Tales from the Yoga Studio (11 page)

When he came by the studio to meet her for coffee, he stuck out his hand to shake hers and said, “You've got a great bicycle there,” and she said, “I was hoping you were going to compliment my thighs,” and he actually blushed, his pale skin flushing almost as red as his hair. Katherine found it so adorable, so sweet, especially on a guy who's easily six foot four, she's been on her best behavior ever since.

“Don't tell me none of your girlfriends back in Boston did yoga,” she says.

“How many do you think I had?”

“I'll bet you've broken a few hearts in your time, Mr. Ross.”

“Maybe I had my heart broken.”

He gazes off over her shoulder as he says this, and Katherine has the feeling this is exactly what happened to him. He looks so wistful, she says more quietly, “Is that why you moved out to L.A.?”

“Let's go with: I got tired of the snow,” he says. “I have a buddy who moved out here a few years ago, and I decided to visit for a few weeks.” He shrugs. “One thing led to another.”

“How do you like it so far?”

“Depends on the day,” he says.

“Today, for example?”

“Oh, man,” he says and gazes at her with those huge blue eyes. “I'm really
loving
today.”

If Katherine had heard this from most of the men she knows, she'd cringe. But coming from Conor, it sounds so sincere, she feels herself go a little limp. There's that funny Boston accent (
Maybe I had my haaht broken
) that makes everything sound sincere, like a haahtfelt declaration, and the innocent look in his blue eyes that makes Katherine think he's probably one of those upstanding guys who's incapable of telling a lie. She can tell he thinks she's out of his league. After dating a bunch of actors and athletes who strutted around as if they were doing her a favor by going out with her—and guys like Phil, another category of ridiculous altogether—it's kind of nice to be with someone who's actually looking at her. Fortunately, there's only so much he can see. She can't be sure how he'd react to her past, so if this has any chances of going anywhere, she'd better keep a few little things quiet. (Like that little five-year period of mistakes and bad choices.)

“You always wanted to be a fireman?” she says.

“I liked the trucks,” he says. “I was in the National Guard for a few years and got some training.”

“Were you in Iraq?”

“I love being interrogated,” he says, “but you haven't told me anything about yourself. I don't even know where you're from.”

Most guys wouldn't think to ask, but now that he has asked, Katherine feels cautious and shy.

“Let me take you back to the studio,” she says. “I'll show you where I work. If you're a nice guy, I'll give you a back rub.”

“A nice guy,” he says, “would give
you
one.” He reaches across the table and takes her hand in his. He has a big calloused hand that completely envelops hers. “Let's go,” he says. “We'll compare technique.”

L
ee arranged to meet the folks from YogaHappens at her house instead of at the studio. She doesn't want to risk more rumors, especially since she has not made up her mind about this or is even close. It isn't entirely clear what's being offered to her. Alan's been in and out of the house to pick up and drop off the kids and to try to maintain a semblance of normalcy for their sakes, but the two of them haven't been in the house alone together since his disappearing act. The excursion to Garth's opening was the most time they've spent together, and look how that turned out. She's feeling edgy.

She dropped the twins off at the studio, where Barrett is keeping her eyes on them. Barrett frequently proclaims that she “loves children” but her clothes, hairstyle, and voice suggest it's more that she loves pretending to
be
a child. Still, she's reliable and the kids love scrambling around the studio and playing with the Iyengar props, and Barrett promised she'd take them to the playground so they could burn off more energy.

Lee finds herself tidying up the living room, stashing toys and games into drawers and on the bottom shelves of the bookcases on either side of the fireplace. The fireplace that made Lee and Alan feel like they
had
to buy this adorable little bungalow, even though it meant asking Lee's mother for a loan to get together a down payment. She's tidying for the YogaHappens people, of course. Not for Alan.

She tosses a couple of identical backpacks into the closet, and when she turns around, Alan is standing there, surveying the room.

“Looks pretty tidy around here,” he says.

“You scared me. Couldn't you have knocked?”

“Sorry, Lee, but it's still my house, too, you know.”

“Right. Except it's also your choice not to be living in it now. So I'd really like it if you'd use the bell next time.”

He sighs and drops onto the sofa, his arms spread out across the back. He has on a navy T-shirt and the calf-length yoga pants she gave him for his birthday because she knew he'd look hot in them. Her bad. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and unfortunately, he looks great. As usual. One of her med school friends from a million years ago, the most brilliant, crazy, and gorgeous girl Lee had ever met—Russian—had become engaged to a fat man whose looks were—to be generous—unremarkable. “Marry homely,” Irina had said in her thick accent. “They make you look more pretty when you stand next to them, and they are always grateful to have you.”

Maybe she wasn't so crazy after all.

“I don't know why you're being so hostile, Lee. I told you, I just need a little space. It's not about
you
.”

“Yeah, but since you won't tell me what it
is
about, I can't help but feel a little . . . implicated? I mean, we're only married, Alan. How can it
not
be about me?” This is what she didn't want to do—blow up. It's what she's very carefully been avoiding doing since he walked in. Oh, well. If you get your feet wet, might as well dive in all the way. “And what does that even mean, ‘needing space'? It's something my mother would have said in her braburning days.”

“Okay, listen,” he says. “All of a sudden, our lives,
my
life to be more specific, looks nothing like I expected. I just woke up and realized that we're living out of the loop up here, nice as it is. You're running a yoga studio, and it's taking up all
my
time. ‘Can you build another closet?' ‘Can you redesign the website?' ‘The toilet needs to be snaked out.' I'm not singing, I'm not devoting any serious time to music at all. I'm the fucking handyman, Lee. I realized I was on a runaway train, and I had to get off just to catch my breath.”

Lee looks at him more closely. Is that all there is to it? She can live with that if it's a temporary pause. Catching his breath. She's come to realize that yoga is her calling, the way to blend her healing instincts into something physical and emotional, even
she
sometimes feels overwhelmed. Still, she notices he isn't looking her in the eyes.

The thing about self-absorbed men like Alan is they think they can get away with anything, so they don't make much of an effort at being good liars. On the other hand, they're good at compartmentalizing their feelings, so they partly believe what they say and can occasionally be pretty convincing.

“People love you at the studio. You know that. The workshops are taking off, and every class where you play music is full. So runaway train or not, it isn't like you're shoveling coal into the engine all day.”

“In other words, you're paying the bills, and I ought to be grateful? ”

“I didn't say that.” And yet, it is true. Alan sold a couple of songs to a series on the WB a few years back, there was that one movie sale, and he still gets residuals. But it's not like it's enough to cover the electric bills.

“Do you mind if I ask when you're thinking about coming back?”

“Let's take it a day at a time, okay?”

“Like I have a real choice.”

He gives her one of his smiles. “You look so good in that tank top. What time are these people showing up?”

“Cut it out,” she says. But she loves the smile, and it makes her ache to be lying in bed with him right now, and she wishes she didn't hear the footsteps on their front porch.

T
he YogaHappens people always seem to travel in pairs. Like nuns and Mormon missionaries and the nice ladies who come by the studio (of all places!) trying to hand out
The Watchtower
.

The two men who were in her class are at the door, both shiny clean and fit—one tall and all sinew, with every vein showing on his smooth arms, the other a buff little fireplug of a guy, probably a wrestler as a kid, Lee thinks. The sinewy one couldn't be forty, but has a salt-and-pepper crew cut that draws attention to how handsome and unlined his face is.

“Oh, wow,” the sinewy one says as they take their seats in front of the fireplace. “This little place is just great. I wish I could live up here. Silver Lake is the perfect neighborhood, you know? ”

This is what people who wouldn't dream of leaving West Hollywood are always saying.

“It's a great community,” Lee says.

“You guys want some juice?” Alan asks.

Sinew and Fireplug hold up their hands simultaneously, as if they've rehearsed their act.

“So, Alan,” Fireplug says, “I assume your wife has told you what we've been discussing.”

“Maybe we should go over it anyway, Chuck,” Sinew says.

It's fascinating watching them talk, completing each other's sentences, each knowing exactly when to break in on the other. And they make these rehearsed yoga jokes that aren't really jokes and draw on the most obvious clichés, but which they seem to find consistently amusing.

Sinew: We all know what's been going on in the country for the last few years in terms of yoga, right?

Fireplug: Up, up, up, dog.

Sinew: Yeah, exactly, Chuck. Good one.

Fireplug: And the thing is, the demand is getting so big, the smaller studios . . .

Sinew: . . . which have always been the core (
patting taut abs
) of the industry . . .

Industry?
Lee thinks
. Really?

Fireplug: . . . can't handle the volume.

Sinew: Not to mention the expectations, especially in a place like L.A.

Fireplug: People want more than a class. What they want now is ...

Sinew: . . . a complete experience.

He says this last word in a fake reverential whisper, as if he's just revealed the secret of life, and that makes Lee wish she'd never let them in the front door. They're probably reasonable guys, and they're just doing their jobs, but there's something about their smarmy and rehearsed presentation that reminds Lee of a Mary Kay demonstration a friend invited her to years ago. They go on for a few more minutes, making a case for themselves and the beauty of what amounts to one more corporate takeover. There are multiple references to Zhannette (they spell it!) and Frank, apparently the owners. She reminds herself that being a purist isn't going to help get the twins into a decent school, and it isn't going to make Alan feel any more appreciated or less overloaded.

Alan seems to have run out of the ability to listen to these guys any longer, and for the first time in weeks, she feels as if the two of them are truly in sync. Maybe it
was
a good thing to invite these two in.

“So how much are you offering for the studio?” Alan asks.

Sinew and Fireplug grind to a sudden halt and look at each other. This, apparently, was not on their script.