Welcome back to Part 2 of the wildest week-long celebration I’ve ever known. We’re talking about the days revolving around my 21st birthday. If you missed Pt. 1, click here to read “A Bluesy Birthday”, although this is one time that the order of events is not necessary.
My birthday falls on December 28, 3 days after Christmas and 3 days before New Year’s Eve. One full week of celebration.
As I mentioned before, this was the year that I had become a legal adult, so “anything goes”, or should I say, “anything WENT.” I had just enjoyed the most amazing birthday celebration of my life. The question was how I would finish that week.
Winter WonderLove Tales: Turning 21 (Pt. 2 of 2) Happy Nonstop New Year
Chicago, Illinois, New Year’s Eve 1988
As we walked into the club, my friends and I found a good-size table that had just been abandoned by a group, heading for the door. That was the cool thing about New Year’s Eve – you hopped from one spot to the next all evening long and like musical chairs, you celebrated wherever you were when the ball dropped.
I continued to wipe at the liquor spots all over my jacket. We had just left a club where a group called “Lock The Gate” was making its farewell appearance as a group, so the set was lit with action and emotion.
Karyn White’s “The Way You Love Me” was still hot on the radio and this group had added it to their arsenal. So when they played it, I hit the center of the dance floor, only to be showered by all of the drinks being sprayed, splashed and shook around.
I had been wearing a white T-shirt under my white dress shirt and black tie and had to remove my undershirt before the next spot to reduce the smell of perspiration from all the activity.
Now let me make one thing clear. Unlike that humiliating episode back in Jr. High, in THIS club, when the music played I was now on that dance floor, doing all the latest dances. THIS time, I was up to speed on all of them. So, there was nothing to fear. After that night at the jazz club on my birthday, nothing phased me.
Also, I no longer had a problem asking someone, anyone, to dance. If I was refused, I would simply move on to the next. But that seldom occurred (thank God) because asking someone to dance was not asking for a phone number or a date. We’re all, well most all are, doing what we came there for.
Leaving my friends at the table, I was ready to go.
“Hello. Would you like to dance?” I asked the first young lady who looked like a deeply dark-skinned version of Playboy Playmate Ola Ray from the Thriller video, but with a mini afro. She was standing on the outskirts of the dance floor. I extended my hand as I asked.
“No thanks,” she politely declined.
Ok, so maybe they DO still turn you down.
I moved to the table behind her, where four Hispanic ladies sat, the youngest, probably at least 5 years older than me.
Smiling at the one closest to me I invited her to dance and like before, I was denied.
Strike two. Dayum!
I began my pivot towards the next table, then stopped and rotated back to the group. Reaching out again, I looked at the young lady who appeared to be the shyest of the group, almost lost in her drink.
“Come on and do this with me, since your friend here obviously can’t dance…”
“OOOOooo!” they rang out as my original invitee sat back with arms folded, obviously offended.
Not looking at her, my gaze remained on the new girl. “You didn’t get dressed up to just come here and watch everybody else. C’mon, baby.”
Looking at her friends, her face brightened as she sprang up and followed me to the floor. Again, ignoring the one who refused my first offer. I couldn’t help but chuckle.
Once facing each other, I locked fingers on both of her hands as we danced together, swinging her left and right, making her hips meet mine. She giggled throughout most of the dance, face red at first, but looking more determined to match my facial expressions. I was having a good time and I wanted her to do the same, which she did until the next song faded in.
“Thank you,” I said with a huge smile as I pulled her in for a quick hug and led her by the hand back to her friends, who clapped as she shrunk back in her seat, apparently in astonishment.
“I CAN dance!” the first girl shot at me, obviously still angry at my accusation.
“Prove it!” I challenged, reaching for another friend. Not to be insulted or embarrassed, she jumped and grabbed my hand, determined to prove me wrong.
This dance was more fun, watching her go out of her way to show me moves that her first friend either didn’t know or couldn’t do. I smiled as she peered at me, intent on showing me up. I couldn’t help but dance out loud, which made her do the same until she finally let go with a huge smile and an impromptu spin that looked more like a pirouette. The entire move made me yell, “Go on, girl!”
By the time we finished she gave me a look of self-affirmation, happier than when we first took the floor. “You got it, baby!” I acknowledged, bowing to her as she sashayed back to the table, where only one remained seated, holding the spot as two of the others danced.
In time, I had worked my way through the quartet, in-between dances with other women. By the time I had finished with the fourth, I was tapped on the shoulder from behind before I could leave the dance floor. It was the Ola Ray lookalike who had first refused me. Not saying a word, I spun her around as the last of the quartet smiled at me, returning to her friends.
After about an hour on the floor, I trotted back to the table where my friends sat, drinking and laughing from watching me. I was most often the only one to dance whenever we went out and this place seemed to be no exception.
Drinking my coke and catching my breath, a blonde and a brunette both came to my table, complaining that I walked right by them and didn’t ask to dance. I took one last gulp and leaped out of my chair to dance with both.
It was clear to anyone who saw me dancing that I wasn’t out there looking for love, just a night of fun. Thus, I wasn’t a threat or possible annoyance to anyone. Just harmless fun. Like the Roberta Flack song said, “I Just Came Here To Dance.”
Under those circumstances, I either asked them to dance, or they asked me.
Just a night of fun…
We had been in the club for about two hours, and I had sat for a total of perhaps 15 minutes. I didn’t care though. It was New Year’s Eve, and I was still swimming from being serenaded at the jazz club on my birthday.
I put my head down on the table for a moment when one of my buddies said something hilarious. They had a tendency to make me see spots from laughing so hard, especially after expending so much energy on the dance floor. Keeping my head down would help prevent dizziness with this crew.
When the laughter subsided I sat back up just in to see her…
…the pageant winner of the night.
She had that look that I desired most in women at the time: tall, curly black hair which partially covered her left eye, full red lips, bosomy, and eyes that could penetrate your soul. She was thicker than the girls I had danced with, who all leaned toward a more slender build. She actually bordered more towards being full-figured, but not quite there. Little did I know that full-figured women would eventually become my preference.
She completed her look with a royal blue dress that flowed with a softness and hue of the robes worn in the city of Troy in the same movie title. Golden hoop earrings perfectly accessorized.
I had seen her from a distance a few times with her friends either seated or on the dance floor, but never close enough to admire what stood before me as she worked her way through her small purse.
I made little effort to keep my mouth closed as she smiled at me before beginning to walk by our table towards the restrooms. Her eyes caught mine.
“When I get back.” She yelled out above the loud speakers before I could even ask.
I watched her the entire trip to the restroom and continued to stare in that direction until she came out. I wasn’t aware that my gaze remained on the entrance the entire time she was inside. Whatever it was that my friends might have said escaped me, assuming they ever entered my ears.
When she finally returned, I made even less effort to mask my enthusiasm as she took my hand and led me back to the dance floor.
This girl matched my energy every step of the song as I fought unsuccessfully to remove the goofy smile from my face. She laughed, finally telling me that I didn’t have to wait all evening to ask her to dance.
I wanted to tell her that I had honestly never truly spotted her but I used the opportunity to be creative.
“Girl, I was saving the best for last!”
Thank God my voice didn’t crack.
“Oh, so you’re LEAVING after this?” She asked, voice raising.
I was stumped. I should have seen that response coming.
“Not as long as YOU’RE here!” I yelled back.
As the song faded into the next, I thanked her and hugged her, telling her I would be looking for her to get her back on the floor again later. She shook her head and grabbed my wrist to keep me from turning away. I got the message.
My ‘stick and move’ antics had come to an end.
We did three songs together before the DJ got on the mic during the song’s fadeout to invite all the “lovers” on the floor.
I stretched backwards as “Between The Sheets” pumped through the speakers, bringing cheers throughout the crowd. I leaned forward, exhaling with a loud “WhooOOOOhh!”
Taking her hand, I turned to lead her off the floor and hopefully strike up a conversation. If I was lucky, I would have her phone number before the clock struck merry midnight. As I stepped away, I was jerked back by my wrist again.
“Nuh uhn,” she shook her head. “Not during THIS song!”
As she pulled me into her embrace her hands expertly rolled, gliding smoothly towards the small of my back and the base of the nape of my neck. As the new song mixed its way in, we continued the hold on each other.
It was “Oooh, This Love Is So,” by Al B. Sure. This song had not been formally released as a single, but the song itself had become a fan favorite, despite not having airplay.
I glanced over at the table in time to see just ONE of my guys there by himself in the newly-dimmed lighting. He was smiling and pumping his fist triumphantly as I lowered my face to the side of her neck. She raised the higher hand even higher to softly caress the lower part of my hair.
The song finally faded out, blending into “Tell Me If You Still Care” by S.O.S. Band, one of my favorites, which had come out when I was too young to appreciate as much I was about to in that moment.
I was in Heaven.
For the first time ever in my life, everything had gone right. It was my night. Again. I couldn’t think of anything to make the night any better. In fact, there WASN’T any way to make the night any more perfect.
“Ok y’all, 30 seconds to midnight!” The DJ interrupted. “Let’s get the hell outta 1988 together!!”
I was wrong. Thank GOD I was wrong.
I tried to count down with everyone but all I could do was stare at her lips. She counted silently as she looked at me, moving her lips to lip sync with everyone else at the club.
“Happy New Yearrrrrrr!!!!” the crowd rang out as club lights alternated rapidly and black and gold balloons bounced around with streamers and confetti. My dance partner and I never loosened our grasp on each other as I smiled, hoping the New Year “tradition” would go my way.
It did. Thank GOD again that I was RIGHT.
She looked deep into my eyes with a gaze of sincerity.
“Happy New Year,” she said in a soft, celebratory tone before leaning in close to hug me tight. She pulled away just far enough to press her lips against mine, kissing me firmly.
The kiss was nothing sloppy or inappropriate, just tender movement of her lips against mine, which happened to be my favorite as well as my specialty. My fingers curled around the base of her head, allowing for my thumbs to massage her head, just behind the ears. I pulled away.
“I need your phone number…” I threw out, already planning to call her to get together at least one more time before returning to Tallahassee. Hopefully for more than just kissing.
“No you don’t,” she snapped back, shaking her head before kissing me again. Opening her lips, the kiss went from sexy to mildly inappropriate. Fine by me…
We had kissed throughout the entirety of Auld Lang Syne, up until the intro of Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Let’s Groove” invaded the club’s subwoofers. We pulled away, both yelling out, “That’s my SONNNNG” as we remained on the floor together. She had long since forgotten about her friends, as I had mine.
I had no intentions of leaving the floor as the D.J. eventually yelled, “Let’s GOOOOO” into the mic before dropping “It Takes Two” by Rob Base through the club speakers. If everyone in the club hadn’t already flooded the floor, this song took care of the stragglers, including my friends.
She and I completely let go as she turned me around and locked her hands on my shoulders, pushing me forward as we danced around the room. People quickly caught on and locked onto us, forming a huge conga line that snaked its way around dancing couples who quickly joined in, me at the lead, dropping and bouncing off the ground to the heavy downbeat “BOOM” on the 1.
When the song finally ended, everyone detached themselves from the line as I laughed and leaned back to stretch and finally catch my breath.
“Well at least give me your name-“
I turned around to see a taller blonde with steel blue eyes, whose hands had been on my shoulders, unbeknowngst to me. She looked remarkably like the actress Amy Irving from the movie Carrie, only with different hair.
Unsure of when she latched on or how she had managed to cut in between me and my partner, I smiled. Any other day, I would have danced with her next. Instead, I looked behind her.
Nothing.
I then scanned the room for “my girl” before walking back to a different table that my buddies had secured, having lost our first spot.
“Man, this has been your WEEK,” Steve yelled out as we high fived each other. He wasn’t wrong. Having been to several parties, received dozens of hugs and kisses from strangers, gone to a- (oh yeah, I have to keep that part a secret), played a killer game of football in the snow, collected phone numbers at the mall, was serenaded at a jazz club and had the time of my life with the most amazing older woman, ever.
I was completely satisfied.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, where I stood for 10 minutes before concluding that she wasn’t there.
I walked around inside the perimeter of the club, searching unsuccessfully before returning to our table.
I never found or saw “my girl” again, but it really didn’t matter. I hadn’t really believed that I was going to go home with her. And since she withheld her name and phone number, I took that as a “Carpe Diem” kinda thing.
During our time together I told her that I had celebrated my 21st birthday only days before and she revealed that she was too old for me, but found me charming, dancing with everyone in the club. I accused her of stealing me from “all the ladies who needed me”. That made her laugh because she knew I wasn’t serious, and I wasn’t.
I was, however happy to know that a woman so incredible took interest in a young man like me.
So it was all a victory, with no losses.
Unless you count the fact that I couldn’t find my wallet, which had about $25 cash in it and a bunch of receipts. My friends joked that she had picked my pocket, which I vehemently denied, deeming her incapable of doing such things. I added that if she were a thief, she would have spent more time working the room instead of focusing on my young, broke ass.
Now that BLONDE from the conga line on the other hand…
Oh well. Considering the weekend, I really didn’t care. Not as much as I would have under other circumstances.
It was a non-stop New Year and the most enjoyable time of my life.
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