The restaurant was new, and the owners named it A media luz. What else could we all do but meet there before the milonga? El Soave brought his Carlos Gardel CDs, and we talked the owners into putting them on, and we all listened, song after song. The polished wood of the floor glowed in the twilight of the room. We sat at sleek tables and raised our flutes of Krug champagne.
'You must give eyes when you toast,' commanded El Soave. Such politeness was a mark of his exotic upbringing, and I thought how disconnected every other toast I'd ever made had been. 'Eyes,' he said again. 'Give your eyes.'
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