that into the car makes her feel exhausted. She got such a warm welcome, she was afraid she was going to get sucked into a social scene sheâs not sure sheâs ready for or interested in. It just seemed simpler not to go.
âIâm not exactly a fanatic yet,â she says.
âDoesnât matter. You will be. What style?â
Shit. Howâs she supposed to know? âMasala? â she says, snatching the only Hindi-sounding word that comes into her mind.
From the look on Beckyâs face, sheâs trying to decide if Imani is joking or not. There have been rumors for a while now that Becky is a big pothead, but Imaniâs never paid attention to them. If sheâs stoned right now, thereâs at least a chance sheâll forget the comment. Or maybe she just saw through Imaniâs exaggeration.
âWell . . .â She waves it off. âThe style doesnât matter. Itâs all good. I have no plans for this afternoon. Letâs make a day of it. I have got tons to show you. Itâs really a good thing we had that high-protein snack!â
B ecky takes her to a store in Beverly Hills where she says she does all her shopping these days. Itâs packed with customers, and not only women, and has a staff of the most fit and beautiful clerks sheâs seen in a while. The really crazy thing is, theyâre actually nice. Imani feels like asking if she could have a serving of that Kool-Aid, for sure, and maybe they could distribute it around town?
âWhat do you wear to classes?â Becky asks.
Imani isnât about to tell her that the one time she took class, she wore a tank top and a pair of silk boxers that she bought for Glenn but that he refused to wear. Sheâd heard you were supposed to wear something loose and they were that!
âOh, the usual,â she says.
Becky purses her lips. âI can tell weâre going to need everything,â she says. âLetâs start off with pants.â
She holds up a pair of what look to Imani like pedal pushers. âThese are amazing, They hug your legs, but donât bind or anything. Theyâre great when youâre doing, I donât know, letâs say ardha chandrasana,â Becky says.
âLetâs you say,â Imani tells her, âbecause I have no idea what you just said.â
âAnd look.â She holds out the tag. âNot that you need them, but âanti-muffin top.â Is that awesome or what?â
What Imani notices mostly is that the customers, all these women of assorted ages and shapes, seem so completely confident about themselves when theyâre trying on the clothes, even the tight pants and the tank tops. Itâs the exact opposite of the way she usually sees women acting in sportswear stores. Almost as if they like their bodies . . .
The other thing she notices is that while thereâs the usual flurry of giggles and double takes upon spotting Beckyâand, to a lesser extent, herâthereâs a palpable camaraderie in the air. People just talk to them. âDid I see you at that Rodney Yee workshop last month?â âHave you tried the new ashtanga studio that opened in Brentwood?â âYou have got to check out this teacher at the Sports Club. Heâs a ma zing!â
One hour and more money than she wants to think about later, they leave the store loaded down with enough equipment to nearly fill the backseat of Imaniâs car. Pants, tops, underwear guaranteed not to give her a wedgie. Maybe she went overboard, but she figures if it inspires her to actually get to classes (to show off all the damned stuff) it will be money well spent.
Becky tells her to follow her, and so they wend their way down Santa Monica Boulevard in tandem. Becky, who never uses her directionals, makes a sharp right that Imani nearly misses, and they end up on a quiet side street. Imaniâs been expecting her to take her to some yoga palace out here
Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
Martin A. Lee, Bruce Shlain