I check my phone to find that there are no playfully naughty texts from MC Lenny.
“Bad reception?” Kat asks.
“Mm,” I say. Although I did get another e-mail from Doug.
“Sunset yoga,” a soothing female voice sings from across the sand. We stop our conversation and turn in the direction of the sound.
“She’s over there,” Jodi points. “Follow the harem pants.”
“Sunset yoga,” the woman calls again, this time much closer to us. “Starting in five minutes.”
“Hey,” Kat calls back, standing and stretching. “How much for me and my friends?” Kat is a certified instructor for vinyasa and hatha and about fourteen other types of yoga. When she’s not discussing astrological and psychic energies with Varka, she’s perfecting a pose and meditating.
Or she’s drinking and cursing. There’s a fine balance.
The woman comes closer. She’s a toned, tan, tiny sprite of a thing who makes even Kat look normal size. Her legs are hidden beneath flowing pink pants, but her muscular torso is on full view in a string-bikini top. “It’s free for hotel guests,” she smiles, twisting her long blond hair into a knot on the top of her head. “Right over here.” She points toward an area a short walk down the beach. “And we provide the mats. All you need to bring is some water and your chi.” She looks like the yogi version of Shakira, abs and all. She carries a stick of burning incense in her right hand.
“Let’s try it! Sounds fun!” Jodi says.
I am not convinced. Exercise is one of those things I like to avoid as much as possible. Especially when hung over and already sweaty. “I’m thinking that upside down is not going to be my favorite state of being,” I say, “but you guys go on.”
“We said we’d do everything together on this trip,” Kat reminds me.
“When did we say that?”
“Just now.” She half smiles.
“Funny. Fine,” I say. We gather our things and follow the harem lady and a trail of woody incense down the beach. She nods her approval and tells us that her name is Debbie.
I preferred Shakira.
Jodi picks up our conversation from where we left off. “How was that party, by the way? You guys didn’t say much about it.”
“Just typical girls’-night-out stuff,” Kat mumbles, adjusting the beach bag on her shoulder and hiding behind her towel.
“Yeah…just…you know, pole dancing, dominatrices, dildos, and a little bit of a lesbian lovefest…very suburban, boring, nothing to report.” I grin.
Jodi’s eyes go wide, and Kat hits me on the arm. “Lauren!”
“Holy crap hell! Do tell!” Jodi rhymes.
“What?” I say to Kat, who squints menacingly my way.
We reach a shady spot on the beach under some palm trees. Ten blue mats are set up, and several other participants have already arrived. We drop our belongings in the sand and grab three spots at the back of the group. Jodi positions herself between Kat and me.
I’m not going to feel bad. I mean, this is Jodi. It’s not like I’m going to spill Kat’s secret to the whole world.
“I think it would be good for both of us, actually, Kat. To unburden ourselves,” I say, stretching.
Jodi looks at us with really fake sincerity, because she’s so thirsty for gossip that she can’t even pretend that she isn’t thrilled. “Yes! Unburden.”
Kat pulls her hair off her face and tucks it into a hat, buying time. “Well, I really think we should begin by discussing my friend’s awesomely sexy dance moves, which inadvertently left our hostess with the need for six stitches across her left cheek.”
“Touché,” I say.
“Ouch!” Jodi says.
“Welcome.” Debbie smiles, palms pressed together over her heart. We mimic the pose. “Let us begin with a series of sun salutations.”
I work my way through the movements, and then, when I think it’s safe enough to talk, continue the conversation, sotto voce. “Although, I think the better story is how my awesomely sexy little friend here got the new female school board president drunk, and then fooled around with her in the guest bedroom.”
“Nice!” Jodi says, peering up at Kat through her legs, in a Downward Dog pose.
“Did I mention that this female that Kat fooled around with is also a girl? Like Kat? A female woman girl?” I say, my face turning red as the blood rushes to it. I move from Downward- to Upward-Facing Dog.
“Yup! Caught it the first time!” Jodi says. “Katy Perry, here she comes!”
“Hey, that was my line!” I add enthusiastically.
“Shh,” warns a man in a Speedo in the row in front of ours. He moves into Warrior II and we follow suit, remaining quiet for a few minutes.
The ocean is peaceful and still as the sun begins to drop lower in the sky. A slight breeze moves across the beach and cools me down. The palms rustle overhead and I feel more relaxed than I have in a long time.
My mind has a moment to empty. But just as I try to imagine a clear, blank slate, a question pops into my head that I cannot ignore. “Kat,” I whisper. “How do you know that Leslie needed six stitches?”
Jodi and I both look at Kat. She’s holding a beautiful Tree pose, but what I see before me is a classic double pause followed by a triple fidget. I’ve caught her at something.
“I’m just guessing,” she says, trying to stay balanced.
“Bullshit.” Surprisingly, this comes from Jodi and not me.
“Ladies, if you cannot be quiet, I will have to ask you to leave the group,” Debbie says, pseudo-sweetly, biceps flexing. I remind myself that underneath the calm façade is the body of a woman who could seriously kick my ass.
“Fine.” Kat tilts her head skyward and stares at the darkening blue expanse for a moment, neck arched, liked she’s stretching. She sighs. Then she turns toward us. “This morning I friended Shay on Facebook. She told me.”
“Really? Why would you do that? I thought the goal was to distance yourself from the crime scene, not leave your fingerprints all over her, metaphorically speaking.”
“Do you know how many people probably friended Shay after she won the election?” Kat says, expertly switching her Tree pose to the other leg. “On Facebook, I’ll hardly stand out from her admiring crowd.”
This is true. It’s probably a nonissue, I think, relaxing into Pigeon pose. I close my eyes, the sun’s glow trapped inside my lids, turning my inner vision a bright tangerine. Inhale, exhale.
Kat clears her throat as we stand up and switch positions once more. “Of course, now that Shay’s asked me to be her PTA liaison to the faculty, I guess we’ll be spending a lot of time working together. Afternoons, evenings. Perhaps just the two of us.” She raises an eyebrow meaningfully.
“Kat! Are you joking or are you insane?” I shout.
“Shh,” Jodi says, looking around apologetically. “You’re kind of yelling, Lauren.”
“I don’t care! Ever since Peter broke up with her, she’s been, like, on a mission toward self-destruction. She’s completely lost it!” I turn my head to Kat, maintaining my Warrior pose, if not my composure. My arm reaches out in her direction, accusingly. “Do you have a death wish? I mean, we left town because of your little tryst with Shay last night.”
“Eagle!” Debbie cries desperately.
We ignore her.
“Newsflash, Lauren. You have it backward: I did you a favor.”
“Um…keep it down, psycho yogis,” Jodi adds. “Let’s play nice and have fun here. I came for a break from stress!”
We let that sink in. I turn away from Kat and face the ocean once more.
“Namaste and all that shit,” Jodi adds.
Lowering my voice to the level of one appropriate in yoga class, I try for a softer, albeit still defensive, tactic. “Kat, do you really want to lose your job and perhaps cause a scandal for Shay Greene and her whole perfect family?”
“My job that I hate, you mean?” Kat yoga-yells back. “And why does Sha
y get to have it so easy? Everything’s so perfect, huh? Maybe her life needs a little bit of messing up like mine!”
“Happy Baby!” Debbie cries. “Happy Baby, everyone!”
I lie on my back, grabbing my toes with my hands. “You didn’t just say that, Kat.” I’m trying to relinquish some of my anger by rocking back and forth in the pose. “You want her to go down with you? In some sort of suburban Desperate Housewives scene, where you guys are found making out in the janitor’s closet at the elementary school? I know you are hurting, and maybe this all seems like fun in your head, but are you really that demented?”
“It doesn’t even matter what I do, Lauren. There’s a nanny cam somewhere that will ruin both Shay’s and my life anyway, remember?”
“You’re right,” I concede. “But that doesn’t mean you should just give up on having a future that’s drama-free. Your past has been chaotic, true, but your world doesn’t have to resemble a nighttime soap opera forever. You deserve better, Kat.”
Her eyes hold mine for a second. I can just about see through them, into the machinery of her brain as gears shift and slide into place.
“Guys! People are staring,” Jodi says. “Get up.” I look around and notice that Kat and I are the only two morons still on our backs in Happy Baby pose.
“I thought you liked people staring at you,” I say to her. And before I can think better of it I add, “Bring on the paparazzi! Let’s get famous for nothing!” I’m on a roll now, truth-telling pouring out from my pores, and it feels freeing. “Three kids and no excitement, so…”
“That was a secret!” Jodi protests.
“Ooh…time to unburden,” Kat snarks.
“And speaking of secrets, Lauren,” Jodi adds, “you’re basically cheating on your husband.”
“Which is not much different than basically stealing from yours,” I say.
This is not what our beachy vacay is supposed to sound like. This is certainly not what sunset yoga in SoBe is supposed to look like. We glare at each other in stunned silence, having never fought like this before.
I’m suddenly not feeling quite so free.
I change my mind; honesty sucks. I wish I could stop time and rewind the clock, put Pandora back into her box.
“That’s it! Good-bye,” Debbie says, managing, despite everything, to be holding the most perfect Half Moon I have ever seen.
“Kumbaya?” Jodi calls, trying to make amends with Debbie as we gather our belongings and quickly step away from the group.
“Well, that went really well, Lauren, dontcha think?” Kat accuses. “Now my chakras are all misaligned!”
I pivot on the sand and face her. “This is not only my fault, you know. First, you got kicked out of school and now Jodi just got us kicked out of sunset yoga! Which I didn’t even want to participate in, I might remind you.”
Digging my toes into the sand, I wait for a response.
No one speaks.
I look at Jodi, who looks at Kat, who looks at the ground.
Now that we’re silent, this would have been the perfect time to join the yoga class.
“Um, ladies…if I may?” a man calls out.
I turn my head in the direction of the voice, which holds the slightest hint of southern charm.
Jodi takes one look at the guy and shakes her head in disgust. “No, you may not.”
About ten feet away from where we are standing, tucked inside a sunshade cabana, sits the offending individual. He’s wearing faded shorts and a ripped T-shirt, a Kangol summer-style fedora, and mirrored aviators. From his chin hangs the scraggliest looking beard I’ve ever seen. It’s long and unkempt and kind of grayish blond, like an old man’s pubes.
An overstuffed army-style duffle bag rests at his side, probably containing all his worldly possessions. He looks like Nick Nolte’s character from Down and Out in Beverly Hills.
“What is he, homeless?” Kat whispers to us.
“Don’t get too close. Ignore him,” Jodi instructs. “And I’m not talking to you, Lauren.”
“One, I’m sorry. I should not have lashed out at you like that. You want to get famous, go for it. Two, I thought we were on the good part of the beach,” I say.
“I thought so, too, until you yappers showed up, ruined yoga over there, and made me all tense in my private beach cabana,” the man says. Then, pointing at Jodi, “I agree with her. You guys are giving me some serious agita.”
“I don’t need your agreement!” Jodi calls back.
“I thought you said we were supposed to ignore him!” Kat says.
“I’m merely telling him that we are ignoring him!” she explains.
“What if he wants to eat our small intestines with a spoon?” Kat asks.
“Then we’ll give him Lauren.”
“Ha,” I say.
“I’m a practicing vegetarian, ladies…no worries about cannibalism from me. And yes, I heard all about your little drama, since you were whisper-screaming it to the whole of South Beach.”
Jodi’s shaking her head in wonder. “He’s got, like, Spiderman’s hearing.”
“Batman’s,” I correct. “You know, like bats?”
“Maybe spiders have great hearing, too, for all you know.” She cannot be wrong.
“Are you two really going to fight about something this stupid?” Kat demands.
“Yup,” the man calls. “I think they are.”
“Listen here, you motherfucking Fu Manchu—”
The man interrupts what is sure to be one of Kat’s most colorful diatribes on record. “All I’m saying is, Mercury is in retrograde, and…”
Kat stops. She turns her head to the side just the tiniest bit, to see if she heard him correctly. “All right. You’ve got ten seconds.”
He scratches his beard, like he’s seriously thinking about what advice to dish out.
Then he looks up and begins pointing. “To you, the black-haired girl, I say: stay away from trouble. As my great-granny used to tell me back in Missouri, you don’t shit where you eat.”
“See?” I say, nodding along with the random man’s words of wisdom and hitting Kat on the arm. Hard.
“I’m Kat, by the way,” she calls back.
“Nice to meet you, Kat. Please keep your dick in your pants.”
“Fuck you,” she retorts, one corner of her mouth turned up in a devilish smile.
“Lovely,” Jodi says. I’m not sure if she’s referring to the beach bum or Kat. It kind of doesn’t matter.
“And you,” he says, pointing at me.
“Moi?” I look over my shoulder to see if he’s mistaken me for anyone else on the beach.
“Yes, blondie. You’re not so unique, you know. Everyone feels the way you do. Wanting to cut school, call in sick, take a break.”
“I’m not ill; I’m on jury duty,” I clarify. “You only eavesdropped on part of the story.”
“Well, I caught the part about those little texts. That are not from your husband, I’m guessing.”
“I might not be married, you know,” I call back. Then I whisper to Jodi and Kat, “I’m really not liking this guy.”
“I can see that pretty diamond sparkling in the fading sunlight, my friend,” he replies.
“Shit, he’s going to rob us,” Jodi says.
“I’m not gonna rob y’all!” he says, sounding very much like a character from a movie who is, indeed, just about to rob us. “I’ve got kids, too,” he adds, motioning to Jodi. “Lots of ’em. And I’ve got paparazzi. Lots of ’em.”
“Go slip into something more comfortable—like a coma,” Jodi says. Like a coma? I think. She gets up and faces him. It’s like she’s practicing for a scene for which she’d win Best Actress in a String Bikini in a Dramatic Role. “You’ve been spying on us and now you know all this shit about us and you’re slimy and you’re freaking me out!”
“That’s it. Time’s up. I’m calling the cops,” Kat says, grabbing her BlackBerry from her beach bag.
His face
—what little of it is visible—registers alarm mingled with something else. Is he laughing at us? He gets up and saunters toward us, palms in surrender mode, his voice taking on a stage whisper. “No, no! Don’t call the cops! It’s cool. Really! I’m sorry for upsetting you. I’ll explain!” He smiles and pulls his sunglasses down to his nose, flashing some gorgeous baby-blue eyes at us, dimples creasing his cheeks. “Will you let me explain? Sans police?”
Kat drops her phone. My mouth hangs open. Jodi takes a step forward.
The beard and the Kangol and the sunglasses and the dimples. The baby-blue eyes, and all those kids. All that paparazzi.
“Hey,” he says, sticking out his right hand toward Jodi. “I’m Tim.”
Chapter 17
It’s truly amazing how quickly Jodi’s repulsion and fear can be replaced with full-on lust.
“Hi-yyy,” Jodi coos, straightening her shoulders and tossing her auburn waves theatrically. “I’m Jodi.”
Then she shakes hands with world-famous actor, two-time Academy Award–winner, and legendary hottie Tim Cubix like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like she’s just been waiting since seventh grade for him to show up and fight with her on the beach. “And this is Lauren,” Jodi adds, motioning in my general direction without letting go of his hand or shifting her gaze from his. “I believe you’ve already met Kat.”
How can Jodi form words at a time like this? Kat and I are having a much harder time keeping our shit together in the face of this astonishing bit of news. We manage to be calm for about a half a millisecond before gathering together in a hug and shrieking. Then we jump around in a circle of elation and share the discovery with each other.
“Ohmigod!” I scream.
“I think I just called Tim Cubix a motherfucker!” Kat cries excitedly.
“Shh!” Tim Cubix smiles, motioning us to come sit under the cabana. “Be subtle, could you, maybe?”
“I can’t! I just can’t!” I gasp. “You’re too real for words!” I’m having the weirdest sensation standing next to the physical being of such a renowned celebrity. It’s almost an out-of-body experience, like he’s pulled me into one of his movies and I’m no longer living in my mundane world.
Lauren Takes Leave Page 18