4/19/2002 » Dance

I salsa’d tonight, Thursday is my night. Danced with a Russian ballerina who speaks little English. A gawky little-girl face, thin as bone, long legs, sharp turns and absolutely no rhythm—you had to cradle her to keep her from falling. An East Asian, nice salsa hip motion but metronomic and planned. A white woman, stiff as a linebacker, which is common with older women. And a Persian who looks exactly like a Punjabi friend of mine, it was like dancing with a ghost. We did an arm slide, they were soft and waxed, she left perfume on my hands.

Things are not always as they seem. This is a dance of immigrants, not Latinos alone; the instructors are a Filipino guy whom women assure me ‘dances like a dream,’ he has beauties all over him, and his Persian partner, a fabulous mambo dancer with a waist like Kate Moss and a bootie like a black woman. She’s always vaguely pissed off that I don’t ask her to dance, she thinks I’m uppity-Persian, but I don’t ask because she’s a hundred times better than me.

One of the things I love about salsa is that it’s one of the few truly multicultural scenes, it’s not only white-only black-only Persian-only Latino-only whatever. And, of course, people can dance, they’re limber in body and culture.

Fridays, Saturdays I go to upscale places in the City, white places, places with kewpie-doll blondes, places which don’t deign to put their names on the door—you just have to know. The drinks are eight apiece, the menus feature bottles of wine topping two hundred, the walls inevitably a rich gray velvet, with upscale Asians eyeing me curiously.

Yet I never have quite as good a time as Thursdays, I’m not look-but-don’t-touch. Salsa is very touchy-feely, the brush of hair, the smoothness of a forearm, fingers laid lightly on waists and bare shoulderblades; it’s in service of intricate patterns and kinetic poetry, so you never think about it except afterwards, if the vibe is there and a connection was made. Even if not, the smiles are wide and genuine. It’s me, so me. You dance with the most beautiful women, they always say yes; four minutes of flirting, then dance with someone new.