it incredibly exciting. He was taking possession of her, and it felt more passionate than they’d been in a long time. But as it went on, it became something else. It was as if desperation had come into their sex, as if he was punishing her for something she’d done, not making love to her. She’d tried to pretend she was enjoying it, pretend that everything was fine, even though she knew it wasn’t, even though he was hurting her.

  When it was over, he’d rolled onto his side of the bed and curled up in a ball and started to cry. “I’m sorry,” he’d said, over and over, until finally she was the one who’d ended up comforting him and apologizing to him, although she wasn’t sure she knew what she was apologizing for.

  She pulls up in front of Edendale and does her best to park. She’ll work through whatever bad feelings and doubts she has in yoga. It always helps her clear her mind. At some point, she’s going to have to confront a few facts about her relationship, make a few decisions, but for now, this is what she needs. A few sun salutations, ninety minutes of moving meditation. That will have to be enough for the moment.

  I mani is driving to Lee’s class when her cell phone rings. She listens calmly, says thank you, and hangs up. Her first instinct is to turn the car around and head back home. Glenn is in surgery most of the day, but sometimes she can get through to him if it’s an emergency. When she had the miscarriage, he did his best to make her believe that it was his loss, too, and that she had to let him carry some of the burden of what happened, that if she didn’t try to absorb the whole blow and all the blame herself, it would be easier for her to deal with it. She hadn’t been able to hear it at the time or even fully understand what he meant. She was the one who wasn’t able to carry her baby to term.

  But something has changed in the past three months, and now she knows what he means. She was so caught up in her own pain and despair, she forgot that it was his baby, too. She isn’t going to make that mistake again.

  She tries to find a place to turn, but the traffic is heavy, and she’s swept up in the flow of it, and there’s no way she can do anything but keep moving in the direction she’s headed. Maybe it’s for the best, she thinks, and settles back in. She’ll take the class anyway. Yoga has been her solace, and she can count on it to calm her down now. More than anything, she needs to calm down. And maybe, while she’s lying in savasana, she’ll think of exactly the best way to tell Glenn. In class, she’ll find the right words and she’ll practice the way she’s going to say them. But as she’s driving, she starts going over her lines:

  I don’t want to jump the gun . . .

  I don’t want to make us both crazy . . .

  I want to be realistic about the chances . . .

  She pulls up at Edendale and it really is her lucky day—a parking space directly in front!

  I have something to tell you, Glenn, and I don’t want you to . . .

  She reaches into the backseat and grabs her yoga mat. Fuck it, she thinks. She knows exactly what’s going to happen. As soon as she sees Glenn she’s going to start screaming, “It’s what we thought! We’re going to have a baby!”

  The bad thing about spending so much time with Sybille is that Stephanie has started getting used to the perks. (The good thing is everything else.) The car and driver, for example. What could be more wasteful, unnecessary, decadent, and spoiled? And what could be better? Stephanie was shocked when Sybille agreed to attend Lee’s class, but Sybille explained that she’s in L.A. to have fun and since she’s starting to get bored with her private Pilates instructor, she might as well try something new. She didn’t even object when Stephanie explained that she was bringing her elderly neighbor to the class. “I owe her a favor,” Stephanie explained. “Something she did for me when I was at . . . a low point.”

  “We all have those,” Sybille said. “Even I’ve had my dark nights of the soul. Bring her along.”

  “Her daughter is becoming a friend, too,” Stephanie says. Not exactly true, but she’d like to think it could be.

  So she drives up to the “cottage” in Los Feliz, and then Sybille, Stephanie, and Billie pile into the back of the town car. Sybille has a look of nonchalant horrified fascination as she listens to Billie.

  “They made me leave the other yoga place I was going to because I was too good. Did Stephanie tell you? All the teachers were threatened by me.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “It happens all over the place. What the hell? I figure since this place is out on the fringes anyway, I wouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. I’ll bet you’re good, too. Look at those long, skinny legs.”

  “Thank you,” Sybille says. “They could use a little better tone, I suppose.”

  “You don’t want to get muscle-bound, sister.”

  “I was referring to my self-tanner.”

  “People always ask me if I’ve had work done,” Billie says. “A compliment, isn’t it? I’m not saying I wouldn’t have work done, it’s just that I wouldn’t let them touch me until I turn fifty. And I don’t have to face that anytime soon. We nearby? I need to do some meditating.”

  When Billie starts snoring, Stephanie tells Sybille that Lee is eternally grateful to her for referring the lawyers. She doesn’t mention anything directly about the fact that Sybille picked up the tab for breaking the contract with YogaHappens. It’s up to Lee to do that, if she wants to, and Sybille has an unexpected streak of modesty Stephanie has noticed from time to time.

  “It was incredibly generous of you. I’m still not sure why you agreed to get involved.”

  “Number one, I’m very fond of you. You’ve completely underestimated your talent and skills and appeal, and that is so much more endearing than overestimating, it made me want to help out your friend, since it obviously meant so much to you. Number two, this Frank person was a real estate developer in Las Vegas. That’s where the money comes from. Having lived with a real estate developer for all those years of my horrible marriage, I knew it would be easy to find something on him, wave a threat in his face, and get him to back down. It was about twenty hours of billable time. My lawyers are very familiar with this territory. How do you think I got the divorce settlement I got? Especially since I was the one having the affair.

  “And by the way, I was surprised by the final revision of the script.”

  Stephanie has been expecting this comment and is prepared with a response. “It wasn’t exactly what we discussed,” she says
, “I hope you didn’t mind.”

  “No, it was brilliant. You toned down all my excessive suggestions. And I respect the fact you didn’t tell me in advance. I would have objected. As I was reading it, I realized I actually do care about making a good movie—even more than I care about humiliating my ex-husband.”

  “Are we still talking about starting a shoot in October? ” Stephanie asks.

  “Definitely. From what I’ve heard, we should expect several months, possibly years, of setbacks and delays, but I’m extraordinarily tenacious. I hope the tenacity carries me through this yoga class.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Stephanie says. “You can do as much or as little as you choose. Lee leads the class, but you’re free to do what you want.”

  Sybille gazes out the window, as if she’s taking this in. “In that case,” she says, “I might just drop the two of you off and try to book myself a massage.”

  Katherine stayed up most of last night finishing the dress for Lee. It was supposed to be a going-away gift, but now it’s a welcome-back gift. Not that Lee ever went anywhere. It’s more that Katherine’s been away herself, still hurt by the look Lee gave her that day in the studio when she tried to warn her about the owners of YogaHappens. She’s carried that grudge about as long as she wants to. It’s time to get rid of one more burden.

  She slips the dress on and looks at herself in the mirror. It’s gorgeous, but not really her style. It will need some alterations, but it will look amazing on Lee. She’s going to need some clothes to start going out, now that she and Alan are officially separated. Maybe she and Lee can go out to some clubs together.

  Katherine sent Conor her sunrise e-mail, as she thinks of it, over three weeks ago. Not a peep. She is surprised he didn’t answer, but she understands, too. Or at least she’s stopped checking her e-mail on an hourly basis to see if there is anything from him. If it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be.