Secrets of a Spiritual Guru (Guru 1)

by Tamara Dorris

  Then, Dawn has us do a wind-removing pose. This will massage our livers and our intestines—the seats of stagnation. Just then, in the middle of the most calm and quiet moment on the planet, my wind is removed. For real, right there in front of Dawn and God and all these other yogis. I am sure I will die. Dawn immediately responds to my gas. She says, “Sometimes in wind-removing poses, we literally let go of the wind.” Somehow, this does not make me feel better. I mean, a fart is a fart, and it is nothing that girls like to admit they do. Especially in the middle of yoga class. I am sure I must leave, get reborn another day. I mean, how can I face anyone here ever again? Then I hear a sob next to me. The bleached blond with too many tattoos on her arms is crying. I’m hoping it’s not me. I sniff the air but can’t smell anything. Then I see Dawn gently rub her back. I think this girl is being reborn. She is crying like Dawn said we might. While I hope she is OK, I am immediately relieved that she has taken the attention away from my wind-removing accident. We can all be embarrassed for her now.

  I decide to go to the office, in yoga clothes and all. That’s how depressed I am. I practically sprint out of yoga, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. Hopefully by tomorrow, everyone will forget about my wind.

  In the office, Becky sees me and says, “Wow, love that outfit…you’re such a yogi.” She’s all excited like I bought her a present or something. I tell her thanks. Back near my desk, Tac and Stan and a new agent named Lacey are standing around Tac’s computer screen. It looks like they are looking at some funny e-mail with houses on it.

  “Hey, Mel,” Stan says. I greet them all and sit at my desk. Tac doesn’t say anything about the fact that I am wearing yoga clothes. I mean, it’s not like I’m showing any skin or anything. Besides, now that I’ve lost seven pounds and am eating and drinking so healthy, I am sure I look pretty good.

  “Check this one out, Melissa,” Tac says as they all laugh. I stand up and see a picture of a very old dilapidated shack. I mean, it looks like an outhouse. These agents sure know how to have a good time. They all look at me for a reaction. Why, I do not know, but to humor them, I say, “Talk about your fixer-upper.” They all laugh, and Tac assumes a very peculiar expression.

  “What?” I ask him.

  “That line…it’s from The Lion King.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah, the part when Timu is looking over the elephant graveyard…”

  Actually, he’s right. So what’s the big deal anyway? I mean, we’re both in real estate and fixer-uppers are a huge part of the lexicon, so it’s not like I’ve sinned or anything.

  “Well, I saw the movie like most people, so maybe.” I turn to go back to my desk, but not before squirming in my yoga pants at the way Tac looked at me. There is no way, based on that silly little comment from a cartoon movie twenty years ago that he’s going to know I am Nala, spiritual guru.

  My phone rings, and I am filled with relief. Even more so when it’s from the guy who I showed Ernie’s house to. They are preapproved and want to write an offer. Now. I am so excited that even the Ron thing seems palpable. Feeling extra cocky, I decide to pull a Tac and tell the guy they can come into the office to write the offer. Amazingly, he goes for it. Here I assumed it took some special strategy. I never thought to just ask. I tell him I will need a one percent deposit check and their letter of pre-approval. I am hoping they are going to make a decent offer, but even if they don’t, at least I didn’t have to drive out to Granite Bay. I’m always trying to find the bright side of things.

  I am delighted that they want to write an offer just shy of the asking price. I already know that Ernie and Helena will take it since they mentioned dropping the price. Besides, I will take a little less commission, so this will work out just fine. As I walk my new buyers from the conference room to the front door, I see Tac and Becky watching me. They seem rather impressed. I can’t believe how fast that Austrian crystal worked. It was worth every penny.

  I go home, eager to clean out my closet.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  At home, I take my jacket off and catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My arms are toned. I’m actually a little surprised. Maybe all these Vinyasa push-ups and lemon waters are paying off. I’m sure I look younger. I hear a text alert and a knock at the door, almost at the same time.

  Grabbing my phone and heading for the door, I cannot be sure which I see first, his name or his face.

  “Ron?” I say, completely shocked.

  “Can we talk?” He looks like a scared kid, so I let him in.

  We sit at the kitchen table. He seems to even overlook the fact that the cat that he once banned from the house, especially the kitchen table, is lying there, daring Ron to say a word. Ron sits down and actually pets Herman. We are both shocked.

  “So, what’s up?” I say, not having any clue what else to say.

  “I’m really sorry to barge in on you like this.” The guy looks shaken.

  “It’s OK.”

  “You look amazing,” he says, finally noticing the thinner and more enlightened me.

  “Oh, thanks,” I say, kind of causally, while intentionally flexing a bicep.

  “What have you done?”

  “I stopped drinking so much and eating bad foods, started yoga, and listening to Tony Robbins.”

  Well, it’s the truth.

  “Not you, too?” he says, looking deflated again.

  “What is wrong with you?” I say, suddenly seeing a hint of the old beer-drinking football-watching Ron who wouldn’t marry me.

  “I just don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Duh.

  “How so?”

  “I guess, I don’t know, hormones or mid-life crises, or something, but this girl, she’s not right for me.”

  Whoa.

  “Why do you say that?”

  The bad inner me is jumping up and down and shaking a bottle of overpriced champagne, but the nice inner me is feeling so bad for Barbie.

  “It’s like, it was great at first. You know, the changes.” He shoots me a look like he’s checking to see how wounded I am so he’ll know how much he can say. I act completely unaffected. After all, I want to hear all the juicy details. At least as much as I can tolerate.

  Herman rubs up against Ron’s chest, and Ron pets him. Who is this man?

  “So what seems to be the problem?”

  “I hate yoga, and she hates sports.”

  “So watch football while she does yoga.”

  Seems simple enough to me.

  “See? That’s what I said, but she says, it’s more of a lifestyle thing. Something about priorities. And she wants me to drink wheatgrass. Have you tasted that shit?”

  “Not so much on the wheatgrass, but I don’t see why a compromise can’t be reached.”

  I am amazed that I am handling this like the professional couples counselor I am not. However, I really do see both sides. I am a truly sick woman.

  “I guess at first it was easy enough, even fun, to adopt her lifestyle, but now, I see, I can’t even visit mine. Not to mention she’s got this blogger person validating all her crazy ideas.”

  Oops.

  “How so?”

  “Jeesh, it’s ‘Nala says this and Nala says that,’ I get so sick of it. Now she wants me to move my flat-screen because it’s in her money corner. What in the hell is a money corner?”

  I gulp. I mean, part of me is pleased as pie that Yoga Barbie looks up to me. The woman who lured my man away, who is beautiful inside and out, thinks I’m the bee’s knees? I’m so curious to know if she has any distasteful habits.

  “So, does she do anything that’s really annoying?” I can’t believe I’ve sunken this low.

  “She cleans her nose out with one of those little pitcher things.”

  I have no clue what he’s talking about, but I know I must have one.

  “Does she juice?” I ask. But based on his expression, I can see I’ve pushed it, like what in the world difference does t
hat make? Back to defense.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “No reason, you mentioned wheatgrass.” He shrugs it off, and I’m wondering what kind of juicer she has.

  “I just don’t know what to do. I think I’m gonna find an apartment.”

  What! Leave Barbie at the altar? You rotten lousy scum!

  “But, wont’ that hurt her?”

  Why hasn’t he told me they are engaged?

  “Listen, if I stay there, she’ll have me picking out soy wedding cakes soon.”

  Ah ha!

  “Well, you have to do what’s right for you. But you do owe her honesty.”

  I am not sure if I am twisting the knife on Barbie’s behalf or my own, but after all, he’s been dishonest to both of us.

  “I never knew how good I had it with you.” He offers up a sheepish smile. He can’t possibly be hinting about moving back in?

  “Well, people change,” I say, really meaning it.

  “That they do. You look beautiful, Melissa. Maybe once I get my own place we can have dinner or something?”

  Ron is asking me on a date? I am not at all sure how I feel about any of this or what to say.

  “We’ll see. In the meantime, you need to get through this on your own,” I tell him. Maybe because I do not want to betray Barbie by being an accomplice, or maybe because the idea is revolting. Inside, I am doing my “proud warrior” pose. In real life, it would look stupid to just bust out in a yoga move, but inside I can feel the burn in my thighs and the determination in my arms.

  He says he understands. He gets up to go, petting Herman one more time. I think Herman sees through him, but he lets him scratch behind his ears anyway. Ron tries to hug me good-bye, but I kind of back off, not really feeling any reason to get all up close and personal with the man who is leaving Yoga Barbie. I immediately text my mom.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  At the office, Tac seems to be in deep thought, staring at his computer.

  “Morning,” I say, eager to get my Granite Bay deal in escrow.

  “A couple of weeks ago,” Tac says, “you know, at the Holiday Inn?”

  “Yeah?” I say, not really giving him too much attention. After all, he’s probably seriously jealous about my new deal.

  “Right before you went to get your astrology reading, didn’t you buy a crystal?”

  Was he spying?

  “I dunno, why?”

  “You don’t know? Either you did or you didn’t. Or, is just buying crystals something you do so often it’s left your memory?” Now he is being the arrogant smart-ass sign stealer I know him to be.

  “So what? I bought a crystal. What are you, some sort of stalker?”

  Now Tac gets defensive. “No. In fact, I was on the other side of the room when I thought I saw you, but then I thought, ‘Melissa going to a consciousness fair? No way.’ Then as I got closer, I saw it was you. You bought a crystal, then took off like a bat out of hell.”

  “Oh. Well, I wanted to get that reading.”

  “I know, I saw, and waited so I could say hello.”

  “Remind me why we’re having this conversation?”

  Tac assumes his arrogant demeanor. “I just thought it was a really big coincidence that both you and Nala got a crystal that day, and then in her post on feng shui, she’s talking about it again.”

  “What, you think only one person bought a crystal that day? I’m sorry, I don’t see your point…do you even have one?”

  Tac looks at me through squinted green eyes like he’s trying to figure something out, but I brush it off like maybe he’s nuts. Then he says, he guesses he doesn’t really have a point, turns around, and finishes reading my post.

  So now I not only have this Ron thing to deal with, but now Tac thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes. I am confident I have covered my tracks fairly well. It’s not like I’m an expert at hidden identities or anything, but still, I’ve been careful. I make sure I never open my personal e-mail at the office anymore, and I have just now subscribed to my own post with my work e-mail. That way, if Private Detective Tic Tac comes up with any more coincidences, I can at least say I read the posts too. Whew. Being two people can sure get complicated. The problem is, I’m not really sure which one is which anymore. I mean, the Melissa me and the Nala me seem to be melding into the same person. Well, except for the whole lying thing.

  And what about Ron? Last night, Mom said in her text that I’ve got him just where I want him. She told me that if I’m smart, I’ll give him a prerogative. She says, when a man is most vulnerable, that’s the time to go in for the kill. That he’ll be running right back into my arms, directly to the altar. And this is the woman who potty trained me.

  However, there are a couple of things to consider here. First of all, why do I feel so bad for Yoga Barbie? She took my man in the first place, so technically, I’m just taking him back, right? I’m sure there is some kind of boyfriend return policy. The other part of me feels like asking her if she kept her receipt because I don’t want him back. It’s not like he’s broken or anything, just different. Or is it me?

  I open up escrow for my Granite Bay sale. Ernie and Helena got home today, and so far, no word about the rap video. I am hoping I can get them closed and moved out of there before nosy Mr. Miller reports the news of naked filming. However, my response if he does ask me about it—because you’ve always got to have a back-up plan—is to explain to Ernie that it was a marketing plan that got a little out of hand, but hey, it worked! The house sold as a result of the video, and I’m not even making that up. I pride myself on honesty.

  One good thing about real estate is that you can pretty much call your own hours. However, that can also be what’s bad about real estate. I mean, if you want to sell a lot of houses, you need to work a regular schedule of some kind. Consistency. Even Tony Robbins says it’s important. On the other hand, there are agents who only come into the office when they have something they need to do. That’s why most of the desks are empty most of the time. Broker Bert says he’s initiating a productivity policy. That sounds scary, so instead of deleting the e-mail without reading it, I open it up.

  In his all-agent office e-mail, he explains that office space costs money. He says that agents have no requirement to come into the office (except for our weekly sales meetings that we really only have every few weeks), but, he says, if you “own” a desk here, you need to meet his expectations of production.

  Now I’m nervous.

  Once I read that his production expectations are well within my ability (mostly), I am relieved. According to his e-mail, starting in January, desk-owning agents will have to close a deal every three months OR (and I thought it was nice he added an “or”) have at least two current listings. That makes sense. I mean, I had Granite Bay listed for a long time, and it’s not like he’d want to have the office lose a big listing like that just because I hadn’t sold any other houses.

  I look over at Tac. I bet he laughed at the e-mail. Like he has anything to worry about. He’s an example of the kind of consistency even Tony Robbins would envy. He’s here every morning before I get here and every day when I leave. Becky says he’s out on listing appointments a lot of evenings too, and he must be because the last time I looked, which was twice yesterday, he had seven listings. Seven! Part of me wants to ask him how he does it. It doesn’t seem like he does anything differently than I do, besides work longer and harder. So maybe that has something to do with it.

  I think in a weird way I really like that Tac is sprung on Nala. It’s kind of like, I’m impressed with his production, and he’s impressed with my posts. It’s good to have a mutual envy with your enemy, I always say.

  At home that evening, I learn I have another comment. Wow, three comments. The first is a response from Tac.

  “Nala, I started my career listening to Tony Robbins quite a bit. I’m really trying to get more into meditation, though, so any other CDs you can suggest would be most appreciated. Your friend and fan. Also,
would you please e-mail me? I have a personal question: tachomes@cprealestate.com .”

  Uh oh.

  My first thought is about meditations beyond Kelly Dean. And what’s wrong with her anyway? I’ve been falling asleep to her every night, and when I wake up and can’t sleep, she’s there too. Maybe he’s just trying to trap me? I decide to find the best meditation recordings on earth so I can respond like the enlightened blogger I am.

  I decide his intentions are just to find out who Nala is and what she looks like, so I just e-mail him a simple message: “Hello, what can I help you with?” It’s not like he knows this e-mail address, so how much harm can it cause?

  “Dear Nala, I was so disappointed not to meet you at the Holiday Inn event. I know you are local, and I would very much like to have coffee or tea. I just feel there is a connection between us, Tac.”

  Crap.

  “Dear Tac, that is so kind of you, and yes, I am local. However, I am practicing celibacy so cannot have coffee with you. Thank you for your comments.”

  “Dear Nala, I asked to have tea, not sex. Perhaps you might reconsider?”

  “Dear Tac, Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that. Well, I actually just ended a long-term relationship and am not looking to see anyone.”

  “Dear Nala, Not even as a friend?”

  “Dear Tac, Let’s be e-mail friends for now, shall we?”

  “Dear Nala, OK. Good night ”

  When will I ever learn?

  Next, I see comments from other users I don’t know. They’re telling me how great my posts are and how I’ve helped them. This is intoxicating. Little old me is making a difference? I blush in modesty. I’m seriously flattered here. Then I see I have two e-mails from strangers. The first one is asking me if I will come speak at his Unity Church. I’m not sure what a Unity Church is, but curious, and of course I can’t. I’ll have to think about why I can’t, though. The other e-mail is from some woman named Janet telling me that I have been nominated for the Best Spiritual Blog of the Year.