Just Breathe

by Janette Paul

  Ethan rolled to the edge of the bed, one naked shoulder draped over the side. ‘It might be more fun if you did that in here.’

  She grinned. ‘How did you enjoy slumming it?’

  It was the first time he’d stayed at her apartment. He’d had a work thing on last night, said he’d see her tomorrow so she went to bed early. Pam rushed in some time after eleven, flustered and excited, saying Ethan Roxburgh was at the door. The Ethan Roxburgh. Dee walked out in her PJs and led him back to her room, closing the door on her flatmate’s shocked face.

  Ethan dropped a hand over the side of the mattress and ran a finger along her arm. ‘The bed’s a bit hard but the company’s excellent.’

  In the last twelve days, they’d been together more nights than apart. It was energising and exhausting and a little terrifying. She’d figured two weeks would do it – put her crush to rest and satisfy the itch that hadn’t been scratched in a long time. Like Leon said: it fit neatly into her two-week ‘future’.

  The problem was that the intensity of the attraction hadn’t abated. Had, in fact, blown out of proportion. A crush on steroids. She wanted it to hurry up and burn itself out so she could walk away when she needed to. Because she would need to. No point kidding herself Ethan wouldn’t look at another Roxburgh Girl just because he’d spent a few hot nights with a horny yoga guru.

  ‘You’ll probably want to go home to shower,’ Dee suggested. ‘I’m not sure your pampered body can deal with the water pressure here.’ She watched him ease out of bed, pull on boxers, flex his broad shoulders in a yawn and felt the urge to hold on a little longer.

  She was brewing coffee when he finished in the bathroom and was ready to leave. ‘Will I pick you up here or at the yoga school tonight?’

  He was taking her to the opening of an art exhibition, their first outing together since he’d burned her nun’s habit. Publicly, they would pretend it was another business opportunity, to keep the media in the dark. Privately, she got to go home with him.

  ‘At the yoga school,’ she said.

  ‘By the way, I checked the invitation and the dress code’s cocktail wear and lounge suit.’

  ‘I’ll have to find time to raid Amanda’s wardrobe.’ Even as she was working through the logistics of squeezing a trip to her sister’s into her schedule, a part of her was wondering if her own clothes in a sea of Roxburgh Girl potential might not push Ethan towards the inevitable.

  Ethan edged in behind her, swept aside her hair and spoke whispery words in her ear. ‘Don’t go as Amanda. Go as the real you. I like the real you.’

  Her belly tightened in pleasure and anxiety. She slid out of his hold, looking for mugs in a cupboard. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I have to go. And, speaking of finding time, tell Graeme Paffe if he’s going to keep taking up so much of yours, he should cough up with some consulting fees.’

  She was meeting Graeme this afternoon to look at his latest yoga clothes. His free samples were great and she was learning heaps about the clothing industry, but it ate into her day. ‘He hasn’t finalised the designs yet.’

  ‘Your time is valuable, Dee, and at the moment he’s getting it for free. The whole point of business connections is to make them work for you. Tell him you’ve got a tight program and he’ll have to get in the queue behind your paid jobs.’

  She grinned at the way he said it. Being in high demand was kind of fun. The yoga DVD was being shot next week, the script writer had her on speed dial and Damon the Director kept dragging her out to look at locations – which was flattering and exciting but required last-minute rearranging of classes, placating of students and begging replacement teachers to help her out. So far, she owed a favour to everyone she’d ever worked with.

  Apart from Arianne and Howard. Poor Arianne was banished to her bed, except for the occasional cautious trip down to the yoga room, where she’d sit cross-legged and watch a class. And Howard looked as harried as Dee felt. Running the school, teaching the other half of Arianne’s students as well as his own and caring for his dangerously pregnant partner was taking its toll. Dee helped out where she could, counting the takings, doing the bank drop, popping upstairs with milk and vegetables and tofu and anything else she thought might cheer Arianne up.

  And while she hadn’t officially got her shit together, Dee could now say she was on the way. She had enough money to buy a low-priced sofa – if only she could decide which one was right for her.

  Dee crossed the kitchen, stood on tip-toe and kissed Ethan on the throat. ‘Graeme will have to queue for real after today. I’m cancelling everything while the DVD is shot next week.’

  ‘Then kiss me again before you run out of time.’ He wrapped her up in a sudden moment of passion before leaving.

  After Patrick, Dee dropped in on Arianne for five minutes before the intermediate class, skipped a coffee to deposit the takings, drove across town for her 11 a.m. private, then grabbed a piece of fruit for lunch while she bought groceries for Arianne.

  At one, Dee arrived at Lucy’s office, glad the younger Roxburgh was still clueless she was sleeping with her brother. She had no idea how Lucy would react but, as she was having enough trouble keeping her own responses in check, she didn’t need Lucy’s to complicate matters.

  Lucy slammed the phone down as Dee walked in. ‘Bloody Ethan. Don’t you want to strangle him?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘He’s decided he’s sick of being a slave to the job and won’t schedule any meetings after 7 p.m. It’s a midlife crisis, I tell you. He’ll be growing his hair and buying another sports car any second now.’

  Dee smiled to herself, pleased Ethan was making time for himself. Was sleeping with a hippie part of a midlife crisis? How long did a midlife crisis last?

  ‘It’s normal to feel good after sex,’ Arianne said.

  ‘I don’t mean the sex,’ Dee said. ‘I mean feeling elated all the time is weird. It’s making me nervous. I’m worried it might make me attached. Do you think you can get too attached to being elated?’

  Arianne watched her from the bed. ‘I think you’re thinking about it too much. Elated is nice. Enjoy it. And whatever happens, happens.’

  ‘Nu-uh. I need to be more careful than that. I’m not falling to pieces over a man ever again.’ Dee twisted her hair into a knot, pinned it, pulled it out again. ‘What do you think – up or down?’

  ‘Down. Didn’t Ethan say it looked sexy like that?’

  ‘But I don’t want every man there falling at my feet.’ They both laughed out loud, like it was therapy.

  ‘I’d go mad here if it wasn’t for you,’ Arianne said. ‘And I don’t mean just the laughs and the food. Thank you for everything you’re doing with the school. It’s so frustrating not being able to help.’

  ‘Then you should take some of your own advice. Don’t think about it so much. Just let it happen.’ The door rattled downstairs. ‘Well, that’s my five minutes off this week. That’ll be Ethan.’ Dee picked up her bag and dropped a kiss on Arianne’s forehead. ‘Don’t get up. I can see myself out.’

  ‘I’m never sitting down again after this baby’s born,’ Arianne called as Dee was shutting the front door.

  The party was at a small art gallery in the city, crowded and swanky – Roxburgh Girl territory. Most of the women and some of the men looked like they were auditioning for the role. Dee had taken Ethan’s advice and gone as herself. Now she was here, she figured she might blend in with the artistic types, although she suspected her swirly peasant skirt, t-shirt, waistcoat and flat sandals weren’t weird enough.

  With a glass of champagne and a large bruschetta, Dee trailed Ethan through the crowd, bumping into him when he stopped to greet a group of guests. She juggled her drink and food into one hand so she could shake with the other, sploshing a cascade of champagne onto her skirt. Moving on, she stuffed bruschetta in her mouth to avoid another juggle and spill, still chewing as Ethan halted again.

  ‘Dee, this is m
y Aunt, Grace Roxburgh.’

  Uh-oh, bruschetta mouth. She smiled, tried to swallow once, twice – and choked.

  Dee put a hand over her mouth, attempting a dignified ahem. It didn’t work and within seconds she was fighting for breath and her face was pounding. Ethan landed one firm thud in the centre of her back, knocking her two steps forward onto his aunt’s expensive shoes. The bruschetta went down and she sucked at the air with a desperate, noisy gasp.

  Aunt Grace gripped Dee’s forearms to steady her then manoeuvred her off her patent leather pumps. ‘Well done, dear. Best entrance I’ve seen in years.’

  Dee blinked at amused blue eyes. ‘Thanks, I’ve been rehearsing all day.’

  The older woman’s laugh was loud and gutsy. She looked Dee over like a business proposition, studied her face then offered her a hand to shake. ‘Delighted to meet you, Dee.’

  A photographer appeared at Ethan’s side. ‘Mr Roxburgh, can I get a picture of you and your companions?’

  Ethan shot Dee a discreet glance, raising an eyebrow at his aunt.

  ‘Why doesn’t Dee stay here with me while you go find some people who want to be photographed?’ Aunt Grace said, linking her arm in Dee’s and steering her towards the artworks. ‘And what do you think of this rubbish?’

  Dee knew nothing about art but waved a hand nonchalantly. ‘Oh, it’s rubbish. Never touch the stuff,’ she said, and was pleased to hear the other woman’s throaty chuckle.

  Aunt Grace was excellent company for a swanky party. She was irreverent and opinionated and funny. They toured the paintings while Grace entertained her with shocking stories about artists and buyers.

  When they’d run out of art, Grace said, ‘So what do you do, Dee?’ then held up her hand like a stop sign. ‘No, don’t answer. I hate that question. I much prefer to know who a person is than what they do. Who are you, Dee?’

  She’d been called a lot of things lately – guru, model, self-employed, consultant, hopeless with money – all of which didn’t seem to come close to describing her. ‘I’m a yoga teacher.’

  Grace seemed disappointed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re another one who insists on being defined by how you earn money.’

  ‘No, actually, my job is defined by who I am. I am a yoga teacher. I’m also fortunate enough that a few people want to pay me to do it.’

  Grace took a long look at her and nodded in approval. ‘The Roxburghs have always been defined by their business interests but it’s not who they are. Even when you marry into it, like me, it’s a challenge to define yourself. They all have terrible trouble finding people who can see them for who they are, not what they do.’

  Behind Grace, a man with a camera backed up, about to walk right into her. Dee pulled her aside, watching as the photographer arranged a group shot, Ethan front and centre, book-ended by twin Roxburgh Girls.

  Grace huffed. ‘Those photographers are a nuisance. Ethan believes in the value of publicity but I prefer to keep a low profile.’ She took Dee’s arm and moved further back. ‘That wife of his didn’t know the meaning of low profile.’ She made another disgusted sound. ‘Never had any idea there was more to him than his job. I cracked a bottle of bubbly when that marriage broke up.’

  Dee glanced at Ethan. The details of his divorce were never revealed in the media. She thought of all the Roxburgh Girls he’d been photographed with, how he kept himself hidden behind his business persona, wondered if he’d decided marriage was a place he wouldn’t visit again.

  He rejoined them finally, apologising for being so long. ‘I had an ambulance on standby but you obviously kept Dee away from the food,’ he told his aunt.

  Grace laid a hand on Dee’s. ‘I enjoyed our conversation. Much more enlightening than the art.’

  ‘Yes, much more.’

  The crowd had thinned and guests stood in small groups, their quiet conversations a constant hum broken occasionally by laughter.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to look around,’ Ethan said. ‘Do you mind doing it again?’

  ‘Not at all, but I’ve got to warn you, your aunt’s commentary is a hard act to follow.’

  They made their way slowly around the room, standing side by side in front of large canvases. It was contemporary and weird and Dee didn’t understand most of what she saw, but being with Ethan was a buzz. Although trying to behave like business buddies was like trying not to eat chocolate once you’ve put it in your mouth. They kept their hands to themselves, averted their eyes, but it didn’t stop her thinking about peeling his shirt off or that little round muscle just under his ribcage or …

  ‘Mr Roxburgh.’ A photographer stuck his head between theirs. ‘Would you mind if I grabbed a photo of you and your guest?’

  A woman at the next canvas spun around. ‘Ethan, darling, how are you? It’s been ages.’ Too old by several decades to be a Roxburgh Girl, she air-kissed both of his cheeks.

  ‘Mrs Reynolds, could I get you to join the photo?’ the photographer asked.

  Ethan stepped away from Dee, turning a shoulder to her while pulling Mrs Reynolds closer. ‘How’s that?’

  The photographer pointed at Dee, who was now well out of the picture. ‘How about …’

  ‘I think this is fine,’ Ethan said firmly. ‘Don’t you think, Josie?’

  ‘God, it’s wonderful, darling.’

  As Josie Reynolds fluffed her hair and dipped her chin, Dee had a sudden urge to drop-kick the puffed-up old bag and leap into the shot.

  Get a grip, she warned herself. She didn’t need to be a Roxburgh Girl when her basket was already stowed in Ethan’s car.

  ‘Is the property up for sale again?’ Dee asked Arianne as she pulled on yoga tights before the Friday evening class. She’d taken to running up the extra flight of stairs to the apartment to check in on Arianne while she changed.

  Her friend was tired and bored today. ‘No, why?’

  ‘There’s a guy taking pictures of the building. That’s how you found out last time, wasn’t it?’

  Arianne rolled off the bed and walked to the window. ‘I hope not. I couldn’t deal with lease negotiations at the moment.’

  ‘Maybe a new owner wouldn’t want to change the lease,’ Dee suggested.

  ‘That’s about as likely as me touching my toes anytime soon. I’d better ring the agent tomorrow. At least that’s something I can do from bed.’

  Dee made her a cup of herbal tea before going down to the yoga room, let herself in, lit the incense sticks, started the CD player and was pulling out the money drawer when the first student came in. It took a second to put a name to his face. ‘It’s Ian, isn’t it? The reporter from the club.’

  He shook her hand. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me.’

  ‘How could I forget? You kept me laughing all night.’

  ‘And you got me thinking that I haven’t done a yoga class in ages. Thought I’d start with the beginners and see how I feel.’

  ‘Great. Thanks for choosing my class.’ She took his fee and, as no one else had arrived, showed him to the mats in the storage room.

  ‘You were about to make a DVD for Health Life last time I saw you,’ he said. ‘How’d it go?’

  ‘We start shooting on Tuesday.’

  ‘Is that right? Where is it being filmed?’

  ‘There are about four locations around the city. One of them is a helicopter pad on top of an office block. Not sure what that’s got to do with yoga but they think it’ll look great for aerial shots.’

  ‘So it’s a big budget production.’

  She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m just hoping the helicopter doesn’t blow me off the building.’

  He was laughing with her when the next students arrived.

  ‘Sorry, got to go. Feel free to ask questions during the class.’

  Ian the Reporter was out of practice but clearly knew what he was doing on a yoga mat. Dee kept an eye on him, aware that the first time back in a while can make muscles sore and turn people off.

&n
bsp; He waited for her after class. ‘The meditation was great. I feel like I’ve slept for an hour.’

  ‘Hope to see you back then.’

  He stalled for a moment while she packed up. ‘Have you got time for a bite to eat?’

  Dee glanced up, surprised. ‘Oh, thanks, but I’ve got a heap to do when I get home. I’m consulting on the script for the DVD and I haven’t read the latest version yet. Sorry.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll walk you out then.’

  As she switched off lights and they started down the stairs, he asked her about Graeme Paffe, cracked another joke about his Lycra tights and mentioned someone else from the meeting she didn’t know.

  ‘So have you seen Ethan Roxburgh lately?’ he asked.

  She pulled the street door closed, hoping he didn’t want to keep talking. She’d lied about the script; she wanted an early night. ‘Sure. He’s still giving out free business advice.’

  ‘Haven’t seen him with a Roxburgh Girl lately. Maybe he’s found an astrophysicist after all.’

  Dee remembered his joke from the club – models-slash-actors-slash-singers. ‘Or a physiotherapist.’

  ‘Or a yoga teacher.’

  Pulling the key from the door, her eyes flicked to his reflection in the glass. ‘Now that’s a funny one.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Well, if he is, it’s no one I know. Anyway, gotta go. Hope you’re not sore tomorrow. Bye.’ She waved as she turned for her car, desperate now to end the conversation.

  Ethan rang as she was driving home. ‘I predicted you wouldn’t have time to shop today, so I’ve got dinner here waiting if you want to drop around.’

  She wished he wasn’t quite so nice. He was making it very hard not to hold on tight. ‘I’ll be there in ten.’ Revising the script would be much more interesting at his place.

  The next morning, Dee left the home of her private student and ordered breakfast at her favourite café. It was her Saturday treat – she didn’t have to teach again for three hours so there was plenty of time for digestion. She’d just sat at a table when Ethan called.