Hold Me Tight and Tango Me Home by Maria Finn Page A

on.
    “Your hips are moving,” he said. “This is tango, not salsa.” At the end of the next song, when we broke apart, I rocked on my feet, shook out my arms and torso, and he corrected me, “This is an elegant dance. We do not shake ourselves in tango.”
    Enough. I excused myself and got a drink of water. I felt sorry for this man; if he thought withering criticism was teaching, he must not have had an easy life.
    Later he apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m just eager for you to improve so I can dance with you.”
    I nodded as if I accepted the apology. But I never danced with him again. He never asked.
    There is still gender bias when it comes to who asks whom to dance. Women can ask men to dance, but more often than not, men do the asking. It’s kind of like dating. While most women, in theory, aren’t against asking a man on a date, they tend to wait for him to ask. I’ve talked about this with students in my writing classes. While the guys said that they would like to be asked out (I’m sure they are assuming they would be asked out by girls they like, not girls they don’t find attractive), the young women said that they use subtler means of attracting a guy. There’s eye contact, flirting, making yourself available. So it isn’t total passivity on the part of the female — she smiles, she laughs at his jokes, when he asks about her plans she makes herself available, she tells a friend that she’s interested. Rarely, though, do women do the asking.
    Especially as a beginning dancer, I didn’t want to ask a guy to dance who didn’t want to dance with me, and so I waited. Thankfully a few men from my class now trickled in to this practica. Allen was a steady favorite. We stood on the shiny tongue-and-groove dance floor and moved into our salida. Soon he stepped back and turned his chest to the side, indicating for me to pass in a forward ocho; when I pivoted to return in front of him, he had his leg blocking me. I loved this. I could step over him matter-of-factly (or trip, if totally taken off guard and moving too quickly), or take my time and caress his ankle with my foot, a flirtatious embellishment known as a
castigada
, or “punishment.” During dramatic moments in the music, when crescendos are rising, some followers slowly drag their leg up theman’s and then bring it back to their own leg, caress it as well, then step over him. I chose to linger for a moment, with a short, brief rub on his ankle before stepping over his leg.
    After the song ended, Allen said he had to leave early. He acted a little sheepish and finally admitted he had a date.
    “Don’t you dare mention this to Dario,” he said.
    I chuckled, imagining Dario giving him tango-based dating advice.
    “Where did you meet her?” I asked.
    “Internet,” he said.
    “Anything you learned from tango that can be applied?” I asked.
    “Sometimes there’s chemistry and sometimes there’s just not,” he said, as he laced up his street shoes.
    Allen, Claire, and I had discussed this mystery of chemistry. Allen insisted it was just that: “Literally, it’s phenylethylamine. PEA,” he said. “It’s like a potent amphetamine and dopamine drug cocktail. When another person stimulates this in you, it overrides any good judgment.”
    “I think it’s a thing of the spirit,” Claire had argued. “You just know, without even having to talk, that you’re compatible.”
    “I would argue for the senses,” I said. “It’s a combination — his scent, the sound of his voice, how his skin feels when he touches you.”
    Allen left for his date and then Marcel asked me to dance.
    “Hi, gorgeous,” he said. “Will you do me the honor?”
    As we danced, he offered suggestions: “Resist a little more.Don’t take your feet off the ground when I turn.” “Okay, perfect. Does that feel okay to you?” Sometimes he’d align me in front of him. “I’m looking for your heart,” he said. And then he pressed his chest against mine.