My First Private Lesson, Part 4: Gancho!

I would never do a gancho. They look cheesy. And lethal. In the wrong hands (that is, on the wrong feet), stilettos could cripple a man.

I am the wrong feet.

I have no spatial awareness, no ability to calibrate expenditure of energy to desired effect.

Once I meant to kick a girl lightly with my knee, and she ended up in the nurse’s office.

Do you want to gancho with me?

Grisha is fearless.

He throws one in without warning. He explains the technique. We try a few more.

I am working very hard on not sending him to the nurse’s office.

He senses my hesitation and stops.

“I’m afraid I’m going to kick you in the butt!” I say. “Sorry,” I add. (One does not say butt in polite company.)

Grisha looks puzzled. “My butt is not there,” he replies.

I think I should know. I’m the one wrapping my leg around his. But I don’t correct him. I only make a face.

We move on.

At home, I am practicing. I decide to try a gancho on The Man on the Wall. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll learn to patch drywall.

We stand in an open embrace, allowing ourselves plenty of room.

Ready? I ask.

The Man on the Wall smiles trustingly. Fool.

I step, feel the pressure of Grisha’s thigh against mine. Shift my weight—gancho!

I freeze.

This is how I get a sense of where things are in the world. I freeze. I examine. I take my time. I have been known to get out a ruler and measure.

I examine my leg as it hangs in the air.

Ah. Now I see why Grisha said his butt is not in danger of my heel.

The foot-bone is connected to the ankle-bone.

Not the knee-bone.

Gancho-men, rest assured. Your butts are safe from my heels.

(But you might want to keep an eye on my knees.)

My First Private Tango Lesson, Parts 1 and 2

My First Private Tango Lesson, Part 1

I start by telling Grisha I have no balance.

“I have never noticed that,” he says.

I am sitting on a barstool just off his living room/studio, putting on my tango shoes. I lean forward to fasten the buckle—and fall off the chair.

Thus begins my first private tango lesson.


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What Price the Tango Smile?

My dentist hands me a tube of extra-heavy-duty bleaching agent. I am an extra-heavy-duty drinker of coffee and red wine.

“You’ll want to avoid those for a few days after using this stuff,” he says. “Your teeth are more susceptible to staining just after you bleach.”

No problem. For the sake of a beautiful tango smile, I can master the craving …

… for four hours.


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My First Private Tango Lesson, Part 2

What would you like to work on today? Grisha asks, graciously ignoring the commotion. He squealed a little when the chair went over but quickly recovered.

Me too.

When you start your lesson by falling off a chair, you have pretty much gotten the worst out of the way, so can settle down and enjoy yourself.

My goal is simple: I want to take Julio and Corinna’s classes in three weeks and I don’t want to embarrass myself.

Not as a follower, anyway. Apparently I can’t control what happens re: chairs, tables, stairs.

That’s what I tell Grisha. But embarrassment is beside the point. The point is: I don’t want to get in the way of my partner’s learning. The men work hard in class. The least I can do is follow their lead.

Before I even get a chance to explain what I’m thinking, Grisha seconds it.

“The men will be working very hard,” he says. “They will be thinking ‘My foot goes here. Where’s her leg?’”

My job, according to Grisha, is to attend to my technique so the men can concentrate on learning each step.

When Grisha says this, I hear an echo of Chas. In class after class he drove the point home:

Followers don’t have to help.

As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t.

As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t even know that there is such a thing as helping.

As a matter of fact, we shouldn’t even acknowledge there’s a class going on.

Instead, we should attend to our role: being the best damn follower on the planet.

When I am practicing with Grisha I am not thinking of anything but technique and connecting and being the best damn follower on the planet.

But here in this quiet interval before the music starts, I think of Chas.