Tango With Me

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Alejandra

The ghostly shadows of the night loomed over the woman at the door of the small pub. He's not coming.

“Your man's late again?” Alejandra's tango partner, Fermin, pressed his shoulder to the wall of the dark corridor and lit a joint.

Her eyes closed into two slits of pure contempt. The performance tonight had been very spirited, too spirited. She hated to be taken advantage of, and that's exactly what he'd done. Alejandra was almost glad her boyfriend hadn't made it. It would've ended badly.

“He probably had an emergency and please don't smoke that stuff close to me.”

“Have you ever tried it?” Fermin blew the thick, spicy air directly at her face, a smirk pulling at the seam of his lips and his sunken, tiny eyes gleaming.

Her back straightened, her head slanted, and a smug smile mimicked his posture.

“I have. When assholes like you choose to smoke in public and I get it second hand. I hate it when it happens.”

“Ouch. That was harsh.” The slim man crouched as if he had received a blow.

She folded her arms in front of her chest and lifted her chin defiantly. “Not killing that s**t when I politely asked you was harsh. This is just my reaction.”

His fingers opened, letting the twisted cigarette fall on the floor, where it was thoroughly crushed by the sole of his impeccable patent-leather shoe.

“So… have you thought about the trip?”

“I'm still thinking about it. My brother took the contract to an attorney and he said it looked fine, except for the visa issue.”

“I told you it was a lot faster this way. That's the only reason.”

She felt his anger rising and mimicked it with one of her own. “Yes, but a tourist visa is granted to spend money, not to work. Dancing for profit would be illegal.”

His body entered her personal space and she recoiled. They'd been dancing together for three years and they were pure passion on the dance floor, but she couldn't stand his proximity away from the stage. There was something about him that repelled her. If only she could find another dancer as good as him, but nicer. It seemed that the really good ones were all taken.

“The company does this all the time with different performers around the world. They know their business, Alejandra. It's Broadway we're talking about!”

A heartfelt sigh escaped her lungs, as her palm pushed his chest softly away to a manageable distance. It was too late, and she was too tired to have this conversation. “I haven't made up my mind yet.”

His lips made a tsk sound.

“Well, I hate to hurry you, but I'm not missing out on this opportunity. You have till Friday.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Fermin's long fingers brushed the stubble on his pointy chin. “You know what it means…”

Without saying another word, the man brushed by her and walked into the night of Buenos Aires.

Alejandra sighed again, pulled out her phone and called a cab.

* * *

There were spiders inside an empty toilet. Crouched down n***d in front of it, she wrapped a cloth around the seat and observed them. Alejandra didn't fear them, as she'd allowed them to be there, but now her plans had changed. She'd managed to take one of the spiders out of the toilet with a short wooden stick, but there were still two more to go when a voice intruded in her dream.

“Ale, wake up. Pablo's here.”

A leg escaping from a crumpled purple comforter, her arms hugging a big pillow, the young woman opened her eyes reluctantly. Bright lines of light painted the yellow curtains with lively gold and spread along the dim chamber toward the white side table and matching drawer. She was in her bedroom.

“Mom? What time is it?” she mumbled through parched lips.

“Nine thirty,” her mother's voice came clear from the other side of the door.

“It's too early…” She turned, wrapping her legs around the comforter and trying to go back to sleep.

The door opened and Nydia entered without further preamble. Her porcelain skin and bright brown eyes didn't match the abundant grey strands that populated her otherwise black, nicely-bobbed hair.

“No. For normal people, it isn't. Now, get up,” she said, hands on hips and a smile dancing on her face.

Alejandra reluctantly sat up on the bed and looked at the natural result of her tumultuous lifestyle. Her dress hung from the back of a chair, makeup and combs lay scattered on her dresser, and the big mirror reflected shoes and discarded clothing lying all around.

“Alright, I'm coming…” she whined.

Nydia chuckled, turned on her heels and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Alejandra fished for something to wear distractedly, thinking what kind of apology Pablo would pull this time. He probably had an emergency. Maybe he is cheating on me… Nah. Dressed in a tank top, a pair of jeans and tennis shoes, the girl in the mirror looked completely different from the femme-fatale of the night before. Like day and night. A messy ponytail and just a shadow of lip gloss were all she'd done to her face at this time, giving her the fresh look of a teenager.

“If you're going to wake me up at sunrise, at least take me to a nice place for breakfast,” she told her boyfriend after a quick peck on his lips. He just smiled and offered his palm to her.

Hand in hand, they walked the two blocks to Rapanui, a chocolate shop s***h ice cream parlor s***h coffee place, which was one of Alejandra's favorite places in the whole world.

“Welsh cake and coffee?”

“Yes!” She nodded emphatically while taking a seat at her favorite table outside. Funny enough, this cake wasn't a Welsh typical food. It was a recipe from a Welsh family who arrived in Patagonia in the late nineteen century. A dark cake with rich flavor due to brown sugar, honey, nuts and candied fruit, it was famous for having several months of shelf-life.

Adoringly, Alejandra watched the man playing juggler with her food and his. Six years together, pretty much all her twenties. Who would have guessed? Not her. He was the worst dancer she'd ever seen, a hopeless case, yet his honesty and kindness had won her heart. They were just waiting for him to finish his residency to move in together. Of course, their parents wanted them to get married, but they didn't want to go through that particular mess. Not yet anyway.

“What happened last night?” she asked, as soon as the coffee did its magic.

His brown eyes were sunken, making his aquiline nose even more prominent. He pulled his straight, dark blond hair away from his forehead and sighed.

“We delivered a baby at eleven, but there were complications. The cord was around the neck. It turned out all right, thank God, but we sweated bullets for two hours. I decided to take a nap before picking you up and didn't hear the alarm. I was too tired. I'm really sorry.”

“It's not your fault.” Alejandra took his hand to comfort him.

He sighed deeply. “Do you feel it too?”

“What?”

“That our lives are pushing us apart?”

Her eyes turned foggy and she nodded a couple of times.

“Are you cheating on me?” she asked, after playing with her food for twelve long breaths.

“No. You?”

“Of course not!”

Pablo interlocked their fingers, reclined in the bar's armchair and closed his eyes. He looked physically and emotionally exhausted. The eye bags had a dark hue, and his skin was sickly white. He'd just ended a forty-eight-hour shift at one of the busiest hospitals in a city with three million people, but instead of being sleeping, he was here.

Alejandra knew something would have to change, but she felt trapped. She remembered her dream and an absurd idea formed: Maybe if she'd managed to take the other two spiders out of the toilet, everything would be fine.

“Look, if we are going to make it work, live together, get married, some things will have to change.”

“What do you mean?” All of a sudden, she was not hungry anymore.

“I want you to stop performing at night. Keep the tango classes in the evening. Maybe you can teach ballet to children in the morning, but I can't be worrying about your safety or about that p*****t grabbing your a*s while I'm delivering a new life. I need to think clearly, but I can't.”

Sicilian heat rising, Alejandra stared at him. He wanted her to leave the spotlight for good? Just like that? And spend her nights alone? Waiting for him?

“You don't know what you're asking. I am the way I am because of performing. Like most artists, I live for the applause. If I left it all and stayed home… I'd be a needy bundle of nerves calling you every five minutes just to hear your voice.”

“You don't know that.” He sat straight, a clear plea in his eyes.

“I don't, but that's how I feel it will be,” she murmured, her own eyes tearful.

“So, what do we do?” There was love, tenderness, but also deep exhaustion in his voice.

“I don't know…” her words came out broken.

She really didn't know. She loved Pablo with all her heart. Except for dancing, he was everything she wanted in a man. He was kind, loving, had a purpose in life that was bigger than himself, yet things had changed. Their lives were palpably pushing them apart, and passion was fading. They hadn't made love in how long? Two, three months? They weren't even married for goodness sake!

Performing was her own small way to make this world a better place. She might not save lives, but she was making people happy, helping them connect with their own spirits. She would be fine performing in a small place, maybe only on the weekends, yet he was asking her to leave it all, so… evidently, he didn't see any value in what she did.

Alejandra was one with her art. If he didn't care for it, did he care for her at all?

She needed her man to love all of her back. Was it even possible?

He took her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

“I love you, baby,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” Alejandra sobbed.