The dance had already started when we arrived, pushing through the creaking doors of the auditorium. The room was a flurry of endless colors, people dancing wildly to the fast-paced mambo the band played. My heartbeat quickened until it matched the beat of the bongo drums. How easily the blasting of the trumpet and the strumming of the guitar could take the weight off my mind! Instantly I was filled with an incomprehensible and insatiable urge to dance, just to move myself to this rhythm that pulsed furiously through my body.
Isabel noticed my expression and gave me a slight nudge against my ribs, raising her voice over the music, "Find your friends first—then you can dance all you want."
I nodded reluctantly and scanned the dance floor for any familiar faces. Then I saw them, huddled in a corner where talking could be more easily heard. I worked with the three of them, Teresita, Penelope, and Antonia, in one job or another. Although I had not known them as long as I had Chavela, they were still friends.
I weaved through the dance floor, darting around couples, especially those completely off-beat. I smiled and clasped hands with the other girls and we talked as best we could amongst the five of us, even with the music. They asked about Consuelo, trying to get me to confirm any gossip they had heard about what happened to us that Night. When I stayed stubbornly to the truth they began to talk about other things, frivolous things such as dresses and hair styles. I grew restless.
As I looked towards the band again, eager to dance, I spotted Indio, hands in his pockets, eyes straight forward, unblinking. Shoulders slumped, he looked so serious that I decided to cheer him up. I excused myself from my friends and made my way cross the floor again, past the blaring of trumpets till I was next to him, nearly against the pale pink, chipping wall.
"I am here to keep both eyes on you since Consuelo cannot!" I announced and he smiled wearily. "Those were her exact words to me, so you cannot protest, nene."
"Go ahead," he said openly. "I do not mind. Besides, I'm leaving soon anyway to visit her."
I gave a slight smile at his open affection for my friend. It was a sorry thing that she was so fickle, so ready to believe horoscopes and leave one boy for another. I hoped he would not end up being another of her stumbling, love-sick boys. I know too many who still are!
"Ai, Indio, but you're at a dance! ¡No estamos poniéndonos mas joven! We're not getting any younger! Let's dance while we still can, no?" I grabbed his hands but he refused to budge.
"Dance with you, Anita?"
"Why not? Or dance with yourself, if you'd like. Or dance next to me. Dance anywhere, but por favor, chico, just dance."
With a sigh, he pushed his lanky figure off the wall and trotted after me as I made my way to the middle of the dance floor triumphantly. Swaying casually to the beat of the song, waiting for it to finish, I tried to get Indio to loosen up, moving his shoulders and stomping my feet. He smiled awkwardly.
Finally, the band paused and twittered as they prepared for their next song. The drum started it at first, followed by the trumpets, the piano, and the clave. A full-fledged, heart-pounding salsa. My body flew into motion, like an old, familiar instinct. I danced to myself, mostly, though Indio tried to keep up. I did not mind; I was having the time of my life. I spun and kicked, keeping a hand at my skirts as I swished them as my legs moved, like the dancers of old flamenco. By the time the dance had finished, I was breathless, but trembling with excitement and exhilaration.
As the couples clapped for the band and caught their breath for the next song, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"May I cut in, Indio?" asked a voice, deep and clear, an unmistakable and remarkable sounding voice.
I turned to face a boy of about my age, possibly older, who was tall and dark. He looked like my friend Chavela, like one who had worked out in the country quite often. His hair, dark as night, was slick with hair gel, though it had fallen to the front naturally, a few strands of hair hanging over his forehead. In that one second of observation, I found him very, no, extremely attractive. And for some reason, that caused my face to burn with shame.
Indio's face immediately brightened.
"Oh, no," he explained, "we weren't dancing."
"You mean to say you weren't dancing, my friend."
"I never could."
"Then you won't mind if I dance with Señorita—" He turned to admire me, I suppose, his eyes sweeping over me. Perhaps he was cocky. I pulled myself from noticing the details of the boy to respond.
"Torres," I finished simply, meeting his glance.
"Lo siento," Indio said quickly. "Anita Torres, te presento a Bernardo Núñez. Bernardo, this is Anita."
We muttered our encantadas and mucho gustos as the next song began, and Indio left hastily, weaving through the crowd. Bernardo takes my hand, smiling almost suggestively.
"So, you're the infamous Bernardo," I stated finally as we began to dance. "The one who, rumor has it, stole a car."
He smirked at this, proud of his achievements it seemed.
"Guilty as charged," he replied, his voice husky. "I must say I haven't heard of you, Señorita Torres. Although, you're an incredible dancer. Now all you need is a worthy partner to match you skill." Elegantly, he brought me to a low dip, my skirts nearly brushing the ground. With great ease, he slowly pulled me upwards, so close to him.
"Let me know when you find one," I countered once I was upright again.
He laughed, sharp, yet full, and pulled me closer. His musky smell, sweat with a hint of old cologne and café, made me dizzy, almost drunk.
"You're a quick one!" he noted, referencing my wit.
"I must be, if I am to dance to such fast music."
He laughed again.
I expected him to move on to some other girl but, surprisingly, Bernardo danced with me for most of the remainder of the night. I admit that I was curious; why would he, a popular, handsome boy, who could have any girl at the dance with only a few charming words, be dancing with me, trading puns and laughs. He made his intent known by the last dance.
"Anita," he said suddenly and my heart jumped when he said it, "I've really enjoyed meeting you."
"I'm sure you have."
"Really! You're quite…spirited. Most girls I know are, well, plain compared to you."
I knew where this was leading. And I was a bit leery. I had a novio, boyfriend, before—a smart boy named Esteban. Things seemed to be going well for us, even with his busy schedule and my work. Then, one day, we went to a dance together. He came up to me afterwards and said my dancing was too wild and that we could never get along.
I paused to consider. Bernardo was different. He seems to be as I am. He continues to speak.
"Maybe we could meet again, this Friday? We could have lunch, I know a wonderful place, Dante's, that makes the best mofongo you've ever—"
I put a hand to his lips.
"Do you want to have food or do you want to go out with me?"
He smiles at this, the corner of his mouth turning up. "I thought we could do both."
"Dinner then. Much more food. Besides, you could walk me home, say hello to my father. He'll want to meet you."
"All
right then," he says triumphantly, grinning. "It's a date."
"So it is."
Before I realize what is happening, the song we are dancing to is over. He tips me back slightly, kissing me gently on the cheek before letting my hand slide away from his. He grins again, his face full of excitement as he turns back to see me one final time, before he is lost in the crowd.
I take my hand and press it against the spot where he kissed me, feeling lightheaded.
I would never let him know that he won me over so quickly, but from that first moment I knew I would love Bernardo Núñez.
