Chapter 31: Underground

The day after Shannon’s Nutcracker performance, I arrived at Clara’s house after an early lunch. Since dance classes had just finished at her studio for winter break, she was busy with paperwork. I got right to work, making heavy use of my Walkman. The painting was quite easy, but the job was clearly going to take the rest of the afternoon. The plan was to finish before sunset in order to catch some natural light portraits of Clara near the studio windows. If more pictures were needed after dinner, I had Shannon’s lights on hand to work with.

Clara came in to the studio with a mug of tea for me, so I pulled off my headphones to thank her.

“Shannon tells me that you’re taking her to the winter semi-formal on Friday?” she asked.

I set down the paint brush and stretched. “Yeah, I am.”

“That’s very kind of you, Matt.”

“Mm. Well, it was my girlfriend’s idea,” I muttered.

“Yes, Shannon hinted at that,” Clara acknowledged, laughing.

“I know it’s probably a bit strange, but I guess if she’s okay with it...”

“Seems perfectly natural to me. And wonderful for Shannon, too. She always saying how she’s too busy to date anyone, so she’s never been to one of these dances. Not that it’s a date, of course. A dance doesn’t always mean romance is involved. I’ve danced with countless men and enjoyed it, and there’s no need to add anything more to it.”

I shifted a bit uncomfortably. “I guess so. Anyway, it doesn’t matter much, since I hardly know what I’m going to do out on the dance floor.”

“It’s never too late to practice!” Clara said, gesturing invitingly to the center of the studio.

I grinned. “That’s probably not going to happen. But thanks for the offer.”

“I could show you some basics. Perhaps later, at a break, if you want. Shannon might be pleasantly surprised.”

I took a deep breath. “Thank you, but we’ll see if there’s time.”

Fortunately she didn’t press, so I resumed painting. My estimate of time was pretty good. The light was just starting to soften when I was washing brushes out in the utility sink in her laundry room. It was time to switch hats.

“What do you think?”

I turned to find Clara in the hallway. She tilted her head a bit, freezing it in a smiling pose.

“About what?” I asked.

“Do I look good for the photos?”

I glanced at her hair, done up in a tight bun with two sticks crossed through it.

“Sure, looks great.”

Clara smiled. “Then let’s get to work!”

She was a natural in front of the camera, likely a product of frequent ballet photo shoots and the constant practice of performing. I carefully exposed a full roll, unhurriedly capturing her fine face from different angles. I was enjoying the opportunity to take well-considered shots after the rapid-fire excitement of my last project.

When we adjourned for dinner, I was satisfied with the portraits I imagined to be documented on film. Clara served us some lasagna that she’d put in the oven during the shoot. The dish was good enough to warrant seconds.

“Did you want any pictures of me dancing for the project?” Clara asked, as dinner was ending.

I shrugged, glancing at her as she finished her third glass of wine with a satisfied smile. She’d loosened her severe bun so that some long wisps of her hair fell down around her face, tickling her shoulders. She had a deep, refined beauty to her, I had to admit.

“The project is about portraits, so nothing taken from too far away is really allowed.”

“I understand. But I wasn’t sure if you’d also want some action shots for the biography.”

I considered. The English project said nothing about photos at all, so I was already well beyond the requirements by including a few portraits. However, perhaps it would make sense to have photos of dancing in a biography about a dancer.

“We could try some, if you want,” I said slowly. “I don’t want to make extra work for you, though.”

“Certainly it wouldn’t be work. I don’t mind at all! Although, I haven’t danced seriously for some time, so I’m not in the shape I used to be.”

I doubted that. Clara was as fit as any woman I knew.

“Don’t you still dance when you teach?”

“It’s not quite the same. To dance ballet well takes enormous strength and form, and it’s something that must be maintained. Luckily, I only need to find it for a few moments while you take a picture.” She chuckled as she poured herself another glass of wine. Then she looked up at me with a frown. “I’m sorry Matt, I just realized I hadn’t offered you anything to drink! Would you like something? Can I get you some water, juice? Wine, perhaps?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I countered, although I was honored that she thought I was respectable enough to handle a glass of wine.

I wondered how old Clara was. Sometimes she felt like a wise mother to me, and other times she felt like a friend. Her innate elegance and graceful finesse made her seem very mature, but her physical attributes were youthful. Her fine face held young eyes that still danced. From ten feet away, she could easily pass for twenty-five; with a ballet career in her past, I had to guess that she was in her mid-thirties, at least.

“Would you like more food, then?”

“Thanks, but I’m full. It was delicious.”

We took our plates to the kitchen, where I set about rinsing them.

“Matt, please, no need for that.”

“I’m happy to help.”

Clara relented after a bit. She set her plate down and turned to lean back against the counter beside me. She raised a playful brow toward me.

“So, yes or no on the dance photos?” she asked.

“Uh, we can try some I guess. Might as well use Shannon’s lights, since she went to the trouble of bringing them over.”

“A good point. Do you have anything in particular in mind for the shots?”

I looked at her for a second and shrugged sheepishly as I set the last plate in the drying rack. “I don’t. I’m not that familiar with dancing, so I have no idea what to suggest.”

“Then set up some lights, and I’ll go get changed into something to dance in.”

She pushed away from the counter and then paused, a finger to her lips. I dried my hands, watching her stride to a shelf in the living room, carefully select a record, and carry it into the studio. After a moment, music came to life. I recognized it as a tango, having heard the style at her house on previous visits. She glided back into the living room and came toward me, a new glint in her eye that I hadn’t seen before.

“Set up the lights to match the feel of a dark tango club,” she said, the slightest undercurrent of excitement in her voice.

“Tango club? I have no idea.”

Clara patted my shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Something dramatic, Matt. Shadowy, but lit well enough to show the movement. Let’s see what you can do,” she challenged.

She disappeared down the hall. I considered the options as I returned to the studio. I had little experience with lights, so I started out by trying each one to see what effect it had. After going through the options, I picked a few spotlights and placed them high in two corners, aiming their crossed beams out of the windows to minimize ambient diffusion from the walls. Then I selected a soft fill that I aimed at the floor.

I was screwing my camera onto the tripod when the sound of heels clicking on the dance floor drew my attention to the doorway in the corner. At first, the glare of the corner spot prevented me from seeing Clara clearly, but as she moved into the room and the lights lit her figure up from the side and behind, I realized two things: one, I’d done rather well on the lighting, and two, Clara was wearing a rather provocative black dress. Quite a bit more than ‘rather’, even, on both counts.

“What do you think?”

I stammered for a moment. “Uh, well, looks, yeah, is that—” I stammered. “Is that a tango outfit?”

“It is. Nice lighting. I figured you’d find something appropriate.”

I eyed her outfit as she stepped to the center of the studio. Appropriate?

“I’ll just warm up a bit while you finish setting up, if you don’t mind,” she announced.

“Sure. I’ll adjust the lights a bit and then we’ll be ready.”

I circled the room several times, looking for good angles that gave the most dramatic shadows, further adjusting the lights as I became aware of new details in the scene. My initial shock at seeing the ultra-proper Clara dressed in such a sensuous dress was receding as the professional aspect of my job kicked in again. Still, that leg slit was sure high. I was unsure whether to use the lights to enhance or deemphasize this. I decided to just go with whatever looked dramatic. No one said these pictures had to go public, in the end. I had portraits for the biography, and that would be enough regardless of what happened with this second shoot.

“I’m ready to go whenever you are,” I announced, though uncertain if I was truly ready.

“What shall we do?”

“I guess just dance, and I’ll shoot.”

Clara laughed. “Oh, Matt. You are funny.”

I felt a slight flush, but put my eye to the camera without another word.

“Funny, and so easy to work with.”

Then she danced.

I didn’t prolong the shoot. I took about ten images with the back lighting. Clara moved as if with an imaginary partner, making such a series of lovely pictures with her body that I could almost press the shutter at random and still be assured a good photo. I rearranged the lights for a hard side light effect, shot another ten frames, and then told Clara that I thought that we’d probably find something cool in there.

“Great. That was pretty easy. Where were you when I was doing portfolio back in my audition days?”

Probably lying in my crib, I thought, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Come here, let me show you something,” Clara urged.

I shuffled warily into the center of the room, both afraid and certain of what was coming.

“What?”

“Just a few basics.”

I laughed very uneasily at the idea of trying to dance, especially given the situation.

“I have no idea how,” I protested.

“That’s why they are called basics. I assure you, I am a qualified teacher! Do you not trust me?”

“I do, but...”

She grabbed my wrists and shaped my arms into a curved position. Then she slid her body into the hold, taking my raised hand with hers. “Since you are taking Shannon to the dance,” she said, “you might as well learn a few things, no?”

“I doubt we’ll be doing the tango at the school.”

Clara grinned. “No, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn from it. I’m sure you’ve learned something from every photo project you’ve done, and used that knowledge for your next project, even if the style of picture is different?”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Good. Then loosen up. Stand straight, shoulders down please. Yes, good.”

Clara spent some time teaching me how to be loose yet in command of the hold. It wasn’t as easy as it first seemed. Once I had relaxed a bit into the position, she set us moving.

“The ‘ocho‘ is the basic academic step of the tango. You play music, so you might know what an eight-count is? This step takes us eight beats of the music. Let’s try. Cinco, seis... “

Clara patiently moved my two left feet around the floor as I struggled to stay relaxed yet strong. I spent the time staring at my shoes, trying to visualize the simple pattern. Not helping my concentration was the frequent appearance of Clara’s bare leg from the slit of her dress.

Apparently I was a quick learner, because we were soon combining the forward and back variants of the ocho and gradually traversing around the room to the dramatic music.

“Not bad, Matt. You may become a dancer yet!”

“Doubt it,” I said, feeling a bit more relaxed after she let go of our hold.

“However, you need to feel the push and pull of our bodies more, especially since as the man, you have to lead the movement.”

She slipped out of the studio, returning with a small pillow in hand.

Oh great, what now?

“Let’s try this,” she suggested. “The trick is to not drop the pillow. I’m only going to move if you lead properly.”

She pressed the pillow against my chest. I moved to grab it, but she gently pushed my arms down. Then she pushed her chest against the other side of the pillow to hold it in place between us. I put my arms up into the hold, but she again blocked them.

“No arms. No ocho, just walk forwards,” she said. “And make me follow your lead!”

I could feel the soft breath of her wine-perfumed words, since her face was now inches from mine. I craned my neck to put my gaze down on the relative comfort of my feet. Then I took a step. Clara resisted, so I stopped.

“You have to lead, Matt, or I will be very hard to move.”

I tried again, but my hesitation at pushing against her in this way wasn’t very inspiring. I had trouble finding the balance.

“It’s hard!” I admitted.

“Try. Lead, and don’t be afraid of me.”

I pushed forward, this time leading from my chest. Clara started to move backward in sync with my steps.

“Good!”

I continued, constantly aware of the pressure on the pillow. When she had almost backed into the studio wall, I stopped.

“And back, now.”

I took a step backward. Clara stayed put and the pillow immediately fell to the floor. She eyed me with a teasing smile.

“How am I supposed to lead if I’m going backward?” I asked.

“The same way you did going forwards.”

“But I was pushing you!”

Clara laughed. “You think you were pushing me, but it wasn’t really that. Still, if you prefer to think of it that way: now you must pull me.”

“With my hands?”

Clara put on an expression of mock shock as she bent over to grab the pillow. “No! With your chest!”

I must have looked puzzled, although I was a bit distracted by watching her move.

“Don’t overthink it, Matt. Try again.”

She stepped close and put the pillow between us. Again a step backward, again the pillow fell.

The third time was a charm. Perhaps it felt like pushing against something that was coming down a hill toward me, which was only possible if I stayed relaxed but strong. The pillow didn’t fall again.

“Good, Matt! Now forwards again.”

Again I looked at the floor, but Clara got my attention with a clearing of her throat.

“Don’t you know how to walk without looking at your feet?”

I grinned sheepishly. “After this lesson, I’m not sure anymore.”

She indicated her eyes with her fingers. “Look here instead. Tango is all about the connection between partners.”

I’d thought the pillow practice was hard, but maintaining my concentration as I looked into Clara’s eyes, her slightly smiling face inches away, was among the hardest things I’d ever tried doing. It took enormous willpower to not look away, as self-consciousness threatened to eat me alive.

“Good, Matt,” Clara said softly as we completed a round trip without losing the pillow to gravity. She patted my chest a few times. “Not bad.”

She handed me the pillow and went to the stereo. The music had gone silent during the last round trip. After she flipped the LP, a slow melody started playing, infused with a sad beauty. Clara sighed with satisfaction.

“Ah. Invierno Porteño. It will do. Shall we try it again in dance hold?” she asked as she came near again.

“With the pillow?”

She laughed dismissively as she flicked the pillow into the dark corner of the room. I put my arm around her back again and tried to lead her through the ochos in the close hold.

“Eyes, Matt. And remember what we’ve learned with the pillow.”

It was even harder to maintain my eyes on hers when her arms were also wrapped around my body and her legs kept brushing against mine. Without the pillow, our faces and bodies were a few inches closer. I realized I was craning my neck backwards. To not do so would practically mean pressing my face to hers. Clara obviously had no trouble looking at me, clearly unaffected by this kind of intimacy when she danced. She kept pointing out the details of form and technique, but I also had the sense that she was enjoying the mild torture she was putting me through.

“Good. Now, hold that position, firmly, and don’t move,” she whispered.

I stayed still as she swung her body, kicking her leg a few times. She then returned to the close hold, pulling herself tightly against me, her forehead brushing my cheek.

“Wow, look at you!”

I positively jumped out of the hold, startled by the words that came from the dark doorway and shattered the entire scene. I would have been less startled if all of the lights had exploded at once. Before I could place the familiar voice, Shannon stepped into the studio. Clara was grinning as she smoothed her dress. It was perhaps a brief moment of self-consciousness on her part, I thought. For myself, I knew I was turning bright red, and not from the warmth of the lights.

“Shannon! How are you? I was just teaching Matt some basic tango steps. He’s not bad!”

Shannon looked at me with a broad smile. “Didn’t know you were taking lessons.”