As the door closed behind a good-looking man in a deep blue baseball jacket and gray sweatpants, Monica licked her lips with an exaggerated motion. “God, that’s really quite a hunk. He’s the best thing about the class. Just watching his crane position is worth the price of admission.” Probably has the brains of a flounder and the ego of a rock star. Comes into a class of mostly women, does yoga, but in reality poses in his tight tank and butt-hugging shorts for an hour, pulls on his sweatpants, and exits without a word to anyone.
“Yeah, he’s really gorgeous,” the redheaded woman said, tucking a strand of hair that looked like a shampoo commercial behind one ear. God, she’s really a knockout, Monica thought. “Those tight T-shirts show him off at his best,” the woman continued. “I’m Cait Johnson, by the way.” She reached out a smooth hand with perfectly shaped nails polished a pale mauve. Taller than Monica’s five-foot-seven, Cait was probably in her mid-thirties, a classy-looking knockout, with a model’s figure and carefully styled, jaw-length, Titian hair. She wore a diamond solitaire on her left hand the size of a small cube of sugar and the studs in her ears had to be at least two carats each. Monica couldn’t help but wonder how Cait, who obviously did yoga frequently and sweated like everyone else, ended up looking like an ad for cosmetics.
Monica took the proffered hand and grasped it firmly. “Nice to meet you.” She turned to the sad-looking woman whose eyes always seemed to be on the floor.
Hesitantly, the woman said, “I’m Eve. Eve DeMilo. Like the Venus.” The average-looking, slightly plump woman tentatively extended her hand, and Cait, then Monica, took it and squeezed. Eve, huh? Monica thought. Well, if the original Eve had been as aggressive as this one, Adam would have remained celibate. Eve had come into class a few minutes late, but although there was plenty of room, she’d laid her mat out in the back corner of the room. Monica thought that Eve could be anywhere from twenty-eight to forty, of average height, with hair that her mother would have called dirty blond, and hazel eyes covered by her glasses. Eve was attractive enough, but she could have been the poster child for “Shyness is Next to Godliness.”
“Listen, Angie,” Cait said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I enjoy your class. It’s really made a difference for me. I feel more limber and I use your breathing techniques when I’m stressed. Really. You’re a great teacher.”
Angie lowered her chin and her cheeks reddened. “Thanks, but they aren’t my techniques.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Monica said, realizing she was having a pleasant non-business conversation, something she had few of in recent months. Maybe this was what Dr. Spitzer was talking about. “Cait’s right. You’re really good at this stuff. Although this is my first day, I can tell. You made me feel right at home.”
“Well, I’ve been doing yoga most of my life,” Angie admitted, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
“I have to tell you, those babies of yours are just adorable,” Cait said.
Angie beamed. “They’re the best.”
“You should see them, Monica,” Cait said. “Twins. How old are they now?”
“They’re almost ten months.” She turned to Monica. “I bring them every now and then when Tony—that’s my husband—can’t watch them.”
“Which side do the twins come from, yours or Tony’s?”
“Neither. Brandon and MaryLee are the first multiples on either side.”
“I’ll bet it’s been tough, having twins and all,” Eve said, her look envious. “I always wanted kids.”
“You don’t have any?” Angie asked.
There was a heartbeat’s pause, then she said, “No.” She turned and studied the curtains of rain still falling outside the converted school.
“I love other people’s kids,” Monica said. “I have several nieces and nephews and I spoil them all mercilessly. My sisters have almost drummed me out of the auntie brigade.” She hadn’t seen any of them in more than a month. Maybe, if she finished the proposal quickly this afternoon…
“None of your own?”
“I’m not married,” Monica admitted. “Not interested.”
“In men?” Cait said, looking aghast.
“That’s not what I meant,” Monica said with a chuckle. “I’m a pure heterosexual. It’s just that men are great for decoration and for fucking, but not for permanent relationships.” Men. Not a one of them was worth his salt. Well, maybe a few, but not many.
“That’s an amazing attitude,” Cait responded.
“The rain seems to be letting up,” Monica said, changing the subject and staring out the window that filled the upper half of the school’s massive front door. Coronary. Relax. Make friends who have nothing to do with work. Maybe this was the moment to give his advice a try. “Anyone up for a cup of coffee across the street?” Monica indicated the Hudsonview Diner. She had work to do, but she’d let it wait. It would be good for her.
“I wish I could,” Eve said, sounding genuinely disappointed, “but I can’t today.” Her voice got still softer. “Maybe next week after class?”
“Yeah. That sounds great,” Monica said, turning to the other two women. She had no idea what they would have to talk about but it was worth a half an hour’s investment. “What about you guys?”
“I can’t today either,” Angie said. “Tony is home with the babies and he’s totally helpless if they wake up. I have to stop at the supermarket on the way home, too. I’m going to dash.” She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head.
“Next week then, Angie,” Monica said, not allowing the sentence to end with a question. Among the three of them they should be able to find some common ground. “Tell Tony that he can watch the babies for an extra half hour and let’s have coffee. All of us.”
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Cait?” This pampered princess wouldn’t be her choice to complete a foursome, but who knew?
“Logan usually plays tennis on Saturday morning so I can probably join you next week. I’ll let him know beforehand so he won’t worry, that’s all. He’s very protective.”
Monica grinned. Friends. What a concept. “We could be like those girls on Sex and the City. We can be Sex in the Suburbs.”
“Sure,” Angie said. “I really like that show and I still watch it in reruns.” She giggled. “Actually, I usually watch it through my eyelids. I can’t seem to stay awake past eight these days. I guess I’m Charlotte. Married. Wanting a quiet life with a husband and kids. Cait, who are you?”
“Since they all work, and I don’t, I guess I’m not any one of them.”
“You don’t work. Kids?”
There was a flash of something haunted in Cait’s expression but it vanished quickly before Monica was sure it was really there. “Nope. Logan doesn’t want me to work and we don’t have kids.”
“What do you do all day?” Eve asked. “I think I’d go crazy if I didn’t work.”
“I’m on about a dozen charity committees, I shop, play bridge, and do aerobics three times a week. And this, of course. It’s amazing how much I do.”
As abruptly as the rain had