L.A. Affairs: Salsa dancing seemed like the perfect date. So what could possibly go wrong?
Comrayo / For The Times
His Bumble bio and photos were appealing. He traveled frequently and loved to dance. Over the phone, he came across as dorky to me. But when he suggested that we go salsa dancing for our first date, I decided dorky was doable. I love dancing too. There was a lesson at 9 p.m. followed by live music from a band.
Despite my challenges with dating in L.A., I responded enthusiastically: “Sounds nice! I’m looking forward to it.”
“Great,” he said. “Let’s meet at 8:30. We can have a drink and then you can join the lesson.”
From self-care treatments to intentional creative play, we selected solo activities that are a perfect starting point for breaking away from the norm.
He emphasized the word “you.” With a playfulness in my voice, I countered: “Well, we will both do the lesson.”
The nerd suddenly morphed into a snob. “I’m an expert salsa dancer. I don’t need the lesson.”
I remained bubbly. “But this is a date. We will do the lesson together since it’s fun. Plus, there are never enough men. You’ll have to join.”
His attitude surfaced again. “As I said, I’m an expert salsa dancer. I don’t need the lesson. That’s for you as a novice.”
Firmly I said, “You are doing the lesson with me. See you Friday.”
I had been hesitant and fearful when I jumped into the online dating world a year-and-a-half after my longtime partner’s suicide. I had wanted to take it slowly. I wasn’t at all ready to find Mr. Right and was intimidated by the prospect of even finding Mr. Right Now. I was also full of dating questions, like “How do I talk about my most recent relationship?” or “Is it better to meet for coffee or dinner?”
A strong jawline, that scruff, those biceps. Yes, I’m into the guy from my office building. So what did I do? I messaged him on LinkedIn.
In putting myself out there since my boyfriend’s death, I’ve found mind-boggling material that I’ve shared with my friends who are eager to support my dating adventures. Sometimes they’ve even picked up dating insights based on my bizarre encounters, which have turned out to be plentiful.
After all, there was the guy who asked on our first outing if I was “taken care of down there,” waving his hands toward my nether region. There was the bed-breaker. There was the guy who barked orders at hotel staff. (He insisted we eat in a conference room that was reserved for a corporate luncheon.)
My hope was that things might go better with Mr. Salsa.
At 8:30 p.m. on date night, I walked into the Warehouse Restaurant bar in Marina del Rey. It was empty except for my date.
Should I be on a date with a man who’s two years younger than my father? I’m not attracted to him and I don’t find him interesting.
When his beer arrived, he opened his mouth widely to brutishly remove his aligners. I watched as he stuck both fists in his face to remove the saliva-drenched hardware, which he then placed in a little blue box.
He wiped his hands on his jeans, smiled broadly and pointed to his teeth. “I wear Invisalign on the top and bottom.”
An entire conversation about aligners ensued as another dialogue was happening in my head. I thought to myself, Seriously, Mr. Salsa? Did you really just remove your hardware within five minutes of meeting me? Why are you taking them out at the bar? Why not in the car before you got here? Why do you have to take them out at all? You’re just drinking a beer! Why are we engaging in a long conversation about how to lessen the cost by getting three sets made at once?
I wanted to go home but would feel bad about bailing. I am always too nice.
The salsa lesson was about to start, and sure enough, my date refused to join. I happily participated and was relieved I didn’t have to interact with him. Eventually the teacher dragged him onto the dance floor. As I had predicted, the women-to-men ratio was not close to being even.
On my birthday, I met a handsome musician at a beach bar, and we spent many nights together. He even told me that he loved me. But would our romance become an everlasting love?
After the lesson, I danced with Mr. Salsa. I’ll admit it: He was a good partner and a fantastic lead. But he was impossible to tolerate. He uttered, “You aren’t too terrible. I can probably work with this.”
He led me back to the bar. Just as I was about to thank him and wish him a nice rest of the evening, he looked me up and down, pointed toward the dance floor and bluntly said: “I’m going back out there. But you’re pretty. I’m sure someone will ask you to dance.”
I watched in bewilderment as he walked onto the floor to introduce himself to a beautiful brunette in a red dress.
That was my cue to head for the door. As I turned to go, a new dance partner grabbed my elbow. His shirt was unbuttoned to his belly button. Gold chains adorned his chest. In my heels at 5-foot-3, I towered over him.
After our quick dance, I bumped into the original Mr. Salsa. Ever so politely, I tried the gentle letdown. “This was fun, but I better head home.”
As the husband of my best friend, he was no stranger, but he was usually peripheral. Then I remembered his sweetness, his handsome face and his long, tall body.
He said, “Amazing night. I’ll give you a ride.”
This time I was more forceful. “Oh. No. Really, you stay. Enjoy yourself. But thank you.”
He texted the next morning about a second date, but I held firm. There would be no second date.
Mr. Salsa was added to my list of bad dates.
As for me, I had assumed my baggage would be too heavy to bring on dates after all the turmoil with my boyfriend, his mental illness and eventual suicide and my subsequent grief, trauma and devastation. For so long, there have been questions surrounding my boyfriend’s death. I will never have all the answers, and I’m OK with that. But in terms of the dating scene, I’ve realized that despite everything I’ve been through, I’m in a far better state than most of the potential suitors I keep meeting in L.A.
I’m polyamorous; my husband and I date and have relationships with other people. I was holding my husband’s hand when I saw a man who caught my attention.
Because on the other side of my years-long, to-hell-and-back healing process, which is best described as daunting, challenging and uncomfortable, has been recovery and growth. I also have continued to trust that despite my often disastrous and discouraging dating stories, an excellent partner awaits.
In the words of Mr. Salsa, I’m going back out there.
The author is an L.A. native and nonprofit executive. She is working to publish her memoir about life and lessons after suicide, including tales from the L.A. dating scene. She’s on Instagram: @nicole_lise
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
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