M: Are you that quick in bed?
F: To get in or get off?
M: My, you get around.
F: Or something.
M: You like to tango?
F: I love to tango.
(Tango music comes in, M takes F by the hand, they just start dancing.)
M: You’re quick on your feet too.
F: And you’re quick to realize, thanks.
(they continue to dance.)
M: They say the tango is a dance of passion, intrigue, and enchantment.
F: Do they?
M: Probably.
(they swirl about.)
F: I do love to tango.
M: But it takes two. You don’t seem like one to want to rely on another to keep in step.
F: I don’t. And I don’t have to rely on any one. (she swirls away, does a move.) And I do love to tango.
M: But don’t you feel cliché (twirl), thus passé (twirl), soon to be blasé? (twirl, stops her close to him.)
F: Why? Because tango has become shuffleboard for old people on cruises? Just because they’re nearly dying doesn’t mean, tango need die too.
M: You can just say (flourish) “tango” without an article with a straight face?
F: Sure why not. That’s what tango’s about. (twirls) That’s why I love tango.
M: Could you love a man like you love “tango”?
F: (thinks about it) Hmm, I could love a man like I love tango, but not like I love to tango.
M: (he thinks about it) Very well. I feel silly. I feel I need a rose. To be even sillier.
F: Tango knows not silly.
M: (mocking, like Tarzan) Tango no like? Tango scared?
F: Me mock, you tango. You obviously don’t love to tango. (distances)
M: No, I do. (brings her in) Because it takes two. (Swirls her)
F: Are you through?
M: Still doubt I love tango?
F: (thinks) I suppose. Could you love a woman like you love tango.
M: Indeed, I’d love to love women like a tango. But I’m just not that coordinated.
F: No you’re not.
M: I’m not quick on my feet?
F: Perhaps too quick… (she smiles, they twirl away.)