Read Tales from the Yoga Studio for Free Online

fairy tales.
    The truth is, Lee’s marriage is none of Katherine’s business. She knows that. But if it wasn’t for Lee, Katherine would probably still be using. She’d still be working for the escort service. Assuming, that is, she was still around. For a while there, that wasn’t certain. How much Lee knows about the specifics of that tawdry chapter is not clear. Not that it’s such a shocker. Just another L.A. story: tough, clueless girl from Detroit heads west with totally half-baked ideas about acting, ends up “dancing,” leading to escorting, leading to self-loathing, leading to self-medicating, and culminating in one long slide into self-destruction. Where would she be if she hadn’t met Lee? Hadn’t been welcomed into the studio free of charge? If Lee hadn’t lent her the money for the massage school? More to the point, where would she be if Lee hadn’t shown her unconditional belief in Katherine’s talent as a healer and her ability to keep herself clean?
    In the reception area, she can see from the number of shoes in the cubbies that it’s going to be a packed house. This is Lee’s most popular class, but it’s a crowd, even for her. Katherine goes into her massage room and peels off her dress, hangs it in the closet, and gets into her old tank top and the cotton drawstring pants she bought at a street fair at Venice Beach. She absolutely refuses to go the trendy-yoga-outfits route. Even if she secretly craves some of the practicality of those pricey outfits.
    At the reception desk, she bumps into Lee.
    â€œIt looks like a big crowd in there, Miss Lee. You up for it?”
    â€œI can’t wait.”
    Katherine slips on a headband, not that she really needs one with her current hairdo. Six months ago, a client of hers gave her a gift certificate for an obscenely expensive haircut in Hollywood that came out looking as if she’d hacked her hair off herself. So now that’s what she does. Scissors, mirror, and voilà. Maybe a little punky, but it suits her, and it is kind of surprising with the retro clothes and the twirly skirts. Lee has dark circles, not the way she usually looks. Exhausted? Or has she been crying? As causally as she can, Katherine asks, “Everything okay?”
    Lee smiles. “A little distracted. Something at the kids’ school last week. The Alan stuff catching up with me.” She looks away from Katherine and says with enough sincerity to break Katherine’s heart, “You think I’m a good mother, don’t you, Kat?”
    â€œWhat’s this about? Why would you even ask me that? As for Alan, he’s going through some early-onset midlife thing that will pass.”
    â€œI’m just trying to keep my options open, that’s all.”
    This seems to refer to something specific, but Katherine has no idea what. She’d like to ask, but it’s 9:30, and Lee never starts class late.

    I f Katherine were a painter, she’d do a series of portraits of people on their mats before class begins. It’s incredible how much you can tell about someone’s personality just from those first couple of minutes. If Bosch were around, she’s pretty certain this is what he’d be painting—a little microcosm of the world, with so many types crowded into one little space.
    There are five people lying flat on their backs, two of them using blocks as a pillow, and one with her hands folded on her stomach, actually (though lightly) snoring. Tina of the endless retail drama is sitting up in a tense lotus, twisting her head from side to side to see who else is in class and how much space she’s going to have to do her splits. There’s a couple she sees every once in a while, their mats close together, lying on their sides, heads propped up in hands, very quietly talking. They met here, he’s married, and if they’re not having an affair they will be long before they