Two to tango, p.9
Two to Tango, page 9
“Pero Maria, por favor,” my grandmother had chided. “Déjala.” Let her be. She’s young.
But after that, I couldn’t let myself get off track. If only because I didn’t want to hear the shit anymore. If only because I kept being reminded how much my family had already sacrificed for me to have this opportunity. And how dare I not be grateful?
Sometimes it felt like the guilt trip wasn’t worth the fun I was having otherwise.
Would the guilt trip be worth the fun now?
Either way, I’m opting not to tell her. I’m choosing to keep this for myself. And even though my grandmother isn’t here to see this, she left me these priceless shoes. She’d probably want me to do this.
At least that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
“They are fantastic,” I hear somebody in the video whisper.
She’s right. And there’s a frightening feeling building within me that makes me think how much I’d like to be up there, too.
My phone buzzes with an incoming email, an inconvenient reminder from Barbara that there is too much to do, too much going on and leaving the office early is ‘not indicative of those who want to be here.’
Logan telling me about Gavin’s layoff was an unrealistic daydream. This email from Barbara is a harsh reality. What would happen if I got fired? What would it look like if I had to sit my family down and tell them that I was let go from my job? The intrusive thought is a jolt of fear to my heart.
When I graduated college and law school, my brother joked how I was the golden child that could do no wrong. He was so proud of me, he’d said. He always looked up to me. My parents were equally impressed, so proud, so honored. My mother consistently reminded me how smart I was, how she always knew I would do great things.
But what they didn’t know, what they couldn’t know, is just how stifling it is. How difficult it has rendered my life. And how I haven’t noticed the extent of it until recently.
Julie with the new haircut wants to create a life she’s proud of, just as she has silently wanted to do her whole life.
I want to do great things.
Suddenly, I feel a rush within me, almost like the swelling of a wave, the rising of a tide. I’m going to do it. I’m going to chase this one thing that is making me feel like something more. That is finally making me feel.
Months ago, I would have folded at the sight of this email, but right now, I’m going to figure something else out. I’m going to fight back.
Chapter twelve
Logan
Before our parents’ divorce, there was a lot of fighting. Loud accusations, angry screams, flying objects. Afterwards, things weren’t much more peaceful. The thing nobody talks about with divorces is how the children become the pawns in it. Or maybe they do, but I was too young to realize that’s what would happen. Gavin got stuck taking care of me in the aftermath, but I wanted out of the house as often as I could manage. Our neighbor Alison’s house was always a bit of a refuge for me. She had a British father who would make us large plates of fries doused in malt vinegar for a snack. She had Nintendo and cable, and we spent a lot of time riding bikes outside. It was there that I also learned she took ballroom dance classes at the city rec center. And one day, not wanting to go back home, I opted to tag along with her instead.
It was a whole new world. Deborah, the instructor, probably taking some sort of pity on me, let me sit in, and it changed my life.
Because I was young enough, there was some sort of discount when signing up. I pooled most of my allowance with some extra money Gavin gave me to pay for that first session, and I never missed a day. Not one day. I would hitch rides with Alison, and I would listen to Deborah and focus and learn every step. God, I loved it. I looked forward to that day of the week more than anything else. Maybe I loved it so much because of what it meant to me—a place of solace in between a shitty home life—more than what it actually was.
Except I kept going and going. I went on to compete, even with Alison as my partner sometimes. I kept climbing and climbing, holding on to the love I had for this dance with white knuckles. The thing is, once you do something long enough, even if you once loved it so much, it can wear on you. It gets tiring; It becomes a burden. Soon enough it's an ugly shadow casting everything in shade. The past couple of years have moved at a slow pace. Going through the motions: workshops and travel, festivals and shows. Like crossing off a to-do list out of habit.
And now here I am, suddenly looking forward to these sessions again. I could reason that it’s like the equivalent of putting in your two weeks, knowing you’ll be out soon enough. Except I haven’t been job searching. Not really, anyway. Haven’t had the time. No, this is something else.
And she just walked through the door.
Today Tara and I are teaching giros, turns in tango. Julie has moved up a row in the class, still focused on her feet in the mirror. Still determined to get the steps right.
“Logan and I are going to show you a proper tango hold today. You can practice this with a partner and get acclimated to it.”
Tara steps next to me, and I put my arms out like in an embrace. “For the leaders, your left hand will reach up just above your shoulder. You don’t want to go too high, it should be a comfortable height for you and your partner. And your right hand will come around and settle on the middle of your partner’s back.”
I continue. “For the followers, your right hand will meet your partner’s left hand in a hold, again just slightly above the shoulder, and your left hand will come around to settle onto your partner’s upper arm, similar to the practice embrace.”
Tara and I show the hold in action. “This is an open embrace, which is where we will begin.” Tara and I step closer, temple to temple, chest to chest. “This is a close embrace. We’ll work our way up to this one.” I smile.
And after Tara and I demo the steps, I see Ethan jump right in to ask Julie to dance. Maybe I just envision the quick look she gives me, but she moves closer to him, and they begin.
One of our regular students, Leonora, walks up to me confidently, asking to be my partner.
“In a minute,” I tell her. “I’m going to walk around and check on everyone.”
She pouts, and I pair her up with Carla to practice the steps while I keep my eyes on Julie and Ethan as much as I can.
His hands are all wrong, wrapped around her like that. His body is too close to hers. I walk over and adjust it.
“You don’t want to be so close. This is an open embrace, Ethan,” I tell him, my voice inexplicably clipped. “Spine straight. Don’t act like a magnet to her.” Which is nothing if not hypocritical because lately all I’ve felt like is a magnet pulled to her presence.
“Keep your hand here.” I position her arm, reveling in the softness of her skin I get to touch again.
“Okay.” She nods, doing as I say.
They continue to dance, both looking straight ahead, practicing the moves over and over.
Once the song is over and Tara and I have said our goodbyes for the week, Julie comes up to me.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
I’m surprised, maybe a little concerned. “Sure. What’s up?”
“So. I’ve decided to attend the milonga at the end of the session,” she starts. “But—”
“You can be my date.” I hear Ethan’s voice out of nowhere, a playful tone like he might be kidding, but I’m not quite sure.
“Oh.” Julie says. And that’s all she says for a moment.
“Usually, you ask somebody to be your date, not just state it, Ethan.” I try to keep my voice equally light and teasing, but I’m annoyed. It’s basic fucking etiquette, really.
“Want to be mine?” He tries again, smirking.
I think a vein just popped in my forehead.
“Um. Okay,” Julie answers apprehensively, then turns to me. “But, I was going to say, I’m having a hard time with the scheduling of this class. It’s interfering with my work, unfortunately, so,” she clears her throat, “would you happen to offer private classes?”
“Hey, that sounds good,” Ethan chimes in, inviting himself.
The words are on the tip of my tongue—No, I don’t do private lessons—which is the truth. I haven’t done them in years, and I have no intention of starting anytime soon. But all I feel right now, besides the absolute dissolving of any fucking logic or reason, is my body and mind screaming, don’t take her from us.
And maybe it’s how she’s uneasy, already anticipating a no. Maybe it’s how I can recognize the look on her face as something I once felt. Or the look on Ethan’s face that is saying something else altogether. I want to wipe that one off his face.
Maybe it’s how I can feel my entire body zing with an awareness. We want her back, it’s saying. We want her near.
And so, I tell her yes. She’s stepping out of her own comfort zone, I can tell. She’s giving up a little bit of control. I can guide her through this.
“I can give you private lessons,” I respond, and I’m sure that somewhere Tara has probably fainted.
“Really?” She smiles like I’ve given her the best gift.
“That’s great,” Ethan says.
“Great,” I manage to say.
“Great!” Tara adds, a little too loudly.
“What would work with your schedule then?”
“I usually have to stay late in the office, so would there be an option to maybe push the time back later?” she asks hesitantly.
“We could stick to Thursdays after group class. So around seven thirty? Would that work for you?”
“I could do that,” Julie agrees.
“Sounds good to me,” Ethan adds in. I almost forgot he was here, wanting in on this. He turns to Julie and says, “Let’s exchange numbers, and we’ll go from there.”
“Oh. Alright,” she seemingly agrees.
“I’ve already got your contact information in the sign-up forms,” I throw in smugly.
What the fuck was that? What the hell is happening to me right now?
Tara is probably asking herself the same question.
And sure enough, once they leave, I get it. “What was that?” she says, mouth agape.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t not do it,” I tell her. “I could use the extra money, anyway.” And that’s true. But something else is a driving force. An ugly sense of jealousy, like my body and my brain are both ganging up on me, making me say stupid shit that I’m going to end up regretting later.
“You think maybe you’re offering help that your ass can’t cash?”
“What does that mean?”
She doesn’t answer, instead just studies me for a moment then says, in a tone that suggests she’s not thrilled about this, “Go easy on Ethan.”
***
We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes and there’s still been no sign of him. I should have started fifteen minutes ago, but Julie wanted to wait. To give him the benefit of the doubt. Like he even deserved any of the benefit.
But about eighteen minutes in, I think she realized what was happening—phone in hand, texts unanswered—which left her looking defeated and left me feeling seven kinds of angry.
“I’m so sorry about wasting your time like this,” she says apologetically. “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s alright.” I keep my voice light, but I’m biting my tongue. “He wasn’t a good partner for you anyway.”
“Why not? He seemed like a nice guy. He knew the steps; he followed them fine.”
Because I didn’t like how he looked dancing with you. All wrong.
“And then he ghosted you.”
“Maybe he didn’t like dancing with me,” she shrugs.
“Then he’s definitely not a good partner for you.”
She sighs. I can tell she’s upset, and what’s worse is she feels guilty. “Maybe I didn’t know the steps well enough.”
“None of this is your fault, Julie.”
“I’m just trying to do something for myself here. Is this a sign from the universe that I’m asking for more than I deserve? Am I being knocked down a peg? Should I stay in my lane?” Her laughter is tense, her mouth is clenched.
“Sounds like this has been difficult,” I start, trying to decipher what she’s said. “Would you like to keep the private classes going then?”
“Why bother?” She asks bitterly, and it’s a feeling that I know all too well.
“Because you deserve the joy of dancing.”
She stills. “What?”
“I felt that way once, too,” I tell her. “This career can have a lot of ups and downs. You know what my old mentor told me once? ‘You deserve the joy of dancing.’. She was right. She was always right. And now I’m letting you know.”
Her eyes soften at that, they way mine probably did when she told me those powerful words.
“He wasn’t a good partner for you. You lost him, but you’ve still got me.” I swallow.
“You,” she repeats flatly.
“Are you gonna look me in the eyes and tell me we’re not good together?”
She opens her mouth to speak, but she shuts it just as quickly, looking stunned. What even possessed me to say that? My mouth has zero filters around her.
“Logan,” she begins, and the reaction to her saying my name is another sharp zing. “When I signed up for these lessons, I had another idea in mind. I didn’t mention it at first, but …” she trails off, looking like she’s unsure of what to say next. She steps side to side, restless and fidgety, and it’s got me curious.
“But?”
“There’s a competition. One for the San Diego Tango Festival. Have you heard of it?”
Have I heard of it? Uh, yeah. I nod in response.
“Right. Of course you would have,” she mumbles. “Well, I want to do it.”
Shit. I did not expect it to go this way. My raised eyebrows might be showing that.
“I need a partner, and …” she shuts her eyes, like it must pain her to be asking for help like this. “Well, I was going to ask Ethan, but as you can see …” she waves her hand around the empty studio.
I can sense what’s coming, the impending question that I hope I’m reading wrong, but probably not.
“If you think we’re as good of partners as you say, would you be interested in doing this with me?” I might hear a tremor in her voice.
How did we get here?
“I …” I told myself I’d never go back to San Diego. I told myself I was done with it. “Why do you want to do that one specifically, if I may ask?”
“Personal reasons.”
That’s all I’m getting? I’m quiet for a moment as I try to figure out where to even take this conversation.
“Like I said, I was going to ask Ethan about this, but clearly that didn’t work out. If you don’t want—”
“I’ll do it,” I blurt. Fuck.
I almost instantly regret it. But then I look at her and I decide to stop fighting with myself. I decide, impulsively, to join in. She wants to do this, and, for reasons I’m trying to untangle myself, I can’t say no. So, something short of rash and ridiculous and probably fucking stupid, I’m going to do it with her.
“I’ll be your partner and we’ll compete together.” Fucking hell, if Tara could hear this now.
“Really?” she asks quietly, hopefully, then looks down at her shoes.
“This is important to you, and I want you to experience it, so why not?” That sounds reasonable.
“And we’ll keep doing the private classes?”
“Yeah. You and me. Fuck Ethan.” This gets a chuckle out of her. I’d join her if my chest didn’t feel so tight. “We’ll work on a routine and get you ready for San Diego.”
She takes a deep breath before she answers with a smile. “Alright.”
But that alright sets me on edge. That alright makes me feel more alive than I have in the past year. That alright sets my whole entire heart in motion, like it’s waking up from one very deep slumber.
“Alright, Julie.”
And right when I think it’s the end of it, she keeps going.
“Teach me,” she says, firmly this time. Like she knows just what she wants. “Teach me how to be a good tango dancer. Teach me how to do it right. I want to know everything.” She’s voracious in how she tells me this, like she’s starving for all this knowledge.
I haven’t seen such energy about dance since I started dancing myself. There’s something about the way she’s approaching this experience that is refreshing. It’s genuine and vulnerable and exciting. Fiery and passionate. And it might be making me love this dance again.
“This class was on the house. Let’s start fresh next one.”
I can’t deny that I’m excited, that I’m ready to dive in. But there’s an underlying current of nerves, something that’s got me feeling jittery and reckless.
It’s always been about the craft, and suddenly, it feels like it’s not.
Chapter thirteen
Julieta
“I Googled you the other day,” I tell him, standing in the middle of this dance studio facing the mirror. This place seems much bigger with fewer people in it. The mirror feels much more intimidating when it’s just me staring at it, waiting for direction.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I still can’t believe I asked. I figured I could run it by Ethan during the private class if it went well, but it clearly didn’t. In the middle of that mess, I realized maybe it could be Logan instead. I was prepared for a no; there was no way he would agree to it. Except that he did, and now we’re here.
It seems like one impulsive decision has led to a plethora of them. One after the other, like this is who I’ve been all along. The rush of signing up for lessons in the first place was the beginning of a whole mountain of them: classes and a haircut and a plan to go to San Diego. Who am I right now? I’m still not sure how I’m going to get that news past everyone, but maybe that’s a problem for Future Julie.
