Naked, I opened a bottle of white wine that had been languishing in the back of the fridge. I used that new wine opener called the Rabbit. I loved the Rabbit. Funny that the vibrator all my girlfriends and I owned was also called the Rabbit. Should all women have two Rabbits?

I eased myself into the steaming water, leaned my head back to rest against the cool ceramic tiles, and closed my eyes. The glass of wine was precariously balanced on the edge of the tub. Everything felt so good. I was glad it was Friday.

I slept a deep, Ambien sleep that night, although I hadn’t taken anything. The sun pouring in the window finally awoke me after ten. I’d never managed to keep my head on the pillow that long before, so I never knew how harsh the sunlight was midmorning.

I was bounding with energy, and went right to yoga over in Larch-mont Village. My mat was right behind Renée Zellweger’s. She looked amazing; there was no sign of that Bridget Jones weight she had gained. I concentrated on her cut arms and legs and reasoned that if she looked this good from yoga, maybe I could look like her, too.

Our instructor, Sparrow, did her usual handstand at the end of the class as a grand finale, her forehead dripping sweat in little rivulets that pooled on her mat. She was upside down, balancing herself perfectly, with her long legs reaching above her toward the ceiling. The rest of the class tried to follow her move. Renée got up okay, and so did the WeHo boys far in the back. The rest of us just managed to drill our heads into the padded mat and get halfway up with our legs bent, which was so not a handstand. Handstands were too much of a challenge, even though I was feeling superhuman today.

“Try and think of nothing,” Sparrow said, holding her position.

I thought of nothing.

As Ina had demanded, I met her for lunch at the Newsroom on Robertson. I was on time, as usual, and downed two lattes in twenty minutes while waiting for her.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. Larry drove me here and we got stuck in some Bowl traffic coming over the hill.” Ina threw her arms around me and I was engulfed in the cloud of her perfume, then felt a sticky lipgloss stamp on my cheek.

“It’s okay.” I let her off easy this time. “I’ve had so much caffeine I’m totally wired. Still no driver’s license?”

“Not yet, but I’m starting to take the class next week, which will help me get my permit.”

I rolled my eyes. “What are you, fifteen and six months?”

Ina chose to ignore me and proceeded to dump three packages of Splenda into her iced tea.

“So, how’s Larry? Still married?” I asked.