Mistletango

Chapter 1December 21: Angie An argument could be made that offering to share my room was simply a nice thing to do for Christmas. Observations in support: There was little chance the guy would find another room in the right price range; the city was packed full. He was obviously exhausted, confused, upset, and at a loss. I was so accustomed to sharing a bed with someone I wasn’t, you know, sleeping with, that I would not be seriously inconvenienced. An argument could also be made that offering to share my room was a purely selfish thing to do. Because…I hated sleeping alone, regardless of whether I was doing anything but sleeping with the other person in my bed. Plus, if he shared my room, we could split the cost, which would mean I had some extra money to spend on this purely self-indulgent Buenos Aires vacation. And, okay, he was pathetically cute. By which I mean in ordinary circumstances he’d rank high on my personal scale of cuteness, but at this moment—early afternoon, four days before Christmas, in a city I was willing to bet he’d never visited before, after what was likely a full day of travel—he looked like a starving stray puppy shivering in a gutter. Never mind that it was blazing hot: welcome to December in the southern hemisphere. I am not the guy who would cling on to the entire king-sized bed in my room after making eye contact with any stranded stray. It was Christmas, dammit. So I stepped up to the reception desk and handed over my key card. “I can share,” I said, aiming a reassuring smile over my shoulder at the stray. “Not a problem at all.” “Do you know each other, Mr. Belmann?” The clerk’s tone was a blend of surprise, relief, disbelief, cynicism, and amusement. I said, “We will in about half an hour. I’m a dance teacher, it doesn’t take me long to make friends. And I have it on good authority that I don’t snore.” The stray’s mouth opened for what was probably a reflexive protest—oh, that’s not necessary, it’ll be fine, I’ll find another solution—but all of a sudden the heavy-looking garment bag slung over his shoulder slid off. He tried to grab for it, but one hand was full of his useless reservation confirmation (useless because, as the clerk had apologetically explained, an untimely plumbing incident meant the ceiling in his room, the sole vacant room in the hotel, was now mostly on the floor) and the other was full of a heavy-looking laptop bag. His mouth closed, lips compressing to hide what I suspected was a tremble. His eyes closed, squeezing shut to hide what I suspected were tears. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Then again. Then he opened his eyes and said, “Thank you. If you really wouldn’t mind, just for tonight.” “We can talk about that later. Let’s get you processed so you can take a load off.” I took three steps, bent to grab the strap of the garment bag, and heaved it up to my own shoulder. We’d have to talk about that, too; was he moving to Argentina? Maybe he didn’t travel a lot like I did. Well, most people didn’t travel as much as I did. He didn’t say anything else, simply nodded, set his handful of papers on the desk, and dug in a pocket to retrieve his wallet and passport. A few minutes later he was officially in residence. I led the way to the lift, pressed the appropriate button, and made sure the fast-closing doors didn’t nab his foot. He didn’t say a word on the way upstairs, or going down the hall. Only after we were inside the room and he’d set down the laptop bag did he say, “I really appreciate this. My name’s Ramon.” Sounded Spanish, which went with his face. I let that heavy-ass garment bag slide to the floor, nodded, smiled, and extended a hand. “My name’s Angie.” He shook my hand bemusedly. “You don’t look like an Angie.” “Short for Angelo. Could’ve been worse, could’ve been Vivi.” “You don’t look like a Vivi, either.” I almost laughed, but he looked so tired. “Why don’t you freshen up and take a nap. I’m planning to go out later and you’re very welcome to come along if you don’t have other plans.” “Where are you going?” “Dinner and a milonga.” “A what?” “Seriously, dude.” I pointed to the bed. “You need that a lot more than you need to hear about my top three reasons for coming to Buenos Aires.” I thought for a second he was going to argue—he seemed to be the kind of person who, as he got more tired and out of sorts, wanted more clarity on things—but he visibly gave in. Took off his shoes without sitting down (my expertise in travel fatigue told me that if he sat down, he wasn’t standing up again) and went into the bathroom. By the time I heard the shower start, housekeeping had delivered an extra pillow, an extra set of towels, and a very welcome bottle of chilled white wine. Compliments of the management, they said, with apologies to Mr. Torres for the inconvenience and muchas gracias to me. I said something nice in return and went to get extra ice to keep the wine cold. When I returned to the room, the shower was off. I tapped on the bathroom door. “Ramon?” “Yeah?” “I’m going to dash down the street for a minute, grab a snack. Be right back.” After a moment, “Okay.” God knows what he thought I was up to. I didn’t think I’d done anything to signal Hey I’m Gay and Might Be Into You. Just because I was into a person didn’t mean they’d be into me, and he was at enough of a disadvantage already, so—inclination aside—I had no intention of putting the moves on. That said, the odds favored us getting along well enough that he’d stay with me rather than make himself crazy trying to find a different solution, and I like to be ready for anything. So, long story short, yes: I was going to get us a snack. I was also going to get some things I’d found useful when two near-strangers do things in bed other than sleep. As I speed-walked down the street, I was jeering at myself for not already having those things. What were the odds that I’d come to Buenos Aires for two weeks and not pick somebody up? Bad, that’s what they were. I could almost always find someone to pick up. But I was in a weird (for me) position, being in that undefined space between the end of one long-term situation and the beginning of another. Which had better be long-term, because I was giving up a lot. This vacation was a gift to myself to mark a major life change. A reward for everything I’d achieved, and—I hoped—a good memory to sustain me when things were tough, because I knew they were going to be. This was the last chance I was going to have, for quite a while, to get away and be myself on my own terms. Which made it all that much stupider that I hadn’t come prepared to mow a swath through the gay men of the milongas. I think, maybe, I had the idea I was a Grown-Up now and Grown-Ups didn’t cruise on vacation. Ha, yeah. The funny thing was that I hadn’t really missed it until, oh, right now. I’d gotten over the jeering and was laughing at myself instead when I re-entered the room. Ramon was face-down on the bed, sound asleep, wearing nothing but boxers. Christmas boxers in fine white cotton, printed with cartoon wreaths and ridiculous cartoon reindeer. OMG, so cute. He’d pulled the covers down so his face was on the clean white sheet. I quietly divested shoes and shirt, pulling on a tank top instead of just going topless, because manners. (He fell asleep without getting dressed; that didn’t mean he wanted to wake up to a half-naked total stranger). Quietly opened the bottle of wine. Quietly assembled a snack with eight inches of baguette and mass quantities of Brie. Got down on the floor to stretch while I ate. Couldn’t help noticing that Ramon didn’t snore, either. He slept for two hours. By the time he stirred, I was on the bed beside him. Propped up against the headboard, laptop on my knees, earbuds in, choosing clips and screen-caps for promotional s**t. Sufficiently involved that I didn’t notice he was awake until he propped himself up to get a look at the clock. Then he rearranged himself, sitting up like me, pressing the heels of his hands against his closed eyes for a few seconds. “Wow. I can never nap at home.” I heard him, because I’d stopped what I was doing. “I nap any time I get the chance. What kind of work do you do?” “I’m an accountant.” “See, that’s why. You have to work nine to five, don’t you?” “More like eight to six.” I huffed out a laugh, tempted to make fun of that. My usual day was eight (in the morning) to ten (at night), though rarely nonstop. Kept my mouth shut, wondering if he’d remember what I said at the front desk. He did. “You’re a dance teacher. I suppose you work even longer hours than that.” “Often,” I admitted. “Hungry? There’s baguette and Brie and fruit, and the hotel gave us a bottle of wine.” “Wow.” He blinked at me. “That was nice.” “Well, they don’t want you to leave a shitty review.” He laughed. I grinned at him. “So they’re probably praying I don’t make your life miserable.” “I think you saved it,” he said with feeling. “Why are you here alone?” “Because I just left a long-term job and I’m on my way to a new one and I needed to put some me space in between.” The thoughtful look he gave me was…oddly comforting. As if he knew exactly what I meant. “That’s kind of why I’m here too. Only not a job.” Huh? Oh. Oh. Oh s**t, this poor guy. “Breakup?” “Mmm.” He was sliding off the bed, going to the kitchenette with its array of refreshments, and beginning to assemble a plate. Without turning around, perhaps in response to my respectful silence, he said, “It was very strange. I’d been saving up airline points for a trip because I was going to propose to my girlfriend and then we’d take a trip together, right? Then I get to her parents’ house one day, we were meeting there for dinner, and through the screen door I hear her mother say I appreciate you’re so open-minded, but did you have to pick someone our neighbors mistake for the gardener.” “Oh shit.” Ramon turned at that, plate in hand. Half-smiling, even though it was clear the bruise was still sore. “White girl, in case you couldn’t guess. We met on campus where I was getting my master’s and she was in law school.” “What did she say? I mean, did your girlfriend say anything?” “Mmm. She said, ‘He’s going to be a great father’.” My jaw literally dropped. “Do you even want kids?” “Good question.” He ate a slice of plum. “What did you do?” He took a bite of bread schmeared with cheese, made an orgasmic sound, chewed and swallowed. “Damn, I didn’t even realize I was this hungry.” A swallow of wine. “God that’s good. So, well, I had two options. I could pretend I didn’t hear and find some other reason to ease myself out of the relationship. Or I could confront them. I sat down on the front step to think about it. Before I could decide, someone came through the screen door behind me. And I didn’t even turn around to see who it was. I said, that boxwood needs to be trimmed, I can get to it next time.” “Oh shiiiit!” That came out in a kind of delighted-horrified squeal. Ramon snorted out a laugh. Shrugged. Ate some more, leaning against the dresser. Still, I realized, only in his boxers. And damn, he wore them well. I let him eat for a while. Then after he’d polished off most of the plate and half of his glass, I said, “Was that the end, or was there some big scene?” “There was a small scene, during which I tried to keep my temper in the face of two very defensive privileged women. It was enough of a scene that I didn’t feel the need to send any follow-up texts. She sent a few that I didn’t answer, and that was that.” “But then you had all these airline points, and no romantic plans for the holidays, and you said f**k it, I’m going somewhere.” “Exactly.” He raised his glass, a gently ironic salute. “Uh-huh. Well, if you want to wash away the white girl with some no-strings casual s*x, I’m told that girls and holidays and tourists are a winning combo.” He hid a smile behind the last chunk of bread and cheese. Ate it, drank the rest of his wine, and gave me another thoughtful look. “Was that part of your plan?” “Girls? No. I swing the other way. In fact, I had this vague idea of being a responsible adult and not indulging in casual s*x on vacation, but that seems like a real downer now that I’ve had a minute to think.” I don’t know which part of that did the trick, but he absolutely cracked up. He laughed so long I started to giggle too. After he sobered up, he said, “You were busy. I should let you get on with it. I have some work I should be doing, too.” “Ramon,” I said, with an air of sorrow, “I’m on vacation. And so are you, and you just f*****g got here, and why did you even bring work along?” “Well, why did you?” “Because I’m going to a new job and the first week is going to be frantic enough without trying to queue up social media posts.” He considered that, nodded, shrugged. “I guess I brought work because I was coming alone and I expected to be alone a lot of the time.” “The hell with that. Let’s go to the park.” So we did. * * * * I’d already been in Buenos Aires for over a week, so I knew my way around. Had my favorite rideshare service, bodega, bar, café. I’d seen most of the historic places and gone out dancing almost every night. In short, I had plenty to talk about, and plenty of recommendations. “You can ignore all this,” I assured Ramon. “Why did you choose Buenos Aires?” “Because it was basically the farthest away from Los Angeles I could get without going somewhere cold.” My turn to laugh until I herniated. “You could’ve gone to Australia,” I pointed out, still sputtering, then tripped over myself. “Wait, you’re from LA?” “Yeah.” “Me too! Holy s**t!” He was looking at me—smiling, entertained—and something changed in his face. It looked almost like regret. “It’s such a huge place.” “Right? If you don’t live or work a few feet from somebody, you never meet them. s**t. I mean, f**k. And now I’m moving to North Carolina.” Positive the regret came through in my tone. Because damn, I liked the guy, and you can never have too many friends. He settled back on the grass, eyes closed. We were both lying with our heads in the shade of a tree, shorts-clad legs sprawled in the sun. The soundtrack was breeze, birds, happy voices, different music from different directions that somehow got along. I closed my eyes too, thinking we were done talking for a while. But he said, “Tell me about North Carolina.” “Mmm, okay. Well. Can I give you the story of my life? It’s kind of all background to why I’m moving across the country.” “Sure, I’d like to hear it.” “Tell me yours later?” “We’ll need some more alcohol for that.” “Not a problem,” I assured him. “So, reason number one I came to Argentina. My grandfather was from here. He worked in the movie business here, and then went to Hollywood to be a movie cowboy. Got married, bought some property, had some kids. My dad went into the Air Force and by the time he had his twenty, I was a junior ballroom champion. Then I was a youth champion, leading a formation team for the university where I was getting a business degree because my parents both said I needed a fallback position. After college I started teaching, coaching, and competing as a professional in International Latin. My favorite thing was coaching teams, and I got kind of known for that. Like, did you ever see Bring It On?” “Oh yeah. Fun movie. So you were like the guy who made the cheer routines?” “Exactly, only I was not so much of a d**k that I gave the same routine to more than one team.” He laughed. I smiled to myself. “Anyway, about two years ago, an outfit that runs dance studios around the country announced a new location in western North Carolina and advertised for a creative director.” “Which means?” “Chief instructor, hiring and training manager, community outreach, all that jazz. Every studio has to provide certain things, like the usual social dance classes and wedding dance prep and competition coaching. But in any given place, people want or need different things, you know? And the research they did said that this town needed a strong social dance program and a cotillion program. Which is, well, I don’t suppose you ever saw a documentary called Mad Hot Ballroom.” “Actually I did. There’s a social dance group in Palmdale that got a program like that up and running. I heard about it from a friend of a friend who lives out that way.” “Okay, cool, so you know. It’s basically giving some time to one or more local schools to teach social dance because it’s so good for the kids.” “But this was two years ago?” Good to be redirected. “Right, and at the time I didn’t think of applying for the job because I was in the middle of a competition season and it was, you know, f*****g North Carolina. I knew a few other dancers out that way but they were all in, like, Raleigh or Charlotte.” “It’s not as big a state as California, though. Not so impossible to stay in touch with people.” “No, not at all. But there’s other considerations. It’s not the most gay-friendly state. The politics are kind of shitty for people like me. And this is a small town up in the mountains. I just noped right on out of there.” “But you changed your mind.” I opened my eyes and turned my head. Ramon was still in what looked like a meditative state. “My competition partnership broke up. And I realized, I’m thirty-two years old and I’m never going to win at the World Games. It’s time to set a new direction for my life. I asked around and found out this location was struggling. Their top person was an active competitor, trying to run a campaign, and they weren’t keeping a consistent calendar. Weren’t developing their junior teachers, or the school people who’d volunteered to lead that program. So I sent an email to the company heads, you know, hey, would you have any interest. They flew me out to New Jersey for an interview, then down to NC to take a look at the place on the sly. We did a few FaceTimes and exchanged about a hundred emails.” “And you got the job.” “Mm-hmm.” And was I still wondering if it was the right decision? Yes, yes I was. But if I hated it, I could leave. The contract was only for a year. It wasn’t like I had a spouse to worry about. “When do you start?” I sighed. “New Year’s Eve.” “You’re kidding.” Half-laughing, half-horrified. This time when I turned my head, Ramon was looking back at me. I made a rueful face. “They already had an event planned. Most of their students will probably be there. They’ll be dressed up, having a special night out, in a good mood. A good time to introduce a new leader. And they’ve promised all I have to do is meet and greet.” “Angie.” “I know. But if it’s a clusterfuck there’s nowhere to go but up, right?”