“I rode in on it,” he says, not taking his eyes off the living room window that he seems to be sizing up.
“Oh.”
“You ought to give it a try. Take a ride sometime. You may be surprised at how much you like it.”
I find that I am stumped for what to say next. Is he asking me to take a ride on his bike, or is he just saying I should take a ride on some bike? Does he know that he’s the only person I know with a bike?
“Well, maybe someday.” I leave it at that and tell Brad Ryan I have to get to another appointment. His eyes sparkle a little as he watches me self-consciously walk out the front door. I do not know why he makes me so nervous and I do not have another appointment. Just as I’m opening my car door, BR strides out the front door and flags me down.
“What’s up?” I ask as I turn back around and meet him about halfway up the driveway.
“We didn’t finish our roof discussion.”
So now he’s titling our conversations?
“Oh, well, I don’t know. Let’s see what the inspector says.”
I am hoping I can elegantly excuse myself from this titled conversation that Brad Ryan seems dead-set on having.
“Or we could make a little bet on it?”
A bet about a roof ?
He seems very serious; professional even, so I take the bait. It’s all in good fun, right? As long as he doesn’t expect me to bet my commission or anything. Let’s remember, I’m getting two checks from his two deals.
“You say it’s about five years old, and I say ten.”
“Sounds like a fair bet to me,” I say, starting to turn back toward my car. But then, rubbing his chin in that way he does, he says, “Tell ya what, if I’m closer, you take a ride on my Harley, and if you’re closer, I’ll try one of them yoga classes.”
What?
As I have made perfectly clear, Brad Ryan is not someone who I think has ever been accused of being friendly, flirty, or even fun—at least as far as I can tell. And here he wants to take me on his motorcycle? Maybe he plans to kill me and steal BOTH my commission checks? On the other hand, I can’t even begin to imagine those long legs in a yoga class. I’ll bet he can’t even do a forward bend with straight legs. My yoga ego snaps me back awake.
“Well, okay. I guess.” I kick myself for not knowing more about roofs.
“Alrighty, then. We’ll see what the inspection report says.” He does a little wink thing, and then steps back toward the house without even saying goodbye. He is one interesting attorney.
In yoga, I am happy to see that Win Sing is in one of her softer moods. I can just tell when I sign in and she smiles at me. I’m good at reading people like that. After I roll my mat out next to a woman I’ve never seen before who seems to be in deep conversation with a woman I see all the time, I find myself accidentally eavesdropping.
They are talking about chakras!
At first I’m just sitting there, all grounded and everything, staring straight ahead like we’re supposed to when we’re spiritually enlightened yogis. Then I hear the new woman tell the other woman that the color of the Fourth Chakra is blue. Now I know for a fact that the Fourth Chakra is the Heart Chakra, and it most certainly is not blue. And it’s not like I only used Wikipedia to do my research. In fact, I pride myself on locating numerous websites before compiling the data into one of my spiritual posts. Anyway, I can absolutely guarantee that the heart chakra is GREEN. I find that my oceanic breath is getting a bit choppy, and I want to turn around and correct this young yogi who is clearly telling untruths.
I am relieved when Win Sing walks into the room because I really don’t think I could take much more. It occurs to me too, that I actually don’t have the right to correct the chakra-talking girl. I mean, what do I know anyway? I can’t even see auras.
Back at home now and thinking how I need to break all contact with Tac. While I would like nothing more than to tell him he’s a big fat jerk and he has a horrible Warrior Two, I need to let it go. Just the idea that I let my ego believe he was coming to yoga to win me over/back, when in reality he was just warming up for Nala. So pretty much, he didn’t mind if he looked stupid to me (he did), but he sure didn’t want to blow it in front of her.
“Dear Tac, I am delighted to hear you went to yoga. It’s really a lifestyle, so I hope you will continue to attend classes. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to practice with you anytime soon, as I’ve just accepted an opportunity in India. But don’t worry. I’ll still be writing my post each week. Namaste and wishing you well, Nala.”
There. That ought to give him a big enough hint. I really hate it when he’s so clingy.
Checking my work email I see one from Becky telling me my check from Tina and Odd Todd’s will be ready tomorrow. I’m very excited and wondering if I still want to invest in Tony’s workshop. Don’t get me wrong, I love him and feel that I owe him a lot, but I’m kind of more interested in yoga stuff right now. Like maybe a week-long retreat in Bali or something. Hmmm. It sure would be terrible if I outgrew Tony before our first date. I’ll have to really think that one over.
Next, I see an email from the home inspector, with the inspection attached. I am relieved to see that there are no major issues with the house. In real estate, those pesky inspectors and appraisers can be real deal-breakers. I mean, I go to all that trouble to look up houses, show them, write them up, and then some guy comes around and ruins the whole thing. That’s almost as bad as a short sale bank if you ask me. Anyway, I don’t have to worry on this one. The inspection on Brad Ryan’s house came back good, so I’ve got some pretty awesome odds going on here. And then I see it.
“Roof age: Approximately 9 to 11 years.”
Crap.
I’m at the office nice and early. In fact, I finished up my vision board last night and didn’t even have ONE glass of wine. The funny thing is that I didn’t miss it much. Something about yoga, vision boards, wrapping things up with Tac, and knowing I have a beefy paycheck to pick up made me forget about even wine. I swear, I had three glasses of water and a salad. I love being healthy and am really leaning toward some kind of a health retreat in January. I sure hope Tony doesn’t take it too hard.
To say I am not at all prepared for what happens next is like saying a hurricane makes it a little too windy for a picnic. First though, let me tell you that as soon as I sit down at my desk, I see I’ve gotten an email from Brad Ryan. I hope it’s simply confirming that the home inspection is fine and that he’s forgotten all about that dumb roof bet, which I am sure was just a joke in the first place.
“Well, looks like Melissa Murphy gets her first motorcycle ride. Come by Friday afternoon around 3? I’ll make it a quick one.”
First off, does this guy always boss people around like that? And second off, what does he mean by a ‘quick one’? Finally, I do not know why I suddenly feel nauseated. Is it because I honestly am afraid of motorcycles or that I think Brad Ryan will throw me off? And what exactly am I supposed to hold on too? Brad Ryan?
Then, it happens.
“Well, I’m very happy for you, Son.” I hear this coming from the front desk; Becky’s space. I know it is Broker Bert because I recognize his voice, and I’m pretty sure he’s talking to Tac because he tends to call his top producer, “Son.” Well, at least he calls Tac that. I suddenly wonder if he’ll call me “daughter” when I beat dumb-head in houses sold next month. Anyway, something must be going on, and even if not, I’m dying to see how Broker Bert looks at Becky. You know, in case I can detect any signs of love or lust or anything like that.
I mosey up to the front to see Becky just finishing a hug with Tac. Now I am instantly worried he got a million-dollar listing and double-ended it or something.
“What’s all the commotion?” I say, acting like I only care a little.
“Tac got engaged!” Becky says.
I think I feel my coffee come up.
One of the things about living a yoga lifestyle off the mat is to observe our rea
ctions. As opposed to say, throwing up on Becky’s desk. I try to smile but my face does not seem to be cooperating very well.
“Wow!” is all I can muster. Pathetic, I know, so I follow it up with, “Who’s the lucky lady?” Because I’m fairly sure it’s not me or Nala.
“Her name is Natalie,” Tac says, not even making eye contact with me. Broker Bert is patting him on the back like he just gave birth to twin houses or something, and I’m trying to feel my knees that have suddenly gone numb and watery.
“Is it someone I happened to see you with?” Becky teases, referring to the night she saw him with that young girl.
Now Tac looks sheepish, like he just scored a touchdown.
“Well, yes, you happened along right when I was proposing.”
WHAT?
Becky smiles and says, “I kind of thought it looked like an intimate conversation. But why wait so long to announce it?”
“Wanted to pick the ring up and ask her folks. You know, all that chivalry stuff.”
I think I manage to mumble “congratulations,” as I convince my legs that they absolutely must get me back to my desk where I can hopefully hit my head very hard once I get seated.
Chivalry?
So let me get this straight. Tac proposed to someone that night Becky saw him (which was the same night he wanted to come to my house), but since then, has had dates and things with me AND Nala, and who knows who else? Add to that that he asked her parents and bought her a ring? I got Chinese food, and even then, only two dishes. Plus the cheap white wine, and we all know what he got in return. Suddenly I want to pull his hair really hard and tell him what a big fat waste of time he was, and what bad karma I hope he gets. Then it dawns on me—his poor fiancé. Does she know she’s marrying a player?
It also occurs to me that wishing him bad karma is wishing myself bad karma. Sometimes the law of attraction can be a real bitch to work with.
I go to yoga early, so very grateful that I started keeping a change of yogi clothes in my car for emergencies such as this. My head is spinning and my heart chakra is in shock. As I’m driving, even too depressed to talk with Tony, I have a horrible thought. What if Tac is only getting married because we rejected him? I mean, he thinks I’m sleeping with my seller, and that Nala is moving to India. This makes sense! Let’s face it; he didn’t announce this engagement until after Nala told him she was leaving. Didn’t that Darla Feather Girl psychic tell me he cared about me deeply?
Today Win Sing tells us we should work with inversions. I do not do anything upside down. But then she tells us that headstands are very good for depression. I ask Win Sing if she will spot me. I try feverishly to make my legs poke up in the wrong direction. I just cannot get them to both go up at the same time. Win Sing tells me to go to the wall. Leaning against a wall works! I am doing a real, honest to goodness headstand. I can see myself in the front mirror and I look very straight. Never mind that my face is turning red and looks all squishy upside down. I ask Win Sing how long it takes to work, the depression part, I mean.
As we end the class, Win Sing is in one of her storytelling moods, which I always try to pay close attention to just in case there’s any profound wisdom I need to meditate on later (whenever it is I finally learn to meditate).
Today she is talking about the Lotus flower.
She says, “The Lotus flower grows in mud. Out of the muck comes a beautiful flower. If the Lotus can do it, why can’t you?”
I think about the Lotus flower. It’s the one with all the petals and I know I’ve seen it on chakra websites. It grows in mud? I’m immediately interested in this spiritual flower. I make a mental note to find out more about it. Heck, I might even write a post on it. I also make a mental note that I need to do another headstand when I get home, that Tac is marrying Natalie, and that I live with two cats.
Drastic situations call for drastic measures. I decided last night that I am starting my yoga retreat early and going every single day. At least that will get me ready for the real one once I find it. This is the only way I can save my sanity. I vow to stay focused on my goals, my work, and the fact that I need to lose ten pounds by Friday when I go on my fateful bike ride with BR. I mean, I don’t know how much weight those things can handle. I ended my night with two headstands—which the cats found very amusing—and no wine.
This morning I am catching Dawn’s class and then going to preview some homes, because really, I just can’t bear to go into the office today. Both my car and my stomach are growling as I pull back into the same parking space it seems that I just pulled out of yesterday. Well, that’s because I did. I don’t like the sound my car is making so I turn Tony up extra loud.
I’m so happy to see Dawn is teaching. I really need her calm aura—not that I can actually see it or anything— but maybe I can feel it? About halfway through the class, my stomach lets out another loud growl. I really should have eaten a little something last night. I would never last at fasting. And as much as I adore Dawn, she can’t seem to quit talking about food.
She keeps telling us about some French dish, I think. Maybe it’s a yoga pose? She keeps saying “soup dee vasna,” or something like that. Anyway, sometimes these yoga instructors just assume we know all these other languages. Good Lord, I’m not Hindu, and yet all these chants seem to be. I think Win Sing chants in Chinese, but then I’ve never really asked. I know for sure know what “Aum” means, and it’s probably the only thing I can properly pronounce.
I finish the class and find that if I don’t eat something immediately, I will surely parish. The first place I see is Taco Bell. This is not good. I remember my commitment to not break Brad Ryan’s motorcycle so I drive further until I see something that looks healthier. Okay, so maybe a turkey sub isn’t all that great, but I did hold the mayo and ask for extra veggies.
Another part of my drastic measurement tactic is to saturate myself in positive things. In this case, that includes ordering more books about spirituality, yoga, law of attraction. And oh, one on cat training, too. I understand that cats can learn to use the toilet and boy, would that save me a lot of litter-changing time. I try not to wince when I see the bill for all these books, but I reason that with my commission checks and all, one hundred and eighty six dollars isn’t so bad, right? Ron used to say I was an extremist, but I have no idea what he meant by that. I mean, if I find something useful, I just go all in for it, whether it’s yoga or books or men that cheat on me.
I finally go back to the office. Being gone more than one day is not good, and I have so many disclosures to do. I think I will bring the ones on Brad Ryan’s new house with me tomorrow for our non-date bike ride. I am still feeling unsure about what to hold on to, but at least I have lost four pounds. I have been living on a lot of water, apples and romaine lettuce.
“Hey, where were you yesterday?” It’s that nosy Becky, always trying to find out what I’m up to.
“I just took a day for yoga and reading.”
And spending way too much money online.
“Oh, well I wondered why you didn’t text me back,” she says, glancing over at Tac who is looking at his computer. She lowers her voice. “Isn’t that so funny that the night I saw him was when he was proposing?”
“Hilarious,” I tell her.
“Remember, I told you I thought it looked really intimate.”
I think that Becky is looking for some kind of award for being right, when all I want is to avoid this whole conversation.
“Yes, you called it.” Then my evil me, just wanting a bit of karmic justice, whispers to her, “So what’s with you-know-who?” I say it, glancing ever so slyly at Broker Bert’s empty desk. Now Becky’s expression changes completely and she looks mad at me. Like, how could I ruin her good time patting herself on the back, with her own embarrassing secrets? Well, she really shouldn’t call attention to herself like that. Besides, gossiping is not good, so I actually did her a favor.
The phone rings and I secretly think Becky is glad.
She didn’t look like she wanted to talk about her curious kiss with broker Bert. I say hello to Tac, but don’t really mean it, and he doesn’t even turn around to notice.
I have five texts from my mother asking about Christmas Day. I do not care about Christmas Day. I tell her I am considering converting to Hinduism. This does not make my mother very happy. I tell her I’m a yogi now and that Christmas is a commercial holiday that I am no longer interested in. She tells me she was going to get me another spa day. I tell her Merry Christmas and I’ll be there for dinner.
My Catholic clients’ deal is closing in two weeks and I realize I’ve never done their disclosures. I actually realize this every day when the other agent, the one representing the buyers, sends me an email or leaves me a voice mail. These agents can be so pushy. Yes, I know that technically I’m supposed to get the buyer’s agent my seller disclosure immediately, but jeez, it’s only been a week so what’s all the fuss? This agent, who I will be referring to here on out as Anal-Agent, keeps bringing up “the inspection period” like it’s really important.
At any rate, I think Anal-Agent is about to blow a gasket and I certainly don’t need that on my conscious, not with already feeling like I might have sent Tac running into a younger woman’s arms and all. I prepare the disclosures and email them to my clients, telling them that the first time I sent them they must not have gotten them, but now they are due immediately. I also offer to swing by and pick them up, because after all, the inspection period ends tomorrow and Anal-Agent will surely turn me in or sue me or something if he doesn’t have them today.
I decide to squeeze one more yoga class in after work, and then go home to look in my closet. What does one wear on a Harley?
More Secrets of a Spiritual Guru: Love & More Lies Page 15
