She linked her arm in mine and we strolled around the streets for a while, past parched lawns of brown grass lit by stylish blue-painted lampposts straight out of Narnia. María seemed interested in Canada and wanted to know what the west coast was like. I told her about Vancouver and Victoria, the Sunshine Coast, the Cascades and the Rockies, gave her the tourist brochure stuff. We came to an intersection where there was another bar; this one called ‘El Banderín’ and she stopped us there.
“Are all Argentinean bars on corners?” I said.
“Not all,” she replied, and squeezed my arm, “But maybe all good ones. Let’s go inside.”
At the table she ordered a lágrima coffee, explained that it was warm milk and espresso, and I said I’d have a double espresso myself. She shook her head.
“It’s just not acceptable to leave Argentina without trying Fernet,” she insisted, “It’s almost our national drink.”
It came to the table in a tall glass and I took a mouthful.
Ignoring my instinctive grimace, she said, “Cal, my friend, you are now one sip closer to being a real Argentine.”
It had a strong herbal taste, with a hint of licorice, and the liquor content must have been staggering.
“Forty-five per cent alcohol,” she said, answering my unspoken question, “But mixed with Coke so that even gringos can drink it.”
From the broad smile on her face she was obviously savouring my discomfort. Manfully, I kept going and by the time I got to the bottom of the glass I was almost enjoying it.
“You are no gringo,” she laughed, “You are now honorary Argentine.” She clapped her small elegant hands and, despite my protests, signalled to the waiter to bring another.
An hour later when we left I was definitely a little unsteady on my feet and we walked with our arms around each other’s waist. By now I was regretting having to leave tomorrow. I would have loved to be able to stay longer and get to know this fascinating woman better.
“Dance with me,” she suddenly said completely out of the blue.
“What, here in the street?” I protested.
“Where better?” She smiled and moved in front of me, raising my arms.
“We do a little vals,” she said and led me in slow circular motions. I dreaded treading on her toes as my head grew lighter and lighter.
At last she stopped, and I staggered into her tight embrace.
She broke into a deep, throaty laugh as she held me up. “The giros are making you fall over,” she said, “We do no more.”
It was a sublime moment of craziness. At that moment I was captivated by this crazy, sexy woman.
A taxi came down the road and she stepped dangerously out in front of it, leaving me swaying slightly.
“Time to get you back,” she said, grinning, “I’ll go with you to your hotel.”
My mind immediately began to clear.
“And go on home from there,” she added.
“Of course.” I gave the driver the hotel address and we were there in a few minutes. She raised her head from my shoulder and we got out. I paid the driver and told him to keep the change.
“I’ll help you to your room,” she said.
I didn’t really need her help – I hadn’t drank that much – but I wasn’t going to protest. As we rode the elevator to the sixth floor I knew this was the end. I’d probably never see her again.
“Perhaps if we exchanged phone numbers and addresses,” I said hopefully.
She touched my lips with her fingers in a shushing gesture. We stopped at my room door.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said. It seemed so inadequate. I gave her hands a last squeeze and kissed her forehead lightly. “Goodnight María, sleep well.” I put the key in the door, went inside, and switched on the light.
She stepped in behind me, pressed the door shut behind her, and switched the light back off. In the darkness her arms went around my neck and suddenly we were kissing.
“You’ve convinced me that the night is just beginning, Cal,” she whispered in my ear. “We had the vals and now we have the tango.”
She raised one leg until it was tightly curled around the back of my thigh. Then she led my hands from her slim waist up to the zipper of her dress.