Just Breathe

by Janette Paul

  As he pulled to the kerb, she opened the door and looked in.

  ‘Hey, Dee,’ he smiled.

  Dizzy again.

  ‘Have you invested in a new wardrobe?’ he asked as they took off.

  Dee glanced at the suit she’d worn to the Health Life meeting disguised with another of Amanda’s blouses. ‘No, just raided my sister’s closet. She thought this was more appropriate than my normal style.’

  Ethan ran his eyes over her, not as convinced as Amanda.

  ‘You know, more professional, less hippie,’ she said.

  ‘You are what you are, Dee. You don’t need to be anyone else.’

  It wasn’t a criticism, more like a positive assessment, yet it made her feel like a balloon that’d been burst. If hippie was how he saw her, no amount of yoga outfits or borrowed clothes would make him consider her as anything else, much less anyone he’d be interested in. Ethan parked in the CBD and they walked to a small door nestled between a bistro and a menswear store. He lifted the cover on an electronic security pad and entered a code. There was a click, he pushed the door open then closed it securely behind them.

  ‘This is all very cloak and dagger,’ Dee whispered as she followed him up a narrow staircase.

  ‘It’s just to maintain privacy for high-profile club members.’

  ‘We won’t have to wear funny hats or sing rousing songs, will we?’

  ‘You can if you like but you’ll be doing it on your own.’ He stopped on a small landing and pressed an elevator button. ‘Did you bring copies of your business plan and a breakdown of financials?’

  ‘Oh, no. Was I meant to?’

  ‘Just kidding. Relax and have fun.’

  Upstairs was a series of rooms that looked like they belonged in an English TV legal drama. There were leather chairs that could swallow a person whole, crystal decanters, elegant lamps, polished timber and uniformed waiters. Have fun? She was too scared of slipping on the waxed floors and taking out an antique club member.

  Ethan led her to a room impressively set for dinner and already filled with guests. The hushed, formal atmosphere was replaced with a volume that indicated some lively, hearty discussion underway. Ethan moved from group to group, introducing Dee, describing her variously as a yoga teacher, the Health Life girl, self-employed in fitness and ‘in the alternative lifestyle industry’. Who would have thought she had so many labels?

  There were more introductions when they sat down for dinner. Graeme Paffe sat opposite, and on either side of him was a woman who owned a printing business and a newspaper reporter. After a glass of wine and dinner Dee was, in fact, having fun. Graeme Paffe was an enthusiastic conversationalist and Ian, the reporter, was a funny guy. The head of a national environment organisation was the guest speaker and Dee made a note to recycle more and impress Hollywood Tom with the club’s green interests.

  The networking began in earnest after dinner as Ethan deftly steered the conversation. ‘Perhaps you could tell Graeme about your new campaign with Health Life, Dee.’

  Up to this point, she’d let Ethan do the talking, adding the occasional quip when she was sure it wouldn’t expose her business ignorance, keeping her mouth shut when she wasn’t. Now he gave her the floor and was waiting for her to boldly describe her accomplishments. Oh, geez. She’d tried that for years with her family, telling them her back was okay, that she wasn’t so sad, that she could make her own decisions, that she had the life she wanted. They never believed a word. Perhaps best to play it down – it wouldn’t be so embarrassing when they laughed it off. ‘Health Life’s going to make DVDs for their members as part of their healthy life promotion. And I’ll be in the one about yoga.’

  Ethan frowned briefly. ‘She’s modest about her involvement,’ he told the table. ‘What she didn’t explain was that Health Life designed the DVDs around her. After the interest in the ad campaign, and in Dee in particular, they wanted her to be more involved. The DVD is being shot next month and she’ll be the focus of Health Life promotions until the others come out. It’s an exciting new direction for Dee.’

  She felt a moment of discomfort at the thought of an ‘exciting new direction’. But there wasn’t time to correct him when half a dozen people were offering their congratulations, convinced of her success. That in itself was an ‘exciting new direction’.

  ‘We’re trying to crack the yoga market ourselves,’ Graeme said. ‘The market research is saying yoga people aren’t into gym clothes so we’re working on what it is they want.’

  Dee clapped quietly. ‘It’s about time. I have so much trouble finding comfortable clothes to teach in. The school I work for has been looking for singlets to sell to students for ages but can’t find one we all like.’

  ‘Really? I’d love to sit down and talk to you about it. We’ve done a lot of research but it’d be great to get an opinion from a market expert. Have you got a card? Would you mind if I gave you a call?’

  Wow, market expert. ‘Not at all but I don’t have any cards.’ That didn’t sound like an expert. ‘You know, with me.’

  He pulled two cards and a pen from his jacket. ‘Put your details on the back and keep the other one.’

  As she was writing, Ethan spoke in her ear. ‘Don’t be afraid to give yourself a rap. A bit of spin never hurts.’ He stood then and moved to another table.

  After a brief discussion about the pros and cons of Lycra, Graeme departed too and Ian the Reporter moved in beside her.

  ‘I hope I never have to see Graeme in Lycra,’ he said.

  Dee flicked her eyes briefly to Graeme’s lumpy body. ‘Might be a little disturbing. He could do with some exercise, though. And maybe a hamstring stretch.’

  ‘Could be a struggle getting into a Downward Dog though.’

  Dee raised her eyebrows. ‘You know about yoga?’

  ‘I’ve done a few Salutes to the Sun in my time but don’t tell anyone. You get run out of the journalists’ union if you’re too healthy.’

  Dee grinned and let him fill her wine glass.

  ‘So do you feel like Atlas,’ Ian asked, ‘carrying the weight of Health Life’s advertising campaign on your shoulders?’

  ‘I do now. I never thought about it like that. Thanks a heap.’

  ‘No problem. Are there any other issues you need me to cut down to size?’

  He winked. She laughed.

  ‘What’s it like working for Health Life?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t actually work for them but everyone I’ve met has been very supportive.’

  ‘Leonard Frost is an interesting guy.’

  ‘He calls me his yoga girl, which is sweet and weird at the same time.’

  ‘He’s a good businessman.’

  Dee shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know but I embarrassed myself in front of him last Christmas and he’s never mentioned it, which is very nice.’

  ‘Do tell. I love a good embarrassment.’

  Ian hooted and clinked his glass against hers when she told him about peeling the cakes off her face. ‘I guess that would be classified as catering-slash-entertainment. So what do you think about the rumour Health Life is putting its fees up next month?’

  She shrugged again. ‘I can’t afford health insurance, so it doesn’t bother me.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ he said. He leaned back in his chair, eyes roving the room, landing on Ethan at the table behind. ‘So what’s the story with Ethan Roxburgh? Are you guys an item?’

  Dee was midway through a sip of wine and swallowed quickly to avoid choking on the absurdity. ‘Not likely. I’m hardly Roxburgh Girl material.’

  ‘You’re right. You’ve actually got a brain.’

  ‘Thanks, I guess, but that’s a bit mean.’

  ‘Yeah, I s’pose. But why do these rich guys always date models-slash-actors-slash-singers? I bet there are some cute astrophysicists out there. Why don’t they get a look in? Or school teachers? I’ve seen some hot teachers in my time.’

  Dee looked over at Ethan, his face
businesslike and intense. ‘Good point. I guess they don’t run across each other. I mean, when was the last time you met an astrophysicist?’

  ‘Okay, what about florists then? Or writers or … or physiotherapists?’

  ‘Who needs a physiotherapist?’ Ethan said as he took the chair on the other side of Dee.

  ‘Just a theory,’ she said. ‘Ian was wondering –’

  ‘Whether Roxburgh Holdings is serious about getting into manufacturing?’ Ian cut in.

  Ethan’s smile was a mix of amusement and irritation. ‘That would be a no comment, Ian.’

  The two men eyed each other off for a moment.

  ‘Okay, Mr Roxburgh,’ Ian said suddenly, ‘good to see you again.’ He stood abruptly, shook hands with Ethan and Dee and left the table.

  Ethan watched him go then leaned in close, kept his voice low as he spoke to her. ‘Everything all right with him?’

  ‘Fine.’ Everything was perfect as long as he stayed right there, his forehead just centimetres from hers. ‘I’ve never heard anyone say “no comment” before. Does it feel as assertive as it sounds?’

  He smiled. ‘Yeah, it feels assertive.’

  There was assertiveness, too, in the way his eyes moved over her face. As though he was deciding what he wanted from her smorgasbord of features – soft lashes, the curve of her cheekbone, the swell of her full bottom lip.

  Dee pulled in a breath. ‘I guess you get to say plenty of assertive things, being the clever business-type person you are.’

  ‘Us clever business-type people get a lot of interesting opportunities.’ His gaze wandered along the line of her jaw, the curl of her ear, the pulse she could feel thumping in her temple.

  Dee guessed that if her brain wasn’t paralysed in shock by the flirtatious turn of the conversation, she might have thought of something playful and sexy to say. Something that suggested mutual interest instead of dumbstruck disbelief. But the muscles in her face wilted and her mouth dropped ajar as she scrabbled for words. ‘That must be fun,’ she finally managed, hoping it didn’t sound as pathetic as it felt.

  Apparently it did. Ethan’s own smile wavered for a moment. Then he lifted his wrist and checked his watch. ‘It’s late. I should get you back to your car.’ He leaned away again and the flirty connection was broken.

  She collected her bag from the table and followed him through the club, still mentally picking up her jaw from the floor. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Ethan might ever be attracted to her. She figured the sparks she kept seeing were a figment of her imagination, that he must look intently into the eyes of all his prodigies. But she didn’t imagine that moment of sexual tension.

  Or the snap back to reality when he obviously remembered she didn’t belong to the breed of woman he was interested in.

  But wow, he’d been tempted. Who would have thought?

  As she walked carefully over the waxed floors, it dawned on her that their moment of flirtation changed everything. She snuck a look at him as they waited for the lift. Having a crush on a man who was never going to look twice was ridiculous – but it was also safe. She could daydream all she liked about kissing and touching and tumbling about naked and never have to face the ramifications of a future. The possibility the sparks were real, that they could in fact land and ignite, was suddenly more than a little scary.

  The lift door opened and, as Ethan ushered her in ahead of him, she remembered Ian’s comment about models-slash-actors-slash-singers. It was one thing to trust Ethan’s business advice, quite another to trust the glowing embers in his eyes. He’d had one brief marriage and dated a few thousand Roxburgh Girls – relationships clearly weren’t his strong suit. The obvious best option was to stick with the crush from a nice safe distance.

  The problem was she wasn’t sure she could keep her distance if he advanced again. Her heart was hammering just standing beside him and it’d done major flip-flops when he whispered sweet, flirty words. Would she be able to push him away if he wrapped his arms around her? Kissed her? Suggested tumbling about naked?

  And then what? It might make her want more. And wanting more was just a few steps from wanting a future. No, she needed to find a ten-foot pole and stay out of sweet-nothings range.

  Dee’s eyes flashed open. She gasped. Ethan.

  She took a breath, checked the clock.

  Five-fifteen.

  Crap, she’d overslept. She whipped her knees up to her chest. Big circles with the right leg. Big circles with the left. Wince on the hamstring pull, groan on the cat stretch. Forget the dream, Dee. You don’t want Ethan to kiss you over coffee. She rolled onto the yoga mat, skipped the extra back workout, cut the meditation short. It wasn’t enough but it would have to do.

  She had a busy week ahead and it was bad news starting without the right preparation. Dee dropped an empty jar of coffee on the kitchen counter with frustration. Even worse without caffeine. There was enough for at least two more cups yesterday morning. Damn Pam!

  Patrick was at his door before she had a chance to knock. ‘Hi, Dee. Nice weekend?’

  Not enough sleep. ‘Lovely, thanks. How’s your neck today?’

  ‘Not bad, not bad. I’m actually getting a stretching sensation there now instead of just searing pain.’

  ‘That’s great. What about the knee?’

  ‘Those new quad stretches you gave me are working.’

  ‘Great. You can show me later.’

  Dee worked Patrick through his class with only half her mind on the job. The other half had left the moment and was running through the week ahead. A lunch meeting with Graeme Paffe on Tuesday. Val’s birthday on Wednesday, which meant half a day of apartment viewing and high tea. Pages of draft scripts to read and get back to Health Life. A baby shower/farewell dinner on Thursday for Arianne, who’d reluctantly decided to give up teaching until some time after the baby was born. And, on Friday, the school was hosting a yoga demonstration. Fortunately, she’d managed to beg off any kind of performing role but was required to take money and offer refreshments. All of which meant a complicated reorganising of private lessons, swapping of classes, starting early, finishing late, driving back and forth across the city and a general, exhaustion-fuelled pulling out of hair.

  After Patrick’s class, she eased into the rush-hour traffic, heading towards her next private, and consoled herself that Monday would be the easiest day of the week. All she had to do was teach six lessons, drive through the city four times, meet Leon to find a present for Arianne, buy a card for Val, book a table for afternoon tea and try to find replacement teachers for two classes. She didn’t need to eat. Easy.

  By Wednesday, Dee was hyped up on coffee and stress. The meeting with Graeme Paffe went well but she doubted the value of reorganising her life for a lengthy chat about yoga pants.

  She managed to squeeze in a private class before she had to meet Val but Sonya was late and wouldn’t shut up afterwards so now Dee was behind schedule and wondering why she’d bothered to shower before running up the street to the car.

  Her mother was waiting outside a block of apartments that were dark brick and on the wrong side of sixty, unlike Val, who was still blonde and clinging to fifty-nine.

  ‘Don’t you just love the art deco architecture?’ Val said while Dee was still three car lengths away.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mum.’ She pecked her mother on the cheek and pulled a face. ‘It’s pretty old.’

  ‘Now don’t go making up your mind before you’ve had a look.’

  They met the agent inside, where Dee’s original opinion was confirmed – old and small and dingy and looking straight into the apartment next door. The next building was equally aged but not so dingy, thanks to the fact it overlooked an open, airy six-lane highway. The third apartment was a single bedroom, which automatically ruled it out on account of not being able to afford it without a tenant.

  Val went into raptures over the fourth. ‘Don’t you think it’s just the ticket?’ She spread her arms w
ide, taking in the cracked wallpaper and the water stain on the carpet.

  Dee held back a frustrated scream. ‘It’s awful.’

  Val’s smile lost none of its joy. ‘It could do with a bit of work, I admit, but use some imagination, Trudy. With a lick of paint and some lovely new carpet, I think it’ll come up a treat. And with you not being tied to office hours, you have plenty of time for scraping off that wallpaper and getting the hang of a paintbrush.’

  As Val laughed with delight, Dee turned away and squeezed her eyes shut. What the hell was she doing wasting her time in these places? She didn’t even want an apartment.

  Not that Val appreciated that. She’d been cheerful all afternoon, having a ball believing she was leading her daughter out of her wasted existence, priming her for a lifetime of mortgage repayments. It was time Dee spelled it out for her. She did not want any of it.

  As she turned around, words forming on her lips, Val smiled and adjusted the strap of her handbag at her shoulder – where it sat next to the Birthday Girl button Dee had pinned on her shirt.

  She exhaled loudly. ‘I think I’ve seen enough apartments for one day, Mum. Let’s go have tea.’

  ‘Julia looked like most first-time mothers, thrilled and nervous all put together. I took a cake to the hospital and we celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday in the maternity ward.’ Val took a sip of tea from a fine china cup and continued. ‘I can’t believe your cousin is thirty-five already. Four years older than you and having her first. It’s nice to know there’s still time for you, isn’t it, dear?’

  Dee took a bite-sized cake from the three-tiered silver stand on the table and stuck it in her mouth. It would be rude to answer while she was eating.