Adventures of a Salsa Goddess (13 page)

I had two e-mails. Lessie said she couldn’t meet for dinner but would see me later tonight at Club Cubana, a reminder of something I had been trying to forget because of the possibility that Sebastian had told Javier about seeing me with the Dating Circle dolts, and another message from Sally, giving me another order straight from the front office.

“Don’t kill the messenger,” Sally wrote. “Her majesty’s latest edict is that you shall schedule and report on dates with four more men by June 30. She also ordered me to remind you that FAILURE IS NOT AN OPTION! Good luck! Sally.”

This meant four more dates in ten days. Good God! I’d gone through dry spells where I hadn’t had three dates in six months. Did she think I was a miracle worker?

Speaking of miracles, perhaps I should check my newspaper personals ad mailbox, which was going to expire at the end of this week. Elaine was taking no chances, so in addition to doing Internet dating, she’d also had an ad placed in the personals section of Milwaukee’s major newspaper. I called the nine hundred number and was shocked to discover I had a message, my first, and from a man with a voice like liquid gold, a cross between Barry White and the kind of DJs who work at smooth-jazz radio stations.

“Hi there,” he said. “This is rather awkward isn’t it, leaving a
message for a total stranger? My name is Mark, I’m forty-three, divorced, and I’m a doctor. I love to travel and just got back from a scuba diving and hiking trip to Thailand. As for my looks, my female friends tell me I’m being far too modest when I describe myself as an average Joe. They insist I remind them of Mel Gibson but with better legs and without the kilt. You sound like an interesting woman, and I’d love to chat with you and see if we have enough in common to meet for lunch or dinner.”

I was certain that no man would respond to my newspaper personals ad, at least not anyone who had been born a man. Two days before leaving New York, Sally had handed me a copy of it:

I’M AMAZED I’M STILL SINGLE!!!!!!

SPWF, 41, 5
’8”, 135 lbs, blond/green, gorgeous, sassy, sexy, smart, wistful, rare gem, seeks Mr. Right right now!!!!! You are S/D handsome degreed professional, 37-50, ready to commit to passionate partnership for life.

The caption alone was enough to make me vomit, but “sassy,” “wistful,” “rare gem,” and all of those ridiculous exclamation points! Mr. Right right now!!!!! I’d burst into Elaine’s office wanting to disembowel her.

“Samantha, dear,” Elaine had said, peering over her glasses, “you look upset, is anything the matter?”

“I think this ad makes me sound a little desperate,” I’d said, trying not to sound desperate.

“Nonsense, it highlights all your best qualities. It’s not possible, Samantha, that you have,” she had paused and significantly bit her lip, “issues?”

Issues? Who doesn’t have issues? I didn’t kn
ow a single person who hadn’t been to at least one therapist and more like two or three.

“Self-esteem issues,” she added.

I’d forced a smile as I’d imagined stringing her intestines from one end of Broadway to the other. “Elaine, my concern is that a normal red-blooded man who possesses a single drop of testosterone coursing through his ...”

“Samantha, you have nothing to worry about. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to capture a man,” she had interrupted smoothly.

And that had been that. I hadn’t gotten a single response to my ad until now. Dr. Mark was probably a eunuch, but perhaps I should at least listen to his message one more time to make sure I hadn’t misheard anything. After all, in my excitement at hearing my second male voice of the day, and what a voice it was, I might have easily imagined the whole thing.

Yes, all the key information was intact—doctor, Thailand, Mel Gibson look-alike, sense of humor. Well, there was no need to get
overly excited about this. Most women I’m sure would dive for the telephone to call him back immediately. Not me. I’ll be cool-headed about this, wait a day, not act too eager. I’d call him tomorrow or the next day and find out if he was normal enough to meet.

I replayed his message again.

On the other hand, he might be seeing patients all day tomorrow. Or maybe he’ll be performing brain surgery? Or perhaps he’s going to Stockholm to accept the Nobel Prize for unlocking the gene that prevents wrinkles? Doctors were very busy.

I dialed the number and there was that voice again! I felt myself melting into my shoes. Beep!

“Oh hi, Mark,” I told his machine. “I’m Sam. Well Samantha, but everyone but my mother calls me Sam. It’s sort of a nickname I’ve had since I was a kid and this boy who had a crush on me called me Sam because his brother’s name was Sam and it stuck and well anyway, you called and left a message on my personals voice mail. I’m the ‘I’m amazed I’m still single’ ad in case you responded to more than one ad, which is perfectly fine by the way, I mean we don’t even know each other and you can certainly date as many ... Anyway, I don’t scuba dive, um, but I think it’s great that you do! I’ve never been to Thailand either. I also think it’s great that you’re a doctor but that’s not the only reason I’m calling you. I’m sure you’re very nice ... Well why don’t you give me a call? Um, okay, bye.”

The second I hung up the phone I realized that not only had I forgotten to leave him my phone number, but, if there were any way to quantify these things, I’m sure I would win the grand prize for leaving the longest, stupidest voice mail message in the history of dating.

Maybe it would be easier not to try at all, just suck it up and go through those long patches when I felt like the only person on the planet not having sex. This intense marathon with the personals ads, Internet dating, the video dating, the lunches and dinners, was nothing less than a slow death march to lunacy. And it required so much energy it could be a full-time job!

I let that last thought sink into my brain as I called Dr. Mark back, leaving him a quick message complete with my number.
What’s the worst that could happen? He has my telephone messages broadcast over national TV on some, new reality dating bloopers show and I have to move to Antarctica for the rest of my life.

* * *

“Here for your Javier fix?” asked a familiar voice high above my right ear a few hours later. I turned to see Sebastian soaring over me, wearing a smirk where there should be a smile.

“I’m waiting for my turn,” I said, doing my best to force my facial
muscles into a pleasant smile. There was something about Sebastian that reminded me of the actors who are typecast into playing the devilishly handsome character who fools everyone for a while with his charisma and wit, but then turns out to be the evil genius plotting to take over the world.

Javier had been dancing with the same woman since I’d walked in thirty minutes earlier, but to say they were dancing was a little like saying Beethoven was proficient at Chopsticks. She looked like a tiny ballerina with thick dark Curly hair that fell about her shoulders and flew out parallel to the dance floor as Javier spun her about and then twirled her eight times in quick succession in a complete circle around his body as though he were twisting a lasso. On the last few notes of the song, she cascaded into his arms as he swooped her into a dip that defied the laws of gravity.

That’ll be me. Next lesson. No problem.

“That’s Isabella, Javier’s ex-girlfriend,”' Sebastian explained. “They went out for two years and used to dance in competitions together.”

“She’s very beautiful,” I said, as Javier and Isabella walked off the dance floor arm in arm. I felt as though my larynx had been shrink-wrapped.

“As you can see, they’re still very close,” Sebastian said, pounding another nail into the coffin.

“By the way, Sebastian,” I said, eager to change the subject, because if there was anything I didn’t want to hear more about, it was Javier’s love life, past or present, “what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a reporter for
El Dia
, a local Latino newspaper,” he said. “So we have something in common. I’m also a writer. And by the way, how was the group date the other night, Sam? Any success?”

Just then Javier came up, wiping his sweaty brow with a white handkerchief he’d pulled from his back pants pocket.

“My two favorite people,” he said, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. If he was upset with me for the other day at his studio, he wasn’t showing it. I was so happy to see him I momentarily forgot about my concerns.

“How goes it, amigo?” he said, rocking Sebastian back and forth with his hand on his shoulder. Then they shook hands and exchanged a few words in Spanish. Javier laughed and looked at me. I felt a rush of hot shame shoot through my body. What if Sebastian was telling him about the Dating Circle dinner?

But if he was, apparently Javier didn’t care, because I saw nothing but warmth in his eyes as he led me out to the dance floor.

“It’s great to see you, Sam,” he said softly into my ear before leading me into the salsa that was playing.

After about five minutes of practicing, Javier stopped, moving.

“I don’t mean to be critical, Sam,” he said. “You’re doing great, but you need to concentrate more on following me
.”

“I’m sorry. I thought I was.”

“Try not to anticipate, okay?” he suggested.

We danced for several more minutes until Javier stopped again, his arms still around me.

“Sam,” he said, looking directly into my eyes, “I want you to get used to the idea of totally submitting to me.”

My heart pole-vaulted over my esophagus and my stomach plunged to my knees. Other than an S&M workshop, a dance floor had to be the only place on the planet where a man could get away with making a statement like that to a modern American woman without having his face slapped or getting sued. Far from making me angry, his words made me feel
... How? No, it wasn’t what he’d said. It was being with him. Javier, like no other man ever had, truly made me feel like a woman.

I concentrated on trying to do a better job of following Javier’s lead, and after another twenty minutes of practice, we stopped.

“Javier, about the other day, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” I said. “I really ...” I really what, want to throw my arms around you and kiss you all night?

“I’m devastated,” he said, looking truly upset. I felt a knife plunge into my chest. Oh God, I really had hurt the sweetest man I’d ever
... and then I saw a spark in his eyes and knew that he had been teasing me. “There’s only one way you can make it up to me; have dinner with me tomorrow night, Sam.”

“I’d love to,” I said, feeling a rush of happiness.

He excused himself to give a group lesson. Javier could dance for hours it seemed without needing a break.

“I hope I didn’t upset you by talking about Isabella,” said Sebastian, who’d made a beeline over to me the second Javier
had walked away. “Javier took their break-up really hard. The truth is, he’s still in love with her. Anyway, I just wanted you to know, he’s on the rebound and definitely not ready for anything serious.”

It felt like a thousand-pound weight had just fallen on my chest. I forced a, smile that made my heart hurt.

“Javier and I are just friends,” I said to Sebastian, who I wished would just shrivel up and disappear, although not likely since he must be close to two hundred forty pounds of solid muscle. “See you later.”

Downstairs a bartender stood wiping glasses. A couple of men in suits were slumped over the bar, drinking and smoking. An older couple sat at a table, unmoving, silent. I felt like I’d walked into a wake. I asked the bartender if he’d seen Lessie or, Eliseo, and he
jerked his head toward the back of the bar, suggesting I check the humidor.

The humidor? Lessie doesn’t smoke. I walked toward a slightly ajar door with a gold cigar on the outside, and when I opened it, the pungent masculine odor hit me, taking me back to afternoons in my father’s study. It had been the only room in the house my mother would let him smoke in. I’d sit on his lap as he’d puff away, pointing to countries on his world map and telling me travel stories he’d read in books. He’d never had the opportunity to travel much, but his wonderful tales had inspired my insatiable wanderlust.

In a room the size of a walk-in closet, surrounded by shelf upon shelf of boxes of cigars, were Lessie and Eliseo making out like two kids stuffed in the backseat of their dad’s Pontiac at the high school prom. I cleared my throat loudly.

“Lessie,” I said. They pulled apart in slow motion, as if nothing
in the world were harder to do at that moment. Lessie turned her head to me with a dreamy smile on her face. When that girl falls, she falls hard.

“Hi guys,” I said, feeling as though I’d blundered into someone’s bedroom. “I’m leaving now, Lessie. Do you need a ride home?”

She needed something, but it wasn’t anything I could give her. I drove home alone, thinking about Javier still being in love with Isabella. At least now I knew for sure, he was just on the rebound and wasn’t really interested in pursuing a relationship with me after all. I should feel relieved, right?

That night I dreamt that I walked into Cubana to find Javier under the spotlight in the middle of the dance floor, holding his ex-girlfriend Isabella in a low dip. I stood on the edge of the floor waiting, expectant. Naturally, I looked breathtakingly beautiful. Javier looked up, our eyes locked, and he instantly let go of Isabella, who dropped to the floor with a loud thud. Javier walked over to me, pulled me into his arms, and we proceeded to dance like we’d been born to dance together—gliding across the floor in a perfectly choreographed series of dips, twirls, and fancy footwork. We used every square inch of the dance floor until he slowly lowered me into a dip as the song came to an end. Javier stared into my eyes, leaned down, kissed the hollow at the base of my throat and then my mouth.