Chapter 1: Begin the Tanguine

Madame C's Perspective

From Madame C's Perspective

II was finishing up my lesson when I saw her, the elegant figure in tailored black pants standing outside my studio door. In my long history of teaching, I had never encountered a student named Katerina nor a woman beginner who wanted to learn how to lead. A baptism for me, for both of us.

I paused my lesson and walked over to greet her. She had been sitting there patiently, not wanting to interrupt. "Hello, are you here to learn tango?"

"Yes, I am Katerina." She stood and offered her hand in that typical American handshake.

Instead, I leaned in and gave her my usual double-cheek kiss. She smelled like pamplemousse.

"Come, come, sit inside while I finish," I told her, leading her inside the studio. I returned to my student and guided him through our final figures. She sat quietly with her phone, but I caught her glancing up, studying how we moved. When my student left, I changed the music to Di Sarli and walked over to her, extending my hand. "Is Madame ready to tango?"

We began with the abrazo, the embrace. I positioned myself in front of her and lifted my arms. "Imagine reaching for your favorite cup of tea," I said, showing her the slight forward tilt. She watched, tilting her head, then mirrored me perfectly. When we took our first embrace, I felt it immediately: that rare fit you don't find with every dance partner. We stood in our embrace and I could feel her tension melting away as she relaxed into me.

Then came la caminata, the walk. I placed my palm on her collarbone, against the thin fabric of her blouse. "Here," I said, feeling her breath catch. "This is where movement begins." Her eyes dropped to my hand, then lifted to meet mine with understanding.

When we resumed our embrace, something shifted. She took her first step with surprising confidence, her center moving before her feet like she'd been dancing for years. In her arms, I closed my eyes and surrendered to that feeling every tango dancer craves.

The final notes of Di Sarli faded as our hour came to an end. I reviewed what we had learned and a subtle smile peeked through her serious facade, revealing a glimpse of her satisfaction. While changing her shoes, I seized the opportunity to join her. The sight of her perfectly manicured red nails added a splash of color to the blank canvas that was Madame K.