eventually, she realized the words were encouragement. Although Myrtle knew nothing about the tango, she struggled with him attempting to gain control and lead in the complicated steps. Finally, the patient Cesar drew her aside and said, "Por favor, senorita, you must learn the tango is a dance of passion. Of romance. It is not a war. We are not fighting a battle. Now, senorita, I, as the man, am the leader and you, as the woman, must follow."
"Well--senor-- I have never followed in anything in my life, and this dancing is going to be worse than I thought."
Cesar laughed, positioned her left hand on his shoulder, firmly clasped her right hand in his, crushed her to him and with determination, they tangoed. Under Cesar's dogged direction, Myrtle learned to follow and found she liked her new role. As the lessons progressed and she became an accomplished dancer, the sensuous movements, such as sliding her foot up her partner's leg, thrilled her. At first, it was foreign to her and made her uncomfortable, but with repetition, it became merely part of the dance.
The erotic positions created physical contact and with Cesar's body rubbing against hers, she felt him straining against his clothing. When and where they touched, she could feel sparks of sizzling excitement and responded by tightening her hold and drawing him closer.
* * *
She bought clothes at the studio's shop, a fitted black dress with the plunging neckline, a daring slit up past her left knee. Cesar's warm breath down her cleavage and his woodsy cologne were exhilarating, and she'd muse about it over her morning coffee. Never would she have dreamed she would wear the dress or the make-up purchased with the help of the little department store clerk. The girl suggested Myrtle pull her hair back into a chignon, have her ears pierced and wear large hoop earrings, which she did.
At the beginning, Cesar insisted no talking during the tango - it would destroy the mystic of the dance. During a break, they sat in chairs placed around the edge of the dance floor. Cesar sipped from his coffee cup, then said, "My wife and I have many children. We have four muchachos and three little muchachas. No one loves them more than I do."
Myrtle looked away at the other dancers also taking a break and didn't reply.
Cesar continued, "We would like to have more for the joy they bring but can't afford to have them. Especially
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with the high cost of everything. I see you wear no wedding ring, senorita. Have you ever been married? Do you have any family?"
Without answering, Myrtle rose, excused herself, saying she needed the rest room. Her private life would remain private. She and Cesar shared the tango--nothing more.
When in Cesar's arms, Myrtle felt safe and secure. Questioning why, she couldn't find an answer, only knowing it was thrilling to twirl and step across the floor to the magical music. At times, he riveted his eyes to hers, and with his strong hand on her back, guide them in the intricate moves. He helped her to lose inhibition about her body and age fell away, making her feel sexy and desirable
In bed at night, strange stirrings occurred she didn't understand compelling her to run her hands over her breasts and down over her stomach to her throbbing center. Confused with the strong sense of want, she quickly pulled her hands away, the guilt unbearable. She denied the feelings but asked herself, 'Why did they make her cry?' Chalking it up to age, she wiped away the tears and tried to sleep.
* * *
One Monday morning, climbing out of bed, Myrtle shrugged into a robe, slipped into mules and went down the hall to the kitchen. After putting on a pot of coffee, she lifted the window shade allowing warm sunshine to brighten the room.
Plunking two slices of wheat bread into the toaster, she pushed down the lever and went to get the morning paper on the front porch. Back in the kitchen, the toast popped up. Myrtle buttered it, poured herself a cup of coffee and carried her breakfast to the table. Deciding apricot jam would taste good, took out a jar from the refrigerator, got a spoon out of the drawer and sat down.
Opening the paper, the headlines held no interest and she flipped to the second page. A small news item caught her eye. The police were searching for the driver in a hit-and-run accident in which a man was killed. The victim's name would be released upon notification of the family. Myrtle thought whoever left the man to die in the street should be hung. The article ruined her happy feeling, and she closed the paper. Enough 'news' for one day.
Maybe playing some tango music would lift her spirits, and putting on her favorite, "La Passionara", tangoed into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, showered and shampooed her hair. Drying with a large bath towel, Myrtle danced across the floor, looking forward to the evening's lesson. Then, in a better mood,she dried her hair, dressed and made the
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