Upper East Side #9

by Ashley Valentine

  Namaste!

  Nicole trotted up the stairs eagerly, like a kid on Christmas morning. She turned and glanced over her shoulder at Mekhi, who was lagging behind, trying to think of an excuse not to participate. He decided to feign an injury and was trying to choose a part of his body he could claim to have hurt. He had a cracked rib maybe, from lifting too many dictionaries. He’d been hit by a car on his way to work this morning and was pretty sure he was concussed. He had a rare neural disorder that caused him to black out in small crowded rooms full of sweaty people lying on colorful rubber mats.

  “PS, Mekhi,” Nicole called down to him. “I’m glad you didn’t bother with a change of clothes. For the evening sessions,Yogi keeps the heat even higher than usual, so we usually just go naked.”

  Now things were getting complicated. First, there was no way he was going to do yoga, and second, he’d be damned if he was going to do yoga naked. On the other hand, Nicole would be there too; he’d get to see her completely naked the very first time they hung out.

  “Um, great!” he enthused, already out of breath from climbing the stairs. Mekhi had never exercised in his life, but the sight of Nicole’s round, yoga-firm butt a few steps above him was all the motivation he needed. Forget that he’d never done yoga, never mind that he was sure to be humiliated, and fuck the seemingly endless flight of stairs: he was going to get into all sorts of pretzel-like positions with Nicole, naked. What was there not to love?

  That’s the spirit!

  “Come on!” Nicole urged giddily.

  Mekhi reached the top of the stairs and followed her into the Tranquility Yoga Studio, a wide-open space with gleaming wide-plank pine floors. The room was almost all windows and was flooded with the late afternoon sun—and the rays only intensified the heat. The temperature in the room must have been near a hundred and twenty degrees, and with the sunlight and all the naked bodies, it was also humid and very...fragrant.

  On a platform in the front of the room was an emaciated-looking Indian man with gleaming well-oiled skin, dressed only in a loosely cinched white cotton robe, seated with his spindly legs crossed in front of him. Below his thinly tweezed eyebrows, his eyes were closed, and he was smiling profusely. In front of him was a fortyish woman doing her warm-up stretches, her paunchy tummy hanging loosely over her bare veiny thighs.

  A couple of guys warmed up by the windows—one with long, sinewy muscles who arched his back in a way that just didn’t look natural, and a silver-haired grandfather type touching his toes effortlessly. He really put Mekhi to shame...in every department.

  “Better get undressed.” Nicole winked at Mekhi. “Master doesn’t like to start class even a minute late. Anyone who’s not undressed and ready to go is asked to leave.”

  Mekhi had been on the verge of explaining to Nicole that he was epileptic and had forgotten to take his medication, but then she started to yank her turquoise sports bra over her head. Wow. What could he do?

  Strip!

  He pulled his dirty T-shirt over his head and let it fall to the ground. Then he unbuckled his belt, kicked off his shoes, and pulled down his jeans. He was the only guy in the room wearing boxers, but he stubbornly kept them on.

  He balled his socks up and stuffed them into his shoes, then took a deep breath and followed Nicole out onto the floor, where she started to stretch. Her flawless skin was golden brown all over, which he knew for sure, since he could see everything. Her long black hair fell over one of her handful-sized breasts and Mekhi had to remind himself he couldn’t just go and grab them right now. She bent over and touched her palms to the floor. He tried to mimic her, but he could barely touch his knees. It was agonizing.

  “Don’t bend,” Nicole whispered. “Stretch, stretch.”

  It was impossible to see Nicole’s perfect naked body stretching and contorting without the fly of his boxers expanding to embarrassing proportions. Mekhi stared as she took her foot in her hand and extended it straight over her head. He closed his eyes and tried to think of unsexy things, like the way food always got stuck in his aunt Sophia’s dentures or how the sidewalk in front of his building always smelled like dog piss. The sweat was already pouring down his face and they hadn’t even done anything yet. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “Mekhi, no!” whispered Nicole. “Don’t let master see you do that. The whole point is to sweat it out. You can’t wipe it off. It goes against his teachings.”

  Why couldn’t Bikram have been a nice foreign film? They could be eating popcorn in a dark air-conditioned theater, making out instead of sweating in this stifling room and following the orders of some sadist. Suddenly the teacher rose from his seated position on the dais at the front of the room and let his robe drop to the floor.

  “Namaste!” he called, in a joyful booming voice, bowing slightly.

  “Namaste!” the rest of the class replied, bowing back.

  Well, most of the class.

  “Let’s begin with partner poses.” He motioned for everyone to pair up. “Prepare for shoulder stand. Begin with downward-facing dog and tripod pose, if you wish.”

  “Ready?” Nicole whispered. She had a thumbnail-sized birthmark near her belly button.

  Nicole bent over and placed her palms on the floor in front of her and then waggled her butt as if in preparation for take-off. Mekhi looked around, alarmed, but everyone else was doing the same thing. Their partners were even gently holding their hips. Mekhi tentatively touched Nicole on the waist and she brought her right knee to her right elbow and then did the same with her left.

  “Hold me steady,” she told him. Mekhi crouched next to Nicole, his hands circling her taut middle as she brought her long, toned legs straight up and smiled at him from upside-down. “I think I have it now.”

  “Oh, okay,” Mekhi said, backing away. But as he went to stand up, he realized that his boxers were totally gaping in front and his “friend” was totally exposed...and totally excited. Oh, God. He stayed in a half-crouch, desperately trying to picture Aunt Sophia’s cruddy teeth again.

  “Young man.” The scary naked yoga master pointed at Mekhi.

  Me? Mekhi pointed at himself, still half-crouching. Everyone in the class turned to look at him.

  “Yes, you. Come, my son,” the teacher said, beckoning to Mekhi with his long skinny fingers.

  “Go up there,” Nicole whispered from upside-down. “This is such an honor, I can’t believe it—on your first time, too.”

  Mekhi walked across the wooden floor trying to look casual, desperately cupping his crotch with his hands. He reached the foot of the platform and the teacher smiled down at him placidly.

  “Come, my son,” the teacher said. “You’ll work with me today. It’s your first time, right?”

  Mekhi nodded nervously. His whole body trembled as he stepped onto the platform. The yogi reached down and placed his worn palms on the floor, giving Mekhi a terrible close up of his wrinkled ass. Everyone in class followed suit, and for a brief second Mekhi got a surreal glimpse of Nicole’s bare breasts upside down from between her wide-spread legs. His reverie was interrupted as the teacher grabbed him from behind, pressing his bare stomach into Mekhi’s skinny bare back, and gently guided his head down, so that all Mekhi could see were his own legs and the skinny legs of the naked guy straddling him. Mekhi had never been intimate with an older person before, let alone an old Indian yoga geezer.

  But when a guy wants a girl, he has no shame.

  21

  “I know a great place where we can go after this,” Tawny announced. She licked her thumb and stuck it into the greasy basket of popcorn shrimp to pick up some fried crumbs.

  Kaliq took a last swig from his limey Corona and nodded. “Fine by me.”

  Crammed into a tiny table by the Oyster Shack’s greasy windows, they ate with their fingers, sipped beer, and talked—well, Tawny did most of the talking. About how she was learning to surf. About how her dad used to be a fire chief but had gotten hurt falling o
ff a ladder and retired. About how she’d been to Disney World four times. About how her unusual looks came from her multicultural background—black, Irish, and Creole. About how excited she was to finally graduate next year.

  Kaliq barely listened to what she said. She was sexy as hell, and he enjoyed simply looking at her. There weren’t many girls like Tawny on the Upper East Side: blond wavy hair spilling over freckled shoulders, pink lips that tasted like cherry ChapStick, long-lashed bright brown eyes, and slender tanned fingers covered with silver rings.

  Porsha was always quizzing him on his favorite song, his first memory, what he wanted to do when he grew up. She said she just wanted to get to know him, but it always felt like a test he was failing. Tawny seemed happy just to let Kaliq be who he was.

  A sexy, arrogant pothead?

  When dinner was over, Tawny perched on the handlebars of his bike and shouted directions to Kaliq. She threw her head back and her long wavy hair tickled his nose.

  “Slow down! No, speed up!” she shrieked.

  “Where are you taking me?” Kaliq shouted as they bumped over tree roots and rocks.

  Tawny glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’ll see...Hey, stop! Let me off.”

  Kaliq skidded to a stop and Tawny hopped onto the ground. Her lavender-colored daisy dukes had ridden up, giving him a great view of her shapely, surf-toned ass cheeks. Shit, was she sexy!

  “That was fun,” she laughed, crashing through some low bushes toward the beach. “Ditch the bike. It’ll be safe there.”

  Kaliq leaned his bike against a nearby tree. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the boughs overhead, but it was cool and very still in the woods.

  Following Tawny, Kaliq thought about how weird it was that he’d only been out of school for a couple of weeks and yet his entire life had completely changed. He was working construction and dating a sexy Hamptons chick. Well, why not? If Porsha could change everything—she was getting married, for Christ’s sake—why couldn’t he? It was easier to be with Tawny than it was to be with any other girl he’d ever known. She wasn’t demanding and self-absorbed like Porsha, she wasn’t naïve and needy like Bree, she wasn’t unpredictable and inattentive like Chanel. She just...was.

  Classic stoner logic.

  “Come on,” Tawny urged, backtracking to grab his hand and pull him through the bushes.

  She led him into a sun-dappled clearing where two massive trees had fallen on top of one another, creating natural benches that were obviously popular with the locals, since the forest floor was littered with old beer bottles and cigarette butts. Three guys hunkered on one of the felled logs, passing a joint between them. Behind them, through the trees, the blue-black water of the ocean glinted and swelled.

  “Hey guys!” Tawny cried.

  Three heads swiveled in their direction. With their baggy jeans and dirty sneakers, these were the kind of guys Kaliq and his friends would have scoffed at if they’d ever come across them in the city. They were the kind of guys who got into fights with bouncers and wore gallons of cheesy drug-store cologne. And they were also, apparently, Tawny’s friends.

  “Kaliq, these are Greg, Tony, and Vince.”

  “What’s up?” Kaliq asked, nodding uneasily in their direction.

  Tawny clambered over the trunk and took a seat next to Greg, a dark-skinned guy cupping a joint in his palm and jutting his chest out into the air territorially in a way that reminded Kaliq of a bulldog.

  “We’ve got some herb, bro,” announced Vince, who appeared to be Greg’s twin. “Have a seat.”

  Kaliq’s ears pricked up at this offer. He hated being called “bro” by guys he didn’t even know, and he hated guys who pretended to be cool when they were really losers, but he had to admit a smoke—even with these dorks—sounded like his kind of dessert.

  Tawny took a hit and handed over the slightly damp roach. Kaliq inhaled greedily.

  “Good stuff, right?” the guy called Greg asked gruffly. “I got it off my regular guy. He’s always busiest in the summer, you know, but he saves the best shit for loyal year-round customers like me.”

  It wasn’t great stuff—the Hawaiian stash Kaliq had stored back in his bedroom was much better—but he couldn’t complain.

  “Fucking city kids,” growled Vince, taking the joint from Kaliq. “They always fuck everything up during the summer. Fucking traffic. Fucking clubs. Fucking pain in the ass.”

  Eloquently put.

  “Summer crowds, man,” mumbled Tony, who hadn’t yet spoken. He was glaring at Kaliq, studying him suspiciously from under the perfectly creased bill of his baseball cap.

  Kaliq was zoning out as usual, the way he liked to when he was smoking herb, but he heard what the guys were saying. Loud and clear.

  “Definitely.” Tawny yawned, lazily resting her blond, wavy-haired head on Kaliq’s shoulder.

  Kaliq glanced down at his tattered work outfit. It was pretty clear Tawny disliked the wealthy crowd that flooded the Hamptons every summer, and Kaliq was definitely part of that crowd. With his working-man’s tan and ragged clothes, she’d probably taken him for the kind of guy who had to spend his summer earning his money, presumably to pay his way through Yale in the fall. He felt a stab of guilt. He hadn’t exactly been honest with her.

  Old habits die hard.

  How long till he showed his true city-boy colors? He might of thought he wasn't like the rest of the city crowd, but he could only forsake creature comforts like nightclub bottle service, black-tie fundraisers on Lilypond Lane, and private helicopter rides back to the city for so long...

  “Same old story every year,” Tony continued. “Why don’t they find someplace else to go, like France or some shit?”

  “They’re not so bad,” Kaliq ventured. “I mean, I’m kind of from the city—”

  “You are?” Tawny demanded, lifting her head. She narrowed her normally wide brown eyes. “You never said anything.”

  “You never asked,” Kaliq pointed out. There were murmurs from the other guys. Vince spat into the sand. Out on the water, a fishing boat flashed its lights.

  “I knew it,” Tony said, spitting on the ground. “I could just smell it on you.”

  “But I mean, it’s no big deal.” Kaliq shook his head. “I mean...I’m not like a lot of those kids.”

  “Well, I guess...” Tawny sank back into him, rubbing the side of her face against his work-strong chest. “Maybe you’ll take me back to the city some time?”

  “Sure, sure.” Kaliq wrapped his tanned arm around her waist. “That’d be fun.”

  As long as he keeps her away from Porsha Not-so-good-with-jealousy Sinclaire.

  22

  The evening after their study session and another disheartening day of rehearsal, Chanel sat in the backseat of a taxi on her way back to the Chelsea Hotel. But this time, she had something to look forward to. She checked the text messages on her phone again, mostly because she wanted to reread the note from Thaddeus.

  Come down and see me. I miss you. xx

  Chanel had been starting to doubt herself after all the insults from Ken Mogul, but here it was: indisputable digital proof that she, Chanel Crenshaw, still had it.

  The taxi made a wide turn onto 23rdStreet and Chanel felt her heart start to pound a little faster—in just a few minutes she’d be at the hotel. She’d been with handsome guys before, but she’d never fallen for anyone quite like Thaddeus. Of course he was gorgeous, but there was something else about him. Chanel felt like they could be more than costars, more than lovers—they could be best friends, too.

  Not that she needed a new best friend. Or did she? She could never remember.

  When they reached the Chelsea at last, she stuffed a twenty-dollar bill into the driver’s hand, burst from the backseat, and dashed into the lobby of the hotel. Even though filming had begun at Barneys, Ken had said she needed as much off-set practice as she could get. The familiar dark hallways lined with famous paintings gave Chanel a sinking feeling in th
e pit of her stomach, but she tried to forget about all the negative things that Ken had yelled at her in the building and focus on what was about to happen: she was about to get together with Thaddeus Smith.

  She knocked softly on his door and he pulled it open almost immediately, a startled look on his face. His very baggy cargo shorts had slid down to reveal his simple gray boxers.

  “Chanel,” he exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” she breathed, brushing past him and into the room. She tossed her Marc Jacobs bag on the floor and plopped onto the couch.

  Thaddeus closed the door and pulled his shorts up, blushing slightly. “So,” he said. “What’s happening? Were you just in the neighborhood?”

  “Something like that.” Chanel laughed. It was cute to see the world-famous actor squirming. God, she loved flirting with him.

  “So,” Thaddeus mumbled, picking up his discarded T-shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. He sat in the arm-chair and placed his feet on the coffee table. “Have you been rehearsing on your own?”

  “It’s such a drag,” Chanel sighed. “But Ken acts like I’m never going to get it right.”

  “I always say it’s harder work than people think,” Thaddeus agreed. “People think it’s all glamour, all parties and premieres, but I fucking earn my paychecks. I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”

  Making three million per movie must be hard.

  “I wish someone had warned me.” Chanel picked her bag up off the floor and dug her hand inside. She’d gotten so worked up on her way over, she needed to relax. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “No, of course not.” Thaddeus gestured lamely at the coffee table, which was already set with an ashtray and several lighters. “The thing is, Chanel, this isn’t a great time. My friend Serge is supposed to stop by.”