‘I’m being First World? Well you’re being an arse!’
‘Natalie, I won’t have raised voices in a yoga environment,’ he said with an irritating calm. I took a deep breath.
‘I’m not raising my voice…Is this about the leaflet? Because I will give Ryan Harrison your leaflet, but I couldn’t during the launch party…’
Benjamin stared at me.
‘Namaste Natalie! You gave me your word,’ he said.
‘Yes, and I will…’
‘Do I ever ask you for anything?’
‘Yes. You asked me for ketchup when we had chips the other night…’
‘I’m not in the mood for your childish silliness,’ he said. ‘I need to prepare for class. Go through.’ He waved me away with the back of his hand. I went to say something, but he’d sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.
I got up and went through to the studio. I was furious. I hadn’t expected him to be such an idiot. I found my usual place at the front and unrolled my mat. The studio soon filled up, and by two minutes to nine we were packed in like sardines. Just before the class began, two very pretty girls, who can’t have been more than twenty, came in and put their mats right at the front. One was blonde, and one dark. They were stripping down to little string bikinis just as Benjamin came in.
‘Welcome ladies,’ he said his eyes lighting up. ‘I see you’re newbies, I’ll keep my eye on you both.’
They giggled and flicked their hair. He stood at the front and shrugged off his robe. Underneath he was wearing a tiny black thong.
Benjamin usually wears sports gear to teach his class… And so do all his pupils. But a thong!
I was in shock, but felt unable to say anything as the class began. I kept trying to catch his eye and give him a look, asking what the hell he was doing strutting about in a thong which clearly showed the outline of everything in front, and, when he turned to open a window with the long window pole, the little string vanishing between his bare backside!
However, Benjamin ignored me for the whole class. Several times he went to the two girls in the skimpy bikinis and adjusted their yoga positions, placing his hand on an upper thigh.
After the class I took a shower, fuming under the water as I listened to the two girls giggling in the changing room, saying how hot they thought the yoga teacher was… I waited until they’d left the changing room before I came out of the shower.
When I’d changed, I found Benjamin in his office. He had his robe back on and was tapping away at his computer.
‘Natalie, you’re still here?’ he said. I sat down opposite.
‘Benjamin. What was with the thong?’ I asked.
‘What?’
‘The tiny posing pouch. The floss up your arse!’
‘What?’ he said seeming genuinely confused.
‘What do you mean what? You might as well have been naked!’
‘Natalie. In many cultures yoga is practised naked…’
‘But this is London. And you were kitted out like one of the guys from Magic Mike. Which is fine for strippers, but…’
‘The sports shorts were inhibiting my movement,’ he said.
‘And why didn’t you correct any of my postures?’ I asked.
‘Your postures were fine.’
‘No, they weren’t. I deliberately hunched my back during downward facing dog.’
‘Did you?’
‘So you weren’t even looking at me! Obviously those two girls in bikinis were more important…’
‘Natalie, they were new. Do you remember what it was like when you first started? I had to adjust your postures.’
‘Yes. And that’s how it began with us, isn’t it? And I fell for it hook line and sinker… Are you a proper yoga teacher, or is this just a pickup joint for you?’
Benjamin sat back and regarded me.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You are a very good yoga teacher,’ I said.
‘I think you should go home Natalie. I don’t like your energy right now,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry. Look, let’s go and get a coffee. I have loads to tell you. Our tickets have…’
‘Natalie. I have another class.’
‘Do you want to come with me for lunch at Sharon’s?’ I said. He shook his head. ‘How about coming over tonight then?’ He didn’t say anything.
‘You’ll give me a call, yeah?’
He nodded his head. I picked up my bag and left his office.
On my way out Laura flashed me a horrible smile. She had big chunks of pickled onion crisps between her teeth.
‘Nata-lee-a,’ said Sharon’s husband Fred when he opened their front door. He is quite short and dark with scruffy hair and warm caramel-coloured eyes. He’s Italian, his grandparents came over to London after the war. He doesn’t have an accent like his father, but he still cries ‘Nata-lee-a’ whenever he sees me. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and followed him through to the kitchen. The French doors had been thrown open and a warm breeze wafted through the kitchen. Sharon was buzzing about laying the table for lunch.