Outing of the Heart

by Lisa Ann Harper

  ‘Yes, thanks. I received help from …’ In her embarrassment she’d missed the name, and could only turn her head to look across the room to the weights’ area. The girl had gone.

  ‘Oh, that would have been Sidonie. Yes, any time you need help she can sort it all out for you. She’s an old hand here.’

  “Not very old at all,” Tenille reflected: “Only a girl really.”

  It was time for her cool-down. She liked the silence of the locker-room after the loud music in the gym. It felt good under the shower, but she needed to stop dwelling on her recent experience. She was not like that. The swim would do her good. She changed into her swimsuit, rinsed off once more, then moved into the pool. As she stood in the humidity of the tropical scene she saw the fairhaired girl who had helped her … Sidonie, an unusual name … swimming powerfully through the water at what she felt must be considerable speed, pushing off with expert kicks on the turns. Her arms had been pulling down through the water in the crawl. Now she changed to butterfly. She was skilfully co-ordinated. Such a difficult stroke, she had it so well together, it looked easy. Her speed did not slacken; there was little disturbance of the water, her body simply surging ahead at every thrust.

  Mesmerized by the rhythm of the forceful arms as they clove through the water, she stood and watched the powerful build of the shoulders; the strong legs as they kicked, dynamically, still only creating a minimum of splash. “Goodness, this girl has all the abilities,” she admired. Everything she herself lacked. She shook herself. She couldn’t stand forever on the sideline.

  Finishing her swim, she was alone in the pool, and checking her watch, there was ample time before class. She might even be able to find a little coffee shop and enjoy a cappuccino. What about a spell in the sauna? Everywhere was quiet, she could have it to herself. A quick visit to the washroom and she emerged with just a towel round her.

  The sauna was dimly lit and appropriately hot. Choosing the middle bench, she laid out the towel, preferring to adjust to the steamy conditions before going higher. Sidonie, lying up top, turned her head when the shaft of light from the opening door pierced the gloom. She observed with pleasure, the woman who entered and dropped her towel, her unbound hair damp and dishevelled about her shoulders.

  “Just how she would be at home,” she thought, her pulses quickening. The woman’s back was toward her as she organized the towel, but that was all right. Her eyes never left the attractive body, drinking in the inviting curves of the surprisingly small ass, naked before her. Everything about this woman was beautifully proportioned. “Nice definition on the thighs and legs too,” she noticed, appreciatively.

  Tenille stepped up onto the first level, then lightly pulled herself up to the second, where she stretched out on her back with her arms across her breasts. In this light they had a golden glow, but she could only see the slight convexity of her stomach, no further down, the woman having decided to face away from the red light above the door.

  ‘Would you mind if I created more steam?’ The words stuck in her throat. This woman’s presence made her too nervous.

  Tenille started, she’d thought she was alone. It was that husky voice. Her heart began to pound again, thumping about in her chest as if with a life of its own. This must be the one she’d watched swimming. Already hot, she went even hotter at the thought. The blush suffused throughout her body, lying naked as she was. At least she couldn’t be seen if there was more steam.

  ‘No … go ahead,’ she said stiffly. In all this time she had spoken only five words, yet her body was running full tilt, its traitorous feelings making her stupid. Thinking to be over the previous encounter, here she was again, in all kinds of bother.

  Wrapping the towel about her, Sidonie swung her legs over the side and down to the bench below. She dipped the scoop into the pail and jerked a small amount of water onto the rocks. Immediately, loud hissing was followed by misty clouds. Tenille felt the heat envelop her. The girl did it again. Her whole body was bathed in sweat, rivulets running down the sides of her breasts, but she wouldn’t move, not now.

  Sidonie resumed her position, this time making sure she had a better vantage point from which to view this ravishing creature. Still the top half was obscured, but even through the steam, she could make out the dark triangle of black curls below the gentle curve of belly and her thighs. The woman of her dreams raised her outside leg. Now she could see the curve of her buttock as it met the thigh and the shapely calf, tapering gently. Everything she saw fascinated her. She was bewitched. Here they were, strangers … lying naked together. She didn’t even know her name. They’d not even talked. If she could get her voice under control she would try to remedy that.

  After a short silence and some slow breathing, she ventured to ask: ‘Are you going to be coming here on a regular basis, do you think?’ The low voice was thick with emotion, despite the banality of the question.

  After a slight pause Tenille replied: ‘Yes, I think so.’ She made an effort to be more communicative. ‘This is my second visit.’ She must sound stilted, but she wasn’t sure how to carry on a conversation with a stranger … in a sauna. Somehow, this girl was different. She liked her voice; smoky, a bit gruff, hesitant in its youthfulness. Judging from before, she reckoned mid-teens. Young and full of promise. That was how she would like to be. Not that young, but with her career still ahead. So far she had precious little to show for herself. She sighed deeply for lost opportunities; the time she had frittered away. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I was asking if you do aerobics?’ Sidonie had let her breath go, sufficiently emboldened to ask another question.

  ‘No. Just the weight training circuits and I enjoy swimming for the cool-down. And you? You look very fit.’

  Away from the noise of the gym, Sidonie was able to hear for the first time, the softness and delicate delivery of the voice. There was no toughness, just the unmistakable sound of pampered indulgence. An inward groan arose. Nothing in common then. “We must move in different worlds.”

  “Dodo-brain. Of course you do. She’s no dyke. Probably married with three kids.” Her alter ego was relentless.

  “No she’s not,” Sidonie objected. “No stretch marks.”

  “You can see that good?”

  “Yes. Well, perhaps not quite. But she doesn’t strike me as having kids.”

  “Oh, smart-ass. You can tell by looking? If you ask me this is all just wishful thinking,”

  “I’m not asking you.” Sidonie was irascible now, knowing her alter ego was speaking the truth; a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  ‘Not me, I prefer sports. Volleyball and in the summer, Softball. Team sports I guess. I like swimming, but I’m no longer competitive. The youngsters are too good for me now.’

  Despite reservations regarding their circumstances, Tenille could not refrain from the spontaneous question: ‘Why do you say ‘youngsters’? You are hardly old.’

  Laughing, she replied: ‘No, I’m not old, but I don’t have the same dedication I once had.’ She was beginning to relax. ‘I guess I’ve moved on. I just relish the feeling of using the whole of my body and not being held back by earth’s restrictions. The feeling of being totally free in another element.’

  Tenille was silent; intrigued by the way she expressed herself. She wished she could see her eyes again. “I’m naked.” she remembered and felt too self-conscious to continue. Wrapping around the towel, she sat up.

  Since Sidonie had not taken her eyes off that horizontal figure the whole time they’d been talking, she did not miss the sight of the voluptuous swell of the woman’s breasts as she sat up to cover herself, in preparation for standing. She was entranced. The breasts were perfect. Firm and very round, but small in their attachment to her body, the fullness would drop naturally into the palm of the hand if you were to reach out and …

  “Sid. Stop it.”

  The nipples were dark and round in the relaxed state … but when aroused …

/>   “Control yourself girl.” She watched the woman leave, just as two others entered and took their places on the benches below, chatting about husbands and sons.

  Tenille showered off and dressed in her inevitable jeans, this time with a black sweater over a new dance top. It was white Lycra, crossover style, purchased to go with the green skirt since her black leotard was in service for the gym. She would get herself a proper outfit, now she’d seen them.

  Moving over to the wall dryer, she slipped in a quarter for fifteen minutes of hot air and noticed the girl was already dressed. “She must be content to towel dry. But then, she has a short, boyish cut, it suits her.” The parting was on one side; a cowlick wanted to fall across her right eye. For the rest it was slicked back, but already beginning to curl naturally into a blonde crown, giving a golden halo to her head. Tenille thought it was lovely.

  Sidonie moved towards Tenille at a casual pace then stopped, just behind her left shoulder and looked in the mirror.

  ‘Can I give you a lift to anywhere? There’s a nasty change in the weather out there.’ She jerked her head in the direction of the exit: ‘Or do you have your own car?’ heart pounding in apprehension of a ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh no. That’s okay. I’ve heaps of time before my next appointment. I was only going to find somewhere to have a coffee. Perhaps you know of some place handy?’ She remembered the second question and added: ‘No, I don’t drive.’

  Trying to think rapidly. She needed an up-market, intimate bistro, close by. Damn. She never frequented any type of waterhole in this neighborhood. It wasn’t her stomping ground. Her beat was downtown, in the gay ghetto. She could hardly suggest one of those places, she thought ruefully. Too well known to take a straight pick-up.

  ‘Er … where’s your next appointment? Perhaps I could drive you to a coffee lounge there?’

  ‘Oh, that’s downtown. I wouldn’t want to have you go out of your way.’ She had finished with the dryer and was now swiftly brushing those dark, shimmering tresses. Sidonie thought: “She’ll be all done soon and phut … out the door.”

  ‘Not a problem. I’m going downtown myself.’ She didn’t want to appear overly persistent so quickly settled on a compromise. ‘How about we find out where each is going and we split the difference, so to speak.’ Did this sound silly? juvenile? she worried.

  ‘Well, I’ve to be at Yonge and Eglinton by four. What about you?’ She stopped what she was doing and turned around to look at the girl, wanting to see the real thing, not a reflection. Bad move. She was so close, her breath caressed her cheek. Backing off, she bumped into the chair, so hastily turned round again.

  As she worked, Sidonie continued to watch intently. She assured her it wouldn’t be out of the way and suggested The Serving Spoon, on Bloor, a specialty coffee outlet. As she spoke, dexterous hands caught up the flying curls into an apple green, taffeta scrunchie. The woman continued to pin her hair to the back of her head and the nape of her neck, neatening it into an attractive coil, no longer flying and wayward, except for a few wisps that refused to be held and had slipped over her ears. With her hair like this, one’s gaze was drawn more directly to acknowledge the flawlessness of her cream-colored complexion and the lustre of her eyes, reflecting so much light they dazzled. The lids, because of her slightly foreign cast, were heavy and naturally shaded, giving an arresting and adorable appeal. Sidonie’s consciousness was enthralled. The severe hairstyle made her even more alluring, an aura of being unattainable. But she had already seen her bare fleshed.

  “Sid, these thoughts, will be your undoing. Find a different tack, we’re supposed to be thinking about coffee,” she rebuked herself, scared her eyes would give away her inner thoughts and she’d frighten her off.

  ‘How does that sound? Of course, if you need a little quiet space to yourself, I’ll be happy just to drop you off …’ she let her voice trail away as she smiled, tensely.

  ‘No, no,’ Tenille responded hastily: ‘It would be nice to have some company.’ She had finished and was now moving over to her belongings. Sidonie stepped back to let her pass. Only then did she realize how much she’d been crowding her. For herself it had not felt close enough. “Watch it Sid. You’re being a jerk.” ‘Okay, then, The Serving Spoon it is.’

  Tenille shrugged into her jacket and collected her holdall. Sidonie, who was in blue sweater and jeans, already had her parka over her arm and Adidas bag in hand. Tenille followed to the lobby where Sidonie leaned against the door and pushed it open for her to exit. ‘Over here,’ jerking her head again.

  A refreshing, blustery wind blew in their faces. Tenille looked up at a darkening sky, the clouds in merry chase, but all set to whip into a serious storm at the slightest provocation.

  ‘This one,’ Sidonie informed her, averting her eyes, her pulses racing terribly. She opened the trunk, threw in her grip, then took the holdall and placed it carefully, her stomach in knots. This woman was about to sit beside her in her car. Admittedly it wasn’t a Prelude, but she would be here in the flesh.

  Once settled, Tenille volunteered more information. ‘I don’t really like going places on my own, but since moving to Toronto, I’m having to get used to it. It’s that, or stay home and I don’t like doing that too much.’

  ‘Need some breathing space from hubby and the kids, eh?’ She tried to make it sound casual, driving with care through the Sunday traffic, holding a steady pace. No taking off at warp factor at the lights.

  Tenille laughed at the idea. She was settling down; having fun.

  ‘No, not that. I’m separated.’

  “Darn. Straight as they come. Just my luck.” She would be wasting her time all right. Well, she could enjoy looking, but then it would be: “Thanks, but no thanks. Bloody hell.” So frustrated she scowled, clenching her fist as she thumped the wheel.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ The soft voice broke her introspection.

  She turned briefly towards the woman and saw a look of concern in the dark, deep set eyes, appearing even more dramatic in the amber glow of the late afternoon sun. She smiled to put her more at ease.

  ‘No … It’s OK. No …’ The woman smiled back, hesitantly, but still watched. ‘You know, I don’t know your name.’

  ‘Oh sorry. How remiss of me. Tenille Fenech.’

  ‘How pretty. Fenech. That doesn’t sound English.’

  ‘No. Maltese.’

  So that explained this dark beauty’s sultry radiance. The sensuality of the Mediterranean. Not like her own Anglo-Saxon tameness. How different they were. The rest of the journey continued in heavy silence, small talk exhausted, it seemed. The café-bar was located not far from where Tenille lived and after parking on Walmer Road, they walked back to Bloor Street and she recognized the area. Remarking on this led naturally to giving out her address and talking about work.

  The smell of exotic coffees assailed them. Customers came and went, but they were the only ones to sit. Out of the bewildering selection available, they each chose the same. A Mocha/Java blend in a macchiato with hot milk. With that Tenille had a giant sized, walnut muffin which, in the end, she couldn’t eat, her appetite deserting her.

  ‘Where do you work, Sidonie?’ She tried her name out for the first time. It brought a deep color to her cheeks, making her eyes brilliant.

  ‘Sid, please. Sidonie was my mother’s choice, but friends call me Sid.’ She looked back into those enchanting, beguiling eyes, wondering if the unspoken message might get through.

  “Syd.” She knew this to be a man’s name. To call this girl “Syd” it didn’t seem right. She would stick to Sidonie.

  She launched into stories of the track and hot walking.

  Tenille wouldn’t have guessed. Racetracks were rough places from what she’d heard. Yet this girl had an appealing softness. “Hard and soft,” she mused, “all in one.”

  ‘Do you have to work Sundays too, Tenille?’ Sidonie experimented with the sounds on her tongue. So feminine.

  She recount
ed her dancing hopes and fears, told of her disappointment and the new prospects. The information flowed from her as she looked across the table into those startlingly blue eyes, which right now were staring back at her in rapt attention.

  ‘Raoul is the one who suggested I begin to work out. He feels it will help my dancing.’

  She nodded in agreement. ‘Raoul?’

  ‘He’s terrifically handsome,’ she observed and looked past Sidonie as if seeing his image. She put two and two together and figured she knew how the land lay. ‘Actually, you know his sister.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes. Nina Losada, on reception.’

  ‘Oh yes, Nina.’

  ‘Well, Raoul and she look very alike, but in him the Spanishness, if I can put it that way, is more striking.’

  “Did she have to go on about him? She must be really smitten.” ‘Have you decided when you’ll go to the gym?’

  ‘As you can see, it’s a long way for me and Wednesdays and Thursdays I dance. I think I’ll stick with Friday evenings and possibly the odd Sunday. When do you go?’

  ‘My nights are Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Some of us are working toward a body-builders’ competition,’ she clarified. It pained her to notice that she hadn’t call her Sid, after all. So … she would only get to see her once a week … anyway, what did it matter?

  ‘How interesting. No wonder you’re so good looking,’ she observed, then hastily amended: ‘I mean looking fit.’ Deep color rushed to her cheeks again, as she realized the inappropriateness of the remark to this girl. She might misconstrue her words, or worse; not. The blush swept down from her throat to her neck.

  Time had flown. Looking at her watch, it was late. ‘I must leave immediately.’

  ‘I’ll take you there.’

  ‘No, I can’t let you do that, you’ve done so much already.’

  Sidonie looked directly at her, an intense light illuminating the eyes to a strobe blue. She said quietly and deliberately: ‘It’s my pleasure and it’s no trouble.’

  She felt the power of that ‘dead-centre’ gaze and the conviction behind the words. She would not have offered if she hadn’t meant it. They arrived at the studio, just on time.