“Salsa?” she asked.
“Sí. David,” I responded with a smile.
“Bianca.”
Dancing the salsa is one of my favorites. It has a lot of movement and, while it follows rules, you’re able to add your own flavor to it. Dancing it with Bianca was, without a doubt, the highlight of my trip so far. She was like a good quarterback: she made our team better—meaning me. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face as we owned the dance floor.
I was disappointed when the song ended. A photographer rushed out and took our picture. I expected that was part of the deal Paz made to get us our table tonight. Bianca then disappeared into a room behind the bandstand.
Before I could get back to my seat, the band began to play another song. Sarita lunged out of her chair and pulled me onto the floor with her. I expect she wanted to be seen with me. No longer did I have any delusions as to why we were out tonight. I figured if she wanted to be my ‘Cuban girlfriend,’ I was okay with that. But what I expected was the whole experience, not just the ‘tease and then pay me’ version.
A slow song came on, and I pulled Sarita close to me.
“Why don’t we go back to my room later tonight?” I asked.
“Oh … uh … sure. I’d like that,” she said.
She seemed to be calculating what she would have to do to keep me on the hook. I almost called it off, but Mr. Happy reminded me he was lonely.
Bianca came out and did a couple more dances during the evening. She picked different men to dance with each time. It appeared that was part of her act. Sarita and her friends seemed to make the bottle of rum disappear.
Risa and Chari must have decided that Paul wasn’t too old because they’d gotten very friendly with him. He was nervous about being my bodyguard with the advances the two girls were making. I took him aside and told him we’d just take them back to the hotel. I guess they’d each offered to sneak off for a little fun, and he remembered the last time he did that while guarding me. Fritz had not been happy.
On our way back to the table, the club owner stopped me.
“If you have a moment, Miss Cisco would like to have a word.”
He led me behind the bandstand and through the door, which led to a short hall with two more doors. I assumed they were dressing rooms for the acts. He pointed at one of the doors, then left me in the hallway and returned to whatever he’d been doing. I knocked on the door, and an older woman who looked like she might be either Bianca’s mother or aunt answered.
“Come in,” she said, and then turned to Bianca and spoke in Spanish. “
“David, come in. I wanted to thank you for volunteering to be my dance partner,” she said with a smile as I came in and sat down next to her on the couch. “I might not have given you much choice, but if I had to dance with a customer, I was glad it was you. It was fun.”
“I was happy to do it. You’re a wonderful dancer.”
“I appreciate that. I wanted to say thank you.”
“Do you do this often?” I asked.
“Sometimes. Our dance company is on a break right now, so I had some time and could use the money. That brings me to the other reason I wanted to talk to you. My country is loosening travel restrictions, and I want to go to the United States. I wondered if you had any suggestions as to whom I could talk to,” she said.
“Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone involved in dancing,” I admitted.
“I know you do movies and modeling; do you think I might get into something like that? I can’t dance forever. Even though I’m not that old, I already feel it in my knees,” she explained.
“Let me take a quick picture,” I said, getting her to stand up.
I snapped it and sent it to Adrienne with a message to call me. My phone rang.
“Are you trying to pick up some girl and using me to do it?” Adrienne said.
“Does that work? Damn! If I’d known you’d work with me on that, I’d have been using it all the time.”
“Who is this?” Adrienne asked, changing the subject to the reason I called.
“This is Bianca Cisco. She’s a famous dancer in Cuba who wants to come to the States and model. You should see how she moves on the dance floor.”
“Well, what’s your honest opinion?” Adrienne asked.
“From my perspective, she has the look, moves well, and I expect that just as she does to be a high-level dancer, she would put in the work. My only concerns are she may be too old, and she isn’t tall enough. She’s only five-six or five-seven.”
“Hey, I’m only 23,” Bianca complained.
Adrienne heard her and laughed. She made me hand Bianca the phone.
“I’m sorry. You said you are Adrienne. The only model I know named that is … Oh!” Bianca said and gave me a dirty look. “He didn’t tell me who he sent the picture to.”
“No, I don’t mind … That sounds great … I’ll tell him,” she said, and hung up and then handed me back my phone. “She wants you to take some more pictures.”
