‘Are you okay? For tonight I mean.’
‘Yes. Nervous as a filly on point duty, but I’m also very excited to have this chance.’
‘Look. I’m not going to Manuel’s. There will be too much shop talk and that makes me nervous. Would you like to come over to my place and I’ll order in pizza?
‘Oh Dev, that would have been lovely, but Mrs. Sandrelli has made dinner for me … I was just on my way up.’
‘Oh.’
The single sound spoke volumes. Not her night for making people happy it seemed.
Devon had hoped to have some private time with her. ‘Could I come round later and pick you up? No need to worry about carting your big case on the train then.’
This suggestion really appealed and she appreciated the offer. ‘Oh, would you, Dev? What time were you thinking? Raoul told me about ten.’
‘Yes, that’s fine by me. I like to take my time getting ready too.’ Not quite the pizza at her place but still … I’ll collect you at nine-thirty, okay?’
‘Perfect. I’ll be ready. See you then. And Dev … thank you very much for this.’
‘You’re entirely welcome, Honey.’ The line went dead and Tenille was left wondering what had brought such generous interest from her. Could it be she was missing her? “Oh Dev, it’s no good. It’s too late. I won’t be sucked in a second time.” Nonetheless, she did feel inordinately elated as she ran the brush through her hair then skipped upstairs to the kitchen.
* * *
Supper had distracted her from the big event ahead, but now she was at the stage where she wished it would just be over and done with. Could she dream up an excuse to back out? “That’s not fair and anyway you don’t really not want to do it. Nerves again,” she remonstrated with herself. She decided on casual dress for after the show. She wouldn’t hang around, although talking to Mrs. Sandrelli tonight, she knew not to worry if she were home late. She chose her soft cashmere top, Devon had said it suited her, worn outside over jeans. For now her hair was pulled back and held in place with a rose pink scrunchie. When Devon saw her in the porch light, she found her an absolute knockout. With her hair like this, the attention was drawn to the dark, heavily lashed eyes and she knew then what she’d been missing.
Tenille was ready with all her stuff and Mrs. Sandrelli came out to wish her all the best. ‘I will think of you in your beautiful dress.’ She beamed at both of them as they said their farewells.
It didn’t take long to get to Annette. Tenille looked about for Sidonie, but there was no sign. “Of course not, she’s busy elsewhere. It’s a Saturday night.”
Amaia would still be dancing for the next two weeks, then if all went well, it was hoped Tenille could take over. The three women squeezed into cramped quarters for changing, but with the excitement of the night ahead, it just added to the fun. Once dressed and at the makeup stage, Raoul stood in the doorway to talk. He asked Tenille if she would like to dance the Sevillanas. ‘I’ll partner you. You’ve danced at Belen’s and with me as a warm up. What do you think?’ She wasn’t sure; had not expected this.
‘I appreciate you asking Raoul, but being my first night and all …’
‘Yes, yes I know, first night nerves. Well, think about it. I’m really looking for a full stage and an atmosphere of fiesta. See how you feel after you’ve got Soleares behind you.’
Devon and Amaia urged her to reconsider. It would mean she would be on stage for the final bow.
Devon was ready first and took off to see how the place was filling up. She reported back: ‘Very nicely, thank you.’
‘I think I don’t want to know,’ Tenille muttered from her seat, frowning at the reflection as she finished off her eyes. But they heard her.
‘Listen Tenille,’ Amaia reasoned. ‘You know the dance inside out. Raoul has drilled you so much you could perform in your sleep. Anyway, half the time the people will be watching him.’
‘It’s the other half that’s worrying me,’ she wailed. Some Karma Sutra behind her ears and on her wrists and she was done.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Devon encouraged. ‘As soon as you hear the music you’ll be lost in the dance and will be oblivious to the people out front.’ She went over and gave her shoulders a squeeze, looking in the mirror, then bent down and murmured in her ear:
‘You look fantastic tonight. You are such a beautiful woman.’ Her glittering green eyes locked onto hers for a long moment and Tenille felt her heart flutter. Looking back at the face in the mirror, it was like receiving a compliment from a stranger. She was wearing her black wig and with the dress and the flower, was another person; one she didn’t know. The mystery was exciting.
‘Thank you, Dev. I know you’re both right. I just need to get out and do it.’ She put on her Cordobez and was ready. It was just on eleven. Raoul came in again.
‘Senoras, vamos. It’s time to take our seats.’ He turned to Tenille. You look the perfect Spanish senorita, my little one. I know you will do well.’ His dark, flashing eyes bore into her as he delivered a light kiss upon her lips, taking her by surprise.
‘Thank you, Raoul. And you know I will give it my all.’ She returned his smile with sincerity, if not his kiss. They heard the applause for those already in position on the little stage. She followed the others, a moment later Raoul made his entrance to whistles and stomps and furious clapping.
“He sure is popular, he deserves every bit of it too,” she thought.
Getting the audience in the mood with some palmas, they accompanied one of Manuel’s lighter renditions. Something with which the Aficionados would be familiar and could join in. She had looked to see if Sidonie was out there, but the stage lights were too bright, then all her attention had to be on the music and that was not hard. Devon was right, hearing the rich chords of the Spanish guitar and those exciting rhythms, she was lost to all else.
* * *
Sidonie checked the numbers on her clock again. It was almost eleven.
“Shit. I’m going to be late.” Putting her foot down harder, she hoped the lights wouldn’t change. Hell. There was no guarantee she’d find parking. That Karen. Why did she have to be so difficult? For her sake she had not taken the easy way out and cancelled, just requesting they go to Jessica’s earlier. Interesting, she hadn’t asked any questions then, but readily complied.
The second show at Yorkdale had gone off even better than the first. Every one settled down and got into the swing of it. Once back at the track she had had a rest, knowing it would be a long night; at least she hoped so. After her five-thirty start this morning she was not sure she wouldn’t fade too soon. She had felt good about the promotion for the gym and not a little encouraged by Tenille’s invitation. All in all life was looking up.
She had gotten a refreshing sleep and when the alarm interrupted at seven, she’d bounced out of bed, ready and eager. After the shower it had been a careful search through the closet to find just the ‘look’ for tonight. She didn’t want to put Tenille off by appearing out of place, nor did she want to spoil her image at Chez Moi. The selection had been a crisp, white shirt, (couldn’t go far wrong with that), and her black leather tie, just a slim one, nothing flamboyant. Her black leather jacket with the padded shoulders always looked good. When she got to Sancho Panza’s, she could remove it and slip on her favorite argyle vest featuring black, white and grey diamond panels, with a black line running through their centres. The big decision had been, should she wear black leather pants or black jeans? In the end she had come down on the side of the leather pants, figuring straights usually dressed ‘up’ when they went somewhere for a floorshow.
‘Darn tootin’, this is no disco dive,’ she had said to herself, checking the effect in the mirror. The finishing touch had been the pride of her closet, her Cuban healed boots with the silver studs across the back. She loved that little extra height. Not over the top with bikers’ chiselled toes, but pointed. She had done the best with what she had and was satisfied Tenille would be pleased
she had dressed for the occasion. Lastly, her hair. It needed to be just right; the front casually drifting towards the left eye, the rest slicked back.
Sidonie was a handsome girl. She didn’t see it, like so many her of age, concentrating on what she found as faults. She did know heads turned when she entered a bar, or at a party. They would certainly turn tonight. She looked outstanding. Unfortunately, they would turn at the Sancho Panza too, but not for the same reason. Her butchness was very much in evidence. Only time would tell how this sortie into the straight scene would pan out.
She had arrived at the Chez a little early … no Karen. Ordering a Coke, she had passed the time with Larni; her observation … she was looking sharp.
‘Someone special in the offing, Sid?’
She had lifted her hand and given it little twists, right and left. ‘It’s a question of wait and see at this stage, Larni.’ Shortly thereafter, Karen had shown up and the two of them had moved over to a table, Karen nursing a Bacardi and Coke. Sidonie’s appearance had a great impact on her and she had wished more than ever they were still together. She couldn’t get over this girl, but she needed to talk about Mitch. She was pressing to have Karen move in with her. She wasn’t sure. She wanted to know what she thought. When she had replied that really it was nothing to do with her, Karen had begun to loose it, accusing Sidonie of not even being her friend now. After the second rum and Coke, she had gone so far as to say Sidonie would be just as happy if she fell off the face of the earth. Things were definitely getting out of hand and when Sidonie had looked at her watch and told her she had to leave, well that just about ripped it apart. The accusation of being cold and unfeeling came out. How could she just up and leave when her future happiness hung in the balance?
In the end Sidonie had had to be firm. She was sorry, but it was getting late and she had to go. Then Karen had shot out that she had met someone. That was why she looked so special tonight. She had urged her not to cry and promised they could talk some more next time. That was it. She had responded: ‘Sidonie Henderson, you are a fish-stinking, heartless cunt and I don’t want to talk to you ever again. Go. Go on. Go to your new conquest. Anywhere, but get out of my sight.’
She had not wanted to leave her in that state, but as it was she would be pushing it. There was nothing she could do for Karen. She knew what she wanted, but they couldn’t go back. As she had picked up her keys she had caught Larni’s eye and gone over to ask her to look out for Karen.
‘If she drinks too much, will you make sure she gets home safe. I’ll pay the cab fare.’
‘OK pal.’ Larni had agreed. ‘Leave it with me.’
Sidonie crossed the intersection and saw the lights of the restaurant ahead. “Good, now for parking.” She checked the time again. It was already twenty past. “Shit, oh shit. and no space in sight.” She spotted a sign, PARKING AT REAR with an arrow pointing down a laneway. Following directions, she discovered a big, open space, pretty full, but room for one more and pulled in neatly. She preferred to reverse, in the event she’d tied one on, but tonight her mind didn’t allow thought for extra manoeuvring. Quickly, ripping off the jacket, she reached over for the vest.
A light illuminated the back entrance. Dashing through the biting wind, she found herself in a narrow passage, down which came the strumming of a guitar and the strangled sounds of someone singing. She was not sure she could get used to that. Through the heavy, velour drapes and a young waiter jumped to attention.
‘The show hasn’t been going long,’ he whispered. ‘Are you joining a party, Sir?’
‘Er …r, no. No.’ Taken aback by the ‘Sir’.
The mistake embarrassed him too. Not knowing how to recover he said simply: ‘Oh sorry. Follow me,’ leading the way to a small table in a corner at the back. ‘Will this be all right for now?’ He wanted to make amends. Sidonie nodded as she slipped onto the chair and placed her jacket on the other.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘No thanks. An Old Vienna, please.’
‘Right away, Madam.’ He scootled off quick smart, as though stung.
The room was hazy with smoke and very dim. Only the small candles gave any light. She felt sorry for him. After all, he was probably just used to the straight scene … and the poor light … well?
The little stage, brilliantly illuminated, showed the singer by the guitarist’s side and a man dancing in front of them. They all-wore short black bolero jackets and dashing Spanish hats. Seated off to one side, where she couldn’t quite see, were the women. The colors of their dresses looked brazen in contrast.
“Black and white like me,” she thought and smiled to herself over the waiter’s error. Perhaps she should have left out the tie, but then an open necked shirt would be too casual.
She followed the movements of the male dancer. He was good. ‘And knows it,’ she said to herself, sourly, taking an instant dislike. Just the type she couldn’t stand. “Too good looking by half and thinks he’s God’s gift to women. They just can’t help themselves around him. Well, I’d sure open his eyes to that one. Tenille, I hope you’re not sleeping with him.”
‘Your beer, Madam.’ The waiter jolted her out of her ruminations. She began to reach to her back pocket for her wallet. ‘Settle up after the show, Madam.’
‘Sure thing, thanks.’
His dance came to an end, the enthusiastic applause overwhelming. “Was he that good?” she wondered. Two women took centre stage, neither of them Tenille. “Just beyond my sight, darn … I’m stuck here.” However, she watched the dancers with interest. The style was so different from the man’s. She liked it. She preferred the slightly plumper one of the two. Although the slim one had graceful moves, her body was angular, producing a more frantic look. She couldn’t wait to see Tenille and hoped she hadn’t missed her.
The man took the stage again and Sidonie groaned. He made some statuesque passes while the guitarist played quietly, then as the singer broke into song he was joined on stage by Tenille. She curved herself around his body, weaving herself in and out, her arms and torso so fluid, so graceful, it took her breath away. When she danced she couldn’t take her eyes off her. She seemed to be the music and the voice, the two within her body, finding expression as movement. The man began to dance with her. She reached up and tore off the hat, flinging it away in a dramatic sweep of her arm. She looked at the man with intense, unsmiling eyes; earthy and sultry; passion was spilling everywhere. The two danced, as if in a private world of their own erotic creation. Sidonie was rapt. Tenille was so gorgeous, full of fire and passion; she felt herself thrilling to an intoxicating excitement.
‘My God, but she is one hell of a beautiful woman,’ she breathed. “He must be banging her,” the voice in her head told her. “You have to stop dreaming, kiddo.” She sighed, resigned to her loss. Wanting what you cannot have is a fool’s game. As Tenille bent backwards over the man’s arm, his face so close you could picture the kiss, the dance came to an end, as did the show.
Everyone came back onto the little stage to take their bow. Tenille made the most of this opportunity to check if Sidonie was out there, but with the lights in her eyes, she couldn’t see beyond the faces in the front row. She shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up in the first place. This was how she had been over Devon, hoping she’d phone and all that stuff. Anyone would think she was an adolescent schoolgirl, the way she kept mooning over people she liked. Was she liking her that much?
As they turned to leave, the stage was blacked out and the restaurant bathed in a soft red light. In the green room the women removed their dresses and relaxed in kimonos. Amaia changed to join her husband front side, but Tenille and Devon just took it easy, one with a cigarette, the other a mineral water.
‘Well Ten, what do you think. Will you dance again?’
‘Yes, I feel the performance went well so I’m fine for the finale.’
‘The audience loved you.’
She looked across at her friend. ‘Thanks D
ev. I appreciate your encouragement, but I know I couldn’t have done it without Raoul.’ There was a knock at their door. Devon called out and the man himself appeared, casually swathed in his robe.
‘Tenille, my darling, you were magnificent.’ He went forward and embraced her with enthusiasm. We know you are a natural born dancer, but you were inspired tonight. We will go far together. I see it all before us.’ He was so effusive, it was hard not to be swept along in the torrent of his imaginings. But then, this was what she wanted too.
Devon was forced to experience envy. But for the fact that Raoul was talking about her dear friend, she could have felt quite put out. However, she knew Raoul needed her. She was not being replaced and was genuinely happy for her.
‘Tenille will dance Sevillanas with us in the finale, Raoul,’ she informed him: ‘She is pleased with herself too.’
‘Is good. They should see you one more time, at least.’ He smiled at them both. ‘Get ready now, we are on again soon.’ He went out to leave them to change and quickly Amaia was back.
Sidonie had been offered a seat closer to the front, although still off to one side, but from this vantage point she would be able to see everybody all the time. Once again there was darkness and the audience welcomed the performers. She watched the guitarist and singer take their positions on the left. Curving around to the right, the four dancers took their seats, with Tenille next to Raoul and him on the end. The other women had changed into polka dot dresses, but she wore her dramatic turquoise, with the flash of red lining. Sidonie found her breathtaking. A flower adorned her hair, sitting at the nape of her neck, not on top like the other two; white against black hair, which she had pulled back and coiled beside it. Coming forward onto each cheek was a single, snake-like curl, reaching down in front of her ear. She looked truly Spanish.
Outing of the Heart Page 28
