The Yoga Club

by Cooper Lawrence

  “Don’t you mean ‘sleeping with’?” Coco asked.

  “No, this is more serious than that. We weren’t serious at first and were dating other people, but over the past two months he’s been on this spiritual journey. He’s so deep and complex, he’s gone to Denali to climb Mt. McKinley! I think that’s so sexy and manly.”

  When it comes to the celebrity adventure vacation, certain locales in the world go in and out of favor. Bora-Bora is passé, and the Wakaya Club in Fiji has become too conspicuous. For the celeb who needs to go “find himself,” Alaska’s Denali National Park is the hip new place to climb your cares away. Kilimanjaro is as dead as Hemingway.

  “Very adventurous,” Coco deadpanned.

  “I suppose. Anyway, last weekend he decided that he wants to be exclusive…. with me! He said he had been searching his whole life for his one true love and said that he had found her and it’s me. ” Bailey, normally reserved, was almost beside herself.

  “That’s fantastic, but is it what you want? You’ve been so independent for so long,” Coco said.

  “Well, dear, it’s a slow boat to China patterns,” Bailey said and played with her hair the way a child would. “Yes, it’s what I want, and I’ve waited a long time. Gotta say, everything’s so much better now that we’re together,” she insisted.

  “So are you…. in love?” Coco was hesitant even to say those words to her.

  “I must be because I don’t want to screw anyone new. Besides, I’m getting tired of all the junkets, the hotel rooms, the travel, the meaningless sex…. Okay, maybe not the meaningless sex; some of that is a little hard to let go of. That life wasn’t all that bad, and I haven’t completely let go, but I’m just ready for a change. It’s good timing all around, a full-life overhaul.”

  “Good for you then.” Coco hugged her. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks. Just don’t tell anyone yet. I want to respect his privacy, you know? Besides, he has to have a publicist handle that kind of stuff.”

  “Sure. Listen, I’m gonna jump. Don’t want to be late for my meeting. Oh, and I have a trade show tomorrow in Philly. Call me if you hear anything or if you need me. I’ll be a train ride away, same time zone and all. I really think that’s wonderful for you.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be with Graham, so I’m planning on being very, very busy.” Bailey smiled as she danced away.

  Back in Connecticut, Olivia was at Greenwich Country Day School, an eighty-acre campus founded by Florence Rocke-feller. Olivia was putting Simon on the school’s waiting list for prekindergarten, as was incumbent on her as a Greenwich mother. While there she was given a tour of the school, where she saw three- and four-year-olds learning Spanish, mastering computers, and choosing musical instruments to play for the semester. Since she herself was a biochemist, Olivia had chosen Greenwich Country Day because of its program in which the children learn sciences with a specialist in whatever field they are studying at the moment. Today they were learning all about forensic science, and, as luck would have it, Detective Casey was coming in to teach them about forensic fingerprinting. Unfortunately, every child in class was sure that they would be spending the afternoon finger painting. Someone was going to have to do some explaining to some very disappointed kids.

  This was probably the worst day for Olivia to run into anyone, let alone this man whom she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since she met him, because, sadly, she was wearing a PMS outfit.

  A PMS outfit is one that in the morning as you are dressing you are convinced is the height of chic and is innovatively fashionable. Then once you leave the house it occurs to you that you may be wearing the most hideous clothes you own, all at the same time. Today, this was Olivia. Once she went to a major dinner meeting with two potential female bosses wearing a turquoise jumpsuit with red cowboy boots and matching red beads. One of the women turned to her and said, “A week away from your period, huh?” which was when Olivia learned that her need for bright colors was hormone-induced. As a rational scientist, she could see it made perfect sense, yet she couldn’t sidestep it. Despite being rather expensive and of good labels, all the outfits she wore through nine months of pregnancy were rejected out of hand by Goodwill shortly after Simon was born.

  Today she did not disappoint. She wore a hormone-inspired bright yellow dress with red tights, brown booties, and a short brown fake fur that she’d bought on sale at Kate Spade. On its own, the fake fur was quite chic and beautiful, but today she wore it with colors appropriate only for a five-year-old. In fact, she may have been wearing it in the only appropriate venue. But the piéce de résistance was her Kate Spade owl handbag complete with metallic beak, suede feathers, and little leather dangling feet. The outfit screamed “Get me a chocolate donut and a cookies and cream sundae, stat!” There was no way to avoid Detective Casey once he’d spotted her—and how could he have missed her? He was coming her way.

  “Olivia, you look…. bright and sunny today.”

  “Oh! Detective Casey, how are you? What a nice surprise.” She pretended she’d just noticed him standing there. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Has there been a juice box incident?”

  “Ha! No, I’m here as an expert. Today the first-grade class is learning the science of fingerprinting in police work. We’re starting with the ten-print system. You should stay and listen, it’s fascinating stuff.”

  “I’m sure it is, and I certainly wish I could,” she said earnestly. “But do you think they’ll get it?”

  “Well, I try not to go too deep. Come back next week, when we do DNA,” Detective Casey said.

  Olivia tried to stifle a giggle and prayed that it wouldn’t lead to a brief fit of echolalia. “Oh, I’d love to,” she managed.

  She stopped and thought for a second. She didn’t know whether she should say something about the fact that he’d called Bailey for fear it might seem obvious they’d discussed him. It would make it seem that she liked him, or worse, that they were furthering the investigation on their own. Either way, she realized mum was the word.

  “You know, I called your friend Bailey,” he said.

  Okay, he’d opened the door, but she kept reminding herself to stay cool. “Oh, really? For a date? I don’t think she is seeing anyone, in case you want me to put in a good word.”

  Damn, that wasn’t at all what she wanted to say.

  “Um…. no. I called to make sure she was okay with me closing her case.”

  “Oh, right. Strange turn of events, huh?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it would really help me close the case and get my report together if we could talk about what was in your envelope. Just so that I have all the facts straight, you understand. I like to be thorough. Maybe we could grab a coffee?”

  Olivia was totally confused now. She didn’t know if this was a ploy to get a date with her or if he really just wanted information. Either way, she didn’t care. He was cute, and it had been close to two years since she’d seen a naked man—and she really wanted to see Rob Casey naked.

  “Yes. Coffee? Sure, when? You tell me.” Gawd, did she have to seem so ridiculously eager?

  “Well, how about tonight?”

  “Tonight?”

  “If you can’t get a sitter, bring your boy along. I love kids,” he said.

  “Oh, okay,” said Olivia, disappointed. It’s not really a date when you bring an infant along, and there went the whole seeing Rob naked thing.

  “Let’s meet at Everyman Café. Do you know it?”

  “Sure!”

  “Oh, and can you bring that envelope you received? I just want to take a look at it to see if it matches another one. Just to be sure before I close the case, of course. Whaddya say to six?”

  “Huh?” Olivia was so lost in his eyes she wasn’t sure if he’d said “sex” or “six.” Either way, she wasn’t thinking about a meeting time.

  “I asked if six o’clock was okay,” he said again.

  “Yes, yes, six, no problem. See you a
t six.” Olivia blushed. She felt like a moron. “Bye, Detective Casey. Have a good class!”

  “Rob,” he said. “Call me Rob.”

  Olivia had a new color to clash with the rest of her outfit: bright red cheeks. “Right. Rob.”

  Coco returned home after her meeting to find both Sam and the dogs gone. She loved and hated the feeling of an empty house. On the one hand, she liked the quiet, something she wasn’t entirely familiar with; but on the other hand, the high ceilings, vast rooms, and wood floors felt cold and lonely without Sam and the pups clattering through. Sam was probably out at the dog park, giving Coco an opportune time to collect the pillows and blankets from the couch where he had been sleeping for the past several nights. Sam had been in an even more depressed state because of the envelope and hadn’t been functional. He would watch TV endlessly, pace, or stare out the window for hours.

  Sam’s melancholy tore Coco apart. She felt helpless to make things better, and she still had a business to run and couldn’t afford to be immobilized by his erratic behavior. She could only tell him that he was entitled to be upset but that she was sure it would all be resolved soon enough.

  “Sam, I want to make it all go away,” she’d said to him. “But there’s nothing we can do. Kornacki told us to just let him take care of everything. We need to trust him. For now, though, I’ve got to keep working. This is a big time for the company.”

  Sam opted to keep out of her way. The house was big enough for that. But she knew where he was and what he was doing, and it was shredding her insides. She needed a stiff drink or a long stretch. Maybe it was time for a yoga class with the Sarahs.

  She decided she should make the bed upstairs for him. She would be out for the night, no need for him to sleep on the couch again tonight. It undoubtedly added to his anxiety and probably gave him a stiff neck.

  She really should have a conversation with Sam before she left for Philly, if not to reconcile, then at least to tell him she thought things would be okay eventually, and they just needed time. But packing was first priority, and it would give her time to collect her thoughts. Sam had been so depressed since the whole business debacle, and she hadn’t made it any easier on him since, on some level, she blamed him for not predicting his partner’s injurious and careless behavior. This, coupled with her secrecy about Halloween night, made tension between them inevitable—but he was from Greenwich, so fighting wasn’t an option. All of the underlying emotion that should have been openly expressed was stuffed deeper and deeper, until it ran the risk of being blurted out at the most inopportune moments. “Pass the butter. How did you not know your partners were crooked?” or “Would you like some more tea? Oh, by the way, I saw the mayor commit a murder and hide a body.” That’s just how it all goes down when you’re a WASP.

  She hadn’t meant to be so furtive with him about what the Sarah Palins had seen, but telling him would be too dangerous. She didn’t want to put him through another crisis, nor did she want him to be forced to reveal anything he knew. It would be easier for both of them if she controlled the information and managed the situation. It wasn’t like she didn’t trust him. No, she was protecting him. But then, why couldn’t she share a vital secret with her boyfriend of ten years? Maybe there were other issues she wasn’t acknowledging. Either way, right now wasn’t the time to think about it. Right now was the time to think about Bags-B-Gone, the new product she would be announcing at the Philly trade show.

  Coco’s phone rang.

  “Hey, it’s CJ. I was going to go over to Malcolm’s office to poke around, see if I could find anything useful. But what excuse should I use?” he asked.

  “Well…. the new relationship drop-by is always welcome, so I don’t think you need an excuse. Just bring cookies,” she suggested.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure about that. Isn’t it too early to do the drop-by? Won’t it come off creepy and stalkerish?”

  “No. You’re only a stalker if he never told you where he worked and you had to Google him. But he’s a public official. Sam’s grandmother went by there last week to file a complaint because there were too many unattractive birds in the park. If she can do that, you can show up with cookies,” Coco said.

  “I’m not bringing cookies.” CJ was adamant.

  “Yes, you are. You are going by uninvited and unannounced. You have to bring a treat on the off chance that he is having the worst day of his life.”

  “Oh, okay, I guess you’re right. By the way, what did Sam’s grandmother expect them to do for her?”

  “She wanted them to get more cardinals and blue jays,” Coco said.

  “And did they?”

  “What do you think?”

  After they hung up, CJ went to Good Boy Bakery, which had the best cookies in town. He also thought going there would give him some much needed symbolic redemption. He’d been anything but a good boy lately.

  When Olivia walked into Everyman Café that evening, she couldn’t help but notice it sounded like the Rocky theme was playing. An odd choice of music for a cool coffee dive, so she just had to ask the girl with the fuchsia hair and pierced lip about it.

  “Can I have a large cappuccino, no cinnamon, and is this the theme from Rocky?” Olivia asked, wondering what else was pierced.

  “Yep. We’re already sick of all this Christmas music, so we thought we should go ahead and get a jump on Boxing Day,” Pinkie answered in a dry monotone.

  Olivia didn’t quite understand what she meant but presumed it was a joke since the smart-aleck-looking hipster in line behind her guffawed in spite of himself, so she said, “Oh, ha ha!” and promptly knitted her brow and turned around with her cappuccino to look for a table. In a dark corner she managed to find a tiny, open table. No sooner had she put her bag down than Detective Casey walked in. He was even more handsome than she remembered. In the dim light of the café, his green eyes glistened olive, and his broad shoulders filled the doorway as he looked across the room for his date.

  “Over here!” She waved like an idiot.

  “Hi, have you been waiting long?” he asked.

  “No, I just got here,” she replied. He looked up as if he had just remembered something he wanted to say.

  “Are they playing the theme from Rocky?” he asked her.

  “Yes, they’re getting a head start on Boxing Day, they said.”

  “Oh, ha! Very funny. This place…. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thanks.” She motioned toward her cappuccino.

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Olivia watched him walk away, his every move speaking directly to her, causing an abrupt flush of desire through her entire body that took her by surprise. She hadn’t felt that for many years. It was one of the few things she missed about high school, when she’d get that feeling about a guy just about every month. She was attracted to Rob, yes, but this overwhelming feeling was unexpected. When she looked at him, she felt safe and warm inside. She was inspired by the same confidence and security that she felt around her father, but this was so much more. Rob made her feel like she had no greater desire in the world than to be enveloped by his body and arms all at once, head at his chest (for she couldn’t reach any higher), nuzzling into those beautiful pecs, smelling both his cleanliness and the vague scent of his sweat after a long day of work. She was overwhelmed by an all-consuming desire to tell him everything about her life, to make him part of her everyday existence. She wanted to connect with him in the worst way, and suddenly she had to have him in every way she could—both in her life and in her bed.

  But if she said anything even hinting at these thoughts, he would smell her desperation. Olivia, not known for playing it cool, decided to channel a person she thought would handle herself better. So she conjured a vision of Christina Hendricks’s character from Mad Men. She loved how Joan was all woman but managed to stay discreet and in control even during the most calamitous moments. Joan could talk with the boys and drink with the boys, but she was a dynamo in the sack.
She wasn’t a woman who would lose control in front of a man—or a woman for that matter—she was a woman who waited for her moment. While she waited for Rob to return, Olivia’s demeanor changed. She sat straight and prim in her chair, focused her gaze, and assumed control of her emotions. Elegantly sipping her cappuccino, she was Joan.

  “Long line. Sorry I took so long,” Rob said apologetically.

  Olivia smiled easily and looked directly at him. “It wasn’t long at all.”

  “So did you bring the envelope? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy, I’d just like to get the business stuff out of the way.” The truth was, he did seem a little too anxious to talk business.

  But Olivia—as Joan—was unfazed. “Absolutely,” she said, reaching into her bag. “Here you are.”

  She started to hand the envelope over, then realized she was about to give away her sole connection to him. If he was truly only interested in the case, then their transaction, and connection, would end right there.

  “Hang on a second,” she said. “Before I give this to you, we should probably talk about what’s in it. I think I should explain.”

  Olivia’s explanation would do nothing to augment the detective’s search for fingerprints, of course. He was only going to dust the envelope and then check the stamps and the seal for DNA. He didn’t actually need to look at the contents. But a good detective always listens.

  “Okay, sure, tell me,” he said.

  “Well, inside you’ll see some legal documents. A case I’m fighting, of course, but you have to understand my family. My mother has some very serious problems, in life as well as directly with me. She has taken me to court several times in an attempt to take my father’s money away. She squandered everything she had, and now she is trying to steal my dead father’s house from me. It’s an incredible mess, and she’s totally in the wrong,” she told him easily. Was he a good listener because that’s what detectives do, or was he truly interested in her story?

  “I’m so sorry, Olivia,” he said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”