Baby Steps

Susanna texted me on Tuesday evening: What are you doing tomorrow, friend?

I replied (in Spanish): I'm going to wake up, go to work, and then do whatever Susanna wants.

She loved my response and went on to suggest that we take a salsa class at club Sevilla's the following night. That's when my memory rewound to circa 2003:

Sophia and I were watching Selena's last concert on VHS in my apartment. I believe the purpose was for me to teach her the "washing machine." We were having a blast imitating Selena when one of us thought out loud, Why don't we go to Sevilla's? We changed from our gym clothes into something more club-worthy and away we went. We dodged men all night, explaining how happy we were dancing on our own.

It didn't matter that the outing was scheduled for the middle of the workweek. I accepted Susanna's proposal and obsessed over what I was going to wear for an entire day. I settled on the most comfortable (for lack of a better term) dancing shoes I have, a previously featured pair of Jessica Simpson stilletos and a new (to me) Jessica Simpson dress Sophia bought me, a treasure found in a thrift shop for a couple of dollars.

We arrived at the club only to find valet parking available within walking distance. Susanna started exiting the lot when I said, We are valet-worthy! A u-turn later, I had a guy opening my door as I kept my legs as closed as possible while I descended the vehicle.

As Susanna debated between a pair of heels, I made small talk with the valet guy. He asked if we came often and I admitted I hadn't been there for a salsa class in about ten years. He didn't think that was possible since the club didn't allow 14 year olds into the club. Very sweet. That was the second time in two weeks I've been mistaken to be in my mid 20's, which I have to thank Lancome for. After describing the restaurant/lounge next door, he let us be on our way.

While we waited in line, Bert and Ernie (mnemonic device I came up with so we could remember their names), introduced themselves. After they got past security, Susanna gave the girl in the ticket booth our names that were supposed to be on the guest list (the guest list!) and ten dollars later, we were in. I felt like a lady-lady, with valet parking under our belts and our names on a guest list. I knew it was going to be an awesome night.

The club was pretty empty. Next to the bar in the back, a man in a white button-down shirt with short sleeves and black slacks was doing something with his shoes. I assumed immediately that he was a bartender by the way he was dressed. I told Susanna that he would know if we could sit at the booths. But when we were within hand-shake distance, we noticed the paper bracelet on his wrist as he tied the laces in his dancing shoes. We made small talk with Steve, the non-bartender, and then walked away but not before he stated that we owed him a dance before the night was over. 

The lesson began soon thereafter and the first half of the class consisted of learning individual steps. The second half we practiced with partners. Women were reminded by the male instructor that we had to let the man lead. It was something I was not accustomed to but for the love of dancing, made an exception. After high-fiving our partners, the females were asked to rotate clockwise to the next man. That was how I came across an Asian guy slightly shorter than me who complimented my Jessica Simpson's: "You win the award for sexiest shoes tonight." What can I say, he has good taste. 

The class ended quickly and the sounds and lights of the night life took over. Susanna and I grabbed Mai Tais and had just enough time to take a sip and quench our thirst before "the conceited guy" took her away. A few minutes later, the instructor took me onto the dance floor. I don't think I met his standards, though, because he never asked me out again. But that was okay because for the next three hours, Susanna and I were able to sample what was out there. I danced with hairy men, short men, old men, and stinky men, although most smelled very good; they all deserved an A+ for effort. 

There was one man's "sensual" moves that I didn't know if I should have interpreted as sexual harassment. Another I think another put his head on my shoulder instead of the other way around, but to his defense, I did tower most of the men there. But my craziest partner was Steve-the-non-bartender who had already taken Susanna out to dance. He kept placing his hand on my chin and pushing my head back. I didn't know what kind of move he wanted me to accomplish and even though I asked, I could not hear him over the sounds of the Caribbean. After the longest song of the night was over, I politely said, Thank you, and walked away.

With sweat at my hairline, Susanna and I grabbed over-priced but much needed water. We danced one or two more songs and called it quits at 12. It was a work night, after all.