âThe show hasn't been going long,' he whispered. âAre you joining a party, Sir?'
âEr â¦r, no. No.' Taken aback by the âSir'.
The mistake embarrassed him too. Not knowing how to recover he said simply: âOh sorry. Follow me,' leading the way to a small table in a corner at the back. âWill this be all right for now?' He wanted to make amends. Sidonie nodded as she slipped onto the chair and placed her jacket on the other.
âWould you like a glass of wine?'
âNo thanks. An Old Vienna, please.'
âRight away, Madam.' He scootled off quick smart, as though stung.
The room was hazy with smoke and very dim. Only the small candles gave any light. She felt sorry for him. After all, he was probably just used to the straight scene ⦠and the poor light ⦠well?
The little stage, brilliantly illuminated, showed the singer by the guitarist's side and a man dancing in front of them. They all-wore short black bolero jackets and dashing Spanish hats. Seated off to one side, where she couldn't quite see, were the women. The colors of their dresses looked brazen in contrast.
“Black and white like me,”
she thought and smiled to herself over the waiter's error. Perhaps she should have left out the tie, but then an open necked shirt would be too casual.
She followed the movements of the male dancer. He was good. âAnd knows it,' she said to herself, sourly, taking an instant dislike. Just the type she couldn't stand.
“Too good looking by half and thinks he's God's gift to women. They just can't help themselves around him. Well, I'd sure open his eyes to that one. Tenille, I hope you're not sleeping with him.”
âYour beer, Madam.' The waiter jolted her out of her ruminations. She began to reach to her back pocket for her wallet. âSettle up after the show, Madam.'
âSure thing, thanks.'
His dance came to an end, the enthusiastic applause overwhelming.
“Was he that good?”
she wondered. Two women took centre stage, neither of them Tenille.
“Just beyond my sight, darn ⦠I'm stuck here.”
However, she watched the dancers with interest. The style was so different from the man's. She liked it. She preferred the slightly plumper one of the two. Although the slim one had graceful moves, her body was angular, producing a more frantic look. She couldn't wait to see Tenille and hoped she hadn't missed her.
The man took the stage again and Sidonie groaned. He made some statuesque passes while the guitarist played quietly, then as the singer broke into song he was joined on stage by Tenille. She curved herself around his body, weaving herself in and out, her arms and torso so fluid, so graceful, it took her breath away. When she danced she couldn't take her eyes off her. She seemed to be the music and the voice, the two within her body, finding expression as movement. The man began to dance with her. She reached up and tore off the hat, flinging it away in a dramatic sweep of her arm. She looked at the man with intense, unsmiling eyes; earthy and sultry; passion was spilling everywhere. The two danced, as if in a private world of their own erotic creation. Sidonie was rapt. Tenille was so gorgeous, full of fire and passion; she felt herself thrilling to an intoxicating excitement.
âMy God, but she is one hell of a beautiful woman,' she breathed.
“He must be banging her,”
the voice in her head told her.
“You have to stop dreaming, kiddo
.” She sighed, resigned to her loss. Wanting what you cannot have is a fool's game. As Tenille bent backwards over the man's arm, his face so close you could picture the kiss, the dance came to an end, as did the show.
Everyone came back onto the little stage to take their bow. Tenille made the most of this opportunity to check if Sidonie was out there, but with the lights in her eyes, she couldn't see beyond the faces in the front row. She shouldn't have gotten her hopes up in the first place. This was how she had been over Devon, hoping she'd phone and all that stuff. Anyone would think she was an adolescent schoolgirl, the way she kept mooning over people she liked. Was she liking her that much?
As they turned to leave, the stage was blacked out and the restaurant bathed in a soft red light. In the green room the women removed their dresses and relaxed in kimonos. Amaia changed to join her husband front side, but Tenille and Devon just took it easy, one with a cigarette, the other a mineral water.
âWell Ten, what do you think. Will you dance again?'
âYes, I feel the performance went well so I'm fine for the finale.'
âThe audience loved you.'
She looked across at her friend. âThanks Dev. I appreciate your encouragement, but I know I couldn't have done it without Raoul.' There was a knock at their door. Devon called out and the man himself appeared, casually swathed in his robe.
âTenille, my darling, you were magnificent.' He went forward and embraced her with enthusiasm. We know you are a natural born dancer, but you were inspired tonight. We will go far together. I see it all before us.' He was so effusive, it was hard not to be swept along in the torrent of his imaginings. But then, this was what she wanted too.
Devon was forced to experience envy. But for the fact that Raoul was talking about her dear friend, she could have felt quite put out. However, she knew Raoul needed her. She was not being replaced and was genuinely happy for her.
âTenille will dance Sevillanas with us in the finale, Raoul,' she informed him: âShe is pleased with herself too.'
âIs good. They should see you one more time, at least.' He smiled at them both. âGet ready now, we are on again soon.' He went out to leave them to change and quickly Amaia was back.
Sidonie had been offered a seat closer to the front, although still off to one side, but from this vantage point she would be able to see everybody all the time. Once again there was darkness and the audience welcomed the performers. She watched the guitarist and singer take their positions on the left. Curving around to the right, the four dancers took their seats, with Tenille next to Raoul and him on the end. The other women had changed into polka dot dresses, but she wore her dramatic turquoise, with the flash of red lining. Sidonie found her breathtaking. A flower adorned her hair, sitting at the nape of her neck, not on top like the other two; white against black hair, which she had pulled back and coiled beside it. Coming forward onto each cheek was a single, snake-like curl, reaching down in front of her ear. She looked truly Spanish.
The dancers were all leaning slightly forward, clapping their hands in time to the music.
“Well, not really in time to the music so much as against the music,”
she thought:
“Pretty complicated stuff; full of energy.”
She got a good look at each of the women. The slimmer one she reckoned could be trouble if you got on her wrong side. Now why did she think that? She was good looking, but in a hard way. Something about the superior manner she had? Even a little detached. Tenille in contrast, appeared eager and involved; unaware of her beauty, totally caught up in the singer, the song and the music.
For the last number, everyone danced. She enjoyed this one; fast, with easily assimilated rhythms. The castanets were exciting and they were having fun. Even the singer wove his way in and out, in the chorus.
She was spellbound by Tenille's sensuous dancing. Her body undulated to the music in a most captivating way. The sexiness of her came through in the simplest of gestures. Just throwing a look over her shoulder, with her dark eyes smouldering, or the swirl of her skirt as she twisted and turned, revealing a glimpse of thigh. Or was she biased? Finally the show was over. There were no encores, this being the resident troupe and the regulars would be back the following week.
The women changed into casual clothes. Tenille left her face and hair. She needed to wash out the gel, not just comb it and she would do her face at the same time.
âReady girls?' Devon asked them. âLet's go and have a well-earned drink.' She turned to Tenille. âLeave everything. It'll be safe and we can pack the dresses before we go.'
When they joined the men at their table, the lighting in the room promoted an atmosphere of the âtablas'. The kind of café-bar found in Granada or Toledo; the patrons engaged in animated conversation across the candlelit tables. Now Sidonie could see the red tablecloths and the white stucco walls with bull fight posters on them and liked the ambiance. She saw the male dancer Raoul of course, jump up and grab Tenille round the waist and heard him say: âCome, sit here. Let me buy you a drink.' He indicated the chair next to him and would not let go of her. She smiled back at him, pleasure written all over her face as she thanked him and said she would like a glass of Sangria.
âThe audience loved you. We sparked a feeling between us that ignited them too. People have been congratulating me on my new find. They want to meet you, but I said later. Right now I don't want them pestering you.' She saw him look into her eyes as he pressed his hand more firmly against her waist; the gesture possessive.
âDarling, have something more special than Sangria. I'll get you anything your heart desires. Just name it.'
Tenille was not happy with all this attention, but she knew it was Raoul's interest, which had brought her to this moment. It had felt great dancing and she'd grab as many opportunities as she could to do it again ⦠and again.
âCelebration time.' Stavros's voice rose above the hubbub. âLet's drink to Los Flamencos with more Sangria.' He turned and beckoning the waiter, ordered another large carafe. Everyone was in ebullient mood. Manuel leaned across the table. âI have never seen you dance better,
Bella Mia
.' Tenille laughed delightedly.
âYou guys will make my head swell, then no one will want to be with me.'
âNot true, my lovely. We will always want to be with you.' This from Raoul. Again she observed another squeeze. Tenille was glad when the wine arrived and everybody got involved with their glasses.
From her table, Sidonie noted this approbation with consternation. Even the blonde added her praise. Not sure she had what it would take to break into a group such as this, she braced her shoulders and got up.
âMay I add my congratulations to those of your friends?' She had stood behind Tenille and was now looking down into her upturned face.
The eyes lit up with pleasure at the sound of these words. âOh ⦠you came after all,' she breathed. âI didn't think you were here. I looked for you, but couldn't see past the lights.' Color rose as she heard her voice sounding emotive, embarrassing herself by her show of feeling in front of these people. Dropping her gaze, she hid behind the wineglass as she made to drink.
âYes, I got here just after you had started. But I watched both shows and thought them excellent.' At this point she let her eyes take in the people seated at the table, including them in her praise. âIt's the first time I've seen Spanish dancing up close. I found it very exciting.' Her eyes returned to Tenille.
The others at the table were looking at her with interest, especially Devon. She wondered where this girl had popped up from. She thought she knew all Tenille's friends and acquaintances. But this one was different. Very different.
Tenille remembered her manners. âLet me introduce you to Los Flamencos.' She went around the table naming everyone and finished with: âMy friend Sidonie Henderson.'
Raoul was feeling expansive. âGrab another chair Stavros for our young friend.' He turned to Sidonie. âWe were just about to celebrate Tenille's first show, with Sangria. Can I offer you a glass?'
âThank you,' although her beer was in her hand.
The extra chair arrived and Stavros placed it close to Tenille's. Another glass, another fill. General chatter resumed enabling Sidonie to speak quietly. Across the table Devon observed their exchange, not liking this intrusion.
âTenille, I didn't realize how much there is to Spanish dancing. You call it Flamenco? Truly, you were stunning. I loved watching you.'
Tenille, although pleased by her words, was confused as to how to respond.
âThat makes two of us who have been impressed by a stage performance today, doesn't it?' turning slightly in her chair, away from the others. âYou look very nice tonight. This is the first time I've seen you dressed ⦠I mean not in gym clothes,' she amended, hastily. âThe leather suits you.' She looked away in confusion and caught Devon's eyes on them. The expression was hostile, making her feel uneasy. Why should that be? She wasn't doing anything wrong. Still, she wished Devon would get herself involved in something else.
Sidonie took a sip of the wine which she hadn't expected to like, but its fruity sweetness, offset by the slice of lemon and the juice around the rim, was pleasant; refreshing on the tongue. She took another and began to relax.
âHow long did you say you've been dancing?'
âAlmost eight months now.'
âSo this is your first exposure to Flamenco?' she inquired, probing for more information about the fascinating woman.
At this juncture Raoul asked Tenille to dance with him; a few couples were already on the floor. Of course she had to acquiesce and Amaia and Stavros got up too. The number was a lively samba. People were doing whatever they pleased. Joining in half way it was soon over, so Raoul claimed her for the next, which turned out to be a slow, romantic number. He took her in his arms and pressing his body close to hers, proceeded to lead her expertly around the floor.
Sidonie had been watching the dancers, but seeing this upset her equilibrium. Averting her eyes, she turned back to the drink.
Devon, from across the table, observed the discomfort and was intrigued. Deciding to do a little prying, she picked up her glass and cigarettes and made her way over to the girl's side and plonked herself down in the vacated chair.