Just Breathe

by Janette Paul

  ‘Mrs Weston wants a quick chat before I leave,’ Jo said. ‘Take a break and I’ll help you with the last stuff when I get back.’

  Dee dried her hands and wandered onto the balcony. There were only a couple of guests left now and they were inside so Dee slipped off her clogs and slouched exhaustedly over the handrailing. The view from the penthouse was stunning, the city sparkling with a million lights. She closed her eyes, felt the balmy night close comfortingly around her, the sounds of the city drifting up from the street below.

  ‘Dee?’

  She jumped at the sound of Ethan’s voice. Damn, she thought he’d left.

  He strolled along the deck to her side, resting an arm on the railing. His irises were black in the dim light. ‘Are you okay?’ He sounded concerned. She supposed it was only natural after seeing someone smack themselves in the face with a loaded tray.

  ‘Yeah, fine. Just bruised my ego.’

  One side of his mouth turned up. ‘Have you still got a job?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t send me home so I suppose so. Not that this is my job job – just a job.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Dee heaved a great sigh. It was a good question. She’d told herself a thousand times she should have done that in the first place. ‘Well …’ she ran a hand through her hair and noticed the way his eyes followed her fingers all the way to her waist. ‘You told me the board wanted a really professional yoga type person for the ad, which I am, but I thought if you knew I was one of the wait-staff, you’d think I needed the money, which I do, but I thought you’d think it was because I didn’t have a good business, which I do, and wasn’t very good at yoga, which I am, and then you wouldn’t want me for the ad.’

  She took a breath. He said nothing so she went on. ‘So I pretended to be a guest, which I thought was working pretty well right up until I served cakes to your client then threw them all over myself. Sorry about that.’

  Ethan didn’t speak for a long moment.

  Why hadn’t she just said sorry and shut the hell up?

  ‘Oka-ay,’ he said slowly. He took a breath as though about to say something more, then faltered.

  Dee cringed inside, waiting for the blow.

  ‘You’ve got a bit of cream just there.’ He waggled a finger at the side of her face. ‘On your earlobe.’

  Oh. She reached up, wiped the splodge of cream from her ear and smeared it on her shirt. ‘What’s a bit more cream when you’ve already rolled in it?’

  He chuckled a bit, which Dee thought was really sweet – and so much better than crushing her. ‘See you later, Dee the Yoga Teacher. And good luck with the ad.’

  She watched him walk back inside, feeling a little bemused herself.

  Dee swapped her phone to the other hand and closed the door of the yoga studio as she answered it. ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘I saw Claudia Warburton this morning, Trudy.’

  It’d be lovely if Val could start with hello every now and then. ‘Who?’

  ‘From tennis. She asked me how long you’d been a kitchen hand.’ It was both a question and an accusation, like she wanted Dee to deny it before she slapped her wrist.

  Dee started down the stairs to the street, trying to decide how best to handle this. It was the ultimate let down for her mother. Her daughter, with a degree and lots of potential, reduced to hired help. It had to be money trouble, she’d think. She must be desperate, she’d think. A perfect opportunity to rescue her, set her on the right track, make her buy that apartment and get a better job.

  ‘Well, you see, I was doing a favour for a friend with a –’

  ‘She said someone threw food at you.’

  ‘It wasn’t like –’

  ‘I just don’t understand, Trudy. You don’t need to do that kind of work. If it’s money you need, I can help you. But you’ve got to get yourself into a better job. A proper job. You’ll need one to pay off your apartment.’

  Dee slammed the front door, gritting her teeth. Was it any wonder she preferred scraping by than asking Val for help? ‘Mum, it’s not like that. It was a bit of extra cash, you know, after Christmas, and I was really just helping out Jo, you know, doing her a favour.’ She winced at the lie and threw her yoga mat in the back of the car. ‘And actually, I’ve just got a really well-paid job. Heading off right now for two days’ work.’

  Dee had laughed out loud when Lucy phoned the morning after the catering job to say Leonard the Client had approved her for the ad. If she’d known a pie in the face would clinch the deal, she wouldn’t have waited until the end of the night to do it. Best of all, they were putting her up in a posh hotel for two nights so they could get an early start each day. She was getting a holiday, too.

  ‘You’re working in someone’s kitchen for two days?’ Val was shrill.

  ‘No, I’m doing yoga in a TV ad.’ She said it like an announcement, waited for the applause.

  ‘There’s no future in that. You may as well be working in someone’s kitchen.’

  Sitting in the driver’s seat now, Dee bent forward and slowly, repeatedly, butted her head on the steering wheel. Patience, Dee. Calm centre. Deep breathing. ‘The ad is for Health Life Insurance. You’ve got insurance with them, haven’t you?’

  A slight pause. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It pays heaps for just two days’ work and Lucy Roxburgh says it’ll start a virtual landslide of opportunities for me.’ Not that she intended to get caught in it. One ad would pay enough to get her shit together then she could get back to her normal life.

  ‘The Lucy Roxburgh? As in Ethan Roxburgh’s sister?’

  ‘Yes. She’s one of my students.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded marginally impressed.

  Encouraged, Dee went with it. ‘She asked me specially to do the ad, practically begged me to do it. I’ll be the face of Health Life Insurance.’

  There was an extended silence from Val’s end of the phone.

  Come on, Mum. You’ve got to be impressed with that. Dee would’ve been impressed too, if she wasn’t so damned nervous.

  ‘Well, I suppose it will look good on your résumé,’ Val said.

  Chapter Six

  ‘What the fuck is wrong with your arse now?’ Damon the Director yelled across the sand.

  Dee felt like she’d woken up in her own anxiety dream. She was the centre of attention on a long, long stretch of deserted beach three hours north of Sydney and her butt just wasn’t cooperating. First it was the baggy pants. Apparently, they’d expected a gym-sculptured, bun-shaped arse to fill out the trousers but as hers was naturally pear-shaped, the director’s assistant had to do a hasty nip-and-tuck at the seams to achieve the buff look he wanted.

  Then, as she executed her first forward bend in the soft sand just metres from the surf, Damon had yelled, ‘What the fuck are you wearing? Your grandma’s undies?’

  As instructed by Lucy, Dee bought a flesh-coloured hipster g-string but the scrap of fabric looked more like a parachute for Base Jumper Barbie than anything she wanted to be entwined in for a yoga workout. So she’d worn a modest pair of boy-leg knickers that, according to Leon and Robert, were invisible under the baggy white pants. Damon apparently had better vision.

  Luckily, she’d brought the g-string just in case but now that she was back on the beach in her mini parachute, struggling to hold her balance on the sand, trying not to crack her make-up by squinting in the sun, Damon still wasn’t happy with her butt.

  ‘There’s a big mark on your arse.’

  Dee looked down. ‘Where?’

  He walked over, poked a buttock. ‘There.’

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘What is it? Let me see.’

  Dee folded down the top of her trousers, revealing the big green bruise she’d earned trying to move Leon’s TV around the apartment so it didn’t look so empty.

  ‘That’s one helluva bruise,’ Damon said then yelled over his shoulder. ‘Make-up!’

  In seconds, Dee’s pants were around he
r ankles, g-string on public display, while the make-up crew plus Damon, his assistant, a cameraman, sound recordist, photographer and half a dozen nameless others crowded around her butt like it was an endangered species.

  She closed her eyes, stomach tight. Her anxiety had not behaved well this morning and now she could feel it creeping about, looking for a way to escape. She took deep breaths and tried not to flinch as the make-up girl went to work on her cheek.

  Butt finally sorted, Damon told her he wanted some Salutes to the Sun to start. The idea was that the sight of a flexible young woman doing yoga in an exotic location would make people sign up for Health Life’s healthy lifestyle insurance plan – helping you even when you’re healthy, or something like that. Dee felt conscious of the audience now gathered to watch and the huge camera pointed straight at her almost naked torso – why did the costume have to be so brief? She stretched her arms above her head, bent forward, placed her hands either side of her feet, pressed one foot back into a lunge, wobbled in the sand.

  ‘Cut!’ Damon yelled. He checked his watch impatiently. It was now an hour since she’d stepped onto the sand, slathered in sun cream and make-up, and it was getting progressively hotter. ‘Why don’t you try that again, luv?’

  She glanced awkwardly at the semi-circle of spectators, standing around with hands on hips or arms crossed, nice shady hats protecting their faces, waiting for something interesting to happen. She swallowed hard and hitched self-consciously at her trousers. Ethan Roxburgh flashed through her head. See you later, Dee the Yoga Teacher. She was suddenly desperately glad his dark eyes weren’t watching her making a fool of herself. Palms pressed together at her chest, she started again – stretch up, bend forward, lunge back, Downward Dog, try not to get sand in your face as you slide forward, another lunge … Bugger, which leg was she up to? And Damon checking his watch.

  He held up a hand for her to stop. He took off his cap and raked a hand through his thinning hair. ‘How ’bout you try looking, oh, I don’t know, Zen-like.’

  Dee squinted at him. What the hell did that mean? She parted her lips a little, curled up the edges of her mouth, tried for a contented, Zen-like smile, hoping she didn’t look as stupid as she felt. Once again: stretch up, bend forward, lunge back. Her eyes flicked around the audience as she went through the moves. They looked impatient, disappointed, disillusioned even. What did they want? She was doing yoga, not turning herself into gold.

  When she finished, there was a long, uncomfortable silence. Damon checked his watch then walked across the sand to her. ‘Are you nervous, hon?’

  Let’s see – her mouth was dry, her back was tight, the cup of coffee she had before they started was sloshing against the rigid walls of her clenched stomach and she’d throw up if her jaw wasn’t clamped shut. ‘A little.’

  ‘The thing is we’re looking for something a bit more ethereal. Do you think you could do ethereal?’

  Lucy never said anything about ethereal. She didn’t know how to do ethereal. ‘Well, I, ah …’

  ‘Okay, look, how about we take a quick break? I’ve got some calls to make and you can get a cool drink and think about being ethereal.’

  Dee made her way to the refreshment tent. She was too short and muscly to be ethereal. And right now, with sand creeping into crevices, sweat gathering under her arms, make-up on her butt and an uncomfortable g-string, she felt about as ethereal as an old pro under a streetlight.

  She took a bottle of water from a cooler, retreated with her phone to the shade of a tree. She had messages.

  Having good day. Only puked once! A xx

  She smiled, opened the next one.

  Spoke 2 soon. Up to 3 now. A x

  The last one was from Leon.

  How goes it? R u a star yet?

  Hardly.

  So nervous am having heart attack, she wrote then paused before sending. Damon was walking down the track behind her, talking into his phone.

  ‘Lucy said she was some kind of yoga genius … Yep … Yep … tried that … She’s all we’ve got … Yep … Yep … Well, I suppose that’s what you get when you use amateurs … Yeah, okay, keep you posted. I’ll call back in the lunch break … Yep, bye.’

  He passed Dee as he talked, hung up, turned back and saw her. He paused a moment, then continued past as though she was a sign pointing to the food tent.

  They hate me. About 2 b sacked. Never again. D xx

  Seconds after the text was sent, Leon was on the phone. ‘What’s happ’nin’?’

  Dee was so relieved to hear his voice she almost cried. ‘I’m not ethereal. It’s awful. All these people are standing around, relying on me to do something thrilling and I’ve no idea what. I don’t want to let Lucy down and my butt’s wrong and they’ve covered me in inch-thick make-up and they hate my freckles and I’ve got foundation in my belly button and my hair –’

  ‘Whoa, Dee, hang on a sec.’

  Tears pricked at her eyes. ‘Shit. Now my make-up’s going to get all messed up.’

  ‘It’s okay, Dee. Tip your head back so your mascara doesn’t run.’

  She rested her head against the tree. Thank God for Leon. He’d put make-up on hundreds of actors, had heaps of stories about them freaking out moments before the camera rolled – not that anyone would consider her an actor right now but she was definitely freaking out.

  ‘Why did I ever think I could do this? I should have borrowed some money from Amanda to pay off my debts, given the apartment to that loud friend of yours, let Val buy me a mortgage. Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe I should just tell Damon I can’t do it. But then Lucy –’

  ‘Dee. Dee! Just shut up for a minute and listen. You’re on a beach in the middle of nowhere to do yoga. Enjoy it. Forget about everyone else. Think of them like the traffic outside the yoga school while you’re meditating. Tune them out. Focus on the beach. Focus on your yoga. And if they hate you, so what? At least you get to do yoga in a really exotic place and get paid for it. Enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Enjoy myself!’ She heard her name being called. ‘Crap, I’ve gotta go. Thanks.’

  She walked past the spectators, past the cameras, past the director and took her place on the sand.

  Damon pointed at her. ‘Okay, luv, when you’re ready.’

  Chapter Seven

  Enjoy it, huh? Dee closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath. The air was salty, thick with heat, the sounds of the surf crashed and hissed around her, gulls called gurgling cries overhead and the sun felt like a raw energy source. She opened her eyes and watched the place where the sky gently pressed against the ocean. Slowly she raised her hands to her chest and started again. Breathing in, breathing out, her body moved by muscle memory, stretching, contracting, supporting, releasing. Dee relaxed in the familiar routine. Forgot about everything, forgot to stop after one Salute, forgot to wait for direction, forgot about the traffic, forgot to be nervous.

  When she finished the final Salute with her palms together at her chest, she looked up and the audience and the director and the camera came back into focus. She smiled contentedly. Yoga on the beach could be very cool.

  Apparently, Damon thought it was okay, too. He made her do it again and again, then at lunchtime got back on his phone. Dee couldn’t hear what he said but he was smiling instead of raking his hand through his hair.

  After lunch, she showed him some other poses and he made her move in and out of them over and over, holding them for minutes at a time, while the camera watched from every angle. The sun had set and she ached all over by the time she boarded the mini bus that took them to their hotel.

  Very early the next morning, Dee spent a long time stretching while the crew set up. They were hoping to capture the beauty of a summer dawn over the beach – she was hoping she’d still be able to walk after another day of endlessly holding poses.

  Several hours later, she was in the Warrior Pose for the fifth time. A deep lunge, arms outstretched front and back, eyes focused on the distance beyond her fing
ers. A strong posture but simple considering some of the contorted positions she’d already twisted herself into. Named after an ancient Indian warrior-sage, it developed concentration, endurance and balance – and it always made her feel resilient, assertive, like she was steeling herself for whatever life was going to hurl.

  After the stage fright thing, Dee had been feeling pretty damn assertive anyway. No one had mentioned Zen-like or ethereal since lunchtime yesterday and all day today Damon the Director had asked her advice on postures. He’d even dropped the ‘hon’ and ‘luv’ and was calling her Dee. As she looked out beyond her fingers at the froth of waves massaging the endless stretch of sand, it occurred to her that this was probably the most assertive thing she’d done in ten years.

  She hadn’t planned to become a yoga teacher. It just happened. After the crash, the back pain and anxiety and the grief over Anthony was all she could deal with. She couldn’t think about the future; getting through each day was hard enough. When she could manage on her own, she took off overseas, wandered the world for five years, got her head straight and learned how to live again before coming home to start a new life. The pain was still constant but manageable and the anxiety was being tamed. Anthony and her old life had been packed into boxes in the back of her head and left to gather dust.

  What she learned in those five years was that the future took care of itself if you left it alone. So there had never been any kind of action plan. She supposed she’d eventually make use of her radiography studies, maybe one day be ready to trust someone again. But it hadn’t happened – the career or the man. The only interest she had in radiography now was to read her own X-rays, and the trust bit – she’d never met anyone worth the bother. In the meantime, she kept doing yoga, teaching classes and five years down the track, bingo, she had a career.

  Not exactly assertive, was it?

  Not assertive at all, she answered herself as she stared down the length of her arm. In fact, wasn’t she still just wandering around? Taking a class if someone asked, taking a break when there were no students, finding a few more when the money was short. Not making plans for the future. Because, really, what was the point when you could be healthy one day then battered and broken the next? Happy one minute then just sad and lonely.