Luna Tango

by Alli Sinclair

  Dani ran her fingers over the bare skin that once proudly displayed an engagement ring. Throwing it at Adam’s head had given her little satisfaction and she still couldn’t get used to seeing her naked finger.

  Even though she’d witnessed her parents’ relationship fall apart and her own attempts at love had been pretty pathetic, she’d given in to Adam’s charms and allowed him to enter her life with an estranged wife and son in tow. A tinge of guilt raced through her for being part of the reason Adam hadn’t reconciled with his wife earlier. After all, she knew what it was like for a parent to take off and leave a kid wondering what they’d done wrong. She didn’t even begrudge him when he returned to his family, but it was the way he did it that hurt most. Really, who visits their ex to tell them they’re getting married and—whoops!—accidentally sleeps with said ex then decides the relationship is back on?

  The only reason Adam let her branch into features was because he felt guilty for dumping her and going back to his wife. He probably thought that once Dani had established herself, she’d leave the magazine anyway. That would be easier than him inventing a reason to fire her.

  Clicking onto her bank account, Dani checked the balance then read Adam’s email again. Reaching out to her ex had been a mistake.

  She logged off and slammed the laptop lid shut. Carlos Escudero didn’t know it yet, but he’d just met his match.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Dani sat on a faded emerald-green brocade sofa and willed her foot not to tap. Her eyes travelled from the arched windows to the myriad photos hanging on the walls of the dance studio. Many of the images featured Carlos with various dance partners but there were none of him with the infamous Cecilia Ortiz, his ex-fiancée. Dani trained her eyes to look everywhere but directly at the man himself. Skilled in reading people, she knew better than to hassle someone like him into talking before he’d processed his thoughts. The fact he’d left the door unlocked when she’d returned gave her a glimmer of hope.

  ‘It is an interesting offer.’ He leant back against the chair and clasped his hands behind his neck.

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘No.’

  God, she hated that word. She wanted to shake his shoulders and scream, ‘What will it take to get a yes?’ but instead she clasped her hands on her lap and wore a non-committal expression.

  ‘Are you telling me the money I’ve offered isn’t enough?’ she asked, unable to believe his greed.

  ‘It’s not the money, but if you would like to offer more …’

  ‘No.’ Oh, that felt good. ‘I can’t.’

  Of course she couldn’t. She’d just put a dent in her bank account to get this guy on board. Cheque book journalism didn’t sit well but she viewed it as an investment in her future, because if he cooperated, she could get her stories and all her problems would disappear into the ether. Well, not entirely, but at least she could forge a new career in feature writing and prove to her grandma the jump from teaching English to journalism wasn’t an entirely insane career move. And if she found information about Iris ...

  ‘All right,’ he said. So he could say something other than no.

  ‘But—what?’ she asked, sensing his agreement had a catch.

  ‘The amount is all right. Good, in fact.’

  Crap. She should have started lower.

  ‘I want more.’

  ‘You said the amount was good. You said—’

  ‘If I help with these articles, you do it on my terms. I am tired of the journalists writing what they like. It is my legacy to protect the reputations of generations of tango dancers before me. You and me, we work together and tell the real story of tango.’

  She detested someone else having an influence over her writing but she could circumvent that later if she needed to. Journalistic integrity was more than a catchphrase for Dani but now wasn’t the time to debate the state of modern journalism.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said. Ha! And her mates gave her grief for playing chess at uni.

  ‘There’s one more thing.’

  Uh oh. She nodded for him to continue.

  ‘We go to the dancing tonight.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You cannot write about tango if you cannot dance it. For every step you learn, I will answer a question.’

  ‘Don’t you recall my efforts yesterday?’ She cringed inwardly and wondered if poor Jorge now walked with a limp like his teacher.

  ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘What makes you think you can teach me? Your deal is one-sided. You want money, control over my articles, and I have to dance for answers.’ Sadist. He played this game beautifully and it crossed her mind that Carlos Escudero’s experience with journalists meant he could see she was as green as a four-leaf clover.

  ‘You take it or leave it, yes?’ he said.

  Oh, she should so leave it. She desperately wanted to leave it. But she couldn’t. Never in her life had she needed someone’s help so badly. It sucked on many levels to be in this position, although she’d be worse off back in New York. Images rushed in of Dani moping at her desk in the editorial department of the mag and an apartment devoid of Adam’s presence. She gave an involuntary shudder.

  ‘You are cold?’ Carlos reached for his jacket and offered it to her.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Huh. So he could be chivalrous. ‘I don’t see how I can say yes. If you want me to learn steps as part of the deal then I’m going to have to decline.’ God, how she wished she’d inherited her mother’s talent for tango.

  ‘I did not travel the world as a professional tango dancer because I am bad at it. I do not have my own dance studio because I am bad at it. When I teach you to dance, you will not be bad at it.’

  She wondered what it was like living in Carlos Escudero’s bubble. She doubted there’d be much elbow room between him and his inflated ego. Although his self-assurance almost led her to believe he could teach her at least a couple of steps. Then reality hit and she shook her head.

  ‘I can do this, you must have the trust in me.’ Carlos dipped his chin and locked eyes with her. ‘Trust in yourself.’

  She did admire his attempts and thanked the Powers That Be Carlos had no idea who her mother was. If he did, she’d have to suffer the embarrassment of explaining why the dancing gene hadn’t just skipped Dani, it had fled. Also, she didn’t want to deal with the inevitable questions that would accompany her revelation about Iris. No one outside the family knew who her mother was and she had no intention of revealing the truth—to anyone. Somehow, Dani needed to find a way to understand Iris’s idiosyncrasies and passion through Carlos. Learning tango could be the easy part.

  ‘I still don’t think it’s a fair deal.’

  ‘No student of mine has walked out this door unable to dance the basic steps of tango.’

  ‘You’ve never had me as a student.’

  ‘I do now.’

  ‘What makes you think I’ll say yes?’

  ‘You have no choice.’

  Her mouth fell open and she willed her brain to connect but to no avail.

  ‘We make the deal, yes?’

  She nodded, wishing she could disagree.

  ‘You wait here. I will refresh myself then we go to the práctica, where the dress and attitude is casual. Here they practise tango before progressing to a milonga that is more serious and formal and full of rules. But at both these tango halls you will witness what it is to live and breathe tango.’ He stood and limped to the office, shutting the door behind him with a click. Moments later the sound of gushing water filled the silence.

  She leant against the sofa, exhausted. It still felt like she was bribing rather than paying him a consulting fee, but whatever worked. Normally, she could win people over but Señor Escudero appeared immune to her charms. Paying her first interview subject for his cooperation made her doubt her professional abilities and if she had to do this with every interview, she’d be broke before the year ended. That’s if she got more articles a
fter this one. Everything depended on Carlos’s help.

  Needing a distraction, Dani’s gaze fell to the files strewn across the coffee table. Averting her eyes, she studied the faded blue cornices, the perfect symmetry of the arched windows, the chandelier with missing crystals. The building held a rustic charm, not unlike Carlos. Somewhere, beneath the gruff exterior, lay hundreds of stories that would remain buried forever. Perhaps she and Carlos were more alike than she thought.

  She stared at the files again, their magnetic pull impossible to resist. With the toe of her red shoe, she nudged the folder and a handful of black and white photos slid across the table and on to the floor.

  ‘Oh dear, we can’t have these lying around. They could get damaged or lost.’ She leant forwards, opened the file and dropped the photos into it. Stealing a glance at the closed office door and hearing the water splashing, Dani quickly flicked through the pile. They were only historical images, not top-secret plans to take over the world, after all. What harm could she do?

  Photographs from last century flashed before her. Moustached men in suits and women in low-cut dresses with full skirts clung to each other in seductive poses. Her ears hummed with tango music and muffled conversations from long ago. She gently shuffled the matte photos with yellowed and tattered edges, conscious of the history that lay in her hands. These original images were no doubt invaluable, so why would Carlos be so careless as to leave them lying about?

  Her mind drifted to her own stack of photos back at the hotel room. For years, Dani had collected images of her mother and hidden them from her grandma, because mentioning tango in their house had been banned the day Iris deserted the family. Pretending tango didn’t exist had been an easy task as no one wanted a reminder of the dance that stole her mother, but as Dani grew, so did the desire to understand her mother’s actions. The breakup with Adam had been the catalyst that propelled Dani to gain answers about Iris; how could Dani have a relationship with anyone if she didn’t understand herself or her own family? Adam had sent her to Argentina out of guilt for his idiotic actions that led to their breakup, so who was she to say no?

  Refusing to drag herself across the hot coals of her personal pain again, Dani flipped through a few more photos until a couple that looked like a father and daughter caught her attention. The dark-eyed man sat on a chair, his expression serious and stern. Behind him stood a young woman with hands draped casually across his shoulders. Her light curly hair was pulled back in a loose bun and ample cleavage spilled from the neckline of the dress that hugged her curves. The woman’s upturned nose and sparkling eyes hinted at her free spirit. She seemed familiar, but then again, Dani got this feeling with many people. She wondered if this would be a blessing or a curse with feature writing.

  The door clicked open and a hollow feeling exploded in her chest. Looking up, she found Carlos leaning against the doorway, eyebrows knitted and arms crossed tightly. Despite his angry pose and scowl, an air of sexiness hung around him, accentuated by his dark, slicked back hair.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he growled and limped to the sofa.

  ‘These were just lying here and—’

  He snatched the photo and busied himself stacking the files.

  ‘You journalists are all the same. Why can you not leave things alone?’

  ‘Carlos, I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘No excuses! If you cannot respect my privacy we cannot work together.’

  Her heart raced. ‘Carlos, I apologise. I shouldn’t have touched the photos. They’re just so lovely and ... I’m really sorry. It was a rookie mistake.’ She had nothing to lose by admitting her journalistic virginity, as she’d most likely blown her chances anyway.

  His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head to the side. ‘This is your first assignment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I could not tell. You are stubborn, like the journalists with many years’ experience. Perhaps you will do well at this profession.’

  ‘I won’t have any profession if I don’t come through with the goods.’

  Carlos stared at her long enough for her to feel uncomfortable and start fidgeting.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No what?’ This was exasperating.

  ‘No, I am not helping you. Your chance is gone. Even if you are a new journalist, you should know that looking at the things of people is not polite.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Carlos. Really, I am. But if I don’t write these stories my career will be over before it’s started. No one thinks I’m cut out for this job and—’

  ‘You are desperate.’

  ‘I am.’ Grovelling had never appealed but given the circumstances ...

  ‘Maybe I will forgive you. Just this once.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Dani let out a long breath, unaware she’d been holding it in. She sensed his forgiveness was because he saw an opportunity to mould a rookie journalist to his way of thinking. I’d like to see him try.

  ‘Can I ask a question?’

  He tucked the file under his arm. ‘You have not learned dance steps so you do not get to ask questions.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right but how about you give me a question in advance and I’ll do two new dance steps before I ask another one?’ It was a cheeky proposal and she had no idea if he’d go for it.

  ‘Like a loan?’

  ‘Yeah. Something like that.’

  ‘I will charge interest.’

  ‘Uh ...’ She nodded, unsure as to whether agreeing would be a smart move.

  ‘Know this: I do not trust you.’

  ‘Fair enough. You have reason to doubt me but I promise you, I meant no harm and I am truly sorry.’

  He nodded his head. ‘One question only. Then you and me, we go to the dancing. I will work out your interest later.’

  She was out on a limb, feet dangling high above ground, waiting for the branch to snap. The only way to fix her faux pas was to agree to his terms, whatever they ended up being.

  ‘Okay.’ Pointing at the photo on the top of his pile, she asked, ‘Who is the young woman and old man?’

  He glanced at the image and froze. His eyes didn’t meet hers. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘She has me intrigued.’

  ‘Ask me another question.’

  ‘This is the only question I have.’ She contemplated batting her eyelashes but refused to resort to such tactics. She doubted it would work on Carlos as he probably had lines of women willing to overlook his less-than affable personality because he was so ridiculously handsome.

  ‘I will answer, but we speak of this only once.’

  ‘Deal.’ She waited but he didn’t open his mouth. ‘And?’

  ‘He is Eduardo Canziani, Argentina’s greatest tango composer and singer. She is Louisa Gilchrist, his muse. She killed him because she had another lover. They escaped the country and were never found. End of story.’

  For Dani, though, it felt like just the beginning.

  CHAPTER

  3

  1953 – Louisa

  Standing in the empty, high-ceilinged hallway, Louisa Gilchrist pressed her ear against the wooden door of the music room. The silver tray laden with delicate china and a steaming teapot balanced precariously in her hands but she couldn’t pull herself away from the crisp notes of the bandoneón flying through the cracks of the door. Louisa closed her eyes and pictured Roberto Vega’s fingers running across the seventy buttons of the concertina-like instrument, his passion pouring into every note.

  Using her elbow to push the brass handle down and nudge open the door, Louisa entered the room quietly. Roberto’s eyes were closed, lost in the moment, his lean body swaying gently with the cadence. His mentor, Eduardo Canziani, sat on a velvet chair with a high back and wings, his fingers forming a pyramid as he studied his protégé’s performance.

  No one paid attention when she placed the tray on the oak desk, ensuring she didn’t rattle the china. Louisa took time to pour the tea into the cup, soaking in every note and enjoying the car
ess of Roberto’s music.

  ‘Eduardo, your tea,’ she whispered.

  ‘Shh.’ He waved his hand and she placed the cup of tea on the table beside him. Tears dropped from his cheeks and on to his starched collar but he didn’t notice. It never failed to surprise Louisa how Roberto’s music had such an effect on people, including his tough mentor. Offering Eduardo a napkin, she gestured for him to wipe away the tears but instead he turned and glared at her with steely eyes.

  Louisa bit her lip, waiting for the onslaught.

  ‘What is this?’ he growled, grabbing the napkin and throwing it on the floor.

  ‘I thought—’

  The music halted the second she spoke. Roberto gripped the bandoneón on his knees, and studied her with dark, worried eyes.

  ‘That does not mean you can stop!’ Eduardo angled a stubby finger at Roberto. ‘Go to the beginning!’ He thumped the table with his fist and made the crockery on the tray rattle. ‘Louisa! Pass me the ...’ Eduardo flicked his wrist at a pile of papers on the desk. ‘The ... the ...’ He kept waving as a bright red rash rushed across his face. ‘Pass me that!’

  ‘The sheet music?’ she asked and handed it to him.

  ‘Yes! Of course!’ He snatched it and sifted through the papers.

  She took this as her cue to leave and scurried through the door, not daring to look at Roberto. Rushing down the hall, she stopped to straighten the jasmine that had fallen to the side of a vase. A warm hand grabbed hers and she looked up to find Eduardo, his eyes downcast.

  ‘I am sorry, Louisa.’ His voice held genuine remorse.

  ‘Thank you, but apologies aren’t going to fix this. It’s getting worse, isn’t it? This forgetting names of simple things?’

  ‘Yes.’ He withdrew his hand and leant heavily on the table. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Go see a doctor.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head vehemently.