"Trouble with Kirstin," Sabina said, "is she expects too much. Don't fall into that trap or you'll be disappointed." Sabina put her arm around Beth. "I've been asking around about your Mr. DD guy. No one's spotted him yet. If you only had a name...."
"I know, I know." Beth shrugged. "Being nameless seemed so romantic at the time."
Sabina embraced her. "Don't lose hope, dear. If he's a dancer in Buenos Aires, sooner or later we'll turn him up."
It took Beth less than a week to discover what Fernando was really like and to understand why Kirstin found Jorge so maddening. The routine was always the same. The boys, professing undying love for their foreign girlfriends, would pick them up at Sabina's, accompany them to one or another of the clubs, dance a couple of tandas with them, then vigorously flirt with someone else. Both seemed to have an irresistible need to make out with every girl they danced with. When confronted, they professed wonderment that their girlfriends were upset.
"I see you doing the same thing with your partners," Fernando told Beth, when she protested his pursuit of a sexy bottle-blonde Argentine.
"Sure, I make nice with them, but I don't ask them out 'for coffee,'" Beth retorted.
Fernando laughed. "I have no way of knowing that. Anyway, the only reason to hit the clubs is to dance with different partners. Otherwise we might as well stay home, hold hands and watch TV." Fernando, smiling his most charming smile, shook his head. "It's a big turn-on when you foreign girls act jealous!"
At that he left her side to dance with the bottle-blonde he'd been making eyes at throughout the exchange, leaving Beth to wonder whether the words "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" had any meaning to him at all.
"See now why Jorge drives me crazy?" Kirstin asked. Though sympathetic to Beth, she related everything to herself.
"Fernando doesn't drive me anything. He's just juvenile," Beth said. "Anyway, I'm going to put him to the test. I'm going to do just what he's doing. Then we'll see how much he likes it."
They were at Contramano, a mostly gay club in Recoleta, popular with dancers of all orientations. There was a wonderful dancer on the floor, a tall, very lean young man named Eduardo, whom Kirstin had pointed out earlier.
"He's the prettiest boy in the room. Check out those eyelashes! Decadent too. Rumor is he'll have sex for money. I've danced with him a couple of times. If he weren't gay, I'd dump Jorge and take him straight home. Try and dance with him, Beth. It's like...pure heaven."
Observing Eduardo a while, admiring his fluid technique, Beth thought: You're my target, dude!
During the next interval she made big eyes at him. Meeting her eyes in turn, he showed her the most gorgeous smile, then came right over.
"Want to dance, gorgeous?"
"I see something I like, I go for it," Beth replied, standing.
"For a gringa, you sure got plenty of cojones."
"Would you like to lick them?" she asked, shocked by her brazenness.
"Hey! I like you!" He offered his arm, escorted her onto the floor. "You've got beautiful eyes," he whispered.
"And you've got the best looking eyelashes in the joint," she whispered back.
After two minutes of dancing, during which she understood he was trying her out, he led a series of ochos that spun her into a state close to a tango high.
"You're a very good dancer," he whispered in her ear.
They danced the next two tandas silently. He was one of the best dancers she'd ever partnered, technically even better than Mr. DD, she thought, though without his animal magnetism. Eduardo was pretty, light-footed, totally focused, and his dancing, way beyond clever, was as smooth, fluid and sensual as the music. The best part was that in his embrace she didn't think about Fernando, didn't even bother to check if he was watching.
This is what Argentine tango is about, she thought, feeling protected and confident in Eduardo's arms.
At the end of their third tanda, Eduardo guided her toward the bar.
"I'm bored here," he said. "I know an interesting club, very special, very exclusive. I think you'll like it and that the people there'll like you. Want to go there with me?"
She peered around, caught a glimpse of Fernando watching them. He appeared upset.
You're toast, sweetheart! We're breaking up. You just don't know it yet.
"Sure, let's go," she said.
Eduardo hustled her out the front door of Contramano, then into a cab. He mumbled some incomprehensible directions to the driver, then put his arm around her, kissed her cheek and sat back.
"I'm mostly gay, but I make out with girls too."
"I gathered that."
"Who told you?"
"My housemate."
"The six foot Swedish bitch?" Beth nodded. "What else did she tell you?"
"That you sometimes have sex for money."
"Is that why you signaled me?"
She squeezed his hand. "Of course not! I loved watching you. Let's forget about sex, just have fun."
"Sounds good!" he said.
He told her the tango club they were going to was called Noir, a secret address known only to the cognoscente.
"No sign downstairs," he told her, "nothing to tell you it's a club. It's very private. You gotta be introduced. Leopoldo, the guy who owns it— everyone calls him Poli—moves it to a new place every few months. Since I started going there, it's been in six different locations."
"What's this Poli afraid of?" Beth asked.
"The cops, I guess, since most of his clients do drugs. Gawkers too. Celebrities go there, and they don't like being stared at. You gotta be the right type before he'll let you in."
"Am I 'the right type'?"
"I wouldn't take you if I didn't think so. You're a ballsy North American broad, plus you're a terrific dancer. You're going to be a smash."
The taxi pulled up in front of a detached four-story commercial building on a dark deserted street.
"Where are we?" she asked as she paid off the driver.
"The Pompeya district. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe."
She had a sense of foreboding as she got out of the cab, was pleased when Eduardo took her arm and let her toward the building door. He rang the bell, a little window in the door flicked open, a pair of eyes stared out.
"It's Eduardo. I'm with a friend."
The door opened, revealing the doorman, a stout young man wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans held up by a black chrome studded belt, and chrome-studded bracelets on both wrists. He stared at Beth curiously, then smiled and waved them inside.
"You might want to slip him ten bucks," Eduardo whispered. "That way he'll remember you next time you come."
Beth slipped the doorman the money, then they headed for the stairs.
As they ascended, she began to hear music, cool hip new tango music, not the old tunes she was used to. The stairs were poorly lit, but she savored the murkiness. It made her feel she was embarking upon an adventure.
At the first landing, the aroma of marijuana smoke hit her full in the face.
So...it's that kind of place, she thought.
For just a moment she considered turning back. And then she realized what that would mean: returning to Sabina's, dealing with Fernando's hurt feelings, then reproaches at breakfast when the other girls asked why she hadn't at least checked out the scene at Noir.
She grasped hold of Eduardo's arm. "Don't abandon me, okay?"
He patted her hand. "Course not. You're my date."
They walked up two more flights, the music growing louder and the aroma stronger at each landing. Reaching the top they walked down a corridor to a reception desk. Beth paid their admissions, then they entered a large dark loft where she came upon a tango scene unlike any she'd ever observed.
The floor and ceiling were painted matte black, the walls were covered with smoky dark glass mirrors, and the ceiling lights gave off a dark blue glow she recognized as "black light." What was particularly spooky was the way the gloom was punctuated by the glowing ora
nge ends of lit marijuana cigarettes.
It took nearly a minute for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she was able to study the hundred or so people in the room. She was impressed. Everyone was young and attractive. No middle-aged tango devotees here. Moreover, everyone was well groomed and very well-dressed, suggesting this was a haunt of the farándula, the smart set of show biz, fashion people and assorted Argentine jet-setters. What impressed her too was the style of tango being danced, a sleek modern version she'd only caught occasional glimpses of at the clubs and which she'd never been taught in class.
Eduardo took her hand. "Come meet Poli, then I'll show you some new steps."
He led her across the room toward a short, sleek-looking young man with slicked-back black hair and a close-cropped black beard.
"Hi, Eduardo," Poli said, looking Beth up and down. "Who's your pretty friend?"
"This is Beth. Isn't she gorgeous? Beth, this is Poli Ríos, the man they call 'The Rick of Buenos Aires' after the Humphrey Bogart character in Casablanca. You know: 'Everyone in Casablanca turns up at Rick's.' Well, in Buenos Aires, anyone who's anyone turns up at Poli's."
Poli showed himself to be a warm host.
"A friend of Eduardo's is a friend of mine," he told Beth. "Consider yourself always welcome at Club Noir."
"This is a first, Poli," Eduardo said. "I never heard you offer that before you saw the person dance."
"If she's a good enough dancer for you, my friend, she's more than good enough for the rest of us. By the way, Pretty Pablito's hanging around. You might want to give him a whirl."
"Who's Pretty Pablito?" Beth asked, as Eduardo guided her to the floor.
"A kid who's got a crush on me. Or...maybe it's the other way around." Eduardo shrugged. "Anyway, gorgeous, let's get you started. Just follow my lead, and I'll get you into the house style."
Since coming to B.A., Beth had become so attuned to tango, she had no trouble mastering new steps or adapting to the style of new partners. Tonight everything seemed to come naturally to her, including the fairly outrageous come-ons she'd made to Eduardo back at Contramano.
Maybe I'm on some kind of roll, she thought.
Eduardo was an excellent teacher. She found the new steps easy. His fluid modernist style took a little getting used to, but after two tandas, she felt she had it down. Moreover, she liked it. It made her feel very "with it." Here, in the dark marijuana-scented ambience of Club Noir, she felt herself merging into a special kind of scene. She liked moving like the other dancers—smoothly rather than in the more theatrical manner she was used to. No old-fashioned frozen poses in this club. Here one slid across the floor the way a figure skater glides across the ice—everything smooth, liquid, languid...and very, very cool.
"You've got it!" Eduardo told her. "Everyone notices. Can you feel it?
They're devouring you with their eyes." He patted her cheek. "You're the new 'It Girl' tonight. My advice is take advantage and have yourself a ball!"
He escorted her to a chair against one of the mirrored walls.
"Time to leave you now," he said. "Pretty Pablito beckons. But I'm not abandoning you. Holler if you need an escort home." Eduardo smiled. "Or perhaps you'll meet someone new. Club Noir's famous for that. Many an affair has started here. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Beth said.
Eduardo affectionately patted the top of her head. "Like I said, you're going to be a smash."
She watched him as he sidled up to a boy wearing a stringent pout, leaning against the smoky mirrored wall on the far side of the room. Amused, she watched their byplay. At first Pablito pretended to ignore Eduardo, who, solo, was dancing a little half-circle around him. Then the gestures, "come hithers" on Eduardo's part followed by haughty tossings of Pretty Pablito's head. Finally, Eduardo seemed to actually seize the boy in his arms and wheel him away on to the floor. Beth lost sight of them as they merged into the dark sea of dancers.
Just as she was peering around to see who might be available as a partner, a lean, dazzlingly beautiful blonde girl in a severely cut black leather bustier and matching leather pants, sidled up to her and stared fiercely into her eyes.
"Will you dance with me?" she asked, in a beautifully modulated British accent.
At first Beth was taken aback. She'd danced with women before, at practicas and in class, but never at a milonga.
"My name's Lucinda. Are you afraid of me?" the girl asked, in a way that struck Beth as slightly mocking. Her bustier, Beth noted, was held up by a double pair of bondage straps that criss-crossed diagonally across her bare back.
"I'm Beth. Are you British?"
"Argentine. I was brought up by an English nanny. I like the way you move, Beth. That's short for Elizabeth, right?" Beth nodded. "Please understand, pet—dancing with me implies nothing. I enjoy leading. Following too, if that's your pleasure. Everyone dances with everyone here. We're gender non-specific—I believe that's the term. Horrid word, isn't it? But never mind. We're plenty of other things as well, but we won't go there...at least not yet."
It was as slick a come-on as Beth had yet encountered in Buenos Aires. The woman was well-spoken, educated, and also ravishingly good-looking. Her long blonde hair, parted in the center, was held back by barrettes from the sides of her face. Her eyes flashed green, her full sensual lips were glossed, and her throat and upper chest were bare of jewelry, adding pronouncement to her tightly constricted breasts.
She comes on like a glamorous actress, Beth thought, or a high-paid fashion model—a woman who's into control.
"Sure, I'd love to dance with you," Beth said, rising from her chair.
Lucinda extended her hands, Beth took hold of them. They stood this way for several seconds, staring into one another's eyes. It was as if, gazing at one another, they were reaching an understanding. Lucinda smiled, slowly turned and took Beth in her embrace. Then they began to dance.
If dancing with Eduardo had brought her close to a tango high, dancing with Lucinda was another route to the same end. She led masterfully, yet in a distinctly feline manner, gently swirling Beth into complex ochos, then leading her into long slow catlike walks in a way that made her feel both coveted and admired. It was as if Lucinda understood her perfectly, perhaps in a way a man never could.
"Wow, you're a great dancer," Beth whispered. "I love the way you lead."
"Thank you, pet. I love the way you respond. I knew you'd be good the moment you walked in. Something about the way you carry yourself. I said to my boyfriend: 'Hey, look at that! What a great looking slut!'" Lucinda smiled. "No offense intended. We talk that way about everyone here. It's just our nasty way."
Boyfriend. Great! That meant she wouldn't have to fight off this desirable woman's advances. Not that she particularly wanted to. She was at a point of deciding that, if she was ever going to go to bed with a woman, Lucinda might as well be the one. But then, just as she was feeling relieved about not having to face that test, Lucinda gently stroked her with the tips of her fingers from her waist to her hip, sending a wave of pleasure coursing along her thighs.
"Would you like to take the lead?" Lucinda asked, when the tanda was finished.
"I think you're better at it. I don't have much experience leading," Beth confessed.
"Does that mean...you like the way I 'manhandle' you?" Lucinda asked.
I do! I do!
When Beth nodded slightly, Lucinda laughed.
"Don't me ashamed, pet. It's my pleasure to pleasure you. Really!"
"And your boyfriend?"
"Over there." Lucinda gestured toward a lean young man, also blond and dressed in a sleeveless black leather vest and pants, standing like a hustler against one of the dark mirrors, one foot on the floor, the other pressed against the glass, watching them, amused.
"Is this some game you two play?" Beth asked.
"Isn't life a game?" Lucinda countered.
"I mean..."
"Hush...." Lucinda laid her finger across Beth's lips
. "You can dance with him later...after I've had my fill."
Being called "pet" made Beth feel strange, especially as Lucinda looked to still be in her twenties. But there was something in Lucinda's manner, an aura of entitlement that bordered on arrogance, which, Beth realized, she liked. It was Lucinda's dominance, she understood, which fulfilled that part of her that longed to be held and mastered when she danced. And now, feeling it coming from a woman rather than a man, she was suffused by a yearning to let go.
"I like being held by you," she told Lucinda, wondering what possessed her to reveal herself so quickly to this stranger.
Lucinda smiled. "Of course you do. Know why?" Beth shook her head. "Because I like holding you."
God! Where is all this going?
Already this evening she'd abandoned her ersatz boyfriend, gone off with a gay man to a strange club where everything including the lighting was black, and now she was telling another woman how much she liked being in her arms. And yet all these events seemed right to her, part of some natural progression she'd been working toward even before her arrival in B.A., which tonight seemed to be reaching fruition.
She danced two more tandas with Lucinda taking the lead. Then for one song, she tried to lead Lucinda, which, because it didn't feel right, caused them to switch roles back again. Then two tandas with Lucinda's boyfriend, Charles, who spoke English with the same accent, led almost the same way, and also, it seemed to Beth, smelled the same, as if he'd washed with the same brand of aromatic soap. Then another tanda with Lucinda in the lead, and still another with Charles, then two more with each, finally culminating with Charles in what seemed like a battle of slicing footwork... until finally she had to sit down and rest.
They sat on either side of her then, offering her water, several drags of excellent pot (which she accepted), and a snort of what they assured her was the finest cocaine (which she declined.) They also took turns wiping the perspiration off her forehead, telling her how fabulously she danced and what a beautiful, enticing, and, dare-they-say-it? exciting person she appeared to them to be.
She understood they were playing a game with her, that they expected she understood this, and that they believed she was playing along because she enjoyed the game as well. She couldn't describe this game exactly, but she knew it had to do with betrayal—that, when dancing with her, each of them had used her to "betray" the other. She found her role in all this fascinating, for it fit with her notion that one theme of tango was a sense of imminent betrayal by one's partner. Thus she felt herself engaged in a very special, very personal form of theater. And, too, she was excited by the way Lucinda and Charles danced, picked up on it and reflected it back when they partnered her: an understated arrogance, a smooth yet militant way of moving that seemed fraught with danger, unlike any other style of tango she'd encountered.
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