Outing of the Heart (7 page)
Read Outing of the Heart Online
Authors: Lisa Ann Harper
Perhaps tonight she was just over tired and tomorrow she'd feel differently. No. She had to face it, she was smitten by a woman. Indeed, from the first moment she had laid eyes on this enchantress. Now she must do all in her power to prevent Devon from ever divining her true feelings. She would be devastated if she ever guessed. It would be the ruin of everything. She couldn't risk losing this wonderful friendship that was building between them; not now she had found it.
CHAPTER 2
Fortunately, Saturday was a clear day, gold-spun in its brightness, the sky an intense blue, with little likelihood of rain. Gusts of wind swirled the dry, fall leaves around them as they went through the process of loading up the car. Excitement radiated from a rushing Tenille, getting more in the way than helping.
Carmel had dug out some old pots and pans. Well, she'd said they were old, but they looked pretty new to her. She was sorry to see Tenille go, enjoying another woman about the house, so unlike Russell, whom she had to nag and pick up after. She handed over one set of bed linen and a pillow. Roger carried two fine wool blankets.
âNow promise Tennie, you will visit us, won't you?' Carmel solicited, her needy eyes, large with supplication. She threw her arms around her aunt's shoulders for a big hug.
âOf course I will, Auntie. You know it's only moving downtown. I'm not leaving the country,' she joked, laying the sheets on top of the boxes.
âIf I find anything you've left behind, or you realize it, we can arrange to have you collect the stuff. We could come over and see how you've settled in,' she added hopefully.
Roger was able to fit everything into the car. Overflow from the trunk went onto the back seat. Unfortunately, there wasn't room for the boxes and Mel, so this trip she had to stay behind. This made for a tearful farewell on the front steps, but then they were off, promises being sincerely made.
At #226 Furio, the son of the house, was there to hand over keys and help unload, carrying cases and boxes down to the apartment. On first meeting he seemed strange, not the offspring she would have expected. About eighteen, a bit on the scrawny side. Affecting the grunge look, baggy pants and huge sweater, he appeared even more bony, with dirty, unlaced joggers. He had his mother's eyes though, softening his somewhat surly expression. Still, he was obliging enough today, running in and out tirelessly.
âAll right, my dear â¦' Roger said finally, giving the car's interior the once over, â â¦you take good care of yourself and call us any time you need help, or just want to be in touch.' A hug and a kiss.
âI'll phone Doris this evening; let her know you're safely ensconced. But I suggest you call her tomorrow. You know what she's like.' They smiled at each other in conspiratorial understanding.
âYes, I'll do that ⦠and thank you for all your help.' Roger shook his head, dismissively. âI don't just mean for today Uncle, but ⦠you know, getting me out of Lindsay ⦠and everything â¦' her voice trailed away as Roger embraced his niece once more.
âWe were only too happy to help you out of a jam, Tennie. Any time now. You remember that.' He let her go and climbed back into the car. Tenille stood on the front step waving goodbye.
Alone at last. She surveyed the chaotic disorder, all her stuff lying pell-mell in the centre. She surprised herself by feeling lonely and forlorn. This moment, awaited with such impatience, now it was here she wasn't so sure. For the first time in her life she was truly alone.
A mental shake.
“Don't be silly,”
she chastised.
“Get stuck into it. Make this place yours and you'll be cruisin'.”
First things. To plug in the transistor and tune to CBC fm for Texaco's Afternoon at the Opera. She had found this program shortly after she and Jerred had set up house, to her great enjoyment. Today Frederica von Schtade was singing
The Marchellin
in Der Rosen Cavalier. The afternoon would fly.
Second, unpacking. It was good getting everything to her liking, but in the middle of the third act hunger made her realize there were no provisions. She would have to forgo the ending and hustle to Loblaws before closing. She threw on her windcheater, grabbed scarf and gloves for a brisk walk up to Dupont.
The late afternoon sun had lost its warmth, but it spread an interesting, golden glow over the brownstone houses of this old neighborhood. Tenille liked its settled, bourgeois self-satisfaction, the people who had built them had arrived. Hitting Dupont, the atmosphere was altogether different. Here the houses smacked more of utility. Ribbon development along a major thoroughfare. No pretension and no space.
There was no problem finding the store, but she hadn't bargained for a quarter in the slot just to get a buggy. Tonight she would enjoy a juicy lamb chop with rosemary and braised fennel. She felt like indulging herself and splurged on a Sara Lee cherry cheesecake. At the check out she had almost too much to carry, but ⦠she'd picked these items and wouldn't reveal herself for a geek by returning them.
By the time she'd lugged everything back, her lesson had been well and truly learned. With arms, feeling they'd been pulled out of their sockets, and knees and shins bruised by the corners of packets and the edges of cans, determined to dance a feverish tarantella, she would not forget. In addition, she was too late for the opera's end, but in time to learn that next week's offering was to be Verdi's Nabucco, featuring the Quillicos, father and son.
After brewing herself a coffee, Tenille proceeded to find a home for these errant packages, which she was now so glad to have, before setting up for a dance practise. The kitchen sported a small square of congoleum, which would suffice for steps, but she would have to buy Masonite boards if she wanted to work on sequences.
She made her bed then nestled teddy under the covers, head resting on the pillow. Montmorency had been with her since she was six, sleeping with her until Jerred had forbade him in the bed with them. Then, for almost two years he'd lain on the top shelf of her closet, neglected.
âNot any more, little one,' she told him, as she patted his round, fat tummy through the sheet. On to the bathroom, located to the right of the bed, the door being to the left of the dressing table; basically white with a pale green, wicker hamper. Matching towels and a pot plant would look pretty on the windowsill. The toiletries all fitted into the medicine cabinet. Good. She didn't like clutter.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
For a moment, after opening her eyes, Tenille couldn't figure where she was. Memory flooded back as she took in the surroundings, rolling over and stretching her body luxuriously. Seeing the closet, she remembered she would be going to Devon's later. A collage of images came together behind her eyelids and she smiled, for now content to lie there and know she only had herself to please. She turned on the radio for company and enjoyed listening to a special, featuring Lorenna McKennit, her style reminding her of Enya.
Time to get the day started. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and her feet felt for lamb's wool slippers. Shrugging into her downy robe she crossed over to plug in the kettle. Dreamily, she ran the water for her bath, then the shrill whistle took her back to the kitchen. That first taste of coffee in the morning. All subsequent cups never held the same deliciousness. She set the mug on the bathtub ledge for sipping at her leisure. An item of news caught her ear: the conservative MP for Vancouver, Kim Campbell, was being interviewed. Her party had lost 153 seats in the last election and after being considered a possible replacement, Ms. Campbell had lost her seat, too. The interviewer was interested to know her future plans. Would she continue in politics?
“She should,”
Tenille thought, as she began to set up. We need more women representatives. Kim's question was how do you get them involved? Where do you start? They ran out of time so there was no answer and then came the sports results.
The day was breezy with a drowsy warmth to the sun. No need to bundle up totally, a long wool jacket to wear over sweater and jeans would do. She slung her purse over her shoulder and made sure of the key. Stepping onto the sidewalk she turned southward this time, wending her way towards Walmer Road, noticing a Country Style Donuts on the corner with Bloor Street. Kitty corner was a big Dominion. This could even be closer than Loblaws. She remembered the trek with the bags. Turning eastward along Bloor, she admired the merchandise displayed in the store fronts. Being a fashionable area of town, they were open and when she hit Yorkville, off Avenue Road, the sidewalks were jammed with tourists. She would be lucky to find a seat if she wanted to eat lunch here. In the end, it was a charming little bistro on Davenport that came to her rescue, close to the antique stores. Sitting outside she enjoyed an iced chocolate, watching Torontonians and tourists alike, strolling by.
The exploration continued, proceeding west on the opposite side of Bloor, stopping at the Colonnade. It was here, in one of the smallest boutiques ever, she saw her papier mache balloon. The price was not right, but she fell in love with its animated passengers in the wicker basket, jolly and colorful. Her one extravagance. She'd better not make a habit of it, she'd be broke within the month.
The first thing Tenille wanted on her return was to get the balloon airborne. She had the hook, but now she came to think of it, perhaps her landlady wouldn't approve. Better check. Knocking lightly on the living room door, it was quickly answered by Furio.
âHello, come in,' he smiled at her, opening the door wider. âLucky for you I was here. Everyone is in the kitchen and they're making that much of a racket, you'd never have gotten any attention.'
âNo, I don't want to interrupt anything,' she protested. âI just need to ask your mother something,' she explained.
Furio stood there, watching Tenille speak. He thought her so pretty - that topaz skin. He liked her luxurious hair and flashing eyes. He watched the full bloom of her mouth as she talked. Such kissable lips ⦠and to think ⦠she had come to live downstairs.
“This could get interesting,”
ran through his head.
âListen, no trouble. I'll get her for you.' He gave her another smile, as he turned back into the room. She found it creepy. Was it almost a leer? Glad to see Mrs. Sandrelli, all thoughts of her encounter with him faded.
âI'm sorry to bother you when you have company â¦' she began, but the older woman interrupted.
âIs all right. I was coming to see you myself. You want I show you the laundry set up?' She was wiping her hands on that ever present apron, her son still hung about. âFurio, you go inside now.' She turned back to Tenille. âCome, we go down together,' leading the way, she opened the door opposite Tenille's.
âOh, yes ⦠thank you, but I wanted ⦠wanted to see you about another matter,' she pursued hesitantly.
âBene
, we talk after.' Mrs. Sandrelli made everything clear. She seemed most concerned about the quantity of detergent; that and not leaving clothes sitting in the dryer. Tenille guessed these must have been serious bones of contention.
âI'll take care.'
They went across to the apartment where she proudly showed off her new purchase. Mrs. Sandrelli duly admired it, but Tenille suspected she was just being polite. âThe question is, would you mind if I put it up in the bathroom?'
A look of concern crossed the woman's face.
“Oh dear, holes in the ceiling.”
She didn't want to deny her new tenant on her first day, but ⦠âLet me check with my husband, okay?' She went upstairs, Tenille waited, fearing the worst.
She returned with Furio in tow. âEnrico, he say is okay, so long you let Furio do the job. He will find the beam and drill the hole for the hook.' She was nodding her head, willing agreement. âI leave you now. You show Furio everything.'
Left alone with the young man, Tenille experienced once again, a moment of discomfort. He seemed to do nothing but stand too close. She found it menacing. Backing away towards the bathroom she said: âI'd like it in this corner, please.'
By now they were both in the small room, Tenille close enough to smell his slightly musty, male odor, making her nostrils flare. She wanted to get out, but was trapped. She moved towards the window, indicating the spot. Furio went out to get a chair, freeing her to leave and let him get on with it. It didn't take long and he was saying: âCome and see.' She approached the room, but didn't go in.
Standing in the doorway she observed that indeed it looked as good as she had hoped. Furio returned the chair to the kitchen.
âAny chance of a beer,' he enquired brazenly, looking her full in the eye. She wasn't happy about this, but he had just done her a favor.
âNo, I don't have beer, I've not been to the store. I've got juice or soft drink.'
âCoke would be good.'
âSeven Up?'
âSure.' He proceeded to range round the room looking at all her things. She wished he wouldn't. It was getting on her nerves. Setting the bottle and glass on the counter she said: âCome and sit,' hoping to stop his inquisitiveness. He came over, but instead of taking the chair, sat on the counter, swinging his legs and looking very much at home.
âYou got a boyfriend?' He ignored the glass and took a big swig from the bottle, his manner insolent and intrusive. She felt somehow threatened but, being her landlady's son ⦠well, hostility wasn't her place.
âI don't see that as any business of yours Furio, but no I haven't.' A deep breath: âLook, I've got an appointment and have to get ready, do you mind?' staring pointedly at her watch.
Laughter, loud and braying, broke from him as he threw back his head, as if he'd heard a good joke. âDon't let me stop you.' He obviously thought he had. Tenille was getting to dislike him more by the minute. She wouldn't have him in her room again. True, he'd not really done anything, except be obnoxious.
âPlease, go now,' she insisted. âThank you for your help, I do appreciate it,' she added graciously.
âWell, appreciation can be shown in more ways than one,' he said, as he jumped down in one agile bound and landed in front of her. He was just about to reach out when they heard a knock.
Fortunately, Saturday was a clear day, gold-spun in its brightness, the sky an intense blue, with little likelihood of rain. Gusts of wind swirled the dry, fall leaves around them as they went through the process of loading up the car. Excitement radiated from a rushing Tenille, getting more in the way than helping.
Carmel had dug out some old pots and pans. Well, she'd said they were old, but they looked pretty new to her. She was sorry to see Tenille go, enjoying another woman about the house, so unlike Russell, whom she had to nag and pick up after. She handed over one set of bed linen and a pillow. Roger carried two fine wool blankets.
âNow promise Tennie, you will visit us, won't you?' Carmel solicited, her needy eyes, large with supplication. She threw her arms around her aunt's shoulders for a big hug.
âOf course I will, Auntie. You know it's only moving downtown. I'm not leaving the country,' she joked, laying the sheets on top of the boxes.
âIf I find anything you've left behind, or you realize it, we can arrange to have you collect the stuff. We could come over and see how you've settled in,' she added hopefully.
Roger was able to fit everything into the car. Overflow from the trunk went onto the back seat. Unfortunately, there wasn't room for the boxes and Mel, so this trip she had to stay behind. This made for a tearful farewell on the front steps, but then they were off, promises being sincerely made.
At #226 Furio, the son of the house, was there to hand over keys and help unload, carrying cases and boxes down to the apartment. On first meeting he seemed strange, not the offspring she would have expected. About eighteen, a bit on the scrawny side. Affecting the grunge look, baggy pants and huge sweater, he appeared even more bony, with dirty, unlaced joggers. He had his mother's eyes though, softening his somewhat surly expression. Still, he was obliging enough today, running in and out tirelessly.
âAll right, my dear â¦' Roger said finally, giving the car's interior the once over, â â¦you take good care of yourself and call us any time you need help, or just want to be in touch.' A hug and a kiss.
âI'll phone Doris this evening; let her know you're safely ensconced. But I suggest you call her tomorrow. You know what she's like.' They smiled at each other in conspiratorial understanding.
âYes, I'll do that ⦠and thank you for all your help.' Roger shook his head, dismissively. âI don't just mean for today Uncle, but ⦠you know, getting me out of Lindsay ⦠and everything â¦' her voice trailed away as Roger embraced his niece once more.
âWe were only too happy to help you out of a jam, Tennie. Any time now. You remember that.' He let her go and climbed back into the car. Tenille stood on the front step waving goodbye.
Alone at last. She surveyed the chaotic disorder, all her stuff lying pell-mell in the centre. She surprised herself by feeling lonely and forlorn. This moment, awaited with such impatience, now it was here she wasn't so sure. For the first time in her life she was truly alone.
A mental shake.
“Don't be silly,”
she chastised.
“Get stuck into it. Make this place yours and you'll be cruisin'.”
First things. To plug in the transistor and tune to CBC fm for Texaco's Afternoon at the Opera. She had found this program shortly after she and Jerred had set up house, to her great enjoyment. Today Frederica von Schtade was singing
The Marchellin
in Der Rosen Cavalier. The afternoon would fly.
Second, unpacking. It was good getting everything to her liking, but in the middle of the third act hunger made her realize there were no provisions. She would have to forgo the ending and hustle to Loblaws before closing. She threw on her windcheater, grabbed scarf and gloves for a brisk walk up to Dupont.
The late afternoon sun had lost its warmth, but it spread an interesting, golden glow over the brownstone houses of this old neighborhood. Tenille liked its settled, bourgeois self-satisfaction, the people who had built them had arrived. Hitting Dupont, the atmosphere was altogether different. Here the houses smacked more of utility. Ribbon development along a major thoroughfare. No pretension and no space.
There was no problem finding the store, but she hadn't bargained for a quarter in the slot just to get a buggy. Tonight she would enjoy a juicy lamb chop with rosemary and braised fennel. She felt like indulging herself and splurged on a Sara Lee cherry cheesecake. At the check out she had almost too much to carry, but ⦠she'd picked these items and wouldn't reveal herself for a geek by returning them.
By the time she'd lugged everything back, her lesson had been well and truly learned. With arms, feeling they'd been pulled out of their sockets, and knees and shins bruised by the corners of packets and the edges of cans, determined to dance a feverish tarantella, she would not forget. In addition, she was too late for the opera's end, but in time to learn that next week's offering was to be Verdi's Nabucco, featuring the Quillicos, father and son.
After brewing herself a coffee, Tenille proceeded to find a home for these errant packages, which she was now so glad to have, before setting up for a dance practise. The kitchen sported a small square of congoleum, which would suffice for steps, but she would have to buy Masonite boards if she wanted to work on sequences.
She made her bed then nestled teddy under the covers, head resting on the pillow. Montmorency had been with her since she was six, sleeping with her until Jerred had forbade him in the bed with them. Then, for almost two years he'd lain on the top shelf of her closet, neglected.
âNot any more, little one,' she told him, as she patted his round, fat tummy through the sheet. On to the bathroom, located to the right of the bed, the door being to the left of the dressing table; basically white with a pale green, wicker hamper. Matching towels and a pot plant would look pretty on the windowsill. The toiletries all fitted into the medicine cabinet. Good. She didn't like clutter.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
For a moment, after opening her eyes, Tenille couldn't figure where she was. Memory flooded back as she took in the surroundings, rolling over and stretching her body luxuriously. Seeing the closet, she remembered she would be going to Devon's later. A collage of images came together behind her eyelids and she smiled, for now content to lie there and know she only had herself to please. She turned on the radio for company and enjoyed listening to a special, featuring Lorenna McKennit, her style reminding her of Enya.
Time to get the day started. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and her feet felt for lamb's wool slippers. Shrugging into her downy robe she crossed over to plug in the kettle. Dreamily, she ran the water for her bath, then the shrill whistle took her back to the kitchen. That first taste of coffee in the morning. All subsequent cups never held the same deliciousness. She set the mug on the bathtub ledge for sipping at her leisure. An item of news caught her ear: the conservative MP for Vancouver, Kim Campbell, was being interviewed. Her party had lost 153 seats in the last election and after being considered a possible replacement, Ms. Campbell had lost her seat, too. The interviewer was interested to know her future plans. Would she continue in politics?
“She should,”
Tenille thought, as she began to set up. We need more women representatives. Kim's question was how do you get them involved? Where do you start? They ran out of time so there was no answer and then came the sports results.
The day was breezy with a drowsy warmth to the sun. No need to bundle up totally, a long wool jacket to wear over sweater and jeans would do. She slung her purse over her shoulder and made sure of the key. Stepping onto the sidewalk she turned southward this time, wending her way towards Walmer Road, noticing a Country Style Donuts on the corner with Bloor Street. Kitty corner was a big Dominion. This could even be closer than Loblaws. She remembered the trek with the bags. Turning eastward along Bloor, she admired the merchandise displayed in the store fronts. Being a fashionable area of town, they were open and when she hit Yorkville, off Avenue Road, the sidewalks were jammed with tourists. She would be lucky to find a seat if she wanted to eat lunch here. In the end, it was a charming little bistro on Davenport that came to her rescue, close to the antique stores. Sitting outside she enjoyed an iced chocolate, watching Torontonians and tourists alike, strolling by.
The exploration continued, proceeding west on the opposite side of Bloor, stopping at the Colonnade. It was here, in one of the smallest boutiques ever, she saw her papier mache balloon. The price was not right, but she fell in love with its animated passengers in the wicker basket, jolly and colorful. Her one extravagance. She'd better not make a habit of it, she'd be broke within the month.
The first thing Tenille wanted on her return was to get the balloon airborne. She had the hook, but now she came to think of it, perhaps her landlady wouldn't approve. Better check. Knocking lightly on the living room door, it was quickly answered by Furio.
âHello, come in,' he smiled at her, opening the door wider. âLucky for you I was here. Everyone is in the kitchen and they're making that much of a racket, you'd never have gotten any attention.'
âNo, I don't want to interrupt anything,' she protested. âI just need to ask your mother something,' she explained.
Furio stood there, watching Tenille speak. He thought her so pretty - that topaz skin. He liked her luxurious hair and flashing eyes. He watched the full bloom of her mouth as she talked. Such kissable lips ⦠and to think ⦠she had come to live downstairs.
“This could get interesting,”
ran through his head.
âListen, no trouble. I'll get her for you.' He gave her another smile, as he turned back into the room. She found it creepy. Was it almost a leer? Glad to see Mrs. Sandrelli, all thoughts of her encounter with him faded.
âI'm sorry to bother you when you have company â¦' she began, but the older woman interrupted.
âIs all right. I was coming to see you myself. You want I show you the laundry set up?' She was wiping her hands on that ever present apron, her son still hung about. âFurio, you go inside now.' She turned back to Tenille. âCome, we go down together,' leading the way, she opened the door opposite Tenille's.
âOh, yes ⦠thank you, but I wanted ⦠wanted to see you about another matter,' she pursued hesitantly.
âBene
, we talk after.' Mrs. Sandrelli made everything clear. She seemed most concerned about the quantity of detergent; that and not leaving clothes sitting in the dryer. Tenille guessed these must have been serious bones of contention.
âI'll take care.'
They went across to the apartment where she proudly showed off her new purchase. Mrs. Sandrelli duly admired it, but Tenille suspected she was just being polite. âThe question is, would you mind if I put it up in the bathroom?'
A look of concern crossed the woman's face.
“Oh dear, holes in the ceiling.”
She didn't want to deny her new tenant on her first day, but ⦠âLet me check with my husband, okay?' She went upstairs, Tenille waited, fearing the worst.
She returned with Furio in tow. âEnrico, he say is okay, so long you let Furio do the job. He will find the beam and drill the hole for the hook.' She was nodding her head, willing agreement. âI leave you now. You show Furio everything.'
Left alone with the young man, Tenille experienced once again, a moment of discomfort. He seemed to do nothing but stand too close. She found it menacing. Backing away towards the bathroom she said: âI'd like it in this corner, please.'
By now they were both in the small room, Tenille close enough to smell his slightly musty, male odor, making her nostrils flare. She wanted to get out, but was trapped. She moved towards the window, indicating the spot. Furio went out to get a chair, freeing her to leave and let him get on with it. It didn't take long and he was saying: âCome and see.' She approached the room, but didn't go in.
Standing in the doorway she observed that indeed it looked as good as she had hoped. Furio returned the chair to the kitchen.
âAny chance of a beer,' he enquired brazenly, looking her full in the eye. She wasn't happy about this, but he had just done her a favor.
âNo, I don't have beer, I've not been to the store. I've got juice or soft drink.'
âCoke would be good.'
âSeven Up?'
âSure.' He proceeded to range round the room looking at all her things. She wished he wouldn't. It was getting on her nerves. Setting the bottle and glass on the counter she said: âCome and sit,' hoping to stop his inquisitiveness. He came over, but instead of taking the chair, sat on the counter, swinging his legs and looking very much at home.
âYou got a boyfriend?' He ignored the glass and took a big swig from the bottle, his manner insolent and intrusive. She felt somehow threatened but, being her landlady's son ⦠well, hostility wasn't her place.
âI don't see that as any business of yours Furio, but no I haven't.' A deep breath: âLook, I've got an appointment and have to get ready, do you mind?' staring pointedly at her watch.
Laughter, loud and braying, broke from him as he threw back his head, as if he'd heard a good joke. âDon't let me stop you.' He obviously thought he had. Tenille was getting to dislike him more by the minute. She wouldn't have him in her room again. True, he'd not really done anything, except be obnoxious.
âPlease, go now,' she insisted. âThank you for your help, I do appreciate it,' she added graciously.
âWell, appreciation can be shown in more ways than one,' he said, as he jumped down in one agile bound and landed in front of her. He was just about to reach out when they heard a knock.
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