Approaching Tenille, ostensibly to correct her pose, she moved around touching her here, touching her there; pressing against her where she wanted her hips to be, putting her hand between her shoulders, making her breasts thrust forward.
âRemember Flamenco, for the woman, is a dance of curves. There are no hard angles. You must show off your curves, Tenille.' She stopped, looked directly into the black centres of her eyes. âYou have beautiful breasts and a bottom that is just right. Make the most of them.' Her hand at the back dropped down to the buttocks and rested there. By now Tenille was in a complete state of enravishment and perturbation. All senses had been quickened and her impassioned spirit was on the edge. So agitated, she could not control her limbs. Everything had gone to jelly.
âI ⦠I can't ⦠go on.' The last thing she wanted was to breakdown in front of her. She loved the attention and wanted more. But Devon? What did she want?
âDevon?'
âM..m?' She knew this was it, had read all the signs.
âN..nothing.' What could she say, here, in this dusty old studio? She must get control of herself. It was time to leave anyway.
Collecting their gear Devon said: âLos Flamencos is starting back this week, would you like to come along?'
âVery much so.' She was regaining her composure and breathing easier.
âHave you plans, Friday?'
âYes. Mrs. Sandrelli is going to have the first fitting that night and she's invited me for dinner.' She was unsure whether this inquiry would have led to dinner, but she couldn't change the arrangement now.
âNo problem.' They walked out together.
âHow was your evening?'
âOh, it went off all right. We ended up staying. The band wasn't too bad,' Devon admitted.
Tenille moved on to the upcoming Saturday. âYour first show's at ten thirty, right?' Devon nodded. âI'll catch that one.'
âCome over to our table, will you?'
âYes, I'd like to.'
This time Devon gave her a quick kiss before saying goodbye, but she added an extra squeeze as she said: âSee you Saturday.'
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
By the time Tenille got up to the Sandrelli's, they were all sitting in the living room enjoying antipastos and a glass of wine. Mr. Sandrelli asked her questions while Mrs. Sandrelli and Furio just listened. Furio could hardly take his eyes off Tenille. He followed every exchange as though it were a tennis match. Eventually they moved to the dining room. It was a rather stilted affair, but the food was delicious. Furio did get in one question. He wanted to know if she ever did any other dancing besides Spanish.
âI used to do some Irish step dancing when I was a little girl.'
âI was really thinking ⦠like disco and stuff,' he amended, looking at her hopefully, his face flushed from talking to her.
âSometimes, at parties.'
An image of dancing with Devon at New Year's flashed into her mind. They had had such fun with the Macarena. Devon had progressed into combining it with the Bump. She could freestyle into anything.
After dessert, Mr. Sandrelli excused himself. He was a great ice hockey fan and Friday night was the big telecast from Maple Leaf Gardens. She assisted with the clearing away and Furio offered to help.
âWell, this is a change,' his mother observed and turning to Tenille added: âMust be because you are here
Cara
, otherwise he would be watching the game.' He pretended not to hear, but his ears went very red.
Their tasks completed, (Furio doing all the to-ing and fro-ing), Mrs. Sandrelli indicated that Tenille should follow her upstairs to the workroom; her private domain. All her supplies were stored here. Not only did she enjoy dressmaking, but she did needlepoint too. Candle wicking was her favorite. At the moment she was in the process of making an elaborate patched quilt, using unbleached cotton and cream thread. It was to be a gift for her niece's trousseau, but for her young friend's sake, she was prepared to set it to one side. Tenille complimented her on her ability.
While she completed the basting of the pieces, they discussed the dress and the effect Tenille was after, each proposing interesting suggestions.
âYou get ready for the fitting now,
Carissima
.'
She stripped down to bra and panties. She had chosen very respectable underwear; all white, nothing lacy or skimpy. Mrs. Sandrelli had not completely closed the door of the workroom and, unnoticed by the two women, Furio was upstairs. On the way to his room he observed the door ajar and pushed it a little further, enough for a better view of this woman who was so fascinating to him. He didn't play the Peeping Tom for long, fear of detection making him move on, but he had seen enough to whet his appetite. The sight of her naked flesh albeit nicely covered, had set his juices flowing. For the rest of the evening Tenille occupied the main frame of his mind. He just couldn't escape that picture of her, standing there in her lingerie, not knowing she was being spied on. It made her more his, watching her in a private moment like that.
The woman worked swiftly with sure, deft hands. After the fitting, they arranged to have the second for a week later. Tenille thanked her seamstress warmly and returned to the apartment feeling well satisfied with their progress.
A quick tap at her door made her jump up, calling out as she did so. Surprised to see Furio, the words died on her lips as he didn't wait on ceremony, but pushed past her, striding into the room before she could stop him. Once inside he turned to face her.
âFurio, what are you doing here?' She left the door wide open. He didn't answer, but closed it carefully, making no sound.
âI know what you were doing tonight,' he said thickly through gritted teeth. âI was watching you.' He approached closer, his eyes boring into her.
âFurio, you must leave.' She made to go by him, but he reached out and grabbed, stopping her in her tracks. âLet go of me.' trying to shake herself free, but for a rangy youth he was surprisingly strong. His fingers dug into the softness of her flesh most painfully. Struggling made it worse.
âI saw it in your eyes. You were feeling just as horny as me.' He leaned his head closer to hers to claim a kiss. She twisted away.
“I don't believe this is happening,”
she thought incredulously.
To get better control, he dragged her towards the kitchen alcove where he pushed her roughly against the counter. The edge dug in sharply. She was in a near state of panic. He may be the son of the house and she didn't want to cause trouble, but this was her territory. She had to get him out.
âYou're so beautiful.' He was working himself up, pressing against her and trying to feel her breasts. Muttering again: âSuch a lovely body hidden beneath all these clothes. Let's take them off,' starting to undress her, snapping open the jeans, pulling them down. It was like a wrestling match, pushing and shoving. She hoped they would hear upstairs and opened her mouth to scream, but he quickly clamped a sweaty hand over her face and pulled her towards the bed. Resisting with all her might, her feet caught in the legs of the chair. It toppled over and crashed onto the coffee table. This made some noise, but not much.
âI knocked but you didn't â¦' Mrs. Sandrelli stood in the doorway, surveying this scene of devastation. Both occupants of the room were breathing hard. Furio moved hastily away. Tenille was in complete disarray. Serafina sized up the situation immediately. Furio. He was the instigator. Tenille, although much older, was not the type to tease. No, this was her son's doing. She was ashamed of him and sorry for her.
In an icy voice she commanded: âFurio, leave us. I will speak to you later.' She looked at him coldly. âDo not leave the house or your father will hear of this too,' she added emphatically.
He said nothing, looking neither to right nor left as he sidled out.
Serafina wanted to give Tenille time to collect herself. She started by talking about the dress. One query â cutting on the bias? While she was talking Tenille set the apartment to rights then invited her visitor to sit. She herself sat at the little breakfast table.
âAre you feeling all right?'
Her response was subdued, voice flat. âYes. I'm all right.'
âTenille, I know this is inexcusable,' her own voice was tight with strain, her posture rigid where she sat. âI make sure this does not happen again.' There was no doubt as to the veracity of this statement. Although relieved at the older woman's understanding, she could only stammer out her thanks. Serafina didn't continue, rising from her seat and telling her to rest.
Too distraught to stay in the room, she needed to see Devon. She had wanted them to be together this evening, perhaps even now, she would be home. Luck was with her. Devon was surprised. âDid dinner get cancelled?' It was just after nine.
âNo, it's ⦠Listen, can I see you?'
This time Devon was astonished. She thought: “
This late?”
but said only: âJustin's coming round, but yes. I'd offer to pick you up, but I'm not sure of his timing. What's wrong Tenille?' She had heard the note of hysteria in the other woman's voice and knew it must be something serious.
âI can't talk now. I'll see you.' She raced back for her things and threw her purse over her shoulder as she pushed her feet into her boots. In her haste the very air was stolen from her lungs; she couldn't get away fast enough.
Outside, flurries of crystalline snow had been failing heavily from a wide night sky and a thick coating of soft flakes covered the sidewalks, slowing her progress. The sound of evening traffic had been dulled and in the pools of light, thrown by street lamps, the snow seemed to be twinkling back at her. Normally, she would revel in the freshness of a night like this, but now she could only think of one thing; getting to Devon's as fast as possible. Her drumming heartbeat began to slow as she thought how Devon would be her saviour and support.
St. Clair, being only a short distance from Spadina didn't take long by subway, but her impatience was mounting as she changed platforms from the Bloor to the Yonge line. At St. Clair she didn't wait for the escalator, running up and skipping out through the revolving doors, almost bumping into a pedestrian who, like her, had his head down against the driving snow. Brief apologies exchanged, she rushed across at the lights to the apartment block.
Devon responded immediately to the buzzer, letting her into the lobby where she took the elevator up to the sixth floor. The door stood open. Justin had not arrived.
âI won't stay long, Devon, I just needed to see you for a little while.'
âCome in. Give me your wet things. Here, I'll take them through to the cloak room.' She quickly returned to her side.
âLet me get you a drink. You look as though you need one. Come, sit,' indicating the big chesterfield. Tenille sank into its downy cushions gratefully, as Devon poured the drinks. She didn't ask what she wanted just handing over a Cointreau on the rocks.
âThere, get that down you.' She parked herself next to her, the cushions rising and sinking as they adjusted to her weight, making Tenille's body respond and adjust in turn. She took a long gulp from her glass then set it down.
Devon turned to her and put her arm round her shoulder. She shuddered at the contact.
âNow, tell me what this is all about.' Free at last to unburden herself, she let her head fall onto Devon's shoulder. The tears started in her eyes and began to spill over as she told of her ordeal. Now Devon put both arms around the agitated woman, as she gasped out her story between sobs. She stroked her cheek and made soothing noises. Eventually the shoulders stopped heaving, but the dark eyes were still troubled.
âI feel so humiliated ⦠and his mother had to walk in on us.'
âThank goodness she did. You could have finished up in a much worse state. Right now you're really only suffering from shock,' she declared.
âIt's not just this.' She turned away from her friend and took another sip of her drink. She looked back with her big, round eyes, still shaky inside and went on to tell about the similar encounter when she had been baby-sitting. Devon heard her out.
âListen Tenille. You are a beautiful woman. It's no wonder men find you attractive. Look at it as the price you have to pay.' She couldn't believe her ears. She hadn't expected this from Devon. She had wanted her to be outraged on her behalf.
âBut Devon, I hate all this attention. I don't want it,' she responded vehemently, then looked down at her hands, knotting and twisting in her lap.
Very softly Devon asked: âWhat do you want?' Her head was tilted close to hers, she could hear the words against her ear. Keeping all her muscles very still, she whispered, as quietly as Devon: âYou.' She didn't turn, made no move; kept herself contained.
A satisfied smile played about Devon's mouth. She leaned back, stretching out her long slim legs, then leaned forward for her glass.
âTenille, you're in an disturbed state which has made you confused and â¦'
âNo. I'm not confused,' she broke in desperately, turning this time to look at her friend. âIt's true. Don't tell me I don't know how I feel.' Her voice had risen to an impassioned pitch. All the emotion she had kept tightly bottled came tumbling out. âI love being with you. I want to be with you all the time. You fill my every waking and sleeping thought â¦' Short of breath, she stopped abruptly. She had said too much; had ruined everything.
Devon opened her mouth to reply just as they heard the intercom. Instead of saying what she had planned, she came out with: âBloody hell. That must be Justin. Sorry Tenille.' She got up and buzzed him in.
Tenille's mortification was complete. To have confessed so much, then have a stranger burst in on them ⦠. She wanted to leave this very minute. Instead, she drained her drink, hoping for Dutch courage.