Outing of the Heart (25 page)
Read Outing of the Heart Online
Authors: Lisa Ann Harper
â#1. Degree of confidence shown in each of the dances. If you are sure of one, but uncertain in the other two, this would lessen the chance of selection.
#2. The right look for the night. This includes your dancing style as well as appearance.
#3. Stage and performance experience. This is major and we weight it quite heavily. We're being well paid for this show so the risk of stage nerves is an important factor.'
Lastly, Belen explained that for those not selected, the effort they had put in was not wasted. These dances would be called into service for future shows and they would need their costumes for other stage work. This preamble completed, she read out first the dance then the names. The room was hushed with silent expectation. They all appreciated her attempt to let them down gently, but they hoped against hope, their personal labor to achieve this objective would receive its just reward.
As expected, most of the experienced dancers were selected, however, none of the new recruits were. Tenille was dumbfounded. She looked at Devon, but she would not look in her direction. Her disappointment was agonizing. Another blow to be notched up to life's experience. She had received it
full force
and it had winded her. Had her craving been too desperate?
The people selected took their places to run through the numbers. The others remained seated on the floor, ranged along the wall and watched. Her head was spinning. What had gone wrong? True, she had joined the class late; the others had more experience, but she had worked so hard. Everyone had seemed so pleased.
Marissa partnered Daphne. She hated to admit it, but they did go well together. However, Marissa didn't look happy, a tension was evident about her mouth.
Tenille's thoughts reverted to Belen's list. She had put in so much extra time. She hadn't even been chosen for the Caracoles. But then, they'd picked the ones who were good at all three numbers. This provided enough people to fill the stage with color and action. Her beautiful dress. The white flower and floral shawl. All Mrs. Sandrelli's work. How could she tell her? She was fast developing a new awareness. Life in the big city.
“You can't stay a small town product for ever,”
she concluded accurately.
How much would this exclusion set her back, in her bid to join Los Flamencos? They had expected her to come out with stage experience. The next event wasn't 'til Toronto Caravan and by then they could have lost interest. There were others they could choose. It was a very long sigh that escaped her heaving chest; lost before she had even begun. Her shoulders sagged. So much for dreams.
Devon came and sat next to her on the floor while the others were going through their paces. She could see in her eyes, although shaded by her thick lashes, how upset she was. She, above all, knew how much dedication had gone into this. She felt so sorry.
At the end of the class she invited Tenille back to the apartment. She wanted to go, but was reluctant. However, looking into Devon's concerned face and the sympathy in her eyes, it was hard for her to recapture the bitterness of before. She agreed, but would not stay late.
âI understand.' There was no sign of a patronizing attitude.
In the change room, commiseration abounded for the unfortunate. She wished they'd just drop it. Marissa didn't come anywhere near her and she found this behavior unexpected. Something wasn't right, especially when she was one of the chosen.
Marissa watched them leave together, but her face gave nothing away. Their goodbyes behind them, it was a hasty dash to the subway. The cold bit in and checking the sky, they saw the moon was ringed, presaging a break in the weather. However, the sky was clear, even the stars seemed closer, glittering brightly between the angular branches of the trees which reached up to them. Only a short walk, before they plunged underground.
At the apartment Devon was all she could wish for; attentive, almost to the point of âmothering'. She ordered-in from her favorite Chinese delivery, this time without asking. They sipped red wine while they waited, sitting close on the chesterfield. Eventually, she had to ask what had happened. Devon was unwilling to get into it, but Tenille urged her on, saying she felt worse not knowing.
âAll right, I'll tell you. The veto came from Marissa.'
Tenille's dark eyes opened wide, as her face registered her shock.
âMarissa. But why? She's my friend?'
Devon took a deep draught from her glass. I can only speculate as to why, but I can tell you she told Belen she felt you were not ready; that you still relied too heavily on her in the partner dances.
Eyes round in disbelief. âThat's not true,' she blurted. âI know those sequences.'
âShe also told her the extra time you'd have to get ready for Toronto Caravan, would all work in your favor, building confidence and polish. Belen listened to this and agreed.' Devon turned anxiously towards her, twisting her body where she sat. âI tried to persuade her otherwise, honestly, but it didn't work because Belen didn't see any hurry either. She felt the three more months would be better for you.' Putting down her glass, she took her in her arms, caressing and soothing; helping to take away the hurt.
Tenille breathed into her shoulder, âLos Flamencos is lost to me now.' There was a catch in her voice as she tried to get the words out through a tight and swollen throat. Her suspicions began to crystallize. She knew why Marissa had acted so strangely toward her. A guilty conscience. Deliberately spreading about falsehoods and they had taken Belen in. Well, that explained tonight's behavior, but there was still the unanswered question of why.
Devon lit a cigarette and took a moment to savor it. âYou are wrong about the group. Raoul wants you with us. I told you, he really likes you and, if you play your cards right, you could have him eating out of your hand.' She gave a twisted smile as she flicked ash in the direction of the crystal tray. âTo put it crudely, he's got the hots for you, so he's keen to see as much of you as possible. Keep working,' she advised, âand you'll be in there.' Having delivered herself of this counsel, she stubbed out the cigarette and left her to attend to the food.
Tenille reached for her glass and sipped, pensively. She was reeling from an overload of information, but then she got up and went to the kitchen. Leaning against the doorjamb she asked: âWhy would Marissa do that, though?' Then she reiterated: âShe's my friend.'
Devon put down the sweet and sour pork container and turned to her resignedly. âMarissa, my Sweet, is a Lesbian. She has seen you and me together and she's jealous.' She watched the look of incredulity develop on Tenille's amazed face as her jaw dropped.
âYes. In plain speaking again, her nose is out of joint because you prefer me to her. She was able to get her revenge by blocking your wish to be part of the show ⦠and there you have it.' She turned to the counter. âNow, I want you to eat this. Worrying on an empty stomach does no one any good.' Turning back, she handed her a selection. Dutifully, Tenille took it to the table and there waited for Devon to join her, staring at her plate, but seeing only Marissa's strained, pale countenance as she had watched them leave. So ⦠Marissa did know the same heartache. Now it was clear why she was always looking at her; always wanting her company. Poor Marissa and she had thought it was just a case of loneliness. She really did have a lot to learn.
After the meal, Devon put on some music. Close together she caressed Tenille, then moved on to a few tentative kisses. This was just how she liked it. She could feel herself responding, but then Devon became more physically insistent. She began whispering in her ear as she pushed her back against the downy cushions. Tenille wanted to check her watch. She knew it was late, but she could feel her resistance weakening. Having decided sexual involvement wasn't for her, now her body was telling her something different. She was never so changeable before.
Devon became more ardent, but this time mindful of Tenille's hesitation. âDon't say no, Ten. It's what we both want. I know you feel as I do.' She began to remove Tenille's wool pants, then slipped off her own skirt. Now just their tops remained, but she didn't bother with them. Instead, she slid her hand into Tenille's panties from the crotch and before she knew what was going on, she had her thumb into her vagina and was begging her to touch her too. She did, but she was anxious not to cause pain, the position being so awkward. She felt fumbly and gauche, preferring to be stretched out on the bed, but Devon seemed to have a thing about the living room. She was so wet and she did like feeling her like this ⦠all soft and hot.
Devon began to rock her pelvis at a fast pace, to move her hand correspondingly so, inside Tenille. Soon both hand and body movements became frenzied and abandoned, until she let out a high groan and stopped, collapsing in a heap by Tenille's side. She felt pinioned against the back of the seat, but if she tried to move Devon could be toppled to the floor. She stroked her damp hair and whispered that it was getting late and she must go. She roused herself and said: âOf course Pet, I'll run you home.'
They replaced their lower garments and once dressed, Devon kissed her again and told her how much she aroused her and what good climaxes she had with her. She inquired of Tenille regarding hers.
âOh yes,' she lied, then quickly added: âI'm so glad it was good for you too.' This seemed to satisfy her and after cleaning up, they left the apartment arm in arm.
Driving over to #226, Tenille returned to the topic of Marissa. âHow do you know she's a ⦠L ⦠Lesbian?' She stumbled over the word, it feeling uncomfortable and odd on her tongue, especially saying it out loud.
âOh, you can tell,' Devon declared airily. âI've known for some time.' She turned her attention to negotiating around a salt truck. She hated the Merc. to get sprayed by one of those.
âYou ⦠you're not ⦠not one of them are you, Dev?' She could feel her cheeks growing hot with the asking of such a personal question.
Devon threw back her head and laughed out loud. âGolly Miss Molly. Not me. This little lady likes men. With me, it's just I like sex with women too, but there's no way I'm a dyke.'
âA dyke?'
âYeah,' pulling a face which expressed distaste. âOne of those butch numbers, stomping all over the place in heavy boots and throwing her weight around; with hairy legs and no doubt hairy arm pits, too.'
Tenille laughed. She wasn't like that either. What a relief. Outside the house, Devon suggested they go to the rehearsal rooms together.
âHow about I pick you up about half past one?'
âOkay, that's fine.' As she turned to leave, she knew a quick peck was all that was required in the way of a goodbye. The physical side of their relationship ended with the climax, after that it was like they were just good friends.
âSee you Sunday,' she called out after she'd alighted.
Devon responded with a: â
Ciao Bambina
,' as she pulled away, looking happy.
“Much better than last time,”
Tenille thought to herself. She was really too tired to shower, after so much had happened to her, but she couldn't go to bed in the state she was in. A refreshing glass of ice-cold mineral water was also needed. Would there be one left?
She took the glass through to the bathroom and started the process. When the water was right she stepped into the tub. Her head felt too itchy, so she washed her hair too. Once in her PJ's, she slipped between the sheets and, with a towel over her shoulders began to dry her hair. Bed was the warmest place in her room this time of night. Letting her mind wander over the evening's events, her deliberations brought her once more to the contemplation of Devon. She puzzled her. She knew she did want to be physical, but somehow not like this.
“Is this what lovemaking with a woman is all about?”
What they did together was just how it was with a man except a woman used her hand. Why had she thought it would be different? She had expected she would feel more for someone like Devon. Now the rose-colored glasses were off. During lovemaking, she experienced that same non-involved, almost detached feeling she had had with Jerred
A tangled knot brought her from her brown study to the snag, which had caught at her fingers. As she dealt with it her mind drifted back. A heart-sinking fear clawed at her insides. Was this to be her lot in life as far as physical intimacy went? She just wasn't cut out to be one of those sensual women, transported to transcendent heights of pleasure by eroticism. Shaking her head vigorously, she laughed at her florid images. Shades of the French novella. So far in all her thirty years, she'd not experienced much
ârapturous transportation'
. She masturbated, but then she came so quickly â yes, intense, but she'd always thought there would be more to the act of lovemaking than that ⦠when you were with someone you cared for deeply.
The thoughts were startling to her, as she felt a burgeoning hollow ache inside. Perhaps that was her problem with Devon? She cared too much on the emotional level? No, that couldn't be right. She did respond to her physically when they were close, especially when they kissed, she had this wonderful effect on her, it was just ⦠âOh dear, it's all too much; I'm too tired,' she murmured to herself, setting the dryer on the night table and removing the towel.
“I'll try to work it out another time,”
she promised sleepily. These thoughts had boiled like a twister inside, leaving her feeling vulnerable and confused. She couldn't think clearly and anyway, nothing would be resolved now.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Tenille's days dragged tediously 'til Sunday. Mrs. Sandrelli had been very sweet over her disappointment; had tried to make her feel better, telling her her time would come.
“Yes, when I'm old and grey,”
she had thought ungraciously, but she knew she was only trying to help. Devon honked and, like Pavlov's dog, she shot out the door.
#2. The right look for the night. This includes your dancing style as well as appearance.
#3. Stage and performance experience. This is major and we weight it quite heavily. We're being well paid for this show so the risk of stage nerves is an important factor.'
Lastly, Belen explained that for those not selected, the effort they had put in was not wasted. These dances would be called into service for future shows and they would need their costumes for other stage work. This preamble completed, she read out first the dance then the names. The room was hushed with silent expectation. They all appreciated her attempt to let them down gently, but they hoped against hope, their personal labor to achieve this objective would receive its just reward.
As expected, most of the experienced dancers were selected, however, none of the new recruits were. Tenille was dumbfounded. She looked at Devon, but she would not look in her direction. Her disappointment was agonizing. Another blow to be notched up to life's experience. She had received it
full force
and it had winded her. Had her craving been too desperate?
The people selected took their places to run through the numbers. The others remained seated on the floor, ranged along the wall and watched. Her head was spinning. What had gone wrong? True, she had joined the class late; the others had more experience, but she had worked so hard. Everyone had seemed so pleased.
Marissa partnered Daphne. She hated to admit it, but they did go well together. However, Marissa didn't look happy, a tension was evident about her mouth.
Tenille's thoughts reverted to Belen's list. She had put in so much extra time. She hadn't even been chosen for the Caracoles. But then, they'd picked the ones who were good at all three numbers. This provided enough people to fill the stage with color and action. Her beautiful dress. The white flower and floral shawl. All Mrs. Sandrelli's work. How could she tell her? She was fast developing a new awareness. Life in the big city.
“You can't stay a small town product for ever,”
she concluded accurately.
How much would this exclusion set her back, in her bid to join Los Flamencos? They had expected her to come out with stage experience. The next event wasn't 'til Toronto Caravan and by then they could have lost interest. There were others they could choose. It was a very long sigh that escaped her heaving chest; lost before she had even begun. Her shoulders sagged. So much for dreams.
Devon came and sat next to her on the floor while the others were going through their paces. She could see in her eyes, although shaded by her thick lashes, how upset she was. She, above all, knew how much dedication had gone into this. She felt so sorry.
At the end of the class she invited Tenille back to the apartment. She wanted to go, but was reluctant. However, looking into Devon's concerned face and the sympathy in her eyes, it was hard for her to recapture the bitterness of before. She agreed, but would not stay late.
âI understand.' There was no sign of a patronizing attitude.
In the change room, commiseration abounded for the unfortunate. She wished they'd just drop it. Marissa didn't come anywhere near her and she found this behavior unexpected. Something wasn't right, especially when she was one of the chosen.
Marissa watched them leave together, but her face gave nothing away. Their goodbyes behind them, it was a hasty dash to the subway. The cold bit in and checking the sky, they saw the moon was ringed, presaging a break in the weather. However, the sky was clear, even the stars seemed closer, glittering brightly between the angular branches of the trees which reached up to them. Only a short walk, before they plunged underground.
At the apartment Devon was all she could wish for; attentive, almost to the point of âmothering'. She ordered-in from her favorite Chinese delivery, this time without asking. They sipped red wine while they waited, sitting close on the chesterfield. Eventually, she had to ask what had happened. Devon was unwilling to get into it, but Tenille urged her on, saying she felt worse not knowing.
âAll right, I'll tell you. The veto came from Marissa.'
Tenille's dark eyes opened wide, as her face registered her shock.
âMarissa. But why? She's my friend?'
Devon took a deep draught from her glass. I can only speculate as to why, but I can tell you she told Belen she felt you were not ready; that you still relied too heavily on her in the partner dances.
Eyes round in disbelief. âThat's not true,' she blurted. âI know those sequences.'
âShe also told her the extra time you'd have to get ready for Toronto Caravan, would all work in your favor, building confidence and polish. Belen listened to this and agreed.' Devon turned anxiously towards her, twisting her body where she sat. âI tried to persuade her otherwise, honestly, but it didn't work because Belen didn't see any hurry either. She felt the three more months would be better for you.' Putting down her glass, she took her in her arms, caressing and soothing; helping to take away the hurt.
Tenille breathed into her shoulder, âLos Flamencos is lost to me now.' There was a catch in her voice as she tried to get the words out through a tight and swollen throat. Her suspicions began to crystallize. She knew why Marissa had acted so strangely toward her. A guilty conscience. Deliberately spreading about falsehoods and they had taken Belen in. Well, that explained tonight's behavior, but there was still the unanswered question of why.
Devon lit a cigarette and took a moment to savor it. âYou are wrong about the group. Raoul wants you with us. I told you, he really likes you and, if you play your cards right, you could have him eating out of your hand.' She gave a twisted smile as she flicked ash in the direction of the crystal tray. âTo put it crudely, he's got the hots for you, so he's keen to see as much of you as possible. Keep working,' she advised, âand you'll be in there.' Having delivered herself of this counsel, she stubbed out the cigarette and left her to attend to the food.
Tenille reached for her glass and sipped, pensively. She was reeling from an overload of information, but then she got up and went to the kitchen. Leaning against the doorjamb she asked: âWhy would Marissa do that, though?' Then she reiterated: âShe's my friend.'
Devon put down the sweet and sour pork container and turned to her resignedly. âMarissa, my Sweet, is a Lesbian. She has seen you and me together and she's jealous.' She watched the look of incredulity develop on Tenille's amazed face as her jaw dropped.
âYes. In plain speaking again, her nose is out of joint because you prefer me to her. She was able to get her revenge by blocking your wish to be part of the show ⦠and there you have it.' She turned to the counter. âNow, I want you to eat this. Worrying on an empty stomach does no one any good.' Turning back, she handed her a selection. Dutifully, Tenille took it to the table and there waited for Devon to join her, staring at her plate, but seeing only Marissa's strained, pale countenance as she had watched them leave. So ⦠Marissa did know the same heartache. Now it was clear why she was always looking at her; always wanting her company. Poor Marissa and she had thought it was just a case of loneliness. She really did have a lot to learn.
After the meal, Devon put on some music. Close together she caressed Tenille, then moved on to a few tentative kisses. This was just how she liked it. She could feel herself responding, but then Devon became more physically insistent. She began whispering in her ear as she pushed her back against the downy cushions. Tenille wanted to check her watch. She knew it was late, but she could feel her resistance weakening. Having decided sexual involvement wasn't for her, now her body was telling her something different. She was never so changeable before.
Devon became more ardent, but this time mindful of Tenille's hesitation. âDon't say no, Ten. It's what we both want. I know you feel as I do.' She began to remove Tenille's wool pants, then slipped off her own skirt. Now just their tops remained, but she didn't bother with them. Instead, she slid her hand into Tenille's panties from the crotch and before she knew what was going on, she had her thumb into her vagina and was begging her to touch her too. She did, but she was anxious not to cause pain, the position being so awkward. She felt fumbly and gauche, preferring to be stretched out on the bed, but Devon seemed to have a thing about the living room. She was so wet and she did like feeling her like this ⦠all soft and hot.
Devon began to rock her pelvis at a fast pace, to move her hand correspondingly so, inside Tenille. Soon both hand and body movements became frenzied and abandoned, until she let out a high groan and stopped, collapsing in a heap by Tenille's side. She felt pinioned against the back of the seat, but if she tried to move Devon could be toppled to the floor. She stroked her damp hair and whispered that it was getting late and she must go. She roused herself and said: âOf course Pet, I'll run you home.'
They replaced their lower garments and once dressed, Devon kissed her again and told her how much she aroused her and what good climaxes she had with her. She inquired of Tenille regarding hers.
âOh yes,' she lied, then quickly added: âI'm so glad it was good for you too.' This seemed to satisfy her and after cleaning up, they left the apartment arm in arm.
Driving over to #226, Tenille returned to the topic of Marissa. âHow do you know she's a ⦠L ⦠Lesbian?' She stumbled over the word, it feeling uncomfortable and odd on her tongue, especially saying it out loud.
âOh, you can tell,' Devon declared airily. âI've known for some time.' She turned her attention to negotiating around a salt truck. She hated the Merc. to get sprayed by one of those.
âYou ⦠you're not ⦠not one of them are you, Dev?' She could feel her cheeks growing hot with the asking of such a personal question.
Devon threw back her head and laughed out loud. âGolly Miss Molly. Not me. This little lady likes men. With me, it's just I like sex with women too, but there's no way I'm a dyke.'
âA dyke?'
âYeah,' pulling a face which expressed distaste. âOne of those butch numbers, stomping all over the place in heavy boots and throwing her weight around; with hairy legs and no doubt hairy arm pits, too.'
Tenille laughed. She wasn't like that either. What a relief. Outside the house, Devon suggested they go to the rehearsal rooms together.
âHow about I pick you up about half past one?'
âOkay, that's fine.' As she turned to leave, she knew a quick peck was all that was required in the way of a goodbye. The physical side of their relationship ended with the climax, after that it was like they were just good friends.
âSee you Sunday,' she called out after she'd alighted.
Devon responded with a: â
Ciao Bambina
,' as she pulled away, looking happy.
“Much better than last time,”
Tenille thought to herself. She was really too tired to shower, after so much had happened to her, but she couldn't go to bed in the state she was in. A refreshing glass of ice-cold mineral water was also needed. Would there be one left?
She took the glass through to the bathroom and started the process. When the water was right she stepped into the tub. Her head felt too itchy, so she washed her hair too. Once in her PJ's, she slipped between the sheets and, with a towel over her shoulders began to dry her hair. Bed was the warmest place in her room this time of night. Letting her mind wander over the evening's events, her deliberations brought her once more to the contemplation of Devon. She puzzled her. She knew she did want to be physical, but somehow not like this.
“Is this what lovemaking with a woman is all about?”
What they did together was just how it was with a man except a woman used her hand. Why had she thought it would be different? She had expected she would feel more for someone like Devon. Now the rose-colored glasses were off. During lovemaking, she experienced that same non-involved, almost detached feeling she had had with Jerred
A tangled knot brought her from her brown study to the snag, which had caught at her fingers. As she dealt with it her mind drifted back. A heart-sinking fear clawed at her insides. Was this to be her lot in life as far as physical intimacy went? She just wasn't cut out to be one of those sensual women, transported to transcendent heights of pleasure by eroticism. Shaking her head vigorously, she laughed at her florid images. Shades of the French novella. So far in all her thirty years, she'd not experienced much
ârapturous transportation'
. She masturbated, but then she came so quickly â yes, intense, but she'd always thought there would be more to the act of lovemaking than that ⦠when you were with someone you cared for deeply.
The thoughts were startling to her, as she felt a burgeoning hollow ache inside. Perhaps that was her problem with Devon? She cared too much on the emotional level? No, that couldn't be right. She did respond to her physically when they were close, especially when they kissed, she had this wonderful effect on her, it was just ⦠âOh dear, it's all too much; I'm too tired,' she murmured to herself, setting the dryer on the night table and removing the towel.
“I'll try to work it out another time,”
she promised sleepily. These thoughts had boiled like a twister inside, leaving her feeling vulnerable and confused. She couldn't think clearly and anyway, nothing would be resolved now.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Tenille's days dragged tediously 'til Sunday. Mrs. Sandrelli had been very sweet over her disappointment; had tried to make her feel better, telling her her time would come.
“Yes, when I'm old and grey,”
she had thought ungraciously, but she knew she was only trying to help. Devon honked and, like Pavlov's dog, she shot out the door.
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