Luna Tango

by Alli Sinclair

  Louisa gave a small shrug. ‘I haven’t had a chance to see if it isn’t so.’

  ‘Would you be game to?’ Wyler didn’t pause long enough for her to answer. ‘What if it was true and he couldn’t perform if you left him? Argentina would suffer the loss of their greatest musician, and in these turbulent times, they need their national icons for consistency. Believe me, I’ve seen what instability can do to unhappy people. And, of course, on a purely selfish note, I don’t want him to fall apart before we get these tango movies underway. Imagine how proud the Argentines will be when Eddie succeeds in getting the world to fall in love with tango once more.’ Wyler slapped on his hat. ‘I should keep my big mouth shut but I have to say, Argentina—and my studio—can’t afford to have Eddie fail, and I imagine if he knew about what you two have been up to, his fall would be hard and fast.’

  ‘I know.’ She lowered her eyes. Wyler’s words supported what she and Roberto had discussed on many occasions. ‘We had no intentions of going this far.’

  ‘You two should go to the house.’ Roberto cocked his head to the mansion, his eyes pleading with Louisa to remain quiet.

  Leaning towards Wyler, Louisa wrapped her hands around his, surprised at their smoothness. Looking at him earnestly, she said, ‘I can’t thank you enough for your judiciousness.’

  ‘I heard enough of your conversation with Roberto to know this is not a fling. However, I do suggest you think about what you’re doing. Whatever you do will not only affect the two of you but will have great repercussions on the future of your country’s lifeblood— the tango.’

  CHAPTER

  10

  Her grandma’s phone rang and as it did so, Dani hoped she didn’t answer. This way, she could say she tried to contact Stella and not have to deal with the continuing fallout.

  ‘Hello?’

  Damn.

  ‘Hi ... Grandma?’

  ‘Dani?’ Stella’s icy tone sent chills down Dani’s spine.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she said, ‘Argentina.’

  ‘You found that mother of yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. You’re not learning how to dance it are you?’

  ‘Um ...’ She couldn’t lie to her grandma, no matter how angry Stella made her.

  ‘You are playing with fire, girl. That dance is a curse on our family.’

  ‘I don’t believe in curses. And anyway, have you seen me dance? The most musical I’ve ever gotten was trying to work out how to use my iPod and remember how that turned out?’ She pictured the mass of wires on her desk at home.

  ‘Things change. When are you going back to New York?’

  ‘I’m not. I’ve got to get the stories done and—’

  ‘Don’t give excuses, Dani. We made a promise to each other years ago. No tango. No Argentina.’ Her voice lowered an octave. ‘No Iris.’

  ‘I was five years old for god’s sake!’

  ‘Dani!’

  ‘For goodness’ sake.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Life changes. People change. Grandma, I’m not ringing for a lecture, all I wanted was to tell you I’m okay.’ In case you cared. ‘So, I’ve been doing some research on the history of tango—’

  ‘I don’t want to know about it.’

  ‘Let me finish, please? I was just wondering if you’ve heard of the tango composer and singer Eduardo Canziani?’ Dani grimaced the moment the words fell from her mouth and she felt ridiculous. The pause on the other end was long enough for Dani to feel uncomfortable. Stella breathed heavily through her nostrils—another sign she was pissed.

  ‘Why are you asking me this?’ Agitation shot down the line and zapped Dani. She should have known better.

  ‘He was around your era and I thought you may know of him.’

  ‘Why is it important? If you have to cover the tango, why don’t you find some young upstart who’s about to become famous? Keep it edgy, as you like to say. Why didn’t you stick with teaching English? You were excellent at that.’ Bitterness punctuated Stella’s sentences and the barbed remarks about her abilities pierced Dani’s self-esteem.

  ‘It was just a question. Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Call me when you’re in New York and not before.’

  ‘Bye, Grandma.’

  The phone clicked in Dani’s ear. ‘Well, that was about as successful as last month’s diet.’

  Dani closed the laptop, pushed it aside and stretched her legs. Running the conversation through her head, she analysed Stella’s every word and reaction. Nothing stood out other than her grandma’s irritation, which was expected. It wasn’t like she thought Stella would burst into tears and confess she was Louisa Gilchrist and had killed Eduardo Canziani. Didn’t criminals usually confess during the third conversation?

  ‘I watch too much CSI,’ she said quietly and let out a small laugh.

  This talking to herself was disconcerting. Some real-life company was needed, otherwise she’d end up like the old lady she’d seen in the park yesterday, who’d flicked seeds at the pigeons and had a grand old conversation with herself. Actually, the old woman had seemed content.

  She glanced at the clock: 5.07 a.m. Way too early for anyone she knew in Buenos Aires to be awake and all her friends in New York would be snoozing. Pfft.

  Pulling out her phone, she selected ‘Contacts’ and stared at Carlos’s name. If she texted him now, he’d get her message when he woke later. Sure, she could text Gualberto, but she didn’t think his wife would appreciate another woman contacting him in the early hours, no matter how innocent. Texting Carlos sat better, even though he insisted on this stupid dancing-for-answers caper. At the rate she was going, she’d be in Argentina until Christmas 2025.

  Carlos, what are the chances of us meeting for lunch today? Dani

  Placing the phone on the bedside table, she turned off the light and snuggled under the covers. She’d do well to get some shut eye so she could have a clear head for today’s research.

  The phone vibrated and a green light pierced the dark room.

  Let us meet in 30 minutes. La Biela, Recoleta. Chau, Carlos

  Dani blinked rapidly, surprised he’d replied so fast. Dashing to the bathroom, she stripped off her nightie and flung open the door to the shower. Cold water tingled her skin as she soaped up, all the while wondering why Carlos would be awake in the wee hours of the morning. Probably talking to himself, just like her. She laughed and spat out the soap that landed on her tongue. Today had started in an interesting way.

  * * *

  Scooting past two red phone boxes that would have been more at home in London, Dani made it to the rendezvous twenty-eight minutes after receiving Carlos’s text. She entered the café, excited to see if it lived up to the hype she’d read on blogs. She expected it to be almost empty but it was chock-a-block with patrons who had finished clubbing or were about to start their workday. The aroma of fresh coffee filled the cavernous space as waiters in black trousers, crisp white shirts and pristine aprons hurried between tables, balancing silver trays loaded with drinks and pastries. She eyed the sweets, her tastebuds doing a happy dance thinking about crusty flakes melting in her mouth.

  Weaving between tables, she tried to spot her target, although she didn’t really expect Carlos to be on time. Aside from Gualberto, she’d yet to meet an Argentine who knew the meaning of punctuality. Making a beeline for a small table at the back corner, Dani sat and the moment she did so, a waiter approached and peered down his nose at her. He placed a glass of water and a menu on the white-clothed table then turned on his heels and headed to the bar, busying himself with glasses and serviettes.

  Above the bar hung a series of dramatic black and white photos of parks in Buenos Aires. Scattered on other walls were images of the Ferrari and Lamborghini families, a variety of antique brass horns, and a collection of postage stamps depicting classic cars from the twenties and thirties. Photos of Juan Manuel Fa
ngio next to his F1 cars hung on the walls too, paying homage to the Argentine who was still considered one of the world’s best racing car drivers. With the amount of car memorabilia spread throughout, no wonder the café name had changed from Aero Bar to La Biela—the piston rod. Starbucks had nothing on this place.

  Dani settled in and kept an eye on the door. Every time it opened, more revellers floated through in an alcohol-induced haze, but no Carlos. Eventually, a figure dressed head to toe in black graced the threshold. He paused, his dark eyes methodically searching the room. Dani waved to get his attention and, with a nod and a small smile, he limped between the hotch-potch of tables, oblivious to the wide-eyed female patrons watching his every move. Dani doubted she imagined the dagger looks thrown at her when they saw Carlos making his way over. She stifled a smirk.

  ‘You are not one for sleeping?’ He slid onto the neighbouring chair, his musky cologne overpowering the coffee aroma.

  ‘Sleep never comes easy but tonight it was impossible.’

  ‘Hmm ... The brain of a writer can never rest.’ Carlos motioned to the waiter, who rushed over, took his order then returned balancing coffee and pastries on a silver tray. He placed them on the table and gave Carlos a small nod of recognition.

  ‘Do you get noticed everywhere you go?’ she asked.

  ‘Is this a question?’

  ‘No!’ Regaining composure, she said, ‘Well, it is but why don’t we forget the business side of things and hang out for a while?’

  ‘Why?’ He seemed genuinely perplexed.

  ‘Because if we’re going to work together, then knowing each other on a personal level might be nice.’

  ‘Again, I ask why?’

  Dani tilted her head and widened her eyes. ‘Really?’

  He shuffled back on the chair. ‘If you must know about my life, I teach tango, I go home, I read. This is all.’

  ‘Come on, Carlos, what’s your passion? What makes you get up in the morning?’

  ‘Hope,’ he said.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Hope that I will some day have a family like the one I grew up in.’

  ‘You like your family?’ She did a cruddy job of hiding her surprise.

  ‘Sí. Do you not like yours?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’ Dani fiddled with the coffee cup, unable to meet his eyes.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Tell me about yours first.’ While he talked she could decide if now was the time to open up about Iris.

  ‘You want to know about my family? I have no brothers, no sisters. My mother made costumes for the Teatro Colón, and my father made the shoes. They are now deceased.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It must be hard.’

  ‘It is at times. I miss having family. Although we were only three, we were close. I wish ...’ A small sigh escaped his lips and his eyes travelled to the photos on the closest wall. ‘Never mind. I have no family and no wishing can change this. Family is very important.’

  ‘Sometimes having a family can be detrimental.’

  ‘No. A family is the one place we can feel safe to be who we are. To be loved. To be cared for.’

  ‘Not everyone has caring families.’ Maybe she should wait a fraction longer for the big reveal.

  ‘Family is family, even if they are, how you say, dysfunctional.’

  ‘Sorry, Carlos,’ Dani said, sitting straight, ‘but I don’t agree. All families are is a bunch of DNA thrown together in the hope they get along and don’t kill each other.’

  ‘What about the families who have adopted children? Should they get along more because they have been chosen?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter if someone is adopted or not, no one knows how a family will behave as a unit until they’re together. And if that fails, then the family members are better off without each other.’

  ‘What has made you so cynical?’ he asked.

  ‘Experience.’ She crossed her arms to signal she would not discuss this further—for now.

  Carlos rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Families should learn to get along. Without family, what do we have? This is why I live with the hope that I will one day create my own happy family.’

  ‘Yes, it sounds nice.’ It truly did—for Carlos. The concept of family still eluded her, though. Dani’s first foray into creating a family unit ended in a screaming heap when Adam left her, proving she wasn’t cut out for family life.

  ‘I will tell you this, Daniela McKenna. My first memory from childhood is crawling on the floor at the theatre. I was only this high.’ He held out his hand to indicate the height of a toddler. ‘All my childhood, the dance was around me. Always, there would be sequins caught in my clothes, or my nose would be filled with the smell of shoe glue.’

  ‘So tango keeps the memory of your parents alive.’ She placed her hand on his arm. He tensed slightly then relaxed. This man with a reputation for hating journalists had just opened up. Physical attraction stirred in her belly and mixed with a new sensation— a very deep fondness for this man. Oh god, no.

  ‘Yes.’ A small sigh escaped his lips. ‘But it is, how you say, a double-edged sword. I have fond memories of tango and my childhood but as an adult, tango destroyed my life. It damaged my leg, my relationship with—’ His mouth closed quickly and his eyes flashed with alarm. Coughing, he said, ‘It is not important. But así es la vida, no? Such is life?’ He lowered his eyes and shook his head then looked up with a smile. ‘I should not complain. Many are worse off than me. I am grateful for all in my life.’

  ‘Even the bad stuff?’ She wondered why he didn’t mention Cecilia when the whole world knew about it.

  ‘Yes, but it does not mean I’m happy about the bad things.’

  ‘It’s weird how one day we can be cruising along and then— bam!—we trip and fall face first into a puddle of torment.’

  ‘Such a philosopher.’ He winked and her face flushed with heat.

  Reaching for the pastry, she broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth. Caramel and icing sugar mixed with buttery pastry tantalised her taste buds and she tried not to roll her eyes as the combination melted in her mouth.

  ‘I had no idea this stuff was so good. I think I’ve found a new addiction. Thanks a lot, Carlos. I’m going to put on ten kilos.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said.

  ‘Here.’ She pushed the plate towards him. He shook his head and held up his hand.

  ‘You don’t want one?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you order two?’

  ‘They are for you.’ He pushed the plate in her direction. ‘The girls in Argentina, they are too skinny. All the day they talk and dream about food that will not touch their lips. They go to the shops and try to fit into tiny jeans made for a six-year-old, and they are never far from a mirror. This is crazy, which is why people in my country have the most psychologists per capita in the world.’

  ‘Yes, I had heard. How do you think this obsession started?’ Finally, they had focused on something other than tango and family. Maybe now she’d learn a little about the man who once had the world at his feet before it was cruelly yanked away.

  ‘I do not know. There are many questions in the world we cannot answer. Why do the Americans get involved in other people’s business? Why do the French think they are superior? Why do Australian journalists ask so many questions? Tell me, did your questions make your mother crazy when you were growing up?’

  ‘My grandma raised me.’ She lowered her eyes.

  ‘I am sorry. Did you mother die?’ He reached over and rubbed his hand against the exposed skin of her arm. Goose bumps sprouted where his skin touched hers.

  ‘In my grandma’s eyes she did.’ This was getting too painful, too personal. No way was she ready to tell him about Iris.

  As if he sensed her reluctance and need to change the subject, Carlos tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. ‘Maybe Diego Alonso is right. In a differe
nt light, you remind me of La Gringa Magnifica.’

  She’d been floating along nicely and starting to enjoy Carlos’s company—now she was plummeting to the ground like a shot duck in hunting season. Maybe she would have been better off staying in her room and wallowing.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind having a break from talking about tango.’

  ‘If we talk about life then tango must be involved.’

  ‘Not for those outside of Argentina.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe, but you are here now and you cannot deny tango is everywhere.’

  ‘I guess so.’ She tore off a small piece of pastry and threw it in her mouth. Tango was most definitely outside of Argentina, in fact, it had slithered its sticky tentacles into her life, strangled her family, then ripped it apart.

  ‘Melancholy,’ Carlos said, pulling her back into the room.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Melancholy is essential to tango, just like life. How do we know how to recognise joy when it arrives? A great tango embraces a series of emotions—love, heartbreak, unhappiness, felicity. How are we to grow without experiencing this range of feelings? Imagine if we danced the same steps or felt the same emotions every day.’

  ‘It would be boring and we’d be stunted.’

  ‘Exactly. This is why tango and life are similar. The world would be a better place if everyone understood and appreciated tango.’

  ‘You could be right,’ she said, not convinced. Her own life was testament to why tango should be shoved in a corner and ignored.

  Carlos wrapped his warm hand around hers. ‘Do you miss your home?’

  ‘No, not really. There’s too much drama there so it’s better I distance myself.’

  ‘You miss one person in particular, sí?’ He glanced at their entwined fingers and let go, as if he’d registered what he was doing.

  ‘Nope. Well, yes, sort of. But it’s the past, right? Such is life and all that?’ Dani forced her mood out of the doldrums. Carlos caught her eye and, for a moment, the world stopped. Adam used to give me that look. Scared by the intensity, she looked away, breaking the spell.

  Carlos pointed at the photos on the wall. ‘These were taken by the writers Jorge Luis Borges and Adolfo Bioy Casares. They wrote a book and did photography together and now this is where their artwork is displayed.’