CC Torquato Tasso

After pancakes at Rosa’s, I went over to Lili’s for tea and rock. I had been foolhardy enough to brag to her I was beginning to be able to lead salsa and rock and she pinned me down for a practica. I was reminded of my second driving lesson, all those years ago: getting in the car and going quite blank. I just haven’t been doing it long enough to be able to do it outside of a classroom context, so I left her with a chuckle at my expense, apologies and a tutorial DVD and it being Sunday, headed off to Plaza Dorrego.

I arrived around 21:30 and boogied down Defensa to the pounding and the throbbing of the batería, which is apparently a permanent feature of Sunday night in this area. When I arrived there, there was not much dancing before one of those government subsidised bands started up, the kind that play ballads that sound just like the one before, showing a scornful disregard for melody and rhythm, focusing rather on lyrics, which I could barely follow, in any case. I sat sleeping on a wall, wondering when it was going to end, then gave a little yelp of joy when I noticed Jeff standing in front of me with a leggy porteña and Mario mark 2. Jeff said they were off to the Torquato Tasso, which is where everybody pootles off to after Dorrego, to carry on dancing and did I want to come.

The Centro Cultural Torquato Tasso is named after an Italian poet. I liked it a lot. It’s the kind of alternative, informal night spot I would choose, to hang out, eat, socialize, take classes and to dance, with its dimly lit interior, blue, red and purple, and its moody vibe. Apparently it is well-known as a live music venue, but not that night. The piped music good, though. I danced with Jeff and Mario and sat down for a beer, when who should come up to me but CFBS: aka Daniel.

‘Why aren’t you in Washington, Daniel?’

‘Because I’m still here.’

It is always delightful to see anyone with a lithe body and a beautiful face. Even when they urged you to return to Buenos Aires before they had to leave for Washington, phoned you, skyped you and mailed you through November and December, and then, when you bought your ticket, suddenly stopped. So yes, I danced with him, of course I did.

‘Can I come and live with you?’ he said.

‘No.’

Because there’s a limit, isn’t there?