Luna Tango

by Alli Sinclair

  ‘It is nice to meet you. Carlos, he tells me you are writing about the history of the tango.’

  ‘Yes.’ His intensity unnerved her. She subtly pulled her hand away and rested it on her lap. The quartet fell into the silence born of people struggling to find a common thread for conversation.

  ‘Daniela, I am surprised by your progress. My cousin, he has done well,’ Carlos eventually said and slapped Gualberto on the back. They laughed as if sharing a secret. ‘We can work with this. Maybe you will be the next Gringa Magnifica. What do you think, Alonso?’

  ‘Do not ask such a question. Iris and I do not talk any more.’ He dropped his gaze and lowered his voice. ‘Not since she left me without saying a word.’

  CHAPTER

  8

  The moment the words hit Dani’s ears, all the enthusiasm fuelling the new dance moves dissipated. This man had dated Iris?

  ‘Yes, I am sorry about your breakup,’ Carlos said.

  She took in Diego’s long fingers—the fingers that had once caressed her mother. Anger ripped through her. Iris shouldn’t have been with any man other than her father. If she’d just stayed put and worked things out like a normal person ...

  ‘Ah,’ Diego shrugged. ‘It is life, no? A woman loves a man, she changes the mind, she leaves.’

  So Iris still had a penchant for leaving and disappointing people she loved. Pain stabbed Dani when she remembered how Iris had constantly disappointed her by saying she’d do something then cancel without a solid reason. Like the time she’d promised to go to the art exhibition at Dani’s kindergarten but never showed. It didn’t matter that she’d won first prize, the only prize she ever wanted was her mother’s love and presence.

  ‘Well, the male may be the leader in tango but it is the woman who is in charge of romance and hearts.’ Carlos thanked the waiter and took the bottle of wine from him.

  Normally, Dani would join the conversation with a pithy comment but she could barely breathe, being so close to her mother’s ex-lover.

  ‘I thought Iris Kennedy kept her life off-stage private,’ she said, surprised her voice held steady.

  ‘Sí,’ said Diego, ‘but she went of her own choosing and I have no reason to keep the secret. If she does not return my calls, I will contact the magazines of the gossip and sell my story.’

  ‘Really?’ Dani said. What was Iris thinking, shacking up with this jerk? Her father had been the sweetest, kindest, most loving man yet she chose someone like Diego Alonso over him? What kind of woman did that make Iris? Avoiding his eyes, she asked, ‘How long were you together?’

  ‘Not long enough.’ Diego saluted her with his wine and took a long drink. He finished the glass and put it down on the table with a clank.

  ‘Were you serious?’ It seemed strange to meet her mother’s ex in a dance hall in Buenos Aires, but then again, her life had never been run of the mill. Iris had made sure of that.

  ‘Diego, you must excuse Daniela. She is one of those journalists.’ Carlos shot her a warning look.

  ‘A journalist?’ Diego laughed. ‘Well perhaps you can write my story.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m busy enough as it is.’ A heat rash raced up her neck and across her face. She used her hand as a fan.

  ‘But it would be an exclusive!’ Diego appeared rather chipper for someone who had just had his heart broken.

  ‘Thank you, but no.’

  Carlos raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m not into gossip articles. I told you, I’m not like the others.’ Of course it would be a massive step in her career to break this kind of story, but the subject was way too close to home. Talking with her mother’s ex and discovering sordid details of their relationship would be too painful. She needed to stick to her original plan of understanding how tango changed Iris and not get involved in her romantic interludes.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Carlos. ‘I am impressed.’

  ‘You are?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Why?’

  ‘You do have integrity. My gut was right. I like this.’ He gave a nod as if agreeing with himself.

  Dani inhaled and tried to act like a semi-normal person. ‘Breaking up is always hard to deal with. I hope you feel better soon.’

  ‘I am afraid I will not. The heart, it is broken forever. I will never love again.’ Diego poured more red wine and downed it in seconds. His sigh came from deep within, his large eyes moist as he studied Dani. ‘We have met before, sí?’

  ‘No. I’ve only been in Argentina a short while.’

  Diego tilted his head to the side. ‘I feel like I know you.’

  A thin film of sweat broke out on her forehead and she silently prayed Diego didn’t make the connection.

  ‘It is your ...’ Diego squinted and studied her further. Gualberto and Carlos leant forwards, placing their heads at different angles while Dani sat frozen in her chair. Until now, she’d managed to get away with her relationship to Iris but sitting in front of the man who had spent countless hours gazing into Iris’s almond-shaped eyes, well ... she couldn’t lie her way out of this one, because she sucked at lying. The minute fiction fell from her mouth, her left eye twitched like she’d been electrocuted.

  ‘It is your eyes and your nose. See?’ Diego’s finger imitated a ski jump. ‘It has a little dip before the end, just like my Iris.’

  ‘What?’ She hoped they didn’t hear the crack in her voice or notice her parched lips.

  ‘Your eyes and nose, they look like those of La Gringa Magnifica.’ Diego gave an assertive nod.

  ‘No, I do not see it,’ said Gualberto.

  ‘I do not, either. All gringas look the same, do they not?’ Carlos burst out laughing and the other men joined in.

  ‘Not funny,’ said Dani, trying to hold her body steady rather than letting it slump with relief. Then she laughed to show she was a good sport.

  ‘You are wrong, my friends,’ said Diego. ‘Your journalist, she looks like my Iris.’

  Dani kept her mouth closed. The world wouldn’t end if they found out who her mother was but life wouldn’t be easy, either— especially with Diego on the scene. She got the distinct impression that if he found out who she was, he’d hound her for information about Iris.

  ‘Daniela?’ Carlos used his eyebrow as a question mark.

  ‘What?’ God, please no. Don’t ask.

  ‘Do you know La Gringa Magnifica?’

  ‘No. How could I?’ She choked on the words and convinced herself it wasn’t a lie. Well, not technically. Had Carlos asked her if she knew Iris Kennedy and she’d answered in the negative, then that would be a lie. But Dani didn’t know Iris since she’d taken on the persona of La Gringa Magnifica, so theoretically she didn’t know her. A spasm developed in her left eye and she casually rested her fingers on it.

  ‘Your eye, it is sore?’ Carlos leant forwards and placed his hand on her arm. A tingle shot up her spine.

  ‘My eye goes weird when I’m tired.’ The spasm intensified and she pressed her fingers harder against her eyelid.

  ‘Then we go,’ said Carlos.

  * * *

  Dani kicked off the hotel bed sheet, her body boiling. A moment later she pulled the covers up, her skin cold and clammy. She tossed. She turned. She wanted to punch something.

  ‘Damn it!’

  Dani flicked on the bedside lamp then wished she hadn’t. She squinted and reached for the manila folder she’d lugged all over the world for the past seven years. Inside were magazine clippings about the woman they called La Gringa Magnifica. She thumbed through the photos and let her finger trace the sequined dresses in a rainbow of colours.

  She’d managed to squirm away from revealing her relationship with Iris tonight but it wouldn’t take long until someone cottoned on. Dani had enough to deal with and she dreaded the possibility of Iris discovering her daughter was in Argentina. Not that it would make any difference—after all, Iris hadn’t contacted her for twenty years, so why would she bother now? And anyway, her mot
her lived as a recluse, so the chances of her hearing anything were remote— but not remote enough. Apparently Buenos Aires was smaller than she’d thought, at least in tango circles.

  She got out of bed, went to the bathroom and poured a glass of water. As she sipped it slowly, her legs moved in the directions Gualberto had shown her. When she crossed her feet, she paused, horrified she’d voluntarily executed a tango move—and enjoyed it.

  ‘Oh no, it’s not going to happen to me.’ She slammed the glass on the bench then stormed into the bedroom. Throwing herself on the bed, Dani stared into a dark corner of the room.

  Tonight’s brief flirtation with the tango had opened a small window for her to peer into Iris’s soul. Dani often wondered if Iris had chosen dance or whether it had chosen her. Even as a young child, Dani knew Iris wasn’t like other mothers, as she’d constantly struggled to fit into the role. How many other mothers spent forty hours a week practising tango instead of doing homework with their kid? Especially when, at that time, Iris wasn’t a professional. Had others seen where that road would eventually lead? Had Iris? Maybe Stella had and that was why she and Iris barely spoke, although their rift had begun when Iris finally admitted at the age of twenty that she’d been dancing tango in secret for two years. She’d had all her twenties to take it up as a career so why, at the age of thirty-five and with a five-year-old daughter and a husband in tow, would Iris dump them and become a professional tango dancer?

  Dani had lost count of how many hours she’d watched her mother’s performances on DVD. Guilt swamped her every time she did and her grandma’s disapproving voice nagged at her conscience. Iris’s ability was evident and the world was a much better place for witnessing her amazing talent. If only it hadn’t meant the destruction of the relationship between husband and wife, mothers and daughters.

  Although Iris hadn’t physically killed Dani’s father, Dani still held her responsible. Tears stung her eyes as she remembered how her father had lost his appetite, how his gait had changed to a shuffle, how he had withdrawn from the world after Iris left. No one could doubt her mother had played a significant role in her father’s demise.

  Her phone buzzed with the familiar sound of incoming mail. Annoyed, she grabbed the phone and pressed on her inbox.

  Dani,

  The bigwigs are hassling me. I’ve not seen a draft yet. What’s going on? You’ll not only get management offside but Tourism Argentina will start asking questions if you don’t get something written. I’m starting to doubt whether letting you do this was a good idea. If you’re still mad at me, I understand, but don’t let our personal differences cost your career.

  Cheers,

  Adam

  Tears welled up and the screen blurred. Blinking hard, she willed them away but it did no good. Until their breakup he’d supported her in every way. He’d pushed her to do better, to dig deeper, to go beyond the limits she’d set for herself. Those were qualities she loved him dearly for yet they had disappeared, just like his love.

  She clicked on reply.

  Dear Adam,

  Thank you for your email. I’m sorry I haven’t given you an update earlier but I have been busy compiling material. Don’t worry your pretty head because the articles will blow your socks off. I just need a little more time. I doubt I’m missed in New York and honestly, I’m not crying about not being there. And no, I’m not punctuating this with a wink face.

  Watch this space.

  Cheers,

  Dani

  It was childish to sign off with ‘cheers’ but it did give her satisfaction. She read the email one more time and hit send before she panicked and spent the next two hours agonising over every word. She wanted to write more and had many personal questions she wanted answered but Adam had made it abundantly clear where he stood in their relationship, both personally and professionally.

  Checking the clock, Dani did a quick calculation of the time difference between Argentina and Australia. Her grandma would have just finished eating dinner. She reached for the laptop and fiddled around with it, plugging in her headphones and clicking on Skype. The last time Stella had spoken with her was a couple of weeks ago before Dani left for Argentina. Stella didn’t let things slide easily. Did Dani really want a lecture now?

  She repositioned her butt on the bed and accidentally knocked a file off the table. The photocopies she’d taken at the National Library earlier flew onto the floor and she picked them up, placing them in a neat pile. Her eyes lingered on the photo she’d copied of Louisa and Eduardo—the same image Carlos had in his file. Narrowing her eyes, Dani studied Louisa Gilchrist again. No matter how much she denied it, a sense of familiarity hit her every time. She concentrated on each part that made up Louisa—her light-coloured hair and curls, her pointed chin, her almond-shaped eyes, her ... nose.

  A gasp caught in Dani’s throat.

  No.

  Shaking her head, Dani laughed. It’s not uncommon to have a doppelganger somewhere in the world, so why wouldn’t her grandma have one? After all, how many times had people asked Dani if she had a twin? Anyway, Louisa had laughing eyes and a beautiful smile; Stella wore a permanent frown. But if by some weird twist of fate Stella and Louisa were the same person, Dani could understand why smiling wouldn’t be Stella’s thing—she’d been accused of murder, lost her lover, and had to flee her home and change her identity.

  Laughing at the ridiculousness of her imagination, Dani said, ‘God, I should write fiction.’

  CHAPTER

  9

  1953 – Louisa

  The bright morning light shone in Louisa’s eyes as she pried them open, trying to get a bearing on where she lay. Turning on her side, she gazed at the lace curtains billowing in the warm breeze. Had last night really happened? Guilt pressed against her chest and gave her the answer. At the time it had felt right, but with the new day, Roberto’s loving touch plagued her with shame, though not regret.

  Checking the clock, she sat up with a start. Eduardo’s luncheon with his mystery guest was due to start in half an hour. Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the letter Roberto had given her last night. The paper crinkled as she unfolded it with great care, not wanting to make a noise, even though Eduardo would be down in the kitchen bossing the staff.

  Mi querida Lunita,

  Without you in my life, the moon would lose its lustre. The stars would lose their shine. The sun would lose its warmth.

  My heart aches for you, my little moon, to cast your glorious light across my dark, lonely nights.

  xoxoxo

  A tear fell onto the page and smudged the xoxoxo. Louisa’s shoulders slumped as she reread Roberto’s letter half-a-dozen times before opening her underwear drawer and placing it with the other notes.

  After padding to the bathroom, she turned on the tap. As water filled the basin, she put in a couple of drops of lavender oil, heaviness flooding her heart. Her tryst with Roberto would forever be etched in her memory and her love and desire would always form an unbreakable connection to her lover. Although it didn’t matter how much she wished, her future wasn’t going to change. She hadn’t cheated on Eduardo as there was no romantic relationship, but life would be unbearable if he found out and she had to live through his continual cycles of disappointment and anger, as he would perceive her actions as a betrayal. Even before the dementia symptoms had appeared, he’d made it clear he didn’t want her taking lovers. Foolishly, she’d agreed, thinking a warm bed and hot meals would be enough.

  The lavender aroma lifted her spirits a notch and her skin tingled where the cloth trailed across her body. In a way, it would be easier to be heartless and love Roberto with abandon, not caring what Eduardo thought. But her parents hadn’t brought her up that way and even though they weren’t with her physically, their spirits were her one constant. She glanced at the framed photo beside the bed, the only surviving image of Louisa and her parents. She couldn’t shame them by going back on her promise to Eduardo, although this hadn’t been f
oremost in her mind last night. She’d made a gaffe—a delicious, sensual, wonderful, earth-moving mistake— and now she had to deal with the consequences.

  Louisa slid on silk stockings, a red pleated skirt and white shirt. She tied the shirt’s bow around her neck and stepped into red shoes. After many years living in dismal conditions and wearing drab, filthy clothes in London, then Wales and Argentina, she still found it difficult to adjust to wearing bright, fresh, designer outfits. Eduardo always expected her to look her best, and if it meant having a seamstress on hand twenty-four hours a day, he’d do it. And he did.

  Of course she’d miss this lifestyle should she ever follow her heart and be with Roberto. Here she was, a young woman, enjoying a life of riches and it was all she’d cared about, until she’d met Roberto. After enduring life in war-torn Britain and the slums of Buenos Aires, she’d sworn never to return to that existence. Eduardo’s offer had been hard to resist. Perhaps it was shallow, but Louisa felt she’d paid her dues and deserved the spoils of this high life.

  Glancing at the clock, she hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Low voices murmured behind the closed parlour doors, and Louisa paused, fingers on the handle. She’d much prefer to stay in her room and reflect on the passionate hours she’d shared with Roberto. Being in the presence of others would burst her blissful bubble, but she had no choice other than to steel herself and flash her brightest smile. As an old hand at faking emotions, this shouldn’t be too hard.

  She rapped lightly on the carved wooden door and pushed it open. Roberto sat on an embroidered chair with his back stiff and the sunlight streaming behind his shoulders. He hadn’t mentioned coming to the luncheon and his presence knocked her off-kilter. She lifted her chin and refused to meet his eyes, for if she did, she’d surely break down in tears, knowing this would be one of the last times she would see him.

  The mystery guest rose and strode towards her like they’d met hundreds of times. He towered over her, his broad physique sporting a perfectly tailored navy blue suit. Stretching a meaty hand towards her, he said, ‘It is nice to meet you, Miss Gilchrist.’