Balancing Acts Page 7

  Charlie observed Naomi, pleased by what she saw. Her movements were graceful and her mind seemed clear. Whereas Sabine’s brow had been furrowed in frustration and Bess’s eyes had that vacant “out to lunch” look, Naomi seemed focused and calm.

  “Hey Naomi, looking good,” said Charlie.

  Naomi paused and smiled at Charlie, her thousand-watt teeth momentarily blinding her.

  “Really?” she asked, obviously pleased by the compliment. “Thanks, Charlie.” Charlie smiled and made her way back to the front of the room.

  “Okay everyone, from here, we move into Virabhadrasana I, or warrior I. You all look great,” said Charlie, adjusting the women’s angles as they held the position. “Beautiful.”

  As they transitioned to warrior II, Naomi was embarrassed to find her legs quaking from exertion. I guess I’m more out of shape than I thought. It had been a long time since she had exerted herself physically, but instead of her muscles crying out for mercy, they felt heavy and unresponsive. It took all of her will to maintain her balance. She took a deep breath, searching for a clock to let her know that not much time remained in their hour and a half session. Naturally, there was no way to mark the passage of time, which wasn’t really a surprise considering the very definition of yoga. There was no way to simply be in the moment with a clock tick-tocking in your vicinity. Naomi shifted and it felt as though her muscles released a bit. The truth was, every so often lately, she had felt this same heaviness when she overdid it. Climbing her four flights of stairs with heavy bags of groceries that week, her legs had felt as though they were made of lead. If she didn’t know any better, she would think she was pregnant, but save for immaculate conception, that was an impossibility. She had chalked the sensation up to typical New York single mom exhaustion and brushed it off. Now, here it was again. You’re just exhausted, she thought. Out of shape, that’s all. She vowed to sign up at the new gym in her neighborhood. Some strength training is what I need. And maybe the treadmill.

  Charlie looked at her watch as she guided the women. How was time almost up? She hadn’t taken them as far as she had wanted to today—not by a long shot. There was no way she was going to get them into sun salutations this morning. Next Saturday she would have a better idea of what she was working with and manage their time more effectively. All she could squeeze in now was Parsvottanasana before taking them into cool down.

  “Okay, we’re about to launch into our last standing pose for the morning,” Charlie informed them. A look of relief washed over their flushed faces. “This is called Parsvottanasama—a fancy word for what is basically an intense chest stretch.”

  Owwwww, thought Bess, following Charlie’s instructions. Her shoulder blades felt like they were on fire.

  “Very, very nice, ladies,” said Charlie. “Now we’re going to take it to the floor.” As Sabine sat cross-legged and walked her fingers toward the wall, her back felt like it was bursting into a giant smile. It was as though her muscles had been made of granite prior to class.

  “Walk yourself out of this stretch and sit up straight,” said Charlie. “Our last sitting move is my favorite. It’s a spinal twist in essence, but its yoga name is Matsyendrasana,” Charlie explained.

  Naomi nodded in response. Naomi did a spinal twist every morning. Few things were more gratifying than hearing her contorted spine crackling back into place.

  Charlie walked them through their twists to horizontal positions on the mats.

  This is definitely my favorite part of class, Sabine noted. She smiled, imagining a hot shower.

  Naomi tentatively shook out her legs. The heaviness seemed to have disappeared. She sighed in relief. Despite her tiredness, there was no denying how cathartic yoga was. As she lay there, she vowed to reconnect with her body more often. She rolled her eyes, realizing that the very sound of that was a little woo-woo and out there. What does that even mean, reconnect with your body? she asked herself. But she knew. She had gotten so caught up with being a mom that she had forgotten who she was outside of that role—body and soul. Maybe her body was simply reminding her how important it was for her to remember more often. Yoga was perfect for that, and the strength training on the side would only help matters. Maybe I’ll buy some free weights and forego the gym, though. The idea of a gym, with all its Lycra-clad members going round and round on treadmills and bikes, was unappealing, to say the least.

  “When you’re ready, come up to a comfortable seated position,” Charlie said, after a few minutes had passed.

  As the women reluctantly returned to the upright world, Charlie began again. “I want to thank you all for coming today,” she said. “I know class was difficult, and that it may seem that you’ll never fully feel comfortable on the mat”—Sabine grimaced here, convinced that Charlie was speaking directly to her—“but comfort only really comes when you think of yoga as a journey rather than a destination. Be patient with yourself.” She smiled warmly at the women before continuing.

  “At the end of class, it is customary to say good-bye with Namaste, with your hands placed in the prayer position over your heart like this.” Charlie put her palms together to demonstrate. “Namaste simply means ‘The Divine in me salutes the Divine in you.’ Beautiful, huh?”

  The women nodded in agreement. Even Bess, despite herself, was moved by the power of the sentiment.

  “Namaste,” Charlie said.

  “Namaste,” Bess, Sabine, and Naomi repeated in unison.

  Naomi attempted to pull herself up off the floor with the sole aid of her core muscles. She laughed as this attempt rendered zero results.

  Feeling a bit overconfident, ay? she said to herself, using her hands to lift herself up.

  “Naomi,” said Charlie, approaching her with a half smile.

  “Hey Charlie. Thanks for such a great class.”

  “Oh, thank you. You look really good on the mat, Naomi. You really seem at ease.”

  Naomi blushed. “Oh!” she replied, pleased and surprised by Charlie’s compliment, considering the difficulty she had been having. “Thanks! I forgot how much I love yoga, you know? How good it makes me feel.”

  “Have you done it before?” asked Bess, overhearing her exchange with Charlie.

  “Well, sort of,” answered Naomi. “Prenatal yoga. But I think that’s really a whole different ball game in terms of exertion. The same basic principles, though.”

  “True,” agreed Charlie. “But you really seem present in class.”

  “Wait,” interjected Bess. “Prenatal yoga?! Naomi, are you a mommy?” Bess’s mind salivated wildly as she thought about the unexpected perfection of this detail in terms of her article.

  “Actually, yeah. My son’s name is Noah.”

  “Oh, I love that name,” said Sabine. “I bet he is a beautiful boy. How old is he?”

  “He’s eight now,” answered Naomi. She watched the women string beads on their internal abacuses. Thirty-two minus eight equals twenty-four.

  Having a baby anywhere else in the country at twenty-four was pretty normal, but in New York you might as well be making moonshine in your trailer basement with Uncle Jeb. Twenty-four was the new fourteen in terms of urban, career-woman baby making.

  “Wow, a young mama,” said Sabine comfortingly. “I like that. By the time I get around to having a kid, I’ll be lucky if there will be only one set of diapers to change in the house.”

  “Eww, Sabine!” exclaimed Bess. “That’s gross.”

  Sabine lifted her hand to her mouth as if to cover it. “Oh, I know. My bad. Sometimes, without warning, I turn into Jackie Mason. Forgive my bad joke.”

  Naomi laughed, grateful for the new direction of conversation. It wasn’t that she didn’t like talking about Noah—she could go on and on about how incredible he was—but she was always aware of how the mere mention of him around women with no kids sent them into a tension-filled spiral of either feigned interest or bad jokes about the state of their uteruses.

  The three of them piled th
eir mats back against the wall.

  “So, Naomi, are you married?” asked Bess.

  “Jesus, Bess, that’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think?” asked Sabine.

  Naomi put her hand on Sabine’s back to comfort her. “It’s okay, Sabine. No, Bess, I’m not,” she answered, staring her directly in the eyes and daring her to ask anything else. Bess got the hint.

  “Okay,” she mumbled. “Hey, I’m sorry if that was out of line,” she added, looking first at Naomi and then at Sabine. “I mean, I’m a reporter, you know? I just ask a question without thinking of its impact. Forgive me.” Bess felt bad for going for Naomi’s jugular with the husband question, she really did, but a huge ticking clock loomed large over this six-week period.

  Bess hoped that this hadn’t ruined her chances of probing Sabine. Now she would have to be a bit less direct if she expected any answers. This was not great news, as tact had never been Bess’s strong suit.

  “That’s okay,” answered Naomi. “It’s a pretty standard question.”

  Bess looked at her, expecting more of an explanation about her lack of husband, but she got nothing. The conversation was over. Bess could respect that. She would think of a way to open that vault more effectively in the future.

  They shuffled out of the studio. Sabine felt uncomfortable. She had a habit of absorbing tension whenever it arose, and now she was pulsing with it. Her mom would say that Bess had some chutzpah for being so unapologetically nosy, and she’d be right.

  “How was class, ladies?” asked Julian. He and Charlie were sitting behind the desk. Charlie was rubbing a satiated-looking George behind the ears and smiling.

  “Awesome,” answered Naomi. “Charlie, thanks so much. I’m looking forward to next week.”

  “Me too,” agreed Sabine. “This class is really good for me.”

  “Me three,” chimed in Bess, anxious to erase the black cloud that she had created with her big mouth.

  “Good,” said Charlie, pleased by their enthusiasm. “Me four.”

  They moved to the coat closet and zipped themselves back into their winter cocoons and boots. Winter was such a production.

  “See you next week!” Charlie yelled after them as they made their way down the stairs.

  “Bye, Charlie! Bye, Julian!” they yelled. Naomi pushed open the door to the street. The cold air blasted them angrily.

  “How are you getting home?” asked Bess.

  “Oh, I’m just gonna walk,” answered Naomi. “It’s not that far. See you guys!”

  “Bye, Naomi,” said Bess and Sabine simultaneously, as Naomi waved and began her trek.

  “What train are you taking, Sabine?” asked Bess.

  “Oh, I’m gonna take the L. You?”

  “Me too!” answered Bess. That would mean a bit more of a hike for her, but the time on the train with Sabine was a must. She had to redeem herself and hopefully get a little juice. She could tell that Sabine was not her biggest fan after the Naomi hiccup.

  “Hey, let me buy you a coffee,” said Bess, motioning toward Mario’s bodega. The best way to make amends was something free.

  “Okay,” replied Sabine somewhat hesitantly. She wasn’t psyched on taking the train back with Bess, but who was she to turn down a free beverage?

  Bess pushed open the deli door and held it for Sabine. “How do you take your coffee?”

  “Skim milk and half an equal.”

  “Me too!” exclaimed Bess. “We’re the perfect pair. One equal for two. What’s that song from that musical, a bicycle built for two?” Bess cringed at her own incessant rambling. The look of discomfort on Sabine’s face confirmed her overcompensation. She needed to take it down a notch. It was unlike her to be such a ham, but the time constraint on the article was turning her into a maniac.

  “I think it’s Oklahoma!” said Sabine. “But I could be lying. Actually, I have no idea.”

  “Do you know?” Bess asked Mario, who was watching them quizzically from behind the counter.

  “Know what?” he asked. Two white girls ordering skim milk coffees. They have to be coming from Charlie’s place, Mario thought to himself.

  “Musicals?” asked Sabine.

  “Oh no,” he replied, splitting the blue package of sweetener between the two cups. “Not my forte,” he expanded, winking at them. “You girls coming from yoga?”

  “Yeah, how did you know?” asked Bess.

  “Just a hunch,” he replied. “Who’s your teacher?”

  “Charlie,” replied Sabine. “She’s the best.”

  “You got that right,” agreed Mario, nodding his head in approval. “She really is.”

  Bess picked up on his appreciation. “You like her, huh?” she asked as she handed him the money for the coffees.

  “What’s not to like? A beautiful woman running her own business? She’s really something.”

  Bess and Sabine looked at each other with giddiness. It felt like a middle school moment. Somebody had a crush!

  “That she is,” said Bess. “Thanks for the coffees. Have a good day. . .”

  “Mario,” he said. “I’m Mario.”

  “I’m Sabine and this is Bess,” said Sabine with a smile. She found herself blushing. This was not your typical deli guy. He was actually sexy as hell, with his olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair. Sabine giggled to herself, imagining him cradling Charlie on one of her romance novel covers. Yoga Heat would be the title.

  “Hi, Sabine, hi, Bess,” Mario replied. “Tell Charlie I said hi.”

  “Will do,” Bess promised with a coy smile as they made their way out of the deli.

  On the street, Bess glanced mischievously at Sabine. “Hellooooo, handsome,” she whispered.

  “For real!” agreed Sabine. “And he is hot for Charlie!”

  “En fuego! She could do worse than a hot piece serving her free coffee for the rest of her life!”

  They burst out laughing and made their way toward the train.

  Chapter Eleven

  Subway

  Ooh, this coffee is like nectar from the heavens,” declared Sabine, after swallowing her first sip.

  “Yeah,” agreed Bess. “Looks like hottie deli dude is quite the barista.”

  They were sitting in the subway station, waiting somewhat patiently for their train back into Manhattan. Sabine stretched out her legs and rested her head against the wall.

  “Why is the MTA so evil?” she asked Bess. “Every weekend is like a pie in the face. They run so slowwwwwww.”

  “No kidding. About a month ago, we took the train back from JFK,” explained Bess. “We figured out that it took us, between the slowness and the transfers and the inevitable bullshit, almost as long to get back to my place as it did for Dan to travel a quarter of the way across the entire country.”

  Sabine laughed and shook her head in disbelief. Just then, the tunnel lit up with the lights of the approaching train.

  “Sweet! Seats!” exclaimed Sabine moments later, as she plopped herself down with gusto.

  Bess dropped down beside her. “First of all, my legs are like Jell-O! I am so out of shape! That yoga kicked my ass!”

  “I know!” agreed Sabine. “My muffintop hurts. But I guess that’s a good thing. I am not opposed to beating it into submission.”

  Bess laughed. Despite her article anxiety, there was something about the day that felt very collegey to her—even excluding the fact that she had just spent time with her classmates from that very era. There was something about the comfy clothes, the no makeup, the early morning chatting, and the ‘nowhere to be’ vibe that made Bess feel eighteen. It had been so long since she had spent any real time just shooting the shit. Between work, her career aspirations, and weighing the pros and cons of her long-distance relationship with Dan, she was a bundle of fried nerves.

  “Wait, so back to our conversation,” said Sabine. “Why the hell were you taking a train back from the airport? I mean, yeah, the taxi fare is absurd but come on! Cut yourself a li
ttle bit of a break.”

  “Please, I always do, but my boyfriend is frugal as hell.”

  “You guys took a trip together? A little lover’s retreat?”

  “I wish,” answered Bess. “He lives in LA right now. He came in for the weekend.”

  “What’s he doing out there?” asked Sabine, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  “He’s getting his master’s in screenwriting at USC,” explained Bess.

  “Nice! I hear they have an amazing program.”

  “Yeah, definitely. Hey, are you dating anyone?” she asked Sabine, eager to switch the focus back to her. She wished Sabine was less likeable. On one hand, Bess could classify her questions as just innocent, getting to know you kind of queries, but on the other, she did feel slightly guilty about her motivation. The image of Sabine’s head juxtaposed on top of a kitten’s neck briefly popped into her head.

  “Who, me?” asked Sabine. “Noooo. Nobody.”

  “Really?” asked Bess. “But you’re so pretty! Every time I saw you in college you were being hit on by a different guy.”

  “Oh wow, that is too funny. I did have a lot of luck in college, you’re right. I’m afraid that’s where I peaked, however.” Sabine laughed. It was funny that Bess remembered her as some sort of campus vixen. “Where did you see me with guys, though?” she asked Bess. “Just around class and stuff?”

  “Yeah, but also around the student union. You always wore this teal fleece.”

  Sabine clapped her hands with glee. “Yes! I loved that thing! God, I was such a pseudo-hippie. Maybe I should incorporate some fleece back into my wardrobe. It certainly worked for me back in the day.” Sabine often wondered why her college dating life had been so much more exciting than her current one. She suspected that it had a lot to do with weed, which she and her various paramours smoked mass quantities of. She had been a lot more relaxed back then, to say the least.

  “I doubt college was your peak,” said Bess. “You’ve just got a lot more on your plate now than you did back then. And let’s face it, guys in their twenties and early thirties are almost worse than they are in college in terms of commitment issues. Trust me, I know the drill. Dan and I have been together for only a little over a year. Before him, it was the Sahara—and not necessarily because I couldn’t get a date. I just didn’t feel like dealing with the bullshit.”