TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

Act IV - Thao in the Grand Play of My Life

Yesterday was Thao's last day.  She is Vietnamese but now lives in Australia.  She has been here for 3 weeks and always promising to make me Vietnamese spring rolls.  Mostly she has been a shopping machine. A confirmed clothes-a-holic, she has definitely added a significant amount to the local economy.  She has had to buy two more suitcases to get her things back to Australia.

Early Sunday afternoon we take off for Chinatown.  We take the subte rather than the bus.  This allows me to show her more of this barrio.  Belgrano has a much different feel than the other barrios.  While still part of the Capital, it is more suburban.  The streets are wider, the sidewalks cleaner.  There are more families here.

We walk down Juramento to Chinatown.  I point out the Sarmiento museum, the Teatro Larralde, Museo DE Arte Enrique Larreta.  One normally does not think of Belgrano as being culturally oriented, but there are small theaters and places to hear music along with a few small museums.

We cross the tracks to Chinatown.  Thao finds it cute.  I point out the few restaurants and Chinese fast food places I know.  We head for the market.  Once inside, just like Jane, Lee, and Kenny she is thrilled to see the selection of food and Chinese products.  Unlike those 3 she does not speak Chinese.

My friends who work in the market grin when they see me with Thao.  I know that I am an enigma to them.  The Asians here do not mix with the Argentines.  Then there is me, coming in with all these Asians all the time.  They ask Thao if she is from Singapore.  She tells them that she is from Vietnam. I have to translate the Spanish to English for her.   They check out what she is buying. My friends are impressed.

I am buying my usual things, only now since my trip with Kenny I have some other things I now like. Spicy noodles, some sauces, and now dumplings filled with shrimp.  I wish I could come here more often.  Thao is buying fresh shrimps.  I have never bought fish here although it always looks so excellent.

Walking to the bus we stop in a shop that says it sells soy products.  They do, but they also have lovely fast food.  She and I go crazy buying.  The food is fresh, still warm.  This makes up for no decent Thai food, sushi that is only salmon, and too much chicken.

We race home, leave the groceries and take off for Plaza Serrano.  Thao is a shopping machine. I have never seen anyone buy as much as she does.  She even surpasses Jane.  When we enter the markets, some of the vendors greet me by name and hug me.  They are thrilled to meet Thao.  I have christened her "Maquina de las compras"  (Buying machine)  $500 pesos and many dresses, shirts, and jewelry later I beg her to leave. Even I can get tired of shopping.  I am dreaming of Vietnamese spring rolls. We make a quick stop at the market to pick up the few things we could not get in Chinatown, then it is home to start cooking.

Thao becomes a small tornado of activity.  I have never seen her move so fast.  She is making a vietnamese curry, spring rolls.  She starts the dumplings.  She bought shu mai a dim sum in the market. She tastes it and decides it needs something.  She makes a chile sauce for it.  She makes rice in the microwave.  This is something Kenny did too.  Thao says her mother would die if she knew this is how she now makes rice.

I watch every step.  The yam noodles are boiling for the spring rolls.  She stir fries the rice with egg and garlic scallion.  I do my part.  I nuke the fast food I bought for us to snack on while she cooks.  Her spring rolls are not like the ones I used to eat in the Bay Area.  They are shrimp and yam noodles.  But she uses cilantro instead of mint, cucumber, and red pepper.  Her dipping sauce is orange juice and chiles.  I am in heaven. We are like kids sampling everything.

Phillippe comes to eat with us.  I have decided he makes a better friend than boyfriend.  I wanted him to go to boyfriend school, but he doesn't want to go.  OK fine.  Argentine men are not used to women calling the shots.  Independent women to these men is when they want to watch football you need to find something else to do.  As liberal as they think they are, they still are not used to a woman who thinks "well if you can do that, so can I."  So like I said, better we should be friends.

The dinner is amazing.  I am eating much more than I really want to. The spring rolls are incredible.  Even better is that I have learned how to make them.  The curry came out great too.  Good thing my friend Belli brought me curry from India because the "spicy" curry we bought in Chinatown was far from spicy.

Everything was so fresh, so tasteful.  The shrimp was excellent.  I now know that this place is the best to buy my seafood at.  It reminded me of the shrimp I ate in New Orleans when I went to visit Eva.  I tell Thao her mother should open up a restaurant here.  While Thao moved to Australia from Vietnam her mother went to Russia.  She has a restaurant there.

Phillippe is overwhelmed by the smells and the tastes.  I tell him not try the orange chile sauce.  He stays away from it until the end when he decides to try it.  He almost dies.  It really is not that hot.  He thinks Thao and I are crazy.  She and I are in hysterics watching him eat.

I am sad to see Thao go.  She promises to come back next year.  I am thinking of going to Australia in January.  This is as I always write, the sad part of having guests.  You never know if you will see them again.  They become little acts in the grand play of your life.

15 Minutes of Fame....

I cannot believe I am going to be on Argentine television.  When I was growing up I wanted to be an actress. I wanted to be famous. What do you expect?  I am a Gemini.  I used to dream about being on Johnny Carson.  Somehow I ended up a computer geek.  The closest I got to acting was to do lots of public speaking.  I find it quite humorous that it is here in Argentina I am finding fame so to speak.

The station told me that they would send a car for me at 10:00 am.  The program would be live. Eeek.  Me and my Castellano.  I am hoping the word boludo doesn't fall out of my mouth.  (Porteño for asshole) Strangely enough I am not nervous.  I know I speak well, just not perfect.  I also know that I am just as funny in Spanish as I am in English.  They say if you can tell jokes in a foreign language you have mastered the language.  I don't know about that, but I do make people laugh.

The only thing I am freaking out over is what to wear.  I have a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear.  I am in some ways my mother's daughter.  She would drive the whole family nuts screaming before we ever went anywhere "I'm not going, I have nothing to wear."  Only she had a huge closet full of clothes.  I am the same, only more sane, I go shopping.  Plus who would I scream at?  Roxie?

Sunday Sandra, Maren, and I go shopping.  We decide to do the markets in Plaza Serrano.  I don't intend to buy much.  Famous last words.  I am in a mood to shop.  I am mad at Phillippe these days. Mad enough to have Walter to do my hair.  Walter is thrilled of course.  Phillippe if we ever decide to talk again will want to kill me.  (The competition of the hairdressers)

It is a total girl's day out.  We have lunch.  Maren does not speak Spanish.  She is from Perth, Australia. She is adorable.  She actually likes being around people who do not speak English.  She is picking up words and phrases very fast.  I am translating.  After lunch we hit the streets.

Three hours, 3 dresses, 1 skirt, 4 tops, a necklace and earrings later I hope to find something to wear. I use Maren as my fashion consultant since Sandra had to go leave to share mates with her brother.  Maren thinks I should wear jeans and this slinky top.  I am not sure about that.  I like the new black dress with a hot pink stripe and leggings.  I figure I will deal with it in the morning.

I get up early.  I decide on the black.  I have heard TV makes you look fat. I am more nervous about that than my Spanish.  The dress looks sexy.  My friend's are emailing to wish me luck.  My American friends email to tell me not to worry.  My Argentine friends tell me to wear a push up bra.

I am dressed and ready to go.  I wait for the car.  By 10:10 they are not here yet.  The show is at 11:00. This is when I become American.  I am nervous.  Maybe they forgot me.  At 20 after Analia calls to tell me they are late. (Really?  I hadn't noticed..)  The car will be there in 10 minutes.

At 10:30 Martin, the driver is here.  I go downstairs.  The porteros Orlando and Hugo are excited.  They have the magazine article in the lobby.  They think it is great they have a famous person living in the building.  They both hug me and wish me luck.

The driver is very nice.  We talk on the way to the station.  Like everyone else he is fascinated by my choosing to live here.  He is also fascinated that I dance tango.  He asks me for lessons. Nice as he is, he has ulterior motives.  I promise to give him Mimi's information.

I enter the station.  I am greeted by two more men.  How fun!  I am like someone important.  I don't even have to sign in.  People nod to me and smile.  I am whisked to the sound stage.  They show me the set where we are going to be.  Then they whisk me to makeup.  Someone else asks me if I want something to eat or drink.

There are 3 makeup artists.  I am introduced.  I am not nervous but I cannot remember anyone's name. I sit in the chair.  The woman does an incredible job on my face.  I look in the mirror.  "Is that really me?  I look gorgeous."  I tell her she is a genius.  I ask her if she can come over to my apartment everyday and do my makeup.  I am hoping I can duplicate her art work.

Next they take me to the set.  I am introduced to a woman who will be on before me.  I am introduced to Jon, the other person who will be on with me.  Everyone is so nice.  I find it humorous.  The men are all making excuses to check me out. I watch the show.

These guys are hysterical.  Mañana Vemos is like  Regis and Kathy Lee on drugs.  A male and female host interview guests but in a very slapstick comical way.  The program is very funny.  I am trying to figure out what they are going to do with us.  We are waiting and waiting.  Analia tells us they are running late. I am checking out the professional video equipment.  Totally cool stuff.

Finally it is our turn to go on.  The hosts greet us during the station break.  They are so nice.  Everyone is warm and friendly.  I kiss the guy.  I leave a hot pink mark on his face from my lipstick.  Like all men here he loves it.  "I have been waiting all morning for this."  he tells me.  Jon and I are seated on the set.

The cameras roll.  They have prompt cards to introduce us.  I freak they have our ages.  When the guy starts to introduce me I screech at him "Don't you dare say my age.  You never tell the age of a woman. Never!"  Everyone laughs.  The female hostess joins in.  We are both attacking the male host.  We leave it at that I am 21.

They are interested in why we have come to live in Argentina. Jon works with Help Argentina.  It is a wonderful group of people who do volunteer work all over the country.  He works in the villas. (slums) His Spanish is beautiful.  He is so serious.  He is from Maine.  Then there is me.  From California. Loca.

They ask me about my dancing, about why I came here, and, of course my attitude about the men.  Analia reads my blog.  The female hostess and I are making jokes like crazy.  I am not nervous at all. This is fun.  I quote my former partner.  Actually I make fun of him and mimic the time he told me I needed to understand that I was in Argentina, and women are lower than men. 

The time passes.  They really wanted me to dance.  Instead I am to give a lesson to the host.  He is so crazy.  I start to explain how to walk.  I correct his posture.  He grabs me in an American tango pose.  Loco, he is Argentine.  I correct him and we, sort of dance around the stage.  Then the show is over. Everyone is laughing.

Once again I am whisked outside into a waiting car.  Martin and I chatter on the way back.  He still wants tango lessons.  I write down Mimi's info.  I tell him she is great.  He will adore her.  Everyone adores Mimi.

My cell is going crazy.  I am getting text messages from my friends.  When I get upstairs I already have 6 emails and the light is blinking on my answering machine.  My phone rings. I pick it up.  I hear a familiar voice "Hola hermosa, divina, Diosa."  It is Phillippe.  He tells me that I was beautiful.  He loves my dress.  He tells me I spoke well.  He was so proud of me.  "Can I take a famous woman to dinner tomorrow?"  he asks.  I want to be sarcastic and tell him Valerie Mazza is not available.  I hesitate. "Sure" I tell him.  "Porque no?"

A Star is Born....(Sort of ...)

On Sunday, one of the two major newspapers, Clarin published an interview with me in their Magazine Viva. It was an article about myself, a couple, and two guys.  We are all Americans living here.       The focus of the article was Americans who have come here to live since 9/11.

Marina, the journalist who wrote the story is a very interesting woman.  She was living in New York when the towers were bombed.  It was the catalyst that brought her and her husband back to Buenos Aires.  An Argentine, she lived in the U.S. ten years.  She is married to an American.  The state of the U.S, the politics, the atmosphere of fear propelled them to come back here.  She had wondered if other Americans felt this way, and if that was what brought them to Buenos Aires.

I did not move here because of 9/11.  I moved here because I wanted to long before 9/11.  It is no secret that I do not like how Americans are governed by fear.  I prefer to live my life in peace.  I can't think of anything that really scares me here.

The photographer who came to take my picture agreed to take as many pictures as I wanted, until I found one I liked.   I told him it would not be easy since I do not photograph well.  He took over 50 pictures.  I checked them all out.  Along with one of my students who came for her English class we decided on # 37. He said he liked another one.  I told him "PLEASE DO NOT USE THAT PICTURE." It was so UGLY.  So not me.  I told him please  use #37.

On Sunday  Roxie and I took our walk in the morning. I stopped to buy a newspaper from the vendor on the corner.  I thumbed through the magazine looking for my picture.  I told the vendor I was going to be in the magazine.

Mr. Positive Reinforcement tells me "They probably told you that, but you won't be in it."  I tell him no, that it was an interview.  He laughs at me.  I find the article.  I am horrified.  Julio used the UGLY picture.  I want to kill him.  He is now on the top of my list of Argentine men to stick pins in.  I cannot believe it.  The newspaper vendor leans over my shoulder.  "Che" he says to me. "Sos mas linda de este foto."  No shit sherlock... (He has told me I am more beautiful than the foto.) I am visibly disturbed.  It is a full page foto.  They spell my name wrong.  I am now BeBi.  Jeesh...

I start to receive emails from friends.  People I have not heard from in months are emailing.  My Argentine friends tell me the article was wonderful and my foto was "muy lindo."  (Liars...)  My American friends waste no words.  They tell me my name was spelled wrong and the foto was not good.  Duh...

On Monday, I start to realize people are starring at me.  Uh oh.  I feel a little paranoid.  At least the article didn't talk about my views on Argentine men.  I take the subte.  People are starring at me.  I am not sure if they are really starring at me or I am just imagining it.

I walk Roxie to the vet.  It is a nasty day.  It is raining.  I have Roxie, and umbrella, and my oversized purse to deal with.  Out of the corner of my eye I see a guy on a motorcycle starring at me.  He doesn't stop.  I figure he is a moto-chorro. (A thief who robs you while on his motorcycle) I juggle everything and move my purse the other shoulder. He drives by and yells "HOLA Bebi y Roxie.  Arrghhh he saw the story in Clarin.

On Tuesday when I walk into my student's office, they all greet me.  The programers hold up a copy of the magazine.  "You didn't know your teacher was famous did you?"  I ask them.  They all laugh.  All day in all of my classes it is the same. 

When I get home there is an email from Channel 7.  The producer of the program "Manana Veamos" wants to talk to me. Dios mio!  I call Analia.  She tells me that she has been reading my blog and saw the interview with me in Clarin.  They are interested in interviewing me on the program. 

We speak a little bit.  Most likely they want to check out my crazy Spanish. I know I speak well, but I still do not speak perfect or even close to it.  I also know from both Marina and the photographer, I was the only one to conduct my interview completely in Spanish.  Some people find my Spanish entertaining. OK...whatever. Analia tells me she will call me to set up a time and day for filming. 

On Thursday I am in the subte.  A young man is checking me out.  Great.  He is starring at me.  I hate this.  I hate when people stare at me.  He comes and sits down next to me.  "You speek Inglesh?" he asks me.  I glare at him "Porque?"  I ask him.  He is not deterred.  He asks if I am American.  I tell him yes.

At that moment my phone rings.  It is Analia from Channel 7.  Saved by the bell!  I get up from the bench and walk away.  She tells me we will film on Monday.  A car will come to get me at my apartment. They will do my makeup and we will film at 11.  Ifeel so Hollywood!  Wow!

I get on the subte.  I notice the young man is behind me. He has a nice face.  "Bailas tango?"  He says to me.  I am shocked.  "How do you know?"  I ask him.  He tells me he has seen me in the milonga. He saw me with my former partner.  He also saw the article in Clarin.  "Do you teach?" he asks me.  I tell him sometimes.  Depends.  I tell him I am no longer with the man he saw me dance with.  He tells me it is a shame because we danced so well together.

He asks me if I know the show "Michaelangelo."  I tell him I have never been to it, but I do know of it.  He tells me he sings in the show and dances as well.  He hands me his card.  We have a short conversation about mutual acquaintances.  "Maybe we can go out sometime." he says to me.  I laugh.  I could probably be this guy's mother.

I am close to my stop.  He asks me for my card.  I tell him I do not have one.  He erupts into song.  I do not know whether to be horrified or impressed.  He is singing a beautiful tango to me.  I am so shocked I do not even remember which one.  The entire car is looking at us.  I am sure they think we are a subte act. (The subte has many people who do comedy, magic, sing, juggle, and play musical instruments for tips)

The doors open at the Callao stop.  "Your voice is beautiful I call to him" as I leave the car.  He smiles and waves.  The people in the car are smiling with him.  I can only imagine what will happen once I am on televison.

The Milonga Chronicles....more

It's Sunday.  I decide to go to Salon Canning.  I can walk there.  Costs are rising so fast here for those of us that live in pesos.  Now I choose my milongas based on how much it is going to cost me.  Walking saves money.

I like Canning on Sundays.  I used to go all the time.  Then it got so crowded I could not dance.  It seemed a little crazy to go somewhere I could not dance.  On Saturday one of the men I danced with told me that the crowd had thinned out on Sundays at Canning.  Now with more choices of places, less people go there.

I walk the 13 blocks.  I see two men I know leaving.  They nod to me.  I nod back.  I do not know them well enough to greet them with kisses.  Sometimes it is like that.  When I go to pay my entrance I find that here too has raised the price.  Not a happy surprise.  I am greeted with kisses and demands of "Donde estaba?" (Where have you been) 

I enter the salon.  It is a nice size crowd.  I see many familiar faces. I look around.  They are in the middle of remodeling.  Now that is a pleasant surprise.  They have pulled up the carpet that once surrounded the dance floor.  It is a wood floor as well.  Just like the city tearing up our streets and leaving them for 3 months, Canning has done the same with this floor.  Nasty carpet glue remnants on this once nice parquet floor.  The gorgeous paintings that once adorned the walls have been removed. The walls are being painted a beautiful golden yellow. 

I love the waiters here.  I have known them for years.  They always find a good spot for me.   They have their stations.  Whoever sees me first always puts me at the best table they have.  I always greet all of them.    It is interesting, I have been coming to Canning for 7 years.  The same staff is here.  The same DJ.  It is like time stands still.

I am seated in the second row at a table with one other woman.  She is dancing.   She comes back to the table and mumbles something to me I do not understand.  I think she is Japanese.  I ask her if she speaks either English or Spanish.  Again she mumbles something.  So I just smile at her.  I prefer to sit in the second row rather than the first row.  My "mozo" (waiter) buddies know that.  Easier to look around for dances.

There is a group of older men off to my right.  They are pretending they don't notice me.  I remember one of them from Gricel.  He is a sort of arrogant guy.  I haven't seen him around for awhile.  Good dancer.  He got fat.  Really fat.  Too many empanadas. 

Dominico comes over. Dapper as usual in his suit.  He comes right to the table.  He knows I will not embarrass him and say no.  We dance a tanda.  He is surprised to see me at Canning.  I tell him I am tired of Celia's.  "Ahh those guys are too old for you."  He says to me.  I laugh.  Dominico must be in his 70s.  He tells me he is glad to see me.  Always the gentleman, he walks me back to my table.

I see many men I know.  This means I must go on my kissing expedition.  Today I do not mind doing this. The kissing expedition does two things; 1. It lets the men know I am here.  They always ask where I am sitting. 2. I think it makes it easier for them to invite me to dance.  I am not always in the mood to do this, but today I am.  Sometimes it is fun.

I get up, I kiss several men.  Then I as I start to cross to the other side a line of men passes through a narrow aisle. I cannot move.  It is sort of comical.  I know them all, so I kiss each one as they come up.  "Hola, que tal?"  "Como estas, tanto tiempo."  "Me gusta verte" (Hi, how is it going? How are you, long time. Nice to see you.) I feel like the mother of the bride.

An older gentleman is watching me, and laughing.  When the line finally ends 10 men later.  He says to me, "Sos es muy sogente."  Duh?  Not another word to learn.  "Como'?" I say to him. He explains to me that I am sociable y intelligente.  That I am very smart to kiss all these men.  "Now" he says to me, "they will dance with you."  Uh huh, vamos a ver....

I greet the bartender and of course the D.J.  I walk around the room and say hello to everyone I know. The weird thing is I do not know one woman here.  I know almost all the men.  OK, no comments.  I usually know women in the milongas, but for some reason, today there are no women here that I know.

I make it back to my table and the mumbling woman has gone.  I wait to be asked to dance.  One of the group of men who were trying to ignore me, invites me.  I smile at him.  I hate smiling.  I never liked my smile.  Amazing how tango can bring out all of your insecurities.  So now you know why I never smile in any of my pictures.

He comes to get me.  I never get up to go meet a man to dance.  I want them to cross over to get me. That way I know they are inviting me.  Most foreign women and even some Argentines run half way across the dance floor sometimes.  Some men are gentlemen.  Even if they didn't invite Runaway Sue to dance they do not want to embarrass her.  Then there are the others that leave them in the dust shaking their heads. 

I slip into his embrace.  He sings to me as we dance.  He asks me if I understand the "letras." (words)  I tell him yes.  The begins the tango-tanda-small talk.  Where are you from, why do you like tango, how long have you been dancing, what is your favorite orchestra.  Once those are easily answered it becomes where do you live, what work do you do, are you married, do you have children and let us not forget...who do you live with.  Thank God, the tanda ends on that note before he can ask me for un cafecito.

Back to my table with a new table mate.  A woman who tells me she is a physical therapist for children. I can barely understand her.  She cannot understand me either.  We must sound like Porteño owls..."Como?" "Como?"  She is nice, we just somehow cannot communicate. Sometimes that happens. Or maybe there is some kind of invisible shield covering me that is keeping me from understanding my tablemates.

Then I make a big mistake.  This guy I NEVER want to dance with thinks I have accepted a dance with him.  He is thrilled.  What to do.  He is a nice guy, I just do not want to dance with him.  Oh well, I decide to see if he has improved in the last 3 years.

We start the first song.  He is clearly pleased.  He steps on my foot.  He is a sweet guy, he just cannot dance.  I should not be so nice.  I should sit down.  I just can't, I don't want to embarrass him.  He says to me "How is the famous milonguera extranjera?"  "I am not a milonguera"  I tell him.  "Sure you are. You almost never dance. You go to all the milongas."  "No," I tell him.  "That was before I moved here.  Now I don't go out that much. I am not a milonguera."  He keeps insisting.  "OK," I tell him.  "I am a tanguera."  "No, no." He says. "No." God this guy doesn't get it.

He insists I am not a tanguera.  He gives me all these reasons why.  I do not want to argue with him over something so silly.  "OK, calavera no chilla" BINGO!!!  I smile.  "OK, that I accept." I tell him.  (A person who goes out all night and pays for it in the morning when they go to work)  The tanda is over.

I have been here long enough.  I collect my things to walk home.  I say good night to the waiters.  I nod to the men who pretend they are not noticing me.   I amazed now that I do not need to stay until the end of the milonga to enjoy myself.  I remind myself to come back here again.  I wonder if in 7 more years I will still be coming here to dance.

The Milonga Chronicles....

It´s Saturday.  I am going to Leonesa to dance.  This milonga is always crowded.  It does not matter what time of year, there are always people.  Good music, good floor, and good people.  Sometimes if I am lucky there are good dancers.

I come to this milonga because I like the people.  Everyone is friendly.  There is no attitude.  People that come to this milonga want to socialize and dance.  There are no hidden agendas.  If there are, they are so well hidden that even I cannot find them.

As I come to the door way, the guard greets me.  She works here on all the days there are milongas. She demands to know where I have been on Friday nights.  I laugh and tell her sleeping.  I have been too tired to go out.  Too much work.

As I go up the stairs some men I know are leaving and greet me.  I pay my entrance.  As I walk to the bathroom to change my shoes a man that I have not seen in ages greets me.  He throws his arms around me.  "Cuando volviste?" he asks. "Tanto tiempo."  (When did you return?  It has been a long time) "It certainly has" I tell him.  "I have been living here for 3 years."

I don't remember his name.  I danced with him a couple of years ago at Lo de Celia's.  I just remember that he was a good dancer and a nice man.  He put up with my beginning dancing and stayed with me until I could dance.  Not that many men have that kind of patience.  I promise to save him a dance.

I walk into the salon.  The place is packed.  It is only 7:00 and you can hardly move.  The waitresses greet me.  I tell them I meeting friends here.  They take me to the table we are to meet at.  Janis is there and so is an Argentine woman I have not met.

I look around the room.  I see many men I have not seen in ages.  Is it the weather?  Today is one of the first really nice days we have had.  I watch the dance floor.  I need to go on my kissing rounds.  Greeting the men with kisses is the best way to let them know I am here.

I come to a table of guys who are in their 70s.  "Hola chicos"  I greet them.  One laughs "If we are chicos then you are the nena."  (If we are boys then you are a baby)  "What do you mean," says another. "Of course she is a baby, but you are still an old man."  They all laugh.  They want to know where I am sitting.  This way they can invite me to dance.

Juan Carlos with the beautiful blue eyes is here.  I know that means some good dances.  I am excited.  It has been awhile since I have gone to a milonga where there are lots of good dancers.  Not only that, good dancers who will dance.

I look around the room.  There are many men here I have not seen in ages.  Before I can comment this to Janis, she says the same to me.  It is not long before I am dancing.  I do not even have time to stop and think before I am invited to dance the next tanda.  It has been a long time since I danced this  much.

Dominico takes me to dance.  He always wears a suit.  He is a tall slender man. "Do you remember the first time we danced together?"  He asks me.  I tell him yes.  It was at Viejo Correo.  I thought he was stellar.  I thought he was a show dancer.  Silly uninformed me.  I think it was my second time here that I met him.

"Who would have known that I would end up living here."  I said to him. "It was your destiny" he said to me.  "How so?"  I asked him.  "Because even then," he said to me, "when you were really just learning to dance, you understood."  I just love these cryptic tango messages.  I say nothing, and just look at him.

"I remember your tango escenario steps."  He continues. (OH GAWD!!!  I wish I could forget that period of my dancing.  It was sooo embarrassing.)"But you always listened to the music. That is what you understood.  That was what was inside you.  The rest was just practice." 

Now what am I supposed to say?  So I say nothing.  When the tanda ends he like the gentleman he is walks me back to my table.  "I am glad you live here now.  I like dancing with you."  I thank him and sit down.  It is always the music.