Outing of the Heart (21 page)
Read Outing of the Heart Online
Authors: Lisa Ann Harper
Tenille noticed the presence of the male dancers in their midst had a definite effect on the others. For all their careless attitude, there was an ill-concealed tension in the bodies of the dancers. Some became inhibited, others put out more.
Belen started off as she meant to continue, cracking the whip with determined force. She brought the class up to date on what she had in mind for the show. Of course, Tenille was already privy to this. Then she continued: âDenzil and Keith have been working on a Cana. I think it will give a nice contrast to the color of the other dances.'
In the break she went through the dance with the two men. With a slower tempo, it was more closely related to the Soleares, featuring a lot of hat work. Tenille loved the music for this dance. Being one of the oldest forms of flamenco, it was also one of the purest and most lyrical. Everyone enjoyed watching Belen take them through it.
The class resumed with an introduction to palmas. Tenille found she had quite a natural ability with this unaccompanied hand-clapping. It emphasized the rhythmic origins of flamenco and she had to keep an attentive ear for the beat. It was amazing how varied and intricate the pulsations could become. They all laughed when the rhythm fell apart; awful, chaotic sounds being the outcome, but the laughter allowed them a much needed release of tension.
Class broke up after a concentrated session on Verdiales. Belen offered to record the music for anyone who brought her a tape. She believed it to be important for beneficial practise, so they planned to make the most of her offer.
The friends went to the Café Vittorio full of speculation about the dances and the new members. Marissa sat next to Tenille, happy to tell them about CARMEN. The others were sorry they'd missed it.
Daphne had noticed in the weekend Globe and Mail, that the Winnipeg Ballet would be coming to the O'Keefe Centre. Veronica Tennant would be the principal dancer.
âOh, when?' Everybody wanted to know.
âTickets are on sale, Monday. They're going to present Buononville's NAPOLI. I think it's some time next month.' Ingrid wondered if they could get a group booking for the Friday or Saturday; when it's Veronica's night. Good idea. Wendy was charged with organizing things. She worked close to the theatre. âShall we start back with our Tuesday practises next week?'
âI think we should. Belen has put a lot on our plate.'
âWould you like to come along, Daphs?'
âWhen and where?'
While they gave her details, Tenille spoke quietly to Marissa. âAre you still on for tomorrow?' She was taken off guard, but her face lit up delightedly.
âI thought you had said no.' Tenille felt compelled to provide some excuse.
âAs I recall, I didn't say one way or the other. I was a bit tired when you phoned and I wasn't sure then.'
âYes, tomorrow's fine.' She leaned closer to Tenille, her pleasure at this turn of events, unmistakable. âI thought you might like dinner at the Don Quixote and the show afterwards.'
âWhat is the Don Quixote? It sounds Spanish.' Her interest quickened.
âYes. It has an excellent paella and the show downstairs is entertaining. Not always Flamenco. Sometimes they have Latin American combos. But whatever, it's lively and interesting.'
âThat sounds good. Where is it?'
âSouth of Bloor, within walking distance of your apartment.'
When the group broke up it was late; there had been so much to catch up on.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Light snowflakes were falling when Tenille set out the next night, enjoying the sounds her boots made on the crunchy sidewalk. Wrapped cosily in her warm coat, she raised her head to the star-brushed sky as she took deep, invigorating breaths. Cross-country skiing would be fun. She could easily take the GO Transit from Union Station out to Long Branch or up to Milliken.
Her thoughts transferred to Marissa. She seemed to be seeking her company. Could she find out more about her? Tonight would be opportune. She didn't feel about her the way she did about Devon, of course. Her mind stopped on this thought. What did she mean by that exactly?
Marissa was already seated when she arrived. She saw the dancer's elegance in all her movements as the receptionist took her coat, then those intense dark eyes scanned the room. She knew she was searching for her. Nervous excitement fluttered in her stomach and yes, that hot ball of desire bounced in there. With wide eyes she watched how Tenille tossed her head and looked over her shoulder. The animal grace of the woman was irresistible. She was wearing a black beaded top, the weight of it draping over her breasts in a way that drew the eye, yet was modest at the same time. There was the attraction of innocence in this; sometimes a more powerful aphrodisiac than all the skill of artifice. She wore black pants tucked into fine leather boots which shone in the restaurant's spotlights.
âHello Tenille, so you found it all right.' There was an airiness to Marissa's voice, but her eyes gleamed with intensity.
âNo problem.' She took the seat opposite and began to appreciate her surroundings. Here there was more opulence than at the Sancho Panza. Probably established longer. The use of rough, white stuccoed walls and intriguing archways created a Spanish ambiance, enhanced by brown velvet seats. Breaking the room up into sections were black, wrought iron screens; the inevitable flickering candles at each table gave the final touch. A guitarist had been hired to serenade the couples, but sometimes he went to a large gathering and played a livelier number.
Marissa poured them Sangria from the carafe she had ordered.
âThis is lovely. Thank you for inviting me.'
âIt's my pleasure to have your company.' Her words were smooth, but the voice was tight.
“What is her problem?”
Tenille wondered. She was looking her best tonight. She had let her hair grow longer, with short bangs across the brow. The sides, pulled up and back to the top of her head, allowed the hair to fall down to her shoulders, framing her face and softening its lines. The makeup had been skilfully applied, dramatizing her eyes and emphasizing the curvature of her lips.
They both ordered the paella, but for the entree Tenille chose a small serving of a chicory bake with pistachio-stuffed tomatoes. Marissa selected the aubergine flan with a basil sauce. They had keen appetites and enjoyed the meal, which was stylishly served. Their waiter was very attentive.
Marissa did impart more about herself. Her life this time, rather than work. She spoke about boy friends, but they were in the past. She still had someone special to her, but only as a close friend. âYou know what I mean, a confidant rather than a significant partner.'
In those days her parents had been quite strict, severe with both her sister and herself. âThey were far less compelling with my brothers,' she recalled. âThey supervised who we went out with. Now I'm not involved with men, they keep asking if I haven't got someone hidden away.' She looked at Tenille to see if she shared the joke. She just found this an odd way to express it and only smiled faintly. âFamilies are funny aren't they?' this delivered while looking away into the distance, as if watching an unfolding scene. Tenille felt there was a depth of feeling here which she could not share.
Marissa shook her head, getting rid of inappropriate thoughts and turned back her attention. She wanted to hear more about her new friend, her heritage and interests. Tenille was happy to talk and time passed pleasantly, both women feeling comfortable with each other. Marissa had lost all signs of that previous tension.
Show time was nine o'clock. Their Spanish coffees could be served downstairs. They agreed to this and made the move. It was dim, smoky and packed. More like a dive, Tenille thought. Close by the kitchen door, far from the small stage, was a table for two, with constant coming and going. Marissa asked if there wasn't a table closer.
âI'll see what I can do,' the waiter promised.
A short time later he came over. He'd been able to squeeze in one more table opposite the stage, but at the back. âWill that do?' Their reply was to pick up purses and push away from their chairs. Not only did this take them out of the line of traffic, it gave a better view. He brought over their drinks and placed down two new coasters. Sitting side by side, they shared a feeling of happy anticipation. Marissa was in transports of delight. She felt they were really getting close. It was like they were made for each other.
The show was bright and popular, very different from Sancho Panza's. Now Tenille wondered if that little bistro-style restaurant out at Bathurst, had picked the name deliberately. This was slick and commercial; more for the general public than Aficionados. It was fun, though, the package including jokes and repartee with the patrons.
âI loved this evening,' Marissa gushed. âI'll call you tomorrow and we can talk some more.' They were walking up to Spadina where she would catch her train. Tenille explained the situation regarding the phone.
âIt's okay for making arrangements though,' not wanting to put her off calling again.
Marissa took Tenille's hand in hers then delivered a quick kiss on the cheek.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
The weekend was quiet. No trip to see Raoul. She would have to find some excuse when she saw him. He'd get over it.
Overdue to call her parents, she did so on Sunday, catching them at home after church. Her mom forbore to chastise her for not calling sooner and kept the exchanges pleasant. The upshot was that Tenille would visit the following weekend.
She gave her practise board a good work out, aiming to produce the fluidity of movement that comes with accurate anticipation. Watching the dancer, it looks like no effort is involved. She couldn't do the palmas at home, needing to bounce off others to keep that going, but she was getting better at the castanets.
Tuesday at the studio, they all had a good time. With five of them, there was much laughter and chatter; more relaxed than Thursday nights. Wendy was able to report her success with the tickets. They were booked for Friday week and barring accidents, Veronica would be there.
Wednesday was her session with Raoul. He asked where she had been Saturday, his expression stern, almost intimidating. He had looked for her, he said.
âRaoul, it was a long week. I was tired. I just stayed home.' Tuition went much better. He was the same, but she knew what to expect and could cope. He corrected the execution of her footwork, making the sound crisper. She had a tendency to let her arches roll in, consequently the strike of the ball of the foot had not been coming down cleanly enough.
He worked on her head this week, trying for a more haughty carriage, obtained when the neck and shoulders are in perfect alignment. She did it. She had the style. This was where actually looking Raoul in the eyes gave
her
a better appearance. It was all coming together. Yes. Freedom to concentrate on these aspects made a welcome change from worrying about steps and the sequence. Her practise had paid off.
Raoul was aware that she was less uptight; coming across with a more confident flow. One step blended into the other, allowing the body to carry the line. Her turns now looked as though they came of their own accord. At the close of the session he felt he could press his advantage, but this time she was ready for him.
âIt's my weekend to visit the folks. I'm an only child ⦠you know how it is.' She was able to smile at him cheerfully. There was no argument here. âMother expects this kind of attention.' Raoul was disappointed. She had really been something special tonight, but it hadn't felt like a brush off. There would be other times.
With the amount of dancing she had done over the last few days, Tenille was left feeling leaden at class. She had expected to do better, perhaps was demanding too much. Belen expressed the desire to have a dress run through, fairly soon.
âI'd like to see your outfits and to work on the costumes for those of you who are new. Next week, Devon will be back and she will attend to details. Give it some thought, then she'll help you out.' Excited faces watched her.
âOnce we know the dances, it's important to work on entrances and exits: who will partner whom and blocking. That will be for next week.' All this talk of performance engaged the imagination, making the show come alive. Everyone was so keen to be selected. This was the buzz when the women left for coffee. Tenille didn't join them. She needed to get herself ready for the trip. There would be little time when she got home tomorrow. Marissa became sullen. She had been so looking forward to more time with her. She was becoming her special friend and she wanted to keep it that way.
âPhone me when you get back,' was all there was time for, before the gang swept her up and Tenille headed in the opposite direction.
After work it was a whirlwind of activity. Although packing was done, she still needed to shower and change and get to Elizabeth Street Station before six o'clock. A quick call to Devon's parents to pass on the message that she was away; would be back Sunday night, if she would like to call her.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Time dragged, so heartsick was she for Devon. When her mother had asked, she had felt she couldn't refuse; had no excuse anyway, but she couldn't wait to get back. Betsy had a wonderful time, diving into the snowdrifts and enjoying her new, tasty doggy treats. This visit she was thoroughly spoiled. But Tenille needed more than to play with the dog. Betsy could distract her only so far.
To help pass the time she went swimming in the Olympic pool at Sir Sandford Fleming College. She'd forgotten Mums and Tots came before the adult âlong' swim and had to wait.
This was a magnificent pool, the temperature perfect. She started off slowly and gradually built to a comfortable pace. On the long swim, people picked a lane then continued swimming non-stop 'til they'd had enough. By the end of the hour and a half, only the diehards remained. She used to number amongst these, but not today, quitting after an hour. She had the legs, but not the lungs.
Belen started off as she meant to continue, cracking the whip with determined force. She brought the class up to date on what she had in mind for the show. Of course, Tenille was already privy to this. Then she continued: âDenzil and Keith have been working on a Cana. I think it will give a nice contrast to the color of the other dances.'
In the break she went through the dance with the two men. With a slower tempo, it was more closely related to the Soleares, featuring a lot of hat work. Tenille loved the music for this dance. Being one of the oldest forms of flamenco, it was also one of the purest and most lyrical. Everyone enjoyed watching Belen take them through it.
The class resumed with an introduction to palmas. Tenille found she had quite a natural ability with this unaccompanied hand-clapping. It emphasized the rhythmic origins of flamenco and she had to keep an attentive ear for the beat. It was amazing how varied and intricate the pulsations could become. They all laughed when the rhythm fell apart; awful, chaotic sounds being the outcome, but the laughter allowed them a much needed release of tension.
Class broke up after a concentrated session on Verdiales. Belen offered to record the music for anyone who brought her a tape. She believed it to be important for beneficial practise, so they planned to make the most of her offer.
The friends went to the Café Vittorio full of speculation about the dances and the new members. Marissa sat next to Tenille, happy to tell them about CARMEN. The others were sorry they'd missed it.
Daphne had noticed in the weekend Globe and Mail, that the Winnipeg Ballet would be coming to the O'Keefe Centre. Veronica Tennant would be the principal dancer.
âOh, when?' Everybody wanted to know.
âTickets are on sale, Monday. They're going to present Buononville's NAPOLI. I think it's some time next month.' Ingrid wondered if they could get a group booking for the Friday or Saturday; when it's Veronica's night. Good idea. Wendy was charged with organizing things. She worked close to the theatre. âShall we start back with our Tuesday practises next week?'
âI think we should. Belen has put a lot on our plate.'
âWould you like to come along, Daphs?'
âWhen and where?'
While they gave her details, Tenille spoke quietly to Marissa. âAre you still on for tomorrow?' She was taken off guard, but her face lit up delightedly.
âI thought you had said no.' Tenille felt compelled to provide some excuse.
âAs I recall, I didn't say one way or the other. I was a bit tired when you phoned and I wasn't sure then.'
âYes, tomorrow's fine.' She leaned closer to Tenille, her pleasure at this turn of events, unmistakable. âI thought you might like dinner at the Don Quixote and the show afterwards.'
âWhat is the Don Quixote? It sounds Spanish.' Her interest quickened.
âYes. It has an excellent paella and the show downstairs is entertaining. Not always Flamenco. Sometimes they have Latin American combos. But whatever, it's lively and interesting.'
âThat sounds good. Where is it?'
âSouth of Bloor, within walking distance of your apartment.'
When the group broke up it was late; there had been so much to catch up on.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Light snowflakes were falling when Tenille set out the next night, enjoying the sounds her boots made on the crunchy sidewalk. Wrapped cosily in her warm coat, she raised her head to the star-brushed sky as she took deep, invigorating breaths. Cross-country skiing would be fun. She could easily take the GO Transit from Union Station out to Long Branch or up to Milliken.
Her thoughts transferred to Marissa. She seemed to be seeking her company. Could she find out more about her? Tonight would be opportune. She didn't feel about her the way she did about Devon, of course. Her mind stopped on this thought. What did she mean by that exactly?
Marissa was already seated when she arrived. She saw the dancer's elegance in all her movements as the receptionist took her coat, then those intense dark eyes scanned the room. She knew she was searching for her. Nervous excitement fluttered in her stomach and yes, that hot ball of desire bounced in there. With wide eyes she watched how Tenille tossed her head and looked over her shoulder. The animal grace of the woman was irresistible. She was wearing a black beaded top, the weight of it draping over her breasts in a way that drew the eye, yet was modest at the same time. There was the attraction of innocence in this; sometimes a more powerful aphrodisiac than all the skill of artifice. She wore black pants tucked into fine leather boots which shone in the restaurant's spotlights.
âHello Tenille, so you found it all right.' There was an airiness to Marissa's voice, but her eyes gleamed with intensity.
âNo problem.' She took the seat opposite and began to appreciate her surroundings. Here there was more opulence than at the Sancho Panza. Probably established longer. The use of rough, white stuccoed walls and intriguing archways created a Spanish ambiance, enhanced by brown velvet seats. Breaking the room up into sections were black, wrought iron screens; the inevitable flickering candles at each table gave the final touch. A guitarist had been hired to serenade the couples, but sometimes he went to a large gathering and played a livelier number.
Marissa poured them Sangria from the carafe she had ordered.
âThis is lovely. Thank you for inviting me.'
âIt's my pleasure to have your company.' Her words were smooth, but the voice was tight.
“What is her problem?”
Tenille wondered. She was looking her best tonight. She had let her hair grow longer, with short bangs across the brow. The sides, pulled up and back to the top of her head, allowed the hair to fall down to her shoulders, framing her face and softening its lines. The makeup had been skilfully applied, dramatizing her eyes and emphasizing the curvature of her lips.
They both ordered the paella, but for the entree Tenille chose a small serving of a chicory bake with pistachio-stuffed tomatoes. Marissa selected the aubergine flan with a basil sauce. They had keen appetites and enjoyed the meal, which was stylishly served. Their waiter was very attentive.
Marissa did impart more about herself. Her life this time, rather than work. She spoke about boy friends, but they were in the past. She still had someone special to her, but only as a close friend. âYou know what I mean, a confidant rather than a significant partner.'
In those days her parents had been quite strict, severe with both her sister and herself. âThey were far less compelling with my brothers,' she recalled. âThey supervised who we went out with. Now I'm not involved with men, they keep asking if I haven't got someone hidden away.' She looked at Tenille to see if she shared the joke. She just found this an odd way to express it and only smiled faintly. âFamilies are funny aren't they?' this delivered while looking away into the distance, as if watching an unfolding scene. Tenille felt there was a depth of feeling here which she could not share.
Marissa shook her head, getting rid of inappropriate thoughts and turned back her attention. She wanted to hear more about her new friend, her heritage and interests. Tenille was happy to talk and time passed pleasantly, both women feeling comfortable with each other. Marissa had lost all signs of that previous tension.
Show time was nine o'clock. Their Spanish coffees could be served downstairs. They agreed to this and made the move. It was dim, smoky and packed. More like a dive, Tenille thought. Close by the kitchen door, far from the small stage, was a table for two, with constant coming and going. Marissa asked if there wasn't a table closer.
âI'll see what I can do,' the waiter promised.
A short time later he came over. He'd been able to squeeze in one more table opposite the stage, but at the back. âWill that do?' Their reply was to pick up purses and push away from their chairs. Not only did this take them out of the line of traffic, it gave a better view. He brought over their drinks and placed down two new coasters. Sitting side by side, they shared a feeling of happy anticipation. Marissa was in transports of delight. She felt they were really getting close. It was like they were made for each other.
The show was bright and popular, very different from Sancho Panza's. Now Tenille wondered if that little bistro-style restaurant out at Bathurst, had picked the name deliberately. This was slick and commercial; more for the general public than Aficionados. It was fun, though, the package including jokes and repartee with the patrons.
âI loved this evening,' Marissa gushed. âI'll call you tomorrow and we can talk some more.' They were walking up to Spadina where she would catch her train. Tenille explained the situation regarding the phone.
âIt's okay for making arrangements though,' not wanting to put her off calling again.
Marissa took Tenille's hand in hers then delivered a quick kiss on the cheek.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
The weekend was quiet. No trip to see Raoul. She would have to find some excuse when she saw him. He'd get over it.
Overdue to call her parents, she did so on Sunday, catching them at home after church. Her mom forbore to chastise her for not calling sooner and kept the exchanges pleasant. The upshot was that Tenille would visit the following weekend.
She gave her practise board a good work out, aiming to produce the fluidity of movement that comes with accurate anticipation. Watching the dancer, it looks like no effort is involved. She couldn't do the palmas at home, needing to bounce off others to keep that going, but she was getting better at the castanets.
Tuesday at the studio, they all had a good time. With five of them, there was much laughter and chatter; more relaxed than Thursday nights. Wendy was able to report her success with the tickets. They were booked for Friday week and barring accidents, Veronica would be there.
Wednesday was her session with Raoul. He asked where she had been Saturday, his expression stern, almost intimidating. He had looked for her, he said.
âRaoul, it was a long week. I was tired. I just stayed home.' Tuition went much better. He was the same, but she knew what to expect and could cope. He corrected the execution of her footwork, making the sound crisper. She had a tendency to let her arches roll in, consequently the strike of the ball of the foot had not been coming down cleanly enough.
He worked on her head this week, trying for a more haughty carriage, obtained when the neck and shoulders are in perfect alignment. She did it. She had the style. This was where actually looking Raoul in the eyes gave
her
a better appearance. It was all coming together. Yes. Freedom to concentrate on these aspects made a welcome change from worrying about steps and the sequence. Her practise had paid off.
Raoul was aware that she was less uptight; coming across with a more confident flow. One step blended into the other, allowing the body to carry the line. Her turns now looked as though they came of their own accord. At the close of the session he felt he could press his advantage, but this time she was ready for him.
âIt's my weekend to visit the folks. I'm an only child ⦠you know how it is.' She was able to smile at him cheerfully. There was no argument here. âMother expects this kind of attention.' Raoul was disappointed. She had really been something special tonight, but it hadn't felt like a brush off. There would be other times.
With the amount of dancing she had done over the last few days, Tenille was left feeling leaden at class. She had expected to do better, perhaps was demanding too much. Belen expressed the desire to have a dress run through, fairly soon.
âI'd like to see your outfits and to work on the costumes for those of you who are new. Next week, Devon will be back and she will attend to details. Give it some thought, then she'll help you out.' Excited faces watched her.
âOnce we know the dances, it's important to work on entrances and exits: who will partner whom and blocking. That will be for next week.' All this talk of performance engaged the imagination, making the show come alive. Everyone was so keen to be selected. This was the buzz when the women left for coffee. Tenille didn't join them. She needed to get herself ready for the trip. There would be little time when she got home tomorrow. Marissa became sullen. She had been so looking forward to more time with her. She was becoming her special friend and she wanted to keep it that way.
âPhone me when you get back,' was all there was time for, before the gang swept her up and Tenille headed in the opposite direction.
After work it was a whirlwind of activity. Although packing was done, she still needed to shower and change and get to Elizabeth Street Station before six o'clock. A quick call to Devon's parents to pass on the message that she was away; would be back Sunday night, if she would like to call her.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Time dragged, so heartsick was she for Devon. When her mother had asked, she had felt she couldn't refuse; had no excuse anyway, but she couldn't wait to get back. Betsy had a wonderful time, diving into the snowdrifts and enjoying her new, tasty doggy treats. This visit she was thoroughly spoiled. But Tenille needed more than to play with the dog. Betsy could distract her only so far.
To help pass the time she went swimming in the Olympic pool at Sir Sandford Fleming College. She'd forgotten Mums and Tots came before the adult âlong' swim and had to wait.
This was a magnificent pool, the temperature perfect. She started off slowly and gradually built to a comfortable pace. On the long swim, people picked a lane then continued swimming non-stop 'til they'd had enough. By the end of the hour and a half, only the diehards remained. She used to number amongst these, but not today, quitting after an hour. She had the legs, but not the lungs.
Other books
Barbara Kingsolver by Animal dreams
To Catch the Moon by Dempsey, Diana
Learning to Be Little Again by Meredith O'Reilly
Save for Shardae by Raelynn Blue
10 - The Ghost Next Door by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)
And West Is West by Ron Childress
Fatal Vows by Joseph Hosey
The Hum and the Shiver by Alex Bledsoe
King Cobra (Diamondbacks Motorcycle Club Book 3) by Glass, Evelyn
A Yacht Called Erewhon by Stuart Vaughan
