Olga Dies Dreaming(72)
And now, ladies and gentlemen, Fauxman Scoop declared, I want everyone on their feet because it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s get your napkins in the air, and wave ’em like you just don’t care! You’ve known them as Mabel and Julio, but now I present them to you for the first time as husband and wife.…
Just as Luis Fonsi began the song’s first refrain, the waiters lit their sparklers, more or less simultaneously, and raised them into the air, forming a flaming archway through which, Olga realized, the newlyweds intended to walk.
Mr. and Mrs. Julio Colón! Put ’em up! Put ’em up!
Mabel and Julio, beaming and holding hands, now danced into the room, a follow spot on them, squeezing their rather corpulent selves through the human archway. Julio bumped his hip on one of the more petite waitresses, nearly knocking her over.
“This looks dangerous,” Prieto muttered.
“I’ve never seen this done indoors before,” Olga replied.
Around them, the rest of the guests did not share their concerns, as everyone, including Matteo, was spinning their napkins—their beautiful, hemstitched, linen napkins—in the air, either cheering the couple on or singing along with the song. The waiters cleared the dance floor, and suddenly Mabel and Julio were swarmed by their bridal party, Lourdes, and Tía Lola, who got into formation behind the newlyweds, and began to re-create, with remarkable precision, the exact choreography from the “Despacito” video.
Prieto, who like everyone else had been singing along, turned to his sister. “Hold up. You’re a bridesmaid. Why aren’t you up there? Too good for choreography?”
“No! Dude, Mabel kicked me out! I missed too many practices. She gave my spot to Lola.”
The chill between the siblings melted a bit as they laughed at their cousin’s strict quality control efforts.
Aright now, who out here is ready to get loud?
This seemed to Olga a stupid question since the answer was clearly everyone. Nevertheless, she was amused as the crowd all cheered in response and, after dropping another air horn, “Let’s Get Loud” commenced. This was a crowd-pleaser at even the most uptight of WASP affairs, Olga knew, but here, in this setting, it whipped up near pandemonium. Guests of all ages pushed aside sateen-slip-covered banquet chairs as they swarmed the dance floor.
Though it was, indeed, loud in the room, Matteo picked up where he left off, leaning over Olga and offering his hand out to Prieto.
“Matteo Jones, Olga’s bae.”
Prieto smiled and raised his eyebrows, looking over to see how his sister would react, but she could only blush and swig at her glass of wine.
“Name it and claim it, man!” Prieto laughed, obviously amused at Olga’s discomfort. “Don’t mind my sister. She hasn’t brought anyone to meet our family since the Bush administration.”
At this time, we’re gonna ask everyone to find their seats for the first course.
“For the record,” Olga chimed in, “it was Bush two, not one, okay?”
“Right, right. Bush two. Anyway, you must be doing something right that she decided to show you the full circus.”
A waiter passed and took their drink orders just as Tía Lola and Tía Ana made their way to the table.
“Before anyone gets any ideas, that centerpiece is mine!” Lola proclaimed.
Tía Ana collapsed onto a banquet chair.
“?Ay! I can’t keep up with your Tío Richie, kids! He still can dance like he’s thirty years old!” She grabbed the waiter, ordered a cocktail, and went mindlessly to place her napkin on her lap when she stopped suddenly to appraise the piece of fabric. “?Qué elegante, Olga!” she said as she raised her eyebrows. “You always know the right touch.”
As Olga’s smile broadened to a cat’s grin, her aunt’s face fell. Olga followed her gaze to the dance floor, which had been cleared of all bodies save two: Tío Richie and Tía ChaCha, who were engaged in a salsa to an old La India song. This was nothing new at family affairs. The former spouses argued at the drop of a dime, but on the dance floor, they couldn’t stay away from each other, much to Tía Ana’s horror. Olga could see her aunt moving to fetch her husband, which she knew would devolve into a scene.
“Titi, no. The song’s almost over, you know they don’t mean anything by it.”
“Do I, Olga?” Ana replied, her voice tight. “I’m tired of this shit. If he likes the way she dances so much, he can go back to her!” She started to rise.
“?Ana, siéntate!” Lola said quietly as she grabbed her sister-in-law’s forearm.
Matteo, who had been quietly looking on, whispered excuse me and got up from the table. Everyone’s eyes followed him as he casually walked onto the dance floor and asked to cut in. Richie demurred, leaving his ex-wife to dance with Matteo while he found his seat next to his current wife. He kissed her cheek as he sat down and, from the smile on Ana’s face, everyone exhaled knowing the storm clouds had passed, at least for now.
“That was smooth,” Prieto declared.
“And,” Titi Lola chimed in. “?Mira! He’s a good dancer.”
She was right. On the dance floor, Matteo effortlessly guided ChaCha into a cross body lead with a double inside turn, followed by a copa.