This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Facebook was designed for university faculty and students to present themselves to each other online. After years of arousing excitement for every human to satisfy their ego centric need to display their personal stardom illusion, preach their personal beliefs, show off slogans or quotes found on Brainy.com, it accompanies billions of lonely souls for time they don’t know how to kill. Recently Facebook even provides the tool for people to collect donations for a cuase! It has become a creepy platform for ads, 2nd hand goods exchange or selling. Nevertheless, it stays the online promoting stage for fun social events, such as latin dance parties, dinner get togethers and we keep track of friends to whom we say hello once in a while.
Eric Gagnon created some weeks ago an event on Facebook which sermons whoever of his friends to join The Canadian International Zoukiz-Bachata Festival in Toronto.
Eric is a bachata fanatic. He is so crazy about Bachata that he suddenly returns to the state of an addicted adolescent who panics when there is no Bachata music. He takes lesson, joins nearby events and participates troupe performances whenever his time allows as a dad for 5 kids from age 6-14. The most shocking fact of his life is that he has chosen Bachata over his wife, the mother of his 5 children, who has proven herself to not have the passion for dancing! We must say THAT is something worth blaming the Bachata for.
Eric’s got a gang of friends to go together for fun and economizing costs, and they are happy to accept the invitation for a warming event in the most awkward dark month of the year in Montreal, to distract their attention away from the most unpleasant change of weather from magnificently colourful autumn to the long depressing white winter.
At 9:30 sharp Friday morning, after picking up the two dance teachers and another man from down town, Eric arrives in his dodge van at Isola’s house.
Isola-small island is a pseudonym in Italian language for her Chinese name Jing Yi which means Tranquility and pleasure. She had some other ones such as Jane from her university teachers who were Americans back in China decades ago. Isola was recently chosen by herself for her love of latin American cultures and Spanish language, which she has been learning. Obviously, small island in Spanish is Isla, yet Isola sounds better and sexier, so she invented a Spanish word and tells and uses it everywhere as a Spanish name which indeed is Italian. You can see how equally crazy and quirky she is, not giving a shit about what belongs to whom, who should do what and who belongs to where. In her mind, things are relative and she sees the essence behind the names and labels, and there is no taboo in her rich mind except the invisible borderlines of tastes, styles and arts.
In the van beside Eric, is sitting another man, Dan McMillen. He is from Sherbrooke City, an hour and half’s drive from Montreal. He carries a rather square face, wears a neat reddish black beard, a cap and camouflage jacket and pants. He is rather of a “douche” look with a thick quebecois French accent, though his family name shows off his Irish origin, at least half or half of the half. Yet, Eric and Dan are true quebeckers regardless of their names. They were born and raised in Quebec, Canada.
The man sitting beside Isola on the back seat is neither French nor English quebecker, nor Asian ni African. He is from the part of the world with never- ending troubles from historical grudges over territory, religious disputes, international interferences and screw-ups-the Middle Eastern Iran. Most importantly, he is a prestigious young man of 30 years old with 2 master’s degrees of economics and business from the admirably rich neutral Switzerland. His name is Afshin.
There are two girls in the van. Isola thought that she would be sharing a bed with the girl teacher Antoinette. Yet only now does she know that the two teachers are not staying with them. Isola is going to share a bed with one of the 3 other guys, Eric, Dan and Afshin. Since she doesn’t know the other two men at all, Eric is the choice of a no choice.
For a moment, Isola doesn’t know what to think or say. She has worked in various professions, being a university English teacher, working on Hydro dams, representing ISO companies, running to the court for an Italian mushroom business man, investing and renting cars, selling mortgages, owning and managing properties, studying funds and having studied in La Universidad de La Habana three months learning Spanish and Cuban culture. She has also been to many places for work and pleasure, and she even slept in a windowless farmer’s shed made of mud bricks for the first night when she started working for a huge Chinese Hydro Dam construction, but she has never ever shared a bed with a stranger, let alone a man!
She hasn’t known the men for too long. Except Eric who became one of her “danceaholic” friends on Facebook, everyone else is freshly met this morning. Now Isola is challenged. She loves challenges, this shameless word inventor for a language that she is just learning, this daredevil who has done everything and been everywhere, this curious “Dr. Faust” like Chinese woman, now, on the endless list of her CV, there will be a new experience to be added with a little twinkling star: Once shared a bed with a stranger man!
At least there will be queen beds to sleep on, as Eric has confirmed to Isola, which makes her feel relieved.
The targeted arriving time to Toronto is set at 5pm, so that the two teachers can have ample time to prepare for their workshop at 8pm.
It seems that the mention of the time schedule has induced some bad luck. A sudden tumble throws everyone up in the air and the van gives a sharp short “psi” sound. Eric ran into a deep pot hole!
“Oh, my God!
The rear right tire sends out “phtong, phtong” beating noise until the car is pulled over onto the shoulder.
All curse words again! What is “Câlice” and “Tabernouche”? They are not about the vulgar piss, shit and mother fuckers, they are about the holy Catholic church furnitures, the holy vessel and altar. “Taberouche” is a soft way of saying “Tabernak”, the Holy Altar.
All the men follow Eric out of the van and start busying themselves in putting on the spare tire, except the dance teacher. The van couldn’t run 120 km per hour on a toy tire for the rest 450 km to Toronto, so a new standard one is needed. It hasn’t taken so long to have the tire on and they have found a Dodge dealer for a new tire.
All this time, the dance teacher, a young man of about 28 was sleeping on his seat with his head tossed left and right on the small head-rest until he is brought to the dealer.
Just after setting out a couple of hours ago, he asked for a stop to buy a bottle of water.
“Can you get a small case of water so that we can share?” Isola asked.
He agreed, yet came back with a huge bottle of water, for himself obviously. Isola felt a bit ashamed for having bothered him, and also disappointed about not having her idea of sharing understood or taken seriously. She regretted having trusted him. She sensed that it’s only reasonable that a boyish dance teacher keep his hands clean and stay in his bubbly head to practice his choreography to entertain the admiring audience of the vanity affairs.
The van pulls over into the Dodge Dealer yard in Cornwall. The dealer yard is so big and full of all models of brand new Jeeps and vans as if it was the town itself.
If we want to do anything in Canada, we have to make an appointment. When the appointment comes, we go sit and wait, wait for hours, just like we go see our family doctors. Appointments with doctors mean that we have a whole day as a specific “a -point” ment. Driving over a pot hole losing a tire doesn’t make it a 911 emergency. It’s just a van, though with two teachers who have to show up at 8pm in Toronto. Without an appointment, they have to wait, how long, no one knows.
The dodge dealer has the tire but no rim. The drop was so hard that the old rim has been too brutally damaged to be used again. “Câlice!” Yet the personnel are so friendly, serviceable and shrewd that the gang feels very hopeful about the new tire being installed in no time.
One thing about people who abuse drugs is that they live in a no-man’s land after. They laugh and yell in high, they cry and shiver in pain, they know only themselves. This gang is a bit like drug addicts. In the 5 square meter reception area, Eric, grabs Isola and starts waggling his ass until one of the personnel said politely: “we have a very nice spacious waiting area. Would you like to go wait there?”
“Oh, oh, excusez nous! On a empêché votre travail”, Eric says to the man behind the reception counter in French, but soon realizes that he should have spoken English.
A few steps up on the opposite side of the reception is the Dodge Jeep showroom. It’s nice, spacious and clean with a few different demos diagonally displayed. On one side of the roll of Jeeps, there are the open offices with neatly dressed car sales men with suits and ties sitting behind their desks; on the other side, there is this airy wide and bright space facing outside behind tall shiny glass walls. To the right, there is a round row of chairs for waiting customers and there are 3 other people sitting and waiting for their cars to be fixed. It’s a stage just suitable for dance frenetics. The two teachers start practicing their choreography and Eric starts again to dance with Isola.
Dan has his phone on with bachata music. The volume is amplified because of the hollow space. Not everyone likes the same music and latin music is particular to the ears of many in various senses. Dan’s bachata music is loud. We can avoid seeing movements by not looking, yet we can’t avoid hearing unless you have ear plugs.
Not only the music is loud and some of them talk without restraint as well. But the personnel are quite nice and tolerate them silently. The salesmen are leaving one after another. It’s lunch time, soon the open offices are empty.
“Can you stop your music please?” a woman in her late 50s in shoulder long straight blonde hair pops up to Isola and puts her hand on Isola’s arm. Realizing that it’s Dan who has the music, her requesting eyes turn towards him.
“You don’t like the music?” It’s more a rhetorical question, meaning how possible that one doesn’t like Bachata music and wants us to stop it!
The woman has gone back to her seat and replies indifferently: “No!”, looking emotionless in her all plain look.
“She doesn’t like Quebeckers. She is a racist.” Afshin says in a low voice, but loud enough to be heard by Isola.
“Nah, maybe not really a racist,” Isola counters, “ people do have different tastes in music and their tolerance levels for noise are not the same ”.
They are still talking about the lovely suave sexy Bachata music being shut up by an unbelievably cold dry woman. Dan tells Eric: “ Isola thinks she doesn’t like the music not because of racism, it IS because of different music taste.”
Of course, it’s really not likely that a middle aged blonde Anglophone woman will love their “suave and sexy” latin American bachata music in a Dodge Jeep Dealer! Bachata music and Dodge Jeep, what controversial cultural symbols in a small boring town of Ontario, a town of Dodge Jeep Dealer. And of course, releasing unfamiliar disagreeable poor quality music in a relatively public place, is not at all “genial!” It’s not on a beach in Republic Dominican, and who cares about their Zoukiz-Bachata Festival in a Dodge Jeep Dealer?
After four hours non-stop driving, they arrive. It’s 7:30pm.
The room door opened, there lie two double beds! Isola doesn’t know how she feels when she sees them double instead of queen.
“What?” she turns to Eric with an inquiring and slightly blaming eyes. Eric seems as surprised.
“Oh well, that’s that! It’s a double bed!” They can’t do anything about it, can they? Isola has to accept this unexpected reality, trying to imagine how four can squeeze themselves onto two double beds.
Eric is a big man of 40 some years old, big in the sense that he has quite wide shoulders, large thick torso and strong solid and inviolable legs. His largess is canceling his height, which means that he is not at all short, 5’8”. Isola assumes that two-thirds of the double bed will have to be given to this wide stout man.
Seeing Isola a bit worried, Eric whispers into her ears, “Don’t worry, we will be fine!”
Isola isn’t of a worrisome character. Once she makes a decision, she is usually able to go through with it, even if it is a not so good one.
The other two men also have to share a double bed! Yeah, Dan is the previously mentioned “douche” look young man of 32 years old, almost 6 foot tall who works for 911. His recessive genes start to made him a bit bald, yet his multi- colour neat beard makes him look mature and reliable, and his well proportioned and well carried straight body makes him look very manly. The pair of his clearly lined bright eyes tell us that he is not really “douche” as he appears to be at the first sight.
Afshin is to share the other double bed with Dan. He is 30 years old, short, but not small at all, with bulging smooth cheeks, round body and head, and very big oval eyes. Well, these won’t be obstructive to sharing the bed, yet his protruding belly might just do. It hangs out under his shirt, and we can never be sure that it’s his shirt too short to make his belly look big and round, or it’s his belly too round and big to make his shirt seem short. And he is a bit bow legged! Is that because the legs have to bend side ways to carry his big and round belly, otherwise he would tilt forward? He does walk like a woman of 6 months pregnancy.
Oh, the writer is not very friendly with this poor young man whose big oval eyes hidden behind his glasses look out comically like those of a dead fish! Why dead fish, because they never smile. Have we seen any fish smile? Maybe the writer is a racist! But what race does Afshin belong to that the writer is a racist against? A race of not smiling silly fishes? Writers are writers, not gods or goddesses, or at least they don’t try to be, but they are the conscience of the society, though they gossip and make fun of others and themselves in some acid ways sometimes. They are writers, not normal people, so they shouldn’t be taken “too” seriously.
No matter man or woman, tall or short, big or small, four of them settle down to their beds and sides, and get ready to their weekend shows and parties.
Social parties are invented by humans to basically meet, to be more precise, for women, men and also for people who are interested in each other, to meet, to have fun to start with and eventually to lead to the purpose of human breeding for younger groups, and continue to have fun for the older groups who have finished their biological obligation.
We are animals who are born to live together in general. We feel lonely when we are alone or not connected. We have to be connected one way or another, whether physically, mentally or spiritually. Other people are just like mirrors of ourselves, so we need to form gangs to see and feel ourselves.
Dating sites are booming in recent decades. They have opened new online venues for those who have exhausted their immediate environment gene pool or human resources to go beyond for more chances.
Admit it or not, the world has greatly changed, in all matters including relationship, or we can also say that it is the knowledge and conscience of human existence and relationship that have changed because of the development of science/social science and technology. The world has always been the same in relationship and many other matters and human nature has always stayed similar, only that humans now know ourselves better, or to better say, humans now are allowed or allow ourselves to know ourselves with more transparency and we choose a pragmatic guiltless innocent way of living the changes of our feelings on the paths of personal and relationship evolutions.
There is no such thing as “Happy Ever After”! No marriage can last for ever and neither does any relationship. According to unproven statistics, 7 years is the usual length of any meaningful positive productive relationship. In the closed closets of even the golden model couples who live together 60 years, there is “dirty laundry”. If we don’t believe, ask our parents or parents of our friends. If the house is of open concept, then “dirty laundry” has to be properly treated with more shelves to arrange everything in plain sight, that is, with more civil and open attitude and mentality.
So societies are formed for us humans to be with each other in order not to feel lonely. Everyone of us comes alone and dies alone. This is the only fact of life that is worth respecting and being serious about! How to pass through the middle part, how to pass it happily, healthily and meaningfully without guilt, heart breaks and accusations? The modern societies are turning this fact into illusions of immortal life and forever youth by trying to be together, employing styles and arts to entertain ourselves, and sports and oriental meditation to keep us fresh and high. Why not if we can? We can attempt to turn this simple unforgiving boredom into crazy artistic passion. Look at the dancing men and women, the dancing gangs at the Zoukiz-Bachata Festival.
There are no windows in the three big dancing halls, but the ceilings are very high. The light shoots softly down from the 20 feet ceiling far above and from the foot lines of the halls. People don’t really see each other very clearly in the dim light, a silhouette and an attitude are perceivable. No words are possible in loud music nor talking is necessary, only a polite smile is enough a friendly communication to invite or get invited. But of course, what happens between two dancing people is highly interesting and weirdly efficient in the screening process.
Isola came from China some 19 years ago. Watching men and women dancing skin close with each other in dim light, she can’t help recall one of the stories her mother told her.
Mother’s normal school physical education teacher, a very healthy handsome man in his middle thirties seduced or accepted the shy offer from one of his girl students. They had sex and was seen and reported by his teenage son. There was no such thing as mutual consent between heterosexual behaviour apart from obeying the protocol set for them to follow. The teacher was arrested and accused of committing the crime of raping his student without open court, plus cheating on his wife. It was in the late fifties of P.R China, when their chairman Mao could “dance” with any hot chick he spotted in the specially arranged “dance parties” for the Central Government senior carders, of which Mao was the chief, yet when it came to one of his low level carders, it became a crime. The poor teacher was not only deprived of his teaching job and all political rights, but also of all his human rights, including the right to continue to live. He was executed.
It took Isola more than 10 years to learn to slowly get rid of the shy and shameful feelings when she is close to any other man than her husband or boyfriend, for whomever her feelings are approved and allowed by the traditional morality. It also took her 10 years to learn the feminine state of mind and attitude that were removed from Chinese traditional culture and equalized by giving women half of the sky outside home while leaving them the whole sky at home. The femininity was corrected and neutralized by the “Cultural Revolution”(1966-1976) . Women were turned into rough manly revolutionaries, short-haired and stiff-necked loyal Mao Ze Dong thoughts defenders. Isola’s family didn’t have a single photo of them firmly holding the “Red Little Book” in front of their chests, yet her parents as high school and normal school teachers couldn’t avoid teaching the revolutionary songs and dance the revolution loyal dances. Her parents’ schoolings taught them some skills of music and dance which had saved their lives during the Stalin style purges and persecutions. It takes Isola way longer than 10 years to become soft, natural and sexy physically and mentally. She is highly conscious and has been making an elaborate effort to return herself to nature.
Kizomba and Bachata are two Afro-Latin American dances in which the dancing couple stay very close to each other, so close that it becomes very intimate. During the dance, woman feels the body movements of the leading man to follow whatever he gestures her to do. So it has to be very close, so close that sometimes they can even feel each other’s body parts. If the man is not so tall, the woman can obviously feel the man’s balls dangling directly on her right thigh or the man’s protruding belly.
How awkward that is, for Isola, when we think of it! She was almost beaten up by her mother with a two feet long stick one evening when she was walking back to her parents’ apartment after meeting with one of her high school classmates. The clock struck mid-night as if a thunder struck her mother and turned her into a crazy paranoid tigress. She started looking and yelling with madness in the school yards. Only Isola knew that she didn’t even touch a finger of her classmate, and he stayed all the time respectful, not even touched a finger of hers neither.
So what was the connection between the execution of her mother’s teacher and her mother’s paranoia and wanting to punish her for things she didn’t even do?
Even till now whenever dancing, Isola still holds her inner distance from the man dancer. She has this “pudeur” that she keeps for herself, not letting herself completely loose or taken. For her, it seems a question of life and death, a question of independence and identity which is against the principle of the latin social dances. A sense of shyness and shame has always been secretly felt by herself and possibly by the other. She can never get too close and be led easily. She had been resisting for a long time until the past couple of years when she started to learn to open up.
First night passes fast and its already 2am Saturday. Isola is older than the other three men, and she needs her beauty sleep. 2am is already way past her bed time.
She comes back to the room. The others are still having fun somewhere on the dance floors or in some other places they find fit.
She looks at the bed. It’s so tall and bulky that she has to climb up into the bed after peeling open the neat bed sheets. She wears sporty shorts and bra not to expose too much of her femininity and healthily toned body under the same sheets with Eric, or in case she has to get up in the morning in front of the three men full of testosterones. She warns herself to be very careful in body language and words to not flirt at all with any one of them for the sake of her own esteem. So all properly dressed in neutral sporty wears, tossed herself towards the inside edge of the bed, she falls sleep.
Some time during the night, she is woken up by some “shushuting” noise. It’s 4 am! What the hell they are talking about and doing at 4 am in the morning? Isola peeps over the sheet and sees that Eric is showing Dan some Bachata tricks. They are like a Gong Fu master teaching his disciple the movements on the narrow space at the end of two beds as if they were moving slowly on the “Mei Hua Zhuang”(tall wood poles with flat tops to practice Gong Fu on)!
She doesn’t know what time they come to bed. All is quiet and dark. Isola has always been a good sleeper who usually sleeps 8 hours a day and once a few months, one night of 12 hours.
Each pair sleep quietly side by side, seemingly having enough space for each, and thank God that no one snores. That’s one thing less to worry about. Eric and Dan sleep in their Quebecor swimming pants, but Afsin sleeps fully dressed up as in the day, facing up the ceiling with feet on top of each other and arms cross-held on his thick chest.
At some moment, doesn’t know when, Isola feels that something soft and warm is touching her left forehead very gently. She is half asleep and clearly realizes that it’s Eric’s finger touching her on purpose. The touch is so light and gentle that we can’t doubt about the lofty quality of this midnight gesture. It’s on the forehead, not on the lips or even the cheek. It’s like a light kiss from parents, a friend or an unintentional fondle of a lover, or just careful touches out of pure curiosity about a woman from an unfamiliar culture of another world. Isola knows everything, but stays unmoved, letting the gentle finger fondle her sensitive skin until she falls asleep again, until a beam of sunlight prints its warmth into the room through in-between the closed curtains Saturday morning.
It’s naive to think that men and women scrolling around each other in the dancing pools have only Plato’s noble romantic intentions. Any game must have some sort of result, besides the tie, or for sporty reasons.
Isola has always been a lofty woman, by which it means that she holds a high standard in matters of romance. To say the word “hold” doesn’t make quite the sense, because she is not pretentiously “holding” anything, but rather has been trying to follow Daoism in mind and behaviour. She was brought up in sieved Chinese culture and also influenced by equally sieved European and American cultures. She has been formed in such ways by its tight, serious, nervous and paranoid culture that she had to leave her country to not to “hold” any of the purposefully man-made protocols in many more matters than romance, to escape from the biased trap into maybe another biased trap without the ability to detect the latter, when references seemingly run to the end.
To start with, she has an extraordinarily handsome dad to frame her boyfriend, husband or lover.
She receives immense and intense pleasure from dancing. It is miracle and magical how music and movements in rhythms make her feel. To her, it’s like many prolonged orgasms without having to go through the act itself.
In the dancing circles, there are preferences and prejudices in choosing dancing partners just like anywhere else in every corner of the world. Preferences are unavoidable as we want some kiwis over apples. Pre-judging a person for us to dance with is a very delicate and culturally loaded thing to do, but of course, the limit is that we keep our preferences to ourselves and pre-judge only for ourselves, not for others. Pre-judging for non-self purposes becomes invasively improper and may be hurting.
Not being able to talk, just by mere watching, we have a pretty good idea whom the person is and if we want to dance with this person. After dancing with this person, you get to know even more about how and who the person is.
“I prefer to not judge a person by just how he/she dances and I doubt that we can get to know the inner mind of a person by how he/she moves, because there are domains that aren’t shown in movements, for example, a person’s thoughts about Philosophy or mathematical problems”.
Isola is chatting with Dan in the Jacuzzi beside the heated pool of the Hotel.
“Hm, I don’t agree. I do think we can get a lot by watching people dance and even more by dancing with them.”
Dan is calm and proven to be quite observant. It’s from his experience of working for 911, or he was chosen because of his observant ability. We can see the clarity of his dark pupils and remark his clean painted eye lashes and eye brows.
He is a Bachata beginner who watches more than he dances. He carries himself cool, discreetly and naturally with his square jaw, neat beard and smart bright “regard” in his eyes. Theoretically, he is the type of guy girls go for having their children with, yet he only looks on watching and observing, without much desire and haste. Isn’t that beautiful! His mind is busy somewhere else and where that place would be? Dan has been busy working for 911 and his own private business of Youtube Channels and Self-Help Website called The Wise Gentlemen. He is educating Isola about Bitcoin in between parties.
Isola is invited by a darker looking young man about 32 years old. He is about 5’6” with very good looking clean cut facial features. Isola doesn’t have any idea about this dancer, but feels that he seems a good dancer, and he himself thinks absolutely very much so.
He is this kind of dancer who is very conscious that girls are watching. Before anything, he would straighten his body, tug out his muscled-up chest, hold out his bulky arms and extend his thick neck which is already very long. He has very strong neck muscles(sternocleidomastoid muscles) and they make his head lean forward seemingly a foot. The more he stretches, the further away his head goes in the front, and it gives him a very comic look as if he was the “Beast’, but in real life.
He doesn’t look at Isola most of the time dancing with her except at rare times responding carelessly to Isola’s enthusiastic demand for minimal politeness and connection to make the sense of dancing together. Of course, Isola won’t dance with him ever again, or to put it better, she will refuse him if he dares to invite her again to look somewhere else!
It’s hard for men to lead the dance, but once they get it, it is of huge fun whirling girls around the ways they want. Yet if they don’t get it but dance as if they knew every thing, the girls would soon discover and run away.
A tall young fair-skinned man has a very cute pony tail, balding a bit from the front lines, wearing a vintage pair of glasses. Though not smily, he is cute and he gets girls to dance with him at the beginning. Isola gets the pleasure. Just 20 seconds into the dance, Isola starts to think of ways to retreat from it. But she can’t! It’s not polite. So she just lets him do his music “syncopated” steps, turn her left and right, bend her backward again and again until that endless long piece of music is finally finished. Phew!! Isola has had enough of that non-stop unsynchronized dull loop as if she was a piece of dough being rubbed and kneaded. “Ouch! my back hurts” Isola bends forward after that dance to adjust the fun-less awkward exercises.
By Saturday evening, all the girls are avoiding him, and he is striding around the dancing pool to capture whoever the timing presents him. Yet we can see him striding and striding around in turns, having no one to dance with. Poor young man! He seems like a little harmless cub who only gets the chance to look on the plays of the lions and lionesses. The thing is, real life does sit us down on a cold bench sometimes to have us realize the reality, even in fun matters. Should we keep in mind what reality is when at schools teaching and learning? Do schools teach the necessary basic value and skills of being with each other in public circumstances?
We say Dan is cool without immediate desire and haste, Eric has no problems getting girls to dance with him in his genuinely enthusiastic but cool attitude towards dance and what dance might bring him. He is very good at Bachata and often surprises even himself with some new creation of sophisticated combinations of movements.
Afshin is a dance snob. Addiction to latin dances is in the past and now he roams among dancers for fishes to fry while making himself known for his Bachata DH Event Club(DH-Dry Hump). He studied 10 years in French part of Switzerland in private schools and has lived in Montreal for 8 years, yet he doesn’t speak a word of French. It seems what matters is business and women. He talks only about girls and business.
He hooked up with two pretty girls early on Friday evening. He went to have a drink with them, to see them in their room, and later came back to his room with one. Dan is a fine gentleman to his own kind, sensing or knowing directly what Afshin wants, offered him condoms early Friday evening.
Now Isola runs into them and tries to escape the scene as quickly as possible. While trying also not to make a big deal out of it by leaving too suddenly, Isola follows their conversation. The pretty girl is a teacher and so was Isola before. The girl finds more things to talk about with Isola than with Afshin until Isola realizes that she’d better leave them alone. But unfortunately, the girl follows Isola and goes out of the room with her leaving Afshin behind. Isola feels sorry about what happened, yet what can she do? Three of them go down and join the party. So there is no fish to fry for Afshin.
By Sunday afternoon, it seems there is still no fish for Afshin.
“The girls in Toronto are very uptight!” Afshin complains. Yet he has to boast:” Not like the girls in Quebec City!”
“A threesome just happened naturally at a Bachata festival there last year!” he continues, “the girls here are very uptight, I don’t get it! ” he repeats his opinion on Toronto girls. He will hold grudge against Toronto them from now, while wishing them to be as loose as the two of the quebecker girls before the last party finishes.
On Sunday night, everyone is out. It is the last party of that four-day Event.
Life without art is dull. Art is pretentious, yet the process of being properly and beautifully pretentious can never be that simple and easy. Badly pretended art is as stinky as a dead fish. Besides those stage artists who shine afar, the event performers are close-up real life artists who dance just beside us or even with us. They bring art technics to us and lighten up our dull life with challenge to our brains. They set the examples of how the dances should be and how the dancers should behave by performing and giving workshops.
The best performances from 10 cities of 8 countries shine in the spot lights their last splendid moments. Arms and legs fly around, smiles, connecting eyes and surprising moves of the performers light up the major show room with enormous excitement of whistling and heaves of applauding and shouting.
Lila is an exquisite event performing artist from Spain. Without saying, she is perfect as a woman on top of her dancing skills and performance. She is small, tight, so well pro-portioned that to name her “the Mermaid” is just correct. She knows how to twist her hips, waggle her juicy round tight buttocks, pop out her proud chest, and she is proficient in throwing her “regard” into your eyes to have even women to fall in love with her and of course, she is such a crackerjack “manizer”(womanizer) that men fall like flies for having a chance to “dance” with her.
In socials, after her workshop, men wait and line up to have her graceful but exotic body and movements in their arms.
Afshin is among the men who dare to ask for her hand. To say “dare”, it’s because Afshin is just an ok dancer, far away from a sufficiently good one who can match Lila to give her thrills. Probably, his dancing skills are just like his French, that is, staying 18 years in Switzerland and Montreal without being able to speak it. But his boldness is as admirable as his hastiness in chasing fishes is adorable.
He is waiting in front of the corner where Lila is dancing with a man. He gives his phone to Isola who happens to be just beside him and asks her to make a video when he will be dancing with Lila the next.
He is very excited when the music ends and another piece starts! It’s his turn. It seems there has been a sort of agreement between him and Lila. Yet Lila turns to her left and grabs the hand of a young man who is medium height and skinny like a Chinese. Oh, wait, he IS a Chinese!
He goes up to the Chinese man and says: “hey, it is my turn!”
The Chinese man smiles without a word. Lila replies softly instead: “sorry, he is before you!”
They start dancing. Surprisingly, the Chinese is not just any one man who is mouth watering Lila for a dance. He most probably is a prof himself from somewhere in Toronto or Vancouver where there are huge Chinese communities. There is an even skinnier short Chinese man filming their swift, smoky, sweaty dance with exotic movements that is stirring a great deal of attention from people around. Eyes are wide open to not miss a subtle gesture and a rare “regard”, jaws are dropped for this impeccable couple who are highly compatible in all ways dancing together.
At the end of this hot dance, Lila disappears into now where to be seen. She didn’t ask for the hand of Afshin who is “supposed’ to be the next.
This happens all the time. It’s not a big deal. It’s an adult party of mutual consent, let alone that a hot artist has the right to choose.
Monday morning, after a long night of dry humping, everyone is still soundly asleep by 11 am. Isola wakes up earlier because she came up to sleep around 2am on the bed where she found an empty condom bag. It’s not surprising for Isola to understand the charming mind of the gentle Eric. He can’t have just any girl he wants, no one can, but he can have many nice girls, and he is an open minded quebecker who declares that he has no shame to try anything and anyone willing, even in gangs. Of course, Eric doesn’t just declare his “manifesto “to every girl he meets.
In between checking out, Afshin is alone with Isola.
“You know what, Isola, I had this man apologize to me last night!” “What, eh?” Isola doesn’t really know what he is talking about.
“The rude Chinese man who danced with Lila last night! I made him apologize to me!” Afshin seems quite relieved by telling that to Isola, because she was there and witnessed that awkward moment of him being left alone by Lila and his wish turned into jealous sour jams.
“Oh, yeah?” Isola doesn’t really think it’s a big deal and replies with not much enthusiasm.
“Yes, I wrote to this event planners and complained about his rude behaviour. I also sent him messages to say that If he wants to continue to do business in this circle, he’d better apologize, otherwise, I will ruin his name everywhere he goes!”
“Nah, it’s not a big deal! Should not over react!” Isola says slightly with a small voice, it seems she is talking to herself.
“No, we have to give a lesson to some rude people, to show that we are powerful!” he insists on his righteousness of his theory as an adjustment for his irrational childish jealousy and over reaction.
“Who are we with you?” Isola thinks to herself, “with a guy who takes for granted that every girl including Lila should listen to him? who complains that Toronto girls are uptight because they may have different tastes in men and probably they need more time in loosing their pants? With a guy who takes out his jealousy and anger on an innocent third party?”
Time to go back home to Montreal. The tires are in great shape and so are the four tired but at the same time rejuvenated Montrealers of French, Irish, Iranian and Chinese origins. They are all happy to go back to their homes where they belong.
“You know that one of the two girls just texted me and she is coming to visit me in Montreal next weekend!” Afshin is still thinking about his girls, those Toronto tight asses.
“I’d better not to tell the other girl what this one is doing since girls are not to be trusted”, his monologue goes on.
“Yeah, you’d better just shut up!” Isola can’t help but grunts in an audible voice ! Obviously, Dan and Eric are not interested in his ranting about girls.
They are truly two good buddies who are crazy about Bachata! It is a fact that they do panic if there is no Bachata music on! They are deeply absorbed in their businesses and life, and this exciting distraction of Bachata dance event. While driving, they just can’t stop discussing about Bachata technics and comparing notes of movements! Eric even asks Dan to put his left hand on his right to let him feel how man should lead with their hands.
Oh my goodness! They are so addicted to Bachata! What is the charm? Dancing with a partner in wonderful melodies replaces drugs in releasing dopamine and oxytocin!
The trip back seems much shorter and easier. Isola sits on the back seat alone this time because the two teachers have left with other friends in the morning. The music in the car isn’t exclusively Bachata any more, there are other types of music such as pop and RMB. Isola is still and always shy to offer her own music. She respects their music and lets her mind feel light and happy with all the memories of the beautiful moments collected from the Event: Eric’s gentle finger fondling her forehead, the Event Host Cornell Mannings’ humorous style of hosting, the nicely over-dressed cuban dancing Kizomba with Isola making her a bit horny and blush in the dark, the pair of exotically sexy dancing boots she bought on the Dancing Shoe Fair in the hotel.
Isola can’t help but recalling that three to four minutes of pleasure dancing with Ivan Cruz, the performing artist and dance teacher from Chicago. His tall thin body swirled and flew around Isola with his dark eyes smiling at and focusing on hers, and Isola caught and kept the communication and connection by looking into his eyes and smiling joyfully. His white fine teeth all exposed like those of a lovely naive child, his curly long hair slightly tossed from side to side! Isola can never dance at his level, but Ivan danced around her, with her, held her like she was a pearl in his big fine hands and arms. He didn’t show off his skills, he didn’t fight to bring Isola to his level, he compromised and accommodated to her level and gave her a hearty dance partner of her dream!
“We planned a gang bang, but it didn’t happen!” Eric poked fun to Isola with a big smile before leaving the room to go check out.
“Well, weren’t we all just doing that the whole weekend!” Isola replied to Eric in a humorous but somewhat absurd air.
Now she is listening to her favourite Bachata-like piece: “ Obsesión” interpreted by the Colombian singer Perter Manjarrés.
Montreal is drawing near, only an hour more to kill. It’s quite enough to have 7 hours there and another 7 hours back soaked in the “digidigi, digidigi” Bachata music. But to some extend, Isola wishes that they, four of them, can stay in the van just like that for longer. She wonders how close meetings can change our feelings and prejudices about people and matters. She looks at Eric and Dan, smiling in her heart about the two different men sitting in front of her. No, they are not quite different now from before, yet Isola’s feelings and views have changed by this beautiful close “rencontre”.