Outing of the Heart

by Lisa Ann Harper

  ‘Sometimes, at parties.’

  An image of dancing with Devon at New Year’s flashed into her mind. They had had such fun with the Macarena. Devon had progressed into combining it with the Bump. She could freestyle into anything.

  After dessert, Mr. Sandrelli excused himself. He was a great ice hockey fan and Friday night was the big telecast from Maple Leaf Gardens. She assisted with the clearing away and Furio offered to help.

  ‘Well, this is a change,’ his mother observed and turning to Tenille added: ‘Must be because you are here Cara, otherwise he would be watching the game.’ He pretended not to hear, but his ears went very red.

  Their tasks completed, (Furio doing all the to-ing and fro-ing), Mrs. Sandrelli indicated that Tenille should follow her upstairs to the workroom; her private domain. All her supplies were stored here. Not only did she enjoy dressmaking, but she did needlepoint too. Candle wicking was her favorite. At the moment she was in the process of making an elaborate patched quilt, using unbleached cotton and cream thread. It was to be a gift for her niece’s trousseau, but for her young friend’s sake, she was prepared to set it to one side. Tenille complimented her on her ability.

  While she completed the basting of the pieces, they discussed the dress and the effect Tenille was after, each proposing interesting suggestions.

  ‘You get ready for the fitting now, Carissima.’

  She stripped down to bra and panties. She had chosen very respectable underwear; all white, nothing lacy or skimpy. Mrs. Sandrelli had not completely closed the door of the workroom and, unnoticed by the two women, Furio was upstairs. On the way to his room he observed the door ajar and pushed it a little further, enough for a better view of this woman who was so fascinating to him. He didn’t play the Peeping Tom for long, fear of detection making him move on, but he had seen enough to whet his appetite. The sight of her naked flesh albeit nicely covered, had set his juices flowing. For the rest of the evening Tenille occupied the main frame of his mind. He just couldn’t escape that picture of her, standing there in her lingerie, not knowing she was being spied on. It made her more his, watching her in a private moment like that.

  The woman worked swiftly with sure, deft hands. After the fitting, they arranged to have the second for a week later. Tenille thanked her seamstress warmly and returned to the apartment feeling well satisfied with their progress.

  A quick tap at her door made her jump up, calling out as she did so. Surprised to see Furio, the words died on her lips as he didn’t wait on ceremony, but pushed past her, striding into the room before she could stop him. Once inside he turned to face her.

  ‘Furio, what are you doing here?’ She left the door wide open. He didn’t answer, but closed it carefully, making no sound.

  ‘I know what you were doing tonight,’ he said thickly through gritted teeth. ‘I was watching you.’ He approached closer, his eyes boring into her.

  ‘Furio, you must leave.’ She made to go by him, but he reached out and grabbed, stopping her in her tracks. ‘Let go of me.’ trying to shake herself free, but for a rangy youth he was surprisingly strong. His fingers dug into the softness of her flesh most painfully. Struggling made it worse.

  ‘I saw it in your eyes. You were feeling just as horny as me.’ He leaned his head closer to hers to claim a kiss. She twisted away.

  “I don’t believe this is happening,” she thought incredulously.

  To get better control, he dragged her towards the kitchen alcove where he pushed her roughly against the counter. The edge dug in sharply. She was in a near state of panic. He may be the son of the house and she didn’t want to cause trouble, but this was her territory. She had to get him out.

  ‘You’re so beautiful.’ He was working himself up, pressing against her and trying to feel her breasts. Muttering again: ‘Such a lovely body hidden beneath all these clothes. Let’s take them off,’ starting to undress her, snapping open the jeans, pulling them down. It was like a wrestling match, pushing and shoving. She hoped they would hear upstairs and opened her mouth to scream, but he quickly clamped a sweaty hand over her face and pulled her towards the bed. Resisting with all her might, her feet caught in the legs of the chair. It toppled over and crashed onto the coffee table. This made some noise, but not much.

  ‘I knocked but you didn’t …’ Mrs. Sandrelli stood in the doorway, surveying this scene of devastation. Both occupants of the room were breathing hard. Furio moved hastily away. Tenille was in complete disarray. Serafina sized up the situation immediately. Furio. He was the instigator. Tenille, although much older, was not the type to tease. No, this was her son’s doing. She was ashamed of him and sorry for her.

  In an icy voice she commanded: ‘Furio, leave us. I will speak to you later.’ She looked at him coldly. ‘Do not leave the house or your father will hear of this too,’ she added emphatically.

  He said nothing, looking neither to right nor left as he sidled out.

  Serafina wanted to give Tenille time to collect herself. She started by talking about the dress. One query – cutting on the bias? While she was talking Tenille set the apartment to rights then invited her visitor to sit. She herself sat at the little breakfast table.

  ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  Her response was subdued, voice flat. ‘Yes. I’m all right.’

  ‘Tenille, I know this is inexcusable,’ her own voice was tight with strain, her posture rigid where she sat. ‘I make sure this does not happen again.’ There was no doubt as to the veracity of this statement. Although relieved at the older woman’s understanding, she could only stammer out her thanks. Serafina didn’t continue, rising from her seat and telling her to rest.

  Too distraught to stay in the room, she needed to see Devon. She had wanted them to be together this evening, perhaps even now, she would be home. Luck was with her. Devon was surprised. ‘Did dinner get cancelled?’ It was just after nine.

  ‘No, it’s … Listen, can I see you?’

  This time Devon was astonished. She thought: “This late?” but said only: ‘Justin’s coming round, but yes. I’d offer to pick you up, but I’m not sure of his timing. What’s wrong Tenille?’ She had heard the note of hysteria in the other woman’s voice and knew it must be something serious.

  ‘I can’t talk now. I’ll see you.’ She raced back for her things and threw her purse over her shoulder as she pushed her feet into her boots. In her haste the very air was stolen from her lungs; she couldn’t get away fast enough.

  Outside, flurries of crystalline snow had been failing heavily from a wide night sky and a thick coating of soft flakes covered the sidewalks, slowing her progress. The sound of evening traffic had been dulled and in the pools of light, thrown by street lamps, the snow seemed to be twinkling back at her. Normally, she would revel in the freshness of a night like this, but now she could only think of one thing; getting to Devon’s as fast as possible. Her drumming heartbeat began to slow as she thought how Devon would be her saviour and support.

  St. Clair, being only a short distance from Spadina didn’t take long by subway, but her impatience was mounting as she changed platforms from the Bloor to the Yonge line. At St. Clair she didn’t wait for the escalator, running up and skipping out through the revolving doors, almost bumping into a pedestrian who, like her, had his head down against the driving snow. Brief apologies exchanged, she rushed across at the lights to the apartment block.

  Devon responded immediately to the buzzer, letting her into the lobby where she took the elevator up to the sixth floor. The door stood open. Justin had not arrived.

  ‘I won’t stay long, Devon, I just needed to see you for a little while.’

  ‘Come in. Give me your wet things. Here, I’ll take them through to the cloak room.’ She quickly returned to her side.

  ‘Let me get you a drink. You look as though you need one. Come, sit,’ indicating the big chesterfield. Tenille sank into its downy cushions gratefully, as Devon poured the drinks. She didn’t ask what she wa
nted just handing over a Cointreau on the rocks.

  ‘There, get that down you.’ She parked herself next to her, the cushions rising and sinking as they adjusted to her weight, making Tenille’s body respond and adjust in turn. She took a long gulp from her glass then set it down.

  Devon turned to her and put her arm round her shoulder. She shuddered at the contact.

  ‘Now, tell me what this is all about.’ Free at last to unburden herself, she let her head fall onto Devon’s shoulder. The tears started in her eyes and began to spill over as she told of her ordeal. Now Devon put both arms around the agitated woman, as she gasped out her story between sobs. She stroked her cheek and made soothing noises. Eventually the shoulders stopped heaving, but the dark eyes were still troubled.

  ‘I feel so humiliated … and his mother had to walk in on us.’

  ‘Thank goodness she did. You could have finished up in a much worse state. Right now you’re really only suffering from shock,’ she declared.

  ‘It’s not just this.’ She turned away from her friend and took another sip of her drink. She looked back with her big, round eyes, still shaky inside and went on to tell about the similar encounter when she had been baby-sitting. Devon heard her out.

  ‘Listen Tenille. You are a beautiful woman. It’s no wonder men find you attractive. Look at it as the price you have to pay.’ She couldn’t believe her ears. She hadn’t expected this from Devon. She had wanted her to be outraged on her behalf.

  ‘But Devon, I hate all this attention. I don’t want it,’ she responded vehemently, then looked down at her hands, knotting and twisting in her lap.

  Very softly Devon asked: ‘What do you want?’ Her head was tilted close to hers, she could hear the words against her ear. Keeping all her muscles very still, she whispered, as quietly as Devon: ‘You.’ She didn’t turn, made no move; kept herself contained.

  A satisfied smile played about Devon’s mouth. She leaned back, stretching out her long slim legs, then leaned forward for her glass.

  ‘Tenille, you’re in an disturbed state which has made you confused and …’

  ‘No. I’m not confused,’ she broke in desperately, turning this time to look at her friend. ‘It’s true. Don’t tell me I don’t know how I feel.’ Her voice had risen to an impassioned pitch. All the emotion she had kept tightly bottled came tumbling out. ‘I love being with you. I want to be with you all the time. You fill my every waking and sleeping thought …’ Short of breath, she stopped abruptly. She had said too much; had ruined everything.

  Devon opened her mouth to reply just as they heard the intercom. Instead of saying what she had planned, she came out with: ‘Bloody hell. That must be Justin. Sorry Tenille.’ She got up and buzzed him in.

  Tenille’s mortification was complete. To have confessed so much, then have a stranger burst in on them … . She wanted to leave this very minute. Instead, she drained her drink, hoping for Dutch courage.

  Devon returned and, noticing the empty glass picked it up for a refill, her own included. She sat in silence through all this and Devon had just replaced their drinks when Justin knocked. She let him in and Tenille knew they had embraced and kissed. She shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

  ‘Hello, Tenille.’ His voice was hearty and loud. She could only manage a weak smile. ‘Surprise, surprise. Didn’t expect to see you here. Dev and I are going to take in that new bar. Care to come with us?’

  ‘No. No … thanks. I have to be getting along.’

  He didn’t seem to be annoyed by her presence. Perhaps there was nothing between them.

  ‘You don’t have to go yet,’ Devon said. ‘We can all enjoy a drink together, then we’ll drop you off.’ She smiled at her: ‘I can understand why you don’t feel like joining us tonight, but perhaps another time?’

  Devon was still like her old self, maybe the roof hadn’t collapsed on her world after all. The conversation was mostly carried by the others. She just couldn’t make herself good company, despite assistance from the liquor.

  They set off just after ten o’clock. Mrs. Sandrelli had said she didn’t want Tenille riding the TTC late at night, having promised to keep an eye on her. This was exactly what she aimed to do and therefore was another reason why she’d been so upset over Furio. Justin drove, Devon beside him. Tenille had the back to herself. Outside the house Devon confirmed their arrangement for tomorrow. ‘You do still want to go, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, for sure. I wouldn’t miss it,’ she responded, trying to keep her voice bright. If she still wanted her, she would be there. Letting herself out, she waved goodbye as she walked up the path to the front steps, key in hand. No-one had come to shovel. It would be impassable by morning. Her day off, she could do it for them. Something to occupy her.

  It would be a hot and soapy bath tonight. She needed to cleanse herself; afterwards to bed with a book. But she couldn’t concentrate. She kept seeing Devon’s face and her thoughts would stray to snippets of conversation. She couldn’t figure her out. She had given her some comfort, but the heart had not been there. Nor had she been disturbed by her confession. Or was that because Justin had arrived and there wasn’t the freedom to say what she really wanted? Wednesday she had been very forward. Had she read this wrong? Her thoughts swirled about in an effort to make sense of it. Devon was going out with Justin. Where did this put them? Nowhere … as far as she could determine.

  Unbidden, a feeling of jealousy engulfed her. The two had kissed, but was he the love in her life? Such musings should be repressed. She had no business being jealous. No right to be possessive, if it came to that. She pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. Her mind was too fatigued. Out with the light.

  * * *

  By the time she awoke, morning was well advanced. The night had been a restless one, fighting with her pillow; with her thoughts and fighting Furio. She was far from refreshed. The front steps. Probably done by now. As so often happens after a heavy snowfall, the following day would be crisply cold and fresh, the bad weather all blown away.

  While she made toast, she remembered back to when she was little and had loved to get dressed for games in the fresh snow. In those days dad would take her out with her friend, Solveig. They would haul their plastic scoot up to the top of the slope, perch themselves on the edge, then spin merrily away. Daddy used to run down then help them carry it up. It came to her now, just how much running up and down he must have done. What patience. They’d loved getting covered in the white powder. He had shown them how to make angels; lying flat on their back, sweeping their arms and legs in a wide arc. So clever of them. At home mom would have dinner ready. They used to eat dinner at midday in those days. She sighed. So many recollections; images she’d not brought to mind in a long time. She should phone the folks.

  After breakfast, the chores attended to, it was time to shop. Shopping, then a dance practise. She hoped she wouldn’t run into Furio, on her way out or in. Everything had been spoiled by yesterday.

  It was all right on both counts. After unpacking she dragged out her practise board, moved the coffee table into the kitchen and gave herself a good solid hour of steps. The mirror worked well. Looking into it stopped her looking down at her feet. Two thirds of the way through she had the impression she was mastering it; by the end she felt hopeless. So many mistakes. Was it fatigue? It was to be hoped tomorrow would be better.

  She moved on to dubbin her boots. She was looking forward to seeing Devon … but in a way, she wasn’t. After last night everything seemed so inconclusive, leaving her unsure of herself.

  She decided to dress down this time. She wouldn’t get there so early either. Black pants tucked into her boots, with a black sweater; surely that wouldn’t attract attention. She tied her hair back with her black velvet bow and then made up her eyes. She still did want her face to look its best.

  At the Sancho Panza she asked right off to speak to Diego. His greeting was warm, the incidents from last time must be but a dim memory, she surmised. She as
ked for the Los Flamencos table, explaining she had been invited to join them.

  ‘Certainly. You are Tenille.’ He flashed his dark, Spanish eyes at her. ‘I remember. Follow me.’

  “Oh dear,” she said under her breath.

  In fact many people noticed her being led to the large table where she sat alone. Others even remembered her from before. There was no doubt that such a striking face could not easily be forgotten. The show was about to start, quickly the lights dimmed and everyone’s attention was directed where the spotlight indicated; the small stage.

  She was transported as much this time as the last, but now she was more discerning. Especially the skill of the ensemble in putting it all together. She paid special attention to Raoul; his accomplishments were impressive. Last time, she realized, her eyes had been for Devon, tonight she was more appreciative.

  When the performers joined her at the table, she was elated. Her heart could have burst from her chest. That these talented people were taking her into their group. She had so much to thank Devon for. She looked across at her, a grateful smile playing about her lips. Devon had just lit up and observed Tenille’s devotion.

  Amaia urged a glass of Sangria on Tenille. She poured it from the large carafe, allowing the pieces of fruit to flow freely. She savored the slightly sweet, fruity drink, still with a little bite to it.

  Contrary to her expectations, the meeting with Devon was not the least strained. She was her natural, ebullient self, the smile soft on her; she looked contented. This made Tenille happy too.

  ‘Can you stay for the second?’

  ‘Dev, I’d like to but … well you know how Mrs. Sandrelli is. I don’t want problems, especially not just now.’ She was apologetic, but these were her circumstances. She didn’t have the same autonomy.

  ‘Listen, stay for the second. I’ll drive you home.’ Devon snapped her head up. ‘Better yet; call her and tell her you’re at the restaurant, that you’ll be coming home with me and …’ she waved her hand with a flourish, ‘ …you’ll see her in the morning.’ She leaned forward and took Tenille’s hand in hers. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’ She never took her eyes from the face before her.