Luna Tango (6 page)

‘He knows nothing else. Would you ask Sir Paul McCartney to plumb a sink? No, you would not. Plus he needs the money.'

‘How badly does he need it?'

‘It is not my place to say.'

‘Sure, I understand,' she said. ‘He's got to live, right?'

‘Ah, but it's not for living, it's—' Wariness flashed across Gualberto's face. ‘Do not worry what it is for. My cousin only knows tango.'

‘So if he didn't cause the accident why does he let the public think he did?' she asked. ‘Was it Cecilia's fault?'

He mimed zipping his lip then gave a small shrug.

‘If it was Cecilia's fault and he loved her deeply he'd take the flak, wouldn't he? The media would have crucified him for damaging their darling and so they'd take her side and ... wow.' She paused to let her thoughts line up. ‘Why
wouldn't he
hate the media?'

Gualberto raised his eyebrows but his lips remain closed.

‘And with the public and media blaming him for the accident, she probably believed them even though it wasn't true.' She studied Gualberto's non-committal expression but his eyes told her what she needed to know. ‘How did the accident happen?'

Gualberto exhaled and said, ‘You have to ask Carlos this. I was not there.'

‘But you're willing to believe your cousin. Because families stick together.'
If they're not mine, that is
.

A man coughed behind Dani and she turned around. Bright lights shone in her eyes and it was impossible to read Carlos's expression but she figured he wasn't impressed. It might have had something to do with his tapping foot and hands on hips.

‘I see you have given up on this dancing business.' Carlos took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

‘I don't think your cousin wants broken feet and split shins.' She turned to Gualberto. ‘Sorry again.'

He laughed and raised a glass in the air. ‘To foreigners and their inability to dance like an Argentine. No offence, but you all lack the soul required for this dance.'

‘Aside from
La Gringa Magnifica
.' Carlos leant back and put his hands behind his head. ‘She was a foreigner with an Argentine soul. If you have done your research on my dance you would know of
La Gringa Magnific
a
, yes?'

Dani stared at her wine glass, wishing she could dive in and disappear into the rich red liquid. She hoped they didn't notice the goose bumps on her arms, her taut shoulder muscles and throbbing temples. She also prayed they couldn't sense her mentally super-glueing her butt to the chair so she didn't dash out the door.

‘Daniela?'

She looked up to find Carlos arching an eyebrow. His use of her full name grated on her but she was willing to let it slide—for now.

‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I didn't hear you.' Like hell, she didn't.

‘Do you know of this
Gringa Magnifica
?' Carlos asked again.

‘Yes.' She drew the ‘s' out longer than needed.

‘An amazing performer. I would never have imagined Argentines were capable of embracing a foreign tango dancer with such love. They hadn't, until
La Gringa Magnifica
arrived on our shores twenty years ago. For a country obsessed with youth, she did very well to find her audience at the age of thirty-five. She was a strong, independent woman who put the younger women to shame and became a role model for others. She was an Australian, like you,
sí?
I still find it difficult to believe a country with the kangaroos and the bear things—'

‘They're not bears, they're koalas.' Her words sounded snappier than she'd intended. ‘Sorry, I'm a tad tired. I'm not used to starting my evening at midnight.'

‘Ah, then we must train you if we are to take you to more dance halls during your stay, won't we, Carlos?' Gualberto smiled like he'd already shoved a plan up his sleeve.

‘She needs to learn to dance to write her article. This is the agreement.'

‘Maybe she could be the next
Gringa Magnifica
.' Gualberto patted his cousin on the arm. ‘But I fear you have work cut out for you.' He winked at Dani.

‘I know dancing's not one of my talents.' She forced a smile but felt like a phony. How stupid she'd been to think she could go to Argentina and deal with the inevitable references to her mother.
You're an idiot in denial, Dani McKenna
.

‘Did you do the Google thing again?' asked Gualberto, filling everyone's glass.

‘About the Australian tango dancer?' She took another sip, keen for the alcohol to do its job. Within moments the pain in her temples had eased slightly. ‘I know a little about her.' Dani shifted in her chair. ‘Gualberto, what made you want to start playing the bandoneón?'

A
tsk
came from Carlos. He shook his head, full lips twitching at the corners. ‘This is a nice diversion but I am aware of these tactics. Cousin,' he turned to Gualberto, ‘do not answer unless she learns a new step.'

‘Oh no.' Gualberto shook his head vehemently. ‘If I dance with this lovely lady I will need to use your cane.'

The cousins laughed and Dani crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, suppressing a chuckle. A flash of electric blue sequins drew her attention to the far corner of the courtyard. A tall, thin woman in a fitted dress danced with natural grace, her long arms and legs forming beautiful arcs. Dani's stomach lurched and she gripped the sides of the chair so hard she split a nail.

‘Excuse me a minute.' The men stood as she got up and she smiled a thank you for their chivalry. They took a seat and carried on talking as she hurried away.

A sea of bodies twirled and turned as Dani wove between half-empty tables and apologised profusely when she stepped on toes. The odds of this woman being Iris were about the same as Dani reuniting with Adam—i.e. zilch—but she couldn't resist the urge to get a closer look. Not that Dani had any idea what she would do or say if the woman was her mother. What does one say after twenty years of silence? ‘Hi Mum, nice to see you. Love the dress.' Yeah, right. Her heart told her to stop and turn around but her feet dragged her to the edge of the dance floor, where she halted and her eyes searched the crowd.

Blue sequins flashed again and Dani stepped forwards, trying to avoid being swept away by the dancers. The woman's pale skin caught the lights and her dark hair swung away from her face to reveal heavily painted, serious lips. Her long lashes closed for a moment, lost in the music, passion oozing from each graceful step. Dani let out a long sigh, relieved to discover it wasn't Iris.

The woman disappeared into the crowd with her partner and Dani stood still and chewed her lower lip. Buenos Aires was a city of ghosts.

‘There you are.'

Warm breath grazed her ear as the deep voice jolted her into the present.

‘I thought we had scared you away.' Carlos cocked his head towards the dance floor. ‘Are you ready for more?'

She shook her head. ‘Sorry, but I'm done for tonight.'

‘Your stories will be short.'

‘I know we have a deal and I'm willing to work with you on this but I'm tired.' She made a show of rubbing her ankles where the buckles dug in. They hurt, but not as much as her brain.

‘We go but we return tomorrow. And you will get real shoes.' He nodded at her feet. ‘Pretty but not practical. You need the right tools, yes?'

* * *

As soon as she slipped on the violet shoes, she fell in love. The soft leather straps caressed her feet and even though the heels were high, the cushioned soles gave the impression of walking on clouds. They were
almost
as comfy as her runners. How could that be so?

‘Wow,' she said, looking up and smiling at Carlos, who had crossed arms.

‘I tell you they are no more practical than those things you had on last night.' He nodded towards the red shoes abandoned on the floor of the dance gear shop.

‘But these ones are comfortable, I promise!'

He grabbed a pair of closed-in, low-heeled, poo-brown shoes. She screwed up her nose then stopped, worried he'd think her ungrateful.

‘This is what you should wear, Daniela. They are not pretty but they work. They have more structure. Those purple ones are made for the professionals. These,' he thrust the ugly shoes at her, ‘are perfect for beginners. Unfortunately, they only come in left and right.'

Dani laughed even though she didn't agree with Carlos's philosophy. Dressing like a professional, whether it was for journalism or dance, definitely made a difference in her mind. If she looked the part she had a better chance of succeeding. Unfortunately, Carlos had other ideas.

She turned her feet from side to side, admiring the violet contrast against her pale skin. The shoes were a work of art. She stifled a sigh.

‘Fine. I'll take the brown ones, but mark my words, one day I'm going to return to this shop and buy these shoes.' She punctuated this with a firm nod. ‘And I'll be a good enough dancer to do them justice.'

Dani caught Carlos's lips twitching. Laughter shone in his eyes. She squeezed her own lips together, trying to suppress the belly laugh threatening to tumble onto the shop floor.

Straightening his back, Carlos said, ‘I hope the store does not go out of business before then.'

1953 – Louisa

From the mansion's third floor, Louisa peered at the masses swarming along the tree-lined avenue. People bashed metal ladles and wooden spoons against pots while traffic came to a standstill. The protestors raised their voices in disapproval of Juan Perón allowing the Eva Perón Foundation for the poor to start crumbling after the passing of his wife. Burning piles of rubbish cast an eerie orange glow along the sidewalk as acrid smoke curled above the people's heads. A shot rang in the distance, causing Louisa to jump.

‘Stay away from the windows, you'll get hurt.'

She spun around to find Eduardo in the living room doorway, his sturdy build taking up most of the doorframe.

‘The people are growing more restless. What will happen, do you think?' Her gaze returned to the crowd below, their chants growing louder as more people joined the throng.

‘Perón must figure it out soon. Those people you feel sorry for are the ones who attacked and burned the Jockey Club and the National Democratic Party headquarters.'

‘They did it because Perón called for a violent response to the explosion that ripped through Plaza de Mayo.' Louisa detested political discussions with Eduardo because of their opposing views, but he insisted on dragging her into them, perhaps in the hope that one day she would finally agree with him.

‘They did it because they are thugs. What is this country coming to when police and firemen refuse to attend calls of help from the affluent?'

‘It's a strong way of showing the rich they will not be bullied any more. I'm not saying it was right—'

‘It couldn't have been more wrong,' Eduardo said.

‘The people are tired. They're hungry. You were poor and struggling once. And me.'

‘We have a different life now, Louisa. I didn't spend all this time earning money to give it away to commoners.' He strode over to the brocade armchair and sat.

‘But—'

‘It is time.' He gave a curt nod.

‘For what?' A hollow feeling grew in her stomach.

‘We go to America next week.'

He'd mentioned it many times before but she'd put it down to rambling. This time, though, his stony expression and the conviction in his voice told her he was serious. Her wobbly legs threatened to buckle and she sat heavily on the sofa. ‘Shouldn't we wait to see what happens here?'

He gestured towards the street. ‘You've seen the people. The future is already decided. If we don't leave now we could lose everything.'

‘I don't think going to America is a good idea. You know Buenos Aires. You're familiar with the cafés, bars, concert halls. America is a new country, a place where you'll have to speak English all the time. I don't think it is in your best interests to go.'

‘I will not let this disease rule me.' He straightened his back.

‘The doctors could maybe slow it down—'

‘Enough!' He glowered at her. ‘We are going. The decision has been made.'

She willed her voice to remain calm and soft, the perfect way to temper his mood. ‘Is it because you made a promise to Carlos Gardel?'

‘Yes, of course it is. It may have taken nearly twenty years to honour my promise, and I am not about to give up my only chance to follow in his footsteps and show the world not all tango dancers and singers are like that revolting Rudolph Valentino.'

‘I admire your loyalty, Eduardo, but America isn't the same as when you made the promise to Carlos Gardel and—'

‘I am not a man who goes back on his word. We go next week.'

A lump of fear grew in the back of her throat. ‘So it's the three of us travelling?'

Eduardo shook his head and a stray lock fell across his forehead. Ignoring it, he said, ‘Are you talking about Roberto? No. He will stay here.'

‘Why?' Her eyes burned from holding back the tears.

‘Because it is time he made his own career.'

‘But he hasn't performed live since you started mentoring him.'

‘He will perform after we leave. He is ready. I need him to manage my affairs here.'

First Eduardo wouldn't let Roberto play in public, now he was being handed the concert circuit on a plate, minus his mentor's presence. Perhaps the disease had taken a bigger toll on Eduardo than she'd thought. His logic didn't make sense but the angry determination in his eyes told her to leave the subject alone until he calmed.

Eduardo turned, strode up the hallway and slammed the door to the music room. Louisa went to the window, pulled back the drapes and pushed up the sill. A cool breeze grazed her skin as she stared at the crowd below. These people wanted a better life for themselves. She'd experienced hunger and the daily struggle to remain healthy despite fatal diseases regularly sweeping through the slums. She understood the protestors' desire to have a soft, warm bed, fresh food, and a pair of shoes that didn't leak. She closed the window again as thick smoke wafted up from the fires on the street. Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she searched desperately for a way to smooth talk Eduardo out of his plans. Although, with Eduardo dangling a carrot in front of his protégé, it would be hard for Roberto to refuse, no matter how much he and Louisa wanted to be together.