Margarita and the Rest of That Night in Havana

After Celia Cruz's show that February night in 1951, I thanked the two guards on the way out — and they acknowledged my gratitude with warm handshakes, big smiles, and slaps on the back. The whole thing was very gratifying, even if it was somewhat embarrassing.

Cuba was turning out to be more than I'd dared hope for. Now if I could just find a place that had some romantic music and some friendly señoritas, my night would be complete. So I decided to ask the guards if they knew of a good place to go.

They seemed a little surprised by my question. Then they politely explained that in their country it was not considered proper for a woman to be found unescorted in a public place such as a bar or a night club. Any woman seen in a cantina or a hotel lobby without an escort was assumed to be a prostitute. However, there was one exception.

This would be the dancehall "hostesses."

Dance Hall Hostesses

They told me there were a number of ballrooms in the city where one could find these hostesses on duty. They worked for the house, I was told, and were paid to dance with the customers (nothing more — nothing less).

I said this sounded fine — so they told me of a place just a few blocks away.

The place they sent me was sort of the Havana equivalent of the Hollywood Palladium or Manhattan's Roseland. It was on a second floor — and the orchestra, rather than being on a stage at one end of the hall, was seated on a raised gazebo right in its center. The room was surrounded by large windows, which were all open to let the cool evening breezes in, and the lights were dimmed to enhance the romantic atmosphere.

The band was playing just the kind of music I'd come to hear — and, though the floor was filled with swaying dancers, everyone seemed to have plenty of room to maneuver. Most of the customers appeared to be couples who had come together for an evening of dancing. But there were plenty of hostesses available, just as I'd been promised.

They were sitting in chairs along one edge of the dance floor, and appeared to be just average women who were here working at a regular job. None was provocatively dressed or overly made-up and I couldn't see any of them sending sexy come-hither looks to the various guys who were checking them out. However, all of them gave me a double-take and a nice smile — probably because I was the only gringo in the place. (This was definitely not a tourist hang-out.)

Well, there were so many lovely ladies, I didn't know where to start. But one of them seemed to have a more engaging smile than the others, and each time our eyes met I could sense her saying, "I'm the one you want to choose." So I did.

Margarita

Margarita appeared to be 30-something and was about 5' 4" with a shapely figure. She had an olive complexion with medium length black hair and dark brown eyes. We introduced ourselves as we moved into the crowd of dancers and discovered that she spoke about as much English as I spoke Spanish. Communication would be no problem.

As we began to move to a romantic bolero, the dance took on a new meaning that I hadn't experienced with any of my Arthur Murray partners. Margarita's body seemed to melt into mine as our hips blended rhythmically to the pulsating beats of the bongos and the conga drums.

We danced to three or four boleros and I was beginning to think I was falling in love. It was exciting and wonderful beyond description.

But the next song was not a bolero. It had a lilting melody that featured violins and a flute. I'd heard this music before, but couldn't quite place it.

"¿Te gustaría bailar el danzón?" she asked.

Did I Want to Dance the "Danzón?"

Of course — they were now playing a danzón — a dance whose music I'd heard, but had never seen done.

Yes, of course I wanted to do the danzón.

It was easy to pick up the simple steps from watching the other dancers — but I drew more than a few polite chuckles when I was still dancing after everyone else had suddenly stopped.

Embarrassed Again

Yes, Margarita could have told me I was supposed to stop, but she was enjoying the joke along with the others, and gave me a hug when she saw I was embarrassed.

So why had everyone stopped dancing at a certain point in the music — and just remained in place, talking with one another? Well, the danzón was originally created as a special dance for young couples who wanted a little "privacy."

In olden times, the story goes, young women would always be accompanied to dances by their dueñas (chaperones) who would keep a close eye on them. So a special type of rumba was designed that would have a point in its melody where all dancing would stop — so the couples could just stand and visit.

Well, dueñas had long since gone out of vogue, but the danzón continued to be a staple at every Cuban fiesta — and everyone (except me) would know exactly when to stop dancing and start chatting.

Anyway, I'd fully expected to be dancing with several different partners when I arrived, but Margarita and I had a special rapport that kept us together the rest of the night. And it didn't end with the dancing.

My night in Havana couldn't have been more complete.