April 2, 2006
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Last night I went out with a woman from the cancer center. She’s also single, and I see her every Tues, plus she’s taken bellydance classes so we have that in common. When I sit at her desk, if she’s over in Integrative Medicine, I read the spiritual quotes on her wall. I like the way she thinks.
This was the first time I’ve done something socially with anyone from the hospital. I was a little hesitant to go but I’m glad I did. Another woman was supposed to join us but she couldn’t make it. After dinner we went to this place they like, to hear a blues band. The second restaurant looked very posh, it was a prime rib place, and the bar had a fireplace with lots of room so the tables were spread out. I especially liked the carpet, like it should be in the lobby of a grand, old hotel.
People were making a fuss over these old men in suits, who I assumed were blues musicians. Two white ladies in expensive pantsuits — They both looked to be in their 60s – were acting like schoolgirls around these men who were holding court at the far end of the bar. A few upscale white couples, in their late 30s, sauntered in towards the end but for the most part it was neighborhood people my age, mostly white. This was the second club I had ever been to where there was any kind of ratio.
The saxophone player stepped down off the stage and slowly made his way in our direction, playing as he walked. There was an empty table next to us, and he eased down into the chair across from me, the notes getting softer. I had been sitting, facing his table so that I could see the band. We were now knee-to-knee and he proceeded to play the nastiest, baddest riff, to the point where the woman sitting behind him, on a bar stool, looked at me and started fanning herself with a look that said this guy is HOT. I closed my eyes, moving to his rhythm. Oh, my God.
The guy was black, maybe 45, could sing like he played and had eyes that — actually they freaked me out. There was something flat about them. We both had our eyes shut but when he started to move, to get up, I looked up and he looked right through me, playing low and hard. The next song my girlfriend and I went out to dance — It was all women dancing with the men sitting out — and I got right in front of him. Same eyes until he started to sing.
All those years of choreographed dance, to music of my choice, spoiled me. The few times my ex took me dancing, and it was always this dive bar at the beach, there were only a few songs I wanted to dance to. I do sort of a mix, half Middle Eastern, and I like a certain tempo. This guy played just that tempo, and the way he drove the rhythm, it was the way I wanted to move.
I’d had a couple drinks — I know I said I wasn’t – but I was very careful of my knee so nothing happened. You have no idea how excited I am to know that I can dance; that I have a friend to go with and that this place exists. It was just like the old days at the Green Onion, this Middle Eastern restaurant I used to go to every Thursday night. There would always be a bunch of dancers there to watch whoever was performing. In between the three performances, we’d get up and dance. I loved the band and I had learned most of their songs. There was a buffet with great food so a lot of nondancers would come with their dates and sometimes they’d get up and dance with us.
When I moved out my lawyer told me to quit going out late at night. The first Thursday night after the divorce I went back to the restaurant but it had closed. My cabaret teacher used to perform at this Persian restaurant, with an even better band, but unless she were there I couldn’t really go, as we were the only Americans. Actually, I think they didn’t know she was American. She moved away so that was pretty much the end of my late nights out. Dancers usually perform around midnight and it would be so fun to get dressed up and leave the house at 10:00. That had a lot to do with the dissention in my home over bellydance. My family acted like I was going to a strip club or something. If they only knew how formal that place was.
Even though I never became friends with any of the dancers I was part of the community. And that’s what that blues club felt like. I have a feeling I’ll be back.
Comments (23)
It’s just so cool when you connect with people, and weren’t expecting it.
I’d love to see you out dancing. I know what you’re talking about with the look in his eye. It’s too early for me to make sense, so I’ll just smile at you
I could feel the joy spreading through me as I read your post. I so imagined being somewhere in the room watching the whole scene. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had this little voice saying, (I know it is trite.) “way to go Prudy.” We don’t know much about each other but I do feel some kind of connection that I like to see you having fun. I love the way you write so much better when you are writing about dancing which seems to be your deepest passion. Don’t get me wrong, you are so good as a writer but, well perhaps it is me and not you, you fill the page with vivid sentences when you describe your life and when you write about things you seem to think you should do, like play with stocks, well, I know it is important to you but not as passionate. You feel to me a bit out of place there with the “Wall Street” and so at home here with the blues. Cheers dear one. Sorry to carry on so, but this post got me hooked.
I’ll have to admit that I was taken aback by your friend’s comment, Prudy. I always thought of you as one of the most well adjusted bloggers. Actually I think you were second or third for me to sub to when I found a whole happy group of adults on here! This story just goes to show that you are seizing life and returning to the joy.
How funny. I just wrote about dancing. Had we been at the same place you would have been one of the women I was watching I’m sure. I feel the music inside and it can be overwhelming. If I’m listening to the music, I don’t want anything in the way. Dancing seems like a barrier between me and the music. For you, it’s a conduit.
why would your lawyer care if you went out at night or not? *shakes head! this is a powerful scene. i wish you’d write it in third person with some of that flair for descriptive writing you have and see what happens. i bet it would start you writing again.
Oh my… loved the way you described your “tango” with the saxophonist.
(there’s a new novel for you to write right there!)
Guess i’m NEXT genration blueman—jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt
Since you hang out at the cancer center, you SHOULD check out turkey tail mushrooms (Google it)…whilst the FDA frowns upon holistic remedies, from what i’ve heard it has worked in Asia for centuries
Sensual, that’s the dance you describe. Your view is always a joy to experience for me. You’re upping your game here,music, friends, dancing, smoldering eye contact and freedom…enjoy..marilyn
Why did your lawyer tell you not to go out at night? That’s odd advice.
The piece was very sexy and sensual.
RYC: I’d be open to changing the beginning if everyone else had a problem with it, but this was the first time I’ve heard that complaint. Remember what Doah’s Deer said? That if 10 readers all complain about something different, you can ignore it. (He was quoting Stephen King.) If I had other people saying the opening was bad, I could see changing things, but a lot of people really loved the pace and the mystery of it.
I’m all confused and depressed.
Lynn
mmm… you had me fanning myself. — ryc: oh yes, it’s that sophistication intimidating me.
The rythmn was transferred like mad. Oh, so glad you are dancing again! And what a sweet thing to have happen. I hope he’s playing again when you go back. I found myself swaying back and forth a little to this. God, it makes me want to get out and get moving myself.
I loved this… and now I want to go dancing real bad too! More, more- encore, as they say. Glad your knee held up and let’s hope that continues so you can add this love, dancing, back into your life. xo
you loved this, and made me too….
Hot, Prudy. Yeah, you’re hot.
No worries about the self-image change with the haircut. I was prepared, ready, and actually looking forward to it. Longish strands in my face are much worse than bed-head. Once I get past the week or two of colleagues commenting on it, it’ll be just fine. And the hair went to Locks of Love. We have something in common there too.
Dancing will also be more fun without the fur coat : – )
Take care,
brad
I used to love live music.it sounds like you had a wonderful evening…..and nothing beats a saxaphone played softly in close range:)
i liked the vibe of this…the energy…the allusion to the flirtation via music
and why would your lawyer tell you not to stay out late? sounds whacked
Wonderful post. I think that watching people can be just as intertaining as participation myself. I felt like you had a really good time, Judi
The saxaphone man. How did his eyes change when he started to sing?
RYC—Not quite sure WHAT you’re talking about, but you might be referring to MY book.
RYC: No big wedding, just us, somewhere alone, and a trip or shall we say honeymoon!! My kind of wedding, no family, no ugly friends, or girlfriends of Dave’s son….just us…marilyn
You do such a complete job of engaging me in your narrative! Got to say though, that I didn’t much like the sax player. Those eyes looking through me would not be something I’d look to repeat! How did they change when he began to sing?
The dancing though, that sounded like something to do again, and again.
Sounds like you and the musician guy had quite a moment.
I went to hear Buddy Guy here in Chicago at his “home” club and he walked through the crowd, stopping to play for me, face-to-face, just like your guy did. I was in heaven.