We slowly made our way to the bar. About two dozen bottles of Bacardi and Barrelito were stacked in plastic milk crates along with trash cans full of iced beer.
“What do you want?” Vince asked me.
“Nothing, water maybe.”
“Mariana!”
“I don’t like beer.”
Actually, I never understood what was so appealing about the beverage. The few times I’d tried it, I thought it tasted like dishwater. My brother told me I’d get used to the aftertaste, but I didn’t spend that much time trying to enjoy food items that were actually good for me, so I didn’t see why I should do it for beer.
“Mariana, we’re in the rum capital of the world. Try something new.”
“Fine, un Coca-Cola, por favor,” I told the bartender. “No rum.”
The man looked at me cross-eyed, then handed me the can and an empty glass.
“You suck,” Vince muttered.
Just then, the band cut the music and the conductor made a booming announcement into the microphone. The entire crowd turned toward the tent’s entrance as the curtains draped back. The band swung into a jazzy Latin beat as Lilly’s court strutted in to the music. The couples danced and shimmied as they entered, with the final girl walking in alone.
The band swiftly changed tunes and in walked Lilly, her hair pulled up in a loose, high ponytail and her tight pink dress clinging to her curves. She was arm-in-arm with the dimpled-face stranger from the church—her escort, Alex. I followed his tall frame as he led Lilly onto the floor and presented her to her father who was clutching a pair of high-heeled shoes. Her mother brought out a folding chair and Lilly gracefully sat down. Juan lifted her ballet flats from her feet and replaced them with the white strappy sandals. They were meant to be her first pair of high heels (yeah, right) and a symbol of her emergence into womanhood. (I wasn’t sure why choosing to wear painful shoes meant she was grown up, but it was touching nonetheless.)
She took her father’s hand as the band slowed to a waltz. In a frame that would have made a ballroom dance instructor proud, Lilly and her father floated to the music. Her mother’s eyes teared and my Uncle Miguel tightly gripped my aunt’s hand.
“What is this, a wedding?” Vince huffed.
“Shut up,Vince.”
“It’s a ‘father-daughter dance!’ ” he snipped.
“So?”
“So, don’t you think that’s a bit much for a birthday party?”
“No. I think it’s nice, actually. It’s better than a bunch of shallow bling.”
“Huh,” he puffed. “Seems like someone’s been out of Spring Mills too long.”
Vince and I plopped down at a table alongside Alonzo and José.
“Las flores son bonitas,” I said to José, commenting on the beauty of his centerpieces.
The yellow and white flowers looked rather striking against the pink tablecloths, though I knew Alonzo hadn’t felt that way. My cousin looked at his friend and smiled.
“Sí, son bonitas,” Alonzo agreed.
Just then, the waltz drew to a close and Juan dipped his daughter to a clatter of applause. For a girl who was anti this entire party, she certainly basked in the spotlight. All eyes were on her, especially those of her male friends. Lilly took a gracious bow and then the band ripped into a lively Latin beat. The dance floor immediately filled with dozens of twirling pairs who looked like they’d spent years on the professional ballroom circuit.
“Wow,” I mumbled.
“Seriously.” Vince paused before nodding to a group of Lilly’s girlfriends who were swiveling their hips liberally with their partners. “And the chicks are hot.”
“Is that all you think about?”
“Yes.Yes, it is.”
“You realize most of ’em are jail bait.”
“Whatever.”
The crowd suddenly parted and Lilly cut through it, her eyes sparkling as she strolled a path through the guests.
“So you guys want to dance?” Lilly asked, grabbing both our hands and bouncing with energy.
“Um, not just yet,” I stated, swallowing hard.
“Oh, come on Mariana!” Lilly cried. “You’re the one with the technical dance training.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s applicable here.”
I blinked at the swirling people in front of me.
“Oh, loosen up. I wanna introduce you to my friends,” she said, heading into the thick of the crowd.
“In a minute. I’m just gonna hang here for a bit and finish my drink.”
“By yourself?” Vince asked; clearly he was planning to follow Lilly.
“Yeah, it’s cool.You guys go. I’ll be here.”
“Okay, but don’t get too comfortable. We’re gonna come back and get you,” Lilly insisted.
I nodded, and she and Vince disappeared into the horde of Latino strangers.
Everyone looked so effortless in their movements. Even the way they walked was in time with the music. Just how they rested against the bar looked sultry. Their voices were breathy, their skin gleamed rather than sweated. And here I was: I didn’t drink, I couldn’t salsa, and I wasn’t the slightest bit sexy. To be surrounded by a bunch of people who shared my Puerto Rican blood, I felt very out of place, very American.
Chapter 27
I was on my second soda. At least three guys had approached me in a span of thirty minutes, offering a hand to lead me onto the dance floor. Each time, I stared at my glass and shook my head “no,” with a polite smile. Eventually they skulked away. Though part of me wanted to take them up on their offers, I just couldn’t pry myself from the bar stool I now occupied.
I tried to study the choreography of the women twirling on the floor. I knew flip-flops weren’t exactly the correct footwear for spinning, kicking and swaying, but I still thought I might be able to pick up the moves. After a decade of pirouettes, allegros and fouettés, I figured I should be able to morph enough of that training to mimic the dance of salsa. Plus, I was incredibly flexible and I had always been noted for my superior elevation, though I doubted jumps would come into play much in a scene like this.
But it wasn’t really the dancing that was causing my trepidation. It was the men.
I had thought guys from Philly were supposed to be arrogant and aggressive, but from what I’d seen of Puerto Rican guys so far, they definitely took the prize in those categories. Back home, if I caught the eye of a guy my age, he’d probably send a friend to scope me out and see if I were interested. He’d dance several feet away and slowly move in. Here, the guys approached with unwavering confidence. They whispered in my ear before even catching my name. And from what I could see on the floor, most felt free to place their hands on your butt and their mouths on your neck. I couldn’t picture myself welcoming all of that uninvited touching.
“Hey! You’re still here!” Lilly called, surfacing from the dense crowd with about a dozen guys tailing her.
She might as well have been walking in slow motion to a Celine Dion song, the devotion was so obvious. I imagined little red hearts oozing from the tips of their heads as they gazed at her, touched her and called her name for attention.
“Hey,” I muttered, tilting my head.
“Guys, this is Mariana. My cousin from the States. She’s Vince’s sister,” Lilly explained, pointing to my brother who was grinding against a busty blonde on the dance floor.
“Don’t worry. Everyone speaks English,” she whispered to me.
I flipped my wrist slightly. “Um, hi.”
“¡Ay Dios mío! Lilly, she looks just like you,” cried a guy in black pants and a tight blue shirt.
The crowd around him looked at me from head to toe.
“She could be your sister,” he added.
“Sí,” they chimed in unison, nodding.
All but one.
“Nah, I don’t think so. She’s definitely got her own look,” whispered Lilly’s escort as he came into view, his dimples flashing.
He d
elicately grabbed my hand and his straight black hair dripped onto his forehead as our eyes locked. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to the back of my hand. No one had ever kissed my hand before. I thought that gesture went out with the Victorian era, but ancient or not, it still made my stomach flutter.
“I’m Alex,” he stated with a soft Spanish accent.
“I’m Mariana.”
“I know.” He smirked, not letting go of my hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”
I smiled blankly, unable to think of anything to say.
“So, how long will you be visiting?” he asked, rupturing the silence.
“Um, uh, for another few weeks,” I stuttered, swallowing hard.
“Well, good.We’ll have to show you a good time.”
He was looking at me with such unbroken intensity that I turned away. In all of two seconds, he had made me nervous. But when I glanced back, I was happy to see his eyes still fixed on me.
“Mariana!” Lilly cried, snatching my hand from his. “I see you’ve met Alex.” She giggled. “He’s my escort for the evening, as you know. And these are some of my other friends from Utuado. I’d tell you all of their names but you’ll probably just forget them anyhow. They’re all very cool and very excited to teach you how to salsa dance.”
“What?” I gasped, my mouth swung open.
From the eager looks these guys were giving me, I feared they’d devour me whole just to impress my cousin.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun!” Lilly pushed me toward a Latino giant, at least 6 foot 4, with a shaved head and orange shirt opened at the top three buttons.
“Wanna dance?” he asked, grabbing my waist.
“Um, Lilly?” I whimpered, but she was already basking in the attention of another “friend.”
“I’m Ricky,” he stated, pulling my hips.
“Um, look, I don’t know about this . . .”
Ricky fastened an arm around my lower back and half-pushed, half-dragged me onto the dance floor. I looked back desperately and caught a glimpse of Alex staring at me. I grinned and mouthed “help” with my most pathetic expression. He burst into laughter.
Through no effort on my part, Ricky and I inserted ourselves onto the congested floor. He quickly clasped my right hand, his palm spreading a clammy film. I wanted to pull away, but before I could, he yanked me close and guided my hips with his clenched grip. I strained my neck to look up at him—he was almost a foot taller than I was—as he poorly attempted to lead. Though I had never danced salsa before, I had danced with partners. And Ricky wasn’t very good. His rhythm felt off and he couldn’t turn me and bring me back to the flow of the music. I tripped on my flip-flops as he flung me around and then stomped on my bare toe with his hard black dress shoe.
The couples around us were nudging us out of their way. They were all clearly more skilled and thus felt entitled to more dance space. I was more than happy to give it. Thankfully, the flashy, seven-piece brass band concluded its number and I smiled at Ricky, assuming our uncomfortable moment was over. It wasn’t. And the minute I heard the lead singer’s voice croon out in a soft melody, I nearly gagged on my saliva. Ricky tugged me toward him and slid his moist hands onto my lower back. He reeked of beer, and I instinctively flinched back.
“Ah, don’t be shy, chica,” he whispered, his breath assaulting my nostrils. “So, do you like it here? In Puerrrto Rrrico?” He slowly rolled his “Rs” to mimic some sort of Latin lover.
“You know, it was really nice of you to dance with me, but—”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he purred, as he thrust his hips toward mine to close the space between us.
I placed my hand on his chest to gently shove him away, but he wasn’t getting the hint. He tightened his lock on my waist, which made me struggle like a dog against a leash. I could have stopped in my tracks and refused to dance, but I didn’t want Lilly’s friends to think I was a snob. However, I didn’t want to be mauled against my will, either.
I had just about decided to storm off when a man spoke up from behind me.
“May I cut in?”
Ricky peered up and frowned at the source of the voice. He paused, then abruptly unhooked his grasp on my waist, sending me stumbling backward and smack into the stranger’s chest. I looked up awkwardly and saw Alex gazing down, his hands holding my biceps from where he caught my fall.
“Hey.” I smiled weakly.
“Hey.” He grinned back. “Wanna dance?”
I hobbled to my feet, careful not to break eye contact, and nodded.
“But—” Ricky cried, reaching out a hand.
“Later, Ricky,” Alex stated as he led me further into the pulsing crowd.
His fingers laced with mine, and this time it was my hand sweating.
Chapter 28
Countless songs later and I was still entwined with Alex. He was an excellent partner. And though I was stumbling in my flip-flops, we managed to pull off at least one clean dance. He even complimented my turns—the one skill that translated seamlessly from ballet to salsa. I’d always had excellent speed on my rotations.
“For someone who’s never done this before, you’re picking it up rather quickly,” he said, his accent simmering through.
“Thanks. I take a little ballet back home.” I didn’t want to draw attention to my experience. I kind of liked that he thought I was a natural.
“Ballet, huh? Well, that explains your figure.” His fingers lightly squeezed my waist.
Hot blood rushed to my cheeks and I quickly turned my head.
In my fifteen years, I had danced with a lot of guys—most of them wearing tights, and without the slightest hint of masculinity. But still, I had never before felt this self-conscious while dancing. Usually dance was one of the few things I could do on autopilot, which was one of the reasons my instructors complained. “You have beautiful technique, but no appreciation for the movement. Where’s the magic?” they’d drone endlessly. I had never understood what they meant. Only now, as my body moved in time with Alex, inhaling his soapy lemony scent and feeling his energy mixed with mine, I couldn’t check my emotions enough to focus on the steps. I could barely hold my frame.
I gazed at him, his dark eyes only a few inches above mine, and I became keenly aware of the tiny bit of space that separated us. I felt the pressure of his hand on my back, the way his thumb rubbed the index finger on my right hand, the way his hips lightly brushed mine when I swayed to the left. I wondered if he’d noticed too.
“You’re really pretty,” he whispered.
“Why? Because I look like Lilly?” I asked, downplaying the compliment.
“I never said that.”
“No, but you thought it.”
“So, you read minds?”
“Yup, it’s one of my special gifts.”
“Oh, really? Then you must know every guy here finds you attractive and it has nothing to do with your cousin.”
“Oh, please.” I sighed, rolling my eyes.
“Now that is American. . . .”
“What?” I huffed, slightly offended.
“It’s just, a Puerto Rican woman would never question a compliment or roll her eyes at it.”
“Oh, yeah. Well, these Puerto Rican women are just as American as I am.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m just saying—”
“You’re dodging my point.”
“Which is?”
“Which is Puerto Rican women already know how beautiful they are. But you don’t.”
I bit my lip. I never was very good at accepting compliments, especially those that couldn’t be accurately documented with hard evidence. It was easy to say thank you when an adult applauded my intelligence—I had the grades to back it up. It was entirely different to have the same reaction to flattery on my appearance, or my smile, or my figure. And when those comments came from men, I almost always assumed that they were insincere, that they “wanted” something, though I had never really b
een pressured into giving “something” up. But that’s probably because for a guy to try, I’d have to talk to him for more than five minutes outside of an academic facility.
“So, how come your English is so good?” I blurted.
“Changing the subject?” he asked, as he spun me around.
“No. It was just a question.You always this suspicious?”
“Of beautiful women, yes.”
“Oh, weak! You’re just dropping the cheesy lines now.”
Alex laughed. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop. I go to an English-language school with Lilly.”
Just then, the band’s trumpet player broke into a rousing solo and Alex twirled me in rapid succession. I looped under his arm, my hair whipping like an umbrella. After a long, loud note, the music suddenly stopped and Alex pulled me back, halting my momentum an inch from his face. My pulse spiked as I felt his breath.
“This was fun,” he whispered.
“Uh-huh.” I nodded, my mind numb.
We stood there, still embraced, only no music filled the air. I felt like one of those hokey couples who bantered back and forth on the phone, “No, you hang up first. No, you hang up first!” Neither Alex nor I wanted to be the first to break the moment.
“Well, guys! You seem to be having a good time!” yelled Lilly as she strutted up to us, put one hand on each of our shoulders, and pushed us apart. “Great night, huh?”
Alex looked away first.
“Hola, Lilly,” he said, shifting toward her.
I realized it was the polite thing to do. Lilly was standing right next to us, her hands on our shoulders, engaging us in conversation. It would have been rude to ignore her. But when Alex turned away, my heart was swallowed by the pit of my stomach. It felt like rejection.
“Hey, there,” I stated flatly, glancing at my cousin.
Several auburn locks framed her face, falling from her ponytail, and her forehead was damp as if she had been dancing hard. I looked down and for the first time realized my hair was also soaked to the tips, and my navy dress was so saturated you could see the outline of my white bra peeking through. The whole time I was dancing with Alex I must have looked like a drowning victim. I felt my ears burn.
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