“Bachata,” Eli said. “Do you dance?”
Cora shook her head vigorously. “No, not really. Maybe at a wedding after a few drinks, but nothing like that,” she said, gesturing to the crowded dance floor. Just then Maggie swooped in with drinks in hand.
“Shedances,” Cora said, pointing to Maggie. “Eli, this is my friend Maggie, and this is Eli, who works with my client Fran. He’s the one who is taking little Chanel-Nell.”
“Nice to meet you,” Eli shouted over the din, raising his glass to Maggie and bowing. She smiled and returned the toast. “So you dance? Do you want to go out...” He pointed to the dance floor.
Maggie nodded and turned to Cora. “Do you mind?”
Cora felt an involuntary clench in her stomach, but she shook her head no. “Go for it! I’ll hold your drink.” She couldn’t believe that Eli was so eager to get on the floor that he’d ask someone he’d just met to dance.I might have tried it if he pushed a little more,Cora thought.
The handsome dark-haired man who bought the drinks for them walked up as Eli led Maggie to the dance floor. He held out his hand. “I’m Juan. Would you like to dance?” He was short and muscular, with his dark hair gelled into a faux hawk.
Cora balanced both glasses in one hand and shook Juan’s hand with the other. “Sorry, no thanks. But thanks for the drinks!” She had a feeling that she was going to be giving apologetic refusals all night.
They stood at the edge of the floor and watched Maggie and Eli. Cora was curious to see how lanky loping Eli would handle her tiny friend.
The bachata looked like a simple dance; three steps forward, hip bump, then three steps back and another hip bump. Some of the dancers repeated those same movements over and over without any variation, while others added turns, gyrations, slides, and small kicks. Eli started off with just the basic steps, leading Maggie backward and forward rhythmically but without much flair. Cora could tell that Maggie was holding back, keeping her stripper-grade hip bumps subdued.
Little by little, Eli added more flash to his moves, as if he had to feel her out as a partner before he could really get to work. A double turn here, a stutter-step there, until it was clear that Maggie had met her match. By the end of the dance, they’d closed the polite gap between them, and Maggie had her hands clasped behind Eli’s head instead of typical partner position.
Cora couldn’t believe how good he looked. Sexy, even. The dance floor transformed him in a way that caught her off guard. Granted, he wasn’t as fluid as some of the other men on the floor, but for a tall goofy white guy he was peerless.
“They dance well. Are you sure you don’t want to get out there and try? I’ll be gentle!” Juan promised.
Cora thought for a moment. The music was infectious, the vibe was sultry, and for a change she didn’t want to be a wallflower. The prosecco was already having an effect on her, as she’d downed both her glass and Maggie’s, and she was about to say yes when the song ended and the lights came up.
“Ahhh, we missed our chance. Later?” Juan asked.
Cora nodded. “Sure, I’ll give it a shot. Later, though.”
Eli led Maggie off the floor, laughing and dabbing at the sweat on his temples with his sleeves.
“This little lady is quite the dancer!” he said, bowing to Maggie. She fanned herself and offered a courtly curtsy back to him.
“No,youare!” Maggie answered playfully. She turned to Cora. “C, you gotta dance with this guy.”
Cora imagined herself in Eli’s arms and felt her palms go sweaty.
Eli nodded at her. “Yup, you’re next. You’re not leaving without dancing with me,” he said.
Juan grabbed Maggie’s hand and dipped her dramatically. “The rest of your dances are mine!”
She laughed, and they walked off together hand in hand, leaving Cora and Eli alone at the edge of the dance floor. Just then the lights dimmed again, and the members of the band walked onstage and started getting their instruments ready, practicing scales on the trumpet and tapping the high hat. The crowd roared, and people rushed to the dance floor.
“We’re VIP, let’s take advantage of it,” Eli said and beckoned Cora to follow. He led her to a cordoned-off area of tables right by the edge of the dance floor and flashed his wristband at the bouncer, who moved out of the way and allowed them to pass.
“There you are, darling!” Fran jumped out of her chair and ran to Cora, plating a kiss on each cheek. Cora could smell the wine on her breath. “You lookgorgeous! Are you enjoying yourself?” She gestured to Eli. “Did this rake get you on the dance floor yet?”
“Not yet, but it sounds like I have no choice. Fran, thank you so much for inviting me, this is an amazing night.”
“It’s about to get even more amazing, because here comes Santiagoooo!” She screamed like a teenager and clapped as the guest of honor came to the stage.
Santiago Rivera, a large man with a close-cropped white beard and a long silver ponytail snaking out the back of his signature hat, walked out to thunderous applause and clasped his hands over his heart. He moved to the center of the stage, took off his hat, and bowed humbly, as if overwhelmed by the love in the room. He positioned himself behind his congas, then erupted into a staccato explosion of sound, and the band embraced his rhythms and segued into his most popular song, “Mi Ritmica Vida.”
The sound was twice as loud and three times as vibrant as the DJ’s music. Cora could feel the drums pounding in her chest, making her heart beat in time to the rhythm. She surrendered to the music and swayed in place. Looking over her shoulder to give Fran a thumbs-up, she saw that she and Eli were dancing in a small space between tables. Fran was pretty drunk, but Eli was gallantly managing to keep her upright and looking like she knew what she was doing.
Cora checked the dance floor and, sure enough, she could see Maggie in the middle of the action, sashaying around Juan like they’d been dancing together their whole lives. The floor was packed, and though the majority of the dancers were freakishly talented, a few people shuffled off beat and counted their steps as they moved. Cora refilled her glass from an unclaimed wine bottle on a table. A little more lubrication and she might be ready to join the throng in a distant dark corner of the dance floor.
