Original near miss with Ana
(set in a different nightclub, which also got cut)
Modified due to excessive dancing in first draft
I move away from the bar, drink in hand, until I have my back to one of the part mirrored walls. The DJ is playing a couple of token Finnish songs which I don’t know, so I start to drain the vodka red bull. Standing next to me is a blonde woman of about my age. Two younger guys seem to be vying for her attention and the woman is doing nothing to discourage either of them. I can’t understand a single word, but I can see the situation. I lean close to her right ear and whisper at top volume, “Are you going to choose one or keep both dangling all evening?”
She blinks for a second as she realises I’m talking in English and grins, “They are pretty toys. It shame to choose.”
It’s great the way virtually all the Finns below forty can just swap into English. I raise my eyebrows. “I suppose you don’t have to choose!”
She makes a mock expression of distaste. “I am not so naughty!” her face dissolves into a grin which seems to belie her words. “But I leave my husband at home in front of TV.”
“Shocking.”
“Hey, where you from?”
“England.”
“Why you here?”
Here we go again – stamp on it quick. “Too boring”
“What?”
“It’s too boring, you’ll be asleep before I’ve finished telling you.”
The woman shrugs, reaches between the two guys who are eyeing me warily and pulls the hand of a dark haired girl beyond. “Hey, Ana, a real English guy.”
Ana looks a bit younger than her friend. Her hair is jet black from a bottle and she’s wearing a tie dyed top and black jeans. I’m not sure the look quite suits her, but I’m not about to say so.
“So can ‘real’ English guys dance?” she asks, accenting the quote marks. And here’s where I really surprise them. I’m a bit gangly, not all that muscular, but whatever Abi may say, I can move. And I love to dance.
“Lead the way, ‘real’ Finnish woman.” She takes my hand and pulls me between the two boys - I can’t resist a slight shove with my elbows as I pass. As we step out under revolving glitter balls and spinning lasers, I glance towards the raised desk protruding from the far wall. “That DJ must be psychic,” I enthuse as the thumping intro to Tainted Love begins to overlay the previous track. It’s old school but still a classic and suits my dance style. We make some shapes for a while, keeping eye contact, copying each other’s moves, laughing when one of us tries something that doesn’t work.
She dances quite like Abi, I think idly. Ana breaks eye contact, catches her friend’s eye. They both raise their eyebrows wide eyed. I’m lost in the moment, intoxicated by hormones. We get some drinks, move to a quieter area through one of the black brick archways and exchange pleasantries. She doesn’t even ask why I am in Mahikkala. ‘This is a woman after my own heart,’ I say to myself and in the echo of my words it hits me: where I am and what I’m doing. And in a double whammy, Ana raises an eyebrow and says, “And are real Englishmen as good at other thing as they are at dancing?” Careful, Steve, careful. I act dumb.
“What sort of things?”
She thinks I’m joking, trying to embarrass her, “Other things that men and women do together.” A faux coy smile lingers on her lips. Damn, these Finns are so direct. There is a brief struggle for control of my mouth between my brain and my loins.
I smile weakly, “Of course we’re excellent at that, but there’s a little problem.” I raise my left hand and spin the ring on the fourth finger with my thumb and pinky. She looks quizzical, then light dawns.
“Oh, in England this mean you have girlfriend, or are ma-”
“Yes, married,” I interrupt.
She seems to consider for a moment. “You have children?”
“No.”
“And your wife is in England?”
“Yes.”
“Then no problem.” She reaches out a hand. Oh, I am so, so tempted. My head swims; I feel the heat of a sudden sweat. I don’t take her hand and shake my head.
“There is a problem: in here”, I point to my head. She can see in my face that I mean it.
“But why?” She gestures towards the dance floor.
“I like to dance, I got carried away, I’m sorry”, I stand up, leave the table, and head over to the gents, trying not to look like I’m running. When I come out again I can’t see her, and blowing my cheeks out in relief I head to the door. As I collect my jacket the bouncer, come coat attendant, says, “Early night?”
“Something like that.” I robotically hand over a Euro as I step into the street.