Tango Argentine

The last group class at "The Cumberland Academy of Dance" ended at eight that Wednesday night, and I was glad. The group classes brought in a lot of my income, but they were sometimes frustrating, like this one had been. I'd advertised the class as a beginner class in ballroom dance, and promised anyone who could walk could learn to foxtrot, cha-cha, and waltz in three months of weekly lessons.

My promise of being able to teach anybody to dance was a bit of a stretch. I could teach the steps of a dance and some patterns to anybody. If they could hear the beat of the music and were reasonably coordinated, they could dance well enough to impress their friends at the office Christmas party or a friend's wedding. What I can't teach is an ear for music and the ability to dance the dance to the music in a graceful way. There would always be some that just could not grasp that concept.

Because of that, it took a little more thought to decide how much to charge per class. The bigger dance studios charged fifteen hundred in advance for fifteen weekly lessons, and there were no refunds for missed classes no matter what the reason. I didn't think that was smart marketing, because few people wanted to invest that kind of money before they knew if they enjoyed dancing. In truth, that was the point. No studio owner wanted to spend an hour of his time teaching the last two people left in a "pay as you go" class after the others gave up. Making them pay in advance guaranteed the studio owner's income.

There would always be those who gave up after a few lessons, but if they only had a few dollars invested, they wouldn't be upset. They might even tell their friends to try. The people who dropped out of the big studio's program were not happy, and they relayed this to their friends as well.

I finally settled on fifteen dollars per person or twenty for a couple, and my ad stated it wasn't necessary to have a partner. The people in the class would change partners from time to time, so the unescorted women I expected in the class would always get to dance. Once they seemed to have the steps down fairly well, I'd stop teaching and dance with all the women as well. It seemed that unescorted, though not necessarily single women liked the idea of dancing, and they enrolled in classes to learn. Sometimes, I thought they enrolled just to have some way to be with other people. I was sure a couple of the women were in the class just because they liked being with men.

This class had a couple of what I called "rhythm impaired" men with their wives. Their wives did fine, following my lead when I danced with them, and for the most part, doing so gracefully. The men...I frowned as the last couple walked out the door. It was obvious several of the men were only there because their wives had somehow badgered or shamed them into it. I'd tried everything -- clapping my hands to the beat and calling out the foxtrot steps of "slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, slow, quick, quick", filtering out everything except the beat on some familiar songs so they'd learn how to listen for that beat -- every thing I could think of, but I couldn't fix the lack of will to try.

Their wives and the other women in the class tried to help them as well, but I figured this would be the last class for two of my couples. I'd heard the same chuckled excuses from the husbands before.

"I do my best dancing in bed."

"Marion can come back if she wants, but I'm missing the game every night I'm here. Think I'll stay home next week and let her show me what she learned when she gets home. After she does that, I'll show her a couple of my moves, if you catch my drift."

It was some comfort to see the same men's wives smile when it was their turn to dance with me. Few were really good dancers, yet, but they were adept enough to feel my lead and follow. The result was exhilarating for them, or so it seemed. I enjoyed dancing with them all, and three, two blondes about thirty and one redhead a little older, were becoming excellent dancers.

I turned off the laptop that plays my music and the amp for the sound system, and was turning off the lights when she walked through the studio door. She stopped in the middle of the dance floor, looked around, and then smiled at me.

"I know I'm pretty late, but is this the place Judy told me about -- the place where I could learn to dance?"

She wasn't young, probably about sixty or so, I figured. I didn't miss the fact that she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"Yes, this is the place, but I'm closing up for the night."

"Oh, I didn't think we'd do it tonight. I just thought I'd come by when nobody else was here. I've been waiting outside for the class to leave."

"You didn't have to wait. You could have come in and joined the group class. It doesn't cost much, and you could see if you like dancing or not."

"No, I've never done anything like this before. I'd be too embarrassed to be with other people. My husband always says...said...I was about as coordinated as a cow on crutches."

I chuckled.

"Well, most people can learn how to dance enough to have some fun, and you shouldn't be embarrassed. Most of the people in that class aren't going to become great dancers either."

"Well, I'd still like to do it by myself, for a while anyway. When can we start?"

I have a standard contract I use when I enroll students. My lawyer said it was just good insurance. People have been known to sue a dance studio when they injure themselves trying something beyond their capabilities. I don't particularly like using it, but then, I can't afford to be sued either. It does tell me quite a bit about a potential student, because I added a few questions to help me decide how best to teach them.

Her name was Madeline Connors, and she was fifty-two. My form doesn't ask why a person has a particular marital status, but Madeline had sort of frowned when she checked the "single" box, and explained her ex-husband had decided she was a little old for his taste.

"The girl was all of thirty, and she ran every day so everything was tight, not like I am. I guess I should have started running too."

Her next of kin was her daughter, Judy.

"Judy's about all I have left to show for twenty years with Rick. She was pretty torn up when I divorced him, but she's getting over it now. I'm going to be a grandma in another six months. I guess I am getting old if I'm going to be a grandma."

Well, she didn't look like my grandma at all. Madeline was wearing a dress that night, just a simple dress that didn't fit all that tight or reveal much skin, but it was pretty obvious she had some sensuous curves. She was also pretty in the face, and the long, dark brown hair that fell in waves over her shoulders framed that face into a portrait of a very enticing woman. I chuckled, partly to make her feel better, and partly because it was what I really thought.

"If all grandmas looked like you, there would be a whole bunch of really happy grandpas around."

Madeline smiled.

"I wouldn't think a young guy like you would notice, not that I mind."

"I'm not all that young. I'm forty-one, and any man would notice."

She smiled.

"Well, thank you for telling me what you think I want to hear, but I know I'm not all that sexy, and you don't need to keep schmoozing me like that. Just teach me to dance."

She didn't blink when I told her a private lesson was a hundred for an hour. She just asked if I took credit cards or if I wanted cash or a check. After I explained I preferred a credit card or cash, we settled on nine that Friday for her first lesson. My last group class ended at eight, and she liked the idea of getting there and being by herself.

I didn't think much about her over the next two days. I had evening classes on Thursday that ran from six until nine, and on Friday from six until eight. In the mornings, I put together the steps or patterns I was going to teach the groups. On Thursday afternoon, I had a private lesson with a young couple who wanted to learn the waltz for their wedding reception. Before I knew it, it was Friday at eight and I was saying goodbye to my last group class of the week.

Madeline walked into the studio at ten 'til nine. She was a different Madeline than the woman I'd met on Wednesday.

On Wednesday night, Madeline had seemed about like any other woman in my classes. Perhaps she was a bit more shy around other people than some, but she wasn't shy with me. She seemed confident in her decision to learn to dance and wasn't shy about telling me she thought I was just being a good salesman when I commented on her looks.

That night, she was nervous, but I didn't notice that at first. What I noticed was how she was dressed. Madeline noticed me noticing and grinned.

"I saw the girls on that dancing show on TV wearing dresses like this, so I went out and got one. I hope it's all right. I bought some dance shoes too."

It wasn't really a dress for a woman who is just learning, but it was fine with me. The top of the metallic blue dress dipped in a narrow "V" low enough the curve of her breasts showed. I figured the bra had to be built-in, because nothing showed and it would have had she been wearing one. The hem hit her at about the middle of a very nice pair of thighs. Those thighs and the rest of her legs were clad in nylon that shone in the lights of the studio. Teaching her was going to be a struggle between the thoughts running through my mind and helping her learn.

While she changed from her street shoes to the medium height dance heels, I found a slow rumba song on the laptop that serves as my music system, and started it. I intended to start Madeline with the rumba. The expectations of a dance judge for rumba dancers is pretty high regarding motion, but it's one of the easier dances to learn.

Madeline was a little stiff when she walked out to join me on the floor. There wasn't anything wrong with the way she walked; it was just that her hips weren't very fluid in their movement. It seemed as if she was consciously keeping them from moving much. I'd seen that before, and one woman told me it was because her mother said only prostitutes let their hips sway. I could fix that, I thought, but first she had to learn the dance.

Rumba is pretty simple. The man's part is just one step forward with his left foot followed by one step to the side with his right and then another with his left to close the feet. Then, it's one step back with his right, followed by one step to the side with his left foot and another then another with his right to close. The woman's part is the exact opposite. If everything goes to plan, the couple ends up right back where they started.

That's why it's called the "box step". The steps form a square box pattern. I set up the laptop to repeat. That would let the song continue to play in the background as I walked Madeline through her steps.

"OK, Madeline, our first dance will be the rumba. You take one step back with your right foot, then one to the side with your left, and then bring your right foot up beside your left. Let's try."

She did fine with the first step. Everything after that was a mess of her trying to move without shifting her weight to the stationary foot. Instead of just three steps, she took about eight.

"Uh...I don't think you're changing your weight like you should. Let's try this again. Step back with your right foot...that's right. Now, shift your weight to that foot...no, don't move the other one, just move your body so you have your weight on the right...that's better. Take one step to the left and back even with your right foot...good...now, shift your weight again, then close your feet."

She closed her feet. Unfortunately, she brought her left foot up to her right instead of the other way around.

"No, Madeline, you close with your right foot, not your left."

She sighed.

"I think Ricky was right. Maybe I shouldn't have tried this."

"Nah, you're just doing something you've never done before. Let's keep practicing."

After five minutes, Madeline had the steps down. She wasn't in time with the rhythm of the music, but she was shifting her weight with each step.

"That's good, Madeline. See, I told you you'd get it. Now let's work on the rhythm of the dance. Listen to the music...what do you hear?"

Madeline stood there for a minute while the song played on. Then she smiled.

"It's a pretty song."

"Yes, but listen to the bass part. It goes dummmm -- dum - dum- dummmm -- dum -- dum...hear it?"

Madeline sighed again.

"No, all I hear is music. The only dumb thing is me, I guess."

This was getting a little exasperating. First, she didn't think she could do the steps and now, she didn't think she was smart enough. I couldn't just let her leave, though. I needed the class fees I hoped she'd continue paying me, and I hate to see someone give up before they've even started.

"Give me your hand, and listen again. I'll tap your palm to the rhythm of the music."

Her hand was shaking a little when I took it in mine. I started gently tapping her palm to the bass rhythm. Madeline's face was one of concentration for half a minute or so, and then she grinned.

"I think I hear it."

"Then you tap my hand to what you hear."

Madeline tapped away at my palm for a few seconds, and each tap was right on the beat of the song.

"That's right, Madeline. That wasn't hard, was it?"

I wasn't prepared for Madeline to put her arms around me and give me a hug.

"Oh, thank you so much. I didn't think I could do it, but you showed me I could."

I eased her gently away.

"I knew you could. Now, let's dance."

After showing Madeline her position in a dancer's frame, I took her right hand in my left and put my right hand on her left shoulder blade.

"This is called "frame", and it's how I tell you what I want you to do when we're dancing. Your job is to maintain the pressure you feel on your shoulder blade right now."

I stepped forward, and Madeline didn't move. The result was her breasts flattened out against my chest..

"Madeline, you have to move back when I move forward. Let's try that again. I'll step forward with my left foot and you step back with your right, just like before."

This time, Madeline followed me. She didn't step back enough, but she did step back.

I went through the whole six steps with Madeline several times before she caught on, but when she did, she grinned.

"This is nice. I didn't think I could do it, but I can. That makes me feel pretty good."

The last fifteen minutes of the hour-long class we just danced the basic step. Halfway through, I changed from the beginner's box steps to dancing Madeline in a circle. She fumbled the first time, but then stayed with me as we moved around the floor. At a little after ten, I stepped back and smiled.

"Now, that was nice, Madeline. You followed my lead very well. I think there's a dancer in you just waiting to come out."

She blushed, but she smiled back and hugged me again..

"I don't know about that, but I had fun. Same time, next week?"

"I'll be here."

And so went the next three lessons I gave Madeline in rumba. The first pattern I taught her was a simple under-arm turn. She sighed and said she didn't think she'd ever learn how to do it. Half an hour later, she was turning like she'd done it all her life. It was the same way with patterns. She'd fumble for a bit, and then her face would beam when she danced through the pattern the first time.

The fourth week, she came in at a quarter 'til nine with her laptop.

"I looked up rumba on the internet and found this. The man is doing what you do, but I don't do what the woman does. Here, look."

The couple dancing were professionals competing at Blackpool, and they were great. I could see what Madeline meant. The woman was doing the same steps I'd taught Madeline, but she looked sultry and sensuous doing them. It was her hips.

"You mean how her hips move?"

Madeline nodded.

"Yes. Mine don't do that, do they?"

"Well, a little, just not this much. It's called "Cuban motion".

"Can you teach me to do that? It looks sexy."

I walked Madeline through the complexity of placing one foot, then weighting it and moving that hip over the foot at the same time. The result is both hips twist at the waist and make the dance erotic. She tried, and her hips swayed from side to side. It was more than a little arousing, but it wasn't correct.

"Madeline, it's just because of the way women are built it looks like they're pushing out their hips. They aren't doing that. The movement is all in your waist."

"I don't understand, but maybe I won't ever be able to. I'm not young like this girl."

"Can I touch you?"

Madeline chuckled.

"You've been touching me for three weeks. Why would I mind now?"

"Well, I'm going to show you how to look like the girl in your video, and to do that, I have to touch your hips...just at the top."

"I think you're probably wasting your time, but go ahead."

I put my hands low enough on Madeline's waist that I could feel her hip bones with my palms..

"OK, now, do your first step, but don't weight that foot."

Madeline stepped back.

"Like this?"

"Yes, now, transfer your weight slowly."

As Madeline let her weight settle into her right foot, I rolled her right hip back while holding her left hip in place.

"Now, the other foot, the same way."

This time, I held Madeline's right hip in place and moved the left back.

"Feel how your torso twists? That's Cuban motion. You are moving your hips, but that's all you're moving. Your upper body stays straight. Try it by yourself."

I had to help Madeline a couple more times, but by the end of the class, she had the basics of Cuban motion down pretty well. She wasn't moving enough, not yet, but her hips were doing what they were supposed to do.

As she was changing shoes, I asked if she had a full length mirror at home.

"Yes, I do. Why?"

"Practice what we just did in front of your mirror. You'll see what makes it work better than you can here, and once you see it, you'll only get better and better."

Over the next few months, I taught Madeline the basics of waltz, foxtrot, and tango. Every class was the same. She didn't believe she could do it, but did it anyway, and was always pleased with what she'd done. Although she seemed to not have much confidence in her abilities, I noticed a few changes in what she said.

On her first lesson, she'd basically said she wasn't coordinated enough and that she wasn't smart enough to figure it out. As the months went by, her attitude changed to "I didn't see that. Can you do it again?" and "I'll have to do this at home, I guess, so I'll know it next week."

I was pleased, both because Madeline was learning to dance and doing well, and also because she seemed to be gaining confidence in what she could do. After she'd been through a month of Tango lessons, I thought she might like to do some real dancing.

One of the things I'd started as soon as I had the first group class was a Saturday night dance. There aren't many places, even in bigger cities, where people can go to dance ballroom dances. I had a studio and I had time, so every Saturday night, I opened the studio to all my students. While they danced, I played a selection of music that was designed to give everybody, no matter what their skill level, the opportunity to dance with any of the other students.

I also made the rounds of all the women so they all got to dance with me. It seems a bit like I'm boasting about that, but they seemed to enjoy it, and it kept them coming back for more lessons.

To encourage the unescorted women, I'd have at least one mixer during the night where only the basic steps were required, and at least one "ladies choice" every hour from seven until ten. The five dollar cover charge paid for the sodas I kept on ice and some snacks on the table beside the sound system. I usually had about twenty couples on those nights.