All the Girls in Town

SASHA

SASHA“I

s our fingertips reach toward heaven with our shoulders relaxed, we take one more deep breath and slowly exhale, lowering our hands in prayer in front of our hearts, opening wide to the Goddess within,” Sasha said in a soothing, meditative tone as she exhaled and opened her eyes to see at least two dozen beautiful mothers-to-be, their eyes closed, faces flushed and sweating, blissed out, seated in wide-lotus or open-legged positions on their mats, absorbing one another’s energy. They had love, pure love, for the lives growing within their bodies and their own.

Many of the women in her prenatal sessions were six or seven months along, but with the support of Sasha’s classes and diet regimen, they’d managed to retain their sexy, sleek figures, energy, and great health. Her hand instinctively went to the growing bump of her own belly. Hey, baby, hey, baby. What’s going on? This morning when Sasha had dressed, her swollen feet couldn’t fit into her yoga grip socks. Or the ballet flats. She made a mental note to call her homeopath about water retention. So unsightly. What kind of role model’s regimen didn’t work on herself? Thank God Peter was on the road to miss this ugly part. The thought hit a lonely echo in the center of her chest, and she reached for the bell wand.

Sasha slowly circled the wand around the rim of the large meditation bell. A relaxing circadian rhythm enveloped the room. “Ohm, ohm, ohm,” she chanted. The women quietly joined in, humming the higher vibration catching on the twinkling lights swaying from the rafters. We are one. The large gold Ganesh on stage emitted abundance. Perfect purple walls soothed. There was an orange energy room next door, yoga and spiritual dancing classes, vibrational energy drinks and snacks, t-shirts, candles, and gemstone healings. In God!ess, Sasha had built a successful healing studio (soon-to-be featured in Yoga Monthly’s holiday issue). She had created something from nothing but an idea, a dream. Of course, Peter’s name initially inspired Hollywood clients to sign up for packages as well as their first women’s yogic dance retreat in Tulum next spring. The success of The Disasters had afforded the down payment on the location so near to the Grove, but Sasha had made God!ess, the brand, what it was, like she was making a baby.

From prayer, hope, intuition, and sheer determination, this was a miracle!

When she was fourteen, Sasha had been in a terrible car accident on the way to compete at the Miss Teen USA pageant; her drunken pageant coach had plowed into a concrete wall and died at the scene. A horrible man, a prick, a narcissist. Every specialist from London to Los Angeles had assured her parents that having a baby would no longer be possible. Even after extensive reconstruction surgery, there’d been too much damage to her pelvic region. The God!ess had kept her alive for a reason. And that reason wasn’t to be crowned in a beauty pageant as that was her mother’s dream, which she’d never accomplished, or to sing backup in a famous band, which was her former dream. It was to become happy, help other women be happy, and make a baby with Peter.

Peter’s first reaction was shock. “But how?” He’d stared at the plastic stick with the red plus sign. “The doctors said you couldn’t?”

“The God!ess!” Sasha wiped the tears of gratitude from her cheeks. “She heard our prayers.”

How many times while making love had Peter looked deeply into her eyes and said, “I wish I could make a baby with you.” Sasha held her breath and waited for Peter’s surprise to turn to joy.

“It is good news.” He took her in his arms. “It’s just, babe, the baby’s timing is really bad. What do we do?”

The Disasters were about to embark on their first North American headline tour. The miracle baby’s timing was inconvenient, but not bad. How could a miracle ever be bad?

“Don’t worry.” Sasha had pressed her palms into his stubbled cheeks to calm him, to connect him to her. “I’m still your backup singer. My studio is running smoothly. I have teachers to cover my classes.”

But morning sickness had quickly wrecked her touring plans.

Peter had hired Annie, an older woman he knew from the early coffee house band days, as Sasha’s replacement. Singing in The Disasters’ first headlining tour wasn’t a part of the God!ess’s great mystery plans for Sasha.

“Annie will do great,” Sasha had assured Peter. “And you’ll be home for Christmas, in time for your fortieth birthday, and a whole new year with our baby.”

She watched the pretty, sleek Westside pregnant moms rolling up their mats, chatting about breastfeeding and doula birth plans and repeated the mantra in her head: Not fat, not fat, I am pregnant, beautiful, and deserve love. Since she’d gotten pregnant, Sasha’s normally optimistic interior clock tilted too easily to sad, mean, anxious, or weary.

And jealous.

Why? Two months into the tour, Sasha was getting fat while Peter sang onstage with Annie; toned, thin and hard-edged, Annie was too rough around the edges, too much leather and denim and tattoos, too white, but she was very sexy. Thank God!ess she was too old for Peter; she was at least forty-five. And a heavy smoker. Peter hated the smell of cigarette smoke. And her arms were ropey, veined like a man’s. Still, she had a beautiful, smoky, deep voice. Sasha’s voice was reed thin.

“Sash?” A yoga mom’s voice abruptly brought Sasha’s awareness into the class as the lights slowly rose in the room.

Sasha opened her eyes. Her expectant students were staring. “Sorry. I must have dozed off.”

A pretty young mother with bright green eyes and a small baby bump laughed. “Rest! Water! Vegetables! No meat! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Amen,” another said.

Sasha felt her cheeks flush. Intimate adoration was the uncomfortable part of owning the studio. “Oh, no, your body knows what you need. Listen to your body. You’ll be fine.”

The women drank water and chatted as they exited the classroom. She was beautiful in her own way. There was no need to beat herself up about her voice or body in comparison to a woman who wasn’t blessed. They were having a baby. Peter was excited about the baby. Of course he was excited. He reassured her with each, “Good night, I love you, and whoever is on its way,” from Chattanooga, New Orleans, Little Rock, Biloxi.

Until last night from Oklahoma City, that is, when Peter had sent a text.

PETER: Good night, I love you, and whoever is on its way (baby emoji). Totally wiped. Call you mañana por la mañana.

It was just Peter, she reassured herself, creativity and nerves swayed his focus. He loved her forever. Exactly as she was. He’d said this repeatedly. He wouldn’t leave her because of the change, unexpected event, or the extra weight.

It was a relief that he wasn’t home to see her naked bulky body climbing from the bathtub, changing under fluorescent lights in her walk-in closet, her belly slathered in oil to prevent scarring stretch marks. A slight discoloration across her forehead had been expertly covered by her hair stylist in a smart fringe, but the swelling—the unsightly swelling—made her fairly certain that her nose was spreading, so she’d taken out the ring. He wouldn’t cheat on the road now. They were married. Yes, they’d cheated on Dani. They’d slept with a lot of people, separately and together. But he’d been living a nightmare, a dead-end marriage with no love to a crazy, desperate woman.

Theirs was true love.