All ten passengers started their own tones of laughter.
An ad hoc group of ten longtime and tentative friends rents a house on the Spanish island of Formentera.
They call it the Yoga House.
Through tailored Pilates sessions and targeted behavior-modification techniques, they hope to remedy the deteriorated lifestyle inherent to their high-pressure, low-stakes, medium-impact jobs in the fashion industry.
The power dynamics among them are surprisingly benign, and the general mood could be defined as relaxed but focused.
It’s a definite requirement of the Pilates instructor that they be ready for him at nine thirty sharp every morning.
The house chef deploys an equally strict diet involving fresh, locally sourced fish and “umami variations.”
They drive two orange Méharis and a couple of teenagey scooters to and from the rocky beaches.
Most of their daily allotted time online is spent monitoring the progress and estimating the arrival of a sixty-meter behemoth carrying Paul, the most respected fashion designer of his generation, and a small crew of suitably stellar friends.
At night, they dine on the terra-cotta rooftop of the Yoga House and explore their personal issues collectively through a mixture of role-play and soft-core talk therapy.