‘What do we think the story is?’ I asked Gabriele.
He paced around the studio a little, as though deep in thought. ‘It’s about lust,’ he said.
I swallowed hard. He was right, of course, the music lent itself to it, but was this really a good idea, for us in particular?
‘Lust between two people who cannot be together because of their external circumstances,’ he added.
I nodded along, as though I was perfectly fine with all of this. Which I was, from a professional point of view – unrequited lust worked perfectly for a really sharp Argentine tango.
‘Why don’t we begin apart, maybe mirroring each other,’ I said. ‘One behind the other.’
Gabriele nodded, getting into the position I’d suggested. ‘For two or three beats.’
I mapped out some steps. ‘Something like this?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. ‘And then I will come to you, place my hand on the back of your neck, spin you around and lower you to the ground.’
‘Let’s try,’ I said. I had to be confident that I could do whatever he asked of me; that I could match him step for step.
As I faced the mirror, he walked around me. I didn’t have time to acknowledge the spark that ran through my body as he placed his firm hand on the back of my neck and spun me around, because before I knew it I was bent backwards, inches from the floor, and then almost as quickly flicked up again to standing, as though I was as light as air. I remembered the story – lust that must be avoided at all costs. My instinct was to move away from him, then, as though I was trying not to give in to the feelings coursing through my body, and I took a few walking steps forward, like I was trying to brush him off. His instinct was clearly to follow me, as suddenly he was behind me, his breath warm on the back of my neck, his arm wrapped around me.
‘El Cruce,’ he commanded, as I let him turn me around to face him and then take me in hold for the traditional tango cross, crossing my feet in sync with his gentle pivot as he led me across the floor.
‘Let’s go again from the beginning,’ I suggested, and he nodded his approval.
While I went to cue up the music, I watched him rubbing the small white towel he carried with him over his face and neck. And then I tore my eyes away, thinking that the less I actually looked at him, the better.
As the music played, I began to let myself relax into it as we repeated the steps, over and over, finding our rhythm, adding in more complicated moves, even trying a lift. I let the music wash over me as I followed his lead, trying my hardest to forget that this was Gabriele in front of me, imagining another dancer in his place. Someone I had absolutely no feelings for, whom I was having to force a connection with under great duress, for the good of the performance. Before I knew it, we’d been rehearsing for over an hour and the routine was beginning to take shape.
‘You seem pleased with yourself,’ he commented, as he glugged at his bottle of water and I did the same.
I swallowed my mouthful hard, nearly sending it down the wrong way. ‘How do you mean?’
‘In your opinion it is going well?’
‘I think we’re making a good start, yes,’ I replied, bristling.
What was he getting at? There was no way he coulddeny that the dance was beginning to come together, and I was coming up with lots of ideas of my own, which he’d seemed to like.
‘Then this just shows your inexperience,’ he said. ‘We have a long way to go, and only two and a half weeks before opening night to do it.’
Okay, then. Clearly, I’d been lulled into a false sense of security. He was being difficult for the sake of it. Was this how it was going to be the whole time? Was he like this with everyone, I wondered, or was it just me he had a problem with?
I’d only ever had one proper dance partner before – Tomas. We’d competed together throughout childhood and our teenage years, and he was like the brother I’d never had. We bickered, sure, but we never spoke to each other the way Gabriele was speaking to me right now, like he hated me; like he wanted me to mess up so that he had somebody to blame if things didn’t go exactly to plan.
‘Have you got a problem with me getting the job?’ I asked him, deciding that being upfront and direct was the key if this was ever going to work. I was prepared to lay it all out on the table if he was.
‘Why would I have a problem?’ he asked, his mouth contorting into the sort of sneer that indicated, yep, he had amassiveproblem.
‘You tell me,’ I said, doing a quick sweep of the studio, gathering up the cups that I and the other dance teachers had left dotted about the place throughout the day. Coffeewas the main way I managed to keep myself alert and energized for each and every lesson. ‘Has it got something to do with your girlfriend? Only, I know she auditioned just before me, and I see she’s been cast in the ensemble. I’m guessing you’d much rather be dancing with her in the lead instead of me. Is that it?’
He spluttered, looking at me aghast. ‘What girlfriend?’
‘Daniella, I think her name is. She blew you a kiss on the way out of her casting?’
I tried to keep judgement out of my voice, but I had found it a bit ridiculous – if she was going to see him later, why did she need to make such a big deal about it as she left the room? She’d caught my eye on the way out, as if to warn me not to have too much of a good time because he was hers and so was the job. Obviously, the latter had turned out not to be true.
‘Daniella is not my girlfriend. She is my former dance partner.’
