She takes off down the hallway. Her outfit today is a deeply purple, mid-thigh-length asymmetrical dress with gold shoes that are at least three inches high. I don’t know how she walks in them, much less dances.
When we get to the studio, I’m disappointed to see only a few people. I was hoping I’d be able to hide away in the back.
She claps to get everyone’s attention. “Hello, everyone. I am Fifi and I am instructor.”
She pauses, arms akimbo, expecting us to respond to her greeting. “Hi, Fifi,” we say, as if we’re all in some sort of dance recovery program.
“Today, I will introduce you to bachata. At beginning you will not be good. Some of you will be like clumsy newborn baby octopus, but by the end you will be better. You will see, I am fabulous instructor.”
She makes us form a single line in front of the mirrors. “Now I teach you basics. First I show steps for leader, and then I show for follower.” She places her left hand against her stomach, raises her right hand into the air and snaps her fingers to keep time. “Is simple,” she says, swaying her hips while taking two small steps to the right. “One, two, three, pop.” On the pop, she juts her left hip out dramatically and then repeats the movement going to the left. “One, two, three, pop.”
Her movements are precise but somehow still fluid and sexy. She repeats the step two more times before telling us it’s our turn. Since there’s no music, the only sounds are her voice and the shuffle and tap of our feet against hardwood. There’s something relaxing and even a little comforting about the way we’re all moving and breathing together.
After a while she moves us on from side basic to forward basic, which is the same step, only forward and backward. Like she promised, the steps aren’t hard, and she’s satisfied that we know what we’re doing pretty quickly.
“Okay, now you know basic step, but real dance is in the hips. Watch me.” This time when she does the basic side step, her hips do a figure-eight pattern that completely changes the feel of the dance. It’s sexier, more dramatic. “Some people call this Cuban motion. You see it in dances like merengue and salsa. I call it infinity hips.” She demonstrates a few more times before it’s our turn again.
Infinity hips, it turns out, is very hard to do. It’s not long before we’re all laughing and giggling at how very finite our own hips are. I see very few figure eights, more like deformed circles or wobbly lines.
She sighs a dramatic sigh and tells us to stop. “Not to worry. Always starts like this.” She tells the couples to partner up and then beckons me over. “Now I demonstrate how to hold each other.” She adjusts me into “open position” and leads us all through the basic steps again.
The lesson is so much fun, I barely notice the hour go by. I forget about the visions. Instead, I concentrate on listening to the music and moving my body to it. Fifi is funny and encouraging and firm. She knows exactly how to break the steps down in a way that makes sense to each person.
For the last dance, she chooses a song with a faster tempo, dims the lights and tells us to pretend we’re in a club. She partners with me and we all dance together. It’s hilarious and messy, but—like she said we would—we’ve come a long way since the beginning of class.
The song ends. Everyone’s breathing hard but smiling, obviously happy and energized.
Fifi turns the lights back up. “Okay, I see you next week. Make sure to practice so not forget. I do not want to teach basic step again.”
I hang back as people filter out, even though I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. A sign of what to do next, I guess.
“I can see you enjoyed very much, yes?” she asks when it’s just the two of us.
“You’re a great instructor,” I tell her, still breathless.
“Yes, I know,” she says with a smile. “You are good student, very natural. Still need to work on hips, but you have good head for steps and excellent timing in body.”
I smile even wider. I’m surprised by how much I like her compliment. I had way more fun than I expected to. I can also feel that ballroom might be one of those things where it’s easy enough to learn the basics but much harder to get all the subtleties of movement.
She looks me up and down, contemplating something. “I have proposition for you,” she says. “There is competition they have every year. LA Danceball, is called.”
She tells me all about it. LA Danceball is one of the largest ballroom dance competitions for professional and amateur dancers in Southern California. They have lots of different age group and proficiency categories. Her proposition is that I enter the Amateur Under 21 category on behalf of the studio.