The Politics of Tango

             I’d been watching her for an hour and still no one had asked her to dance. I had to wonder if she was one of those tangueras who was born dancing tango and that everybody knew she only danced with the best or that she was the unfortunate victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time when all the other leaders were preoccupied.  

Everything about her said she wanted to dance: her shoes, her demeanor, the fact that she was sitting up straight and casually scanning the room in case a potential suitor might make eye contact, something the people from Buenos Aires call cabeceo, the clandestine art of asking a woman to dance. There was another woman sitting next to her but the two rarely talked.

I decided to take a chance and fulfill my obligation as a local tanguero to make certain that all the women were getting their fair share of dances.

Getting up from my chair I made my way around the room as if I might be going to the snack table, a common feature at a milonga, the place where tango, and only tango, is danced. I was three tables away from her when our eyes met. My heart leaped as she briefly looked away and back again. She held my gaze to let me know that she had accepted my invitation.

Quickly walking over to where she sat I offered her my hand and guided her to the edge of the dance floor to wait for an opening in the traffic. She started towards the dancers but I blocked her by straightening my arm: we would wait until we got the nod. Several couples passed us by before one leader looked at me and nodded towards the space in front of him.

We moved into the stream of dancers and I quickly integrated her body into mine. To my extreme pleasure she chose to come in for the full close embrace, opting not to block me with her left hand on my bicep.

We were so near to each other that I could hear her shallow breaths in my ear. I was glad that I had just showered and felt confident that my breath was fresh; personal hygiene is of the utmost importance in this sport for there can be no distractions; connection is everything and the slightest faux pas could ruin the entire encounter.

             I waited briefly for the beginning of the phrase in the music and commenced to dancing. Several steps later I led something that she didn’t follow. I quickly changed weight to accommodate the lack of clarity in my lead and led the same maneuver again, making sure I was not knocking her off-balance. She followed it perfectly this time around and we both smiled with delight.

The first song ended much too soon and we both stood there as the next melody began. I introduced myself and commented on the fine selection of songs the DJ was playing. We talked quietly for ten or fifteen seconds before entering into the embrace once more. We took our time making contact and I waited for the proper moment to initiate movement.

A minute into the song we collided with another couple. I could tell that the leader was new as I offered my apology and assumed responsibility for the collision. That he didn’t do the same was a dead giveaway that he was unaware of the politics of tango. It is up to the leaders to conduct this exchange properly. Either both men apologize and take blame for the mistake or one of them offers an excuse and the other accepts. This is how civility is maintained and the integrity of the women is assured.

Continuing on I took extra care to anticipate the awkward movement of the new tangeuro. It was apparent that he was not aware of his place in the crowd; he needed to wait for a space to open up before moving into it and to stay in his own lane of traffic. Several times I had to dodge him and his lady as they moved against the line of dance and even changed lanes.

The second song ended and we made small talk once again. I flattered her appropriately without suggesting that I wanted something more than the dance. This is my job as the leader: to be charming without resorting to cliches, to acknowledge her assets in such a way as to increase her confidence and find comfort in my company.

The third and final song of the tanda, the group of songs that constitutes the length of a tango engagement, began. We danced better than we had done before and I pushed our boundaries just a little bit to let her know that I was willing to be daring for her but not so far that she would lose faith in me.

The song ended and I waited for the cortina, that odd piece of music that is not tango that separates one tanda from another, to play. I thanked her three times, with sincerity and with vigor. I made sure she knew that the pleasure was all mine, that I felt fortunate for having spent the past ten minutes in her company.

As the other couples dispersed, I escorted her back to her table. I did not intrude on her space for fear that she might think I was imposing. I merely followed behind her for the sake of appearance so that others would see that she was being respected and not returning to her seat alone.

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