BY DAWN KANE
Copyright is held by the author.
LEAH DABS on the red lipstick and purses her lips in the bathroom mirror. Satisfied, she tucks a strand of hair behind one ear. It takes longer to get ready these days, but with a little work, she can still feel pretty.
Turning, she inspects her figure in her silky green dress. It clings to her torso but flares at the hips to accommodate the kicks and turns of Argentine tango. Her figure isn’t perfect, but it’ll do.
In the bedroom, she finds Sam sitting in bed with a novel on his lap and a sleepy dog tucked in on each side. He looks up and squints at her.
“You look nice,” he says in a mournful tone. His words encourage, but his voice descends with regret.
Leah hesitates, stuffing down her agitation. It’s not like she’s leaving forever and ever. But this is their circular argument. He loves to stay in, and she loves to go out. She wishes they could just settle into some kind of balance. As it is, she steels herself for the negotiations around Saturday-night tango outings. Logically, Leah knows that one or two of these a month isn’t asking for too much, but when he seems so unhappy, leaving fills her with guilt.
“I won’t be too late,” she says as a peace offering.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “Just go have fun with your little tango friends.”
“I hate it when you say things like that!” She so wishes Sam would go out in the world and find something for himself.
Today she hadn’t planned to even ask. She hadn’t stayed home enough weekends this month to accrue her release time, but she was giving up a big party at the end of the month, so wouldn’t it all even out in the end?
This strategy of hers wasn’t something they discussed, but she generally felt like she needed sufficient time at home on the weekends to justify going off to dance on her own.
And what Sam didn’t seem to realize, was that these tango nights were good for their marriage. If she didn’t get out in the world and move to the music she loved so much, her heart would turn bitter.
So that afternoon, wanting an objective opinion, she had turned to her AI chat bot. The bot reminded her she is not solely responsible for Sam’s happiness.
“It’s normal for partners to occasionally go out on their own,” it had said. Leah knew that the bot might have been trying to please her, but still it had given her the courage to broach the subject.
Sam had been open to the ask earlier in the day, but his feelings seemed to have changed. Now the bot’s words come back to her, and she pushes back.
“You know, I would be fine with you going out too.”
“I don’t need to go out without you,” he says.
“I love you, but maybe we aren’t good for each other,” she says.
“I hate it when you say things like that,” he says as he stroked the head of their yellow hound. “Just go. I’m fine.”
She nods — not really believing him, but she kisses the top of his head and leaves.
***
The dimness of the dance studio and the strains of a Troilo tango soothe her nerves. The first set of songs, a tanda, is underway. A crowd packs the entrance as folks arriving change into their dance shoes.
Leah takes in the sparkly dresses and gleaming shoes. Hints of cologne reach her, and she knows Rodrigo is in the house. She turns and greets him with a hug.
“Save a dance, for me,” he says before stepping away to greet other friends.
As she waits, Leah wonders what Sam is doing. She hopes he’s found a good movie on Netflix. She pushes the thought aside and lets the music wash over her. The energy of El Choclo helps. In rhythm, Leah rocks from one foot to the other.
Friends pass in, and more hugs are exchanged. This energy feels like being on vacation. She remembers when she existed from one vacation to the next. But this tango community makes her feel she’s living her life.
More space opens as people pass onto the dance floor; Leah sits and changes her shoes. When she’s finished, she moves closer and watches her friends dance, admiring the delicate flourishes some add to their steps.
As the third song draws to a close, Leah scans the room, wanting a partner for the next tanda, but not just any partner. Ideally, her first will be comfortable enough for her to enjoy the music and the connection with her partner will be solid enough to help her remember that she knows how to do this dance.
A happy pop song strikes as the cortina, the curtain music, signals the end of the tanda. People clear the floor, and her eyes roam through the crowd. The live music scheduled for later has brought everyone out from college students to senior citizens.
The music transitions to a dramatic Pugliese, and Leah steps closer to the floor to make herself more visible. Ricardo, and old friend and a solid dancer stands on the other side of the room. In the dim light she doesn’t think she can catch his glance; she’s starts to move his way, but sees his gaze follows a grad student. Leah knows she can’t compete with young loveliness.
An older man she likes but whose technique is difficult for her to follow tries to catch her eye. Leah looks away. She dances with him because he’s a nice person, but not first thing.
Crossing the room to put some space between them, she settles in a plush chair with a full view of the floor. Another guy whose dance is very wobbly starts her way. She knows he’ll stop directly in front of her without giving her an escape route. Not happening. Maybe later if her body isn’t too sore.
To avoid the trap, she heads back to the entrance, pretending she needs something from her bag. She must push through the swell of partnered dancers heading to the dance floor. Simply saying no is a skill she has yet to master.
Sitting, Leah paws through her bag and pulls out her water bottle. As she takes a sip, a glance to dancers tells her that her pursuer found someone else — thank God. But it seems her little evasion has cost her the tanda. The strains of Farol put her body in motion, but sitting back with the shoe bags, she has little chance of securing a partner.
Maybe she should have stayed home with Sam.
She replaces her water bottle and is about to stand when a stranger walks in. He has a wiry build, close-cropped dark hair, and carries a well-worn shoe bag. Leah hesitates. Out-of-towners who pop in for a milonga, or Argentine tango party, in her experience, were generally confident dancers.
Leah offers the stranger a smile and gets one in return. She adjusts an ankle strap and tries to think of something to say but fails. The music is too good anyway.
When he finishes tying his shoelaces, he sits up and meets her gaze. At her smile, he cabeceos her by lifting an eyebrow and tilting his heads toward the dance floor. They stand and without a word of exchange, she’s in his arms and executing long reaching back-steps that match the stranger’s bold lead. She reminds herself to focus on the music and the lead rather than her posture or whatever else would improve her technique. She gives her partner and the dance all her attention.
The drama in the music builds, and as she gets a feel for her partner’s style, she reminds herself to breathe. He initiates a complicated series of turns. Leah’s steps match the music beat for beat. Her confidence grows, and her body rediscovers its joy.
Soon they are soaring. They match their steps and pauses with torsos pressed together, absorbing the music together as if they were of one body.
When the cortina breaks their trance, the stranger offers his arm and with a lovely Italian accent, thanks her for the tanda. She nods, not trusting her voice. He escorts her from the floor, and they part, not having learned each other’s names.
One of Leah’s friends cranes her neck to follow the Italian’s movements through the crowd. Leah stifles a giggle. It’s like the others can smell a tango high.
The next tanda begins, and without having to hunt, a good friend magically appears at her side raising her eyebrows and gesturing to the floor. Leah accepts the cabeceo, and they plunge into a snappy, rhythmic milonga. Her heart swells; it will be a good night.
Between tandas, Leah spends a little time chatting, but she returns to the floor again and again. She dances with those needing partners, because now she can. She knows what it’s like to sit on the sidelines too long.
Hours pass, and when her body begins to ache, she knows it’s time to go home.
***
In addition to short stories, Dawn Kane’s writing includes environmental and social justice articles for Grid Magazine, and she crafts blog posts on Dawn Kane Writes about trying to live sustainably. She is currently working on a novel about making peace during turbulent times. Dawn facilitates a monthly meeting for Philadelphia writers who explore craft topics and critique each other’s work. In addition, Dawn teaches at Drexel University’s English Language Center. She earned a BA in journalism and an MA in Instructional Design from the University of Maryland and University of Maryland, Baltimore County.
