This time Darren tried for a lingering kiss, but Tenille pulled away. He considered being more forceful, but thought better of it. If she decided to make a fuss, it would disturb the people of the house and he didn't want any embroilment. She was obviously the type who needed more time. He respected a girl like that. Any chance of a nightcap? It looked unlikely. He had her number. He would get her again in a softer, more romantic mood.
She let herself into her apartment as quietly as possible. What a great night. Before leaving she had arranged with Devon to have their first session Wednesday; the same building where Belen held her classes, but a smaller studio. It was also where Los Flamencos had their rehearsals. She would grab a quick sandwich after work, then head straight up to Yonge and Eglinton. They would have an hour together and in three weeks, Devon assured her, she'd be ready.
They arrived at almost the same time. Devon had picked up the key from the superintendent and was just unlocking as Tenille ran up the stairs. There was no change annex here,
âjust find a spot and dump the gear'
. Tenille wore the apple green skirt and knee-length, black woolly tights which she could push down when her legs warmed up. Devon had the same, but her skirt was yellow.
âI'm not going to worry about the dance sequences today,' she informed her. âIt will be good just to go over the arms, the steps and some castanet rolls.' She hadn't brought music; they would dance to the count. Tenille was self-conscious, being instructed by Devon. She picked this up.
âJust relax. It's all right. I don't expect you to be perfect,' smiling understandingly. âLook in the mirror.' She moved in close in back, took her shoulders and pulled them against her own. âTry to open your shoulders as you swing your arm around.' She held the elbow and guided it out and down. âDon't let them hunch.'
Not just her face, Tenille's whole body was suffused with heat at the close physical contact. It took all her will to concentrate on what she was supposed to do and she found herself unable to meet Devon's gaze. It was the floor instead.
âWatch in the mirror,' came Devon's sharp voice. She raised her head again. Devon knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to drive this woman to the point of total capitulation; resistance would be useless. Meanwhile her jaded palate had not been so whetted in a long time. To have Tenille's body like this was driving her wild. Better back off, move on to castanets. Tenille had mastered the rhythms, but was too erratic.
It was an excellent session on the footwork. To watch Devon's feet was sheer pleasure, the sounds so clear, nothing muffled; everything exact. The very air seemed to come to life. She could accomplish this because her power gave her control. Tenille expressed admiration and Devon laughed. âIt's just practise Ten. You'll get there.' A knock on the door reminded them their time was up.
âI'll practise every day, Devon, for sure.' She said it like a prayer.
Changing quickly they collected their belongings and made a hasty exit.
âThank you so much for giving me your time like this.'
They were walking briskly to the subway. A gentle fall of snow had started whilst they had been inside, but only enough to make the sidewalks slushy. It wasn't so cold, but it was still important to get home and wash off the perspiration.
They took the train southbound, Devon would alight at St. Clair and Tenille would change at Yonge. Sitting side by side, Devon broached the subject of a dress.
âWe don't know that I'll be picked yet.'
âThis is true, but regardless, you need to be prepared. You can't get a flamenco dress off the rack.' Tenille was silent in thought. The store carried all the trimmings, but she would need to select a fabric.
âListen, I was planning to look this Saturday in Fabricland you know, the big store at Bloor and Bathurst? Well, I could meet you at the subway and we could go together. Are you working?'
âYes, but I'll be finished at one o'clock.'
âOkay, that's cool. Let's say at the top of the escalator, twoish? That will give us lots of time.'
St. Clair. âSee you Saturday aft.' She grabbed her bag and just got out before the rush surged in.
When Tenille finally came above ground, the wind had gotten up and the night was stormy. A light dusting of snowflakes swirled around in all directions making it difficult to see, and her progress was hampered by the wind's forceful buffeting. She pitied the poor drivers. Visibility would be practically nil. At least the subway trains and streetcars didn't have to be concerned.
Home at last, she was glad to get inside out of the biting wind. Her clothes were white, the snow still too cold to melt. She stood in the kitchen recess, taking off her things, not wanting puddles to form on the new carpet. She would need a boot tray and the special leather protector spray. With so much salt about everything developed stains. A trip to Aikenhead's was obviously needed. If she were going to put in the practise time she'd promised Devon, she would need a large sheet of Masonite to work on. She had emphasized her posture tonight, so a cheap, cheval mirror would help. Propped on a chair should do it.
The bitter cold continued to week's end. Following the snowstorm of Wednesday night, many power lines were brought down, especially in Oakville. The thermometer plunged to 26 degrees Celsius, below. With the wind chill factor, the mercury hovered around -30 Celsius.
Saying good morning to Furio the next day when he was clearing the path and the side walk, she'd never seen so much color in his cheeks. He must have been hard at it for some time, the snow was banked so high.
Days were going by fast at work. There were many mothers getting their girls kitted out for the new semester. Those taking up Ballroom and Latin American also needed special gear. All in all the store was a lively place and Alana, Beris and the rest had their work cut out to keep up.
Saturday, the weather was brilliant, the tempestuous low now worked out of the system. Yes, the air was cold, but it was hot in the sun. Tenille had a cosy sweater under her ski jacket and instead of her best boots, wore thick socks over her pants, with ankle high walkers. She caught the streetcar west to Bathurst and transferred to the northbound bus to take her to Bloor. She had been able to grab a muffin at the Eaton's Centre, so while waiting for Devon, parked herself on a bench inside the big circular atrium of the station and faced the âup' escalator. She enjoyed watching the passers-by. So many different nationalities here. Maybe some Maltese too. Her dad had let all contact with the Maltese community lapse. She believed her mother probably had something to do with this. It was regrettable she knew so little of the other half of her heritage. Next time, when she was home, she would try to ask about her roots. Right now she reckoned she was seeing mostly people who had originated from the Caribbean. She knew better than to call them all Jamaicans. In Lindsay she had been used to seeing members of the Tibetan community, but here there were people who had emigrated from Greece and Italy. However, most of the stores in this part of the city were Italian. She thought the Greek ones were located on the east side of downtown, along the Danforth. Hadn't Ingrid or Wendy mentioned going to Nikkos for a Greek night?
She glanced at the big station clock centred above the stairs. No sign of Devon, late as usual. At least she wasn't driving; parking on Saturdays was a nightmare. She walked over to the barrier to continue her vigil. She saw her. Up she came on the escalator looking so attractive; smart three quarter jacket and large, triangular stole tied round the shoulders. And yes, she looked exciting too. Had she ever thought of women as exciting? Her pulses quickened as Devon's vermilion mouth broke into a radiant smile.
âSorry I'm late,' she said in a breathless rush, her grass-green eyes sparkling as she grabbed Tenille's arm to hasten her to the exit. She wasn't really, knowing she'd wait, however long it took. Outside she stopped to put on her beret and gloves. Another wait at the lights. Devon kept Tenille pressed close to her and both enjoyed the contact. Once on the other side it was quick progress down the street and across to the store. The heavy entrance doors always needed a good strong pull. It would be more convenient to put a shoulder to it and push, but of course, doors had to open out in case of fire.
It was a relief to get inside, protected from the noise and all the jostling. Tenille took off her jacket before they went upstairs where the less expensive bolts of fabric were displayed. Devon was looking for a good quality percale, with a reasonable number of threads per square centimetre and colorfast, a solid color in a red shade. She asked Tenille which she thought suited her, finally settling on a red with a strong orange to it. Under stage lights it could display both shades, she thought, making it quite interesting.
Now for Tenille. In looking them over, she had been drawn toward the blues, but they seemed to make her olive complexion look sallow.
âWhat about turquoises?'
Much better. She picked a deep shade which contained a higher percentage of green than blue. Devon liked the way it made her skin glow. âThat's it.' she exclaimed with a laugh.
Tenille was pleased too. Devon knew what meterage to buy. Too much, it seemed to her, but was assured there were many meters to that full flamenco skirt.
âWell, you know what ballroom dresses are like and they have petticoats ⦠we don't.'
After shopping they walked back to Bathurst and took the streetcar further east. Devon knew the best little café that served every kind of coffee and the most delicious cakes, close to Dovercourt.
âFattening, I know, but what the hell, let's be decadent today,' she urged, as they alighted.
Walking along, Tenille remonstrated mildly: âIt's all right for you Devon, you don't have to just look at food and gain weight.'
âNor do you,' she returned quickly. âYou know what I think?' waiting.
âNo.'
âI think your body is ⦠perfect.' She laughed, then ran on ahead, making Tenille hurry to catch up, slipping and sliding in the mushy combination of salt and snow.
When they had gotten themselves settled at a window table and placed their order, the discussion returned to dance dresses. Devon had a seamstress with whom she was very pleased. âI don't think you should use her at this time though, otherwise you'll be waiting twice as long.'
Tenille looked disappointed, then her face brightened. She could ask Mrs. Sandrelli. She knew she sewed, but would she be willing to take on a big job like this? Their dessert disappeared in no time, Tenille having decided to put her guilt feelings to one side and work extra hard at her next practise.
âI have a pattern I can give you to pass on to her, if you like the style,' Devon offered.
âI'll talk to Mrs. Sandrelli tomorrow. Now you know, any trimmings you want, you need only come to the store and I can get them for you at cost.' She felt happy to be able to do this favor, but to Devon the saving was negligible and not worth bothering about. She thanked her anyway.
âWhat do you think? Should I trim my dress with black or white fringing?' her face so animated, Devon was content just to sit and watch its effulgence. But unfortunately time would not hold still.
âI don't know. I think you'll have to see the effect when it's made up.' She checked her watch. Tenille hated their time coming to an end.
âWhat are you doing tonight, Devon? Do you have plans?'
âI'm going to a company function with Justin. He needs a presentable woman. It will all be rather a bore. Dinner, speeches and then dancing to some tired old three piece, straight out of the forties. I hope we'll be able to get away to Starz afterwards.' Her laugh was light and carefree as she threw back her head. âMy reward for helping him out.'
There was no answering smile on Tenille's face. She could wish this Justin back in Timbuktu or wherever. Her body had tensed up and repressed anger narrowed her eyes. Devon observed her disconsolate air and smiled to herself. The time was close at hand. Sunday could turn out to be her lucky day.
âListen Ten,' she said, as though surprised by a sudden thought: âI'll call you tomorrow and we can make plans, okay?'
This time Tenille's lips rose at their corners as she nodded agreement. Absently, she brushed back the loose strand of a wayward curl, her thoughts still spinning on. She didn't want to share Devon with anyone. She wanted all her spare time to be with her. How childish. She couldn't keep her only to herself.
After their âgoodbyes', and she was on her own, she did some serious thinking. Was Devon becoming an obsession with her. She had felt the physical response to her presence; her touch. She knew she wanted more, but what did âmore' consist of? Yes, more of her time ⦠but also more of her? Her mind shied away from the thought, but she could not stop it from returning. Despite the shivers of horror at the realization, deep down she knew this was touching on the heart of the matter. She experienced a spreading ache radiating from her centre and felt her nipples harden. She wanted to be physical with Devon, but what did that mean? Could it be the same as being with a man, only it's a woman's body? What about actual intercourse? â No. This was going too far. Her head was swimming. Anyway, Devon wasn't like that. She must think of other things. Throw herself into dancing; use it to sublimate her sexual desires. By the time she climbed into bed, she was relieved to give her brain a rest and hoped her body would too.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Next morning, knocking briskly on Mrs. Sandrelli's door, Tenille heard: âcome in' and gently opened the door.
âNel mia cucina.'
âBuon giorno.'
She tried her little bit of Italian when she saw the older woman at the kitchen counter. She couldn't picture her anywhere else or wearing a dress without an apron.