Chapter 11 Yoga #2
“Okay,” I concede, “if my God were to ask me such a thing, which he would never because he doesn’t need my ideas.
But I’d pick the yoga teaching from a couple of weeks ago.
It was about if blue skies fill you with joy, if grass growing in the field has the power to move you, if nature has a message you understand, be happy, for it means your soul is alive.
” I laugh self-consciously. “Well, it was something like that. I liked it because I’m most comfortable when I’m in nature, with the trees and, of course, the birds. ”
“Oh, I remember that one.” Vee nods. “I liked it too, but it didn’t do anything for me. We each must find the beliefs that speak to us and that serve us, and everyone can pick something different.”
Vee sounds like Jasmine. “You aren’t saying yoga beliefs can replace church beliefs.” I frown. “That isn’t true.”
“Why can’t it replace church teachings?” she demands. “If they don’t serve you, find something else. Who can say one is right, and one is wrong?”
Stopping, I stare at her. “That’s crazy. Replace church with yoga?” I glance up nervously. “I’m surprised we aren’t being struck dead on the spot.”
She nudges me forward. “Who wants a God who might strike you dead when you are saying nature makes you happy? That isn’t any God I want to hang with.
God is in everything and everywhere, and he doesn’t care if we find him in yoga class or in church or Central Park or your silly birds.
Those things were all created by him or her, so he or she doesn’t mind. ”
Stopping again as I’m unable to digest these concepts and walk at the same time.
I reply tentatively, “Find God where you find him? I’ve always thought he was in church, but honestly, I never felt him there. Maybe I kinda feel him in the park, but not at yoga. That can’t be right.”
Vee replies primly, “Well, I find him—or her—at yoga.”
Clutching at her arm, I respond, “Dear Lord, please forgive me and my friend for this blasphemy.”
“Don’t include me in your old-school, guilt-induced requests for forgiveness,” Vee states chuckling and yanking her arm free. “My yoga God or your Central Park God is all forgiving and wants you to know you are your own higher power.” She raises her arms beseechingly to the sky.
I glance around and see people staring at us. I yank her arms down. “People will think you’re crazy. Come on. We’re finally home.”
The next day at the agency meeting, Janet, Vee’s agent, shares excitedly, “There’s a Vogue party coming up on November fifth to celebrate the tenth anniversary of owning Vogue Paris. You are on the invite list and absolutely must attend.”
Vee gracefully replies, “Oh, I can’t. No one will notice if I’m not there.”
“Top models need to attend, and you are a top model,” Janet states crisply. “It will be the usual scene, just bigger and better.”
She moves on to other topics. Clearly, she considers the matter settled.
Out on the street after the meeting, I ask, “Should we talk to Jake about the party?”
Vee doesn’t respond for a bit. “No,” she finally states firmly. “Let’s go to the party and have fun. Have you ever been to a fancy, over-the-top party?”
“Of course not,” I say, nudging her. “I’ve barely ever been to a birthday party, at least not since I got scared watching ET at Julia’s party when I was eight. I cried, and they never invited me to another one. And of course, I became the leper of third grade.”
Vee snorts. “Oh, right, I remember that story. Well, we will have to make up for that bomb. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for dresses. We’ll have to find two within the $3,000 budget they gave me for the event. I’m sure we can do that, don’t you?”
“Y-yes, I can stay within that budget,” I stammer.
I’ve never spent anything more than fifty dollars on a dress before, and she knows it.
The next day, we head off arm in arm to a chic boutique on Fifth Avenue, and I insist we walk through the Ramble on our way.
Vee puts up with my bird obsession to a point, but today she doesn’t let me sit on my favorite bench.
Walking, I spot a bright-red male northern cardinal, who shyly disappears into a nearby bush.
As soon as the crimson flash disappears, I see a chipping sparrow giving a soft trill. I’m happy with that.
The shop, which smells of luxury, would be intimidating if not for Vee. She’s totally relaxed and at home here.
A salesclerk with a severe bob who looks pretty enough to be a model herself picks out dresses for us.
All the dresses are divine. They’re made of the softest, silkiest material that feels lush and beautiful against my skin.
Vee makes sure the ones she picks for me are modest by her standards.
So, most are long sleeves and come to mid-thigh or lower.
But each one either has a slit or a plunging neckline or back.
I keep tugging at the dresses, trying to cover whatever the designer is trying to draw attention to.
Vee gives a thumbs up when I try on a deep-maroon, velvet dress with a plunging neckline, but this one has a translucent netting that holds the two front panels together.
This allows for a more significant plunge, but I don’t feel naked in it with air brushing my stomach.
As long as I don’t glance down, I feel I’m covered.
Naked or not, I feel like a princess in every dress I try on. The maroon one fits me perfectly, though—as if made for me.
Vee picks out a pair of size-seven, silver strappy sandals that aren’t as high as the shoes she normally wears but certainly higher than my normal flats. I slip them on, and feel like Cinderella, they are a perfect fit too.
“Absolutely stunning. You look amazing.” Vee gushes. Blushing, I peek at myself in the mirror again. I want to stare but know that would be unseemly.
“I don’t know Vee. It must be very expensive.” I drop my voice. “There aren’t even price tags on anything.”
“We’re good. Don’t worry. You look stunning, doesn’t she?” Vee turns to the salesclerk. Cindy nods her head approvingly and that seals the deal.
Vee continues to try on a few more strapless dresses and ultimately picks out a bright-red dress with a flared skirt that ruffles around her thighs in the most enticing manner. She skips the shoes commanding, “We must economize, Emma.”
I giggle, as she is clearly in a good mood. We leave the dresses at the shop, Vee wants hers shortened a touch more, to which I state primly, “There won’t be anything left of the dress if they shorten it more.” Vee does her classic snort laugh and even the sales lady cracks a smile.
“Don’t you just love her?” Vee exclaims.
We stroll out of the store arm in arm just the way we came in. As we step onto the sidewalk, I glance up Fifth Avenue toward my parents’ apartment; it’s only been a month since I left, but it feels like forever.