Outing of the Heart (6 page)
Read Outing of the Heart Online
Authors: Lisa Ann Harper
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Upon second viewing, Tenille was even more pleased, seeing everything through Carmel's eyes and finding nothing wanting. The fact that both her uncle and aunt were there didn't faze the Sandrellis who were happy to meet the Bergmans. She hadn't needed to get into a dither. With their approval, her mother's would surely not be far behind. The visit ended with Roger paying the first month in advance, just to expedite proceedings. Tenille could take her time to reimburse him.
âI can get it together now Uncle. Just not this very day, that's all,' she rejoined with spirit.
âOf course, Tennie. I know,' he replied, placatingly. âI'm just wanting to help out.' He turned to Mr. Sandrelli, explaining this was all subject to Mrs. Fenech's approval and confirmation would come, first of the week.
Once home, Carmel phoned her sister. They talked it through for a while, Doris wanting chapter and verse, as usual. âPut Tennie on,' she ordered, peremptorily.
âSo you want to move out already,' she observed, in an aggrieved tone. âIs living in Carmel's house not good enough for you?'
âHi Mom.' Several rungs down after only two words. âIt's not that. I've started an evening class ⦠I need to be closer to work too.'
Yet again her mother had succeeded in making her feel inadequate and ungrateful. This time was to be different though and she would not be adversely influenced. She was a daughter with a new determination, holding to her course; telling of dancing and new friends. However, something stilled her tongue regarding Devon. What suspicion lurked inside her? Her mother would not approve? But why not? Devon was a lovely woman. No, not that. There was something different about Devon, but she'd not figured it out herself yet.
She jerked her mind back to the telephone conversation ⦠what was the question? Christmas, New Year's?
âI said, how much time will you have off?'
âMom, I don't know. We've not been given our schedules yet.'
âFind out soon, Tennie. We're in November and Christmas comes on us real fast. If you put in for your vacation now, you can spend two weeks with us. I'll talk to Carmel. She and Roger can bring you up. I want to complete arrangements and get my invitations out early.' She went on about people Tenille only vaguely knew, no interest expressed regarding her affairs, except to ask if she were thinking of coming to visit on her next free weekend.
âI wasn't Mom. I have to get settled in.'
âOh, I see.' She heard that tone of voice again and sighed. âPut Carmel back ⦠I want to check Christmas out with her.' Tenille was left with the feeling the verbal exchange had not been a pleasurable experience. She was staring at the fridge, lost in thought, while Carmel continued to listen to her sister. Why was it her mother always managed to reduce her to a five year old, finishing up making her feel guilty? Well, she should be thankful, she could make the move.
Back to her room for Devon's number. No answer.
âWell Auntie, will you be visiting Lindsay?' she asked, as she took her place on the chesterfield.
âWe're not sure. We haven't teed anything up with Russell, but he'll be letting us know his plans soon. We have to wait on him,' Carmel explained. âSometimes Doris doesn't realize people have other commitments.' Obviously her conversation hadn't been too good, either.
She tried Devon one more time. Still no luck. Call Marissa? She checked her watch and realized it was too late to phone her home. Mrs. Sandrelli had to be informed, too. Monday would be her telephone day.
The late news was on TV. She would watch it, then head for bed. Another exposé of the current prison system; more jails, already crammed to over-flowing. When the segment was completed, they continued the topic themselves.
âCertainly incarceration does provide a means of expressing society's disgust and abhorrence of crime,' Roger observed. âIt's an expensive way, though. We need to come up with some alternative.'
âI agree,' Tenille supplied. âFor criminal reform, jails don't do the job. It seems to me that jurisprudence is going up a blind alley. Recidivism proves that.'
Carmel now made a suggestion. âSuppose we were to make our prisons really dreadful places to be in? That would provide a more powerful deterrent than presently.' She creased her brow in thought as her niece and husband watched her. Then she continued: âWe could put all our manpower into truly supportive and compassionate rehabilitation. People would have more sympathy for the criminal who has gone through a sentence that was a sentence, instead of what we've just seen; facilities which include games rooms, libraries, computers even.' She looked back at the other two for their opinion.
âI don't think you could get people to vote in the direction of more severity, love, but I like the idea of greater emphasis on post-sentence counselling,' Roger approved. Tenille leaned forward, her interest sparked.
âSince we have so many prisons, perhaps they could be streamlined to certain offences? For example, those who have only embezzled don't have to mix with racketeers. Perhaps prisons would become less of a breeding ground,' she proposed.
âYes,' Carmel was with her: âThen they could be designed better to reflect the severity of the crime; draconian measures being reserved for the truly hardened,' she pursued.
Roger nodded. âYou may get them behind you on that one, Mel. Then we really could have the punishment fit the crime.'
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
That week Tenille's confidence in the dance steps grew. She had been diligent in her practising, following Carmel's suggestion to clear a space in the basement. Each night she spent almost two hours down there and began to feel the flow of the rhythm through her body without needing to count beats. Castanets were a different matter. She couldn't clatter away on them and disturb the whole household. Even down in the basement it sounded like music from hell. She tried to be quiet, but her lack of dexterity meant playing was an all or nothing affair.
It was Wednesday before she could speak to Devon, who wanted all the news about the move and finished up suggesting they get together Thursday, after class.
Belen was short tempered this week, picking on the ones who were too slow, obviously wanting to move on, but being held back with revision. She observed to Devon that Marissa and Tenille looked good together dancing the Sevillanas. It could put a dancer off, watching someone do the mirror image of their movements.
When Tenille had a chance to speak to Marissa, she was delighted at the outcome of Sunday's visit to McPherson; so happy, it showed in her whole dancing style. Tenille found it inspiring. The spirit of the dance filled her body, lending it the suppleness and sensuality of a puma. She could have come straight out of the steamy recesses of the South American rainforest, her dark eyes blazing invitingly. They couldn't be matched and Marissa and Devon saw this. Both looked forward to spending time with her, but one of them would have to face disappointment. It was Marissa.
The others were put out too. They had wanted to discuss their Tuesday nights. With their faces ranged in front of her, Tenille felt badly she'd so totally forgotten, too excited at the prospect of being with Devon. Goodness, what was happening to her? An irresponsible scatterbrain.
âListen, I'm sorry,' she apologized remorsefully. âGive me your phone number. I'll give you mine ⦠well my landlady's. We can tee up something for Tuesday, okay?'
Ingrid accepted this on behalf of the group, but Marissa was not pleased. As they started to change and pack up, she went over to Tenille and asked what she was doing that night. For some reason heat rushed to her cheeks as she was about to answer, making her feel foolish.
âEr..r, um..m, Devon wants to discuss something with me,' she supplied feebly. Marissa's grey eyes narrowed as she watched confusion cross the guilty face before her. Its pallor, suddenly blotched with hectic color, made her look even more irresistible.
She felt the scrutiny, so hastily looked down in an effort to hide her embarrassment, continuing to pack her belongings. Marissa resolved not to worry, she'd see her in the week, once she moved. But Devon? What was her game?
“She goes out with men.”
The group left, by now in cheery mood and promising to be in touch. Tenille had to wait on alone, since Belen would go through the program for next week with Devon and then pack up. With all her equipment this usually took another fifteen minutes. Devon could be unreliable in many ways, but as far as Flamenco was concerned, this was her first love.
âCome on, let's go,' Tenille heard, as Devon flung back the door. She now wore a three-quarter length camel coat and wrapped around her neck, a luxurious afghan scarf in striking black, white and shades of brown.
“How dramatic she looks,”
thought Tenille, a wedge of envy creeping into her admiration.
Off to Maloney's again, huddling together against the biting cold of the fierce wind tunnels, created by the height of the buildings. She felt borne along on unseen wings such was her exhilaration, in lockstep with Devon, their arms linked, bodies pressed against each other, heads down, battling the elements.
The heat from the bar hit them as they struggled to open the heavy door. It clanged loudly behind them, cutting out the street noise. A quieter atmosphere tonight, the
brio
of early evening trade now abated. This was how Devon liked it. She chose a banquette against the far wall, away from the bright lights. They were relaxed, their minds attuned to the pleasure they found in the other. Drinks ordered, Devon launched into her main purpose.
âBelen has a big engagement in the New Year. It's for the Shriners' convention at the Sheraton Centre, downtown.'
âThat sounds exciting.'
âWell yes, but it's a lot of work too,' she amended. âNow, this is my proposal. If I coach you in one of the numbers for the show, I'm pretty sure Belen will select you.'
Tenille's eyes widened in surprise. âDevon, I have no experience.'
âThat's okay. Belen always has a mixture of new people with the advanced. They can move on and she likes to have reinforcements coming up through the ranks. Of this year's crop, you are one of the best.'
Tenille felt herself glowing as she took another draught from her drink and smiled warmly. Devon smiled back.
âThis will give you excellent performance experience and stand you in good stead for the future,' she reinforced unreservedly.
âOh, I'd love it,' inhaling a deep breath, her black eyes glistening with delight. âI'll have more time to devote to dancing, once I'm on my own.' So bubbly with enthusiasm, Devon just feasted her eyes on the luminous smile coming straight from the heart. Heavy-lidded, they moved over her target, their expression shielded. Soon she'd make it that she was alone with this woman - properly alone.
âI start practising with Ingrid and Wendy next Tuesday. I couldn't make it this week.'
âYes, well, that's good too, but I don't want you picking up bad habits. I'd like to supervise you myself.'
âOh yes, Devon, I didn't mean that would take your place,' added hastily, so anxious not to put her out in any way.
âGood. That's settled then. We'll have lots of fun times.'
She reached out to Tenille's hand where it rested in her lap and covered it with hers, first looking her straight in the eyes. She grasped it, then turned it palm upwards and slowly drew a circle in its centre and crossed it. Upon completion she declared: âThere, sealed with our secret sign. A sisterhood bond dedicated to the muse of the dance.' She released the trembling hand, returning it to its home.
Tenille was so overcome she was shaking inside. Her ribcage heaved with the force of her breathing, her whole body set on fire by Devon's soft yet so powerful touch. It was as if she had drawn a bead directly to its centre and still it vibrated there. This was too unreal. She swivelled her eyes to look down at the hand, now lying alone in her lap. For a moment, the intensity of the feeling had seemed to paralyse her, then Devon had withdrawn her touch, casting her adrift. She wanted the contact back; to be made whole again.
At last she looked up and their eyes locked, her breath coming too fast. It was plain to see on that expressive, sensitive face, what had just happened. Devon smiled a secret, enigmatic smile which Tenille observed, but could not read.
âTime to go,' she declared firmly, well satisfied with the effect she had created. Collecting their belongings they prepared to meet the chill of the night. âYou move this weekend, right,' she stated. Tenille nodded as they threaded their way between tables. âListen, come to my place Sunday. We can look through my closet for those things I promised ⦠take our time. I'll order in, okay?' She turned her intense green stare directly onto Tenille. After a pause: âYou'll be settled in by then, won't you?'
She took a deep breath: âY ⦠yes, no problem,' she said, her heart lurching about, making it difficult to carry on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened - but it had.
She was very affected by this strange woman, in a way totally unknown to her and wasn't sure she could handle it. That mark on her hand. A spell had been cast over her. She couldn't look at Devon. Just as well they were going their separate ways, she reflected. She needed time to deal with the unruly thoughts which had been unleashed.
Outside, Devon huddled into her scarf. It was too cold to hang about. Anyway, she'd gotten what she wanted. âCall me just before you're ready and I'll come pick you up. See you Sunday.' Turning on her booted heel she walked briskly away. Tenille was left, watching the disappearing figure fade into the murky blackness of the night, rooted to the spot, head spinning, not knowing what to think, a knot of panic threatening to strangle her. She felt a stranger to herself.
Upon second viewing, Tenille was even more pleased, seeing everything through Carmel's eyes and finding nothing wanting. The fact that both her uncle and aunt were there didn't faze the Sandrellis who were happy to meet the Bergmans. She hadn't needed to get into a dither. With their approval, her mother's would surely not be far behind. The visit ended with Roger paying the first month in advance, just to expedite proceedings. Tenille could take her time to reimburse him.
âI can get it together now Uncle. Just not this very day, that's all,' she rejoined with spirit.
âOf course, Tennie. I know,' he replied, placatingly. âI'm just wanting to help out.' He turned to Mr. Sandrelli, explaining this was all subject to Mrs. Fenech's approval and confirmation would come, first of the week.
Once home, Carmel phoned her sister. They talked it through for a while, Doris wanting chapter and verse, as usual. âPut Tennie on,' she ordered, peremptorily.
âSo you want to move out already,' she observed, in an aggrieved tone. âIs living in Carmel's house not good enough for you?'
âHi Mom.' Several rungs down after only two words. âIt's not that. I've started an evening class ⦠I need to be closer to work too.'
Yet again her mother had succeeded in making her feel inadequate and ungrateful. This time was to be different though and she would not be adversely influenced. She was a daughter with a new determination, holding to her course; telling of dancing and new friends. However, something stilled her tongue regarding Devon. What suspicion lurked inside her? Her mother would not approve? But why not? Devon was a lovely woman. No, not that. There was something different about Devon, but she'd not figured it out herself yet.
She jerked her mind back to the telephone conversation ⦠what was the question? Christmas, New Year's?
âI said, how much time will you have off?'
âMom, I don't know. We've not been given our schedules yet.'
âFind out soon, Tennie. We're in November and Christmas comes on us real fast. If you put in for your vacation now, you can spend two weeks with us. I'll talk to Carmel. She and Roger can bring you up. I want to complete arrangements and get my invitations out early.' She went on about people Tenille only vaguely knew, no interest expressed regarding her affairs, except to ask if she were thinking of coming to visit on her next free weekend.
âI wasn't Mom. I have to get settled in.'
âOh, I see.' She heard that tone of voice again and sighed. âPut Carmel back ⦠I want to check Christmas out with her.' Tenille was left with the feeling the verbal exchange had not been a pleasurable experience. She was staring at the fridge, lost in thought, while Carmel continued to listen to her sister. Why was it her mother always managed to reduce her to a five year old, finishing up making her feel guilty? Well, she should be thankful, she could make the move.
Back to her room for Devon's number. No answer.
âWell Auntie, will you be visiting Lindsay?' she asked, as she took her place on the chesterfield.
âWe're not sure. We haven't teed anything up with Russell, but he'll be letting us know his plans soon. We have to wait on him,' Carmel explained. âSometimes Doris doesn't realize people have other commitments.' Obviously her conversation hadn't been too good, either.
She tried Devon one more time. Still no luck. Call Marissa? She checked her watch and realized it was too late to phone her home. Mrs. Sandrelli had to be informed, too. Monday would be her telephone day.
The late news was on TV. She would watch it, then head for bed. Another exposé of the current prison system; more jails, already crammed to over-flowing. When the segment was completed, they continued the topic themselves.
âCertainly incarceration does provide a means of expressing society's disgust and abhorrence of crime,' Roger observed. âIt's an expensive way, though. We need to come up with some alternative.'
âI agree,' Tenille supplied. âFor criminal reform, jails don't do the job. It seems to me that jurisprudence is going up a blind alley. Recidivism proves that.'
Carmel now made a suggestion. âSuppose we were to make our prisons really dreadful places to be in? That would provide a more powerful deterrent than presently.' She creased her brow in thought as her niece and husband watched her. Then she continued: âWe could put all our manpower into truly supportive and compassionate rehabilitation. People would have more sympathy for the criminal who has gone through a sentence that was a sentence, instead of what we've just seen; facilities which include games rooms, libraries, computers even.' She looked back at the other two for their opinion.
âI don't think you could get people to vote in the direction of more severity, love, but I like the idea of greater emphasis on post-sentence counselling,' Roger approved. Tenille leaned forward, her interest sparked.
âSince we have so many prisons, perhaps they could be streamlined to certain offences? For example, those who have only embezzled don't have to mix with racketeers. Perhaps prisons would become less of a breeding ground,' she proposed.
âYes,' Carmel was with her: âThen they could be designed better to reflect the severity of the crime; draconian measures being reserved for the truly hardened,' she pursued.
Roger nodded. âYou may get them behind you on that one, Mel. Then we really could have the punishment fit the crime.'
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
That week Tenille's confidence in the dance steps grew. She had been diligent in her practising, following Carmel's suggestion to clear a space in the basement. Each night she spent almost two hours down there and began to feel the flow of the rhythm through her body without needing to count beats. Castanets were a different matter. She couldn't clatter away on them and disturb the whole household. Even down in the basement it sounded like music from hell. She tried to be quiet, but her lack of dexterity meant playing was an all or nothing affair.
It was Wednesday before she could speak to Devon, who wanted all the news about the move and finished up suggesting they get together Thursday, after class.
Belen was short tempered this week, picking on the ones who were too slow, obviously wanting to move on, but being held back with revision. She observed to Devon that Marissa and Tenille looked good together dancing the Sevillanas. It could put a dancer off, watching someone do the mirror image of their movements.
When Tenille had a chance to speak to Marissa, she was delighted at the outcome of Sunday's visit to McPherson; so happy, it showed in her whole dancing style. Tenille found it inspiring. The spirit of the dance filled her body, lending it the suppleness and sensuality of a puma. She could have come straight out of the steamy recesses of the South American rainforest, her dark eyes blazing invitingly. They couldn't be matched and Marissa and Devon saw this. Both looked forward to spending time with her, but one of them would have to face disappointment. It was Marissa.
The others were put out too. They had wanted to discuss their Tuesday nights. With their faces ranged in front of her, Tenille felt badly she'd so totally forgotten, too excited at the prospect of being with Devon. Goodness, what was happening to her? An irresponsible scatterbrain.
âListen, I'm sorry,' she apologized remorsefully. âGive me your phone number. I'll give you mine ⦠well my landlady's. We can tee up something for Tuesday, okay?'
Ingrid accepted this on behalf of the group, but Marissa was not pleased. As they started to change and pack up, she went over to Tenille and asked what she was doing that night. For some reason heat rushed to her cheeks as she was about to answer, making her feel foolish.
âEr..r, um..m, Devon wants to discuss something with me,' she supplied feebly. Marissa's grey eyes narrowed as she watched confusion cross the guilty face before her. Its pallor, suddenly blotched with hectic color, made her look even more irresistible.
She felt the scrutiny, so hastily looked down in an effort to hide her embarrassment, continuing to pack her belongings. Marissa resolved not to worry, she'd see her in the week, once she moved. But Devon? What was her game?
“She goes out with men.”
The group left, by now in cheery mood and promising to be in touch. Tenille had to wait on alone, since Belen would go through the program for next week with Devon and then pack up. With all her equipment this usually took another fifteen minutes. Devon could be unreliable in many ways, but as far as Flamenco was concerned, this was her first love.
âCome on, let's go,' Tenille heard, as Devon flung back the door. She now wore a three-quarter length camel coat and wrapped around her neck, a luxurious afghan scarf in striking black, white and shades of brown.
“How dramatic she looks,”
thought Tenille, a wedge of envy creeping into her admiration.
Off to Maloney's again, huddling together against the biting cold of the fierce wind tunnels, created by the height of the buildings. She felt borne along on unseen wings such was her exhilaration, in lockstep with Devon, their arms linked, bodies pressed against each other, heads down, battling the elements.
The heat from the bar hit them as they struggled to open the heavy door. It clanged loudly behind them, cutting out the street noise. A quieter atmosphere tonight, the
brio
of early evening trade now abated. This was how Devon liked it. She chose a banquette against the far wall, away from the bright lights. They were relaxed, their minds attuned to the pleasure they found in the other. Drinks ordered, Devon launched into her main purpose.
âBelen has a big engagement in the New Year. It's for the Shriners' convention at the Sheraton Centre, downtown.'
âThat sounds exciting.'
âWell yes, but it's a lot of work too,' she amended. âNow, this is my proposal. If I coach you in one of the numbers for the show, I'm pretty sure Belen will select you.'
Tenille's eyes widened in surprise. âDevon, I have no experience.'
âThat's okay. Belen always has a mixture of new people with the advanced. They can move on and she likes to have reinforcements coming up through the ranks. Of this year's crop, you are one of the best.'
Tenille felt herself glowing as she took another draught from her drink and smiled warmly. Devon smiled back.
âThis will give you excellent performance experience and stand you in good stead for the future,' she reinforced unreservedly.
âOh, I'd love it,' inhaling a deep breath, her black eyes glistening with delight. âI'll have more time to devote to dancing, once I'm on my own.' So bubbly with enthusiasm, Devon just feasted her eyes on the luminous smile coming straight from the heart. Heavy-lidded, they moved over her target, their expression shielded. Soon she'd make it that she was alone with this woman - properly alone.
âI start practising with Ingrid and Wendy next Tuesday. I couldn't make it this week.'
âYes, well, that's good too, but I don't want you picking up bad habits. I'd like to supervise you myself.'
âOh yes, Devon, I didn't mean that would take your place,' added hastily, so anxious not to put her out in any way.
âGood. That's settled then. We'll have lots of fun times.'
She reached out to Tenille's hand where it rested in her lap and covered it with hers, first looking her straight in the eyes. She grasped it, then turned it palm upwards and slowly drew a circle in its centre and crossed it. Upon completion she declared: âThere, sealed with our secret sign. A sisterhood bond dedicated to the muse of the dance.' She released the trembling hand, returning it to its home.
Tenille was so overcome she was shaking inside. Her ribcage heaved with the force of her breathing, her whole body set on fire by Devon's soft yet so powerful touch. It was as if she had drawn a bead directly to its centre and still it vibrated there. This was too unreal. She swivelled her eyes to look down at the hand, now lying alone in her lap. For a moment, the intensity of the feeling had seemed to paralyse her, then Devon had withdrawn her touch, casting her adrift. She wanted the contact back; to be made whole again.
At last she looked up and their eyes locked, her breath coming too fast. It was plain to see on that expressive, sensitive face, what had just happened. Devon smiled a secret, enigmatic smile which Tenille observed, but could not read.
âTime to go,' she declared firmly, well satisfied with the effect she had created. Collecting their belongings they prepared to meet the chill of the night. âYou move this weekend, right,' she stated. Tenille nodded as they threaded their way between tables. âListen, come to my place Sunday. We can look through my closet for those things I promised ⦠take our time. I'll order in, okay?' She turned her intense green stare directly onto Tenille. After a pause: âYou'll be settled in by then, won't you?'
She took a deep breath: âY ⦠yes, no problem,' she said, her heart lurching about, making it difficult to carry on as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened - but it had.
She was very affected by this strange woman, in a way totally unknown to her and wasn't sure she could handle it. That mark on her hand. A spell had been cast over her. She couldn't look at Devon. Just as well they were going their separate ways, she reflected. She needed time to deal with the unruly thoughts which had been unleashed.
Outside, Devon huddled into her scarf. It was too cold to hang about. Anyway, she'd gotten what she wanted. âCall me just before you're ready and I'll come pick you up. See you Sunday.' Turning on her booted heel she walked briskly away. Tenille was left, watching the disappearing figure fade into the murky blackness of the night, rooted to the spot, head spinning, not knowing what to think, a knot of panic threatening to strangle her. She felt a stranger to herself.
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