09 | Dance With Me

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"O, thou art fairer than the evening air clad in the beauty of a thousand stars." Christopher Marlowe


New York City, East 60th Street, November 1954

I SHOULDN'T HAVE come. The thought was all Pamela could consider as she zigzagged through crowds upon crowds of beautiful female salsa dancers and dapper Latin orchestra band members, sporting their trumpets and miniature drums like colourful accessories.

Why did I ever agree to this? She asked herself. Why couldn't I have just stayed home to read? Washed my hair? Listened to the radio? Or done anything else?

It was a Thursday night, and she had work the next morning. The Copacabana was the spot Johnny and his crew hung around, and Pamela had no interest in running into the man after the humiliating spectacle back at the store. However, Caterina had convinced her that Thursdays at the Copacabana were always fun and that it would do her some good to come dancing.

The Copacabana was oozing with activity. It wasn't like the old money nightclubs that Timothy had taken Pamela to on some of their dates, where the staff wouldn't serve you unless you from one of the wealthy white families in the Upper Eastside.

The people running the Copacabana called themselves progressives and the voices of the young. They claimed to cater to all the richest and most influential people in New York City of every creed and colour. They also played Latin music, adorned the walls in safari animal patterned decor, and served steaming hot plates of Chinese food.

Young columnists made a sport of writing about the happenings of the Copacabana in the newspaper, providing old ladies and young homemakers with silly gossip over what awful thing Frank Sinatra had said to his latest girlfriend on Monday, or what gorgeous hairstyle the Copacabana girls were trying out on the weekend.

Several men in red uniforms were scattered around the room, barely visible beneath the constant swarm of people and pounding music. Caterina had said that they were there to guard the celebrities who frequented the Copacabana, as well as to break up fights if they ever arose.

Despite its self-proclaimed status as a progressive New York hotspot, the Copacabana was still an exclusive nightclub, and nearly impossible to get into unless you were a celebrity or had affiliations with the mob. Luckily, Caterina's father knew one bouncer, so to some of the other patrons' irritation, the girls could skip the long line forming down and around the block.

"Come on!" Caterina shrilled, ushering Pamela over to a small, circular table shoved against the backdrop of black and white zebra-stripe decorated wallpaper.

Pamela gathered the crinoline skirt of her red circle dress, smoothing it so that she could park on the chair without creasing the fabric.

"You look like an absolute doll!" Caterina let out a low whistle, eyeing Pamela's curled blonde hair and the pearls she had slipped through her earlobes. "Not half bad for a cube from the Upper Eastside!"

Several men standing nearby swung around to signal their approval.

Pamela ducked her head, her ears burning. "I still don't look half as glamorous as you, Cat."

"Beauty is an art, Pam. It takes practice." Caterina winked at one man as he pretended not to eavesdrop.

The two had become an unlikely pair of friends. Pamela cherished Caterina's company more than anything.

Pamela had grown lonely after moving to the Ave. Without the friendship of Lorna or her old high school friends, if nothing else, she appreciated the bubbly and talkative personality of Caterina De Lorenzo. It meant that she didn't have to talk that much herself. Rather, she could fill the silences of her own life with Caterina's ceaseless chatter. The stories about the boys Caterina went out with, her beauty tips and fashion icons, and her growing annoyance with Mr. Friedenberg's prolonged absence all entertained and distract her.

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