Luna Tango (12 page)

Weaving between tables, she tried to spot her target, although she didn't really expect Carlos to be on time. Aside from Gualberto, she'd yet to meet an Argentine who knew the meaning of punctuality. Making a beeline for a small table at the back corner, Dani sat and the moment she did so, a waiter approached and peered down his nose at her. He placed a glass of water and a menu on the white-clothed table then turned on his heels and headed to the bar, busying himself with glasses and serviettes.

Above the bar hung a series of dramatic black and white photos of parks in Buenos Aires. Scattered on other walls were images of the Ferrari and Lamborghini families, a variety of antique brass horns, and a collection of postage stamps depicting classic cars from the twenties and thirties. Photos of Juan Manuel Fangio next to his F1 cars hung on the walls too, paying homage to the Argentine who was still considered one of the world's best racing car drivers. With the amount of car memorabilia spread throughout, no wonder the café name had changed from Aero Bar to La Biela—the piston rod. Starbucks had nothing on this place.

Dani settled in and kept an eye on the door. Every time it opened, more revellers floated through in an alcohol-induced haze, but no Carlos. Eventually, a figure dressed head to toe in black graced the threshold. He paused, his dark eyes methodically searching the room. Dani waved to get his attention and, with a nod and a small smile, he limped between the hotch-potch of tables, oblivious to the wide-eyed female patrons watching his every move. Dani doubted she imagined the dagger looks thrown at her when they saw Carlos making his way over. She stifled a smirk.

‘You are not one for sleeping?' He slid onto the neighbouring chair, his musky cologne overpowering the coffee aroma.

‘Sleep never comes easy but tonight it was impossible.'

‘Hmm ... The brain of a writer can never rest.' Carlos motioned to the waiter, who rushed over, took his order then returned balancing coffee and pastries on a silver tray. He placed them on the table and gave Carlos a small nod of recognition.

‘Do you get noticed everywhere you go?' she asked.

‘Is this a question?'

‘No!' Regaining composure, she said, ‘Well, it is but why don't we forget the business side of things and hang out for a while?'

‘Why?' He seemed genuinely perplexed.

‘Because if we're going to work together, then knowing each other on a personal level might be nice.'

‘Again, I ask why?'

Dani tilted her head and widened her eyes. ‘Really?'

He shuffled back on the chair. ‘If you must know about my life, I teach tango, I go home, I read. This is all.'

‘Come on, Carlos, what's your passion? What makes you get up in the morning?'

‘Hope,' he said.

‘About what?'

‘Hope that I will some day have a family like the one I grew up in.'

‘You like your family?' She did a cruddy job of hiding her surprise.

‘
Sí
. Do you not like yours?'

‘It's complicated.' Dani fiddled with the coffee cup, unable to meet his eyes.

‘Ah,' he said. ‘Tell me more.'

‘Tell me about yours first.' While he talked she could decide if now was the time to open up about Iris.

‘You want to know about my family? I have no brothers, no sisters. My mother made costumes for the Teatro Colón, and my father made the shoes. They are now deceased.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. It must be hard.'

‘It is at times. I miss having family. Although we were only three, we were close. I wish ...' A small sigh escaped his lips and his eyes travelled to the photos on the closest wall. ‘Never mind. I have no family and no wishing can change this. Family is very important.'

‘Sometimes having a family can be detrimental.'

‘No. A family is the one place we can feel safe to be who we are. To be loved. To be cared for.'

‘Not everyone has caring families.' Maybe she should wait a fraction longer for the big reveal.

‘Family is family, even if they are, how you say, dysfunctional.'

‘Sorry, Carlos,' Dani said, sitting straight, ‘but I don't agree. All families are is a bunch of DNA thrown together in the hope they get along and don't kill each other.'

‘What about the families who have adopted children? Should they get along more because they have been chosen?'

‘It doesn't matter if someone is adopted or not, no one knows how a family will behave as a unit until they're together. And if that fails, then the family members are better off without each other.'

‘What has made you so cynical?' he asked.

‘Experience.' She crossed her arms to signal she would not discuss this further—for now.

Carlos rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Families should learn to get along. Without family, what do we have? This is why I live with the hope that I will one day create my own happy family.'

‘Yes, it sounds nice.' It truly did—for Carlos. The concept of family still eluded her, though. Dani's first foray into creating a family unit ended in a screaming heap when Adam left her, proving she wasn't cut out for family life.

‘I will tell you this, Daniela McKenna. My first memory from childhood is crawling on the floor at the theatre. I was only this high.' He held out his hand to indicate the height of a toddler. ‘All my childhood, the dance was around me. Always, there would be sequins caught in my clothes, or my nose would be filled with the smell of shoe glue.'

‘So tango keeps the memory of your parents alive.' She placed her hand on his arm. He tensed slightly then relaxed. This man with a reputation for hating journalists had just opened up. Physical attraction stirred in her belly and mixed with a new sensation— a very deep fondness for this man.
Oh god, no
.

‘Yes.' A small sigh escaped his lips. ‘But it is, how you say, a double-edged sword. I have fond memories of tango and my childhood but as an adult, tango destroyed my life. It damaged my leg, my relationship with—' His mouth closed quickly and his eyes flashed with alarm. Coughing, he said, ‘It is not important. But
así es la vida
, no? Such is life?' He lowered his eyes and shook his head then looked up with a smile. ‘I should not complain. Many are worse off than me. I am grateful for all in my life.'

‘Even the bad stuff?' She wondered why he didn't mention Cecilia when the whole world knew about it.

‘Yes, but it does not mean I'm happy about the bad things.'

‘It's weird how one day we can be cruising along and then—
bam!
—we trip and fall face first into a puddle of torment.'

‘Such a philosopher.' He winked and her face flushed with heat.

Reaching for the pastry, she broke off a piece and popped it into her mouth. Caramel and icing sugar mixed with buttery pastry tantalised her taste buds and she tried not to roll her eyes as the combination melted in her mouth.

‘I had no idea this stuff was so good. I think I've found a new addiction. Thanks a lot, Carlos. I'm going to put on ten kilos.'

‘My pleasure,' he said.

‘Here.' She pushed the plate towards him. He shook his head and held up his hand.

‘You don't want one?' she asked.

‘No.'

‘Why did you order two?'

‘They are for you.' He pushed the plate in her direction. ‘The girls in Argentina, they are too skinny. All the day they talk and dream about food that will not touch their lips. They go to the shops and try to fit into tiny jeans made for a six-year-old, and they are never far from a mirror. This is crazy, which is why people in my country have the most psychologists per capita in the world.'

‘Yes, I had heard. How do you think this obsession started?' Finally, they had focused on something other than tango and family. Maybe now she'd learn a little about the man who once had the world at his feet before it was cruelly yanked away.

‘I do not know. There are many questions in the world we cannot answer. Why do the Americans get involved in other people's business? Why do the French think they are superior? Why do Australian journalists ask so many questions? Tell me, did your questions make your mother crazy when you were growing up?'

‘My grandma raised me.' She lowered her eyes.

‘I am sorry. Did you mother die?' He reached over and rubbed his hand against the exposed skin of her arm. Goose bumps sprouted where his skin touched hers.

‘In my grandma's eyes she did.' This was getting too painful, too personal. No way was she ready to tell him about Iris.

As if he sensed her reluctance and need to change the subject, Carlos tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. ‘Maybe Diego Alonso is right. In a different light, you remind me of
La Gringa Magnifica
.'

She'd been floating along nicely and starting to enjoy Carlos's company—now she was plummeting to the ground like a shot duck in hunting season. Maybe she would have been better off staying in her room and wallowing.

‘I wouldn't mind having a break from talking about tango.'

‘If we talk about life then tango must be involved.'

‘Not for those outside of Argentina.'

He shrugged. ‘Maybe, but you are here now and you cannot deny tango is everywhere.'

‘I guess so.' She tore off a small piece of pastry and threw it in her mouth. Tango was most definitely outside of Argentina, in fact, it had slithered its sticky tentacles into her life, strangled her family, then ripped it apart.

‘Melancholy,' Carlos said, pulling her back into the room.

‘What?'

‘Melancholy is essential to tango, just like life. How do we know how to recognise joy when it arrives? A great tango embraces a series of emotions—love, heartbreak, unhappiness, felicity. How are we to grow without experiencing this range of feelings? Imagine if we danced the same steps or felt the same emotions every day.'

‘It would be boring and we'd be stunted.'

‘Exactly. This is why tango and life are similar. The world would be a better place if everyone understood and appreciated tango.'

‘You could be right,' she said, not convinced. Her own life was testament to why tango should be shoved in a corner and ignored.

Carlos wrapped his warm hand around hers. ‘Do you miss your home?'

‘No, not really. There's too much drama there so it's better I distance myself.'

‘You miss one person in particular,
sí
?' He glanced at their entwined fingers and let go, as if he'd registered what he was doing.

‘Nope. Well, yes, sort of. But it's the past, right? Such is life and all that?' Dani forced her mood out of the doldrums. Carlos caught her eye and, for a moment, the world stopped.
Adam used to give me that look
. Scared by the intensity, she looked away, breaking the spell.

Carlos pointed at the photos on the wall. ‘These were taken by the writers Jorge Luis Borges and Adolfo Bioy Casares. They wrote a book and did photography together and now this is where their artwork is displayed.'

‘They're beautiful.'

‘On the surface,
sí
. Although darkness hides behind the beauty.'

‘Like what?'

‘See this photo?' He tapped a photo next to him.

Dani angled her body to get a better look. The image was too far away, so she rose and stood next to Carlos. Gazing at the picture, she studied the strong branches supporting eucalyptus leaves that fanned out over the park bench. ‘It looks like a cave. Nature's perfect canopy, huh?'

‘This is the tree in the park near where Eduardo Canziani lived. You remember the man in the photo you snooped on, yes?'

How could she not? She winced inwardly. ‘Yes.'

‘It is also the same park where Louisa Gilchrist and Roberto Vega met in secret. That tree you call beautiful witnessed a plot to murder Eduardo Canziani.'

‘Do you really think they did it?' Dani sat on the chair and skulled the last of her lukewarm coffee. Out the window, snippets of sunlight cut through the grey sky.

‘Louisa and Roberto? All the evidence points to this.' His tone held unwavering certainty. ‘If they are alive, and if they are found, they should be going to the courts and thrown in the jail until their deaths. They killed Argentina's greatest musician and composer and deprived the world of a special gift.'

‘But what if new evidence proves they didn't do it?' Not that she had a reason to believe they hadn't.

‘You think they are innocent?'

‘I don't know. I haven't looked into it much yet—'

‘Yet? You will? What about the articles we are working on for Tourism Argentina? You will throw this away to write about Argentina's biggest scandal and bring disgrace upon my countrymen? Eduardo Canziani's death is Argentina's concern—it is not the business of the foreigners.' Carlos's spine straightened and a wall shot up between them.

‘You don't have a problem if I write about the tango your way but you have an issue with me doing my own investigation about a cold case? Don't you want to know what happened or, if Louisa and Roberto are guilty, find them and bring them to justice?' His change in attitude surprised her and the lovely time she'd just spent in his company disintegrated into a steaming pile of dog do. No way was she telling him about Iris.

‘It should only concern my people.'

‘I get you're patriotic but I don't understand why outsiders discovering new information is a problem.'

‘You would not understand.' His eyes lost their spark and his expression turned stony.

‘Try me.'

‘It is too complicated. I am asking you to leave this story alone. It is not for the
gringos
to stick their noses in.' In his mouth, the word
gringos
didn't sound like a term of endearment.