I started learning to dance about 3 years ago and, until now, I have not used this new joy of movement in my books. One of my favourite dances is the Tango and I am considering using its steps, turns and rhythm to suggest sexual attraction between the two principal characters in my latest work in progress entitled "...because it was you...because it was me..." Here is a draft extract. Tommy and his Italian love, Carla, are almost alone in the lobby of a hotel in the Italian Dolomites. It is early September 1939 and war is on their doorstep. Any feedback on this draft would be most welcome!
The evening news sounded dramatic and Carla told him that the reader was reporting mobilisation for war in England and reports of trouble on the Polish-German border.
“It is starting,” she said. “We have so little time.”
Tommy opened his mouth to speak but Carla grabbed for his hands before he uttered a sound.
“Don’t talk,” she said. “Let us dance, while we have the chance.”
She led him to an area that had been cleared of tables and chairs and where one other couple were shuffling around the floor to the crooning of a singer.
“Tango?” he said.
He did not understand Italian but he heard the word “scrivemi” over and over and was wondering what it meant when he felt her hand on his waist and her leg resting on his. He had been told by his dance teacher at school that tango dancers danced to touch and to feel, to be held and to hold, and to dance out their desperation and their desire to the tango rhythm and to make it all look both easy and elegant. Tommy had found it all very difficult to follow.
“Tango,” she said.
With her free hand, she grabbed his and, leaning deep into each other, they allowed their thighs to touch and their knees to slide up in invitation. Tommy wanted to pinch himself. It was the beginning of September 1939, and he was simulating love-making in a public place with this beautiful woman. And, come what may, he was going to have these few minutes of intimate public passion with her, even if he was going to fall over her feet, trip and lose the rhythm. Slow…slow…quick-quick-slow… Tommy said to himself.
The night deepened. The lights went out but the music went on. She leaned into him, her hand playing with his back and resting her head against his chest. She raised her eyes to his and said rather breathlessly:
“He is telling her to write to him,” she said. “Scrivemi.”
She paused as they held each other tight and span round.
“Write to me, he says. Don’t never forget me and if you don’t have nothing special to say, don’t worry, I’ll be able to understand, for me it is enough to know that you are thinking about me even for a minute because I’ll be satisfied even with a simple greeting. It takes little to feel closer. Just write to me.”
She buried her head into his chest while the music played and they danced. Spinning in the corners, promenading past the chairs and tables, weaving their world into the dance and holding each other closer and closer, and tighter and tighter, they danced until the moon rose and the music stopped.
The song "Scrivemi" mentioned in the text was a big "hit" in Italy in 1939. If interested, follow the link below.
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