Outing of the Heart (17 page)
Read Outing of the Heart Online
Authors: Lisa Ann Harper
âWould you like coffee? It's already percolated.'
Tenille had smelled it as soon as she'd opened the door and her taste buds were in motion. Seating herself at the table she removed her sweater, the kitchen being several degrees warmer than the apartment.
âThere
Cara
.' Mrs. Sandrelli put down two hot, steaming mugs, as she eased her weight into the chair opposite. They savored the taste then Tenille launched into her request. The older woman listened in silence, different expressions flitting across her face as the details unfolded. Finally she looked inquiringly at her.
âIs a big request,
Cara
. I have made bride's dress, the maids' dresses too, but never a dance dress like you describe.' She drew a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks as she released it. âIf you like, I can try. You have pattern?'
âMy friend has a pattern, already cut out. I bought the fabric yesterday.'
âWhen you get the pattern, you bring to me with fabric. I will cut it out then we can move on to a fitting. Better yet. You come in Friday and I make you dinner.' She looked critically at the younger woman. âI think you don't eat good. I make you a good pasta and apple pie for dessert.' She nodded her head in satisfaction at the plan.
âThank you, I'd like that. What time?'
âCome at six. We do the fitting after.'
Later that morning there was a knock on Tenille's door. Mrs. Sandrelli informed her she was wanted on the phone. Her heart leaped, the thud of her pulse deafening in her ears. This would be Devon. She rushed up the short flight of stairs.
âHello,' she said through her breathlessness.
âHi Tenille.' Not Devon ⦠Marissa.
âOh, Marissa. Hi.' She tried to keep her voice light, but she had been so sure.
âTenille. Would you like to go to the movies? The Roxy is showing CARMEN this weekend.'
She was in a quandary. Devon hadn't called. Should she say no in case she did? She'd said they'd make plans. That might have meant today, then again it could have meant in the week. It was now nearly noon. Would she phone this late for today? So difficult. and meanwhile Marissa was on the other end, waiting. Be quick Ten ⦠make a decision. âMarissa, what is this movie? Is it the opera?' she prevaricated.
âIt's the story of the opera in Flamenco dance. Well, not exactly. It is dancing, but somehow the story comes to life with the characters in the present. The main thing is ⦠you get to see fantastic Flamenco.' It did sound interesting and she was sorely tempted, but she didn't want to miss Devon. She equivocated again. âWhat time were you thinking?'
âThere's an afternoon screening at three and two evening ones. I don't mind which. If we go earlier we could have dinner afterwards; if later, we could eat before. Whatever you like.'
She could hear she was trying to say everything that could suit her. She would go.
âWhat do you say to the early evening show and we eat later?' She felt this would still give her time to catch Devon's call if it came through. If she hadn't phoned by late afternoon then there would he no plans for today.
The happiness in Marissa's voice was touching. âTerrific. I'll meet you at the theatre. Do you know where it is?' She only knew somewhere on the east side. Marissa gave her directions and they would meet in the lobby.
She was on the point of leaving when Devon rang. Now she didn't have time to talk. Devon invited her for dinner. She was quite discomposed when she learned her plan had been foiled. Today was to have seen the completion of her conquest of this woman; the ultimate surrender. So sure of it, she had never thought of Tenille seeing anyone else. Marissa. Of all people. Her voice became vindictive. âI didn't think that little Itie had two words to rub together. She's like a mouse in class.' Tenille found Devon's petulance juvenile. Too used to having everything go her way, when it didn't ⦠tantrum time. She wanted to point out that she could have called sooner, but let it pass. No need to raise her ire further.
âI thought we made arrangements yesterday. How come you've changed everything?' Her feeling of umbrage gave her voice an unpleasant whine.
She needed to get out of this. âLook Devon, I have to go. Can I call you tonight?'
âSo now there's no time to talk even; you have to rush out this minute.' Devon's sneer was mocking. Her daydreams had just collapsed and she was having a hard time recovering. Perhaps Tenille was more than just another conquest after all. Could her feelings be running deeper? Whatever, she felt ill at ease and greatly at odds with herself.
As for Tenille, she wasn't going to lie down under this.
âListen Devon. You are being ridiculous and unreasonable. I don't have to explain myself to you. Marissa is a very good friend and we enjoy dancing together. And ⦠I don't like to hear you disparaging her in such a way,' she added with spirit. âThere's no need for you to be so unpleasant. I've offered to call you later and â¦' She stopped abruptly, swamped with the feeling she'd said too much.
âRidiculous am I?' That had stung. âThere's no point in calling tonight. I will be out.' The line went dead as Devon crashed down the handset.
Panic engulfed her. Already she was regretting her words. What had she done? What would happen to their lessons together? She hated feeling on the wrong side of Devon. She was so important to her. This had been exactly what she'd wanted to avoid. Now she was in it, and deep.
That horrible exchange had taken up half an hour. The streetcar along the Danforth was going so slowly. It must be his last run to the depot and he didn't want to get there early, she thought resentfully. Just her luck. She could feel her body sweating under all its layers. It was uncomfortable; her mind felt the same way. She could wish herself anywhere, but where she was and anybody else, too.
At the Roxy the lobby was empty, but for one lone figure, still waiting. She was profuse in her apologies. She hated this too. What would she think of her?
Marissa was so relieved she had come, there was no thought to complain how long she'd been kept waiting. The color in Tenille's face was hectic. She had never seen her look more desirable.
Hastily she pulled off her coat, the sweater beneath a soft, mauve-grey which seemed to darken her eyes and in contrast, her hair shone with a brilliance all its own. It wasn't tied back the way she was used to seeing it in class and found this very sensual. Momentarily she pictured herself burying her face in those glossy curls. Tenille's voice broke through her vision.
âHave I made you miss the beginning?'
âIt's okay. They always start the program with cartoons and a short.' They found two seats at the back, the house by no means full. This was classed as an art film so audiences were limited. The Roxy showed specialized films and, as an independent, was successful in keeping its doors open. Tenille's adrenaline level subsided and she was able to settle back and take in what was being presented on screen. The short was INCIDENT AT OWL CREEK, a French movie. As the story unfolded she began to be swept along in the current, with the protagonist, identifying with his struggle to survive. When the ending came she was totally shocked. The audience sat there in stunned silence, Marissa too. Then an excited hubbub broke out as people felt the need to release the pent up emotion which had been created.
From the very first moment of CARMEN Tenille was lost. Antonio Gaddes was a magnificent dancer. The fact that he was an older man did not detract from the impact of his dancing. Laura Del Sol, who would become cast as Carmen, although lacking the command and power that Christina had, was so sensual, she riveted the eyes. The guitar playing was electrifying. For anyone who loved Flamenco, this was a âmust see', Tenille thought.
Later, when they were standing outside, trying to decide where to eat, she thanked Marissa sincerely for inviting her. âI'm so glad I've experienced this. I wouldn't have, but for you.' She looked at her, her wide, almond-shaped eyes filled with gratitude. Marissa basked in her approbation. Intoxication and a strange trepidation combined in her. She did so love being with Tenille. What was the cause of her enchantment? One day she would figure it out.
Back to Broadview on the streetcar, having decided to eat at the Greek Restaurant the others had recommended. They selected the roast lamb with baked potato and rice, a Greek salad on the side. The decor was not so stylish, but it had atmosphere; families with kids as well as the usual clientele. Their table was squeezed in between two large parties. Sometimes the noise was deafening as the diners became more involved, Greek words ringing out everywhere. The place was jammed; everyone so talkative, over top of the bouzoukis playing in the background. It was hot too, cooking taking place at adjacent tables, but Tenille didn't mind. Although her heritage was Maltese, her food experiences had been almost exclusively Canadian.
The two women enjoyed exchanging their views on the movie, then the talk naturally moved to their own dancing. Marissa's soft, grey eyes were very bright tonight.
âWould you like to be my partner for the new dances coming up, Tenille?'
âYes I'd like that a lot.'
Marissa had a very sweet way of looking at her when she asked a question. Diffidence and sincerity combined. It was a hard combination to refuse. Anyway she didn't want to.
With the talk reverting to their dance, it brought Devon to mind. Marissa noticed the change in expression. It lost its look of relaxed contentment, the color leaching from her cheeks, leaving them unnaturally pale.
âIs everything all right?' she asked solicitously, a frown crinkling her brow.
âOh, yes. I guess I'm just getting a bit tired,' she replied with a weak smile.
âProbably time we got on our way.'
They travelled together to Spadina and when Tenille got up to leave, promised to be in touch. Back at the house she found a note under her door ⦠CALL DEVON. Suddenly, hot all over as she read the words, she felt too scared to phone; too apprehensive about what to say if Devon told her to forget it. Still, she couldn't sleep feeling this way. It had to be faced.
âTenille?' Devon's voice sounded relieved. Why was that? âThank you for calling. I tried âphoning earlier. Your landlady must be tired of me.' She sounded flustered. Unlike her.
âMrs. Sandrelli is a very nice person. Very understanding too.' Well, if she wanted to talk about her she supposed that was okay. She was beginning to feel more confident. This didn't sound like the kiss off.
âTenille â¦' Devon's voice was barely above a whisper.
âYes?'
âTenille ⦠I want to say ⦠I want to say ⦠you were right, I was being an ass. I don't know what got into me. Will you ⦠will you forget that outburst? It was uncalled for.' There, she'd got it out.
âDevon, of course. No harm done.' So flooded with relief, Tenille could have cried for joy. âI was worried you were âphoning to cancel our dance sessions.'
âOh no.' her voice was filled with incredulity. âOf course not.'
They continued to converse, more relaxed and at ease. She arranged to go to the store to deliver the pattern and choose some trimmings. Once more, all was well between them.
When Tenille readied herself for bed, she knew the friendship they shared was strong and would endure. They had had this upset and it had affected them more deeply than either expected. Now they recognized the degree of importance, one for the other. Bonds such as these could not so easily be severed.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Devon chose late Wednesday to go to Annello and David's. She had Tenille help select bits and pieces and handed over the pattern at the same time. She hung about 'til closing, then they went to the studio. She explained she had been in touch with Belen to see if she had decided which dances she wanted for the show.
âHas she made her choice?' They were strap-hanging on a very crowded train, their bags stowed on the floor between their feet. As the train lurched and swayed on its hurtle northward, they stayed pressed close together, heedless of those around them.
âIt seems she's whittled it down to three. She'll choose the best two. Verdiales, it's another dance which is part of the Estilos Folkloricos tradition, developing from around Malaga. She'll choose that, or the Fandango de Huelva you're already working on. The other one is a Caracoles. It's a type of Cantinas which appeared in Cadiz in the mid-nineteenth century. However it became strongly associated with Madrid. Over the years it's developed in brilliance and vitality, so it makes a flashy show piece. You see, she's not going for the more serious stuff. The program is to look bright and light-hearted, rather than deep and meaningful.' She laughed into Tenille's eyes as her words struck her. âIf they want another one we can always drag out Sevillanas as an encore.'
Eglinton, the studio stop. A fiery orange sky was all that remained of what had been a spectacular sunset and with the passing of the sun, the night chill penetrated to the bones.
This evening Devon had music. She began with Verdiales. The folk influence was transporting and the light, gambado quality irresistible. Tenille's response was instant and natural. As Devon watched, there was appreciation in the depths of her green eyes and a sensuality to the smile playing about her wide mouth which, if Tenille had noticed, could have given her reassurance. But she was oblivious in her concentration, her ebony hair in disarray over her face. Toward the end of the session, feeling for the music was invading her steps, giving them a weightlessness that spun out of her, beyond the confines of those four walls. She could have been a Spanish peasant girl, on a hot summer's afternoon, her movements shimmering in the heat as she broke free of the village festivities. Devon could not have been more delighted.
Tenille had smelled it as soon as she'd opened the door and her taste buds were in motion. Seating herself at the table she removed her sweater, the kitchen being several degrees warmer than the apartment.
âThere
Cara
.' Mrs. Sandrelli put down two hot, steaming mugs, as she eased her weight into the chair opposite. They savored the taste then Tenille launched into her request. The older woman listened in silence, different expressions flitting across her face as the details unfolded. Finally she looked inquiringly at her.
âIs a big request,
Cara
. I have made bride's dress, the maids' dresses too, but never a dance dress like you describe.' She drew a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks as she released it. âIf you like, I can try. You have pattern?'
âMy friend has a pattern, already cut out. I bought the fabric yesterday.'
âWhen you get the pattern, you bring to me with fabric. I will cut it out then we can move on to a fitting. Better yet. You come in Friday and I make you dinner.' She looked critically at the younger woman. âI think you don't eat good. I make you a good pasta and apple pie for dessert.' She nodded her head in satisfaction at the plan.
âThank you, I'd like that. What time?'
âCome at six. We do the fitting after.'
Later that morning there was a knock on Tenille's door. Mrs. Sandrelli informed her she was wanted on the phone. Her heart leaped, the thud of her pulse deafening in her ears. This would be Devon. She rushed up the short flight of stairs.
âHello,' she said through her breathlessness.
âHi Tenille.' Not Devon ⦠Marissa.
âOh, Marissa. Hi.' She tried to keep her voice light, but she had been so sure.
âTenille. Would you like to go to the movies? The Roxy is showing CARMEN this weekend.'
She was in a quandary. Devon hadn't called. Should she say no in case she did? She'd said they'd make plans. That might have meant today, then again it could have meant in the week. It was now nearly noon. Would she phone this late for today? So difficult. and meanwhile Marissa was on the other end, waiting. Be quick Ten ⦠make a decision. âMarissa, what is this movie? Is it the opera?' she prevaricated.
âIt's the story of the opera in Flamenco dance. Well, not exactly. It is dancing, but somehow the story comes to life with the characters in the present. The main thing is ⦠you get to see fantastic Flamenco.' It did sound interesting and she was sorely tempted, but she didn't want to miss Devon. She equivocated again. âWhat time were you thinking?'
âThere's an afternoon screening at three and two evening ones. I don't mind which. If we go earlier we could have dinner afterwards; if later, we could eat before. Whatever you like.'
She could hear she was trying to say everything that could suit her. She would go.
âWhat do you say to the early evening show and we eat later?' She felt this would still give her time to catch Devon's call if it came through. If she hadn't phoned by late afternoon then there would he no plans for today.
The happiness in Marissa's voice was touching. âTerrific. I'll meet you at the theatre. Do you know where it is?' She only knew somewhere on the east side. Marissa gave her directions and they would meet in the lobby.
She was on the point of leaving when Devon rang. Now she didn't have time to talk. Devon invited her for dinner. She was quite discomposed when she learned her plan had been foiled. Today was to have seen the completion of her conquest of this woman; the ultimate surrender. So sure of it, she had never thought of Tenille seeing anyone else. Marissa. Of all people. Her voice became vindictive. âI didn't think that little Itie had two words to rub together. She's like a mouse in class.' Tenille found Devon's petulance juvenile. Too used to having everything go her way, when it didn't ⦠tantrum time. She wanted to point out that she could have called sooner, but let it pass. No need to raise her ire further.
âI thought we made arrangements yesterday. How come you've changed everything?' Her feeling of umbrage gave her voice an unpleasant whine.
She needed to get out of this. âLook Devon, I have to go. Can I call you tonight?'
âSo now there's no time to talk even; you have to rush out this minute.' Devon's sneer was mocking. Her daydreams had just collapsed and she was having a hard time recovering. Perhaps Tenille was more than just another conquest after all. Could her feelings be running deeper? Whatever, she felt ill at ease and greatly at odds with herself.
As for Tenille, she wasn't going to lie down under this.
âListen Devon. You are being ridiculous and unreasonable. I don't have to explain myself to you. Marissa is a very good friend and we enjoy dancing together. And ⦠I don't like to hear you disparaging her in such a way,' she added with spirit. âThere's no need for you to be so unpleasant. I've offered to call you later and â¦' She stopped abruptly, swamped with the feeling she'd said too much.
âRidiculous am I?' That had stung. âThere's no point in calling tonight. I will be out.' The line went dead as Devon crashed down the handset.
Panic engulfed her. Already she was regretting her words. What had she done? What would happen to their lessons together? She hated feeling on the wrong side of Devon. She was so important to her. This had been exactly what she'd wanted to avoid. Now she was in it, and deep.
That horrible exchange had taken up half an hour. The streetcar along the Danforth was going so slowly. It must be his last run to the depot and he didn't want to get there early, she thought resentfully. Just her luck. She could feel her body sweating under all its layers. It was uncomfortable; her mind felt the same way. She could wish herself anywhere, but where she was and anybody else, too.
At the Roxy the lobby was empty, but for one lone figure, still waiting. She was profuse in her apologies. She hated this too. What would she think of her?
Marissa was so relieved she had come, there was no thought to complain how long she'd been kept waiting. The color in Tenille's face was hectic. She had never seen her look more desirable.
Hastily she pulled off her coat, the sweater beneath a soft, mauve-grey which seemed to darken her eyes and in contrast, her hair shone with a brilliance all its own. It wasn't tied back the way she was used to seeing it in class and found this very sensual. Momentarily she pictured herself burying her face in those glossy curls. Tenille's voice broke through her vision.
âHave I made you miss the beginning?'
âIt's okay. They always start the program with cartoons and a short.' They found two seats at the back, the house by no means full. This was classed as an art film so audiences were limited. The Roxy showed specialized films and, as an independent, was successful in keeping its doors open. Tenille's adrenaline level subsided and she was able to settle back and take in what was being presented on screen. The short was INCIDENT AT OWL CREEK, a French movie. As the story unfolded she began to be swept along in the current, with the protagonist, identifying with his struggle to survive. When the ending came she was totally shocked. The audience sat there in stunned silence, Marissa too. Then an excited hubbub broke out as people felt the need to release the pent up emotion which had been created.
From the very first moment of CARMEN Tenille was lost. Antonio Gaddes was a magnificent dancer. The fact that he was an older man did not detract from the impact of his dancing. Laura Del Sol, who would become cast as Carmen, although lacking the command and power that Christina had, was so sensual, she riveted the eyes. The guitar playing was electrifying. For anyone who loved Flamenco, this was a âmust see', Tenille thought.
Later, when they were standing outside, trying to decide where to eat, she thanked Marissa sincerely for inviting her. âI'm so glad I've experienced this. I wouldn't have, but for you.' She looked at her, her wide, almond-shaped eyes filled with gratitude. Marissa basked in her approbation. Intoxication and a strange trepidation combined in her. She did so love being with Tenille. What was the cause of her enchantment? One day she would figure it out.
Back to Broadview on the streetcar, having decided to eat at the Greek Restaurant the others had recommended. They selected the roast lamb with baked potato and rice, a Greek salad on the side. The decor was not so stylish, but it had atmosphere; families with kids as well as the usual clientele. Their table was squeezed in between two large parties. Sometimes the noise was deafening as the diners became more involved, Greek words ringing out everywhere. The place was jammed; everyone so talkative, over top of the bouzoukis playing in the background. It was hot too, cooking taking place at adjacent tables, but Tenille didn't mind. Although her heritage was Maltese, her food experiences had been almost exclusively Canadian.
The two women enjoyed exchanging their views on the movie, then the talk naturally moved to their own dancing. Marissa's soft, grey eyes were very bright tonight.
âWould you like to be my partner for the new dances coming up, Tenille?'
âYes I'd like that a lot.'
Marissa had a very sweet way of looking at her when she asked a question. Diffidence and sincerity combined. It was a hard combination to refuse. Anyway she didn't want to.
With the talk reverting to their dance, it brought Devon to mind. Marissa noticed the change in expression. It lost its look of relaxed contentment, the color leaching from her cheeks, leaving them unnaturally pale.
âIs everything all right?' she asked solicitously, a frown crinkling her brow.
âOh, yes. I guess I'm just getting a bit tired,' she replied with a weak smile.
âProbably time we got on our way.'
They travelled together to Spadina and when Tenille got up to leave, promised to be in touch. Back at the house she found a note under her door ⦠CALL DEVON. Suddenly, hot all over as she read the words, she felt too scared to phone; too apprehensive about what to say if Devon told her to forget it. Still, she couldn't sleep feeling this way. It had to be faced.
âTenille?' Devon's voice sounded relieved. Why was that? âThank you for calling. I tried âphoning earlier. Your landlady must be tired of me.' She sounded flustered. Unlike her.
âMrs. Sandrelli is a very nice person. Very understanding too.' Well, if she wanted to talk about her she supposed that was okay. She was beginning to feel more confident. This didn't sound like the kiss off.
âTenille â¦' Devon's voice was barely above a whisper.
âYes?'
âTenille ⦠I want to say ⦠I want to say ⦠you were right, I was being an ass. I don't know what got into me. Will you ⦠will you forget that outburst? It was uncalled for.' There, she'd got it out.
âDevon, of course. No harm done.' So flooded with relief, Tenille could have cried for joy. âI was worried you were âphoning to cancel our dance sessions.'
âOh no.' her voice was filled with incredulity. âOf course not.'
They continued to converse, more relaxed and at ease. She arranged to go to the store to deliver the pattern and choose some trimmings. Once more, all was well between them.
When Tenille readied herself for bed, she knew the friendship they shared was strong and would endure. They had had this upset and it had affected them more deeply than either expected. Now they recognized the degree of importance, one for the other. Bonds such as these could not so easily be severed.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Devon chose late Wednesday to go to Annello and David's. She had Tenille help select bits and pieces and handed over the pattern at the same time. She hung about 'til closing, then they went to the studio. She explained she had been in touch with Belen to see if she had decided which dances she wanted for the show.
âHas she made her choice?' They were strap-hanging on a very crowded train, their bags stowed on the floor between their feet. As the train lurched and swayed on its hurtle northward, they stayed pressed close together, heedless of those around them.
âIt seems she's whittled it down to three. She'll choose the best two. Verdiales, it's another dance which is part of the Estilos Folkloricos tradition, developing from around Malaga. She'll choose that, or the Fandango de Huelva you're already working on. The other one is a Caracoles. It's a type of Cantinas which appeared in Cadiz in the mid-nineteenth century. However it became strongly associated with Madrid. Over the years it's developed in brilliance and vitality, so it makes a flashy show piece. You see, she's not going for the more serious stuff. The program is to look bright and light-hearted, rather than deep and meaningful.' She laughed into Tenille's eyes as her words struck her. âIf they want another one we can always drag out Sevillanas as an encore.'
Eglinton, the studio stop. A fiery orange sky was all that remained of what had been a spectacular sunset and with the passing of the sun, the night chill penetrated to the bones.
This evening Devon had music. She began with Verdiales. The folk influence was transporting and the light, gambado quality irresistible. Tenille's response was instant and natural. As Devon watched, there was appreciation in the depths of her green eyes and a sensuality to the smile playing about her wide mouth which, if Tenille had noticed, could have given her reassurance. But she was oblivious in her concentration, her ebony hair in disarray over her face. Toward the end of the session, feeling for the music was invading her steps, giving them a weightlessness that spun out of her, beyond the confines of those four walls. She could have been a Spanish peasant girl, on a hot summer's afternoon, her movements shimmering in the heat as she broke free of the village festivities. Devon could not have been more delighted.
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