A small, dark man appeared at the door, wiping perspiration from his face after the difficult climb. He unpacked from its case his bandoneón and, at Señor Rosenberg’s gesture, began to pump this accordion-like instrument, his fingers running over the keys on both sides.

“First, now that we are official partners, call me Sergio.”

Batya placed the empty glass on the table and shrugged as if it were all the same to her, but it wasn’t. He was a man, like all others. Keeping the honorific “señor” would remind her not to fully trust him. “Sergio,” she murmured.

He took her palm in his. “We’ll prepare three dances. One you already know, but we’ll add adornos, embellishments to our performance. I’ll lift you up in the air, and you’ll help me by vaulting into position.” He demonstrated his part and then marked hers. “Let’s try it.”

It took a couple of fumbling attempts before Batya had enough confidence in both herself and him to jump and stay up, held aloft. “Hold your arms straight up; curve your spine back,” he instructed once she stayed in place. He supported one leg and told her to extend the other. When he brought her down, his fingers above her head sent her into a double spin.

“Wow.” She smiled. How she loved the freedom of being airborne!

He worked with her on a quick succession of steps that required her full concentration—a brisk tapping against her own shin, front and back; the hook of her leg on his; wrapping her bent leg around his hip; and the scissoring of her feet between his.

“Splendid,” he said. “Stretch and practice on your own between lessons.”

He gestured to the musician to start another song and laid his hand on Batya’s shoulder bone in an abrazo. The music rushed through Batya, down to her toes. All her muscles were taut, and passion surged through her limbs. Yet as Sergio guided her into a series of syncopated grapevine steps, she avoided responding to the challenge of his smoldering stare, to his masculine authority. While she gave her body to the dance and her cheek touched Sergio’s in a simulation of romance, she held back from giving her heart to the longing for another life and love. It would only weaken her.

An hour had passed when two well-dressed men entered the room. These must be the organizers of the dance competition, Batya thought, looking at Sergio for an explanation. He danced her toward them. Stopping, he bowed to the older gentleman, and then pointed the younger man toward the table in the corner. The younger man, with pink cheeks and wearing a brown suit, pulled the table away from the wall and set up two chairs on each side.