Tales from the Yoga Studio by Rain Mitchell

watching them talk, completing each other’s sentences, each knowing exactly when to break in on the other. And they make these rehearsed yoga jokes that aren’t really jokes and draw on the most obvious clichés, but which they seem to find consistently amusing.
    Sinew: We all know what’s been going on in the country for the last few years in terms of yoga, right?
    Fireplug: Up, up, up, dog.
    Sinew: Yeah, exactly, Chuck. Good one.
    Fireplug: And the thing is, the demand is getting so big, the smaller studios . . .
    Sinew: . . . which have always been the core ( patting taut abs ) of the industry . . .
    Industry? Lee thinks . Really?
    Fireplug: . . . can’t handle the volume.
    Sinew: Not to mention the expectations, especially in a place like L.A.
    Fireplug: People want more than a class. What they want now is ...
    Sinew: . . . a complete experience.
    He says this last word in a fake reverential whisper, as if he’s just revealed the secret of life, and that makes Lee wish she’d never let them in the front door. They’re probably reasonable guys, and they’re just doing their jobs, but there’s something about their smarmy and rehearsed presentation that reminds Lee of a Mary Kay demonstration a friend invited her to years ago. They go on for a few more minutes, making a case for themselves and the beauty of what amounts to one more corporate takeover. There are multiple references to Zhannette (they spell it!) and Frank, apparently the owners. She reminds herself that being a purist isn’t going to help get the twins into a decent school, and it isn’t going to make Alan feel any more appreciated or less overloaded.
    Alan seems to have run out of the ability to listen to these guys any longer, and for the first time in weeks, she feels as if the two of them are truly in sync. Maybe it was a good thing to invite these two in.
    â€œSo how much are you offering for the studio?” Alan asks.
    Sinew and Fireplug grind to a sudden halt and look at each other. This, apparently, was not on their script.
    â€œWe’re not interested in the studio,” Fireplug says. “Not one of the YogaHappens Experience Centers is under eight thousand square feet.”
    â€œI’m not so sure, Chuck. I think the studio in Santa Monica is only six thousand.”
    â€œCould be right. What do I know? I’m just the finance guy.”
    â€œWhat Zhannette and Frank are interested in,” Sinew says, “is you, Lee. And you , Alan. What we want . . .”
    â€œ. . . is to offer you an exclusive contract.”
    Sinew: And you might have heard . . .
    Fireplug: . . . that Zhannette and Frank insist that everyone at YogaHappens is very well paid.
    Sinew: It’s not about their own profits.
    Without turning or moving, without even seeing him, Lee can feel Alan stiffening on the sofa beside him.
    â€œBut before we get into the details,” Fireplug says, “we want to discuss some of the information you gave us. You’ve got some mighty eccentric bookkeeping there, Lee.”

    K atherine first came to Lee’s studio two years ago and started renting her massage room a year after that. While she loves the feeling of the place and the way she feels when she walks in the door—a little protected from the harsher realities of the world—she’s lost her ability to actually see it. Which is one of the bonuses of bringing Conor in; seeing it through his eyes, it’s almost as if she’s looking at it for the first time.
    In its previous incarnation, the building was the showroom of a rug dealer. There was lots of open floor space when Lee and Alan bought the storefront—back in the days when Silver Lake was affordable and Alan had sold a song to a movie—and most of it was carpeted. Lee and Alan took it all up (Katherine’s seen the before and after photos), revealing hardwood, which Alan refinished. Why he doesn’t settle into