While Mirtha waited, I turned on the Bluetooth speaker in the back of the room and played the natural rain sounds track I kept on my phone, it’s delicate rhythm an excellent conduit for me when I wasn’t near running water. As it hummed softly in the background, I gathered a blend of herbs I knew to have a masculine energy and put them in a large bag, then selected a bottle of plant-based oil and added the same blend, shaking it so that over time the oil would become infused with its properties. I brought everything to the center of the room and placed it in front of her, then went back to Doña Delfina’s cupboard and selected a tall red candle. Finally, I scattered the sheet music on the floor around us and sat across from her, vaguely aware that she was nervous. The sound of rain and the process of gathering things for Mirtha had triggered the beginnings of the meditative state for me, and though I didn’t want to come out of it too much, I asked her one last time if she was alright.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
I sat across from her, my eyes already heavy, and explained what I wanted her to do. “The herbs go into a bath, which you’ll take once day for seven days, or as many as it lasts. The bath should be during daylight hours for an odd number of days, and you must air dry your body. Don’t use a towel, so plan ahead to make sure you’re not rushed.” She nodded, paying careful attention. “The oil is to be used on pulse points like a perfume after the bath, but never apply it at night or in the moonlight.” I felt my voice trail off, just a strange echo in my own ears now. Barely aware of time and place, I struck a match, lit the red candle and put it between us. Her eyes fixed on the glow, then on mine.
“You’ve changed somehow, but I can’t quite put my finger on it,” she said, feeling the same channel open between us, one of connection and intimacy. “You’re warmer. More emotional. Last time you were so impersonal. This is better.”
“I’m on a different path now.” I took her wrist and put a dab of the oil on it. “If you don’t have an allergic reaction to this by tomorrow, start the baths and use it on all your pulse points: wrists, neck, behind the knees and between your thigh and lower abdomen at the femoral artery. That means just a tiny drop here, not any lower. Nowhere near the vulva or the vagina, do you understand?” I indicated on myself exactly where, trying to ignore the momentary vision of Patrizia’s knife plunging deep into Achille.
“Yes, I do,” she said.
“Your sexual energy is overwhelming. I understand why you were so confused,” I said, my eyes fully closed now. “Lust can feel like love when it’s this powerful.” The early stages of my relationship with Amada had been complicated by this very issue, our physical desire for each other so strong that it was difficult to tell whether there was something more between us. Stupidly, I’d insisted there wasn’t and almost lost her forever.
“I haven’t seen my friend for a few days,” she said. “I’m craving him.”
“I feel it,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “Don’t say or do anything. Just hold my hands until we’re done. She’s here.”
If she responded I didn’t hear it, as I was already fully immersed in another world, one that made my heart skip a beat when I realized where I was, center stage in the same auditorium at the University of Caracas where I’d met Filomena for the first time. Just before the lights dimmed I saw that I was wearing the same suit from that night, completely alone in the huge theatre except for a faceless pianist at the far left. As the first few notes filled the space, a spotlight fell on the most beautiful ballerina I’d ever seen, dressed as a sylph all in white, just as she was during her first performance for me so many years ago.
“Listen!” she exclaimed. “Is this really for me?” I watched her dance around the stage to the music, expertly executing a series of light, bright steps, her white tulle gown floating with her in the air, almost as buoyant as the radiant woman wearing it. After ending her dance around me with a perfectly executed pirouette, she came to me, barely able to contain her delight. “It’s so melancholy, like Beethoven! It’s about unrealized love.”
“How do you know, Filomena?” The glittering beads on her costume and the feathers in her hair made her seem so alive that I couldn’t believe, in spite of all her happiness, she was still una muerta. I reached out to touch her, and just as Doña Delfina said, she felt like nothing more than loosely woven air.
“She’s had lovers, but she’s never been in love.” On the last few notes, Filomena made another revolution around me, making us both a little dizzy. I couldn’t help but laugh at the feeling, knowing that she was doing it to me on purpose. “And I’ve been in love, but I’ve never made love. Tell me, doctor, which one is sadder?”
“Both,” I said. At the close of the piece, the pianist started again from the beginning, something I had the feeling she would have him doing for quite a long time.
“I know just the right man for her. It’s done.” Then, on impulse, Filomena fell to the stage, a dramatic, deliberate move as precise as any other dance step. Forgetting where I was, I leaned over her, concerned.
“What happened?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”
“Please,” she whispered, her black eyes wide with anticipation, “come down here and take care of me like you did that night.”
I obliged and went down on one knee, realizing that her fall was nothing more than her way of reliving our romantic moment. Charmed by her innocent flirtation, I motioned for her to turn the leg toward me. It was exactly as it had been the night we met, sharp bone protruding through bruised, tender skin.
“Filomena, you didn’t have to do it again!” I cringed, still affected by such sights, especially someone close to me.
“It doesn’t hurt, silly!” She exploded in a fit of giggles. “I just like the attention from you. It’s how we met, and it makes me happy and sad, like the music.”
“I don’t want to see it,” I said. “Make it go away.”
“There,” she said, pointing down to her now intact leg, her stockings and shoes also back in perfect condition for good measure. “Don’t be upset.”
“I could never be upset with you. I’m sad, too,” I said. “You should have more than this small thing to remember. There’s so much you never experienced. We had a lovely evening together, but you know it wasn’t love. You’ve always wanted to be in love, haven’t you? That’s why it preoccupies you, even in death.” She nodded sorrowfully, and there together on the floor, out of our mutual concern for one another, we became friends.
“What a shame, Filomena,” I said, acutely aware of what a long, fulfilling life she could have had with a husband, children, a career as a professional dancer. “Why didn’t anyone help you with the anorexia? How could the people around you have let you die?”
“I was very good at hiding it, doctor.” Her dramatic stage makeup made her appear glossy and painted under the lights like a living, breathing porcelain doll. Well, almost living.
“You wouldn’t have been able to hide it from me,” I said, angry. “I would have forced you to get help. I wish I’d been there for you.”
“Me too,” she said with a sigh. “Your instinct to protect others is admirable. I can’t wait to see what happens when your time comes to act on a grand scale. I get choked up thinking about all the good you’re going to do.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “With the resources Doña Delfina left me?”
“Oh no,” she said. “Much more than that, but I’m not allowed to tell you.” She smiled, her pretty face only inches from mine. I had no doubt she would have made the right man very happy.
“You flatter me,” she said, reading my thoughts. Suddenly she sprang from her seated position directly into some sort of impossible jump, arching her brows as if to suggest she knew I was in awe of her talent. “But don’t think about what could have been. The work I’m doing now is very satisfying. This is how it was meant to be.”
“Wait,” I said rushing after her. “Babalú-Ayé asked me to mo
ve your fountain. Where do you want it?”
“Close to you, of course,” she said, and blew me a kiss goodbye.
When the music stopped, I knew I was back. I came out of my trance to find Mirtha watching me carefully, her hands still in mine. Still somewhat emotional from my conversation with Filomena, I was thrilled to give Mirtha the good news. Even though Filomena would never experience love, she was generous enough to give it to Mirtha. I was tempted to tell her all about Filomena, her life, how we met and how she died, but I decided to keep it to myself for now.
“What happened?” asked Mirtha. “You were so still.”
“She loved your gift. She said the composition was about ‘unrealized love’.”
Mirtha gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. “My cousin is the only one I talk to about Sam. I’d spent the whole night crying to her on the phone about how badly I wanted him back, and the next day she wrote it while thinking of me. Do you want to hear it? She also sent me a recording of her playing it on the piano. Here, let me get my phone.”
“I heard it.” I hummed a few bars, remembering the notes clearly. “Filomena danced to it during our visit. It’s lovely. Would you send me the recording later?”
“Of course,” she said. “Was there anything else?” I closed my eyes and tried to remember Filomena’s exact words, which eventually I recalled.
“She said she has just the right man for you, and that it’s as good as done.”
At the door, I checked Mirtha’s wrist one more time for any allergic reactions, then gave her another hug before loading her up with the oil and herbs.
“Do you think it’ll be soon?” she asked, bubbling with excitement.
“I have no doubt, but keep taking care of yourself until then, just as you have been. No going back to negative relationships, and be sure to spend plenty of time with your new lover. I’d say he’s doing something right.” Leaning against the door frame, I arched my eyebrows suggestively and tried to make her laugh, which she did.
***
The tango club I took Amada to outside of the city was nothing more than a hole in the wall, a crumbling storefront with its main entrance to the rear. I wouldn’t have given it a second look if I hadn’t been invited by a couple I’d met at Madrina’s, dancers so good I couldn’t resist chatting them up over a drink just before closing. As I suspected, they were part of a professional dance group from Buenos Aires currently on a tour of the Americas, and an hour flew by as we talked about Argentina, tango and their travels around the world. They were a ravishing couple with a rare zest for life, seductive not only because of their good looks, but also because they were so vibrant on and off the dance floor. Cari, a petite blond, and Santiago, a tall, dark lothario type, were mesmerizing, complete opposites with off the charts chemistry.
As we said our goodbyes, Santiago gave me a card and invited me to Palacio del Tango, a tiny after hours club where the dancers let their hair down after shows, then asked if he and Cari could have a few extra minutes after closing to finish their drinks. Happy to oblige, I told them to take their time and went about my usual close of business tasks, then said goodnight to the remaining staff before heading out the back to the rear parking lot. Distracted by an odd sound, I glanced down the darkened hallway to my left, my senses on high alert since I’d returned from Cuba. Given the intensity of their dancing earlier, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Santiago and Cari in the throes of passion, her thick dancer’s legs wrapped around his waist, his slacks down around his ankles. Inadvertently I made eye contact with Santiago, who instead of stopping, simply turned Cari’s face toward me. For a split second I found it difficult to look away, but after my brain registered what was going on, I made my exit quite unbothered. To the contrary. They were an attractive pair.
“Rafa!” he called, following me out into the parking lot. He’d buttoned up in such a rush that half of his shirt was still sticking out of his pants. I held the car door open, amused by his attempt to appear as if he hadn’t just had his girlfriend up against a wall five seconds ago.
“Don’t worry,” I said, motioning for him to go back. “Finish your drink. Security will let you out.” I got in the car and waved goodbye.
“Come watch us dance!” he said, waving back. “Your wife will love it!”
On the way home to Amada, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d seen. It was sexy, and considering that a quick fuck in a dark corner was nothing out of the ordinary to Cari and Santiago, I knew they wouldn’t be offended if they happened upon something similar. I would have preferred complete anonymity for Amada’s sake, but among their crowd, semi-public displays of affection wouldn’t raise an eyebrow. Perfect.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Palacio del Tango was anything but a palace, but it did have character. It was packed by the time we arrived at midnight, but even though it looked like a popular place, I couldn’t figure out why Rafa wanted to bring me here. We’d had a wonderful day together planning the first of our two weddings, a simple ceremony a week from this Sunday that would take place in the presence of Kieran, Ken and Rafa’s family at Madrina’s. Alex’s father would officiate as promised, and even though Lidia had confessed to me that Oscar was slightly miffed he’d been outranked by the Congressman, everyone was buzzing with excitement. Rafa kept me in check every time I tried to add a little flourish to the reception, and just this morning I’d come to him with an idea I’d had in a dream, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“Rafa! There you are!” He was already at his desk, fully dressed and working. “I just had the nicest dream about fairy lights in a garden and I thought maybe we could have some at the wedding.”
He looked up, his expression a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance. “Mamita, remember this is a formality, so that the paper is signed and we’re legally husband and wife. Save the extravagances for the second wedding, please.”
“Lights are an extravagance?” I asked.
“You know what I mean,” he said, leaning back. Damn he looked good in a suit. Why is it that every time he was dressed to the nines all I wanted to do was mess it up? I came closer, picturing how disheveled he’d look after I was done with him.
“Is the wedding night a formality, too?” I teased.
“I’d say so,” said Rafa, taking off his glasses, “because after we make love for the first time as husband and wife, I’m going to formally and officially fuck you until you can’t see straight.”
“Rafa.” I sat on his lap and started to nibble on his neck. Still in just my robe, I curled up into him, enjoying the sensation of being nearly naked in his arms while he was fully dressed. Something about it made me crazy. No, everything about him made me crazy.
“What? Too early for that kind of talk?” He ran his hands down my back, but instead of letting them roam all over as usual, he stopped right before it started getting good.
“Not at all. Give me a preview.” I turned with the intent of straddling him, but he stilled me by holding my hips in place.
“I have a conference call in a minute,” he said, kissing me between my breasts in apology. “But we can finish this conversation later, on our date.”
I’d been craving Rafa all day, which wasn’t unusual, but something about the looks he’d been giving me were making it worse. At noon, he’d taken his shirt off to wash the dishes, and at three he’d called me in to talk about some nonsense while he showered. On his way out the door at five, he told me to be ready to go out at ten, then gave me a kiss that made me weak at the knees. By the time he came home to pick me up I was ready to jump him, but instead he insisted we were running late and made us leave right away.
Now in the little club, I pressed against Rafa as he led us to the bar and ordered two dry vodka martinis. It was wall to wall couples everywhere, some of whom were dancing to the very distinctive sexy Argentine tango music, but just as many drinking and socializing. It was a youthful, casual crowd, most of the men clad in simple t-shirts, sneakers an
d jeans.
Sipping on my martini, I nestled against Rafa and watched the couple in the center of the dance floor, a tall handsome man and a short blond moving together in a way that was so erotic it was like watching them have sex. He dipped and twirled her around, her legs wrapping around him as he dragged her from behind, her back arching at his every touch. While maintaining perfect form, he used clean, sharp movements to turn her so that her back was to him, then ran his hands shamelessly down her front, right over her breasts, in a manner that was too fast to be obscene but too slow not to be provocative. Slightly shocked, I began to notice how many couples were kissing or touching, feeding off each other’s sexually charged energy.
“I never realized tango was so—”
“Sensual?” he asked. “Are you getting turned on?” He whispered in my ear from behind, knowing what it did to me when I couldn’t see him. I hooked my arm around the back of his neck and pressed into his formidable erection. I closed my eyes, lost in the atmosphere, the dancing, the music, the other couples and him.
“I’ve been turned on all day,” I panted.
“That was the idea.” He set down his drink, and expecting him to touch me I held my breath, but instead he grasped a man’s hand and shook it. It was the tall dancer I’d just been watching.
“You made it! Welcome!” said the dancer to Rafa. After they exchanged pleasantries, Rafa introduced us.
“Santiago, my wife, Amanda.”
“A pleasure!” said Santiago, kissing my hand. “Meet my girlfriend, Caridad.”
“Cari,” said the short blond behind him.
“Come to our table!” he shouted over the music.
Over several drinks we got to know Cari and Santiago, young lovers who’d grown up a few blocks from each other in Buenos Aires but didn’t meet until they both auditioned for a traveling dance troupe. Santiago had enjoyed the benefit of formal training, but Cari, having come from a family of eight, learned to dance simply by watching others. When they were both hired, Santiago took Cari under his wing, filling the gaps in her knowledge by teaching her the technical aptitude she lacked, while her natural talent inspired him to become more creative. As a team they quickly became the stars of the show, then went on to work for an international promoter whose shows were booked across the world. Both had plans to settle down eventually, but for now they were simply enjoying their job, their travels and their youth.
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