Van Tango

An autumn breeze blew through the street, crisp and biting. Van Tango pulled his jacket closer around him; his old bones were aching from the evening chill. He was sitting outside an old dingy building in the city. The ancient red bricks were crumbling here and there and the wooden sign that bore the proud name The Chateau hung on its side by a single chain.

The Chateau was an opera house and tonight they were hosting the last performance of their most successful show and Van Tango was the doorman. His responsibilities were just to sit by the door, take the people’s tickets, and keep loiterers away.

“Hello there girls,” he said pleasantly surprised.

A large group of young girls dressed in white ballerina costumes and heavy makeup were coming down the street and going inside the Chateau. They were the dancers for the show and would have looked ridiculous if they were anywhere else in the city. One with white blonde hair held the door open for the others as they all huddled in, giggling and laughing.

“Hi Van,” they would say sweetly and Van Tango would smile and nod all the while stealing glances of their pretty-in-lacey-hosiery derrieres.

“Don’t steal too many hearts tonight ladies,” he called back to them.

The blonde holding the door open looked at the old man with amusement, shaking her head laughing. “You coming to see the show tonight, Van?” she asked once all her counterparts were inside.

“No, not tonight. I was thinking of heading home early.”

“Oh no Van, you can’t!” she pleaded in her high pitched voice. “You have to come to the closing show. Beside me and the girls were hoping to have you around for the after party.”

He rubbed his round belly in thought, wondering if he was willing to sacrifice one more episode of Cash in the Attic on the BBC. “I’ll have to think about it but save a bottle of the wine for me, yeah?”

The blonde smiled with her painted red lips. “Okay then, but if you do come Van let me at least fix up your hair a little. It’s going to be a special night for all of us and we can’t have you be seen with your hat hair.”

The blonde opened her oversized purse and rummaged through it until she found some hair gel. She squeezed some of the gooey green stuff in her hands and took off Van Tango’s signature brown newsboy hat and started working the goo through his thinning grey hair with motherly affection.

“You’re going to make me into one of those trendy city slickers, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you don’t fancy George’s hair? I thought it would look quite dashing on you,” she teased.

George was their boss, the new asshole owner of The Chateau. He was from the big city and was indeed what you would call a city slicker and did not understand the old shabby charm of opera house and currently was in the process of making plans to turn into some ultra modern haven for what the employees called ‘ neo-drama’. Needless to say the current employees weren’t too impressed with the idea of either being replaced or having to perform in full body suits and dance around pretending to be flowers hoisted up on wires with neon lights flashing everywhere in some awful musical.

“Come on now, don’t make me look silly.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied.

After another minute or two she declared she was done and handed Van Tango her compact mirror.

“All I really did was do up your quiff Venetian style. Do you like it?”

He looked from a few more angles in the mirror and grinned. “Think I look ten years younger?”

The blonde laughed and was glad to see her client was too. “Only ten? I was thinking twenty.”

Van Tango replaced his cap, careful not to damage his new stamp of style. “Very funny. Now get yourself inside before you’re late.”

“Bye then. Oh and make sure I see you tonight!”

“Yeah, yeah. Good luck.”

Alone once again Van Tango leaned back on his chair and got ready for the evening rush. He reached into his pocket for some fags and lit one up.

“Tango! TANGO!”

Van Tango looked down the street where he saw his boss come nearly jogging up to him in his stiff pinstripe suit.

“George?”

“Tango! What did I tell you? No smoking outside the doors. You’re supposed to be a doorman. You’re probably losing us customers right now looking so-so intimidating with that cigarette hanging out of your mouth.”

Growling inwardly, Van took the fag out of his mouth and started pointing it accusingly at his boss. “I’ve been the doorman for this place since the beginning and every night I’ve been out here I’ve been smoking. And now you want to tell an old man who’s nearly on his pension that he can’t have a smoke out here while he’s working? Ha! With what you’re paying me I can only afford cheap fags. Let’s just say you’re luck they have a goddamn filter. So don’t you try to hassle me.”

Clear repulsed by having a cancerous stick being waved about in his face, George grew infuriated. He spoke in a low, threatening tone. “Listen here Tango, you know I have some, what’s the word-reconstruction planned for this place and that includes the clientele and the employees. So don’t you think it’d be in your best interest to not make a nuisance of yourself?”

Van looked up at George, anger burning in his eyes. “Oh so you want me to suck up do you?” he yelled getting to his feet. “You want me to kiss your ass? Let’s get something straight here I don’t suck up to no one!”

He started yelling many insults at George whose face turned stark white from such a show of fury from an old man.

Much of the cast and crew of the night’s show came running outside once they heard all the commotion, including the blonde dancer.

“How-how dare you speak to me like that!” George stuttered. “I’m in charge here, I’m the owner!”

“Yeah well perhaps you need to reevaluate your investment,” Van Tango threw back bring the fag back to his lips. His coworkers cheered him on.

“Yeah? Well-well I can just fire all of you and get a new cast! Would you like that?”

“Make all the threats you want, you’d never get anyone else to work for an asshole like you, George.”

George froze for a moment. “Well you’re just an old man. Just a lonely old man who has no one! For fuck’s sake you work night shift at the opera, you think anyone’s going to give a shit about you if you’re gone? When you finally keel over everyone’s just going to forget you and wonder what happen to the old doorman!” He was raving now, looking mad, almost rabid. “You miserable little cun-,”

In a flash George was face first on the ground whining, a big red mark on his left cheek. Everyone was cheering and Van Tango took a marvelous bow, relishing the initial satisfaction and loathing the pain that would be in his hand the next morning.

Then he moved to George, “I’m not lonely, George. I got Ivan at home, my goldfish.”

With that Van Tango took another bow to his applauding fans, winking to the blonde dancer who blew a kiss to him, and started waving goodbye as he made his way down the midnight street heading home to Ivan.

“Van Tango! He’s the King of the night!”