Later, Devon suggested she visit with her. They could relax; listen to music. This was a welcome invitation, allowing them to be alone again.
As soon as the door closed, Tenille wanted to embrace, to experience a physical reaffirmation of their feelings for each other. However, this was not the case with Devon. She kept the exchange brief, almost perfunctory. She was forced to curb her natural warmth. Devon, chatting on about Manuel and the new dance, gave her time to realize she shouldn't be so immature, must wait for her cues.
With drinks came the music. Devon was ardent about this, but not about Tenille, who wanted them to be touching, holding hands. Perhaps she would reach out for her? But it didn't happen. Observing Devon closely, she came to understand she was not interested in demonstrations of affection. When she wanted sexual release she was physical; otherwise cuddles were not part of her disposition. She did receive a little kiss on the tip of her nose when she went to refill their glasses, just as the phone rang. Hearing her side of the conversation, she pieced together it was a call from Justin and expected Devon to say she was busy, but instead, heard her telling him to come on over. They were just listening to music. When she hung up, the words flew from her mouth before she could bite them back.
âWhy did you tell him it was okay tonight?'
âWhy not?'
With that reply, a window opened. If she could ask this question, then she didn't feel for her as she did. What they had experienced did not mean the same. She would have to keep her own counsel on this.
âI haven't seen him for a while ⦠he's in the neighborhood.' She saw nothing amiss.
Justin's presence changed everything. He embraced and kissed Devon.
He was looking very suave; the man about town in drill pants and casual leather jacket. He slipped off his rubber protectors to reveal highly polished, tooled leather loafers. Lavishly complimenting Devon, he presented her with an expensive bottle of wine. Tenille looked on in silence, noting how Devon expanded as she responded to the attention. It was as if she were not here.
“She feeds on adulation,”
she divined.
“That's what she wants all the time and probably doesn't care where it comes from.”
She was learning fast. In a world of sensual indulgence what appears as prohibited, or unobtainable is desired; once tasted its charm wanes, may even be tarnished. She would have to keep her feelings hidden. If she let them show, Devon could lose interest altogether. Unbearable thought. In this sophisticates club, it was jejune to express personal feelings, let alone act on them. The temptation of forbidden fruit; the tease, that was the turn on.
Tenille's eyes narrowed and darkened as she tried to still an inner bitterness. It was dreadful torment to see Devon like this, with someone else. Jealousy burned through her like a fever. The pain was a blade in her heart, piercing to the core.
In truth, it was more the shock of her realizations, than what she witnessed, that hurt. These thoughts, searing her mind, filled her with unbearable wretchedness. Despite making a conscious effort to be agreeable, her shoulders tightened. At the back of her mind, new thoughts whirled. She didn't subject Devon to exchanges like this. There was no one else in her life. A private picture of Marissa flashed before her. Marissa's glinty eye, her bitter, hard voice, echoing through her head as she had confronted her in that small change room. Had she been feeling something of this anguish? Her mind raced. She had observed the two of them talking. Had she imagined things, then suddenly flared up, showing hostility and anger?
Tenille was confused; her feelings all mixed up again. Where did this leave her? She didn't know and couldn't figure it out. She needed to be alone in her own space. Definitely not here ⦠the spare part.
Three's a crowd.
Had she put too much store by their intimacies? Although the lovemaking was not an overwhelmingly glorious experience, she did have deep feelings for Devon which went beyond the physical. Wouldn't that be more important? On further reflection, perhaps she shouldn't be feeling like this over her at all? Perhaps, between women it was only a sexual release because a man was not available? Or even, nothing more than something for the jaded palate?
She looked again at Devon so slim, so beautiful, her emerald eyes shining up at Justin from under seductive lashes; smoking with casual elegance, her laughter tinkling between breaths. When she had let him in, she had chosen the easy chair. Now he was perched on its arm and it was she, who sat alone on the chesterfield.
âI must go, I have a fair bit to do before work tomorrow.' She jumped up. Devon looked surprised.
âI thought you would be staying here tonight.' A tiny smile twitched her mouth, full of meaning and amusement. âThere's lots of time.' A sharp stab of memory caused a rising tide of color to stain Tenille's cheeks and she averted her eyes in confusion. Such thoughts in front of Justin embarrassed her.
âOh, no ⦠no,' she stammered. âI'm expected back tonight.'
Devon turned to Justin and explained, mockingly: âShe has to answer to her landlady for her movements and she's such a goodie, goodie.' She made him join in the laughter at her expense. âRun along then, we'll just have to manage without you.'
Devon could be cruel, she was learning, when she wasn't getting her own way. At least she knew her departure was not immaterial to her. She wasn't as disinterested as she pretended.
Devon regretted saying such words. She had looked into those huge, misty eyes and seen the hurt. She got up too, and offered to drive her home. Too late, she realized the damage had been done.
Tenille's face was stonily impassive. In a level, icily controlled voice she declined the offer: It was only a short walk to St. Clair subway. She could manage fine. She looked at Justin in farewell, the smile on her lips stiff. Devon had to let her go.
Mrs. Sandrelli, bearing a message from her mother, welcomed her home.
âMom. Is something wrong?' her eyes widened in alarm.
âI don't think so. Give her a call tomorrow.'
Not totally relieved, she'd have to keep the lid on her worry 'til then, but Doris didn't usually call.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Heart pounding a little, she phoned Lindsay. She would be all right once she knew what this was about.
The initial exchanges put her mind at rest. There'd been no accident and nothing she'd done.
âTennie. Dad wondered if you could get us seats the night of the show when you're dancing? We'd like to see you. We can stay at Carmel's.'
âOh Mom, it's a special performance for the Shriners' Convention. You would have to be a member. Her voice was sympathetic; she didn't like to refuse her mother's request. âAnyway, I don't know if I'm in it yet.'
âAlex thought it was pretty much a certainty. You did tell us that, didn't you?'
âWell, only according to Devon,' she clarified honestly. âBelen has to make the final decision.'
âOkay then. Well, is there any other time we can see you? Dad's real keen,' Doris persisted. She wanted an excuse to visit, but she didn't want to look obvious.
âPerhaps in Caravan week?'
âBut that's not 'til June,' she expostulated.
âI know, Mom. Listen, I really appreciate your interest, but there it is. Thanks for wanting to see me. I'm sure there'll be a time when you can.'
Doris had to settle for this. She talked on a little longer, checking that everything was going well for her daughter, then they signed off.
Tenille had the final dress fitting tonight. Mrs. Sandrelli had done a wonderful job. She couldn't be more delighted. Serafina looked pleased. It had been a challenge and she had pulled it off. Tenille knew how fortunate she'd been in the cost of the dress too. Something as well made and spectacular as this would have been far beyond her reach.
She practised at home Tuesday, wanting to avoid any confrontation with Marissa. Waiting until Thursday also gave her more time to cool off. She wouldn't be missing out on too much. There was Wednesday with Devon. She tried âphoning, but there was no answer.
When Devon saw her at the studio, she was extra nice, trying to make up for Sunday; knowing she had wounded her feelings. Tenille, for her part, wanted to ask if Justin had stayed over, but she couldn't, having no claim over her. Had she been with him yesterday? But she couldn't ask that either. This must be the difference when two women get involved. The commitment was more casual and, of course, secondary to any relationship she would have with a man. She must get used to being in second place. But Devon was in first place with her.
âAny decisions made?' Tenille enquired, asking about the show.
âBelen will make the announcement tomorrow.'
âI know, but you have talked to her,' she persisted.
âShe didn't tell me anything, only asked my opinion. Don't worry, Honeycakes, you know I told you, you are good.' She gave her her special look from under curling lashes: âVery Good.' Despite herself, Tenille's heart fluttered at the implication.
âLet's go over the show dances.' Devon was back on track. Raoul may drop by later so we'll look at the Segurillas, too.' Devon's voice brightened with expectation. âTenille, if you can do well with this one and get in with Los Flamencos, it will be fantastic.'
âThe prospect is so exciting,' Tenille enthused: âBut I have to do the Shriner's show first,' she cautioned.
âYou are worrying for nothing.'
Halfway through the session, Raoul did turn up. He very much wanted to get on closer terms with this new interest and figured he could do it through dance.
Tenille lifted her bar a notch when Raoul was there. She put her Devon worries, as she thought of them, to one side and entered wholeheartedly into the new
zapateado,
finding it therapeutic for her harried mind.
During one of the breaks, Raoul suggested she could learn with Los Flamencos each Sunday afternoon. âYou can still take classes from Belen,' he pointed out. âOur sessions are not as expensive as hers since we only aim to cover room hire.'
She was flattered by his interest and the suggestion.
Devon was amused, watching this exchange with a derisive smile on her face. She knew how Raoul felt about Tenille and was pretty confident he'd never get anywhere with her. Meanwhile she could milk him for all his expertise. She would be able to go far with what he had in his brain. As for what he had in his pants ⦠well, despite the fact Tenille had been married, she suspected that was a lost cause. Such an intense creature. For herself, a good screw was a good screw and it didn't matter where it came from. Yes ⦠she could have the best of both worlds and until something new came along, Tenille suited very nicely.
With mocking eyes she continued her observation. Tenille was a willing learner in the making of love the way
she
liked it. In fact, Tenille was willing to do whatever was asked. A bit like a puppy, she laughed to herself, not unkindly. In retrospect this was surprising. She seemed to have had a limited, rather conformist upbringing. Not what you would call your
liberated yuppie
, she pondered. Yet, inside that perfect body there was a sexually sensuous female who could fire up anyone. With narrowed eyes she looked across at Raoul's handsome face, his taut, lean body so different from Tenille's. There was an animal magnetism all the same. He had been fun too, but now he was pursuing Tenille. He wouldn't be looking in her direction for a while.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
The atmosphere was highly charged that evening at the studio. So much excitement. Not only over the dress rehearsal, but also at the prospect of Belen's announcement. The hubbub rose to deafening levels at times until Devon told them to cool it. Compliments flew and giggles increased. Some individuals were more silent than usual, others would break into nervous titters with little provocation. Tenille became one of the quiet ones, constantly looking across at Devon, but she was too occupied organizing everyone.
She wanted to smile at Marissa, but she averted her gaze if ever their eyes met. Help was given with flowers in the hair; some wore it on top; others preferred it at the nape of the neck. Tenille wore hers low down, her hair pulled back into a heavy bun. They all looked suitably Spanish; this unusual appearance providing an excuse for self-conscious parading.
At last Belen clapped her hands and they lined up, the silence after busy chatter lending even more drama to the moment. She checked them out, adjusting a shawl here, a brooch there. She had them dance Verdiales with the men. Choreographed as a chorus number, the formation of the colors of the dresses with the young men's black and white, became most important. Next the partner dance, Fandango de Huelva. She coupled Tenille with Roxanne and this time Marissa danced with Ingrid. Tenille had to admit the red and orange of their dresses did go well together. Dancing with Roxanne, they were turquoise and midnight blue. The finale was the Caracoles. Belen scrutinized attentively; then it was over. She thanked everyone for bringing their costumes. They were to change and on their return she would announce the selection.
The change room seemed even smaller, frothy dresses taking up so much space on their hangers, although the process of getting back into regular dance clothes went faster. People scurried into the studio as quickly as possible, water bottles to hand.
Belen began by saying how much she liked all their outfits and that they would create eye-catching tableaux. She went on to explain that not all of them could be in the show. âIf I had my way, I would like everybody to take part,' she looked at the intent faces before her, drinking in her words. âBut this cannot be for several reasons which I won't go into now.' She continued by giving an outline of how selection of the participants was arrived at, looking at several criteria which she had found to be very important. She ticked them off on her fingers.