He finished writing orders for blood tests and a prescription for a hypertension medication, then leaned back in his chair. “Women have heart attacks, just like men. It’s less common but not unheard of, and you’re heading there at breakneck speed. You’ve got to slow down. You’ve told me you work hundred-hour weeks. You can’t do that and not have your body protest. You don’t get enough rest or enough exercise and as a result you’re killing yourself.”
“Come on, doc, I can’t take time off. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am and I like it here.” Monica was senior account executive for a large Madison Avenue advertising agency. The term senior wasn’t awarded for length of service but for the annual gross dollar billing of the business she brought in. That meant that to keep it, she had to not only keep her existing clients happy but pitch new business, as well.
“It’s your body and I know you’ll do as you please so I can only offer you advice. Slow down. Take time off, at least on weekends. Work only eighty hours a week, not a hundred. Make friends. See your family. Learn to meditate. Take a yoga class. Go to a concert. Learn to relax!”
Gazing at the rain Monica remembered that voice and hesitated, then took a deep breath. She had a lot to do that afternoon but she kept hearing the word coronary. With another deep breath she turned to the other woman. “I’m Monica Beaumont, by the way.”
“Thanks for the offer, Monica,” Angie said, “but I think I’ll give it a few minutes, too. If you’re still here, I might take you up on your umbrella then.” Monica dropped her hand and reread the slogan on the front of Angie’s T-shirt: “The Hurrieder I Go, The Behinder I Get.” She’d caught snippets of conversation before class and learned that the woman had ten-month-old twins. She bet that Angie, a small, late twenties, slightly frowsy woman with a fly-away, mousey brown ponytail got very “behinder.” Heaven save me from that.
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
