Prudence urged her to make a light snack. Just a fried egg, crinkle-cut French fries and frozen peas. After eating, time for a leisurely bath while listening to the radio. Toni Braxton was singing YOUR MAKING ME HIGH. The words made her think of Devon and their evening together. It really had been a magic time. Next came CHILDREN; more like New Age music. It was Robert Miles’ dream version, so divergent, it held her attention to the very end.
Devon had arranged for Darren to pick her up at nine o’clock. She hadn’t made any suggestions about her wardrobe, so it appeared she had gotten the message. Now she was left with fathoming out how to ring the changes on her scraps in the closet. The beaded top again, but this time with the pants she wore last night. She left her hair down, but tied back at the nape of the neck with a wide, black velvet bow. Not the greatest, she assessed as she checked herself in the mirror, but not bad either.
She dabbed a little ‘Karma Sutra’ behind her ears and at her wrists. She was ready. No jewelry tonight.
Seeing Darren again was a pleasure. He was as charming as ever and the bushy eyebrows were as animated. She hadn’t invited him in, meeting at the door as they did, she clutching her shoes in their bag and he making space for her to pass.
‘New coat?’ He offered a little peck and took her arm.
‘You noticed. New boots too.’ She held up a well-shod foot, under the street lamp.
‘Very nice.’
‘And you?’
‘What I asked for, a sports’ pistol, for target practise.’
‘That’s unusual. Is it your hobby?’
‘Yes. I’ve reached competitive level, but it wreaks havoc with my social life. Meets are always on the weekend.’ Tenille didn’t pursue this.
The party was being held at a friend’s house in Deer Park. It was a collaborative effort. Devon had felt she couldn’t impose on her parents again, so Justin had offered his place. He turned out to be the older man. Tenille wondered what part he played in Devon’s life. A pretty important role by the looks of it, she reflected sourly.
Despite starting off feeling a degree of antagonism toward him, she realized he was very personable, with a most delightful house. The decor showed him to be well travelled, favoring the Middle and Far East. Amazement took hold when she discovered the outside totally belied the inside. Exotic rugs, handcrafted artefacts and soft furnishings established their presence throughout. This opulence revealed an eclectic taste of a quirky nature. Gruesome masks stared from the washroom walls. Engraved brass and copper objects were much in evidence, all the while North African music played … torrid and mysterious. She liked it. It was multifarious and fun.
The house was noisy with people. Hosts and guests alike, looked after drinks. The whole atmosphere was more laid back than at Devon’s. Tenille felt comfortable here, recognizing faces from before and Darren stayed close. Nelson and Barbara said hello agreeably enough and she let bygones be bygones.
Devon was more in evidence, like a good hostess, circulating and chatting. She caught up with them, but couldn’t stay long, leaving Tenille with the cryptic whisper: ‘See you at midnight.’ Her outfit was as outrageous as before, only this time the long sleeved, lime-green dress was a full length sheath with a bare mid-riff, top and bottom being joined by straps of fabric. It gave a foreign allure, the dress stopping immediately under her bosom and starting again at the hips. She had decorated her exposed navel-ring with a large jewel and wore tinkling costume bangles.
‘Trust Devon,’ Darren remarked sardonically, but the expression on his face was fond.
At the countdown Tenille discovered Devon standing next to her on the other side from Darren. He had expected to claim the first kiss of the New Year, but found himself beaten by her. She had been ready and waiting; he had been counting seconds.
‘Happy New Year.’
Balloons fell from the ceiling; people blew noisemakers and threw streamers. Pandemonium broke out. The music changed to a disco beat and Devon took Tenille off to dance. Darren was left standing at the post, yet again. She gave him a shrug as if to say: ‘Better luck next time,’ as the other dancers closed in on them, gyrating in abandon to the powerful beat of Diddy’s Jammin’ Hot Mix and the DJ Peewee Nic Fish E-pic Mix. Tenille felt drugged by the music … and Devon’s presence. She smiled dazzlingly back at her, her brilliant eyes flashing such looks of enchantment, Devon could not mistake the feelings. They danced apart, sometimes bumping into each other, loving the contact, shouting out the words where they could hear them. Not caring about anyone else, existing solely for each other … they were transported.
Eventually Devon supposed she should spread herself around and Tenille went off to get a drink at the makeshift bar. There Darren found her. He had been dancing too and was hot.
‘I thought you guys were never going to leave the floor,’ he remarked wryly, taking a long drink from the bottle. ‘Sometimes I don’t understand Devon at all,’ he continued in a tight, hard voice as he stood, watching the dancers, the eyebrows working overtime. It was obvious he was quite put out.
Tenille laughed, her voice deep and throaty; her face flushed: ‘That makes two of us,’ but it was obvious she was not the least out of countenance, quite the reverse.
‘Would you be ready yet to dance again?’ He wanted to see Tenille’s lithe body moving in front of him and to take pleasure in her beauty. She obliged. The revellers continued to party well on into the night, but she had work the next day. Darren got her home shortly before three. Normally, Mrs. Sandrelli was strict about her lodgers not coming back too late; she had had some bad experiences, but at New Year’s … she understood.
This time Darren tried for a lingering kiss, but Tenille pulled away. He considered being more forceful, but thought better of it. If she decided to make a fuss, it would disturb the people of the house and he didn’t want any embroilment. She was obviously the type who needed more time. He respected a girl like that. Any chance of a nightcap? It looked unlikely. He had her number. He would get her again in a softer, more romantic mood.
She let herself into her apartment as quietly as possible. What a great night. Before leaving she had arranged with Devon to have their first session Wednesday; the same building where Belen held her classes, but a smaller studio. It was also where Los Flamencos had their rehearsals. She would grab a quick sandwich after work, then head straight up to Yonge and Eglinton. They would have an hour together and in three weeks, Devon assured her, she’d be ready.
They arrived at almost the same time. Devon had picked up the key from the superintendent and was just unlocking as Tenille ran up the stairs. There was no change annex here, ‘just find a spot and dump the gear’. Tenille wore the apple green skirt and knee-length, black woolly tights which she could push down when her legs warmed up. Devon had the same, but her skirt was yellow.
‘I’m not going to worry about the dance sequences today,’ she informed her. ‘It will be good just to go over the arms, the steps and some castanet rolls.’ She hadn’t brought music; they would dance to the count. Tenille was self-conscious, being instructed by Devon. She picked this up.
‘Just relax. It’s all right. I don’t expect you to be perfect,’ smiling understandingly. ‘Look in the mirror.’ She moved in close in back, took her shoulders and pulled them against her own. ‘Try to open your shoulders as you swing your arm around.’ She held the elbow and guided it out and down. ‘Don’t let them hunch.’
Not just her face, Tenille’s whole body was suffused with heat at the close physical contact. It took all her will to concentrate on what she was supposed to do and she found herself unable to meet Devon’s gaze. It was the floor instead.
‘Watch in the mirror,’ came Devon’s sharp voice. She raised her head again. Devon knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to drive this woman to the point of total capitulation; resistance would be useless. Meanwhile her jaded palate had not been so whetted in a long time. To have Tenille’s body like this was driving her wild. Be
tter back off, move on to castanets. Tenille had mastered the rhythms, but was too erratic.
It was an excellent session on the footwork. To watch Devon’s feet was sheer pleasure, the sounds so clear, nothing muffled; everything exact. The very air seemed to come to life. She could accomplish this because her power gave her control. Tenille expressed admiration and Devon laughed. ‘It’s just practise Ten. You’ll get there.’ A knock on the door reminded them their time was up.
‘I’ll practise every day, Devon, for sure.’ She said it like a prayer.
Changing quickly they collected their belongings and made a hasty exit.
‘Thank you so much for giving me your time like this.’
They were walking briskly to the subway. A gentle fall of snow had started whilst they had been inside, but only enough to make the sidewalks slushy. It wasn’t so cold, but it was still important to get home and wash off the perspiration.
They took the train southbound, Devon would alight at St. Clair and Tenille would change at Yonge. Sitting side by side, Devon broached the subject of a dress.
‘We don’t know that I’ll be picked yet.’
‘This is true, but regardless, you need to be prepared. You can’t get a flamenco dress off the rack.’ Tenille was silent in thought. The store carried all the trimmings, but she would need to select a fabric.
‘Listen, I was planning to look this Saturday in Fabricland you know, the big store at Bloor and Bathurst? Well, I could meet you at the subway and we could go together. Are you working?’
‘Yes, but I’ll be finished at one o’clock.’
‘Okay, that’s cool. Let’s say at the top of the escalator, twoish? That will give us lots of time.’
St. Clair. ‘See you Saturday aft.’ She grabbed her bag and just got out before the rush surged in.
When Tenille finally came above ground, the wind had gotten up and the night was stormy. A light dusting of snowflakes swirled around in all directions making it difficult to see, and her progress was hampered by the wind’s forceful buffeting. She pitied the poor drivers. Visibility would be practically nil. At least the subway trains and streetcars didn’t have to be concerned.
Home at last, she was glad to get inside out of the biting wind. Her clothes were white, the snow still too cold to melt. She stood in the kitchen recess, taking off her things, not wanting puddles to form on the new carpet. She would need a boot tray and the special leather protector spray. With so much salt about everything developed stains. A trip to Aikenhead’s was obviously needed. If she were going to put in the practise time she’d promised Devon, she would need a large sheet of Masonite to work on. She had emphasized her posture tonight, so a cheap, cheval mirror would help. Propped on a chair should do it.
The bitter cold continued to week’s end. Following the snowstorm of Wednesday night, many power lines were brought down, especially in Oakville. The thermometer plunged to 26 degrees Celsius, below. With the wind chill factor, the mercury hovered around -30 Celsius.
Saying good morning to Furio the next day when he was clearing the path and the side walk, she’d never seen so much color in his cheeks. He must have been hard at it for some time, the snow was banked so high.
Days were going by fast at work. There were many mothers getting their girls kitted out for the new semester. Those taking up Ballroom and Latin American also needed special gear. All in all the store was a lively place and Alana, Beris and the rest had their work cut out to keep up.
Saturday, the weather was brilliant, the tempestuous low now worked out of the system. Yes, the air was cold, but it was hot in the sun. Tenille had a cosy sweater under her ski jacket and instead of her best boots, wore thick socks over her pants, with ankle high walkers. She caught the streetcar west to Bathurst and transferred to the northbound bus to take her to Bloor. She had been able to grab a muffin at the Eaton’s Centre, so while waiting for Devon, parked herself on a bench inside the big circular atrium of the station and faced the ‘up’ escalator. She enjoyed watching the passers-by. So many different nationalities here. Maybe some Maltese too. Her dad had let all contact with the Maltese community lapse. She believed her mother probably had something to do with this. It was regrettable she knew so little of the other half of her heritage. Next time, when she was home, she would try to ask about her roots. Right now she reckoned she was seeing mostly people who had originated from the Caribbean. She knew better than to call them all Jamaicans. In Lindsay she had been used to seeing members of the Tibetan community, but here there were people who had emigrated from Greece and Italy. However, most of the stores in this part of the city were Italian. She thought the Greek ones were located on the east side of downtown, along the Danforth. Hadn’t Ingrid or Wendy mentioned going to Nikkos for a Greek night?
She glanced at the big station clock centred above the stairs. No sign of Devon, late as usual. At least she wasn’t driving; parking on Saturdays was a nightmare. She walked over to the barrier to continue her vigil. She saw her. Up she came on the escalator looking so attractive; smart three quarter jacket and large, triangular stole tied round the shoulders. And yes, she looked exciting too. Had she ever thought of women as exciting? Her pulses quickened as Devon’s vermilion mouth broke into a radiant smile.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said in a breathless rush, her grass-green eyes sparkling as she grabbed Tenille’s arm to hasten her to the exit. She wasn’t really, knowing she’d wait, however long it took. Outside she stopped to put on her beret and gloves. Another wait at the lights. Devon kept Tenille pressed close to her and both enjoyed the contact. Once on the other side it was quick progress down the street and across to the store. The heavy entrance doors always needed a good strong pull. It would be more convenient to put a shoulder to it and push, but of course, doors had to open out in case of fire.
It was a relief to get inside, protected from the noise and all the jostling. Tenille took off her jacket before they went upstairs where the less expensive bolts of fabric were displayed. Devon was looking for a good quality percale, with a reasonable number of threads per square centimetre and colorfast, a solid color in a red shade. She asked Tenille which she thought suited her, finally settling on a red with a strong orange to it. Under stage lights it could display both shades, she thought, making it quite interesting.
Now for Tenille. In looking them over, she had been drawn toward the blues, but they seemed to make her olive complexion look sallow.
‘What about turquoises?’
Much better. She picked a deep shade which contained a higher percentage of green than blue. Devon liked the way it made her skin glow. ‘That’s it.’ she exclaimed with a laugh.
Tenille was pleased too. Devon knew what meterage to buy. Too much, it seemed to her, but was assured there were many meters to that full flamenco skirt.
‘Well, you know what ballroom dresses are like and they have petticoats … we don’t.’
After shopping they walked back to Bathurst and took the streetcar further east. Devon knew the best little café that served every kind of coffee and the most delicious cakes, close to Dovercourt.
‘Fattening, I know, but what the hell, let’s be decadent today,’ she urged, as they alighted.
Walking along, Tenille remonstrated mildly: ‘It’s all right for you Devon, you don’t have to just look at food and gain weight.’
‘Nor do you,’ she returned quickly. ‘You know what I think?’ waiting.
‘No.’
‘I think your body is … perfect.’ She laughed, then ran on ahead, making Tenille hurry to catch up, slipping and sliding in the mushy combination of salt and snow.
When they had gotten themselves settled at a window table and placed their order, the discussion returned to dance dresses. Devon had a seamstress with whom she was very pleased. ‘I don’t think you should use her at this time though, otherwise you’ll be waiting twice as long.’
Tenille looked disappointed, then her face brightened. She could ask Mrs.
Sandrelli. She knew she sewed, but would she be willing to take on a big job like this? Their dessert disappeared in no time, Tenille having decided to put her guilt feelings to one side and work extra hard at her next practise.
‘I have a pattern I can give you to pass on to her, if you like the style,’ Devon offered.
‘I’ll talk to Mrs. Sandrelli tomorrow. Now you know, any trimmings you want, you need only come to the store and I can get them for you at cost.’ She felt happy to be able to do this favor, but to Devon the saving was negligible and not worth bothering about. She thanked her anyway.
‘What do you think? Should I trim my dress with black or white fringing?’ her face so animated, Devon was content just to sit and watch its effulgence. But unfortunately time would not hold still.
‘I don’t know. I think you’ll have to see the effect when it’s made up.’ She checked her watch. Tenille hated their time coming to an end.
‘What are you doing tonight, Devon? Do you have plans?’
‘I’m going to a company function with Justin. He needs a presentable woman. It will all be rather a bore. Dinner, speeches and then dancing to some tired old three piece, straight out of the forties. I hope we’ll be able to get away to Starz afterwards.’ Her laugh was light and carefree as she threw back her head. ‘My reward for helping him out.’
There was no answering smile on Tenille’s face. She could wish this Justin back in Timbuktu or wherever. Her body had tensed up and repressed anger narrowed her eyes. Devon observed her disconsolate air and smiled to herself. The time was close at hand. Sunday could turn out to be her lucky day.
‘Listen Ten,’ she said, as though surprised by a sudden thought: ‘I’ll call you tomorrow and we can make plans, okay?’
This time Tenille’s lips rose at their corners as she nodded agreement. Absently, she brushed back the loose strand of a wayward curl, her thoughts still spinning on. She didn’t want to share Devon with anyone. She wanted all her spare time to be with her. How childish. She couldn’t keep her only to herself.
Outing of the Heart Page 13
