Tales from the Yoga Studio (27 page)

T
he greenroom is not, of course, green but a faint shade of salmon that goes with the burnished orange tones of the rest of the studio. Lee finds all the coordinated colors incredibly restful, which is probably the point. She and Alan decorated their studio using intuition and, it's true, some flooring and discontinued paint colors they got a good deal on. It hadn't occurred to her that they might hire a decorator or a feng shui consultant, not that that would have been an option anyway. But everything here is planned down to the smallest detail. It feels a little manufactured, but there's something reassuring about it, too.

The greenroom is sectioned off in a clever way with low screens and soft cushions scattered over the floor. There's a woman in an immaculately white leotard meditating in lotus in one corner and on the other side of the screen behind her, two men are talking about the fact that there were eight hundred applicants for an open position in their West Hollywood location. Lee is dumbfounded by the number. How can she feel anything other than grateful and flattered that she was actually sought out by YogaHappens and has been given this incredible offer? The corporate ambience is a little off-putting—many of the details scream “focus group”—but it's all about what happens between her and the students.

Alan was supposed to come today, but he called her at the last minute to say that he was closing in on some final arrangements of a song they're about to send off to their agent. Lee's pretty sure he could have come, but in some ways, it's a relief he's not here. When she thought about him being in the class, she was excited that he'd see her at her best, teaching a group of new students. But then it occurred to her that that might make him feel competitive with her. She wonders how many times and in what ways she's held back in the past, just so she wouldn't make Alan unhappy. And it's possible she would have held back today if she'd known he was in the room.

A young woman with bright eyes comes over to her and asks if she'd like anything before class—water, coffee, a chair massage? There's only so much pampering she can take and the chair massage idea, appealing as it is, definitely crosses the line.

“I'm fine. But thanks.”

“Okay. My name's Diandra and if there's anything you need, ask for me.”

“Do you teach here?”

“No, I wish. I get one hour of class time free for every three hours of service I donate. Zhannette and Frank are so generous with everyone, it's really beautiful.”

“Have you met them?”

Diandra's eyes pop open. “No! My God, I would love to, but there are only a few people who've met them. They're very reclusive.”

Fifteen minutes later, Diandra returns and tells Lee it's time to start class. How ridiculous that after all these years and hundreds of classes, Lee feels a new nervousness about standing in front of students. The most logical interpretation is that she must really want to impress the studio, that she must really want the job.

Diandra leads her to the back of the greenroom and then through a narrow door that opens directly into the studio where she's teaching. They certainly thought of everything. The room is full, maybe a hundred people, but the mats are laid out in such a tidy arrangement that there are aisles between them for her to walk through as she teaches and plenty of space in front to demonstrate.

Having spent several days thinking about ways in which she can make the class a little more elaborate, perhaps more suited to the upscale demands of this studio, she spots Katherine and Stephanie and has a realization, just before she starts speaking, that she can't change anything without throwing off the balance of what she does and why she loves to teach in the first place.

“Let's start seated,” she says, “eyes closed. This class has been described as a journey. But before we embark, how about doing a little
un
packing? Your expectations, your desire to do ten sun salutations, your plans for later in the day, the argument you had this morning, your safety net. Leave them all behind. Start off feeling light and liberated, no fears, no assumptions, nothing to knock you off balance or distract you. Just you and me and a beautiful empty slate to play with. Once you see it and feel it, open your eyes, and we'll begin.”

A
s Imani is driving home, she calls Becky and leaves a message. “I can't believe you missed the class today at YogaHappens. Of all the ones we've taken, I have to say, it was the best. The teacher has a studio up in Silver Lake. Turns out I already took a class with her. I never mentioned it because I was afraid you wouldn't love her and then I'd feel like an ass. But she's amazing. Anyway, that's not why I'm calling. I'm going to take your advice and call my agent and let her know I'm ready to start reading scripts. So thank you. Call me later. Let's figure out a time to go to Silver Lake together.”

It isn't until after Imani has clicked off her phone that she takes account of what she's just said. She's ready to move ahead, ready to
get on with her life.
Maybe she unpacked her bags of all her fears and expectations at the start of that class. And now she's free. But as soon as she absorbs that image, really allows herself to believe it, she feels an ache inside her. Getting on with it means letting go of something, of the past. Of the baby she carried for four and a half months but wasn't able to carry to term. Her daughter. Ellie.
Don't name the baby until the third trimester,
a friend back in Texas had told her. But Imani was never superstitious. And sometime in the beginning of the fourth month, she started feeling as if she knew the baby, her moods and her personality. It was impossible to describe, even to Glenn. Just a powerful understanding and connection that she'd never experienced before. Maybe it was all crazy, hormonal projection. How could she say for sure? She talked to her when she was alone—to Ellie—except, when she was pregnant, she never felt she
was
alone. She felt her soft heaviness in her arms, such a real, true feeling, it was eerie.

In all the months since losing her, she still feels that weight in her arms sometimes. It's been a comfort in some ways. She knew she shouldn't dwell on it or (and this is probably the true part)
indulge in it
, but letting go of the feeling just so she could “move on” always struck her as cruel abandonment. Leaving behind her baby. Who would care for her? Who would love her? How
could
she do that?

As she's about to turn onto Los Feliz Boulevard, she starts crying, crying so hard she almost can't see the road. She makes a quick detour into Griffith Park and parks the car and shuts down the engine and falls against the steering wheel.

When she looks up, she sees that the sky is a rare bright blue above the green of the park. It's surprisingly quiet. A woman is reading on a bench right near her, and on the grass, a little girl in a yellow dress is chasing after a dog, laughing and shrieking.

It all starts to go blurry through Imani's renewed tears.

“I'm sorry,” she says, barely able to get the words out. “I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” The little girl is farther away now, chasing the dog, laughing hysterically. And she knows this is the moment, this is how it has to be.
I just have to, baby. I just have to let you be. You have to forgive me, Ellie. I tried so hard. I did my best, baby girl. You have to believe me. I wanted you with my whole heart and soul. I wanted to be with you and take care of you and love you. It just wasn't meant to be. So I have to let you go now.

All right,
she thinks, and she starts to calm down. This is the moment and the way it's going to happen. She starts up the engine and mops her tears. No more crying. No more. She slowly backs out of the parking space and then drives onto the road and into the flow of traffic, ready to begin.

A mid compliments from Diandra and a few other studio employees in the greenroom, Lee acknowledges that she had a wonderful time teaching. There is something exhilarating about the energy created in a room with so many people, many more than the studio in Silver Lake could ever hope to hold, all doing the same things, more or less in unison. From her perspective, the class looked at times like a wonderful dance that she was choreographing as it went along. Everyone moving and breathing together, so that at times it felt as if the collective spirit really could effect change in the world. She often has this feeling in front of her classes, but today, the bigger group just made it feel that much more powerful.

As she's gathering up her things to leave, her two old friends—Sinewy Dave and Fireplug Chuck—come in through another mysterious door, all smiles and good cheer. This is the first time she's seen them in the studio, and they're dressed in the orange T-shirts everyone who works here is apparently obliged to wear. They're both amazingly fit, albeit in entirely different ways, tall and lean and short and pumped, like a pair put together for the ways their bodies complement each other and contrast.

“You were awesome!” Dave says.

“Totally amazing,” Chuck tells her. “And more to the point . . .”

“. . . exactly what we were hoping for.”

Fireplug: Exactly the kind of creative class we need to round out our offerings.

Sinew: And the feedback from students has been incredible. They are ecstatic.

Fireplug: As are . . .

Sinew: . . . Zhannette and Frank!

All Lee can do is tell them sincerely that she appreciates hearing that and that she herself had a great time.

The men bob their heads in unison and simultaneously lower the clipboards they have pressed to their chests.

“A few notes we made as we observed,” Sinew says.

“I didn't see you in the room,” Lee tells them. She had been expecting them to attend, and for some reason she was relieved when she saw they weren't there. They laugh together at her comment.

Sinew: We have our ways. . . .

Fireplug: Video cameras. Very discreetly placed. They help maintain quality control.

Sinew: Which is becoming a surprisingly big problem . . .

Sinew: . . . in our industry.

Fireplug: Most of what we've got here is just stuff to be addressed at a later date.

Sinew: And not anything we expected you to realize first time out.

Fireplug: We noticed that there were about six people who got in with their own water bottles.

Sinew: I have eight, Chuck, but same ballpark. Ordinarily, the welcomer at the door talks to the guests about this as they're coming in, but because it was so crowded today, he obviously missed a few.

Fireplug: No big deal. In the future, you go over and remove the bottles and put them outside the door. All very discreet and supportive.