PART 2:
Cadencia
A deep check and replace, usually led by the man as he steps forward. Useful for avoiding collisions. May also refer to a subtle shifting of weight from foot to foot in place and in time with the music done by the man before beginning a dance to give the lady the rhythm he intends to dance and to ensure that she will begin with him on the correct foot.
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Pam thought of herself as a good girl. Not an angel, maybe, but your basic good girl. This was not the dress of a good girl.
She ran her hands slowly down the bodice. In the mirror, her reflection confirmed what her hands felt. This dress made a promise.
This dress, with its nipped waist, its plunging neckline, the scattering of sequins across the slightly flared skirt that ended more than slightly above the knee… this dress whispered, "Take me off and I'll show you what you really want to see."
The two slender straps were clearly there to underline the promise. They kept slipping down her arms as if demonstrating the dress's desire to find its natural state: in a heap on the floor by the bed, under a set of French underwear.
And then there was the color. Not just red. This was Red. This was the Red of smeared lipstick and manicured fingernails digging into muscular backs.
This was the dress of a woman who would lean in close to a man and murmur, "You know how to whistle don't you…"
This dress could eat her for breakfast. And she had to wear it. There was no way out.
After her blustery response, "Sequins? Of course, I have sequins. Wait there," how could she walk out now and say, "I'm sorry, Bill, I realized I only have one dress with sequins and it screams, 'Do me!' so loud I'd never be able to hear you over the noise. So I'm wearing this timid pantsuit instead."
She jumped as Bill's voice rang out from the living room.
"If you're gonna be a lot longer, honey," he called. "I'm gonna turn on the sports news, 'kay?"
There was a pause, and…
"Where's your TV?"
"I'm coming, Bill," she called back. "Just one more minute!"
She did a half-turn and watched the way the skirt swirled. She heard the gentle susurration of the fine crepe sliding over the satin. Even the sound of the dress said, "sex."
She bit her lip. She couldn't stall any more. She'd just have to brazen it out. Pretend it was a perfectly ordinary dress. If she just acted normal, Bill wouldn't have any reason to think she was wearing it for him. Which she wasn't.
She took a deep breath and patted her hair. The loose up-do was a good choice, she decided. Her thick, dark hair was piled in upswept curls. Tendrils spiraled down here and there, tickling her neck and cheek.
She looked down. She'd chosen sheer stockings. They seemed mildly more conservative than black. Now she realized they made her legs look as if they were bare, with just a hint of shine. Too late to change, she told herself firmly.
She sat on the edge of the bed to slip on her shoes.
The laddered black bands running up the front gave her a little trouble. It took a moment to figure out the pattern of straps and snug them into place. The heels were ridiculously high, she realized as she stood carefully, finding her balance.
She glanced at the mirror and was surprised to feel a bright flare of pleasure. She didn't look like a good girl. But she didn't look half bad.
She was sorry now she hadn't worn the dress back in September when she bought it for the annual Golden Gavel Dinner. The blue sheath she'd worn instead had been nice and elegant, but nothing special. Not like this.
Well, she thought, she'd chickened out back in September, but she wasn't going to chicken out now. She opened the bedroom door and stepped through.
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Bill was sitting on the sofa where she'd left him, perched on the edge as if afraid to make a dent in the silky upholstery. He had an Architectural Digest on one knee and was peering at it with a bemused expression.
He lifted his glass and looked up as she walked in. The glass froze halfway to his mouth. She actually saw his breathing accelerate.
Seeing his eyes widen, his mouth drop open, the flutter in his throat as he swallowed, was all strangely intoxicating. There was something very appealing about making a good looking man sit up and take notice. Even if that man was Bill Maxwell.
Right now it felt a little like revenge.
She knew it was just the dress he was seeing. Bill and the dress were having a conversation in the subsonic range shared by dogs and intrigued human males. She was just the messenger.
Still, it was… fun.
"Will this do?" she said, and she gave her hips a little swish, making the skirt rustle.
"Ah, do what?" Bill said, his eyes glassy.
She felt her smile widen as he blinked and inhaled sharply.
"Ah, no, I mean- yeah," he said, dropping the magazine on the corner of the coffee table. "It's, ah, it's a n- good dress, Davidson."
He took another long pull at his drink and moved to put the glass down the magazine. He must have misjudged because he set the glass down on the edge hanging over the carpet. His hand shot out to grab it, but the glass had accelerated from a slow slide to a tumble and hit the carpet with a thud. Dark liquor trickled out on the cream-colored carpet.
Bill bolted to his feet as Pam turned and snatched a towel off the bar.
"Damn," he said, "Ah, sorry, Counselor. I knew I'd break somethin' in here. Damn."
Pam noted with some surprise the return to "Counselor" even as she bent to swab at the spreading spot on the rug.
"It's okay, Bill, really," she said, "It'll come – oh!"
He reached to take the towel from her hand when she reached toward the floor. The sharp sound of their heads banging together was as surprising as the actual impact.
She straightened too fast, losing her balance on her impossibly high heels. She felt herself falling backwards then stopped abruptly in mid-air. She looked up to see Bill's worried face hovering over her own.
"Ah, jeez," he was saying, "Are you okay? How many fingers?"
She felt one of the arms around her waist let go and Bill's hand appeared in front of her eyes.
"Uh, two," she said dazedly and reached up to still the wiggling fingers.
"Stop that," she said. "I'm fine, I just-"
Suddenly, the reality of her position asserted itself. She was leaning back over Bill's arm, holding his other hand in her own while he bent low over her…
"So," she said, a little breathlessly. "Shall we dance?"
He broke into a wide smile.
"You're all right," he said, lifting her to her feet.
"Your smart aleck bone is intact."
"I like that," she said, matching his grin. "First you knock me down, then you insult me. "
"We always hurt the ones we love, Davidson," he said. "But funny you should say that."
"What do you mean?" she said, pausing in the act of smoothing her skirt.
"Well," said Bill, glancing down at her high heels, "Let's just say, I hope those nifty little shoes are more comfortable than they look."
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They stood in the wide entry room of a converted storefront in West Hollywood. Evening sunlight angled in through lacy white curtains, weaving a dappled pattern on the checkerboard floor.
Outside was a mixed bag of working class shops. Across the street, a hot doggery stood between an auto parts store and a caterer called the Cannoli Kings.
Inside the hum of holiday traffic was muffled by oak wood paneling and heavy tapestries. As Bill helped her off with her black satin wrap, Pam read the gold script etched into the hostess stand.
"'Abrazo,'" she said, sounding out the word. "I've never heard of it. Is it Mexican?"
"Not exactly," Bill said. "More Argentine. But other things, too. Roxana, Natal Feliz, honey."
Pam followed Bill's gaze to the inner door. A petite olive-skinned girl drifted in on the sound of a high, sweet Spanish guitar.
"Guiomar," she said, beaming a smile that lit her delicate features. "Natal Feliz, meu amor."
Her lustrous brown eyes turned to Pam and widened. She gave Bill a sly smile.
"E esta ela?" she said, fluttering long, sable eyelashes.
Bill coughed loudly and she was surprised to see his face flush.
"Recebeu uma boca grande, Roxie," he muttered, laying a hand on the girl's slim shoulder and gently turning her back toward the door. "Table for two. Pronto."
The girl's bright laughter mingled with the music from the next room.
"Pronto, Guiomar," she said, scooping two menus from the cubby under the hostess stand.
"Se você por favor," she said, giving Pam a warm smile as she gestured to the inner door.
Pam glanced at Bill. He stood back, motioning her forward. She stepped between them through the door.
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Pam surveyed the small dishes and condiment bowls scattered across their table. Dinner had been amazing. It was simple food, simply prepared. But the tiny portions, so perfectly spiced and garnished, when eaten in mix-and-match combinations had created a kaleidoscopic array of flavors. Between the food and the rich red wine and the muted light from the gold and glass chandeliers overhead, she was feeling a little drowsy.
She gazed down the long hall. The best part of the dinner, she decided, was that from their table near the back, she could see the entire dance floor.
Pam watched the swirling skirts spin to the accompaniment of the rapid tat-tat of high heels. The Spanish guitars changed tempo and the dancers pivoted into a new combination. One couple executed a complicated interweaving step, their feet rapping out a machine-gun rhythm. Another couple in matching royal blue outfits separated and came together in a fierce embrace.
On the other side of the dance floor, a tall, slender woman in a black beaded gown traced a wide circle with the toe of her shoe. Her wavy hair was a dusky auburn. It hung in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck that swayed in syncopated rhythm with her movements.
Her partner, a raven-haired young man in a loose-fitting red shirt, paced closer and with a sudden movement hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her forward across the floor. The couple passed below a tightly focused spotlight and the woman's dress sparkled like a black diamond.
Bill snorted.
"Come on," he said, under his breath. "Get the basics down first."
Pam shot him a glance. His lips were pursed in concentration as he watched the dancers' tightly controlled movements.
When Pam looked at the couple again, she saw the woman's ankle wobble as she struck down with her forward foot, halting their motion across the floor. Bill hissed and gritted his teeth.
"I guess she has to start somewhere," Pam said, pitching her voice above the trilling guitars.
"Nah, not her" Bill answered, frowning as the couple paraded back across the floor. "She's a pro. It's the punk she's with. He's showing off. Trying to. He's gonnna break her leg in a minute if she doesn't take over."
"She can do that?" Pam said. "I thought she was just supposed to relax and get dragged around the floor."
Bill barked a laugh.
"Keep watching, sweetheart."
She looked over and saw him break into a grin.
"There she goes."
Pam turned back to the floor and saw the woman in black stop and perform a complicated series of toe flicks around her partner's legs. As she watched, Pam saw it effectively kept him immobile for a few seconds. When they moved again, it was with a precision they hadn't shown before.
"Now if he pays attention," Bill said, "She'll show him everything he needs to know."
He began to call out the names and translations of the various movements as the couple criss-crossed the floor. She looked over and was startled to see his face had the same clear, open expression she'd glimpsed in her living room.
His wide eyes lit up and he gave a low whistle.
"Yeah, nice combination," he said. "Did you see that-"
He glanced over and their eyes met. She looked away quickly
"Uh, so, you done there," he said. "Can Luis come clear away the wreckage, or do you wanna eat the plates, too?"
She laughed.
"I'm done," she said.
On cue, their young waiter approached and bent over the table. His brown hands stacked the plates in even rows.
Bill cleared his throat.
"So, let's hear it," he said. "Did I win?"
She smiled, nodding as Luis indicated the relish plate at her elbow.
"You win, Bill," she said. "I'm impressed."
She inclined her head toward the dance floor.
"Dinner and a show," she said. "And here I was expecting two of Pinky's finest hot dogs. It looks like I owe you some homemade tiramisu."
"Of course," she said. "You've had my cooking before. Are you sure you won't just let me buy desert?"
"I'm shocked, Davidson," he said. "I never took you for a welsher. If you can't make tiramisu, we can take it out in trade somehow."
Fortunately, at that point the music ended. She turned away to hide her sudden blush and clapped enthusiastically as the musicians set their instruments down on their chairs and migrated in a body toward the bar.
The dancers cleared the floor more slowly, drifting toward tables and coming together in small groups as if the sudden lack of music had drained their strength. She noticed the woman in black disengage herself from the young man in red. He looked reluctant to let her go, but she lifted his hand from her arm with a firm gesture. She laughed as she did it, but Pam was sure she saw tension behind her smile.
The young man stared with an unsettling intensity in his coffee-dark eyes as she paced gracefully away from the dance floor. Pam noticed with some surprise that the woman was not as old as she'd seemed at first. Despite the gravity with which she carried herself, her face was as beautiful and unlined as a statue by Verrocchio.
Pam was so absorbed by the woman's beauty, she didn't realize she was walking straight toward their table until a moment before she arrived.
She gave Pam a polite nod, but when her eyes turned to Bill, her face lit with a brilliant smile.
"Guiomar," she said and it sounded like a purr. Her voice had a surprisingly rich, deep quality, like chocolate liqueur.
Bill rose from the table at the same instant.
"Anjeline," he said, pronouncing it Ahn-helayna with flawless inflection. Pam noticed his sudden sharp focus with some surprise.
Anjeline bent toward him and brushed his cheek with hers. The two stood touching for a long moment before Bill seemed to come back to himself with a start and released her hand.
"Anjeline," he said in a strangely husky voice, "I want you to meet-"
"Pamela," Anjeline said with a faint accent on the second syllable that made the name sound exotic.
Pam blinked and gave Bill a curious glance. He was staring fixedly at the dance floor.
She realized Anjeline was bending toward her, extending a slender hand. Pam half-rose, feeling suddenly as awkward as a little girl caught playing dress up. She was keenly aware of her bright, red dress and the straps that had once again slipped from her shoulders.
Anjeline's hand touched hers and she was surprised to feel warmth radiating from it. She noticed then the light sheen of perspiration on Anjeline's skin.
"You dance beautifully," Pam said as she sat back.
Bill had dragged a vacant chair over from another table. Anjeline sat gracefully, crossing her ankles modestly under the chair.
"You are very kind," Anjeline said, with a faint smile. "And you are just as beautiful as-"
Bill coughed.
"Uh, Anjeline," he said, "I brought Pam along as a favor to her boy- uh, fiancée."
Pam felt a twinge of anger.
"Yes, Bill's been saddled with me for the evening," she said. "But it's almost over."
"Yeah, that's about right," Bill said, ignoring her sharp look. "I'd kinda like to take her home if you think the boy's are going to get rowdy tonight."
Anjeline shifted in her chair, adjusting the drape of her sparkling gown.
"The good boys will soon be leaving to take their mamas to massa de vigília," she said. "The bad boys…
She shrugged and Pam wondered if she imagined a slight tension in the woman's slender shoulders.
"The bad boys will do what they do," she said. This time, Pam was sure she saw a veiled look pass between the two.
"In that case," Bill said, "Maybe I'd better take the Counselor here and-"
"Oh, Guiomar," Anjeline said, laying her pale hand on his arm. "Surely you won't leave without a milonga."
She inclined her head toward the dance floor where the band was reassembling.
"Rufino would not concentrate on his steps," she said. "He had so much on his mind…"
She looked at Bill from under her long eyelashes.
"He is one who will not say his rosario in the catedral this evening," she said.
To Pam's surprise, Bill's mouth set in a hard line. He gave a sharp nod.
"Alright, sweetheart," he said, "We'll show 'em how it's done."
Pam felt a sharp stab of irritation. Not only were they acting like they were alone at the table, she thought, Bill was actually going to leave her here while he danced with Anjeline.
As she struggled against the urge to call him a pig in front of this wholly elegant woman, she noticed he was staring over Anjeline's shoulder.
She followed his gaze and her eyes found the young man in red just as his searching glance landed on Anjeline. In an instant, his look of curiosity transformed into a fixed glare.
She heard Bill saying something in a lowered voice to Anjeline, but the only word she caught was "Amigo."
The young man, Rufino, she guessed, was fighting through the tide of dancers drifting back toward the wide wooden dance floor. She saw Rufino's hard stare shift to Bill and his eyes widened before his mouth set in a scowl. Then his shifting gaze fell on her.
Pam's stomach gave a reflexive lurch. Rufino's stare was snakelike in its menace, but it wasn't as frightening as his smile.
As his eyes shifted, taking in her hair, her dress, he bared his teeth in a grin that was feral in its intensity.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anjeline give a swift wave at the corner of the room, but she couldn't look away from Rufino's hard eyes.
"Rapido," Bill hissed beside her and she felt another body move up to the table.
With relief she turned away from the approaching Rufino and looked up to find a beautiful young man staring down at her.
His perfectly arched lips curled in a raffish grin that lit his brown-gold eyes.
"Minha Senhora, chamo-me Nicolas," he murmured in a voice that sounded like honey tasted. "Dance comigo?"
He held out a graceful hand, the color of caramel creme, and she was startled to see the gold flash of a wedding band.
"That's a great idea," Bill said. "You two have fun."
His chair made a loud scraping noise as he pushed it back. He was on his feet when Rufino reached the table.
Pam looked back and forth between them. The idea of lions popped back into her mind as she saw the two men size one another up through narrowed eyes. The naked hostility in Rufino's eyes was not as startling as the fact of seeing the same expression in Bill's.
She half-expected the gun he no doubt had securely tucked into the shoulder holster under his coat to appear in his hand at any moment.
She realized the young man at her elbow was still waiting patiently.
Pam was confident her Foxtrot was one of the best at the Golden Gavel Dinner, and she could Electric Slide with the best of them. But there was no way she was going to embarrass herself by trying to Tango in front of all these incredible dancers. And Bill Maxwell.
She opened her mouth to decline Nicolas' invitation when Bill spoke.
"Nico," he said, his hard stare never leaving Rufino, "Take good care of Pamela. She's my responsibility tonight."
Pam stared at him. Responsibility? What was he doing, she wondered. Was he showing off for Anjeline? She had better things to do than be part of Bill's macho posturing.
When Rufino answered, his low voice was a surprising contrast to the ferocity of his expression.
"Come, Maxwell," he said, pronouncing the 'x' with the soft susurration of the Hispanic pronunciation, "A woman so beautiful deserves the best."
"Yeah, but unfortunately," Bill said. "I'm already dancing the next one with Anjeline."
"Very amusing," Rufino said, baring his teeth in an imitation of a smile. "A sense of humor must be a great benefit in one's old age."
"I'm guessing," Bill said. "That's not something you'll ever have to worry about, pal."
Rufino's fierce smile widened, showing more straight, white teeth.
"I would discuss that with you further, homem velho. Perhaps later. Now," he said, inclining his head toward Pam. "The lady awaits."
Bill's mouth contracted in a tight frown.
"What she awaits," he said, "Is for you to get on your bike and clear off so the rest of us can get started thinking of you as a bad memory."
She saw his hand slip around Anjeline's waist as he moved to step forward and at that moment, she decided she'd had enough of his swaggering attitude.
"Actually," she said, rising to her feet, "What the lady would like is a dance."
She turned to Nico, standing beside her.
"Perhaps the next one?" she said, with a smile.
She didn't miss the quick look of confusion he shot at Bill, but she didn't give Bill the satisfaction of looking for his reaction. She turned to Rufino.
"Go easy with me," she said, trying to ignore the predatory gleam in his eye. "I'm new at this."
He gave her a little bow.
"You honor me," he said, extending his hand. "But I'm afraid dancing with me will spoil you for other partners."
This time she couldn't miss Bill's reaction. In the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen and heard his intake of breath, but as she put her hand in Rufino's and turned toward the dance floor, she saw Anjeline lay a hand against his chest to hold him back.
For some reason, the gesture infuriated her. She gave Rufino her best smile as they turned toward the dance floor.
"I'm sure it will be an education," she said.
She lost track of Bill and Anjeline as Rufino led her through the press of couples to the floor. His hand was large, and unpleasantly coarse. She felt the ridges of several scars under her fingers.
The first coruscating notes from the band sounded and the couples around her seemed to spark to life. Hips swayed, arms raised, and here and there a heel tapped on the wooden floor.
When they reached the center of the floor, Rufino slowed, causing her to turn toward him. He pulled her close and she could feel the hard bulk of his chest against hers. He took the hand she had placed lightly on his shoulder and lowered it to his waist. His back felt hot and damp through the light silk of his red shirt.
She looked up into his heavy lidded eyes and knew she had made a very big mistake.
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- continued-
el Tango de Los Angeles
(Tango of the Angels)