"Mr. DreamDance!"
Ana turned to her. "He's here?"
Beth nodded. "Just where you're looking. The guy at the table wearing the black shirt talking to the middle-aged man with grey hair."
"Him?" Ana looked astonished. "I know him! That's Javier Hudson. The middle-aged guy's his dad."
"This is incestuous!" Sabina turned to Beth. "There were times, dear, when Ana and I weren't sure about this Mr. DD of yours. We didn't doubt he was real, but was he really the great dancer you kept telling us about?" She grinned. "I guess we'll find out tonight!"
Beth laughed. "I can't believe you know him, Ana."
"If I'm not mistaken," Sabina said, "Ana knows his father very well!"
"He's a colleague. He also used to be my lover. Ordinarily I wouldn't confide such a thing, but we're here tonight as friends, not patient-and therapist."
"I don't know what to do," Beth moaned. "I'm just so...amazed."
"Of course you know what to do!" Sabina said. "You're going to dance with the guy!"
"You must!" Ana urged. "The tanda's almost finished. As soon as the floor clears, catch his eye. Meantime, I'll stare at Tomás." She shook her head. "I'm surprised to see him here. Far as I know, he hasn't danced in years...."
"Do you feel a pair of eyes devouring you, father?" Javier asked.
Tomás peered around. The music had enveloped him, stirring up memories. For years he'd thought there was something psychologically crippling about tango songs, lyrics that always seemed to deal with loss, departed lovers, dead mothers, loneliness, even suicide. He'd forgotten the pleasure he used to feel in dance halls, letting the music wash over him, admiring the intricate footwork of the dancers, savoring an urge, until it became irresistible, to join them on the floor.
Now that the music had stopped, the hall resounded with laughter and conversation. People were still arriving, including whole families. Children were playing and teenagers were flirting.
"Whose eyes?" he asked.
"It's your friend, Dr. Moreno, sitting directly across." Javier squinted. "Oh my God! I don't believe this! The girl beside her, on her left—I met her months ago in the States."
Tomás detected exceptional excitement in Javier's voice. He was excited too by the prospect of dancing with Ana.
"When you were on the tournament circuit?"
Javier nodded. "It was on a Sunday, my last night in San Francisco. I'd just won a tournament in Carmel. We met at a milonga, danced, made what she called 'tango magic.' Excuse me, father. I must go to her."
"I'll come with you. It's been years since I've danced. I hope I don't make a fool of myself."
"Oh my God! Here they come, both of them!" Beth said to Ana. The music was just starting up.
Sabina laughed. "They couldn't very well ignore beauties like the two of you."
"I'm nervous. I don't even know his name."
"It's Javier, I told you. He's a tennis pro. From what I hear, a very good one. His father's a famous shrink. His mother was disappeared when Javier was a kid."
"He does look dashing," Sabina said. "And eager. As well he should be!" She paused. "His dad, however, looks a little timid."
"Maybe I shouldn't have given Tomás the cabeceo," Ana said. "I don't want him to think I'm stalking him."
"I'm shaking!" Beth said.
Sabina clapped her hands. "Stalking! Shaking! What's wrong with you two? You've attracted gorgeous partners. I'm going to give the eye to the one over there." She nodded toward an older gentleman with a white mustache. "We've danced before. I found him courtly. He's one of only three men I'll dance with here tonight. Now that I'm middle-aged, I'm allowed to be selective. God knows, I've paid my dues on the floor!"
Marta and Leon, in deep embrace, were near the center of the floor, moving counterclockwise with the flow. The DJ was playing a mix of smoky old tango songs ("Qué Falta Que Me Hacés!;" "La Descamisada"), songs that put Marta in the mood to achieve her objective: to forget, for this night at least, that she was a cop.
Wearing a dress instead of pants certainly helped. As did her elevated heels. But it was Leon's combination of tenderness and strength that made her feel particularly womanly. He was leading her in a special way, not in the proverbial dance of love-and-death, but in a smooth, subtle manner that allowed her to slip into a tango-trance.
So often she felt assaulted by the city. It was huge and smelly and noisy and dangerous, and, sometimes, she felt trapped within it. But tonight, in Leon's arms, she let go of her stress. The music—rising, falling, beseeching, swirling—was filled with passion. Tough and sentimental, sensual and pompous, "The Cry of the City" now cried out to her.
"You're doing amazing things to me," she whispered to Leon, etching an ocho. "I'm feeling very feline just now."
He smiled, then led her in a sequence of ochos en espejo, forward and backward figure-eights executed simultaneously, and then, after that, back into the caminada.
Oh, that's good! she thought.
"Do you see the kids?" Leon whispered. He guided her so she could view Marina and Manuel discreetly past his shoulder.
"They're adorable!" she whispered back, watching them move amidst the sea of adults, Manuel's posture expressing protectiveness, Marina's face expressing confidence and delight.
"She looks so ladylike," Leon said, whirling Marta around. "She's growing up fast."
Marta felt her heart warm with pride as, still turning, she caught sight of Marina again, lovely tonight in a new dress that bared her arms and defined her budding breasts.
"Remember you! Are you kidding?" Javier asked, smiling. "To dance with you once is never to forget you!"
We did a lot more than just dance! Beth thought, nestling herself against him.
"I imagine a good-looking guy like you engages in many similar adventures," she whispered.
"Sure! A different one every night! I'm a Latin Lothario... whatever that means. Tell you the truth, I never understood the expression."
"A Lothario is a seducer."
"And a seductress—is there a special word for one of those?"
"A siren."
Javier laughed. "Yeah, a siren luring a guy blinded by her beauty, her charm and her song to some horrible death against the rocks!" He pulled back to look at Beth, then paused...as if to take me in, take in my beauty, she thought.
He pulled her close again. "I'm really glad you came down here. That was our arrangement, remember?"
She no longer felt nervous, rather exceedingly comfortable with him. She pressed her face against his, luxuriated in the smoothness of his freshly shaven cheek and the safety of his protective arms. She felt Tango Magic beginning to come upon her. And it wasn't forced. We're really perfect partners, she thought.
"I've been down here for more than two months," she told him. "I've been looking for you, evidently in all the wrong places."
"I'm so sorry!" he said, after she listed the clubs she'd frequented. "I should have told you where to find me. But I never thought you'd show up. Stupid of me! I've thought about you a lot. I've been planning a trip to the States this summer, hoping to meet you at the same milonga."
She pulled her head back so she could peer into his eyes. "You're not just saying that, are you?" she asked him in English. "Because I really have thought of you a great deal."
"I mean every word," he said seriously, drawing her closer. "I don't think I ever had a better partner. When we met, I thought you were a wonderful dancer. Now I think you're even better. Do I dare tell you this? I think you've become a great dancer! Sometimes that happens down here. But listen to us. Tango's meant to be a silent dance, and here we are talking non-stop. I'm so glad we now know each other's names." He paused. "I have to tell you this, Beth—I really do love your eyes!"
She pressed her breasts against his chest, felt his breath on her cheek, and closed her eyes. The Magic was upon her now, heightening all her senses.
Dancing with him I feel totally alive! So perhaps it wasn't an i
llusion....
"I'm not doing too badly, am I?" Tomás asked, holding Ana, hoping she'd tell him that he wasn't.
"You're doing very well. It's strange, you know...because we've never danced before."
Could that be?
She was right, of course. They never had danced together, though, over the years, they'd held tight to one another innumerable times.
"Javier looks particularly handsome tonight," Ana told him. "He's dancing with one of my patients."
"You go out on the town with a patient!" Tomás said, hoping to amuse her. "I should report you to the Institute!"
Ana laughed. "They look good together, don't they? She's told me a lot about him. But since she didn't know his name, I had no idea whom she was talking about. For months she's been down here searching for a wonderful young man she met at a milonga in San Francisco. She's had some tough times down here, gone through the mill so-to-speak. I'm so glad that tonight she's found him...for which I can claim no credit. My friend, Sabina, brought us here so we could experience a different kind of milonga. And what happens? She finds Javier and I run into you. Makes you wonder about the role of chance in life."
Tomás led her in a walk. It felt so good to hold her in his arms. He wanted to savor this closeness, so familiar and so long denied.
Could this be a new beginning?
"Do you see the woman sitting over there?" he asked Ana, gesturing toward a table beside the floor. "She's sitting with a younger man with a mustache?"
"I see her. I noticed her before. She was dancing with someone else. Who is she?"
"A cop. They call her 'La Incorrupta.'"
"I've heard of her! She doesn't look at all like I'd expect. Do you know her?"
"No. But the Vargas told me about her. She came to see their son in the hospital after he was beaten. He worships her. They described her as being intelligent and very intense."
"Well, she looks calm now. Tango can do that. Calm the nerves even as it stirs the senses."
Tomás found that he was dancing better with her now. It was the same thing that happened when he played tennis with Javier—his son elicited his best game, as Ana was now calling forth his too-long-frozen ability to dance.
"Javier brought me here tonight," he told her. "He's been giving me tennis lessons. Lately we've drawn close. But this is a first for us, going out together. I came, a little reluctantly, I admit...and who do I run into? My God, Ana! I'm just going to blurt it out—I think of you all the time these days, ever since we had coffee after Carlos' memorial. I didn't have the courage to tell you so...but, meeting you here tonight gives me courage. Forgive me if what I'm saying upsets you in any way."
She went silent, moving with him, as if to allow herself time to take in his words. He expelled thoughts of rejection, instead let the music take over, weld them together as a couple. Perhaps, he thought, in the dance he could find a deep and silent way to speak to her.
We can become one again....
It was then that she finally answered him.
"I welcome your words, dear Tomás. I truly do...."
He held her tighter. "I want to love you again so much," he whispered in her ear.
When Hank Barnes entered Club Sunderland, it was simply to follow Marci's suggestion: watch the dancers for a while, then return to his hotel and pack. But entering and finding a friendly bar, he ordered a Scotch and soda, and sat down.
His hands, he noted gratefully, were no longer shaking. He'd regained his calm after an evening unlike any other in his life. Relaxing, he turned his bar stool around so he could survey the room. The music from the dance hall bled into the bar. Around him people of all ages were clustered at tables, laughing, talking, exchanging partners, then venturing again on to the gym floor.
Would the Israelis send him the Reichsmarschall dagger? He didn't doubt Marci's word. Still, it was hard for him to get used to the idea that soon he would be rich, that the longshot quest that had brought him to this great city of intrigue, would pay off more handsomely than he could ever have dreamed.
He'd already decided how he'd market the dagger. He'd hold a private auction. There were only five or six collectors in the world who could afford it. He knew them all. As soon as he had it in hand, he'd phone each one to gauge interest. Considering the dagger's nearly mythical stature, any serious bidder would insist on inspecting it in person, not because such a bidder would doubt his word or his authentication, but because the Göring dagger was an object of such fascination and desire that each would need to hold it, feel it, fondle it. It would be the degree of their infatuation with it that would drive the auction. Or perhaps something beyond infatuation, he thought. Madness. Yes, madness!
It would only be then, when he was certain that madness had truly taken hold, that he would solicit bids. The rules would be simple. Each bidder would write up his best offer, then seal it in an envelope to be opened only when all other bids were in. There would be just a single round of bidding. High bidder would take the knife.
It would be the deal of a lifetime. And then what would he do? He was disquieted by what Marci had said. Should he, as she'd suggested, give up dealing in Third Reich militaria, disassociate himself from those artifacts of an evil regime? Move on to something else—Winchesters, Colts, Civil War sabers?
Perhaps better, he thought, move on to something completely different, outside the militaria field. Having achieved the summit, it would be appropriate to withdraw the way an Olympic athlete, upon winning a gold medal, announces he'll no longer compete. Thus it would not be as penance that he would change his profession, or an attempt to achieve some kind of redemption, but simply because he had taken it as far as he could, and now had nothing further to prove.
Finishing his Scotch, he strolled over to the archway that gave onto the dance hall. The music was starting up again. People were crisscrossing the gym, moving toward one another with purpose. He watched with wonder as this random movement, which appeared so chaotic, suddenly became disciplined as men and women formed couples, and then, as the music picked up, began to move to its rhythm.
Like iron filings suddenly organized by a magnet....
At that insight a notion struck. Suddenly he knew what he would do next. He would go back to teaching science, an honorable profession which he'd loved.
Suddenly he missed those years of explaining scientific concepts, and the contentment he'd felt when he made one clear and could see a student's eyes light up in awe at the beauty of it. He'd always loved science for its lack of ambiguity, the way a theory could explain phenomena otherwise inexplicable. He recalled his excitement when he'd gone up to the roof of the Hotel Castelar at night to study the configuration of stars in the Southern sky.
Why, he wondered, had he given all that up? It hadn't been for the money. It was on account of the fascination he'd found in Third Reich artifacts, feelings of transgression while handling and dealing them. Now all that was over. After all, he thought, here in Buenos Aires he'd participated in enough transgression to last him a lifetime.
"Do you see that girl?" Marta asked Rolo, pointing.
They were relaxing at their table, while Leon and Isabel danced, and Marina and Manuel continued to astound everyone by the graceful, tireless way they moved among the adults.
"The pretty one dancing with the good-looking guy?"
Marta nodded. "She's a terrific dancer. They both are. They're the best performing couple on the floor."
Marta's cell phone rang. She plucked it from her purse, listened, nodded, muttered: "Thanks for telling me....", turned it off, then leaned close to Rolo so she could whisper.
"That was Shoshana. An hour ago a cell phone bomb blew off Pedraza's head."
Rolo whistled. "Those people mean business! Can't say I'm sorry."
"Me neither," Marta said. "It's not the way we like to do things...but I guess it had to be done."
The tanda had just finished. Couples were breaking apart, gentlemen escorting ladies back to their t
ables. Leon and Isabel were heading their way. When they reached the table, Marta turned to them with a grin. "You two make a great pair." Then, wanting again to forget about work, she smiled as she drilled Leon with her eyes.
"Think of me as an infatuated wife," she told him, grinning, "imploring her husband to partner her again."
Leon drilled her back. "Think of me as a love-struck husband," he said, laughing, "longing to hold his smoldering wife in his arms...."
"She was my father's lover for years and years," Javier said. "Then something happened and they broke up."
He and Beth were sitting together, watching Ana and Tomás as they made their way counterclockwise around the floor.
"I believe he still loves her," Javier continued. "He's a lonely man. He's given his life to his patients. Last month his oldest friend, another shrink, jumped off the roof of a building. That really shook him up."
Beth met Javier's eyes. She was in the process of discovering him. She was pleased to find he wasn't merely a terrific dancer and charming lover, but also sensitive and kind. She'd been moved when Ana told her Javier's mother had been disappeared. She was touched now by his concern for his dad.
Javier sipped some wine. "For years we were estranged. He was so silent. We barely exchanged a word. I resented that because he had so much to tell me, so much to teach. Now, watching them together, the way they're moving, I see a lightness in him I haven't seen since I was a kid." He turned to Beth. "It makes me happy to see him like this."
"That's really great!" Beth paused. "By the way, I'm due to go home day after tomorrow," she said casually.
"Oh, no!" he exclaimed. "That's too soon! We just met up again!"
"I know...."
"Is there a chance you could change your plans?" he asked, not concealing his hope that she would.
She searched his eyes. "I'd like to." She brightened. "I mean, sure! Absolutely! Now that we've met up again, I'd love to stay on a while."
His face lit up. "We could really get to know one another. I'd love to show you the city. I was born here, you know." He grinned. "Do you play tennis?"
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