Tango Lessons in Buenos AIres

Mr. and Mrs. Garrote and the Tango
He broke the ice with, "Are you Oregon State or Ducks fans?" I said I did not know which was which and asked what the mascot was for Wake Forrest which was their neighborhood. "The Demon Deacons... It used to be baptist..."

He worked for RJ Reynolds and recently retired. His laugh sounded like he was being garroted. His tongue would stick out and he would make a scary, raspy shuch-shuch-shuck sound. I held back talking because the guy just seemed the living representation of evil. I knew no matter what I said it would be edged with some sort of obvious disdain, judgement or condescension. I tried to remember the tango steps instead and Maureen's whirling, dazzling dominance on the dance floor even with just flip-flops- and the male tango instructor attempting to wrestle her into following mode.

We had found the tango lesson/dinner/show for 425AR a piece after some haggling. It conveniently happened to be directly across from the mildly sketchy black market money exchange "offices" of Florida street. I expected a high level of cheesiness and mediocre food, tepid performances - but all was top notch so I felt a little guilty sticking my tongue out and bulging my eyes when they asked us to take the "no obligation to buy" photo with the dance instructors/stars of the show.

Maureen enjoyed the bottle of Malbec we were entitled to as a couple. The photographer later made a special trip out to our table and said , "nice tongue." I said I had been told that before. Suckered in, so Of course we had to spend the 50AR for the image.

Before the show Maureen chatted and laughed with Mr. Garrote and his softer spoken and mousy but seriously southern-twanged wife and I tried to smile and grunt between bites of bread roll. Maureen confided later she would have cut me off had I tried to engage knowing I would have an edge.

He travelled the world for his employer, Brazil first and taught himself Portuguese. Then it was on to Argentina, Turkey, Greece... I tried hard to like the guy. "We were never union, nor was Phillip Morris, so I had to pay for my own cigarettes. My wife would tell me you are killing my grocery bill. I finally quit and probably smoked too much." He tried to soften this, some sort of strange guilt like the company was looking over his shoulder - with a story about his father smoking until he was 80 and Mr. Garrote's mom making him quit then -but it was because of the dementia.

Mr. Garrote was soft featured yet looked well worn. I found myself feeling guilty that I couldn't escape harsh judgement. He filled his glass with the Malbec to the brim as he gloated about last night's dinner that was $160 US at the city's finest steakhouse in the swankiest part is town that used to be the roughest part just five years ago. He got full value out of the 16 oz steak tonight as well.

Maureen asked if it was his wife's first visit here. She told the same one sentence response verbatim to what she had told the couple on the other side of the table when we were initially seated. We had met that couple earlier at the tango lesson. He spoke English, his family were citrus pickers from Fillmore, so he grew up with Spanish and English and now lived 9 months out of the year in BA. He had met his leathery Toronto female friend on a Canrnival cruise they both said was awful. "It was all old people, we were the young ones if you can believe it. The staff had no idea what to do with us because the are so geared to young people and families."

When Mrs. Garrote spoke again she said, "My husband was off traveling for years-so now I have a chance to go to these places." I imagined her practicing this in a mirror many times before she left, smiling at her latent good fortune and I found I could feel at least a bit of warmth toward her.