*Â Â *Â Â *
âHello?'
âTenille. It's me. Hello.'
Mrs. Sandrelli had left the message that someone had called yesterday, but they hadn't left their name. She had been on tenterhooks, anxiously wondering if Sidonie would be annoyed from yesterday, then fearing she may not even phone today. It was such a relief to hear her voice, feeling so unsure, it had been like tacking in unchartered waters with no idea of the shoals or possible hazards lying in wait. She would take her cue from her ⦠but she wasn't saying much at the moment.
âYes. How are you?'
âFine. I thought this might be a good time to give you a buzz.'
âYes.' She was beginning to feel nervous. Why was it when they talked it seemed to be so difficult? Nothing flowed. They would stop and start; speak at the same time.
“If we have this much trouble communicating
,
why do we bother?'
She could hear Sidonie breathing heavily at the other end then suddenly, exploded in her ear the words: âHave you eaten?'
âNo ⦠No I haven't. Not yet. I just got in from practise.'
âWell. Why don't I drop by your place and pick you up. We can go somewhere for a bite?'
âYes, cool. What time do you think you'll be over?'
âIt'll take me probably about forty-five minutes to reach you from here,' she surmised. âHow does that sound? Okay by you?'
She thought rapidly. A shower. And change into something more attractive. She would like to wash her hair too. She wanted to look better than just passable, but she'd not have enough time to make much of a transformation. âWowing' was what she had in mind, but she'd have to settle for average. She was carrying on as though this was a date.
âFine,' was her only response.
âSee you soon, then.'
Looking at the hand piece ⦠that was it? Well, she couldn't just stand there, she needed to get a move on and raced downstairs, hoping Mrs. Sandrelli wouldn't catch her and want to chat.
She ripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower. While soaping up, thoughts turned to what to wear. As her hands slid over her body she was aware of how excited she was, her skin so sensitive. Just the slightest touch. Sidonie wasn't even here, yet it was like she was the flowing water, the bubbling soap, smoothing her flesh and caressing her. She raised her arms to wash her hair and became aware of her breasts engorged, carrying the burden of her desire. She recalled thinking of Sidonie in the shower with her. This time she wouldn't be trying not to bump into her. This time their bodies would be melded together, the water flowing over them as though they were one.
âDo get on Ten,' she scolded. It was hurry, not daydream. Back to what to wear. She selected something very simple; she didn't know where they were going. A high necked, cap-sleeved, tight-fitting top in fine ribbing. The color was the palest mauve, teamed with soft lemon, drawstring, palazzo pants. The top accentuated her breasts, but the pants had a little matching bolero, long enough to cover the breasts, but short enough to show off a slim waist. She put it all together and checked in the mirror. Had she gained weight since she wore this outfit last summer? Her bosom looked larger than she remembered.
âBut ⦠rather nice.' She hoped Sidonie wouldn't think she was being forward. Low heeled cream sandals completed the picture. Okay next. She moved to the dressing table, put on her watch, checking how much time was left. While she styled her hair up using the beaded tie, just leaving a few curling strands to hang down in front of and behind her ears, her mind raced along its own track.
Going over Friday night she realized she had never actually accosted the fact of her sexual preference so squarely. When she had been seeing Devon, she had kept the relationship in a separate box, admitting only to strong feelings; Devon being a special person.
She squinted into the mirror.
“You have to stop fooling yourself Ten.”
As she moved on to make-up she reflected with candour, she was physically attracted to this girl. “
For the same reasons as Devon?”
No. Sidonie was nothing like Devon. She needed to consider ⦠could this attraction happen again ⦠with another woman?
Done. The effect she wanted for tonight should be relaxed/casual, although her insides were wound up tighter than those of a rubber ball. She looked at herself again. Should she change? The tight-fitting top really was that. Everyone was wearing them, but was it too revealing? Yes, she should.
The door bell. Mrs Sandrelli's answers. Her pulse began to race and her throat went tight. Her lips were so dry ⦠a quick application of cherry lipgloss. Mrs. Sandrelli's raised voice: âTenille. Someone at the door for you.' Mrs. Sandrelli's voice in the conversational tone. âStep inside. Wait. She be here soon.' She nodded to the girl, deciding she wasn't a dancing friend; didn't look the type. She wasn't sure what type she was, but she had outstanding eyes. She went back to her living room and closed the door. Sidonie was left feeling displaced
. “Like âcap in hand'”
she thought:
“Except I don't have a cap.”
She had not been told to go ahead to Tenille's quarters. âWho is this landlady anyway her keeper?' she grumbled under her breath.
Tenille appeared at the bottom of the short flight of stairs and looked a sensation. She gazed down on her, standing as one transfixed. The reality far outstripped her imaginings and the breath locked in her throat. Under Tenille's spell again, she just barely managed to croak out: âHello.' her whole body rocked by the intensity of its physical response to this woman. Those body-shaking feelings reawakened once more.
Tenille stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up. She loved what she saw as her eyes touched the girl everywhere. She had brushed her hair carefully, the sheen from its highlights giving her head a golden radiance, under the fluorescent whiteness in the hallway. The halo showed off the arresting delineation of her bone structure; well formed cheekbones, a square chin, softened by the small curve at the point. Her eyes were a startling blue tonight as she stood looking down, the fair eyebrows followed so perfectly the upward slant of her eyes.
The white cambric shirt, open at the throat, with its small collar lifted a little, reinforced the muscularity of her sturdy neck and the breadth of her robust shoulders. She had a golden tan extending over her chest, revealed by buttons left carelessly undone. Overall, she looked crisp and athletic, full of unspent energy. Yes, powerful too, yet gentle at the same time: a body capable of tackling any job: hands that could turn to any task. The face was vital, revealing a capacity for sympathy and generosity.
Well cut, forest green shorts could not hide the rugged build of her thighs, despite their bagginess. Her legs were made, not for distance, but to enhance the strength of her upper body. Tenille's gaze raked over her again. She had a flat, hard stomach which blended into the square bones of her pelvis. Her sturdiness accentuated her boyishness, which was overwhelming Tenille. She felt herself drawn toward this body through the faint cruelty of arousal.
Sidonie turned away to open the door as Tenille neared her. Standing well back to let her pass, still she was close enough to catch that seductive perfume. Earthy, musky and thrilling. She closed the door as she felt passion stir within her, causing her legs to move shakily, operated by an automaton. Tenille was smooth gracefulness in comparison.
âTurn left. I couldn't get a park closer,' her voice came out rough.
She fell into step with Tenille, on the outside of the sidewalk. They didn't speak, acutely aware of each other's presence. Small talk seemed impossible. Perhaps given time, they could begin to communicate, Tenille pondered, as they approached the familiar, blue auto.
âHere it is,' Sidonie said almost in relief, with a slight tremor. Now she would have something to occupy her, help her to some semblance of normality. She was feeling so hopeless in all of this. She unlocked the passenger door, but didn't wait to close it, instead walking round to her own side. Once in place, she realized she was still too aware of this woman next to her. She had to get moving before her clammy hands made it impossible to control the wheel.
âAny place special ⦠you like?' The words came out in guttural hesitation, as she kept her eyes ahead. âOr would you prefer somewhere ⦠for a drink?'
âNo. I don't know the city that well to pick a restaurant.' She had to look at Sidonie again. She didn't want to take her eyes off her, but she didn't want to be a gawk either. Attention returned to the passing traffic, but the heart was still frantic. âDo you have a favorite?' she managed.
Sidonie thought of some of the neat little eating houses in the gay ghetto, along Church Street. She and Karen used to go there sometimes, but decided they were too blatant. Her first thought of The Woman's Common was probably still the best.
âWell, you liked the atmosphere of the last place I took you to ⦠I think ⦠Didn't You? We didn't eat I know, but the food is pretty good.'
âYes. It was relaxing.' “
And how we need some place like that,”
she mused sardonically.
That decided, Sidonie felt easier. âIt's actually more than a restaurant. They sometimes have art and photography displays of women's work and a very lively notice board.'
That was it for their verbal exchange. From then on nothing more was said; no more words to be found to lubricate the contact between them. One concentrated on the road, the other admired the stylish windows of the exclusive stores along Bloor.
She picked the same table as before, but a different waitress took their orders. They started off with drinks. Tenille reckoned she could do with some Dutch courage and shot to the top with a Black Russian. Sidonie played it cool with a light OV.
They looked fair set for another silent evening, but Tenille didn't want a repeat performance. She determined to start them off by revealing that she had given Sunday a lot of thought and asked direct, had she?
Sidonie admitted she had, then clammed up. Here was the ideal moment, she could sense it, but she just didn't know how to frame the words. The smile was hesitant, just a little lift to the corners of the mouth, as she ran nervous fingers through her hair. Tenille smiled back. She too, looked tense.
What a pair they made, Sidonie thought. Resolving to accomplish something ⦠anything, she began falteringly: âTen ⦠Tenille?' her eyes pleaded for understanding as her heart thudded.
âYes?' eyes growing large and round with enquiry.
âYou understand what I was trying to say ⦠in the car ⦠on Sunday?' Her eyes, an intense indigo through her heightened emotion, flicked between the glass and Tenille's face, unable to rest.
She looked steadily back, her whole being concentrating on this girl as she smothered her own, urgent thoughts. âYes ⦠I think so. Do you understand what I was telling you?' her voice had a deep huskiness she had not heard before. Now she returned her gaze.
âWell, not exactly. I'm a bit confused ⦠or slow ⦠or something,' she finished lamely.
âSidonie, it's not hard ⦠but you are making it difficult.'
âHow's that?' The eyebrows arched upwards as the eyes levelled on her. âI'm not trying to.' She experienced a wrenching feeling. Her hold was slipping.
âWell, I told you I understand what you're telling me.' Her voice had an impatient edge, but the arrival of their orders gave her a chance to calm down. Unfortunately, neither of them felt like eating now. She played with the food then resumed, in a gentler tone.
âSidonie, why do you think we're here, together again, tonight?' Her eyes were gentle, too. âI wouldn't be here with you, like this, if I didn't want to be, would I?'
She put down her fork. âNo.'
âSo â where's your problem?' now sounding long suffering.
This was it. Her back against the wall and nowhere to run. In a ragged voice she said: âIt's just ⦠well, I know you like my company. What I don't know is how much you really like me.' Her tortured mind began groping for words. âThe person me â¦. What I am â¦. The way I am â¦' She stopped, unwilling to say more and looked down at her plate.
âSidonie. I like, âthe person you,' as you put it. Why do I have to say more? Isn't that enough?' Tenille was feeling anxious. âWhat more do you want?' There was something else in the blue centres of those eyes, which she couldn't fathom.
Meanwhile, Sidonie was churning inside, feeling disconnected. She wanted this woman to admit she was lesbian; wanted to melt her heart and hear her say: âI love you.' Facing up to it, she could see she was being unreasonable. Could deep emotion alone, ever hope to bridge such a chasm? Why couldn't she wait, let things unfold as they might? The voice inside supplied the answer
. “Because you're too damned demanding and bull-headed by half. That's why.”
âYou're right Tenille. You don't have to say anything more.' Her voice was constrained in the effort to hide her wounded heart. âI'm just happy you're here with me tonight. Try your sole before it gets cold.' She saw the relieved look on the face opposite, chase the strain-lines away and the shoulders visibly relaxed.
“Good. You've said the right thing for a change, Sid. Now don't screw up.”
She didn't feel like her steak, but made an effort.
They ate in silence for a while then Sidonie steered the conversation away from choppy waters by asking about Toronto Caravan. She thought she might get to it, otherwise she would see her dance again some Saturday.
On a calmer sea, Tenille told her about Raoul's plan to tour the States for two weeks. She wasn't sure when it was to be, but she was very excited at the prospect. She felt it an honor to be invited; to be considered good enough.