Free Ballroom: A Novel by Alice Simpson Page B

cha-cha, salsa, and tango in those nine squares. She is grateful that he spends Friday nights giving her free dance lessons that her father would never have agreed to.
    S he often considers calling Harry. “Papi’s sick, I can’t come tonight.”
    Of course, from his window, Harry would have seen Papi leave. She sees him there when she goes to school every day. He probably thinks she doesn’t know. She will leave early, tell him she doesn’t feel well.
    “If you’re going to be a professional dancer, you got to dance no matter what. With fever, or sprained ankle. Nothing stops a pro. Never forget that.” That’s what Harry will say.
    He promised her a tango lesson tonight, promised to buy a Carlos Gardel tape, because they never play tangos on La Mega. Pausing for a few moments before she knocks, she listens to the music that drifts under the door. The dread of discovery she feels as she climbs the three flights vanishes, replaced by a jumpy feeling of happiness and expectation as she gets to the top floor.
    She can’t explain or quite understand what it is that is special about dancing with Harry. When he opens his arms to her, he is so sure, the way he holds her, not too hard, not too soft. Like coming home. Where she belongs. The way he moves her. They are a part of the music. Their bodies fit together, move like one person. Perfect. The way a man and woman must feel, she thinks, when they are in love. He makes her feel beautiful, too, like when he assures her that someday she will be good enough to be a professional dancer. Harry must know, because he is the best dancer, the best teacher, a girl could have, patient and gentle. She is lucky that he believes in her. That is how she feels outside his door.
    Long ago she learned that Papi is not there for hugs. He kisses her on the forehead, but his arms remain at his sides when she puts her arms around him. She feels as though he doesn’t love her enough to hold her close.
    M aria loves everything pink. For her fourteenth birthday Papi gave her a new ruffled comforter strewn with clusters of pink cabbage roses and matching pillow shams. Maria thinks that Mrs. Ortega probably bought them for Papi to give her. One day after school, Mrs. Ortega took her to El Barrio—around 110th Street and Lexington Avenue—where Maria picked out pink sheets. That was when she saw the comforter and showed it to Mrs. Ortega, who had been teaching her how to sew and had promised to help her make curtains for the room as well as a pink dust ruffle. After school, Mrs. Ortega would usually fix tuna sandwiches, and they would sit together on the sofa with the plastic covers and watch a soap opera that Papi would never let her see. It was sexy, with all the handsome guys and women in beautiful clothes.
    “Angel could be on the show—he looks like a movie star. Doesn’t that one look like Alexis, his girlfriend?” Mrs. Ortega had asked one day.
    “Maybe.” Maria didn’t want to think about Alexis.
    On the Saturday before her birthday, Papi went to the hardware store and had paint mixed for the walls to match the roses, and Angel came by to help them paint. Papi was in a real good mood, not bossy or angry. The three of them painted and danced, singing along with the music, and when it was time for lunch she heated up bacalao , a stew made of salt codfish, potatoes, onions, and tomatoes that Mrs. Ortega brought them, and they ate picnic style on the floor. When they finished at midnight, they went around the corner for a pizza. Angel put his arm around her when they crossed the street, brought her food, and bowed gallantly as he set the tray in front of her. It was one of her favorite days.
    M aria never told Harry that, on the Saturday night after her fourteenth birthday, she danced with Angel Morez for the first time. She was embarrassed, being at an Our Lady of Sorrows dance with Papi, dying to dance but certain that no one would ever ask her in a million years. Then when Angel