Cryptic Ember

#4 - The Class

2010-12-24T16:47:00.006-05:00

All that David found when he returned home to make up to his wife, Jessica, were a dark apartment and a note. Jessica was out.

Jessica looked over the shoulder of the young man at the clock on the wall. Twenty more minutes. The young man sank in his knees and a foot groped.

“No,” said Jessica. “You have to change feet. Your left foot. No, the outside. Step on my outside.”

“Sorry,” mumbled the young man. He searched for a safe place to step as though he were avoiding snakes.

The tall man in the middle of the room called out, “Change partners!” The young man with Jessica looked up from the floor and said, “Well, uh, thanks.” Jessica, grim-lipped, said nothing and advanced to the next man. She looked at the clock. She looked at her new partner. He was sweating through his tee shirt. Nineteen minutes, twenty seconds.

The man in the middle of the room stepped over to the controls of the stereo system and resumed the music. Jessica drank the flowing strings of Carlos Di Sarli’s “Bahia Blanca,” her favorite tango. The students turned to embrace one another and to resume working on the ornate combination of tango steps. Jessica’s partner raised his arms expectantly. All Jessica could see were the pits of his tee shirt. The stains were Gulf oil spills. Would nothing contain them? Were they spreading and endangering species before her very eyes?

The tall man halted the class now. He silenced the practicing dancers and started the music again. “Leaders, you must imagine you have in your trust, how is it called, orquídea? Yes thank you, orchid, a rare and beautiful flower.” His cupped hands cradled an imaginary bloom.

Fernando was the most popular teacher at the Crane Edwards Studio. He had been through town with touring shows many times before settling here. His stage presence followed him everywhere. He was grand in manner and gracious in conduct. He never raised his voice, even when teaching a large class. Everyone just listened. He taught many large classes.

Fernando moved about the room, connecting with each student in turn as he delivered his instruction. “You carry the flower and it moves with you, but you also protect it. The splendid petals, delicate, secret.” Jessica, her back to her partner, watched Fernando sweep from couple to couple as he improvised a solo dance showcasing his invisible treasure. “Your movements honor and praise the beauty in your trust.”

Fernando showed his imaginary flower to a slender, young blonde on the opposite side of the studio from Jessica. The blonde looked into his cupped hands and smiled up at him. Give me a break, thought Jessica. Fernando brushed the blonde’s hair back and put his imaginary flower behind her ear. He offered his hand, they embraced and he stepped with her into the center of the floor. Fernando stepped back supporting the blonde in a dramatic lean as she traced languorous circles with her free leg.

Jessica wondered who the blonde was. She didn’t remember seeing her before. Most of the dancers here at Crane Edwards Dance Studio knew one another. At least, they knew one another as tango students if nothing else. There wasn’t much time to talk between back-to-back tango classes at Crane Edwards and that time was too precious to squander on matters of day-to-day life. Life took a backseat to dance. It was not unusual to dance with tango friends for years, taking classes with them, seeing them at milongas, embracing them, greeting them with kisses, men and women alike, before ever discovering what they did for a living or where they came from. You might never learn that they had kids. Or spouses.

This blonde couldn’t have been dancing very long. Maybe a couple of months, tops. She looked like an ex-ballet dancer. Jessica recognized the signs. Stiff; over inclined to embellish; self-possessed in spite of the lack of experience. Jessica had been a serious ballet student herself once. That was several dreams ago.

Jessica watched Fernando carry the blonde about the room as gracefully and protectively as he had transported his imaginary orchid. Jessica had been dancing a long time, but Fernando never demonstrated in class with her and he never danced with her at the milongas at Crane Edwards either. Wouldn’t it be smart for the teachers to ask the students to dance? Wouldn’t that keep them coming back for more classes? Wouldn’t that just be good business? This blonde, whoever she was, never let up with the adornments. Oh, just calm down. He must be giving her horizontal lessons, else why would he want to dance with this beginner? It sure wasn’t because of her beautiful dancing. It must be the precious petals of her splendid orchid.

Fernando returned the blonde to her student partner and directed everyone to try the combination again. Jessica looked at the clock. Deliverance would be mercifully soon. Her partner raised his arms expectantly again. Jessica held him away from her as if she were disposing of a bag of rotten potato skins. Jessica’s partner tried to execute the combination with her, but he didn’t know which foot to use either.

Jessica thought of her husband. If only David had the discipline to practice, but he didn’t care how much dancing meant to her. His dancing had plateaued a long time ago. For Jessica, this was it.

She broke the embrace and said to her partner, “You know, this is an intermediate class.”

“Excuse me?” the man replied.

“This combination begins with a cross basic. You should know the cross basic before advancing to an intermediate class.”

“You know, I’ve seen you at the milongas here and I’ve been hoping to dance with you for a long time. I know I’m not ready to invite the best dancers, but we all do our best here. I’m trying. That’s why I’m in this class. You don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to.”

He backed away. Fernando came up and said to the two of them, “Do you need some help, Richard? Let me see how you are doing.” Richard hesitated. Jessica stepped forward dutifully. Richard tried the combination with Jessica. This time he remembered the cross basic. He was stiff, but managed.

Fernando said, “Very good. Both of you are really beginning to catch on.” Jessica couldn’t believe it. ‘Beginning to catch on.’ She. Fernando looked at Jessica and said, “Try to keep your feet together. It will preserve your axis and you will be able to understand the lead better. Not only that, it will improve your line. It creates a very feminine look.”

Fernando turned and announced the end of the class. Jessica didn’t hear Richard thank her. She found her bag which she had stashed in the corner of the studio and sat on the floor. As she changed her shoes she saw the blonde take Fernando’s arm and they left the studio. Jessica saw them through the glass doors. Fernando was speaking to the receptionist at the front desk. Jessica sat and watched until Fernando left with the blonde. Jessica wasn’t crying yet.

#3 - Roses

2009-12-31T13:07:00.003-05:00

Last time: David leaves Tatiana on the dancefloor when his wife, Jessica, splits the club. He catches up with her and tries to explain that he couldn’t get out of dancing with Tatiana. It wasn’t his fault. Jessica is not appeased.

David scanned the titles. The new releases were all super hero stories or slasher flicks. He sighed. Those wouldn’t do. He needed a movie that would be an escape, but it had to be a quiet escape. Moreover, he didn’t want a painful love story. No need to muse on lovers’ foibles and failings. Sure enough, there’d be some jerky guy betraying his woman and before you know it Jessica’s head would start nodding up and down, she’d be mmm-hmm-ing and tsk-ing, and by the end of the film she would have worked herself up into a fresh little righteous rage, the drama corroborating all of her own theories. It would be a springboard into, “see how you are?” and he would be spending the rest of the evening asking, “what’d I do?” which of course would be answered easily and abundantly.

He found a glossy looking travel picture, an adventure set in Indonesia. That could be nice. What was a gamelan orchestra? The DVD jacket had pictures of dancers in costume. Jessica would like that. Maybe it would spark interest in a vacation alternative other than Argentina.

Those trips were becoming, well, predictable. Shoes, lessons, milongas, ripoffs. Complain about the commercialism, but meanwhile get infatuated with yet another (previously unknown but soon to achieve messianic reputation) old dancer who knows (once and for all) the true tango and (unlike the other times) is genuinely kind and sincere (honest). More shoes. Fete the codger (and his friends, hey what are you doing here, what a surprise) until you blow past this and next year’s vacation budgets in spite of the cheap peso. We did mention shoes, yes? Fall out with the teacher, suffer bitter humiliation and regret. Yes, he’s just like the rest of them after all, a smooth opportunist working the tourists. So sorry, honey, know just how you feel. Wish there were something I could do to make you feel better. Sure, we can head over to Le Belle Pied one more time to check out the six-inch heels with the leopard spots. Didn’t expect you to vamoose the country without the only remaining new style from this year that you haven’t already snatched up. Just a moment, counting your feet and doing the math. Requires some pretty fancy figuring, but yes a dimensional warp in a non-Euclidean Universe does squeeze fifteen pairs of shoes onto those singularities known as your feet. Anything to make you happy right now. Yes, honey, they’re a present from me.

David paid the DVD rental, left the video store, and walked up the avenue. He saw a sale on roses at the convenience store two blocks from home. Just the ticket. Roses would be a perfect prelude to his apology.

They say that the secret to tango is knowing how to walk. So true, so true. Taking his wife out dancing demanded the circumspection and delicacy of walking a minefield. One misstep and you could blow off a limb. In every milonga, his radar swept the room constantly for any blips that could set off Jessica’s jealosies and resentments. A night of serenity, dancing with the spouse, greeting friends, a trip home free from recriminations and accusations. These were the treasures awaiting the true Master of the Tango Walk. No one ever divulged that particular secret in all of those dance lessons. That Mystery was as holy and privileged as the secret handshake of the Freemasons.

David practiced his apology. Tatiana had been brazon in her advances about getting a dance when they were out at La Fortuna milonga. David should have begged off, saying that he had promised the next tanda to his wife. Don’t bring up that Jessica had been dancing like a truck all night while squirming in and out of his embrace and asking him repeatedly on the floor, “what did you change tonight, honey? You were dancing so well last week. What happened? Can’t we just dance like we used to?”

The secret to a successful marriage is to admit you are wrong, even when you are not. Especially when you’re not. In fact, peppering the marriage with twice-weekly self-immolations even when nothing is wrong is just a damn sensible maintenance plan, like changing the oil every 2,000 miles.

David returned home with the flowers and the DVD. He was penitant and rehearsed. He let himself in the apartment. It was dark. He turned on the foyer light and looked around. He went to the kitchen, turned on the light, and checked the magnet shaped like a tango couple on the refrigerator. There was a note from Jessica. It said, “Went to Crane Edwards Studio for Fernando’s class. Back late. Don’t wait up. Jessica.”

David read the note, folded it carefully, and dropped it in the trash. He looked at the roses. He dropped them in the trash, too.

#2 - Plan B

2009-12-16T07:46:00.038-05:00

Last time: Tatiana chats up Jessica at La Fortuna Milonga until Jessica’s husband, David, comes along. Opportunity meets preparedness and Tatiana’s luck wins her a dance.

Jessica flung her coat over her arm and strode for the door. The fortunes at La Fortuna milonga had turned south. She nodded at her friends, her mouth drawn tight. No kisses, no goodbyes, no nonsense.

Unaware of Jessica’s retreat, her husband David attended his dance partner. Tatiana wasn’t his first choice for a dance. In fact, she wasn’t even his last choice. She didn’t figure as one of his choices at all, but there was no way to avoid her because there were so many of her, at least six or seven. That was the only way David could explain how Tatiana managed to be at every milonga every single night no matter where he and Jessica went.

David embraced Tatiana firmly and led a rock step. His shoulder was starting to hurt. He tried to adjust their embrace and glimpsed his wife on her way out with her coat. He stopped dancing and said, “Tatiana, I’m really sorry, but I need to stop for a minute.”

“Why, David?” Tatiana asked. “Is something wrong?”

David guided Tatiana off the dance floor and said, “Excuse me.” He bolted for the door. He caught up with Jessica and took her by the arm.

“Jessica, please,” he said.

Jessica whirled, eyes flaring. “Finish your dance. It isn’t nice to leave your partner on the floor.”

“What about leaving your spouse at the club?” David replied. “Would you hold on a minute?”

Jessica pulled her arm free. “No, I won’t. I’m going home. You stay here. You have work to do. Obviously I’m done dancing unless I want to book a taxi dancer. What’s your rate?”

“Jessica, that is uncalled for. I don’t want to argue in public.”

“So don’t. I was on my way out anyway.” Jessica turned and left the club. David headed back to the coatroom to get his coat and tried to catch up with Jessica before she could hail a cab. Tatiana met him by the door.

“Do you think I should say something to her?” Tatiana said. “Jessica is so sweet.”

“No, Tatiana. Don’t worry. Good night.”

“Good night. Maybe I’ll see you at Gloria’s party next week.”

“I don’t know,” David said. “See you.” David rushed outside. Jessica was climbing into a cab. She saw David and slammed the door.

David ran in front of the cab, held up his hand, and shouted to the driver. “Wait! I’m getting in, too.” He ran to the door, yanked it open, and got in. He gave the driver the address, turned to Jessica, and took her hand. She looked out the window of the cab.

“Jessica, I’m sorry. What did you expect me to do? She put me on the spot and shamed me into dancing with her. That’s no reason for you to humiliate me like that. It’s appalling for married people to argue in public.”

Jessica looked at David. “Yes, what will they think?” she mocked. “I’m glad you’re so concerned about what everybody thinks. You have quite a list of people you’re really concerned about. What does your wife have to do to get on that list?”

“Jessica, would you please keep your voice down?”

“Even the cab driver is on the list! Hey, driver.” Jessica rapped on the partition. “Taking us home isn’t getting in the way of all those phone calls you have to make with your Bluetooth, is it?”

David held her hand. They rode in silence. Eventually Jessica pulled her hand away.

Tatiana looked around to see if anyone was watching her. She bit her lip. Did the whole world just see her get ditched on the dancefloor? She felt aware of her arms. She didn’t know whether to cross them or clasp her hands behind her back. She leaned against the wall in affected casualness and listened to the music.

None of the good dancers came to this milonga anymore. The only one worth dancing with just beat it. It was still early enough to head over to Crane Edwards Dance Studio. La Mariposa milonga was probably just heating up. There might be some new guys to talk to. Maybe some of them would eventually be able to manage an eight-count basic before she was due for her first chin-tuck.

Damn that Jessica. Why does she have to be so sensitive? She has everything. That was such a pretty necklace she was wearing. David gave it to her just because he saw she had wanted it. Tatiana caressed her bare neck.

#1 - The Necklace

2009-11-28T13:14:00.001-05:00

Tatiana surveyed the club. It was a slow night. There were a lot of women sitting at the bar and a few clueless newbies on the dance floor. What in the world was that deejay playing? No wonder no one was dancing.

Tatiana paid the cover, tossed her hair, and strutted back to the coatroom, smiling to each woman sitting along the bar while sizing them up. Hi Sarah. Does not have the legs for that skirt. It’s been so long, Julie. No talent, still working the boobs. Hi, Francine! Poor crazy Francine, jabbering away at another glassy-eyed, captive hamster praying not to dance with her. Kiss, kiss, great to see you, Francine. Helpless guy is looking for an exit but hasn’t figured out yet Francine never takes a breath. Been exhaling for years. Good for her, she’ll be sitting there all night unless the prisoner breaks out. Note to self, if he does escape, introduce her to the clueless newbies. She’ll be oh so thrilled to give them an impromptu tango lesson. That could keep them all off the dance floor and out of commission for a while, like Lysol canceling out bad odors.

Well, that’s the competition. What’s behind Door Number Three, Monty? Any decent dancers in the place?

Tatiana snooped around by the coat check, but didn’t see any signs of intelligent life. She took off her coat, checked it, and lined up along the bar with the rest of the women. There were a few men she knew watching a game on television. She smiled and tried to catch the eye of any one of them, but they all burst into cheering. Someone on T.V. must have just gotten a goal, or a basket, or a bucket, or something.

It was still early. More people could turn up. Tatiana decided to give the milonga a reasonable chance, say a half-hour. La Fortuna was a good milonga because the club was in her neighborhood, but if nothing was cooking here she could ditch it and check out the action elsewhere.

She ran down the list of other milongas. She knew them by heart and Saturday was a good night. La Mariposa Milonga at the Crane Edwards Dance Studio was an option. That was a big space with a nice floor, so there was always plenty of action. It was usually overrun with students early in the evening right after their classes, but if she did drop in the students would be petering out by then and the more experienced dancers would be starting to show up. That was a good time to get there because you could still check out the new guys, and if there were any that weren’t total idiots you could chat them up and make an investment for the future. Grin and bear it for one dance, then beg off, telling them how great they’re doing. Tatiana called those her “Money in the Bank” dances.

A slim, elegant woman walked along the bar greeting friends. Tatiana watched her kiss each dancer down the row. She knew everyone. Sometimes she lingered and exchanged a few words with someone before moving on. When she laughed, Tatiana put her at forty. Although her trim figure and supple movement suggested a girl in her twenties, the eyes always told the whole story.

Before reaching Tatiana, she paused and surveyed the dance floor. Tatiana concealed her appraisal of the woman. She wore her long brown hair in a loose ponytail. Her dress was taupe and so were her stockings. No flash, nothing cheap, just clean, simple lines. Her make up was understated, too. She could flatter her face a little better, especially if her eyes were starting to reveal secrets about her true age. On the other hand, she carried herself with a dancer’s poise and her inner warmth fueled frequent smiles that were very disarming. Wouldn’t hurt to tone those down a bit, though, considering the laugh lines.

“Jessica!” Tatiana cried, “I love that necklace!”

Tatiana leapt from her barstool. She scrutinized the woman’s necklace. “That is so you. Where did you get it?”

“Hi, Tatiana.” The woman smiled but did not kiss Tatiana, who was raising the necklace with one finger and admiring it closely. “Thank you. I got this on our last trip to Argentina.”

“It’s beautiful. Is it real silver?”

“Yes, it’s a hand-crafted piece I found at the fair at Recoleta Cemetary. Have you been there?”

“Oh yes,” Tatiana said, “many times, but I never saw a necklace as nice as this one. It looks like it was made just for you.”

“Thanks,” Jessica said. “David gave it to me.”

“Oh, is he here?”

“Of course, we were just taking a little break from dancing.”

Tatiana gave Jessica’s shoulder a squeeze. “Oh, then you wouldn’t mind if I just ‘borrowed’ your husband for a little bit? You know, you are so lucky to have a good tango dancer right in the family.” Tatiana laughed and stroked the necklace.

A distinguished man came up behind Jessica and slipped his arm around her waist. Tatiana smiled at him and said, “Oh hi, David. Your wife was just telling me about your trip. Did you really give her this beautiful necklace?”

Jessica’s husband laughed and said, “Yes, I did, Tatiana.” He stepped forward and gave Tatiana a kiss. She offered her other cheek for a second one. David said, “She kept wanting to go back to the same fair. I finally figured out she was always going to the same place and so behind her back I got this necklace I had seen her trying on. It’s beautiful on her, but it scratches me sometimes in the middle of the night. She never takes it off.”

Jessica pinched him. “That’s not true. I never wear it in the shower.”

Tatiana said, “Did you guys dance a lot in Argentina?”

“Oh yes,” David said. “We always do. We had a great time.”

“I mean, did you dance with a lot of Argentines, or with each other?” Tatiana asked.

“Both.”

“Really?” Tatiana said. “But Argentine men won’t invite married women to dance, at least not if the husbands are around.”

Jessica displayed her hand. “We left the rings in the apartment when we went to the milongas. No sense in advertising it. We danced together on Saturdays because Saturday is ‘date night’ in Buenos Aires, but when we planned on dancing with other partners we entered separately and sat at different tables. Nobody knew what was going on, or at least they pretended not to. In Argentina, they pretend as well as they dance.”

“Tell me about it!” Tatiana laughed. “But when you were sitting separately, did you still get dances? I mean, sometimes it can be pretty hard, can’t it? You can be planted in one spot the entire night.”

Jessica pulled herself up taller and straighter. “Not really, I danced all the time wherever we went.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Tatiana said. “You and David are both such beautiful dancers.” Tatiana smiled at David.

Tatiana leaned in closer to Jessica and said in a stage whisper, “It’s a lot harder here. There just aren’t as many men like your husband.”

Tatiana brightened and said to David, “Well it may be Saturday night, but this isn’t Argentina, is it? Are you dancing with other partners? Jessica said that maybe I could ‘borrow’ you for a little bit.”

David and Jessica exchanged looks and Tatiana hooked her arm in David’s. David kissed his wife once on the cheek and turned Tatiana toward the dance floor. Tatiana looked back at Jessica, beamed, and said, “You are so lucky, Jessica.”

Jessica watched the two begin their tango. She fingered the necklace. Yes, very lucky.