Tapestry of Fortunes A Novel - By Elizabeth Berg Page 0,15
you’ll hear the sound of hair being ripped out of heads, but the meal will be fantastic!”
“What compels you to work in a place like that?” I ask.
She looks at me. “It’s Ultramarine.” She shrugs. “Plus I lose weight, working there. I must sweat off a pound an hour. But it’s getting to me. I’m not as young as I used to be, as they say. When you do what I do, fifty-two feels like ninety-two.”
“I keep telling you you should do yoga,” Lise tells her. “It would help you. It really helps me. And it’s good exercise.”
“You’re ten years younger than I am,” Joni says. “That’s what helps you.”
“Yoga is not exercise,” Renie says. “It is a thinly disguised competition where people are judged on their personalized mats and cute little yoga outfits and ability to act like a heron or the letter Q.”
“That is not true,” Lise says. “Why don’t you try it sometime? You can come with me any Friday for a free session.”
“Yeah, I’d love to, but I have an appointment every Friday.”
“When?”
“All day and all night. It’s a very unusual appointment.” Renie turns to me. “What do you think, is yoga exercise?”
My mouth is full of salad. I hold up my palms: Beats me.
“A diplomat,” Renie says. “How boring.”
I’ve learned that Renie works for an alternative newspaper. She was a reporter at the Star Tribune, but after she did a satirical piece on advice columns, she was hired by In a Different Voice to do a regular column that she calls “Get Over Yourself.” She reminds me of a Tarot card called the King of Wands, which signifies someone tough on the outside, tender on the inside. Well, I like a challenge. If I live here, I’ll figure out a way into her. And if not, I think the other two will make up for her.
Lise, who is divorced, owns not only the house but the dog. She told me she decided to rent out rooms after her only child moved out. “Her name is Sandy,” Lise said. “She’s twenty. She lives in Dinky-town and goes to the University of Minnesota. She’s pretty busy over there; I don’t really see her that much.”
I nod, like it’s all new to me. Joni stares at her plate.
“I really like the people who have lived here,” Lise says. “And I get free dog- and house-sitting when I travel. You do like dogs, don’t you?”
“Love them!” I say.
Lise pushes her chair back from the table. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to cast my vote right now, for yes.” She looks at me. “That is, if you are agreeable to moving in.”
I’m a little surprised that she’s asked me this so suddenly, but maybe she’s like me: when she knows, she knows. I really like the bedroom, I like the whole house, I love the neighborhood, and I’m intrigued by the mix of ages and occupations of the women who live here.
“I do have to ask one thing,” I say. “Would it be all right if I put in a garden? Flowers, vegetables, maybe a space for meditation?”
“I’d be grateful,” Lise says. “It’s a mess out there. Do whatever you like!”
“A space for meditation?” Renie says.
I ignore her. “I could do some pots for your front porch, too. I was thinking dahlia and blue ageratum, maybe some verbena and lemon licorice?”
“Oh wow, what a great idea,” Joni says. “That would be so pretty!”
“And I can move in right away, if that makes any difference.” I sit still, waiting for the others to speak.
No problem as far as Joni is concerned: she claps her hands and says, “Fine with me. I can’t wait for the vegetable garden. We should put in herbs, too.”
Renie looks down at her lap. “Why don’t we talk about it later?”
“Come on,” Lise says. “Let’s just vote her in. I’m tired of doing interviews.”
Renie looks at me. “All right. No offense, but I don’t think you’re a good fit. A motivational speaker who writes self-help books?”
“Renie,” Joni says.
Lise says, “I’ve read one of her books, and it was really good.”
“Really?” I say, and so does Renie, though with an entirely different tone.
“You read a self-help book?” Renie asks Lise.
“Yes, Renie, I read a self-help book, and guess what? It helped!” She turns to me. “It was quite useful to me after my divorce.”
“Thank you. I’m glad.”
Renie readjusts herself in her chair. “We agreed that we all have to agree, right?”