CHAPTER 4

It was impossible for Tenille to have her usual carefree manner at work. She felt strained, outside herself. The others couldn’t help but notice the listlessness. Beris asked if there was anything wrong, but she shook her head in denial.

It was the same the next day. She had been so sure Devon would call last night. She tried to practise, to distract herself, but her thoughts constantly drifted into negative speculation. What was the reason for this silence?

At class it was apparent Tenille was not concentrating. When the time came, she declined her friends’ offer to go out. Marissa was very disappointed, had hoped for a chance to be more exclusive with her, but it was obvious she was upset.

‘I think I need an early night,’ she explained by way of excuse. No call tonight then she would definitely ring. All day, images of Devon had been with her. She had viewed the situation from every angle. Now, when she felt she had finally clarified her feelings and had to admit she believed she did love her, Devon was like a phantasm. Pouffe. One minute a vibrant reality, the next a figment in a tormented memory. At last she had figured it out, only to have everything collapse in shreds and she was back on the edge of confusion. This woman was so special to her, exerted an unnameable power; like a Svengali. At this consideration she had to smile at herself. But despite such a flight of fancy, the force was irresistible. She just had to be with Devon. The days and nights disappeared, seeming to blend into one.

At home it was a hair wash night, with the radio for company. The words of Elton John’s SACRIFICE caught her attention … two hearts living in two separate worlds … herself and Devon at the moment. She desperately wished they were in one world … together.

Mrs. Sandrelli called down to say she was wanted on the phone. With racing heart she wrapped a towel round her wet hair and rushed up. There was a chill to the night, but she didn’t care.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Tenille.’

She was so relieved she could have wept. ‘How was the trip?’ a nervous waver in her voice.

‘Too long. Thanks for your message. We got in late last night.’

Was that all on the trip? She really wanted to know how things were with Justin. Shyly she said haltingly, ‘I’m so happy to hear your voice again … I missed you.’

‘Tenille, I’ve missed you. You can’t believe how boring business meetings are, day after day. We had a quick side trip to Las Vegas. Stayed at the Stratosphere and caught Cher’s show at MGM Grand. That was nice, but then it was back to the grindstone. I had to be charming to all these overweight, sweaty businessmen. Ugh.’

‘Will you feel like dancing tomorrow?’ She had gotten more information on the trip than she wanted.

‘Another reason why I’m calling.’ She sounded very positive, very up. ‘Yes to your question and how did it go with Raoul?’

‘Oh fine.’

‘I told you everything would work out,’ she affirmed, her voice vibrant with conviction. Tenille wanted to explain more, but felt she’d been chopped. ‘Listen, I need the workout, so tomorrow will be great. I’ll see you at the studio, at the usual time then?’

‘I’ll be there.’

She wanted to talk; express her feelings, listen to Devon’s voice. The exchange had left her feeling adrift, cast alone upon some vast, barren steppes, uncertain as to their relationship. She closed her eyes as if in pain. Everything she wanted seemed to be crumbling. Perhaps Devon preferred they talk tomorrow, rather than over the phone? Her eyes flew open. Yes. That must be it. They’d have time after their session to get properly back together; make plans for the weekend. She returned feeling more encouraged. Tomorrow would be a better day.

Alana saw the change in Tenille the moment she greeted her. With bright eyes she smiled, a quick, spontaneous gesture, she hadn’t seen for a while. It was a quiet day, not uncommon midweek. Her time was spent in the basement, going through stock and working on order sheets. Checking merchandise was tedious, but today with Beris, there were no complaints. Hurry up six o’clock.

Taking the stairs of the rehearsal rooms two at a time, her face was flushed in excited anticipation, her hair framing her face under the bobbing toque. She burst into the studio feeling those bubbles of excitement then stopped dead in her tracks. Raoul. Her face darkened. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten all about him and blurted out: ‘Why are you here? Devon is back.’ Her voice was strong with resentment; eyes dark and flaring with indignation at what she felt was an invasion of their space. ‘I don’t need your help now.’

‘I thought we would continue with our sessions,’ he replied, coldly. ‘Are you implying I can’t teach you?’ There was a hard edge to his voice.

‘No … no. I didn’t mean that,’ she protested. The last thing she wanted was his animosity. Anyway, she was not ungrateful. His help had been invaluable. How could she retrieve the situation? She was let off the hook by Devon’s arrival, as she swept in, not at all surprised to see the two of them. A big hug and a quick kiss then she stood back, at arm’s length. ‘Ten, you look great.’ She offered her cheek to Raoul.

‘I thought it would be good to have Raoul here. After your session he and I can brush up on the dances for Saturday night.’

So Devon had arranged this. Confusion fought with incredulity in her brain, along with jealousy in her heart. She had so looked forward to this time. They would have talked, could have gone somewhere afterwards … but now? She realized she was very, very angry. What had Devon been thinking of? She had a hard time controlling the expression on her face; to act with common civility.

Absolutely nothing went right. Devon was disappointed, so sure had she been that Tenille would have progressed under Raoul’s guidance. She wanted her to excel, not look like a clodhopper. On his part, Raoul couldn’t understand why she wasn’t dancing properly. All her movements were jerky and her timing … well, there wasn’t any.

The session came to an end and she couldn’t get out fast enough, ‘I’ll leave you two to rehearse.’ She grabbed her stuff. ‘Thanks for the lesson,’ she added stiffly.

Changing in the cramped space of the ladies’ washroom, (she had not been prepared to stay a moment longer in that room), she knew she had hated seeing the two of them together, discussing her and pulling apart her performance. Yes, she had danced badly, but with them watching … that only made it worse. She had felt besieged.

It was a sad, lonely journey home.

Eleven o’clock; a knocking at the door. Mrs. Sandrelli stood in her nightdress and robe. She was not pleased. The phone again.

‘She said it urgent, otherwise I make it wait ’til morning.’ Serafina was very put out. ‘Please tell friends, no calls after ten o’clock. Then is too late.’ Tenille was very contrite, so forbore to ask who it was.

‘Hullo?’

‘Why did you rush away so fast?’ Devon sounded concerned.

‘I can’t talk now and please don’t phone here after ten at night, it’s getting me into trouble.’

‘Is there something wrong? I’m home now so that’s why I phoned.’

‘I told you, I can’t talk now. It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She hung up feeling terrible. An unbearable lump stuck in her throat.

At work it was noticeable that the high spirits of yesterday were gone. So quiet and preoccupied, Tenille wished she had a friend to confide in, but there was no one. Perhaps Marissa? They did get on well together, but it was not so easy. It wasn’t like she wanted to talk about a boyfriend. But a woman? Well, she wasn’t a woman who loves women; she had been married. No, they were loving friends who were just going through a bad patch. Surely it was only a question of temporary cross-purposes. Everything would get sorted out … given time. She was too intense. She made an effort to be more agreeable.

Getting to class on time was always a rush, but today she welcomed the distractions and then it was straight into the warm up. She had chosen the other practise skirt tonight; black taffeta with a full flounce from just below the hip, lined with blue. The flash of color looked very dramatic when she twirled. Partnering Marissa in Sevillanas it went much better, but Marissa didn’t think she looked well. Tenille, on the other hand, thought Marissa was more appealing than ever; something different about her. A special sparkle perhaps?

“She really is a nice friend,” she thought.

In the break Devon had her hands full getting peoples’ costumes organized. The following week Belen wanted a dress rehearsal. They had the basics, only finishing touches left to get right. Tenille hoped Mrs. Sandrelli would have hers completed by then.

Belen was looking for the right couple combinations. They checked people out for height and build. Devon separated Tenille and Marissa, putting Tenille with Roxanne whilst Marissa partnered Daphne. Next Belen worked through positions. She spent time moving the men about, trying to use them to best advantage. Finally it was all done and they were free to go.

Briefly, at the end, Devon approached Tenille and arranged to meet her afterwards. She thought they could go somewhere and talk. Marissa, from the other side of the room observed their exchange. It had an air of collusion about it, but she shrugged it off. She could be the jealous type; there was probably nothing to it.

When most of the women were ready, they collected their belongings and waited downstairs. In this way the others would have more space for changing. Marissa came over to Tenille to ask if she were ready to leave too, or should she wait.

‘Marissa, I won’t be joining you tonight. I’ll see you next week.’ She had momentarily forgotten about the ballet.

Marissa suddenly flared, and her face reddened. ‘Next week. This is because Devon is back.’ Her voice began to splutter, but she kept it down because of the few remaining in the room. ‘You’d rather be in her company than mine.’ Now her whole body was shaking and her face took on a blotchy appearance. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded, her grey eyes narrowing.

The blood drained from Tenille’s face as she stammered out that this was not true. ‘We just have some things to discuss. It’s not personal against you, Marissa.’ Her eyes widened in alarm. She couldn’t believe her ears. ‘Why would you think like this?’ Her mind groped for a reason.

‘I saw you two talking together,’ she said, her expression hardening; accusation in her voice as her jaw worked overtime.

‘So?’ she was stung into responding. ‘You’re making much over nothing.’ She had finished and looked pointedly at her watch. ‘I have to go.’ As she made to move past her, Marissa’s hand shot out and she hissed in her ear with a sneer: ‘Oh yes, don’t keep your precious friend waiting.’

Smarting from the exchange, she was glad to collect her stuff and make her escape. Partly, because she didn’t like such an encounter taking place before the curious gaze of strangers and partly, she hated seeing Marissa like this. Lurking beneath all that however, at a level deeper still, was a feeling of guilt. Going quickly across to the office, she believed there was an element of truth in what Marissa had said. She was far from easy in her conscience. She tapped lightly on the door, which opened immediately. Devon was ready to leave.

‘You took a long time. I was beginning to wonder if I should come and see what was causing the delay.’

Color rose as she thought back to her recent exchange, but she responded with: ‘No problem. Where are we going?’

Devon’s perceptive green eyes looked directly into the centres of the dark, troubled ones as she said: ‘My place.’

Again Tenille colored up, blushing attractively, but now her black eyes glowed like golden rays. Devon was sure she knew how to put everything right between them.

Out on the street they found the sky had become a delicate curtain of dancing snowflakes. Devon had the Merc. so it was a short trip, despite the falling snow, which made the streets slushy and other drivers unpredictable. As soon as they settled into the apartment, she poured them drinks.

‘How would you like Indonesian tonight? Justin found this great little place at Ossington that delivers. Very ethnic. You wouldn’t want to eat there, but the taste is terrific.’ The last thing on Tenille’s mind was food, but she would agree to whatever. Devon made the call, then sat down beside her.

‘Did I tell you I’d missed you?’ She put her arm around her shoulders. ‘Did I tell you I love you?’ she whispered. At this declaration Tenille fell against her in limp ecstasy, her body flushed with a hot helplessness.

‘Oh Devon. And I you.’ It felt so good for her to say it at last. To hear those words from Devon.

She cupped Tenille’s chin in her hand and kissed her full on the mouth. It was a hard, forceful kiss, its intent for her to know she meant every word. Then she began to strip her down as she said hoarsely: ‘Help me,’ and started to take off her own things.

Tenille’s desire kicked in, moving her as hastily as Devon; her heart jumping about in her chest. Down to their underwear, Devon again took her hand and guided it inside her panties. Awkward as it was on the chesterfield, tonight she would not take the time to move them on. She felt Devon’s wetness and knew what to do. Devon started to move in her simultaneously, but she didn’t like the feeling any more this time, than last. Somehow it didn’t feel right; too hard, too mechanical. Too much of an invasion. Devon’s rhythm increased, aware of her rising climax. She would bring Tenille along with her … such ecstasy, as she was engulfed in wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure. She clung to Tenille.

The buzzer jangled and brought her to her senses. ‘Tenille, you are a marvel. What you do to me.’ She cocked her head to one side: ‘Better for you?’ She withdrew from Tenille somewhat hastily, not waiting for a reply. ‘Have to grab a robe. That will be dinner.’

She left her and disappeared into the bedroom. Tenille, as quickly, put on her clothes. It didn’t take Devon long to deal with the man and put the four containers on the kitchen counter.

‘I know you would like to have more, Chickadee. I’ll heat this up in the microwave later.’ She returned to her side and gave her a kiss.

‘No Devon, I’m fine really.’ She didn’t want to get into it again. This was not her scene and she didn’t like it. As she dressed she had understood, she did want to be with Devon, but not like this. It was obvious it was what Devon liked to do, but she would much prefer just a nice kiss and a cuddle. She didn’t want all that other stuff. ‘Don’t let the food chill. We can eat now.’

‘If you’re sure?’

‘Yes.’ She jumped up and went over to the galley to wash her hands and begin preparations. Devon joined her, brushing up against her, accidentally on purpose. The heat burst into flame, but she would not respond; she could do without. She loved Devon, but she was no Lesbian.

As they ate in the dining nook, Devon returned to last night. Tenille didn’t want to talk about it, deflecting her probing questions by admitting to disappointment in her poor showing.

She shrugged. ‘Don’t let that put you off, we all have our ups and downs.’ She was feeling expansive after such satisfying sex and lit a cigarette.

‘Listen. Sundays, Los Flamencos have their practise. It’s a good day because we get buckets of free time at the rehearsal rooms. Would you like to come along with me? You can learn a lot just by watching; being on the scene and soaking up the atmosphere.’

This would be wonderful. ‘Any decisions yet for the Shriner’s show?’ she asked.

Devon shook her head. ‘Don’t you worry. I’m sure you’re in.’ She was truly confident.

Tenille moved, in readiness to leave.

‘Can’t you stay?’ Devon’s look was pleading. ‘Like last time?’ There was still hunger in her eyes.

‘No, Mrs. Sandrelli looks out for me, remember?’

‘Oh pooh to the old biddy,’ she declared, her green eyes glittering with impatience in the alcove’s spotlight. ‘She’s not your mother. Stay anyway.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘Devon, I can’t.’

She would not be persuaded. She needed time to herself; time to think. Devon recognized that determined set to her chin.

What had started out as the regular winter snowfall turned into a blizzard. One of those late February storms which had the wind behind it, slanting the snow and driving it into the face. People had thought the worst was over, but there is always that last, unexpected surprise. Negotiating the streets was not easy, with visibility limited to a few meters. Devon was forced to concentrate.

‘You see, you should have stayed. The weather would have made a perfect excuse,’ she argued mockingly, still very put out; feeling thwarted. Tenille had to agree, but cocooned in the apartment they hadn’t realized what weather awaited them. Now they were in it … well … McPherson wasn’t that far.

‘Would you like to come in before tackling the journey home?’

‘No thanks, I’ll keep going.’ Devon’s mood had definitely deteriorated. In this frame of mind she was better off with her own company.

‘What time Sunday?’

‘Fourish.’ She pulled away, leaving her at the roadside.

Tenille settled for sleep, but couldn’t drop off. Her ruminations showed her she was terribly disappointed. She had wanted Devon to mean everything to her. They had shared the ultimate intimacy … yet she felt strangely empty … and yes, unloved. How could this be? They had declared their feelings and she had gotten what she wanted. Further reflection led her to the hurtful thought that perhaps this was not what she wanted? Had she been fooling herself? It was evident she was not lesbian. She just happened to feel very much for this one special woman. It was not as though she was like a man and ‘loved women’. She was womanly, liked feminine things: pretty clothes, sexy perfume, fluffy toys.

More equality between the sexes is beneficial. Perhaps in the light of this consideration, she could say she was moving toward feminism. Yes, she would go that far. Nonetheless, she didn’t like sex with men and it was not much better with a woman. A deep sigh escaped.

“Guess I’m one of those statistics classified as frigid,” she muttered to Monty, as she rolled her head on the pillow. Women’s company. Now that was great. She felt much happier; more relaxed than when men were on the scene. She added a corollary to her musings. ‘I’m not a man-hating Feminist.’ She just didn’t want them in her life … particularly; felt no need of their company and really, had nothing to say to them.

Continuing her cogitation on the evening’s events, she was confident Devon had been telling her she would be selected. What a thrill. The extra lessons had paid off.

Her brain waves began to slow down and she could feel herself drifting into sleep; images of performing in her new dress filled her mind’s eye; she was floating weightless above the stage, the spotlight following every move.

Friday. Tonight was theatre night. Would Marissa be over her outburst? She chose a dress for this occasion; a dove grey, mohair and cashmere blend. The effect was of a white down covering the surface. An extra large collar, rolling out towards the shoulders, emphasized the grace of her neck. The tie at the waist allowed her to blouse the top, keeping the line soft above, but fitted below. She pinned her little leather trillium brooch to the collar.

The spacious lobby of the O’Keefe Centre, filled with balletomanes’ memorabilia, was abuzz with excited voices. Looking about, Tenille saw every imaginable outfit. Some women attired in the traditional manner, full-length dress of rich fabric, their escorts in a tuxedo; others in sweater and jeans. She was interested to see how many children there were; girls and boys of all ages, aspiring dancers she guessed.

Marissa was civil; all seemed to be forgotten. Although the seats Wendy had obtained were high up at the back, they were centrally located, giving an excellent view. Marissa sat on the end, next to Tenille and gradually everything became right between them. Ingrid had opera glasses which she passed along at regular intervals.

The spectacle was pure delight, a feast for both the eyes and ears. A frothy story line gave ample opportunity for a selection of varied and jolly pas de quatre and lyrical pas de deux. The corps was precision perfect. No need to be apprehensive for them. Enjoyment all the way.

Veronica Tennant was outstanding. The friends had some idea now of the work involved, to dance with what seemed such effortlessness. She captivated them with her grace; her athleticism and above all her perfect line. NAPOLI was a great success.

After the show, before they would go their separate ways and while euphoria still surrounded them, Marissa approached Tenille with a suggestion for Sunday. Her gaze fixed on her with a pathetic, imploring expression. She gave a tremulous smile. If she liked, Tenille could come to her house for dinner; meet her family, an important step she had been wanting to take for some time. Once her parents had met her friends, it was easier for her to see them on a regular basis.

‘Marissa … thank you for the invitation, but I’m busy Sunday.’ She tried to temper the refusal. ‘Perhaps another time?’

Her face fell. What was this? Was she being squeezed out; thrown over? With sinking heart, she asked, as casually as possible: ‘Oh, what do you have on?’ If she told her it was something involving Devon she would scream.

‘Devon has invited me to watch a rehearsal of her dance troupe.’ Her voice softened. ‘I’m sorry.’

She did not scream. She kept her face impassive, her eyes hooded slits and simply replied: ‘I see.’ She knew in her heart there would be no other time. Devon had her hooks out and there would be no letting go.

Inside Marissa burned; the beginnings of a smouldering rage. This time she didn’t let her feelings show, but somehow she would make Tenille pay for spurning her like this. She didn’t know how yet, but she would find a way; her time would come.

The friends walked together to King Subway. Tenille expected to go south with Marissa, but she chose northbound instead. As each station disappeared behind her, Tenille had the distinct impression that she had really given offence. There had been no outburst like last time, but she was reminded of the saying: Still waters run deep. A shutter had come down between them, Tenille definitely relegated to the other side. Marissa was a strange one, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t always be available for her and that was that. Why did she keep picking on her anyway? There were others she could go out with.

So lost in thought, she missed Spadina and had to settle for Dupont. ‘Dummy.’ Now she was stuck with a longer walk through the deep snow; not good for her boots. As winter wore on, the walking tracks grew narrower, people making only half-hearted attempts at clearing. The young boys made good money shovelling the high drifts, especially from senior citizens.

*   *   *

Raoul looked up as Tenille walked in. Leche. She was ravishing. His dark, handsome visage carried eyes that bore through her clothes to the curves beneath. He was smitten by her wide, luminous eyes; the voluptuous body that bespoke an as yet, untapped sensuality.

‘How nice to see you here, Tenille.’ His sensuous mouth curled in a sardonic smile. She knew he was remembering their last exchange.

‘Devon invited me … me over. She thought it would be good for me to … to watch,’ she stammered, a natural blush outlining her cheeks in a way he found most charming, as he subjected her to his scrutiny. Tendrils of hair escaped the toque and curled in delightful disorder to her shoulders. Really, she was a peach.

‘Come in, come in. You are most welcome. Stavros, do you remember Devon’s friend, Tenille? She has been to the restaurant on a few occasions,’ he declared, a small smile playing about his lips as he made the lengthy introduction.

“This is why I don’t like men’s company,” Tenille thought, “they always make me feel like I’m on show.” She turned to Stavros Armenis whose eyes had been making a similar appraisal, but he spoke pleasantly enough. At this point Amaia came in from changing. She greeted her by name and made her feel more at ease.

‘We will also have Manuel Canales with us this afternoon,’ Raoul stated. ‘I thought it would be good for you to meet informally.’ They had a palmas practise while waiting for Devon, Stavros too. In fact he was the best. While the others kept the basic rhythm, he was able to weave his way through their timing.

‘Tenille, try this with us. Just follow the foundation with me,’ Raoul invited. She was happy to join in. Keeping in time with Raoul worked well. She just concentrated on his beats trying not to let the others distract her. Unfortunately, to do well at palmas one must be able to hear the contrapuntal rhythms and maintain one’s place in the overall scheme of things.

Devon and Manuel arrived together, bursting into the studio as one. They had introduced themselves on the stairs. He was short like Diego, but better looking, with the olive skin of people from the south. A shock of thick, black unruly hair, constantly fell into his eyes, which he would shake impatiently away.

He sat with Tenille, content to watch the dancers. Then Stavros suggested they go through Alegrias and he could sing for them. What a thrill. His voice, rich and strong, reminded her of Dieguito. Although the repertoire was still limited, his potential was obvious.

With Devon back after her trip, Raoul planned to start a new dance. It was Segurillas, a slower, more stately dance, part of the Cante Hondo. He explained that another name for Segurillas used to be Playeras, from planidera, meaning ‘hired mourner’. Manuel took up the story.

‘Cante Hondo, that is, flamenco singing, is the purest expression of the Andalusian art. The Andalusians are a fusion of many different races and cultures,’ he clarified: ‘So is their music.’ She was fascinated, watching and listening intently. ‘Some of the roots of Flamenco are found in the rhythms and chants of the Moors, who ruled the south of Spain for many centuries.’

Raoul interjected. ‘Those same chants can also be heard in Jewish liturgical music and especially in the music brought from India, by the Gypsies.’

Manuel resumed. ‘You may think of Flamenco solely as a music of fire and temperament. However, it is more than that. It’s a complete way of life.’ At this point his dark eyes flashed to each of them in turn and Tenille felt a frisson of excitement.

‘Cante Hondo is an expression of deep feeling, having to do with happiness, sadness, and the struggle for life. I hope to make you hear this in my singing. The words of Segurillas often allude to death, suggesting its origin may have been in the primitive wails for the dead. When you begin this dance there will be nothing frivolous in it.’ His smile softened his words. Indeed, he would be a great asset to the group.

Raoul clapped his hands peremptorily. ‘All right everybody, let us begin.’ He walked over to Tenille and asked if she would like to try the new dance. She didn’t have her shoes, but he brushed that to one side. Her boots would do fine while they were getting the first moves.

Time flew. When Raoul decided they’d done enough, everyone felt well satisfied, including Tenille. At the end, Amaia commented that after stage experience with the Shriner’s show, if she stuck with it, joining them in the new dance could be a possibility. Lights flashed in her head and triggered a switch. She looked across at Devon. What a wonderful chance. She just had to be chosen for the Shriner’s event. She had to get that experience. Her future in dance depended on it.

Deciding to get a bite to eat at Fran’s, Manuel and Tenille were invited along. They trudged through the snow as a happy band, pushing each other through the doors to the welcome warmth inside. Fran’s was located on the corner of Avenue and St. Clair, not far from Devon’s apartment. Being close to Devon was impossible, but she saw a warm smile fill her face whenever enthusiastic comments were passed regarding her participation in the afternoon’s session. Conversation ceased when the orders arrived and food was hungrily attacked.

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.

‘Why did you tell him it was okay tonight?’

‘Why 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.

‘I 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.

‘I must go, I have a fair bit to do before work tomorrow.’ She jumped up. Devon looked surprised.

‘I thought you would be staying here tonight.’ A tiny smile twitched her mouth, full of meaning and amusement. ‘There’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.

‘Oh, no … no,’ she stammered. ‘I’m expected back tonight.’

Devon turned to Justin and explained, mockingly: ‘She 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. ‘Run 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.

‘Mom. Is something wrong?’ her eyes widened in alarm.

‘I 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.

*   *   *

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.

‘Tennie. 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.’

‘Oh 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. ‘Anyway, I don’t know if I’m in it yet.’

‘Alex thought it was pretty much a certainty. You did tell us that, didn’t you?’

‘Well, only according to Devon,’ she clarified honestly. ‘Belen has to make the final decision.’

‘Okay 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.

‘Perhaps in Caravan week?’

‘But that’s not ’til June,’ she expostulated.

‘I 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 ‘phoning, 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.

‘Any decisions made?’ Tenille enquired, asking about the show.

‘Belen will make the announcement tomorrow.’

‘I know, but you have talked to her,’ she persisted.

‘She 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: ‘Very Good.’ Despite herself, Tenille’s heart fluttered at the implication.

‘Let’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. ‘Tenille, if you can do well with this one and get in with Los Flamencos, it will be fantastic.’

‘The prospect is so exciting,’ Tenille enthused: ‘But I have to do the Shriner’s show first,’ she cautioned.

‘You 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. ‘You can still take classes from Belen,’ he pointed out. ‘Our 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.

*   *   *

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. ‘If I had my way, I would like everybody to take part,’ she looked at the intent faces before her, drinking in her words. ‘But 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.

‘#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.

‘I 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 ‘mothering’. 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.

‘All right, I’ll tell you. The veto came from Marissa.’

Tenille’s dark eyes opened wide, as her face registered her shock.

‘Marissa. 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. ‘That’s not true,’ she blurted. ‘I know those sequences.’

‘She 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. ‘I 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, ‘Los 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. ‘You 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. ‘To 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, ‘and 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: ‘Why would Marissa do that, though?’ Then she reiterated: ‘She’s my friend.’

Devon put down the sweet and sour pork container and turned to her resignedly. ‘Marissa, 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.

‘Yes. 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. ‘Now, 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. ‘Don’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: ‘Of 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.

‘Oh yes,’ she lied, then quickly added: ‘I’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. ‘How 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.

‘Oh, you can tell,’ Devon declared airily. ‘I’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.

‘You … 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. ‘Golly 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.’

‘A dyke?’

‘Yeah,’ pulling a face which expressed distaste. ‘One 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.

‘How about I pick you up about half past one?’

‘Okay, 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.

‘See you Sunday,’ she called out after she’d alighted.

Devon responded with a: ‘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 ‘rapturous transportation’. She masturbated, but then she came so quickly – 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 … ‘Oh 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.

*   *   *

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.

Los Flamencos were happy to see her. Not being in the show hadn’t changed their attitude. In fact, they commented they’d missed her at Sancho Panza’s yesterday. ‘Be sure to come this week.’ Stavros urged her cordially.

Manuel would not be joining them ’til later so they got straight to it. There were a few changes Raoul wanted to make. He thought of them as improvements, but to Tenille they seemed so minor, the audience wouldn’t notice. Nonetheless, to him they were important and the others respected his wishes. She lost herself in their work, feeling with them, the power and beauty of the music; the hypnotic earthiness of the dances.

At the break, Raoul took her to one side. He had her almost pinned against the wall, his body so close; his strong masculinity inescapable. She could smell the scent from his body like the grapes on sun ripened vines. His eyes bored into her and beyond, to the place of his own fantasizing.

‘You have some dances we can use in the show,’ he began by way of introduction. With his closeness he could see the tiny pulse in the vein that beat at the base of her neck. He was speaking the words but thinking: “She is all woman. What I could do.”

‘I suggest you work with me, Wednesdays. I bring you up to performance standard in them.’ His eyes flashed at her as he showed his teeth in a wolfish grimace: ‘We take one dance at a time.’

Work with him every Wednesday. What about Devon? Her mind was resisting his influence. Did she want this? Her thoughts were speeding, almost to the point of panic … but he was continuing.

‘I have talked it over with the others and they agree. If you can develop a repertoire, it doesn’t have to be large, they would welcome you.’ She was hooked. Would she just. She had to ask how come, when she was so new.

‘I tell you,’ Raoul said complicitly. She could smell his breath now, garlic laden. ‘We will be losing Amaia.’

‘Oh,’ very much taken by surprise.

‘Yes. She is pregnant. We are of course happy for her, but she cannot perform when she begins to show. We have a few weeks yet, but we would like to groom you as her replacement.’ At this he reached out and rested his hands on the wall. Very Latin, but too close for her comfort. She wanted to duck under and away, but reason asserted itself. This was what Devon had meant by, playing her cards. She stayed put and looked back at him, her eyes not wavering from his intense face. The breaths were coming strongly through his flared nostrils, her mind working in double time. She didn’t have Devon’s skill in handling men. Could she keep him at arm’s length? She was being hopeless, but if she laid down some ground rules … so they both knew where they stood …? At last she spoke, her breathing deepening as she searched her mind, trying to find the words. Her eyes focused on him.

‘Raoul, thank you for inviting me, I’m flattered. I’d like to do all you say, but I need you to know that I look upon this as … as … a co-operative agreement, between dancing colleagues. There is nothing more in this than partners in performance. You understand?’ Had she been too forceful? Would he change his mind? She had kept her voice even although her cheeks were hot.

“How beautiful she is when she speaks so earnestly and looks into your eyes,” he was thinking, barely following the words she spoke. ‘Of course, Tenille. This is true for all of us in Los Flamencos.’ He had the supreme male ego which assured him, no woman would be able to withstand the onslaught of his charms. In the end he would be the master of her. His experience told him he was hot stuff. Women couldn’t get enough of him, especially after he danced his Tientos. He flashed his sparkling, even teeth at her again and raked his hand through his thick head of straight black hair. It was a deal then. She nodded, feeling calmer, pleased with the turn of events. She looked across at Devon and gave a little smile. Devon returned it with an imperceptible nod. As they walked back to the group, Raoul elaborated.

‘You can continue with Belen, she is a good teacher of fundamentals and quite the purist. But for shows you have to have a little more of the, how do you say it, pizzazza?’ Close enough, she got his drift.

‘I can teach you that. With your natural talent and good looks we can do very well together.’ Here he put his arm around her waist and announced to the assembled group that he would be grooming Tenille to take Amaia’s place. ‘We will all help her, yes?’ He looked down into her eyes and gave her a little squeeze, already it seemed, exercising proprietary rights. Manuel had arrived by this time and he too joined in everyone’s agreement with enthusiasm. They made her feel so welcome, she would get past Raoul, for this.

Time for Segurillas. She had her shoes and was already changed into practise clothes. Raoul wanted to bring out the darker, introspective side of the dance, an aspect of Flamenco which Tenille responded to with surprising depth of feeling. She liked being less flamboyant for a change. They needed to be restrained, as if holding back a tide of emotion which, if allowed to flow free would sweep all before it. An exceptionally intense workout was followed by rest.

Manuel and Stavros used the time to perfect the phrasing in some of the more complex passages, after which they came together and danced to the singer, as a rehearsal for Saturday. Then Manuel was free to go and the dancers claimed the floor for Soleares. Raoul was keen to get Tenille into this new dance.

Soleares was the perfect form of Cante Flamenco, where beauty and depth of feeling are in harmony. He knew she was right for it and this dance was right for her. Its rhythm, consisting of twelve beats to the bar, had its origin in a simple dance called the Jaleo, with the emphasis on the third beat. He explained to her that out of the twelve, the down beat came on three, six, eight and ten. This made for a flowing rhythm, which he felt would bring out her gracefulness and the unaffected elegance of her style. The contrast of this refined dance with the more flamboyant ones would provide an interesting change of pace to the program.

At the end of the session, while they were winding down, he filled them in on some details of his future plans. He had received a nibble from a bar down in Key West for a gig this summer. With that interest expressed he’d made contact with some more venues in Fort Lauderdale. Now this could be a steppingstone to Hollywood. People’s interest quickened at the news. Not only work, but the possibility of talent scouts too. Who knew to what bigger and better things this could lead? Tenille’s head swam with the possibilities … and to think she could be a part of it.

Devon drove her home but wouldn’t come in. She was going out later and had to get back to bathe and change. She would see her Wednesday if she dropped in at the studio, otherwise Thursday.

‘You see, I knew Raoul would want to work with you. What did I tell you?’ feeling good at having figured it all out. Tenille wanted to say she’d been looking forward to working with her, but now kept her silence.

She mulled over her Devon problem between getting supper and getting ready for the week ahead. It was obvious there was something between them, but it wasn’t as serious a thing as she had thought. Something crumbled inside … and shrugging her shoulders resignedly, she told herself to face the truth. She would see Devon; be a close friend, but she could not hold her as the love of her life. A mock grimace as she recognized another florid rhapsody. But, she was what she was, a romantic. Well, she could not give Devon all that she desired. Men would probably always be foremost with her. Being bisexual, and that was probably the case, she would become involved physically, but her emotions were only superficially touched. Misery gripped her with a squeezing fist, as she came to understand.

What a bitter potion. Her face was solemn and her eyes mirrored the ache in her heart. At least she had Devon’s friendship, or bits of it. At the moment she couldn’t ask for more, much as she longed to and felt the need. Again a sigh. Her heart was a heavy weight as her thoughts turned inward.

“Surely there must be someone out there who is right for me,” she whispered in her mind. In the whole wide world she need only find one person. Overcome by a crushing sense of desolation, she choked back a doleful cry. She wasn’t looking for adulation; only someone to love and who would love her in return. Was there someone there for her? Who would that person be? She drew in a deep breath, her very heart seeming to gasp in her chest and her eyes became liquid with tears unshed. She was sure now it wouldn’t be a man. This dizzying truth momentarily shocked her and she bit down on her lip to gain control. Where were these dangerous musings leading? A cold fear ran through her body like a snake, but she would not allow herself to close off her mind; evade the realities. This was too important. Her thoughts raced on.

She knew Raoul was nice. An attractive man. But she didn’t respond to him as she did to Devon. Not even as she had to Marissa, when they were first getting to know each other. Why wasn’t she like other women, turned on by a man? Was she a freak? A L-E-S-B-I-A-N? She didn’t like that word. Perhaps she was like Marissa? She didn’t fit the picture Devon had drawn of a dyke, yet she had said she was a Lesbian. Not all Lesbians were dykes then? An icy chill gripped her heart. What were the others? …and where were they? Too many questions and too few answers. If Marissa hadn’t gotten so upset, perhaps she could have approached her? Now it was too late. Their fences were beyond mending; the friendship over before it had really begun. Saddened by this, she knew too many things had gotten in the way. No, not things she corrected herself, Devon. Marissa had been jealous of Devon and there’d been nothing she could do about it. Now they were estranged. Perhaps time would heal the rift, she thought desperately, but in her heart knew this to be a futile hope. Devon would always come between them. She lifted her shoulders a little. It wouldn’t stop her going to Belen, but sadly, there their contact would end.

*   *   *

For the night of the show Devon had been able to get Tenille a complimentary ticket as the troupe’s dresser and ‘gofer’. She was most grateful, allowing her as it did, to be a part of it all.

She had called Lindsay last weekend, albeit with great hesitation, but she couldn’t leave her parents in ignorance. Actually they had both been stalwarts about the whole thing, giving her encouragement to keep going. Even mother. They must have heard the note of painful disappointment in her voice.

The evening was a great success. The dancers did Belen proud and although she wasn’t dancing herself, she felt pride for them too. The audience responded very positively to the men. Their Cana went over brilliantly, but they were dazzled by the Caracoles, the stage so colorful and the energy level … off the planet. She had never seen Belen so pleased. Her hard work had paid off.

There were drinks afterwards at the Sheraton bar. Tenille still couldn’t get past her own dejection. Amongst all these people, she was alone. She shared in their happiness, but it wasn’t hers. They were flushed with their success and she was happy for them, but not for herself. Inside she was joyless, tasting a bitter gall. She wanted to be on the other side of the foot-lights. One day she would do it. This setback only served to strengthen her resolve. She blanketed her discontent and slowly the negative emotions subsided. She would not dwell on the ‘might have beens’. Indeed, her time would come; she would make the supreme effort. For now, the festivities were unfolding and the effervescence of the present was infectious. It was a wonderful night. Compliments flew and the dancers deserved all their accolades.

*   *   *

The next session with Raoul went very well. Far from having to worry about keeping him at arm’s length, she found he was nothing but focused on the work in hand. Recognizing this mood, when he asked her to join him at TGIF round the corner, she readily agreed.

It seemed there had been a hidden agenda when he asked her out. After ordering, he launched into what was on his mind.

‘Tenille, a dancer needs stamina and strength to stay the course on a regular basis, without incurring major, or for that matter, minor injuries.’ His look, across the table, was direct and intense. Although only a weeknight, most tables were occupied and the decibel level quite high. She had to pay close attention to follow, especially with the added difficulty of his Spanish accent, which she actually quite liked. “Another reason Canadian women find him so irresistible,” she surmised.

‘This is what I wish for you my Tenille.’ He smiled his winning grin to bring her round to his train of thought. ‘I would like for you to join a fitness club.’ He held up his hand to stem any flow of argument at this stage.

‘Regular workouts build up the physique, yes?’ Here he gave a quaint pantomime of a body builder, which made her laugh out loud despite herself, when she knew he was being so serious. But he laughed too. Tonight he was happy. He had her company all to himself. He had been hoping Devon wouldn’t come along to spoil things.

‘It will give you a more arresting presence on stage and allow you to dance longer, without showing fatigue. Today the audience looks for much energy, as never before. Believe me. They see right away when you are trying to cover up tired moves. They demand nothing but the best.’ She nodded her head at this. She would not want to give less than her best, either.

The waitress brought their dessert, so the conversation was momentarily halted while she attended to their needs. Tenille was more at ease with Raoul tonight. He had backed off from all that other stuff; was only a concerned mentor.

‘When physical fitness and dance go hand in hand, the combination is unbeatable. Will you do it?’ This time there was no smile only a grim look of determination on his dark, aquiline face. She could feel the strength of his will dominating her. She had never considered this aspect before but yes, it made sense. She would like to develop her body.

‘You would need to work especially on the legs and hands, although the back is very important too, for posture and turns. Castanets are your weakest component. When there are so few of us on stage it shows if you can’t play well.’ Raoul fished in the bottom of his smart, leather purse and handed over a glossy business card.

‘My sister Nina works at this gym. It’s at High Park. It is a long way out for you, but she can give you a good deal.’ She took the proffered card and read: BODYSHAPE: The Gymnasium exclusively for women where the shape and price are right.

‘Nina works in the front office and has access to passes at special rates. Right now there’s an offer of three months at half price, for weights and aerobics. You would only need the circuit training so that would come out to even less, I think.’ He was certainly being persuasive.

‘The gym is located just across the street from the subway exit. It’s out of town, but easy to get to. How about it, Tenille? Can I call my sister to expect you?’ Raoul’s earnestness was touching.

‘Yes, I’d like to give it a go,’ she acceded, smiling back at him with her melting smile. She sure did things to him.

‘That’s the spirit. Can you start Friday?’

‘How much time would this take?’

‘Only about an hour to begin. It’s best not to overdo things. You can work up as your ability develops.’ He warmed to his theme now he knew he had her on side. ‘You’ll see, it will bring your dancing on very fast. This is good Tenille. The only other thing to tell you is that you must get plenty of sleep.’ His face took on that stern, rather forbidding look, she sometimes caught when he was concentrating especially hard. However, her eyes never left his face.

‘Don’t let Devon keep you up late gallivanting on the town.’ She was taken by surprise with this. ‘I know she likes to double end the candle, as you say, but her padre is lenient with her. For you it is different. Also, in your work you must be on your feet all day. Right?’ He shot the question at speed.

‘Yes.’ She wasn’t about to argue with anything he said whilst in this mood. However, what she did with Devon was her own affair and none of his beeswax.

They paid the checks after this and tonight, travelled their separate ways. On the empty train, she had her pick of seats and sat alone, letting her brain play over the evening’s surprising developments.

“Raoul sure is all business when he puts his mind to it,” she thought. “You have to be like that if you’re determined to get ahead, I guess.”

She could identify with his sincerity. She would progress, if only to show them their faith in her was not misplaced. She too, was capable of resolute dedication.