TRASNOCHADORA
Within days of her arrival in Buenos Aires, Beth Browder had fallen into a typical milonguera's routine: waking up at noon, attending an afternoon tango class, followed by a practica, then a late dinner followed by one or more milongas, with a return home just before dawn. She'd become a total night-owl, what the locals called a trasnochadora.
She had also moved from the Residencia Europa into a rambling apartment on Avenida Scalabrini Ortiz. The apartment belonged to a middle-aged widow, Sabina Bernays, who, having subdivided the back section into five small bedrooms, had created a mini rooming house for foreign milongueras in need of long-term lodging in the city.
Sabina's address and phone number had been on the list Sandi Barnett handed Beth her last day in the city. But Sandi had not been encouraging about the possibility of Beth getting in.
"There's a waiting list. Everyone wants to stay there. Sabina's rooms are cheap, she's a dancer herself and she's takes good care of her guests. If you get sick, she finds you a doctor. If you have a toothache, she sends you to her dentist. It's girls-only. Boyfriends are welcome to stay the night, but they have to be out before breakfast. There're dancers in Europe who won't come over till Sabina's got an opening. When she tells them she does, they book the next flight."
Beth had called Sabina anyway, if only to meet the famous lady, who, it seemed, knew just about everyone in Buenos Aires tango circles. Sabina, in turn, invited Beth over for tea, which, Beth later learned, was her way of checking out prospective tenants. They got along well, and, a few days later, Sabina called to offer her a room.
"An English girl just cancelled. If you want you can take her place. You'd be sharing a bath with a Swedish girl, Kirstin Anders. Let me know within the hour, Beth. There's a South African girl who's been bugging me for months."
Beth moved in that afternoon.
There was a lot more to living at Sabina's, she quickly discovered, than just getting a good deal on a room. Sabina's was a lifestyle, perfectly designed for foreign female tango enthusiasts who might otherwise be devoured by the demanding local scene.
Sabina was like a den mother, advising her girls on how best to cope with life in stressful Buenos Aires. Communal noon breakfasts in the kitchen, presided over by Sabina in her role as mother hen, were opportunities for guests to exchange notes on their experiences in the tango halls the night before, and to receive Sabina's advice on their love affairs, nearly all of which were in states of unhappy irresolution.
Aside from the boyfriends-must-be-out-before-breakfast rule, life in the apartment was freewheeling and relaxed. When girls departed, they often passed their boyfriends on to other tenants. Girls also teamed up, nightly hitting the tango halls in pairs. Meantime, Sabina, true to her reputation, made introductions, received confidences and prepared nourishing broths if a girl was ailing.
Beth's bathroom-sharer, Kirstin, turned out to be a very tall, rail-thin, blonde with glacial features and a highly neurotic personality. In addition to indulging her tango obsession, Kirstin was taking advantage of another service readily available in B.A.: psychoanalysis. She'd found herself a shrink/tanguera, a woman who, after seeing her patients afternoons, danced away her nights at tango clubs.
"See that vamp over there? She's my analyst!" Kirstin told Beth their first night out, pointing to a svelte middle-aged woman dancing with a much younger man in a flamboyant erotic style.
"How can you confide in her after seeing her slobber over her partner like that?" Beth asked.
"Doesn't bother me. She's still great at figuring out my dreams."
Kirstin was involved in a miserable on-and-off affair with a boy named Jorge, another in the seemingly endless local population of sweet-natured gigolos who, calling themselves "tango instructors," nightly haunted the dance halls in search of affluent foreign female prey.
The second time the three of them went out together, Jorge asked Beth if she'd like to meet his friend, Fernando.
"He's a great dancer. He asked me about you, says he likes the way you move. That's him across the room, the guy in the maroon silk shirt."
Beth knew enough not to peer too closely lest Fernando take her stare as a come-on. In the two weeks she'd been in B.A., she'd learned to be careful about the men she danced with. Most of the cute guys turned out to be sleazy horndogs barely able to wait till the end of a first tanda before asking her out "for coffee."
Not that she had any qualms about having sex with a native milonguero. But she had yet to meet one who excited her. If only Mr. DD would show up!
She got her chance to study Fernando when he started dancing with somebody else. He was good looking enough, she thought, nicely built with dark hair, full lips, a neatly trimmed mustache. He was, she guessed, perhaps ten years younger than herself, and looked to be a clever dancer.
During the next interval, she gave him a good strong glance followed by a smile. He picked right up on it, headed straight over. Dancing the next three tandas with him was the high-point of her evening.
"Would you like to have coffee?" he asked her in gallant fashion when, finally, they sat down.
"I think I might," she said.
"You're staying at Sabina's?" Beth nodded. Fernando grinned. "My ex-girlfriend stayed there. Which bedroom?"
"The one next to Kirstin's. We share the bath in back."
"I know that room! This is great! We can all go back to Sabina's together. Since Jorge and I are close friends, it'll be 'like family' the four of us sharing the bath, I mean...."
Thus Beth acquired her first Buenos Aires boyfriend.
Beginning the next night, she, Kirstin, Jorge and Fernando started hitting the tango halls as a foursome.
Beth appreciated the no-boyfriends-at-breakfast rule. It gave her an excuse to get Fernando out of her room. He was a decent enough lover, perhaps not so clever in that department as he was out on the floor, but good enough until she found Mr. DD again, or until someone better came along. He was, like Jorge, affable, sweet-tempered, empty-headed, and, of course, totally broke. After discussing the matter with Sabina, it seemed reasonable to pick up his dinner tab, pay club admissions, and, of course, all the taxis to and from.
As Sabina put it when Beth brought the matter up at breakfast: "Just think of it as a transaction, dear. These boys make great dance partners and they're good in bed. In return, you pay their way."
"I don't know about 'good in bed'," Kirstin said.
"At least most of them are considerate," a girl from Germany put in.
"Frankly, 'considerate' doesn't cut it for me," Kirstin said. "Back in Sweden we expect more from a man."
"Why don't you talk to your shrink about it?" the German girl snapped.
"Believe me, that's all we do talk about," Kirstin replied.
Everyone laughed.
Later, when Beth was on her way out to take a tango class, Sabina called her aside.
"Trouble with Kirstin," Sabina said, "is she expects too much. Don't fall into that trap or you'll be disappointed." Sabina put her arm around Beth. "I've been asking around about your Mr. DD guy. No one's spotted him yet. If you only had a name...."
"I know, I know." Beth shrugged. "Being nameless seemed so romantic at the time."
Sabina embraced her. "Don't lose hope, dear. If he's a dancer in Buenos Aires, sooner or later we'll turn him up."
It took Beth less than a week to discover what Fernando was really like and to understand why Kirstin found Jorge so maddening. The routine was always the same. The boys, professing undying love for their foreign girlfriends, would pick them up at Sabina's, accompany them to one or another of the clubs, dance a couple of tandas with them, then vigorously flirt with someone else. Both seemed to have an irresistible need to make out with every girl they danced with. When confronted, they professed wonderment that their girlfriends were upset.
"I see you doing the same thing with your partners," Fernando told Beth, when she protested his pursuit of a sexy bottle-blonde Argentine.
"Sure, I make nice with them, but I don't ask them out 'for coffee,'" Beth retorted.
Fernando laughed. "I have no way of knowing that. Anyway, the only reason to hit the clubs is to dance with different partners. Otherwise we might as well stay home, hold hands and watch TV." Fernando, smiling his most charming smile, shook his head. "It's a big turn-on when you foreign girls act jealous!"
At that he left her side to dance with the bottle-blonde he'd been making eyes at throughout the exchange, leaving Beth to wonder whether the words "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" had any meaning to him at all.
"See now why Jorge drives me crazy?" Kirstin asked. Though sympathetic to Beth, she related everything to herself.
"Fernando doesn't drive me anything. He's just juvenile," Beth said. "Anyway, I'm going to put him to the test. I'm going to do just what he's doing. Then we'll see how much he likes it."
They were at Contramano, a mostly gay club in Recoleta, popular with dancers of all orientations. There was a wonderful dancer on the floor, a tall, very lean young man named Eduardo, whom Kirstin had pointed out earlier.
"He's the prettiest boy in the room. Check out those eyelashes! Decadent too. Rumor is he'll have sex for money. I've danced with him a couple of times. If he weren't gay, I'd dump Jorge and take him straight home. Try and dance with him, Beth. It's like...pure heaven."
Observing Eduardo a while, admiring his fluid technique, Beth thought: You're my target, dude!
During the next interval she made big eyes at him. Meeting her eyes in turn, he showed her the most gorgeous smile, then came right over.
"Want to dance, gorgeous?"
"I see something I like, I go for it," Beth replied, standing.
"For a gringa, you sure got plenty of cojones."
"Would you like to lick them?" she asked, shocked by her brazenness.
"Hey! I like you!" He offered his arm, escorted her onto the floor. "You've got beautiful eyes," he whispered.
"And you've got the best looking eyelashes in the joint," she whispered back.
After two minutes of dancing, during which she understood he was trying her out, he led a series of ochos that spun her into a state close to a tango high.
"You're a very good dancer," he whispered in her ear.
They danced the next two tandas silently. He was one of the best dancers she'd ever partnered, technically even better than Mr. DD, she thought, though without his animal magnetism. Eduardo was pretty, light-footed, totally focused, and his dancing, way beyond clever, was as smooth, fluid and sensual as the music. The best part was that in his embrace she didn't think about Fernando, didn't even bother to check if he was watching.
This is what Argentine tango is about, she thought, feeling protected and confident in Eduardo's arms.
At the end of their third tanda, Eduardo guided her toward the bar.
"I'm bored here," he said. "I know an interesting club, very special, very exclusive. I think you'll like it and that the people there'll like you. Want to go there with me?"
She peered around, caught a glimpse of Fernando watching them. He appeared upset.
You're toast, sweetheart! We're breaking up. You just don't know it yet.
"Sure, let's go," she said.
Eduardo hustled her out the front door of Contramano, then into a cab. He mumbled some incomprehensible directions to the driver, then put his arm around her, kissed her cheek and sat back.
"I'm mostly gay, but I make out with girls too."
"I gathered that."
"Who told you?"
"My housemate."
"The six foot Swedish bitch?" Beth nodded. "What else did she tell you?"
"That you sometimes have sex for money."
"Is that why you signaled me?"
She squeezed his hand. "Of course not! I loved watching you. Let's forget about sex, just have fun."
"Sounds good!" he said.
He told her the tango club they were going to was called Noir, a secret address known only to the cognoscente.
"No sign downstairs," he told her, "nothing to tell you it's a club. It's very private. You gotta be introduced. Leopoldo, the guy who owns it— everyone calls him Poli—moves it to a new place every few months. Since I started going there, it's been in six different locations."
"What's this Poli afraid of?" Beth asked.
"The cops, I guess, since most of his clients do drugs. Gawkers too. Celebrities go there, and they don't like being stared at. You gotta be the right type before he'll let you in."
"Am I 'the right type'?"
"I wouldn't take you if I didn't think so. You're a ballsy North American broad, plus you're a terrific dancer. You're going to be a smash."
The taxi pulled up in front of a detached four-story commercial building on a dark deserted street.
"Where are we?" she asked as she paid off the driver.
"The Pompeya district. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe."
She had a sense of foreboding as she got out of the cab, was pleased when Eduardo took her arm and let her toward the building door. He rang the bell, a little window in the door flicked open, a pair of eyes stared out.
"It's Eduardo. I'm with a friend."
The door opened, revealing the doorman, a stout young man wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans held up by a black chrome studded belt, and chrome-studded bracelets on both wrists. He stared at Beth curiously, then smiled and waved them inside.
"You might want to slip him ten bucks," Eduardo whispered. "That way he'll remember you next time you come."
Beth slipped the doorman the money, then they headed for the stairs.
As they ascended, she began to hear music, cool hip new tango music, not the old tunes she was used to. The stairs were poorly lit, but she savored the murkiness. It made her feel she was embarking upon an adventure.
At the first landing, the aroma of marijuana smoke hit her full in the face.
So...it's that kind of place, she thought.
For just a moment she considered turning back. And then she realized what that would mean: returning to Sabina's, dealing with Fernando's hurt feelings, then reproaches at breakfast when the other girls asked why she hadn't at least checked out the scene at Noir.
She grasped hold of Eduardo's arm. "Don't abandon me, okay?"
He patted her hand. "Course not. You're my date."
They walked up two more flights, the music growing louder and the aroma stronger at each landing. Reaching the top they walked down a corridor to a reception desk. Beth paid their admissions, then they entered a large dark loft where she came upon a tango scene unlike any she'd ever observed.
The floor and ceiling were painted matte black, the walls were covered with smoky dark glass mirrors, and the ceiling lights gave off a dark blue glow she recognized as "black light." What was particularly spooky was the way the gloom was punctuated by the glowing orange ends of lit marijuana cigarettes.
It took nearly a minute for her eyes to adjust. When they did, she was able to study the hundred or so people in the room. She was impressed. Everyone was young and attractive. No middle-aged tango devotees here. Moreover, everyone was well groomed and very well-dressed, suggesting this was a haunt of the farándula, the smart set of show biz, fashion people and assorted Argentine jet-setters. What impressed her too was the style of tango being danced, a sleek modern version she'd only caught occasional glimpses of at the clubs and which she'd never been taught in class.
Eduardo took her hand. "Come meet Poli, then I'll show you some new steps."
He led her across the room toward a short, sleek-looking young man with slicked-back black hair and a close-cropped black beard.
"Hi, Eduardo," Poli said, looking Beth up and down. "Who's your pretty friend?"
"This is Beth. Isn't she gorgeous? Beth, this is Poli Ríos, the man they call 'The Rick of Buenos Aires' after the Humphrey Bogart character in Casablanca. You know: 'Everyone in Casablanca turns up at Rick's.' Well, in Buenos Aires, anyone who's anyone turns up at Poli's."
Poli showed himself to be a warm host.
"A friend of Eduardo's is a friend of mine," he told Beth. "Consider yourself always welcome at Club Noir."
"This is a first, Poli," Eduardo said. "I never heard you offer that before you saw the person dance."
"If she's a good enough dancer for you, my friend, she's more than good enough for the rest of us. By the way, Pretty Pablito's hanging around. You might want to give him a whirl."
"Who's Pretty Pablito?" Beth asked, as Eduardo guided her to the floor.
"A kid who's got a crush on me. Or...maybe it's the other way around." Eduardo shrugged. "Anyway, gorgeous, let's get you started. Just follow my lead, and I'll get you into the house style."
Since coming to B.A., Beth had become so attuned to tango, she had no trouble mastering new steps or adapting to the style of new partners. Tonight everything seemed to come naturally to her, including the fairly outrageous come-ons she'd made to Eduardo back at Contramano.
Maybe I'm on some kind of roll, she thought.
Eduardo was an excellent teacher. She found the new steps easy. His fluid modernist style took a little getting used to, but after two tandas, she felt she had it down. Moreover, she liked it. It made her feel very "with it." Here, in the dark marijuana-scented ambience of Club Noir, she felt herself merging into a special kind of scene. She liked moving like the other dancers—smoothly rather than in the more theatrical manner she was used to. No old-fashioned frozen poses in this club. Here one slid across the floor the way a figure skater glides across the ice—everything smooth, liquid, languid...and very, very cool.
"You've got it!" Eduardo told her. "Everyone notices. Can you feel it?
They're devouring you with their eyes." He patted her cheek. "You're the new 'It Girl' tonight. My advice is take advantage and have yourself a ball!"
He escorted her to a chair against one of the mirrored walls.
"Time to leave you now," he said. "Pretty Pablito beckons. But I'm not abandoning you. Holler if you need an escort home." Eduardo smiled. "Or perhaps you'll meet someone new. Club Noir's famous for that. Many an affair has started here. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Beth said.
Eduardo affectionately patted the top of her head. "Like I said, you're going to be a smash."
She watched him as he sidled up to a boy wearing a stringent pout, leaning against the smoky mirrored wall on the far side of the room. Amused, she watched their byplay. At first Pablito pretended to ignore Eduardo, who, solo, was dancing a little half-circle around him. Then the gestures, "come hithers" on Eduardo's part followed by haughty tossings of Pretty Pablito's head. Finally, Eduardo seemed to actually seize the boy in his arms and wheel him away on to the floor. Beth lost sight of them as they merged into the dark sea of dancers.
Just as she was peering around to see who might be available as a partner, a lean, dazzlingly beautiful blonde girl in a severely cut black leather bustier and matching leather pants, sidled up to her and stared fiercely into her eyes.
"Will you dance with me?" she asked, in a beautifully modulated British accent.
At first Beth was taken aback. She'd danced with women before, at practicas and in class, but never at a milonga.
"My name's Lucinda. Are you afraid of me?" the girl asked, in a way that struck Beth as slightly mocking. Her bustier, Beth noted, was held up by a double pair of bondage straps that criss-crossed diagonally across her bare back.
"I'm Beth. Are you British?"
"Argentine. I was brought up by an English nanny. I like the way you move, Beth. That's short for Elizabeth, right?" Beth nodded. "Please understand, pet—dancing with me implies nothing. I enjoy leading. Following too, if that's your pleasure. Everyone dances with everyone here. We're gender non-specific—I believe that's the term. Horrid word, isn't it? But never mind. We're plenty of other things as well, but we won't go there...at least not yet."
It was as slick a come-on as Beth had yet encountered in Buenos Aires. The woman was well-spoken, educated, and also ravishingly good-looking. Her long blonde hair, parted in the center, was held back by barrettes from the sides of her face. Her eyes flashed green, her full sensual lips were glossed, and her throat and upper chest were bare of jewelry, adding pronouncement to her tightly constricted breasts.
She comes on like a glamorous actress, Beth thought, or a high-paid fashion model—a woman who's into control.
"Sure, I'd love to dance with you," Beth said, rising from her chair.
Lucinda extended her hands, Beth took hold of them. They stood this way for several seconds, staring into one another's eyes. It was as if, gazing at one another, they were reaching an understanding. Lucinda smiled, slowly turned and took Beth in her embrace. Then they began to dance.
If dancing with Eduardo had brought her close to a tango high, dancing with Lucinda was another route to the same end. She led masterfully, yet in a distinctly feline manner, gently swirling Beth into complex ochos, then leading her into long slow catlike walks in a way that made her feel both coveted and admired. It was as if Lucinda understood her perfectly, perhaps in a way a man never could.
"Wow, you're a great dancer," Beth whispered. "I love the way you lead."
"Thank you, pet. I love the way you respond. I knew you'd be good the moment you walked in. Something about the way you carry yourself. I said to my boyfriend: 'Hey, look at that! What a great looking slut!'" Lucinda smiled. "No offense intended. We talk that way about everyone here. It's just our nasty way."
Boyfriend. Great! That meant she wouldn't have to fight off this desirable woman's advances. Not that she particularly wanted to. She was at a point of deciding that, if she was ever going to go to bed with a woman, Lucinda might as well be the one. But then, just as she was feeling relieved about not having to face that test, Lucinda gently stroked her with the tips of her fingers from her waist to her hip, sending a wave of pleasure coursing along her thighs.
"Would you like to take the lead?" Lucinda asked, when the tanda was finished.
"I think you're better at it. I don't have much experience leading," Beth confessed.
"Does that mean...you like the way I 'manhandle' you?" Lucinda asked.
I do! I do!
When Beth nodded slightly, Lucinda laughed.
"Don't me ashamed, pet. It's my pleasure to pleasure you. Really!"
"And your boyfriend?"
"Over there." Lucinda gestured toward a lean young man, also blond and dressed in a sleeveless black leather vest and pants, standing like a hustler against one of the dark mirrors, one foot on the floor, the other pressed against the glass, watching them, amused.
"Is this some game you two play?" Beth asked.
"Isn't life a game?" Lucinda countered.
"I mean..."
"Hush...." Lucinda laid her finger across Beth's lips. "You can dance with him later...after I've had my fill."
Being called "pet" made Beth feel strange, especially as Lucinda looked to still be in her twenties. But there was something in Lucinda's manner, an aura of entitlement that bordered on arrogance, which, Beth realized, she liked. It was Lucinda's dominance, she understood, which fulfilled that part of her that longed to be held and mastered when she danced. And now, feeling it coming from a woman rather than a man, she was suffused by a yearning to let go.
"I like being held by you," she told Lucinda, wondering what possessed her to reveal herself so quickly to this stranger.
Lucinda smiled. "Of course you do. Know why?" Beth shook her head. "Because I like holding you."
God! Where is all this going?
Already this evening she'd abandoned her ersatz boyfriend, gone off with a gay man to a strange club where everything including the lighting was black, and now she was telling another woman how much she liked being in her arms. And yet all these events seemed right to her, part of some natural progression she'd been working toward even before her arrival in B.A., which tonight seemed to be reaching fruition.
She danced two more tandas with Lucinda taking the lead. Then for one song, she tried to lead Lucinda, which, because it didn't feel right, caused them to switch roles back again. Then two tandas with Lucinda's boyfriend, Charles, who spoke English with the same accent, led almost the same way, and also, it seemed to Beth, smelled the same, as if he'd washed with the same brand of aromatic soap. Then another tanda with Lucinda in the lead, and still another with Charles, then two more with each, finally culminating with Charles in what seemed like a battle of slicing footwork... until finally she had to sit down and rest.
They sat on either side of her then, offering her water, several drags of excellent pot (which she accepted), and a snort of what they assured her was the finest cocaine (which she declined.) They also took turns wiping the perspiration off her forehead, telling her how fabulously she danced and what a beautiful, enticing, and, dare-they-say-it? exciting person she appeared to them to be.
She understood they were playing a game with her, that they expected she understood this, and that they believed she was playing along because she enjoyed the game as well. She couldn't describe this game exactly, but she knew it had to do with betrayal—that, when dancing with her, each of them had used her to "betray" the other. She found her role in all this fascinating, for it fit with her notion that one theme of tango was a sense of imminent betrayal by one's partner. Thus she felt herself engaged in a very special, very personal form of theater. And, too, she was excited by the way Lucinda and Charles danced, picked up on it and reflected it back when they partnered her: an understated arrogance, a smooth yet militant way of moving that seemed fraught with danger, unlike any other style of tango she'd encountered.
At one point Eduardo came up to her, one arm flung across Pretty Pablito's shoulders. Pablito still wore his sulk, most likely, Beth thought, his default look.
"We're about to leave. Want us to drop you home?" Eduardo asked.
Beth turned to Lucinda and Charles, who were exchanging a look of complicity, first with one another, then jointly with Eduardo.
"Thanks, but I think I'll stay a while longer," Beth said.
"You're in good hands, I can see that." Again Eduardo exchanged a smile with Charles and Lucinda.
"Thanks for bringing me," Beth said, as Eduardo kissed her cheek.
Her gratitude was sincere. With Eduardo's help, she believed, she had finally gained entry to the secret world of Buenos Aires, a night world of shimmering beauty, danger and decadence of which she'd heard rumors, about which she'd fantasized, and which, before tonight, she'd seriously doubted did actually exist. Now that she found it did, she was thrilled.
Maybe this is what I came here for without even knowing it, she thought. And at that she realized that this was the first milonga she'd attended since arriving in B.A. at which she'd not looked around the dance floor searching for Mr. DD.
An hour later, arms linked, they descended the stairs, Beth in the middle, Lucinda and Charles on either side. Once on the street, Charles left them, reappearing a couple of minutes later wearing a chauffeur's cap, driving the most beautiful dark green vintage car Beth had ever seen.
"What is this?" she asked, getting into the back with Lucinda, luxuriating in the soft, cream-colored, glove-leather upholstered seats.
"A restored Facel Vega," Charles said, doffing his cap. "Where to, Señoras?"
"Home, of course!" Lucinda commanded. Then turning to Beth: "Unless you'd rather we drop you off...."
Beth looked at her, met her smile. "I'll go where you go," she said.
"Good girl!"
Then, as Charles hit the gas and the old car accelerated, Lucinda put her arm around Beth, drew her close, cuddled with her, stroked her cheek, kissed her hair and then her lips.
The house was amazing, Beth thought, though she didn't get a close look at it until the following day. It was a white cubic Art Deco structure, with a marvelous staircase that curved up from the two-story front hall. Moreover, it was situated in the best part of Belgrano, an exclusive neighborhood of splendid old mansions on shady, tree-lined streets.
Strangely, as far as she could see, most of the rooms downstairs were empty of furniture. In the huge living room she saw only a two seat sofa and a single chair. The dining room had been turned into a ballet studio, with a ballet bar running the length of the room and the opposite wall paneled in mirrors. But that first night, she didn't have much time to look around. Charles and Lucinda, giggling, led her up the curving staircase to a cavernous bedroom on the second floor, where, within seconds, they stripped off their clothes, helped her out of hers, then each taking one of her hands, led her to an enormous bed.
The linens here were as fine as any that had ever touched her skin. And judging by their aroma, they'd been washed with the same soap she'd smelled on the couple when they'd danced. But she didn't have much time to concentrate on the linens, for soon the pair were making love to her, lavishing her with attention.
It was as if they feasted upon me, she thought later, when she looked back on the first night she spent between them.
At noon, when she woke up, they made a big fuss over her, taking her breakfast order, then bringing it to her on a tray. While she ate, they plopped down on either side of her in their creamy soft terry cloth robes, telling her much they enjoyed her company in their smart British-accented English.
"We knew you'd be jolly good in bed. The way you danced told us that," Charles said.
"She's got that ex-factor, doesn't she?" Lucinda asked Charles. "And so wickedly slutty too, aren't you, pet?"
Lucinda gazed at Beth with a querying look, then took a quick peck at Beth's cheek.
Viewing them as a couple, Beth quickly decided that Lucinda was the leader, Charles her accommodating confederate. Certainly Lucinda had taken the lead in their lovemaking the night before, while Charles had played the assistant role, nipping at her here and there, stroking her as she and Lucinda went at it. It had been a unique experience for Beth, and also, she admitted, highly pleasurable. She'd never tasted a woman before. She was pleased to discover she liked it.
Sitting between them, sipping coffee, she felt herself yearning to be pleasured by them again.
Lucinda touched her nearest nipple. "You are such a desirable creature," she whispered. "Isn't she, Charles?"
Charles smiled. "Indeed."
"We should divide her up, darling, don't you think? Make a contest of it...left, right. See which one of us can please which half of her the most...."
Lucinda, letting go, gently reached for Beth's coffee cup, placed it on the breakfast tray, then removed the tray to the floor beside the bed.
"There! No more clutter to get in our way."
Lucinda stood, tossed off her robe, then, naked, snuggled down along side Beth and kissed her deeply, exploring the interior of her mouth. Moments later, Charles was naked too on her other side.
Beth lay back, opening herself.
Yes! devour me! she thought.
Later, wearing one of their spare soft creamy robes, Beth was taken by Lucinda on a tour of the house.
"No, we don't much care for furniture," Lucinda said, explaining the empty public rooms downstairs. "It just gets in the way, don't you think? Anyway, we hated the stuff our parents had. Old fashioned and fussy. We sold off every bloody piece."
Our parents. Beth picked up on that.
"Charles is your boyfriend, right?"
Lucinda smiled. "And more."
"How much more?" Beth asked.
"Ever see Chinatown?"
Beth stared at her. Suddenly she felt a chill.
"Remember the scene near the end: 'My daughter, my sister; my daughter, my sister.' Charles and I always get a kick out of that."
"You're saying you're related?"
Lucinda nodded. "Charles is my younger brother. My lover too. A pretty decadent relationship to outsiders, we imagine, though it seems perfectly natural to us. After all, to whom can one feel closer than a person with whom one shares blood? And if there're erotic feelings, and he/she's of the opposite gender...well then love will find its way."
Beth was stunned. Who are these people? But then, taking in Lucinda's response, appreciating the fact she didn't try to deny what should have been obvious on account of the similar way she and Charles looked, Beth decided, for the time being, to put her reservations aside. She was not, she was surprised to discover, in any way horrified, rather amazed, and, she admitted to herself, fascinated too.
I can't walk away. This is too interesting. At the very least I owe it to myself to see how this plays out.
Their last name was Céspedes. Both their parents, Lucinda told her, were deceased. They'd inherited their father's property, including this house, an estancia out in the pampas, and their father's collection of vintage cars of which the Facel Vega was but one.
Lucinda confirmed that the dining room had been used for ballet practice. Their Spanish mother, she explained, had been an accomplished ballerina. Now she and Charles used it as their personal fencing salon. She opened a cabinet to show Beth an array of equipment—masks, gloves, chest protectors, and a selection of foils, sabers and épées.
"We adore swordplay," she said. "Do you fence, Beth?" And when Beth shook her head: "Then we'll have to teach you. A fencing master trains us here three afternoons a week. He can train you too. We love all combat sports—judo, karate, aikido, wrestling, kick-boxing. Have you ever boxed? It's great exercise. I'll show you. You'll like it, I'm sure. We also have a great gym in the cellar, everything one needs to stay in shape."
But the best part of the house, toward which Lucinda was leading her, was the spa—a large room with bleached wood-lined sauna, Japanese hot tub and whirlpool, the walls, floor and ceiling covered by gleaming white porcelain tiles.
"We love it here, even though when the sun pores in, it gets so bright you're forced to squint. It's the whiteness of it, the cleanness that's so appealing. After a night out dancing we usually come in here for a steam-and-soak." She smiled at Beth. "Last night, of course, we were 'otherwise engaged'."
Finally, Lucinda led her out to the garden, a lushly planted walled-in area behind the house where they came upon Charles, lying naked on a chaise, immersed in what looked to be a beautiful, hand-bound French book.
Lucinda called out to him. Then, sotto voce to Beth: "As usual he's reading Baudelaire. He has a degree from Cambridge in Romance Languages. Such an intellectual, my little bro!"
"I heard that, sweetbird."
"I expected you would."
Charles put down his book so that it covered his private parts. "Why not let Beth find out about us gradually? It'll be more interesting for her that way."
"I'm already plenty interested," Beth said.
"From the way you say that, I gather Lucinda's told you our little secret."
"I did," Lucinda said. "Better she hear it from us now, than from some disapproving person later on. Most people think we're cuckoo," she explained to Beth.
"Except for our friends, of course."
"Yes, except for our friends...."
Again, Beth had the feeling that they were playing a game with her, but this time it didn't seem to involve betrayal. Rather something in the nature of "we'll-give-you-a-little-glimpse-at-our-decadent-lifestyle-then-see-how-you-react."
"Well, I don't disapprove, if that's what you're hinting," Beth told them. "I'm a firm believer in the notion that people can do as they like so long as nobody gets hurt."
"A libertarian! Here, here! And so very 'San Francisco.'" Charles turned to Lucinda. "Like what she's saying, sweetbird?"
"Very much! Listen, Beth, we've talked it over. We'd like you to stay here with us for a while. For as long as you like, actually. How would you feel about that?"
"You mean move in?"
Lucinda nodded. "We've loads of room. You'd have your own suite. Your own key too so you can come and go as you please. You can accompany us on our nightly forays. Or not. We understand you came to Buenos Aires to dance. We go out dancing a lot, but sometimes in the evenings we do other things—attend parties, the opera, whatever. Joining us would be up to you. No strings. What do you say?"
Beth was flabbergasted. "I'm flattered, of course...."
"Why don't you think it over?" Charles said. "Let us know when you decide."
"Yes, thank you, I'll do that. But I really must ask why me? I mean, you barely know me. I'm a few years older. I don't think of myself as being that exciting."
"Let's just say we find you refreshing. Like a breath of fresh air in our stale old Argentine lives. As Charles said, please give it some thought and let us know." Lucinda beamed. "And now...how about lobster for lunch?"
There was an allure about them that so fascinated her, she felt herself helpless to resist. Their androgyny, first of all—Lucinda's commanding manner and Charles effeminacy. Then their similarity matching complexions, aromas, hair, British accents, seductive smiles. Most of all, she thought, it was their eyes—green eyes from which, when they locked with hers, she found herself unable to disengage. Eyes so deep and beautiful, she thought, no human being ought to be allowed to possess them.
They left the garden, returned to the bedroom, made love again, then visited the spa for a long soak together in the Japanese tub. Then they went out to a nearby restaurant for the promised lobster. Then Beth took a cab back to Sabina's to deliver the news that she was moving out.
"But you only just moved in!" Sabina protested.
"I know. I feel bad about that. I hope you're not annoyed."
"Did you find your Mr. DD?"
Beth shook her head. "No, but I found someone else. Much more serious than Fernando. I owe it to myself to give this new relationship a chance."
Sabina was the only one home. The other resident milongueras were out attending class.
"Fernando was worried about you. The poor boy actually wept. Kirstin was upset too. You should at least have called."
"I know. Thoughtless of me. This thing just happened, and now my life's all upside-down."
When she was packed, her suitcases lined up by the door, Sabina took her in her arms.
"If things don't work out, Beth, you're always welcome back. Even if I'm filled up, I'll find room for you."
They hugged again, Beth thanked her and started out the door.
"Please be sure and tell everyone good-bye for me," she said. "Tell them I'll see them at the clubs."