Just Breathe

by Janette Paul

‘He doesn’t actually date them?’

  ‘A couple have held his interest for a while. Most of them don’t expect to. They’re in it for the profile. That’s why I was pissed off you’d been labelled one.’

  ‘Because I don’t fit the Roxburgh Girl mould.’

  ‘Absolutely, and thank God for that. I wouldn’t like you so much if you were the Roxburgh Girl type. But I thought Ethan had pushed you into it as part of the mentoring. I never thought you two might actually like each other. You guys are so different. Then I wondered why I hadn’t seen it. His bitch ex-wife was more interested in being a Roxburgh than in Ethan, and that hurt him. You’re probably the only woman he’s ever met who can see past his surname.’

  Dee leaned against the cool wall while memories of Ethan got taken out and refiled. She’d had it wrong from the start. Him, the Roxburgh Girls, the way he thought she was different. No wonder he’d pushed for a future. She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Is he okay?’

  Lucy made a huffing sound. ‘He’s something. Pissed off, that’s for sure. I assumed he was an idiot and you were giving him what he deserved. I told him if he’d fucked it up, he didn’t deserve you. Whatever it is, make sure you give him hell. My brother can be a bastard.’

  ‘No, he’s not a bastard. I know what bastards are like and he’s not like that.’ Neither was Lucy. ‘I’m really sorry about that journalist. I didn’t realise he was trying to get information.’

  ‘Forget it. You’re great at yoga. No one expects you to have media training. Besides, no harm done. I hear Health Life’s back on track for the DVD. You’ll do great.’

  Dee wasn’t sure she wanted to do the DVD. Wasn’t sure what she wanted. ‘Thank you, Lucy. I really needed to hear all that.’

  ‘No probs. Hope your mum’s feeling better soon. Gotta go. I’m a Roxburgh Girl tonight. Ethan’s dragging me out to an awards dinner before he heads to the airport. I’m so jetlagged I’ll probably fall asleep in my food. See you Monday.’

  Dee pushed herself off the wall. ‘Wait. Where’s he going?’

  ‘New York. I thought you knew.’

  ‘He said in June.’

  ‘He brought it forward. Couple of weeks there then another one in London. Oh, shit. Look at the time. Gotta go.’

  The ceiling seemed to be spinning. Probably it was just Dee’s head and the way she’d slid to the floor without meaning to. She was no longer in neutral. Mental cogs were reeling in all directions. Not connecting, not finding a forward gear, just whirling about. She felt like she’d been playing that kids’ party game, the one where you spin around blindfolded then try to pin a tail on the butt of a donkey. Except she’d been way off, stuck the tail in his nose. No, worse. She’d got so dizzy she’d tripped, knocked the picture over, scared the guests and ruined the party.

  She was so worried about getting hurt, she’d hurt the people she cared about most. She was insensitive to Leon, dismissive of Arianne and Howard’s generosity. And Ethan … God, she’d messed that up. She was so sure she’d never fit the mould that it hadn’t occurred to her that a different girl might be what he wanted all along.

  She was still on the floor when the first students banged through the door downstairs. Crap. How was she going to teach when she couldn’t tell up from down?

  ‘Hey, Dee, starting without us?’ a student called.

  She pulled herself to her feet and pasted on a smile. ‘Just warming up.’ She took money, counted change, tried not to let the spinning cogs tip her over.

  Pam made her customary loud entrance. ‘Good to see you back on the job.’

  Dee walked over and hugged her. She’d got everything wrong for months. For all she knew, Pam was her best ally. Besides, after the mean things she’d thought, it felt like an apology.

  Pam seemed a little surprised. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Not yet, but I think things might start heading in that direction.’

  Dee worked hard to concentrate, leading them through a warm-up, following it with some floor stretches, a couple of balances. As they prepared for Trikonasana, the triangle pose, she glanced around the room. It was her advanced group. Some of them had been with her for years. Silvia, down the back, had been in her first beginners’ class and Owen had been to the Byron Bay workshops with her. Sue, in the centre, asked about India last month – she might be a prospect for Leon’s tour. And Pam …

  Dee studied her – legs forming a strong, wide triangle, body bent sideways, one hand on the floor, the other stretched towards the ceiling. Former dancers always made beautiful shapes with their bodies. With her blonde curls and that joyful expression, she’d look great in an ad. Or a DVD.

  She prepared them for Warrior Pose. ‘Draw in a deep breath. As you exhale, sink into a deep lunge.’ Dee joined them, arms outstretched, eyes focused ahead. ‘This is a strong posture. It heightens the awareness of your whole body.’ She bent further, front leg taking her weight, back one providing support. ‘Warrior Pose builds courage and assertiveness.’

  Because a warrior needed courage and assertiveness to go into battle.

  To face her fears.

  Dee closed her eyes.

  A future or a life?

  It didn’t matter. She needed to face them both or she would never move on. Never buy a sofa. Never find happiness. Never be truly safe.

  Never see Ethan again.

  That’s when it happened. Like a clunk. As though all her cogs fell into sync and dropped into forward gear. She stood upright with a loud intake of air, surveyed the room of startled faces and made it to Pam in three steps.

  ‘Can you take over the class?’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Sure. Are you sick?’

  ‘No. I’ve got to face a few demons.’

  Dee dug her phone from her bag as she ran down the stairs and hammered in Lucy’s number as the door closed behind her. She’d never left a class before but forward gear felt urgent, unstoppable, a race car burning rubber before it got off the grid.

  ‘Lucy, it’s Dee. Where are you?’

  ‘On a veranda, hoping champagne will keep me awake. Why?’

  ‘I need to see Ethan. Are you with him?’

  ‘He’s right here. I’ll put him on.’

  ‘No! I need to see him.’

  ‘We’re about to go in to dinner. It’ll be a couple of hours at least.’

  ‘Shit.’ Forward gear was pushing her, well, forward. She was in the car, engine running, nowhere to go. ‘I stuffed things up with him, Lucy. I need to make it right.’

  There was a pause on Lucy’s end, as though she was taking a look at her brother and deciding which one of them she was going to back. ‘We’re at The Seaview, the hotel overlooking the rock pools. Young Entrepreneurs’ Awards.’

  It was probably just as well Dee’s old second-hand car couldn’t do more than the speed limit because she wouldn’t have been able to hold herself back. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do when she got there. She just needed to see Ethan and pin the tail on the donkey’s butt. She knew if she didn’t face that particular demon, she’d never be able to face the rest. Never be able to make another decision in her life.

  She found the hotel, jagged a spot a block away. On the kerb, she pulled a crumpled skirt over her yoga tights, wiped residual sweat off her face and jammed her feet into sandals, checking herself in the car window. She looked like she’d just stepped out of a yoga class. Well, duh.

  There was a crowd milling about the hotel. These awards must be a big deal. She could hear some kind of chanting as she got closer, slowed up a bit when she realised they were protestors obstructing the entrance. A placard read ‘Localism Not Commercialism’. They were singing the same thing.

  Dee squeezed around them and through the automatic doors, their shouts abruptly cut off by the heavy glass.

  ‘I’m sorry, you can’t come in here.’ A security guard blocked her path. ‘Demonstrators are to remain on the street.’

  Dee glanced back
at the throng in the driveway. They all looked like they’d just stepped out of a yoga class too. ‘I’m not with them. I need to find the Young Entrepreneurs’ function.’ The guard was clearly doubtful. ‘I’m meeting Lucy Roxburgh.’ She took out her phone. ‘Should I call her?’

  ‘No, go ahead. It’s on the second floor.’ He stepped out of her way.

  Wow, forward gear was assertive. She found the lift and followed a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. The doors were closed but she could hear the rattle and hum of a large dinner in progress. The waiter pushed through. Dee went in behind him.

  The room was huge. Large round tables were assembled in front of a stage. There must have been four or five hundred people there. None of them were dressed like they’d come from a yoga class. No leggings or singlets, only dinner suits and smart cocktail dresses. She tugged at the hem of her top, then saw an official with a name tag and chased him down.

  ‘I need to find Ethan Roxburgh.’ He cast suspicious eyes over her outfit. ‘I’ve got an urgent message.’

  He scanned the room and pointed left. ‘At the front table.’

  Of course. She took a wide arc around the room, cut in behind the front row. She could see the back of Lucy’s head, her dark hair glossy in the low light. Then she saw Ethan, several seats further around the table, bow tie, elegant hands, head turned away talking. Dee swallowed hard, invoked the Warrior Pose and pushed on.

  As she neared the table, a man stepped towards her. ‘You lot had your say out the front. Have some respect and bugger off like the rest of your crowd.’

  All around, heads turned. Dee’s face burned so hard she thought it might burst into flame. Oh, geez, forward gear was a little reckless. She should have thought this through. She should have changed her clothes.

  ‘I’ll handle this, Peter,’ Ethan said as he stood. He sidestepped Peter and looked down on her with delicious espresso eyes that were confused, wary, angry even. ‘What are you doing here?’ His voice was quiet, firm, almost an accusation.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  You are a warrior, Dee. Breathe. She lifted her chin. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  His jaw clenched and unclenched. ‘This is not the time or the place.’

  Bad luck. Warriors don’t wait. ‘I need to talk to you now. Before you go to New York.’

  He studied her a moment, eyes moving from her face to her clothes and back again. ‘What about?’

  Dee took a breath, hesitated. Forward gear had been urgent, assertive and a little reckless. She hoped it was eloquent too. ‘About you … and, ah, me and, ah …’ Okay, so it wasn’t eloquent. ‘Can we go somewhere?’

  ‘There is no you and me. You made that –’

  His last words were drowned out by an MC up on stage. ‘… And welcome to our patron, Mr Ethan Roxburgh.’ A spotlight illuminated Ethan’s empty seat. ‘Mr Roxburgh seems to have … ah, there he is.’ The spot whirled around to where he stood with Dee, bathing them both in glaring light. Ethan put up a hand, acknowledged the applause, smilingly thinly. ‘Mr Roxburgh will be joining me in just a few minutes for the first award presentation.’ More applause, more thin smiling.

  Shit. This really wasn’t the time or place. She’d fucked it up. All of it. He was leaving for New York after this, would be gone for weeks. There wasn’t going to be any other time or place. She wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him or face her damn demons. ‘There is no you and me,’ he’d said. Maybe there was no point in saying anything. Tears threatened but she held his eyes with hers, hoping he’d hear something of the truth. ‘I’m sorry, Ethan.’

  ‘Hey, Dee.’ Lucy grabbed her arm, slipped in beside her. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Now I can go home and sleep.’ Lucy made to leave but was stopped by Ethan.

  ‘You can’t leave now,’ he growled.

  Lucy gave him a try-and-stop-me look. ‘Dee’ll stay in my place.’

  Dee’s eyes widened in surprise. She saw Ethan’s do the same before he frowned at his sister. ‘She isn’t …’

  Lucy grabbed his arm and turned him away. ‘Excuse us a minute, Dee.’ She stood toe-to-toe with her brother, a head shorter but just as tight with simmering hostility. For a minute or more, they argued in strained whispers, then Lucy poked a finger in his chest, glared a second longer, turned smiling to Dee and raised her voice over the hum in the room. ‘Dee Nichols, no one can do bo-ho like you. You just have to take me shopping. I’ll call.’ She held a thumb and pinkie to her ear like a phone, winked before leaving.

  The muscles in Ethan’s jaw bulged several times before he spoke. ‘Looks like you’re here for dinner.’ He took her elbow and addressed the guests at the table. ‘Sorry about the interruption. My sister’s not feeling well. Dee Nichols will be joining us. She’s quite familiar with the entrepreneurial world. She’s been building up her own business for the last few months.’ He smiled genially while she took her seat then glanced down on her with hard eyes.

  So Lucy had handed her a double-edged sword. She had a chance to talk to Ethan before he left the country but he was pissed off, not likely to listen. It wasn’t a good way to start but, hell, it was better than being dumped outside with the protestors.

  She smiled briefly at the woman on her left and cast eyes around the table. The other guests were talking amongst themselves, covertly sneaking peeks at the person who’d dropped in on Ethan Roxburgh and usurped his sister. Hardly a conducive environment for revealing her innermost thoughts. She’d have to get him away from here. Maybe out in the corridor. Across the tableware, he stood to talk to a women then let her lead him away to the stage. Okay, maybe after the awards presentation.

  Dee listened politely, applauding while winners filed onto the stage and shook hands with Ethan. He looked good up there. Interested and genuine. As he posed for photos, she turned to her neighbour. ‘So I guess everyone can party now the winners have been announced.’

  ‘Oh no. There are another four categories of awards.’ She showed Dee the list in the program. ‘Isn’t it wonderful how Mr Roxburgh insists on presenting all of them?’

  ‘Fabulous. So that should take about half an hour?’

  ‘No. We don’t like to bore everyone with a lot of talk. It works much better when it’s spread out over the night.’ She checked the program. ‘Mr Roxburgh wants to finish by ten-thirty. I believe he’s flying to the US tonight. It was so generous of him to make the time to come here first.’

  Praise the lord for his generosity but now what? She could hardly drag him into the corridor between awards and say a quick ‘By the way, I think I can do the future thing and good luck with the next presentation’. She took a long gulp of wine, smiling lamely at him as he returned to his seat. Maybe she could do it across the table, some version of ‘The food is delicious, oh, and, by the way, I really need you’. She took a longer gulp of wine.

  ‘How do you know Mr Roxburgh?’ The question came from a woman several seats away.

  Asked for advice, slept with him, missed the donkey’s butt, fucked it up. The woman obviously hadn’t read a newspaper lately. ‘He’s been giving me business advice.’ The guests, as one, turned to listen. Ethan raised an eyebrow as though asking ‘Is that it?’.

  She saw the hardness in his eyes and the tired lines and knew then how much she’d hurt him. But he’d given her an opening. She might not get another. ‘Well, he helped me nail down some serious issues, like being too focused on the short term.’ She hoped he got the double meaning. It was hard to tell. His gaze was still on her but his face said nothing.

  The man beside her picked up the conversation. ‘Ethan’s very cluey at identifying critical issues.’

  ‘Yes, he is. Apparently I was planning my business around past problems, worried they’d come back and haunt me.’

  Ethan moved his attention to his plate. Oh no, she was losing him.

  The man pointed his knife at her, getting ready to speak again.

  She hadn’t finished. ‘I also misinterpreted consumer dema
nd. I didn’t understand the value of my product.’ Ethan lifted his wine glass to his lips, his dark irises directed at her over the rim. ‘And then there’s my packaging. Mine’s very different from my, ah, competitors and I thought people would be attracted to its earthiness then get sick of it and go back to the more sophisticated brands. It took a long time to believe mine was good enough.’

  Ethan watched her across the table, hand on the stem of his glass, turning it slowly back and forth. Had he understood? She wasn’t about to find out anytime soon. The woman was back to shepherd him to the stage.

  The man pointed with his knife again. ‘Environmental concerns are a major issue with packaging these days. My company has reduced its use of paper products by fifty per cent.’

  Dee nodded, smiled. She couldn’t care less when Ethan Roxburgh, man of the dream she was too scared to have, might or might not think she was worth a second chance.

  The entrée plates were replaced with main course and another discussion was in progress when Ethan returned. The guy with the knife wouldn’t shut up and, before she knew it, Ethan was on stage again being earnest and shaking more hands.

  There was a round-table discussion about shares when he returned. Dee wanted to scream ‘Who cares?’. She was running out of time. At this rate Ethan would be flying to America thinking she’d gatecrashed the party to tell him she’d solved her career issues. Be a warrior, Dee.

  ‘Ah, yes, shares,’ she jumped in. ‘They can be very, um, useful. Although not as useful as … asset development.’ She smiled hopefully. Ethan frowned. Think, Dee. ‘That’s right. Ethan talks a lot about assets. And investment. Has some very interesting things to say on that matter.’

  Shit. She was running out of business-type words. Running out of sense too, if the mystified faces around the table were anything to go by. Knife Guy was about to take the floor again.

  ‘The thing is,’ she cut in, determined to say her piece, ‘investing is such a scary thing. I mean, you could lose a lot and you might be frightened you’d never recover. But some things are worth investing in, even if you are scared. Even if it’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done. It’s just that sometimes you don’t realise the rewards so completely outweigh the risks until you see that not investing is worse. Much worse. You know what I mean?’