Salsa in the City

Episode one: The first dance

So... the girls needed something to do, something exciting that they hadn't done before. Emma mentioned that she had seen a leaflet advertising a salsa night every Thursday at the Copa Cubaña rum bar, and it just happened to be a Thursday. Friday was always a lax day at work and most people start their weekend on a Thursday anyway nowadays, plus, it finishes at 1: am.

They continued to talk themselves into it alongside the first few glasses of wine and the customary outfit deliberation. They arrived in a glamorous fashion and instantly demanded the floor; none of them had salsa danced previously. But with all that natural rhythm and night clubbing experience it shouldn't take long to get into the swing of it.

They were greeted on the floor by the salsa instructor, Tim, the Lord of the dance in every sense of the word. An ageing master; he was obviously well travelled, extremely experienced and confidently conversant. He oozed the machismo of a man who had been there, done it, and got the ruffled shirt. "Can you dance?" He asked the girls. "Are you going to show us?" Lauren replied provocatively. Then, like a true Casanova at work Tim stretched out his gold laden hand and looked each one of the girls in the eye. 

Suddenly they cowered, giggling like school girls that were in out of their depth, but before one of them plucked up the courage to accept Tim's intimidating offer he reached for Emma's right hand and whisked her away. 

The girls stood in awe as he casamba'd and bachata'd his way around the dance floor with Emma trying desperately hard to keep up. "You can move," he said softly in her ear during a break in the song followed by whispering some sweet nothings in Spanish and a kiss on the hand. Emma knew she was being charmed but felt helpless but to be enchanted by his smooth advances. 

Three songs later he returned a flabbergasted woman to her jaw droppingly amazed friends whom had each at some point reached into their handbags in search of an instrument with which to fan themselves. They picked up the basic steps pretty quickly and after a few tequilas they were all well and truly cutting a rug. 

As the night moved on all four girls; Emma, Lauren, Kat and Ava had grown in confidence, and it seemed, also in popularity. The offers to dance were coming thick and fast to the girls who were obviously new on the scene. The calibre of available men varied from middle aged (potentially well off) business men looking to let off some steam - to letching upstarts - with one thing on their mind. And in between those, there was a quaint selection of Latin heartthrobs, who were drawn in by the chance of a weekly experience that allowed them  to exhibit their home grown flair in all of its South American flamboyance. 

Naturally, it was these Latin heartthrobs who had caught the attention of the excitable twenty something girls who although perhaps weren’t entirely single ladies, they still liked to keep their options open. The girls observed Tim the instructor work his way around the floor like a salsa dancing spinning top. Every so often he would take one of the girls along for the ride. 

On a bathroom trip the girls reconvened to discuss the night so far… “How hot is the guy in the white shirt?” Lauren stated. “Ava, I saw you dancing with him,” she added. “I know...” she replied, as she fanned her face. “What about the guy with the long hair? Isn’t he delicious!” Kat said, “Oooh! yeah, gorgeous!” the girls said, almost in unison. “I think Tim is cute...” Emma said, quietly from the corner. “Really?” was the response from the girls, again almost in accordance. “He’s Okay, not bad.” Lauren commented. “I would!” Kat stated boldly. “We know you would!” the girls agreed, this time in harmonious agreement before bursting into laughter. 

As the night drew to a close Ava had found herself becoming quite acquainted with the 'hot guy' in the white shirt. They had danced through a number of songs and were at the bar awaiting the last orders and chatting away. He told her his name was Angelo, and that he was from Chile. He spoke in perfect broken English with a thick Chilean accent. Ava played it cool, although she was absolutely enthralled by Angelo. She told him a bit about herself and obliged to Angelo's request for her number. 

By the end of the night the girls had been woven around the floor so much by the nimble footed salsa dancing regulars that at 1:am when the music stopped and the lights came up they were all in opposite corners of the room. Lauren, Emma, and Ava found each other outside but there was no sign of Kat. They went back in to look for her but to no avail - and her mobile was going straight through to voicemail. 

As they walked onto the main road towards the taxi rank they noticed what seemed to be the silhouette of Kats head in the back of a hackney cab leaning onto the shoulder of an inconspicuous male silhouette. 

Just as the girls realised what they had seen Ava received a text message from a number that she didn’t recognise, slightly confused the girls gathered to read the text…

“My batt has gone I'm ok dnt worry c u tomorrow... Kat”

Submitted by David, The Collective

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