Outing of the Heart (32 page)
Read Outing of the Heart Online
Authors: Lisa Ann Harper
Tenille turned away too, downcast for some reason she couldn't figure. The girl had been so indifferent at the end. Her own senses had been overwhelmed ⦠to react like that to someone ⦠she had to see her again.
Sidonie headed off to Volleyball practise. Moving out to the west end she now played in a gay club and was no longer with Milka's, Scarborough being just too much of a hike. They played at Castle Frank High School every Sunday afternoon. She would have preferred a woman's to a mixed club, but the girls just didn't come out. The guys were a fun-loving bunch though.
Being the first in the ladies' room, it was a leisurely change into her team jersey and shorts. Her bag told the story of her life, she observed wryly, rummaging through for her gear. In the large gymnasium she sorted out the equipment and with her hands busy, her mind raced with images of Tenille. She could think of nothing else. She was the most charismatic, bewitching woman she had ever met. But there was no future. She should stop before she became an obsession.
There were three courts and six teams in the club. Every week they played a round robin', taking turns to referee. She enjoyed this, giving her the chance as it did to interact with the others. She liked sticking her arm out and blowing the whistle.
Sidonie was a good âall-round' player in each of the positions, but her true talent lay at the net as a setter. It was uncanny how she could make scoops off the most unlikely balls and set for her spiker. Quick and flexible, she always seemed to be at the right place at the right time. As a server she was excellent, judging her floaters to a âT'. The big serves, although she lacked the height of some of the others, because she jumped on the ball, would come into play deep and hard. Apart from that, she had such a good time everyone wanted her on their team.
The games were an expedient sublimation that day. By the end of the afternoon she was her old self, joining them for a drink at Targets, the sports' bar on Church. The guys often bumped into other friends and certainly enjoyed a perve on all the beautiful bodies. She re-hydrated with a Gatorade, then socialized with a light beer, joining in the jock talk.
When it came to a meal she declined, looking forward instead to some time alone. Not that she was a loner by nature, but she could only take so much of their frivolous banter.
Dusk was well advanced, the last rays of the setting sun tinging the horizon as she proceeded westward on the 401 to Woodbine Racetrack. She turned on the radio, set at her favorite Much Music station. It was Joni Mitchell, singing HOW DO YOU STOP? A song which had shot her back into prominence. As she listened, she asked herself the same question. She had been profoundly affected by this recent encounter. There were too many strikes against her: their backgrounds: she was a Het: married ⦠had been: the age difference. That didn't bother her. She might be though. Nope. It was hopeless.
“You know too much girl, to be chasing after a pipe dream,”
she told herself. Deep in cerebration, she didn't see the motor cycle coming up behind. She made to pull out and pass a heavily laden transport and almost ran into the poor man who got the fright of his life.
âShit. That was close, get a grip.' She made some evasive turns, but felt badly for not paying more attention. If there had been an accident â¦. âThat's it. Put her out of your head and get on with your life.'
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Everything Tenille did at the session went well, her body so responsive to the music. Raoul asked if she'd been out to BODYSHAPE. She looked radiant, a smile breaking over her face like sunrise, the white and green giving her skin the luminescence of alabaster. She was happy to report; not once but twice.
It looked like Raoul was going to have another commitment Wednesdays, would changing her session to Tuesday be all right, he asked, unless she could manage daytime?
âNo, Tuesdays will be okay.' Thinking rapidly; if she wanted, she could go to the gym on Wednesday, perhaps run into that girl again. So intriguing; so different from Devon.
Devon was friendly today, but Tenille had decided to put distance between them.
“How that woman blows hot and cold,”
she reflected.
Back at the apartment, her thoughts on Devon swirled about as she tried to make some sense of it all. Feeling muddled, she realized it was she who had not been responsive this afternoon. Friendly yes, but there was not that same absorption. As she went through the chores, her mind remained occupied with an ongoing struggle for comprehension. Time was she would have been as clay in Devon's hands, moulding to her every mood. Now â¦? Could it be she was hardening her heart? Devon had not changed; she had come over as usual. It was she, Tenille, who had been perfunctory. And yet ⦠the familiarity of her perfume, âMaggie Noire' by Lancome, had transported her back to the apartment and she had been overcome by memories; experienced mixed emotions. Was she developing a truer perspective? Less idealistic; more realistic?
âOh Ten, you always were a dreamer. From the time you could think,' she murmured as she pictured the little girl, so full of hope and promise, dancing on the lawn in front of adoring parents; believing this to be her life ⦠music and dance.
“Well,”
she lifted her head, squared her shoulders:
“Get real and don't be dejected over that child, you are a mature adult so try to behave like one. As for Sidonie â¦? Yes, you'll see her again, but just act normal, if you any longer know what that means.”
She smiled ruefully:
“You wouldn't want to be accused of corrupting the young now would you? Is this really the Lindsay girl talking?”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
That week, Tenille told her colleagues at Anello and David about BODYSHAPE. It sounded a great idea, but they would like to join a mixed gym. Here there were lots of giggles, but she stood her ground and insisted she preferred it the way it was. âIt's more relaxing.'
âI wouldn't be there for relaxation,' Alana quipped, winking at the others.
On Wednesday, the prospect of seeing Sidonie caused her to rush home and be quick off the mark. Mrs. Sandrelli had hoped for a chat, but all she could manage was a brief explanation about where she was going and then she was out.
âMama Mia.
What a tizzy.' She was standing, looking at the closed door.
Since the train journey was interminable, she took a book to read. She loved a good âWho Done It'. Currently it was Patricia Cornwell's FROM POTTER'S FIELD, that successfully made the journey go fast. Still, she would be late compared with Sidonie's time. It was already twenty to seven.
Nina was there to greet her. She was beginning to feel part of the club. âDo you need someone to help you get started,' she inquired.
âNo, I think I know my way around now, thanks.'
The place was jumping; the music loud and even more insistent; back ups on all the equipment and no sign of Sidonie. The women were being good natured ⦠it gave them an excuse to socialize.
Tonight Tenille worked harder on calf raises and squats, being desperate for sharper sounding footwork. Eventually she moved on to the upper limb equipment. Here she saw her, setting up for Deltoid and the upper back, standing ready for the presses. This was Tenille's chance while she waited her turn, to observe as much as she liked without being accused of staring.
Sidonie was all in black. It looked more like the proper weightlifters' rig; thin strapped, black singlet, low cut both front and back rising from very short, body hugging trunks. Her breasts were small, firm mounds, pressed tight to her chest giving a silhouette of one fluid line; round her waist was a wide leather support. Black socks rose from high-laced, leather pumps. She looked the part in both garb and physique. Muscles rippled under her gleaming skin, glistening now with a thin film of perspiration from previous exertions. A young Greek god with hair, a cap of burnished gold, the black sweat band her laurel crown. Could no one else see it? Another well-muscled girl, but carrying more weight than she, spoke to her. Sidonie let go the handles and hooked back the bar. Removing her black leather half-gloves, she followed her companion to the office.
As they exited, she noticed Tenille setting up. She was surprised to see her; inside delighted, outside just a brief nod, no smile.
“Very cool,”
Tenille thought, but then what was she expecting? For her to stop, drop everything and come over?
“Don't be a knucklehead. She's got more to do than talk to you all the time.”
She reached the pull down and took up her position, on the plinth. She grasped the handles to pull down and raise the weight, moving it up jerkily in its track against the wall. She was breathing deeply, concentrating, counting her repetitions when she heard that husky voice above her and lost her place. Why was it they always seemed to be talking when she felt at a disadvantage? This time, lying on her back, looking up at the girl. Sidonie was standing so close, her arm could have brushed against her crotch as she moved the weights. She was leaning over her as she spoke. It felt too intimate, although there were people around and space between them.
She had to repeat her question: âHow's it going today?'
She stopped attempting to work, instead rested the bar with her arms above her head. âImproving, I think.' She added: âYou looked serious when you went out, just now.'
âOh, there was a scheduling problem with an upcoming promotion we're putting on. Serena was getting herself up tight.'
âA promotion?' She let go the bar and sat up, much too uncomfortable lying there looking up, so aware of the hard muscles of the strong thighs beside her. She couldn't place this intimacy then realized it was like lying in bed and she had come to wake her.
“Oh, this is impossible,”
shaking her head:
“What are you going on about?”
âIt's a promo. the club is putting on this Saturday at the Yorkdale Shopping Plaza. We do it from time to time, to help them build up interest in the fitness centre. There will be a small contingent from the aerobics section and a few of the weightlifters. Apparently we're to be sandwiched between three fashion shows.
âIt sounds interesting.'
âWould you like to see it?'
âYes.' Tenille drew her knees up toward her chest and clasped her arms about them. âIt's my Saturday off. What time are you on?'
Sidonie looked pleased. âWe plan two spots, one at one-thirty and the next at two-thirty.' Tenille nodded. âListen. You could do more than watch.' Tenille looked alarmed.
âNot get up there, no way.'
Sidonie saw an expression of misgiving cross her face and hastened to allay any fears. âWe need people to distribute pamphlets to the crowd.' She laughed: âA crowd we hope to attract. Would you mind handing out flyers?' She raised one eyebrow and looked quizzically at her. âWith a body like yours, dressed in your gym outfit, you'd be a really good advertisement for the club.'
Her cheeks reddened as she blushed to her hairline in embarrassment. âN â¦no,' she stammered, confused by the compliment. âI couldn't do anything like that.'
“Walk around in skimpy clothes, she would have to be kidding.”
Sidonie squatted down on her haunches to be at Tenille's level. She continued to gaze at her intently, her eyes turning an interesting shade of indigo. Too troubling, Tenille looked away.
âI haven't been coming long enough to answer any questions,' she mumbled, feeling annoyed with herself.
âNo need. Everything is explained in the leaflet.' She would not let her off the hook that easily.
âIf I did it, I'd be wearing street clothes.' She looked back at her, a little truculently. She was willing to be involved ⦠up to a point.
She backed off. âI don't want to pressure you. Of course, it's up to you.' She raised her hand in a wide arc then ran it through her tousled hair. âLook, let's put it this way. If you turn up Saturday, dressed or undressed â¦' she had to smile at her mental image, but Tenille just continued to regard her with a serious expression, â â¦and you feel like helping out, come see me and I'll give you a bunch. If you only want to watch ⦠that's OK too.' Now she gave Tenille an unguarded smile of such softness it tugged at her insides and she just melted. âHow's that for an arrangement?'
Eventually she found her voice. âFine.' She couldn't trust herself to say more.
Sidonie stood up thinking:
“You've never made such a loosey-goosey date in all your life, girl. You're losing your touch. You can't pin this one down âcause you've seen nothing to confirm that she likes women. And you like her so damn much you're scared shitless.”
She pulled her thoughts back. âI'd best let you get on with your program. I didn't mean to interrupt for so long.'
âNo. That's all right. I liked â¦' Tenille had been about to say “being with you,” but changed her words at the last moment to: âHaving a break.'
âWell, yes. I'll see you around, then.' She beat a hasty retreat. She could have so easily leaned over and kissed that tempting mouth which she had delighted to watch in motion. The fullness of the curving lips entranced her. What a desirable package. She was shaken, as excitement and wonder wove through her. How frustrating to know she was unattainable.
“Get going Sid, work it off.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Concentration on her book on the return journey was impossible. Tenille's thoughts repeatedly slipped back to that intriguing girl. She had almost said something inappropriate ⦠a young girl like her.
“She probably has an adoring boy-friend somewhere ⦠just like Devon.”
Could she elicit this piece of information next time?
Suddenly she experienced an unexpected rush of intense feeling. Into her mind's eye came a clear picture of Sidonie's thigh muscles, close to her face. Her control had failed as she'd let her eyes travel higher to feast her gaze on that intimate triangle. Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard, looking guiltily around:
“Thank goodness people can't read minds,”
she thought, relieved. It was then she remembered she'd had to sit up, unable to remain lying down, with those other thoughts going through her head. Sidonie was making her feel stirred up; unsure. What was happening? She had loved being with Devon, but with this girl, her company was more distress than joy, yet it seemed she couldn't get enough of it. She almost missed her stop ⦠again. This was getting to be a bad habit.
Sidonie headed off to Volleyball practise. Moving out to the west end she now played in a gay club and was no longer with Milka's, Scarborough being just too much of a hike. They played at Castle Frank High School every Sunday afternoon. She would have preferred a woman's to a mixed club, but the girls just didn't come out. The guys were a fun-loving bunch though.
Being the first in the ladies' room, it was a leisurely change into her team jersey and shorts. Her bag told the story of her life, she observed wryly, rummaging through for her gear. In the large gymnasium she sorted out the equipment and with her hands busy, her mind raced with images of Tenille. She could think of nothing else. She was the most charismatic, bewitching woman she had ever met. But there was no future. She should stop before she became an obsession.
There were three courts and six teams in the club. Every week they played a round robin', taking turns to referee. She enjoyed this, giving her the chance as it did to interact with the others. She liked sticking her arm out and blowing the whistle.
Sidonie was a good âall-round' player in each of the positions, but her true talent lay at the net as a setter. It was uncanny how she could make scoops off the most unlikely balls and set for her spiker. Quick and flexible, she always seemed to be at the right place at the right time. As a server she was excellent, judging her floaters to a âT'. The big serves, although she lacked the height of some of the others, because she jumped on the ball, would come into play deep and hard. Apart from that, she had such a good time everyone wanted her on their team.
The games were an expedient sublimation that day. By the end of the afternoon she was her old self, joining them for a drink at Targets, the sports' bar on Church. The guys often bumped into other friends and certainly enjoyed a perve on all the beautiful bodies. She re-hydrated with a Gatorade, then socialized with a light beer, joining in the jock talk.
When it came to a meal she declined, looking forward instead to some time alone. Not that she was a loner by nature, but she could only take so much of their frivolous banter.
Dusk was well advanced, the last rays of the setting sun tinging the horizon as she proceeded westward on the 401 to Woodbine Racetrack. She turned on the radio, set at her favorite Much Music station. It was Joni Mitchell, singing HOW DO YOU STOP? A song which had shot her back into prominence. As she listened, she asked herself the same question. She had been profoundly affected by this recent encounter. There were too many strikes against her: their backgrounds: she was a Het: married ⦠had been: the age difference. That didn't bother her. She might be though. Nope. It was hopeless.
“You know too much girl, to be chasing after a pipe dream,”
she told herself. Deep in cerebration, she didn't see the motor cycle coming up behind. She made to pull out and pass a heavily laden transport and almost ran into the poor man who got the fright of his life.
âShit. That was close, get a grip.' She made some evasive turns, but felt badly for not paying more attention. If there had been an accident â¦. âThat's it. Put her out of your head and get on with your life.'
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Everything Tenille did at the session went well, her body so responsive to the music. Raoul asked if she'd been out to BODYSHAPE. She looked radiant, a smile breaking over her face like sunrise, the white and green giving her skin the luminescence of alabaster. She was happy to report; not once but twice.
It looked like Raoul was going to have another commitment Wednesdays, would changing her session to Tuesday be all right, he asked, unless she could manage daytime?
âNo, Tuesdays will be okay.' Thinking rapidly; if she wanted, she could go to the gym on Wednesday, perhaps run into that girl again. So intriguing; so different from Devon.
Devon was friendly today, but Tenille had decided to put distance between them.
“How that woman blows hot and cold,”
she reflected.
Back at the apartment, her thoughts on Devon swirled about as she tried to make some sense of it all. Feeling muddled, she realized it was she who had not been responsive this afternoon. Friendly yes, but there was not that same absorption. As she went through the chores, her mind remained occupied with an ongoing struggle for comprehension. Time was she would have been as clay in Devon's hands, moulding to her every mood. Now â¦? Could it be she was hardening her heart? Devon had not changed; she had come over as usual. It was she, Tenille, who had been perfunctory. And yet ⦠the familiarity of her perfume, âMaggie Noire' by Lancome, had transported her back to the apartment and she had been overcome by memories; experienced mixed emotions. Was she developing a truer perspective? Less idealistic; more realistic?
âOh Ten, you always were a dreamer. From the time you could think,' she murmured as she pictured the little girl, so full of hope and promise, dancing on the lawn in front of adoring parents; believing this to be her life ⦠music and dance.
“Well,”
she lifted her head, squared her shoulders:
“Get real and don't be dejected over that child, you are a mature adult so try to behave like one. As for Sidonie â¦? Yes, you'll see her again, but just act normal, if you any longer know what that means.”
She smiled ruefully:
“You wouldn't want to be accused of corrupting the young now would you? Is this really the Lindsay girl talking?”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
That week, Tenille told her colleagues at Anello and David about BODYSHAPE. It sounded a great idea, but they would like to join a mixed gym. Here there were lots of giggles, but she stood her ground and insisted she preferred it the way it was. âIt's more relaxing.'
âI wouldn't be there for relaxation,' Alana quipped, winking at the others.
On Wednesday, the prospect of seeing Sidonie caused her to rush home and be quick off the mark. Mrs. Sandrelli had hoped for a chat, but all she could manage was a brief explanation about where she was going and then she was out.
âMama Mia.
What a tizzy.' She was standing, looking at the closed door.
Since the train journey was interminable, she took a book to read. She loved a good âWho Done It'. Currently it was Patricia Cornwell's FROM POTTER'S FIELD, that successfully made the journey go fast. Still, she would be late compared with Sidonie's time. It was already twenty to seven.
Nina was there to greet her. She was beginning to feel part of the club. âDo you need someone to help you get started,' she inquired.
âNo, I think I know my way around now, thanks.'
The place was jumping; the music loud and even more insistent; back ups on all the equipment and no sign of Sidonie. The women were being good natured ⦠it gave them an excuse to socialize.
Tonight Tenille worked harder on calf raises and squats, being desperate for sharper sounding footwork. Eventually she moved on to the upper limb equipment. Here she saw her, setting up for Deltoid and the upper back, standing ready for the presses. This was Tenille's chance while she waited her turn, to observe as much as she liked without being accused of staring.
Sidonie was all in black. It looked more like the proper weightlifters' rig; thin strapped, black singlet, low cut both front and back rising from very short, body hugging trunks. Her breasts were small, firm mounds, pressed tight to her chest giving a silhouette of one fluid line; round her waist was a wide leather support. Black socks rose from high-laced, leather pumps. She looked the part in both garb and physique. Muscles rippled under her gleaming skin, glistening now with a thin film of perspiration from previous exertions. A young Greek god with hair, a cap of burnished gold, the black sweat band her laurel crown. Could no one else see it? Another well-muscled girl, but carrying more weight than she, spoke to her. Sidonie let go the handles and hooked back the bar. Removing her black leather half-gloves, she followed her companion to the office.
As they exited, she noticed Tenille setting up. She was surprised to see her; inside delighted, outside just a brief nod, no smile.
“Very cool,”
Tenille thought, but then what was she expecting? For her to stop, drop everything and come over?
“Don't be a knucklehead. She's got more to do than talk to you all the time.”
She reached the pull down and took up her position, on the plinth. She grasped the handles to pull down and raise the weight, moving it up jerkily in its track against the wall. She was breathing deeply, concentrating, counting her repetitions when she heard that husky voice above her and lost her place. Why was it they always seemed to be talking when she felt at a disadvantage? This time, lying on her back, looking up at the girl. Sidonie was standing so close, her arm could have brushed against her crotch as she moved the weights. She was leaning over her as she spoke. It felt too intimate, although there were people around and space between them.
She had to repeat her question: âHow's it going today?'
She stopped attempting to work, instead rested the bar with her arms above her head. âImproving, I think.' She added: âYou looked serious when you went out, just now.'
âOh, there was a scheduling problem with an upcoming promotion we're putting on. Serena was getting herself up tight.'
âA promotion?' She let go the bar and sat up, much too uncomfortable lying there looking up, so aware of the hard muscles of the strong thighs beside her. She couldn't place this intimacy then realized it was like lying in bed and she had come to wake her.
“Oh, this is impossible,”
shaking her head:
“What are you going on about?”
âIt's a promo. the club is putting on this Saturday at the Yorkdale Shopping Plaza. We do it from time to time, to help them build up interest in the fitness centre. There will be a small contingent from the aerobics section and a few of the weightlifters. Apparently we're to be sandwiched between three fashion shows.
âIt sounds interesting.'
âWould you like to see it?'
âYes.' Tenille drew her knees up toward her chest and clasped her arms about them. âIt's my Saturday off. What time are you on?'
Sidonie looked pleased. âWe plan two spots, one at one-thirty and the next at two-thirty.' Tenille nodded. âListen. You could do more than watch.' Tenille looked alarmed.
âNot get up there, no way.'
Sidonie saw an expression of misgiving cross her face and hastened to allay any fears. âWe need people to distribute pamphlets to the crowd.' She laughed: âA crowd we hope to attract. Would you mind handing out flyers?' She raised one eyebrow and looked quizzically at her. âWith a body like yours, dressed in your gym outfit, you'd be a really good advertisement for the club.'
Her cheeks reddened as she blushed to her hairline in embarrassment. âN â¦no,' she stammered, confused by the compliment. âI couldn't do anything like that.'
“Walk around in skimpy clothes, she would have to be kidding.”
Sidonie squatted down on her haunches to be at Tenille's level. She continued to gaze at her intently, her eyes turning an interesting shade of indigo. Too troubling, Tenille looked away.
âI haven't been coming long enough to answer any questions,' she mumbled, feeling annoyed with herself.
âNo need. Everything is explained in the leaflet.' She would not let her off the hook that easily.
âIf I did it, I'd be wearing street clothes.' She looked back at her, a little truculently. She was willing to be involved ⦠up to a point.
She backed off. âI don't want to pressure you. Of course, it's up to you.' She raised her hand in a wide arc then ran it through her tousled hair. âLook, let's put it this way. If you turn up Saturday, dressed or undressed â¦' she had to smile at her mental image, but Tenille just continued to regard her with a serious expression, â â¦and you feel like helping out, come see me and I'll give you a bunch. If you only want to watch ⦠that's OK too.' Now she gave Tenille an unguarded smile of such softness it tugged at her insides and she just melted. âHow's that for an arrangement?'
Eventually she found her voice. âFine.' She couldn't trust herself to say more.
Sidonie stood up thinking:
“You've never made such a loosey-goosey date in all your life, girl. You're losing your touch. You can't pin this one down âcause you've seen nothing to confirm that she likes women. And you like her so damn much you're scared shitless.”
She pulled her thoughts back. âI'd best let you get on with your program. I didn't mean to interrupt for so long.'
âNo. That's all right. I liked â¦' Tenille had been about to say “being with you,” but changed her words at the last moment to: âHaving a break.'
âWell, yes. I'll see you around, then.' She beat a hasty retreat. She could have so easily leaned over and kissed that tempting mouth which she had delighted to watch in motion. The fullness of the curving lips entranced her. What a desirable package. She was shaken, as excitement and wonder wove through her. How frustrating to know she was unattainable.
“Get going Sid, work it off.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Concentration on her book on the return journey was impossible. Tenille's thoughts repeatedly slipped back to that intriguing girl. She had almost said something inappropriate ⦠a young girl like her.
“She probably has an adoring boy-friend somewhere ⦠just like Devon.”
Could she elicit this piece of information next time?
Suddenly she experienced an unexpected rush of intense feeling. Into her mind's eye came a clear picture of Sidonie's thigh muscles, close to her face. Her control had failed as she'd let her eyes travel higher to feast her gaze on that intimate triangle. Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard, looking guiltily around:
“Thank goodness people can't read minds,”
she thought, relieved. It was then she remembered she'd had to sit up, unable to remain lying down, with those other thoughts going through her head. Sidonie was making her feel stirred up; unsure. What was happening? She had loved being with Devon, but with this girl, her company was more distress than joy, yet it seemed she couldn't get enough of it. She almost missed her stop ⦠again. This was getting to be a bad habit.
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