Vyaghrapada, which means tiger-footed, was an adept of the Nandinatha lineage who was understood to be a disciple of Patanjali. Vyaghrasana emulates a tiger stretching as it wakes from sleep. Practicing this pose loosens the spine in both directions and tones the spinal nerves. Other physical benefits include improved digestion and blood circulation. It can also reduce weight from the hips and thighs.
Well into the training, no dark secret was off limits: childhood traumas, eating disorders, divorce, lovers, ex-lovers, lesbian affairs. But for those over thirty-eight, age was the final frontier and beyond discussion. Most of the younger students were curious to know Grace’s age; the midnight hot-tubbers were desperate.
‘Grace, how old are you?’ asked Kirsty. The bubbles, shared nudity, and the clandestine night made her bold.
‘Most secrets are revealed in time,’ Grace answered cryptically.
‘We think you’re thirty-four,’ said Fantasia.
‘Forget age. Just remember I’m too old for your cheek.’
‘Yet young enough to tell us how old you are,’ Stephanie persisted.
‘Steph, I could be your mother, though thank God I’m not.’
Stephanie was so assured, nothing fazed her, not even Grace’s mock insult—and she laughed with the rest of them. Grace’s place in their affection was intact, and her secret along with it. At the next practice session, tired of further questioning, she capitulated. ‘I’m forty,’ she admitted.
Stephanie’s eyes bulged at Sam. Grace’s age had apparently inspired conversation beyond the confines of the hot tub, and she didn’t like how that felt; she bowed out from the youthful crowd. It was time to frequent the suitable companions Miss Messenger had identified and meet the residents of Yurt Six. The women were all science graduates of Grace’s age, which was, she discovered, all she had in common with these working wives and mothers. Age and old science degrees did not justify new friendship. So, open to new alliances, Grace did not spurn Frances when she took the empty seat beside her one suppertime. She could overlook Frances’s ‘I love you’ twice in one conversation to her father, and would concentrate instead on what they had in common, which was work. Frances, who had celebrated her thirty-fifth birthday at the Bodhi Tree, had quit a career in banking to train to be a yoga teacher, giving up a large salary in much the same way Grace had. But unlike Grace, Frances’s yoga future was organized—back in Seattle her solicitor was working on the purchase of a building she would be converting into a small yoga centre. Grace panicked. Swami D’s offer to give her classes to teach was the only thing she had to go on.
‘Did he give you that offer in writing?’ Frances asked.
‘No, but I trust Swami D.’
‘Really? You trust a guy called Swami D? At least drop him a line, if only to remind him.’
That afternoon, Grace sent Swami D a postcard.
Once Frances and Grace had discussed the world of work, they turned to the world of men. Having banned Harry from her head and heart, Grace preferred to listen to Frances tell of her surfer boyfriend in San Diego, and chose not to warn her. It seemed unfortunate that Frances could afford a pretty boyfriend (Grace had seen the photographs), and the weekly West Coast commute to see him. With Frances making all the effort, her surfer had nothing to do. Grace sympathized. It turned out that pretty, penniless boyfriends weren’t the only thing they shared. Both their fathers were in medicine.
‘My father was critical,’ Frances said.
‘Mine, too,’ said Grace, thinking there was more to this than mere coincidence. ‘My father really could be quite demeaning.’
‘No, I meant my father was critical, critical to my childhood, to the woman I’ve become. He has always believed in me. He’s even investing in my yoga centre.’
‘Funny how we hear things.’
Grace refrained from saying that her father was currently a drunk and had always been an addict. One thing she could assume was that Frances’s father hadn’t been struck off the register for consuming the contents of his medicine cabinet—another secret which, Grace felt, was better left unsaid.
‘Call your dad. I bet he’d love to hear from you.’
‘My phone doesn’t work here. No signal.’
‘Use mine.’
‘Thanks, but it’s the middle of the night over there,’ Grace said.
Frances was brand new in love with a sweet young thing and planning her yoga future with her father: she deserved enthusiasm but Grace couldn’t muster any for the tales she had to tell. It was easier to return to the speculative enquiries of the cynical nighttime creatures of the hot tub, where the conversation had moved on—but not much.
‘Sam’s bossy like a teacher, but he sucks up to the teachers,’ said Fantasia, sticking out her tongue, its silver stud clicking her front teeth.
‘It’s a contradiction Serena can’t resist,’ said Stephanie.
They took a vote: those who believed that Serena and Sam had got together, or would, and those who thought he was inclined to somebody else—like Grace for instance.
‘Come off it, I’m far too old for him.’
‘A woman of forty, a man of twenty-eight. My mum did it, and she’s a Presbyterian pastor. It was perfect. He had such cute friends,’ said Fantasia.
‘How long did it last?’ Grace asked.
‘Two years. He got confirmed and everything. After they split he met this cool woman, an ex-nun, ten years older than him. They married and adopted a kid.’
‘I propose we bet on Sam getting off with Serena of the dark eyes, which is why he’ll go for her. She reminds him, if he’d care to remember, of his girlfriend back in Paris,’ said Stephanie, getting back to business.
‘Girlfriend?’ said Grace.
‘Half Hawaiian, half French and his screen saver until two days ago,’ said Fantasia.
‘He thinks he’s attracted to somebody new but it’s familiarity that draws him in,’ analyzed Stephanie. The child of divorced divorce lawyers, she understood the subtleties of infidelity.
‘It must help that Serena is impressed by his opinions,’ Kirsty said.
‘Cos she doesn’t have any of her own,’ said the pastor’s daughter.
‘She might not have opinions, but with Sam in tow and a husband, she must know something,’ said Grace.
‘Like what?’ said Kirsty.
‘What men want,’ Grace replied.
‘And what’s that?’ said Fantasia.
‘Adoration?’ Grace inflected, California-style, uncertain herself.
‘Yeah, or a blow job,’ Stephanie said with conviction.
Grace was grateful for the girls, whose exuberance helped her to forget the past. The future never came up in conversation: they were too young to think of it. This left the present. The Bodhi Tree yoga exam was given some consideration but nothing absorbed them quite like Serena and Sam’s love affair—or the possibility of it. By week three the hot tub conversation was quite specific, fueled by the stakes the girls had in the affair as much as any progress the couple were (or were not) making. The consensus was that Serena had not yet cheated on her husband but would. Stephanie had thirty dollars on it being the night of the exam. ‘They’ll study together madly, then make a proper go of it, lemon squeezy.’
‘Lemon squeezy?’ asked Fantasia.
‘Lemon squeezy, easy,’ Stephanie clarified.
‘You didn’t pick that up in Cadogan Square,’ Grace said.
‘I learned my cockney in L.A. It’s so multiculti.’
Fantasia was sure the lovers would ‘do it lemon squeezy’ in the comfort of a hotel. ‘Serena’s car will be the getaway vehicle and they’ll escape in the dark without saying good-bye to the rest of us.’ Fantasia’s thirty-five-dollar stake was the highest. So far Grace had refused to gamble.
‘Come on, even a modest stake will heighten your interest. Get involved, Grace,’ insisted Stephanie.
‘It’s like we’re willing Serena to deceive her husband,’ Grace said, still sensitive about her own deception.
‘Sure, it sucks,’ Stephanie grinned. ‘So, girlfriend, in or out?’
Grace settled on twenty dollars.
‘For what?’ Fantasia asked.
‘That they will.’
‘But when?’
Grace entered into the game. ‘Serena will make the initial move, two nights before we leave, so they can do it again, if it’s good.’
Theories were rapidly revised when Sam appeared the next morning, clean-shaven for the first time in two weeks. Stephanie and Grace caught each other eye-to-eye: tonight’s the night.
‘Had to do it,’ Sam said, joining them to eat his bowl of oatmeal, stroking his smooth white chin. ‘Didn’t want a tan line when I shave back in Paris. Not a good look.’
According to that night’s hot tub gossip, the only mark that concerned Sam was the one his beard would have left on Serena’s alabaster complexion.
‘It’s a shame,’ said Fantasia, unexpectedly moralistic. ‘Serena’s going to cheat on her husband to have sex with a man she’ll never see again. What’s the point?’
‘Maybe that is the point,’ said Stephanie.
By then the girls’ skin had turned as florid as the gossip; it was time to get out of the hot tub and they were off to the side, toweling dry, when to everybody’s excitement, Sam appeared.
‘Evening, Sam,’ Fantasia said, excessively polite.
‘Evening, ladies. How is it?’
‘H-o-t,’ one of the girls drawled.
Keeping his baggy shorts on, Sam sucked through puckered lips as he lowered his narrow frame into the steaming water. ‘Ahhh, that’s good,’ he said, sinking in, shorts ballooning, the hot tub lights reflecting on his long white chin.
‘Let’s get back in,’ Fantasia said.
‘Didn’t you have enough already?’ Sam asked, pushing the air out of his shorts.
‘Enough? Naked in hot water beneath the stars?’ Stephanie dropped her towel; Fantasia and Kirsty followed her lead. Sam was boggle-eyed as the naked girls stepped up to the tub.
‘Any room for me?’ Serena interrupted from the top of the wooden steps, her black Speedo a modest contrast to the young girls’ nudity. She may have seemed like a coy kitten at the start of the training, but Serena prowled down the stairs now like a hungry cat. She picked up a towel and, holding it out to Stephanie, hissed, ‘Cover up, sweetie. We don’t want you catching cold.’
Confident that she reigned supreme in the eyes of the man who had entertained them all, one way or another, for the past few weeks, Serena balanced on the edge of the hot tub. Grace observed that, whether inspired by love, lust, or Sam’s zero percent body fat, Serena had lost weight. Her legs were almost slender, her generous bottom firm and lifted.
‘How is it, Sam?’ Serena asked through the rising steam.
‘Hot,’ was the answer.
Serena bent down to test the water. ‘That is hot,’ she said, shaking her hand. A flash of gold arched away from her like a shooting star and fell into the undergrowth.
‘What was that?’ Sam asked.
Serena held out her hand and howled, ‘My wedding ring. Ed’ll kill me.’ The supposed lovers jumped from the tub and leaned over the balcony, willing the ring to reveal itself within the tangled hillside scrub.
Grace went to bed. She had seen enough but was still curious to know where the couple would go from here. As it turned out, not far. Early the next morning they searched in vain, and again the following night, but no gold glinted in Sam’s flashlight. Desperation mounting, they drove to Malibu to rent a metal detector. One bleep of hope led them into the scrub, where they found a rusted key ring in the shape of a cross, ‘Faith’ engraved down its centre. Serena’s treasure was lost. The land had claimed the ring, and if it had a lesson to teach. Sam and Serena seemed to have learned it: they abandoned their search, and apparently each other. Sam’s beard was back by the end of the week.
Stephanie kept up her late night vigil with the girls, but Grace now tended to avoid the tub, studying instead for the Bodhi Tree exam. She was usually asleep by the time Stephanie got back, their agreement being that there’d be no unsolicited conversation if the lights were out. This evening Stephanie overlooked the rule.
‘Grace?’
‘Mmm . . .’ It was late, too late to discuss much with meaning. The days were long, and compounded by Grace’s anxiety about their final exam. She wanted sleep, and was almost there.
‘What’s it like without kids or a husband,’ asked Stephanie, tucked up in bed but wide awake.
‘And no job. Get it right,’ Grace mumbled.
‘Isn’t the desire to have a child biology?’ Stephanie said.
‘I’ve never felt I should have a kid, and Harry already had Lucy.’ It was the first time she’d said his name since he’d moved out. Grace sat up, folded her arms, and closed her eyes again.
‘You never wanted a kid with Ted?’
‘I wanted him,’ she said, eyes wide open. ‘He actually wasn’t consistently around, which is what I would have needed.’ A beat. Then: ‘Ted didn’t want kids.’
‘Did you?’
It had never occurred to Grace that she may have denied wanting a child with Ted to suit him, and to keep him. She spoke slowly. ‘From the start, Ted was clear he didn’t want a child, which makes sense now. I suppose I didn’t want one enough to convince him. And you know, I always thought we’d have time.’
‘You still have time, and if you’re meant to have a child, I believe you will,’ said Stephanie. There was silence in the absolute stillness of that windless night. ‘I wish you’d meet a really great man.’
‘Thank you. I’ll let you know.’ Grace rolled over to face the wall.
‘And I wish I knew how I felt about having a kid of my own.’
‘You’re young enough to find out.’
‘That it feels like a choice is scary.’
‘It should be a choice.’
‘Right now, I can’t imagine it. Then again, I could see myself at thirty-eight dashing out to get pregnant.’
‘Motivated by fear that you’re missing out. The compulsion to have something before you can’t have it anymore. You’re better than that.’
‘I hope I am. I’ll let you know.’
‘That could be a long time for us to keep in touch.’
‘I’m down with that. You’re a keeper, you are. Good night.’
Stephanie threw a brown padded envelope across the cabin. ‘I knew you had somebody in the wings,’ she said. Grace caught the package and checked the stamps. From London. Posted a week before.
‘I so knew it. A woman like you, without a man, not possible, honey pie. You’re good at secrets, I’ll say that for ya.’ Stephanie watched Grace take out the contents of the envelope. ‘Socks?’ she said in disbelief.
‘And just about the best present.’
‘I was hoping the package was from an admirer.’
‘I think he might be.’
‘A guy who sends socks? Is that an English thing?’
‘Cashmere socks, I’m not complaining. It gets cold here at night.’
‘Is there a letter?’
Grace waved a small, white envelope. Opening it, she admired the blue-lined interior. Stephanie stood patiently while Grace read:
Grace, not wanting to pursue an unavailable woman, I resisted contacting you but couldn’t hold out. Hope you don’t mind me tracking you down at Bodhi Tree. I keep thinking of all the things I should have asked, and wish I had, when we met. Like when you’re back, for instance.
I’ve booked my flight to Vietnam and will study there for the next three months, possibly longer. I hope we meet when I return. The socks are to wish you luck, and keep you warm when it gets cold in the mountains. Let’s keep in touch on our alternative paths.
David
Grace passed the letter to Stephanie. ‘Use my cell. Send him a text right now.’
‘Maybe later.’
‘You like him, right?’
‘I do, but I’m not ready to do anything about it.’
‘The guy’s heading to Vietnam. You wouldn’t be able to do something even if you wanted to. I think it’s safe to send a text. It’s hardly a commitment. And you should tell him you’re available.’
‘I know, but I’m a little scared by love that hasn’t worked out. I’ll wait, think what to say . . .’
‘It’s an absolute, demonstrable fact that the person who really practices love rises so high above fear it can no longer touch him,’ Stephanie said.
Love conquers fear, of course it did. ‘Who said that?’ Grace asked.
‘I did, quoting one Norman Vincent Peale. A weird guy who was right about some things.’
At half past four the next morning, Grace was awake. She had slept nine hours every night of the first week; by the second, five was all she needed. Lying in bed, she had Dr. James on her mind, particularly the way he’d pulled her to him the last time they’d met. She got out of bed, crept to the apothecary cabinet where Stephanie kept her phone, and, consulting her own, punched in Dr. James’s number. Then she sat on the cabin step to compose her text.
Watching dawn light slide down the dark mountain, thinking of you. Thank you for the socks & the note. Let me hear from you in Vietnam.