The following morning, Elizabeth arrived early to Maple Street, entered Brioche and picked a table near a window that looked out at the bustle on the late morning street. The town center radiated off of two adjoining streets: Maple and Main. Main Street was the Cannondale’s primary thoroughfare when the town was founded in 1731, but as it grew, city planners allowed retail business to spread to Maple and then adjoining side streets.
Once a prim town of lovely, privately owned shops, restaurants, and a small two-screen cinema, it had been invaded in the last few decades by chain stores such as CVS Pharmacy, Ann Taylor, and Sleepy’s. Despite the infiltration necessary to fill the overdevelopment of the late 1990s, the town retained its quaint appearance through strict zoning laws—as a result, even the Dunkin’ Donuts looked picturesque. The retail establishments were housed in charming one- and two-story buildings of alternating red brick and white clapboard. Their first stories had tastefully framed plate-glass and were often adorned with colorful awnings. Hinting at the safety of its streets, large potted plants and topiaries dotted the sidewalks and remained unchained overnight. The second stories were ornamented with shuttered nine-over-nine sash windows and were topped with slate roofs and cupolas. An occasional metal-vented air conditioner jutted from a second-floor window, its bulk and awkwardness hinting at the continued existence of the town’s thrifty old-timers.
Despite the overall sense of calm one felt while shopping in a town of historically inspired architecture with a well-funded police force, there was also an obvious tension between what was old and what was new.
The town was founded by a group of Protestants, many of whose offspring still subscribed to their parents’ conservative beliefs and prudence. When it came to money, a strong dichotomy fueled by guilt and fostered by righteousness existed within them. They owned several homes in various locales but refused to drive a car that fell into the high-end luxury category. They were members of multiple country clubs but recycled soda cans religiously for the five-cent deposit. They were as likely to find a winter coat in a local consignment shop as they would a department store, and finding one secondhand qualified as a major victory. Words like “democrats,” “soup kitchens,” and “welfare recipients” slid from their mouths with a hiss.
In exact opposition to the WASPs were newer arrivals who moved to Cannondale for its Mayflower cache. They’d made their mark in the world more recently and hoped that a number of years in an affluent town would shed them of their “new money” status. This group, which tended to enjoy luxury and excess, brought profound changes to the town.
The de rigueur Chevy Malibu Classic wood-paneled station wagons that once filled Maple Street parking lots were replaced first by BMWs, Saabs, and Mercedes and then by larger, showier Range Rovers, Porsche Cayennes, and Escalades. The new arrivals’ varied tastes also brought a greater variety of restaurants—Indian, Thai, crepe, Brazilian, sushi, and upscale Mexican restaurants settled alongside the diners, Chinese takeout, Italian, and French restaurants that had dotted the town for years. Also, to appeal to those with higher expectations, a new YMCA with state-of-the-art equipment and better facilities replaced a dated, but sufficient, version. It was solely for the kids. This group of parents exercised at boutique gyms and with personal trainers.
When spending time with people from either group, there was a depressing feeling that they lacked control of their lives. They both felt entitled, but the originals were driven by restraint and the newer arrivals were driven by self-indulgence. They didn’t fully comprehend their own motivators, which made them ripe for manipulation.
It was while Elizabeth was watching the driver of an Escalade ESV attempt to park in a spot several feet shy of the space needed that Jack entered Brioche. He wore a collared shirt, navy V-neck sweater, and olive-colored wide whale corduroys. Elizabeth realized this was the first time she had seen him dressed in something other than exercise clothing. He is extremely handsome, she thought.
Jack held the door open for a woman behind him, chatting as they moved into the café. He saw Elizabeth and, as he neared the table, extended his arms widely, offering her a hug. Elizabeth stood and embraced him but wasn’t totally comfortable with their growing familiarity. She’d learned too much about him since beginning his classes.
“May I get you something?” she offered, feeling the need to create space between them until Abby arrived.
“Green tea, please,” he said, “with one raw sugar.”
“I’ll be right back,” she responded.
While Elizabeth stood in line, Abby entered the café. She was dressed for work in a fitted navy Hugo Boss suit, a matching navy collared shirt, and brown heeled Jimmy Choo boots, which made her look much taller than her five foot five frame. Her long, straight, chestnut-colored hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and, as always, her makeup was light.
She saw Jack before she saw Elizabeth and headed over to him. He greeted her in a similarly warm way. As Abby settled into a chair next to Jack, she made eye contact with Elizabeth. She mouthed the words “cappuccino” and “lemon scone.” Elizabeth smiled, thinking that was exactly what she would have ordered for her.
When Elizabeth returned to the table, Jack was talking about an upcoming charity event he was organizing. “All the proceeds will go to a village in West Bengal near the border of Nepal,” he said. “I’m hoping to raise enough money to build a large gathering space for the women so they can produce handmade goods. It would also have dual use as a daycare and school for their children.”
“Oh, is this the event you mentioned in class recently?” asked Elizabeth as she sat down and passed their drinks and Abby’s scone. “The Auntie Arts charity benefit at The Glass House?”
“Yes,” said Jack, nodding thankfully to Elizabeth and wrapping his hands around the warm teacup. “It’s going to be take place in peak foliage season—November seventh. As long as there are no storms, the property will be aglow with autumnal colors.”
Jack went on to explain how the party would take place in The Glass House estate’s various buildings. Each building was relatively small, so most of the estate’s structures would be used.
“When the guests first arrive, they will be directed to the sculpture gallery, where a small orchestra will be playing classical Indian music and cocktails will be served,” he explained. “From there, guests can go to any of the other sites. Heavy hors d’ oeuvres and cocktails will be served in the painting gallery and library, and the silent auction tables will also be set up those spaces. Dessert and champagne will be served in the Glass House. There will be a hookah lounge with henna stations in the guest house and an Indi-Pop band and dance floor in the lake pavilion building.”
“The auction items are impressive,” Elizabeth added, buttering her croissant. “A MINI Cooper, a private yoga session with Rodney Yee, an interior design consultation with India Hicks…”
“Yes, we have amassed a nice selection,” Jack agreed, taking a sip of tea. “The full list will be posted on my website next week.”
“Are you looking for sponsors?” asked Abby. “I can suggest it to the Bloom Brothers. They’re trying to make inroads into the community since acquiring White’s Realty.”
“That would be wonderful,” he enthused. “We already have a number of sponsors, including Longchamp, Baccarat, Ralph Lauren, and Fairfield County Lux Magazine, but we can always use more. I’ll send you a link to the sponsor form on my website.”
“Your charity is called Auntie Arts, right?” asked Elizabeth.
Jack nodded. “Yes. ‘Auntie’ is an affectionate term used for Indian women. Right now I’m working with women in West Bengal, teaching them how to adapt their handicrafts to appeal to the American market. Before I became a yogi, I worked for a nonprofit called CANstruct. I oversaw school development of impoverished areas in that state. My time there developed both my love of yoga and my fondness for the locals, including their crafts. I’ve missed nonprofit work, so about five years ago I set up this charity and have been slowly building it. Its goal is to empower and educate women in the poorest areas of India, starting with West Bengal.”
“What do the women make?” Elizabeth asked, breaking off a small piece of scone.
“Hand-embroidered silk tunics and shawls,” Jack responded, his expression brightening. “They are really beautiful. Detailed. Colorful. Made from the finest Indian silk. And what makes the product unique is how the traditional Indian designs are adapted to suit current American and European trends.”
“Where do you sell them?” asked Abby, wondering if she had already seen them on a sales rack somewhere.
“I coordinate with buyers at high-end stores like Barneys and Henri Bendel, as well as with boutiques, exclusive resorts, and hotel chains that have shops in vacation areas like Palm Beach and the Caribbean,” he responded. “Getting it into the right stores has granted me a few fun trips.”
“What about the profit? Where does it go?” inquired Abby, sipping her cappuccino.
“The artisans are paid a salary,” Jack said, “and whatever is left over is used to aid the community in various ways—mostly with infrastructure, food, and medical aid. It’s been amazing to see how the income empowers them within the community. Here, I have some pictures on my phone of the artisans.” Jack pulled his phone from his pants pocket, queued the images, and handed it to Abby. “The women I work with specialize in a type of embroidery called sozni,” he explained as Elizabeth leaned in to review the images with Abby. “It’s a centuries-old tradition. Colorful silk and metallic threads are sewn into dyed silk fabric.”
The first image was of a beautiful Indian girl dressed in layers of brightly colored, embroidered shawls. She looked about six years old and smiled shyly for the camera. “Her mother is one of my best embroiders,” Jack noted.
The next picture showed women posing, wearing silk tunics and veils. “Note the garments’ level of detail,” Jack said, reaching over and zooming in on the image for the sisters. “It takes one woman two weeks to make a shawl,” he added.
The next photo was of the women at work, seated under a tented structure on what appeared to be a scorching-hot day. They were dressed in a riot of colors and sitting cross-legged on mats in a large circle. “Working outside is far from ideal,” Jack stated. “It can be unbearably hot and dusty, especially during the summer. That’s why I want to build them a facility.” The next images demonstrated the difference in garments made to appeal to Indian markets compared to international markets.
“Just one more,” Jack noted. “This last one is of a family standing in front of their home, which the wife, who is one of my embroiders, helped purchase.”
“That’s so admirable,” Elizabeth said, taking in the woman’s proud expression. “Where do you find the time to run it in addition to your yoga business?”
“I get a lot of help from friends, including some of my students,” said Jack. “Do you know Adair Burns? She’s a huge help to me. In fact, she and several of my other students organized the entire benefit.”
Tucking his phone back into his pants’ pocket, Jack said, “Now, aren’t we here to talk about kundalini?”
“Yes,” Abby responded, nodding. “I signed up for your workshop last night.”
“I know,” Jack said. “I saw this morning. Thank you. Elizabeth, will you be signing up, too?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “My kids have after-school commitments on Thursdays. I need to think about it.”
“Okay. I hope you will,” Jack responded. Turning back to Abby, he said, “And what are your questions? I’ll try my best to answer them.”
Abby stared down into her cappuccino for a moment before answering. “Kundalini is one of those ‘leap of faith’ concepts, and I’m traditionally not one to take a leap. I’ve never been religious, but I do find solace in yoga,” she hesitated for a moment, “…especially since my husband Colin died several months ago. So when you mentioned kundalini and its relationship to yoga, it intrigued me. I’ve always relied on myself, so the idea of something existing within me that, once nurtured, would give me greater insight and peace appeals to me. I’m still struggling with Colin’s death, and I have two children who miss their father. I need to be in a good mental place for them.”
“I can’t think of a better reason to seek help,” said Jack as he reached out and momentarily cupped her hand in his. “I like to tell my students that there is no downside to believing in kundalini. If you discover it within yourself, the benefits are amazing.”
“I know you explained a bit about it in class yesterday, but I’m still unclear on how exactly it works within us?” Abby asked.
Jack settled back into his chair. “As the libidinal energy in the body, kundalini is our universal life force,” he explained. “Releasing it allows us to connect to a loving and benevolent energy bigger than our individual selves. The connection to something outside of the self gives a sense of happiness and security that otherwise can’t exist. This well-being frees the mind of anxiety and allows it to focus on the discovery of personal potential.”
“Do kundalini masters believe most of us live our entire lives without its release? With it stalled inside our bodies?” she inquired.
“The masters generally don’t comment on that since it can’t be known for sure, but if you look at the level of unhappiness in the world–even in the developed world where we have so many conveniences and luxuries—one would think it’s still locked or blocked within most of us. We don’t appear to be as psychologically and emotionally evolved as we are in other ways.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” Abby commented, pausing to think for a moment. “Can you give me a sense of how your workshop will encourage kundalini’s release and movement through the body?”
“Kundalini yoga is specifically designed to encourage release because it involves a series of poses that stimulate the entire spinal cord and pelvic regions,” Jack explained. “The practice’s related breathing exercises and mediation help aid passage through the various chakras, which are the body’s subtle energy points. There are a total of seven,” he held up seven fingers and then pointed to the base of his head, “with the last one called ‘the crown,’ located behind the skull. The books I recommended to you yesterday go into great detail about the chakras. Anyway, the movement of the kundalini energy through the body isn’t a quick path, because people carry their pain in different ways and in different places in the body. Personal trauma, for instance, creates blockages within the chakras that stop the kundalini energy flow. You may not be aware of it when your energy hits one of these obstacles, but a kundalini master would be. His job—in this case, my job—is to guide you through the related distress so the energy can flow through.”
“In yesterday’s class you mentioned that there’s a tantric aspect to your workshop? Can you tell me about that?” Abby asked.
“The reason my workshop combines kundalini yoga with Western tantric practices is because the primary way to move the libidinal energy through the body is by embracing desire. Once your kundalini is awakened, it will be active every time you are sexually aroused.” Jack leaned forward in his seat, explaining, “Every time you have sex, there is the potential for its movement in the body. But not all sex is the same. When you engage in what I like to call monotonous sex, which is intimacy with a long-term partner, the body’s emotional, intellectual, and spiritual systems harmonize—there is nothing new, no heightened awareness in the body. But when you engage in one of your sexual fantasies, there is higher sexual energy and sex hormone production. It’s caused by the thrill of doing what our society has labeled as forbidden, but is, in fact, what the body and mind craves. Engaging in a sexual fantasy best facilitates kundalini’s movement through the chakras. It’s believed that you can even bypass an energy blockage when in the throes of acting out a fantasy.”
“Acting out a fantasy?” Abby inquired, exchanging a look with Elizabeth.
“Yes,” said Jack. “If you’re as interested as you sound, why don’t we start meeting once a week for private kundalini yoga sessions? I believe you would find private sessions very helpful in combination with my workshop.”
“I’d like that,” said Abby, smiling.