Salsa on Fire

By Don Ramos

It is September 2001. David Steele is thirty-eight, handsome, and a failure in his personal life. After two unsuccessful marriages and two children, he is still searching for the answer to his perpetual womanizing, with help from a therapist in Venice Beach, California. Now as he arrives in South Beach, Miami, to meet the heads of a large ballroom dancing organization and help organize an hour-long Salsa extravaganza to air on national television, David has one important goal: to be celibate for thirty days. But what he does not realize is that attaining his goal may be more challenging than he ever imagined.
On his first night in SoBe during an impromptu Mambo dance in the hotel bar, David meets Danny, a knockout who is fifteen years his juniorand married. As he weakly attempts to ward off temptation, a terrorist attack sends the nation into disarray. While David tries to focus on his work, he soon realizes that beginning a relationship with Danny is not only morally wrong, but incredibly dangerous.
Salsa on Fire is the story of lust, intrigue, and murder as a Salsa dancer makes the unsettling discovery that there may be a price to pay for love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496952325

Don Ramos

Don Ramos is a retired world-class weightlifter, former Olympic coach, and ballroom dance teacher who once performed a notorious side-by-side mambo with Bobbie Madieras and taught Pearl S. Buck, the famous author and Nobel Prize recipient. Don currently resides in Colorado Springs, Colorado. This is his second book.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

David Steele finds himself in South Beach, Miami, brought there to meet the heads of World Dance, Inc., the mammoth organization of Ballroom Dancing spectaculars. World Dance is developing an hour long extravaganza on Salsa as danced throughout the world in Salsa Clubs, where you find couples and singles that are brought to the dance floors by the sensual and pulsating rhythms of the Cuban sound of Mambo/Salsa. The Show is to air on National Network Television.

David is a thirty-eight year old young man: good looking, talented, and yet struggles with philandering. After two marriages and two children: Sophia from his first wife and Coleman, a son from his second wife. He has, on the suggestion from friends, gone to a therapist, searching for the answer to his perpetual womanizing.

On his first night in SoBe, he meets Danny, a knockout of a girl, fifteen years his junior. She and her husband own and operate a dance studio in the luxurious Delano Hotel, where David is staying.

The story unfolds with a talented, colorful group of characters that take David to Bogotá, Columbia and New York City as he searches for wonderful Salsa Couples for the show—SALSA ON FIRE.

This is a story of lust, seduction, intrigue, murder and survival. A story so compelling, once immersed, you are unable to put the book aside.

1

SCREECH!! UGH! I had been thrown forward so forcefully, I almost hit my head on the back of the seat in front of me. The engines had reversed the force, slowing the plane down as quickly as possible. Startled, I realized we had touched down at Miami International. It had been a long flight from Los Angeles, but it went quickly; however, my mind was on my morning session with my therapist—I’d been going to him for almost two years—Doctor Miller.

Give it a break, David. Jesus, you must bring this whole problem to an end already. I love you like a son, but two years?—we have gotten nowhere? I can’t do it for you. You have to make up your mind, this is it, for at least the next thirty days.

I have been a perpetual womanizer all of my adult life—probably from the first realization that girls were different. I’ve been married twice and had a child with each one. Both marriages came to an end by my finding another lady I needed to be with. Yes. Needed and stupid!!

I live in Venice Beach, the home of beautiful ladies, of course! The ladies have always been easy for me. And I took advantage of it. I have something that most men would love to have—women coming on to me!

Enough of my problem. I was coming to Miami on a very important trip—a meeting with my future at stake. I collected my bag and went straight to the Delano Hotel on Miami Beach. I checked in and headed to the News Café, which was the hot-spot eatery on the strip. Hot pastrami on rye and a Guinness was perfect for an early dinner. I loved sitting out in front, in the courtyard, of the restaurant. From the Atlantic, you can always count on an ocean breeze that is so refreshing. There are countless, fascinating people−−beautiful young ladies, models and ladies-of-the-night, always walking along the sidewalk. This eight block street is the perfect place to people watch.

I decided to stroll the Boulevard for a while. It was a lovely evening and before going back to the Delano, a scenic walk would help digest my meal. Besides, there were always charming, stunning ladies to see and perhaps meet. I then remembered, I’m not going to lead that sort of life in the future. My Doc’s goal—thirty days. Two marriages and two children were enough. The walk was mesmerizing though. Could I ever stop with this perpetual desire to—whatever I needed so desperately? Doc Miller said it was a need to be loved. But Jesus, by every girl I meet?

It was now almost nine-thirty. I had been walking the Boulevard for an hour; it truly was going back to the future, architecturally. That’s what I’m trying to avoid in my future, my licentious past. What can I tell you: I love beautiful ladies.

After my casual stroll, both south and then back up north, I walked into the Delano Hotel from Collins Avenue. I stopped for a moment, listening to the hot, Cuban music. Damn, I love Miami—and the Delano! The D, as I liked to call it, was highly recommended as an extraordinary hotel, and it certainly was. The moment I walked through the 25 foot high, front opening, I was enveloped in a womb of giant, white drapes that hang from an equally high 25 foot ceiling. They gracefully billow with the soft breeze from the ocean, through the hotel. It is startling and beautiful; it is quite different from any hotel in the world. It reminded me of something you might see in Greece.

The Delano had a night club off their large lobby, towards the back, on the right. Lovely Latin music caught my attention. I walked over and stood at the entrance, listening to the driving sounds of Salsa. Nice set up: a conjunto of eight musicians on the bandstand on the left. They looked as if they might be Cuban. The music was decidedly representative of the island. Around the dance floor—which was small but adequate—I saw fifteen cocktail tables, and on a higher level behind, there was an additional twenty or so.

The place was jumping! Everyone was dancing and obviously enjoying themselves. I noticed that most were quite accomplished Salsa dancers. There was an unusual variety of ages, from the twenties up to maybe even seventies—all dress out for a wonderful evening of dancing. Contrary to the disco scene of the last thirty years, Latin dancing was immensely popular with all ages. With the hot beat of the Salsa, it was hard not to be energized with the rhythms.

I decided to get up to my room, brush my teeth and come right back down. I was here for ten days on a business trip, looking into whether I should stay in LA or move to New York City, which I had been considering. The job in NY was a good one and one I would love to take; however, LA was where my heart is: the beaches, the weather, always alluring. I ran up to my room and freshened up.

I hurried and was down to the club in just a few minutes. I entered the room and found an empty table just to the left of the entrance. Before I got settled, the cocktail waitress asked if I would like a drink.

Sure, bring me a double Black Jack, rocks, water-back.

What’s your name? Are you staying here in the Hotel?

I am thank you. My name is David Steele; I’m in room 304. Is this wonderful Latin music a weekly activity here in the Hotel, or do you have it nightly?

It’s only on Mondays, and it is fun to watch the couples that have learned some of the dances. Some are quite good and then there are others… Grant—the fellow standing on the stage—holds a dance contest each Monday. The winning couple wins a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne. She smiles sweetly and turning on her heel, she’s off to fetch my drink. I follow her for a moment with my eyes. Cute!

The band is typically Cuban: a piano, standup bass, guitar, conga drums, timbales, violin, trumpet and sax. The violin is wonderful, as always—very Cuban! The Conga player is a fetching young girl, perhaps twenty at the most. She is terrific, probably Cuban as well, very island looking and beautiful.

The waitress was back in a minute. She was blond, maybe twenty-two or so. She had a great figure, which was a benefit to her outfit. She looked as if she had a copy of the Playboy Bunnies costume, without the fuzzy tail. Her small waist and her beautiful long legs were superb, and the ultra-high thigh cut outfit drew attention to her impressive bust and shoulders. Her shoulders were bare and beautiful. She looked as if she should be in the Playboy magazine. I saw she was wearing a wedding ring. Some lucky guy!

During my distraction with the waitress an older couple was dancing a Meringue alone of the floor. They were not bad, showing a variety of steps.

A middle age fellow took the mike—probably Grant—and says, How about Mort and Sally? There is applause. Now, who will be next? I know that following Mort and his wife is difficult, but let’s have some fun tonight.

So this is the dance contest, I mused.

The man on the mike said, There is a young lady sitting in the middle of the back tables with a sophisticated man; she looks like she would love to dance.

Her anxious eyes are on the M.C. and as he looks toward her, her father or date gestures with his hand over her head, in a way saying she would love to dance.

I think we have another couple in the back there. How about it? There’s applause.

He walks back to the couple and I hear the man saying, I can’t dance a lick, but my girl is terrific and would love to dance with you, if she could?

Grant smiles and sees she is very excited about that possibility. She stands in unbridled eagerness. She is dressed a bit scantly, but she is very attractive: long dark hair, off the shoulder, ice blue cocktail dress, white sling back, very high heels; she looks hot. Grant puts out his hand and as she takes it, it’s quite obvious she has had maybe a bit too much to drink. However, she is up and rapidly walking into the middle of the dance floor, pulling Grant along by his hand. He has a big smile on his face and handles the situation quite well.

Grant asks her, what her name is and what she would like to dance. Maybe a little Cha Cha, she blurts out. I like the Cha Cha. Oh. My name is Lauren.

Grant turns to the band, asks them to play a little Cha Cha and the two of them begin to do a basic move, and then as the music seems to ignite her, she goes quite wild, dancing alone, struggling in her high, high heels. Grant mimics her as she moves. Its hilarious—she is having a hard time standing up, yet enjoying it so greatly, everyone is encouraging her gyrations. Grant is quite capable, making sure she doesn’t fall; they get through maybe a minute on the floor. He returns her to the table as her standing friend, clapping enthusiastically, gets her chair for her.

Grant hops up onto the stage and again is on the mike saying, How about that, ladies and gentleman. For minute I thought Lauren was actually Charo. Some laughed and some didn’t understand who Charo was. He smiles and waves at the lady in the back. Now he is looking for another couple to dance.

Grant is perhaps forty years old. He is good looking: dark, wavy hair, a bit too long, an angular face, but perhaps just a little too good looking—almost on the effeminate side. His dark eyes seem to continually dart left and right in a way that makes you feel he is quite anxious about something. However, even with his stature: six feet tall or so and very slender; he cuts a striking figure in his dark blue suit, red tie and patent leather shoes.

A couple on the other side of the room starts getting up and he introduces them as Annie and Charlie Stanley, from New York City.

What are you dancing tonight? Oh, I remember, you’re doing a nice little Mambo. Let’s hear it for Mr. and Mrs. Stanley’s mambo.

At that moment I saw Grant look briefly over at me. Wonder what that was all about?

The band begins a nice easy mambo. As I watch them dance, I was thinking, I’d love to be dancing as well. The Stanley’s are having a good time and are quite skilled. They’re dressed appropriately, in casual and yet smart clothing. They’re doing a great job with the Mambo; they should win the Dom as far as I was concerned. Of course I hadn’t seen all of the couples, but they were very good.

How strange, thinking that few people know that the Salsa is nothing more than Mambo that has evolved with many cute and complex, even complicated, arm turns. Another slight difference; many do the break on the one beat, which is frustrating to me, being of the old original Cuban school, always breaking on two—on clave

Grant lets everyone do some general dancing for a set, and then after about twenty minutes, the dance contest begins again.

Another three couples danced, one doing the Meringue, one dancing a Salsa and the third was truly wonderful to watch.

The man was tall, thin, maybe fifty or so, dressed quite business like, in a dark blue suit, red and blue stripped tie, and black tasseled Italian loafers. He was dancing with one of the instructors: a beautiful young girl; she had such wonderful, natural Latin movement and motion; she really stole the show. I had been in the dance industry for many, many years and had never seen anyone quite like this girl. She was not only beautiful, but had an air that exuded bearing, confidence and chutzpa. At one point in their dance, while dancing solo, in shine (not touching her partner), as we call it in the dance business, she had a little yipping sound that she made as she hit different movements. She danced with such wild abandon—she was simply magnificent.

They were obviously the winners; although, it was that girl that made the dance. I hadn’t watched him much, but he was good as well; however, she was extraordinary. It was evident that many of the couples come on a regular basis and must be taking lesson from the Hotel’s Dance Studio. Latin dancing was wonderfully participated in by all ages. It was especially popular with Jewish couples: they took Salsa lessons at home, in the Catskill Mountain Resort area in New York years ago, as well as here at the Beach.

Grant now was looking around the room, searching for another couple to dance. He had noticed how I was enjoying the dancing, and how excited I had been with the last couple—maybe I might be interested in being in the contest. What is it about this guy that bothers me? He is fucking arrogant! That’s it.

I had been dancing for many years and was quite accomplished, especially in the Latin dances: dancing was in fact, my business, my life.

He, looking over at me, says, I think we have a man here that loves dancing and maybe if we can get him up; he will be our last contestant. Sir? You look like you like to dance. Am I right?

Not about to dance, I’m shaking my head no, telling him, not tonight. Grant gets off the bandstand and walks towards my table. I put up my hand, palm forward in front of him, gesturing no, not interested. He inexplicably takes my hand in his and pulls me gently up from my chair and says, What do you think ladies and gentleman? Let’s get him to dance. He turns to the crowd clapping and everyone claps as well.

Chagrined, shrugging my shoulders, well why not. I nod in agreement, looking over at that wonderful girl that had just danced.

What would you like to dance?

I smiled and looked at the lovely girl, I’ll do a little Mambo … with that girl over there.

Grant asks, What’s your name?

Name is Steele: David Steele.

Let’s hear it for David and Danny dancing the Mambo.

Danny had seen David come in and sit down. She liked that confident way he looked. He was almost six feet tall, good looking, with dark wavy hair, a little on the longish side. He had clear brown eyes and a happy smile, showing his perfect white teeth. He is dressed in a beautiful pair of brown slacks, nice white Polo and he had on dark brown loafers. Danny liked his lean look; however … now she has to dance with him.

She walks up, not at all excited about dancing with me, I could tell. She says, Wouldn’t you really rather dance some disco: the monkey, the jerk? Why the Mambo?

I like the Mambo! I smile at her: she’s gorgeous up close. My heart jumps a beat.

She looks up at me, quite perturbed and asks, Do you break on the two beat? a bit of a smirk on her face.

Sure, I break on two. I look at the band and gesture, telling them to start playing.

Danny is dressed in a crisp, black, short, a touch above her knees, cocktail dress, slightly off her shoulders, that’s split just a bit up the outside of her right thigh; her waist cinched tight with a wide silver belt, emphasizing her very small waist and wonderful, long, long legs; her feet are in ankle wrapped, sling black high-heels. She’s drop dead, gorgeous!

The band plays a nice easy Mambo with a strong clave beat. I move Danny around the floor, getting used to her movement and step possibilities. She feels wonderful in my hands and her lovely little body picks up the slightest lead I give her. She’s beginning to smile; I see she is enjoying the dance as much as I am.

Hey, you’re pretty good! She’s suddenly happy—eyes locked on mine.

Her underarm turns were so stylish and her spins were beautiful. Danny is a wonderful Latin dancer: strangely, it felt like we had danced for years together. She is a knock-out Mambo dancer! I’m very attracted to her! I muse. Who wouldn’t be?

Dancing is always emotional to me: I was lost in the rhythms; feeling as if the music was driving, pulsing through me; the music made me dance. The movement was almost involuntarily; with Danny, all was amazingly natural.

I felt like getting into more advanced moves and with my right hand, behind her back, I gesture for the band to pick up the tempo. They do and we dance a brilliant and wild Mambo. I was amazed that we were dancing as well as … I had ever danced with anyone. We were perfectly matched in our feeling for the rhythm—both dancing firmly on the clave beat—interpreting the music. I did a few solo tricks and she did as well, with her little yelping, smiling at me, coquettishly. She was very impressed with me as well; I could tell.

We continue for much too long, I felt; however, our dancing was so enjoyable, I wanted it to go on forever. We both were beginning to get winded. She had perspiration forming on her brow. I felt it on the middle of my back.

As we danced, we were lost in the music; our feelings of each other, touching, caressing the other with our hands. This dance was beyond what anyone in the room could imagine what dancing could be. It was more than I had ever imagined, as well.

The band finished: Danny and I walked off, smiling, enjoying the huge applause. I walked back toward to my table, holding her left hand in my left, my right hand on her waist.

I pulled out the chair for her to sit and she quickly says, shaking her head, "I can’t sit with you. Grant is my husband, and he is insanely jealous. I loved dancing with you! She smiled nervously! I’m sorry."

We were both perspiring, hot from our dance. I looked at her quizzically saying, It was you that made us so fabulous out there! You should enjoy some of the Champaign with me, if we win. Come on. Have at least one little bit with me.

She looked over at Grant. He again took the microphone, saying, "Well, I think we have a winner here. It’s David’s night and he did a great Mambo for us." Everyone was standing, applauding wildly. I saw—what I felt was—an angry expression from him. Not just angry: He was incensed; it was obvious.

Danny, looking at him, shrugged her shoulders and sits down. The cocktail waitress came over with two champagne flutes and the chilled bottle of Dom Perignon in a silver tub of shaved ice. She quickly opened the bottle, pouring into both flutes.

I could see that Danny was not sure what to do. Her eyes, gorgeous dark eyes, were quickly flicking right and left, as if she was frightened, knowing she should not be sitting with me. Grant walked off; his eye locked on us, and walks out of the room, obviously not happy.

Danny then seemed to relax. She looked at me and asked, David, are you from the Islands.

The Islands? What Islands? I didn’t know what she was talking about. She had a bit of a New York accent that was cute.

She was so very pretty; delicate in a way. Her thick, very dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Her eyes, dark, furtive and fixed on mine—I was suddenly stunned, my breathing coming quickly, my heart pounding in my chest.

She responded, You know … like Cuba or Puerto Rico?

I laughed, No, I’m actually from out west. I just love dancing the Latin dances.

Her gaze meets mine; her eyes remain fixed on mine. "Well, you’re fabulous! God, that was so much fun and to think that I had suggested that we dance something else. She anxiously looked around a moment, and said, I really shouldn’t sit here with you. Thank you for the drink and the dance; however, if Grant sees me sitting here for very long, I won’t have a happy week; I can tell you that. She paused, looked at the band and then turning towards me, What are you doing tomorrow morning, at … let’s say, nine-thirty."

Why? Why I’m really not doing anything; Might be lying at the pool, getting some sun.

If you come by the studio at … nine-thirty, we could dance a little. I just remembered Grant won’t be in; he is teaching a class in another hotel on the other side of town. Come by—it would be fun!

"Sure, I’ll be there. Downstairs?"

Danny nods yes, jumped up and walked quickly away from my table, leaving me the entire bottle to finish. She went over to Mr. Stanley, her favorite student. As she approaches, Charlie stands and pulls a chair for her.

Charlie, I just came to dance with you.

Charlie turns to his wife who smiles and says, Of course darling. It will be fun watching you two.

The band is playing a smooth Cha Cha, which Charlie loves. He and Annie have been working on some cute Cha Cha moves with Danny. As they dance, Charlie says, My god Danny, that man you just danced with … he is amazing.

Charlie, I have never danced so comfortably with anyone, especially the first time dancing with them. He is truly an authentic dancer. I actually thought he may be from Cuba or Puerto Rico.

As they danced, Danny was thinking, how much fun it will be to dance with David and try to understand what makes his dancing so different, so authentic. She suddenly realized she was thinking about David in another way, a way she shouldn’t be imagining. Grant is the only man I’ve been intimate with. Why am I thinking of David. Mom and Dad would be very hurt if they knew what just went through my mind.

Well, I did my best with the Dom Perignon. I enjoyed watching Danny dance and after maybe thirty minutes of watching and listening to the wonderful Latin music, drinking in earnest, I retired to my room. Thirty days of abstinence! Now I meet the hottest girl I’ve very seen. Truly a challenge: this will be a good start for my Doc Miller … well, really for me.

My room was quite nice: king bed with lovely coverings, numerous pillows, which seemed to be the thing at the high-end hotels, a comfortable sitting chair, small table and two table chairs. There were two wonderful chests for clothing and a closet hung with fine, broad, wooden hangers. I had wall-to-wall, floor to ceiling, windows that had a spectacular view the entire beach area—the Atlantic Ocean behind the hotel—as well as the fabulously long, rectangular pool.

I pulled the curtains together, undressed and laid down watching the Tonight Show on the large TV. Jay Leno was not Johnny Carson, but he was a good replacement. I remember watching Johnny Carson with my parents when I was really little. They thought he was the best. Leno’s guests tonight: Dennis Miller, and a new country singer; I hadn’t gotten her name. I wasn’t a great fan of County.

Distracted, thinking about how much fun it was dancing with Danny, my mind wandered. She is wonderful, breathtaking in a way. Black hair pulled back into a ponytail, beautiful slender body, not weighing more than a hundred and ten pounds, at about five-seven or more and legs—god, her legs were gorgeous. Unfortunately, she’s married!

Why do I immediately think of every lovely lady as a sex partner? It’s been the affliction and disaster of my life. I’ve decided to break this habit, the habit of womanizing. It’s caused so many problems for me—from the time I was sixteen years old to the present, for all the women of my life, as well, in the past. No more! Not now! Not ever!

Oh well—tomorrow will be fun. It’s a nice way to get my week started. I called for a wake-up at eight, turned off the TV, closed my eyes and began to drift off to sleep, my mind on Danny.

David. Can’t you see where your mind is going? Just stop it!! My alter ego had been talking to me for a few weeks, all from the suggestion of my therapist.

2

I was in Miami to discuss a job in New York City with the directors of the largest Ballroom Dance Organization in the country. They are the producers of the TV show, Dancing World; now they were looking for talent for a huge dance extravaganza in less than three months that would be televised nationwide. I was to be in charge of the program: choreography, and talent—the Director. It was a great opportunity, paying much more than I had ever made. I had been a dancer, choreographer and dance studio owner for a number of years from the time I was nineteen until now, at thirty-eight.

Dancing was again becoming very popular because of the Salsa craze. The Dance World Organization, the DWO, thought that dancing would be very hot on TV in a few years and wanted to get a head start on others. I was to meet with the President of Dance World in a couple of days and was looking forward to the meeting. The only concern I had: leaving the West Coast and the sun. Once you’re a Californian, you’re always a Californian.

I had been someone that attracted attention, being well built and a face that had appeared in a few magazines when I was modeling. I had been married a couple of times and was again looking. Girls are my nemesis! How many times have I thought, I’m not going there again. No more ladies to fuck up my life. Be celibate for a while; See women for who they are and not just beautiful receptacles for my needs: emotional as well as sexual.

Was it purely the need for sex, or could it be from a greater need? However, I loved comely ladies; although, I hated the great attraction that I had for them—the constant yearning for their company—desiring their admiration and attention

The phone rang, startling me. I picked it up to hear the operator say, Good morning, Mr. Steele. It’s eight o’clock and the temperature is sixty-three degrees on a beautiful, cloudless morning in Miami Beach.

I suddenly thought of Danny and meeting her this morning for a dance or two. I jumped up and started coffee with the in-room coffee maker. It wasn’t great coffee, but it was coffee, and I always liked coffee when I first got up. I showered, shaved and dressed in brown Brioni casual slacks, white Polo that fit my slender, muscular body perfectly and tan Bally loafers, good for dancing—no socks.

Before showering, I had picked up the phone and ordered breakfast from Room Service. Now dressed and waiting, I turned on the TV, sat back watching CNBC, wondering how the Stock Market would open. The Room Service was very quick; delivered at about eight thirty. The girl sat the tray on the small table and took off the metal cover that was on the plate. She stepped back and asked if I wanted anything else. Smiling, I signed the ticket and she left. It smelled good. I was ravenous.

I dug into the sumptuous comestibles. I had already opened the drapes just a little; the sun reflecting off of the ocean had been just too bright.

My attention returned to the TV and watching David Faber tell how he thought the Market would open; the attention was suddenly diverted by the announcement that a small plane had flown into the side of one of the World Trade Center Towers. The TV camera was on the Tower, showing a smallish black hole in its side; the shots were coming from a helicopter. Smoke was billowing from the tower and the talking heads on TV were trying to explain what had happened. There was speculation that it had been a private jet. I continued eating, watching and listening. It was unbelievable.

Having been a pilot myself, I just couldn’t conceive of how such an accident could have happened. It was highly improbable that it would have been an accident. What, someone was not paying attention and flew into a building. Not likely!

I continued eating as they talked of the many possible things that may have happened to cause such a calamity.

As I watched, I noticed they were no longer speaking of it being an accident, and were now looking at it being possibly an attack of some type. David Faber was saying, There are thousands of people in these towers, maybe as many as fifty thousand As he was speaking, out of the right side of the TV screen, another plane came into view and slammed into the side of the other tower, exploding, as it burst through the other side of the building." Did I see an American Airline plane?

I sat in disbelief, mouth hanging open, watching as smoke was rising as both towers burned. Jesus. What in the hell is happening? This was undoubtedly an attack on our Country! It was very emotional for me; tears came into my eyes. I sat trembling. I was shocked! God, I was horrified!

Looking at my watch, I saw it was now after nine. I was supposed to meet Danny at nine-thirty. Continuing with my interest in the coverage of New York, eating became more difficult. My distress was now making it difficult to finish my breakfast with this lump in my throat.

This was America! How could something like this happen here, in the bright sunshine, on a lovely Tuesday morning? New York is the greatest city of the world. Distraught, I sat there looking out at the ocean; the same ocean that bordered New York City.

Pushing my breakfast away, wondering if I should bother going down to meet Danny−−I then realizing how much I did want to see her: To see her, not to dance with her. Interesting how my mind works. I put it out of my mind as best I could for the moment. This New York disaster? Nothing could be done about it—Danny became paramount. I jumped up, went into the bathroom, put a comb to my hair, brushed my teeth and took a general look at myself−−maybe my hair is getting too long−−smiling and thinking; Danny, here I come.

Like magic, the elevator was waiting for me; someone was already waiting for the door to close; we both rode downstairs to the Arcade.

The Studio must have taken a small retail space in the Arcade which had numerous high-end retail stores. There was Sak’s, Tiffany’s, a Brioni Men’s store and others that looked very expensive. The coffee shop, across from the Studio, was comfortable looking. I considered eating there would be convenient for me while in the Hotel.

I noticed Danny was dancing alone in the Studio. I stood watching her for a moment or two. She was dancing a slow Mambo. I couldn’t hear the music, but it was obvious from her movements and timing. My mind immediately went back to last night, and how wonderful it was dancing with her. God she does have a beautiful body. Stop thinking that way! I admonished myself.

The front of the Studio had floor to ceiling glass for the entire length of the space. It probably was designed as retail space originally. It was obviously quite small, with maybe only a dancing area of about, 15 by 15 feet, quite adequate for a Hotel Studio.

She looked wonderful as she danced in her private cocoon of thoughts and dreams. Could she be thinking of me? There I go again. I walked over and into the Studio, watching her. She continued dancing to a Tito Puente mambo. I don’t think she noticed me coming in.

3

Danny was in the Studio early, dancing to her Mambo music and wishing Davie would show up a little early. She had thought of dance moves and steps that she could show him. She was excited and had dressed up real cute, a casual white top and her grey short-shorts, a requirement with Grant. He said it would attract men to the studio. In her four inch heels, her legs looking beautiful; she knew it would.

She observed herself in the large mirrors as she danced and turned—she was thrilled with the expectation of dancing with that man again−−in place and did little sexy moves, hips smoothly moving with such authentic Latin feeling. She did a little step that she loved. As she came to a stop from a turn, she would have her knees turned out slightly, feet about fifteen inches apart; then she did a ripple from her legs upward, popping at the top. She knew it was quite sexy, but she also knew it was fun and cute as well. At the pop, she gave a little yelp.

I stood quietly watching her every move. At first she didn’t notice me; she was so wrapped up in her own dancing moves and her thoughts. I stood, admiring her, and wishing she wasn’t married. This is my perfect mate, I was thinking. Well, aren’t they all?

Danny noticed David standing, watching her. She didn’t acknowledge her awareness, continuing her dancing—perhaps putting on a little show for him.

I questioned myself: was this just another physical female attraction? She may be a complete dummy or terribly unfit personally; however, she is beautiful. David. Don’t forget, she is married. I’m getting tired of my subconscious reminding me, continually.

She suddenly acknowledged my reflection through the mirror, standing there admiring her moves. She turned, continuing to dance, not missing a beat, and said, Come here and dance with me Mr. David. I’ve been dancing with you in my mind for the last ten minutes or so.

I walked up to her and without making a miss in her timing, took her into my hands and continued with the mambo, breaking with her on the two beat. We immediately enjoyed the dancing. God, I love dancing with her. The music was just right: perfect for sexy moves and steps. Suddenly we were in another world: we danced and swayed together, turning, twisting, doing underarm turns, spins and swivels; we looked and felt like we were born to dance together.

David. How many times have you said that to yourself?

As we waited for the next recording, breathlessly, we stood, not speaking, just looking at each other. I was thinking: could she be as interested in me as I am in her? Our eyes were locked on each other’s; each with a bit of a wry smile. We both were taken aback with our great matching feelings, abilities, and expression for the music; it was something unique, not often found.

Another recording began. I ask her, Are you aware of the disaster in New York?

Disaster? What disaster? she asked as she came into my arms.

I just blurted out, God Danny, there has been an unbelievable tragedy in the City of New York: two huge airliners flew into the sides of both World Trade Towers. If you had a TV, you’d see—there is nothing else on the air.

She looked startled, as she could see tears in my eyes. Oh my god! Davie! She then asked, sympathetically, Do you still want to dance? This is unbelievable!

Why don’t we go to the restaurant, have a coffee, and watch the tube. It’s on every channel.

She nodded and led me out of the Studio space and we walking to the restaurant. Finding a table in the center−−one that was right in front of a television−−where we settled down and ordered coffee. Danny sat shocked at what had happened. They repeated the coverage from the very beginning, with the shots from the helicopter. At this point one of the towers had crumbled to the ground. Billowing clouds of dust, or something was obscuring the view of the second tower.

Danny turned to me and said, Davie. My god! This is my town. I was born there. I lived in Brooklyn. I’ve been a student at NYU for years and will graduate soon. Suddenly she began to cry. She looked around the room, embarrassed and saw most others were crying as well. The room was still, everyone sitting dumbfounded, unable to comprehend the horrific, inexplicable tragedy in New York.

I reached over and took her hand into mine. My gaze caught hers. She was distraught—shell-shocked in a sense. She picked up her free hand and put it over her face as she shook her head in disbelief.

We must have sat for fifteen minutes, unable to talk. We had finished our coffee.

David, can we go back to the Studio and have a dance or two? I need to dance for a moment. Dancing is so cathartic for me. I need to dance. Please?

I stood and called the waitress over to pay. She just shook her head, saying, It’s not necessary today. Danny, take care baby. She smiled weakly at her.

I’ve been coming in here for a long time. She’s sweet.

When we got to the dance floor she put on a smooth, slow Mambo. She turned to me, eye brows raised, questioning in a way−−do I want to dance.

Sure, let’s dance a little. We can’t do anything about it and you have limited time.

We again began to dance the slow mambo that played, more like a Son Montuno. We moved to the sensuous music. However, all I could think about was what I had seen on television.

Danny smiled, feeling that this was what dancing should always be: two people moving as one, with the music; a physical and emotional conversation together, without words; just a feeling of two bodies expressing themselves, lost in the pulsing rhythms of the music. She had relaxed and had a sweet smile on her—oh God, her beautiful face.

We danced for over twenty minutes trying different steps and turns. It was fun for both of us—it was obvious we’re becoming attracted to each other. My sex was signaling to me—probably to both of us.

Without notice, Grant walks in and stands watching. We didn’t see him for a few bars of music. Suddenly Danny stops; she steps away from me and says, Grant, you’re back already? What happened with the class you were going to teach this morning?

Grant didn’t speak: he stood perfectly still, gaping, glaring at us, then walked to their small office saying loudly, Danny, finish what you are doing and come in here.

Danny stood sickened and completely bewildered, not knowing what to say. Quietly she asks, Davie, are you here in the hotel? I nod yes. I’ll try to call you later this afternoon. I’m sorry this happened. I was enjoying it so, so very much. But like I told you, Grant is very difficult. She turned saying, Bye. I’ll call later. David Steele, right? She quickly walked away and I left the little Studio. Her husband is a bit of a jerk. Well, who wouldn’t be protective with a wife that’s so beautiful?

Danny walks into the office. Grant was sitting behind his desk. He gets up and slams the door shut. "Goddammit Danny! I leave here for a few minutes and when I come back you’re in the arms of some fucking guy. What, you like this one more than the others? It looks like that, the way you were dancing with him. Couldn’t get any closer and that music; what were you doing, teasing him? Oh, I know how to get laid on the dance floor!" Grant was exasperated, as well as infuriated. He often wondered why he married.

Grant. He was having breakfast at the Coffee Shop and as he walked by he saw me practicing and came in. Nothing more.

Su-u-re, Grant says, with an angry smirk on his face, "I’m sure he just happened to come in, and there you were, in early for some reason; what are you supposed to do? You have to say hi and dance with him. Right? You fucking cunt!!

Danny slaps him with such impact it hurt her elbow, as well as her hand. She immediately was sorry. Grant had fallen against the wall, stunned, a welt coming to the left side of his face.

I’m so sorry baby, Danny immediately said, her chin trembling, tears welling up in her eyes, her hands clenched at her sides. "That was the first time you have ever used that disgusting word for me."

Grant walked around and sat behind his desk. He was moving his jaw left and right. It feels like you have broken my jaw. I’m sorry I used the word. This guy has just gotten to me. He is so fucking arrogant: he thinks he is such a great dancer.

Grant. He is a great dancer, and I have enjoyed dancing with him; but, give me a break, I’m just dancing with him.

Grant had tears in his eyes. That was some slap. Jesus!

Danny thought: Yea, maybe she was dancing a little close, and yes, the music was a bit romantic; but, that was it, nothing more. That’s Latin dancing! She then thought about how she felt while dancing with David. This time something was different.

Grant, you just have to get over it. He came by after coming out of the restaurant and saw me in here dancing; he stopped and asked if he could have another dance with me; just like I said.

Grant gets up and steps out of his office. One of their teachers who had just come in bumps into him. Grant says, You’re in early, Terry, as well. What are you doing, meeting someone from last night too? The teacher sees the redness of his cheek.

What’s your problem, baby. He puts his arms around him, and Grant pushes him away.

Grant whispers, with a flip of his head to the left, Leave me alone Terry; don’t put your arms around me. Jesus. Danny’s in the office, right there.

Sorry sweetheart, Terry whispers. I guess I forgot—you’re now Mr. Macho. Terry steps back and puts on a bit of a girlish posture, hands on his hips. What happened to your face, baby? Grant ignored him.

Terry was good looking: tall, maybe six-one, thin; he has rusty, wavy hair. He is gay and doesn’t hide it. Terry had been teaching with Grant for many years, being his main teacher until Danny came along. Terry was a great dancer, capable of doing almost any dance and was wonderful with the Latin dances, even though he didn’t have a drop of Latin blood in him.

"Grant, you obviously haven’t seen what happened in New York. There has been an unbelievable terrorist attack. Both World Trade Centers have been brought down by American Airliners flying into the sides of them. Baby, it’s incredible—they’ve burned and fallen completely to the ground; and, you know what, that Bush, our big-deal President, he was talking to a kindergarten class when he was told−−he didn’t even get up. What a loser he is!"

Danny comes out of the office and sees Terry, Hi, Terry. You’re in early. What do you have going on this morning? Did you say something about Trade Centers?

"Both of the Towers have fallen. Collapsed! They are no longer there. Just … gone! It was obvious that Terry was shaken, and was about to cry. The people on the planes all died as their planes slammed into the Towers, bursting into flames. There was a similar happening at the Pentagon; an American Airline plane flew right into the side of it, killing a whole bunch of people. We’re at war, I’m afraid. He stands shaking his head in dismay. It’s un-fucking believable!"

Danny said, shaking her head in shock. I know. I know. Let’s go in and sit in the office. This is impossible to comprehend. She’s shaking her head as they all go in and sit quietly. She sees that Terry is trembling in his frightened state. No one speaks for some time.

Grant sits defiant, enraged, but trying not to show his anger. It is driving him crazy; he always is thinking she is unfaithful to him and he knows she isn’t—or he doesn’t think she has been. This Steele character? He seems to be different. She is giving off vibes that are unfamiliar to him. He will watch her more carefully now.

Grant looks up at Terry and asks, What’s new with you and your little love.

He’s coming in. We are going to do some rehearsing for the show: the tango routine. Could you help a little, Grant? We want to finish it this week.

Yea. I’ll help if I can. I’m going to have a cup of coffee; want to come over with me?

No. He’ll be in soon and I want to get started. Thanks. Grant gets up and walks out and over to the restaurant. Terry asks Danny, What in the world is going on with Grant?

Well … She looks out through the glass wall, watching Grant going to the Coffee Shop. When he came in I was dancing with that guy from last night’s show. Remember, that Mambo guy. God Terry; he so good! He was walking by the studio this morning, stopped and walked in and we started dancing. Grant shows up and goes crazy, as always.

Terry smiles and says, I liked that guy. He is one hot number as far as I’m concerned; a little old for me, but oh so cute. Terry poses a little for Danny, making a statement with body language.

"Terry, you’re too much! You’d go for any guy that walks in. Oh, here comes Sammy. You had better straighten up a little or Sammy will be wondering what we’re talking about."

Sammy walks in. He is a nice looking young Cuban boy, maybe twenty years old and obviously very gay. He and Terry hug and Sammy says, What’s going on, sweets, he asks Danny. You look all serious this morning?

Danny was dancing with that hot guy from last night; remember the Mambo guy; Grant comes in and catches them in an embrace.

Terry, don’t say that! Danny immediately corrects him. It was just a dance we were doing, nothing more; however, I have to admit, he is a sweet guy. Terry. She suddenly stops herself, not sure if she should ask … her eyes flash over to the restaurant. I was wondering if he and I could come over and do a little dancing this evening, at your condo. Grant is going to be home working on some things and … all I want to do is dance a little with him. Grant will not have any of it here in the studio and this way I could just be visiting you guys.

The two boys glance at each other with knowing looks, wry smiles on their faces, and then Terry says, raising his shoulders, We aren’t doing anything tonight. He looks at Sammy, eyebrows raised, wondering what he thinks. I suppose you will want to use our bedroom as well?

Terry, all I want to do is dance a little with him. She immediately corrects him. You’ve got to admit he is a wonderful dancer. If we could be over there at, maybe, seven o’clock; would that be alright?

"Sure sweets. We’ll be dancing ourselves, and when you come over we’ll retire into the bedroom and do nasty things to each other, if that’s all right with you?"

You can do all the nasty things you want, she says, with a wry smile, as she walks out shaking her head. She stops, turns and says, "I hope you understand: this is very … secret. Grant can never know."

Don’t worry about it, baby. Grant will never hear from us about your little get- together. Terry and Sammy walk into the dance area, put on a CD and start dancing a Tango, dancing some very spectacular moves. They laugh and work on crazy lifts and drops, having a great time of it. Sammy does the woman’s part and is thin enough that Terry can easily lift him.

Danny walks across to the restaurant to have a cup of coffee and maybe Danish. She sees Grant and purposely sits on the other side of the huge room. She was so frustrated with the confrontation they just had. She felt she loved Grant—well at times she loved him, often wondering why she married him—but, often found his antics and jealousies were just too much for her. Did I marry too soon … to the wrong man?

Danny sat enjoying her Danish. She thought back to how they had met and how it came to this. Miami had always been a dream for her. It was, with the exception of New York, the best spot in the U.S. for Cuban music. She loved Latin dancing and had been planning that vacation on that Spring Break with her friends for years. It was only two years ago; it seemed like a lifetime.

She had only one year left of undergrad studies after that year, 1999. Then it was Law School. She had been hoping to make it into NYU Law, New York being her home, in Brooklyn. Her studies came to mind. Now what am I going to do? Maybe the University of Miami. Grant would not like that, for sure, wanting to have me here in the studio. I could teach in the evenings a little. Maybe it could work out?

Her girlfriends were not into dancing as was Danny; however, she didn’t really care. That Spring Break her friends wanted to party, which meant drinking and fooling around with guys they met here at the beach. They were all staying in a large, two bedroom condo they had gotten through an agency. It was fine for the five of them, if a little crowded; two queen beds and a roll-away in the living room. They had agreed to rotate, each taking a turn on the roll-away every five nights. It wasn’t going to be so bad.

As soon as they all had arrived, Danny had found out where the best Latin dancing was and was told, ‘It’s just down the street a few blocks, at Harry’s American Bar, in the Eden Rock Hotel.’ Her friends told her she was crazy to just run off and miss the action at the beach. They told her there would be parties and a lot of great, hot guys looking for fun. Danny knew what she wanted to do, and it wasn’t hanging out with a bunch of drunken partiers, hoping to get laid. She was the only virgin of the group, which irritated all of her girlfriends.

Her friends were always telling her, Live a little! What are you saving it for? Some of her friends had been sexually active since they were twelve or thirteen years old, and they just didn’t get Danny and her Catholic principles; however, her parents were very strict with her; she had learned to enjoy knowing she was secure in a loving home with caring parents. Yes, at times they were a little old fashioned. After a few years of staying celibate, it no longer was an issue with her. Her friends had more trouble with it than she had. In fact, she was very happy not to have gotten involved with some guy or guys. She had watched her friends go through so many relationship problems over the years. She thought, who needs that. I’ll wait until I’m married.

The first night on her Spring Break she had met Grant. She had always been crazy about dancing and spent a couple of times a week at the Palladium in Manhattan. It was in Times Square, and she’d catch the Subway from home trying to be there on Latin nights. She had known most of the great dancers like the Mambo Aces, Killer Joe Piro, and just a lot of the crazy Mambo addicts. Salsa-Mambo was the dance at that time and the music of Tito Puente, Willy Colon, and Joe Cuba drove her crazy, as it did all of the dancers at the Palladium. She was in love with dancing, all dancing, but especially Latin dancing. She was well known at the Palladium, having been dancing there since she was only fifteen years old (with a false birth certificate).

4

Danny had made her way—with great anticipation—to the Eden Rock for some dancing. It was a beautiful night in Miami. Not a cloud in the sky, just a huge, spectacularly bright, full, moon. Harry’s American Bar was downstairs and the wonderful sounds of Salsa wafted up to her as she ran down the stairs. She chose a table on the right side of the room where she could watch the band as well as the dance floor. She was thrilled, although sitting alone, but she loved it. The music was wonderful: it was swinging authentic Latin and she was desperate to dance.

She ordered a beer and as she sat listening to the hot music, she was distracted. At the huge circular bar, there was a commotion with two guysthey were yelling at each other. As she looked over; for some reason, they seemed to be pointing at her. She quickly looked away. She sat there minding her own business. Suddenly one of the guys walked around the bar, came up and said, Let’s dance. I assume you can dance, can’t you?

Of course I can dance, she answered with chagrin and started to get up. This rude guy was already walking to the floor, assuming that she would be following. She almost didn’t continue out to the floor. Rude ass! I want to dance though.

They danced a Meringue, a Mambo and then a Son. Well—his dancing wasn’t so bad. Not great, but pretty good, and she was enjoying the music. They danced a few numbers in a row and then, as the band took their break, this guy said, Let’s get out of here. I’ll buy you some dinner.

Danny’s first reaction was: What? I was enjoying the dancing; however, she was hungry. What’s your name? I’m Danny.

Grant’s my name. Hey, you’re a pretty good dancer. You’re from New York. I can tell; Brooklyn or Queens? I can tell by the accent.

"Actually, I am from Brooklyn. I’m a student at NYU right now. I’m hoping to become an attorney. I still have four years left to complete my goal, but time goes by quickly. Where are we going to eat?"

"Let’s go to Wolfe’s. It’s right down the street a few blocks. It’s a great deli and open twenty-four-seven. It’s very popular, especially with the Jews. There are a lot of Jews here in Miami, as well as those visiting. Let’s face it; it’s the Mecca for the Tribe.

Grant paid her tab, and walked out to the parking lot Danny following. Grant had a red Ford Mustang convertible. He got in, not helping Danny with her door. Before they took off he put the top down. Danny was in heaven: her first night in Miami, and in a convertible, driving in the beach area, with a very nice guy. What was his name again? Oh yea, Grant.

It was a typical Miami night: cool, moist air, and a huge full moon. This was paradise to Danny. Grant, are you from Miami? Were you born in Florida?

He looks over at her and smiles, Yea, I was born in Miami, and will always be here in Miami. I love it here. He pulled into the lot at Wolfe’s, got out and walked towards the entrance. Danny was left on her own. She got out and hurried to catch up with him almost stumbling in her high heels. He walked in; she followed having to catch the door. They took a booth on the left side. It was a huge deli, and the smells were marvelous. She immediately wanted a corn beef sandwich on rye.

What do you want, little lady? he asked as he perused the menu.

I think I’ll have a corn beef sandwich on rye and a cream soda. Is that all right with you? She was cautious, not knowing the guy very well and didn’t want to seem presumptuous.

Grant was studying the menu and then said, I’m having hot pastrami on rye and maybe a cream soda as well. I’m hungry! What do you have going on this evening? Are you occupied?

She wasn’t sure what his question was; ‘Are you occupied?’ No, I’m unoccupied. I was just there at the club tonight because I had heard the music was good. Why, what did you have in mind?

Nothing really; I just didn’t want to keep you from something that you had planned. I like you and thought we’d have a good time tonight.

Sounds good to me. I like having a good time. You love to dance don’t you? You’re good too. She assumed they would go to another club and dance the night away.

Thanks. You’re actually terrific! Where did you learn to dance like that?

"I always went to the Palladium every chance I got to dance with the great dancers there. This is obviously years ago. I was pretty young, but I had an ID. I knew the Mambo Aces and Killer Joe Piro—all of them.