Wednesday, July 25, 7:40 p.m.
Think back. When was the last time you had to check the weather forecast for torrential rain before going to a party anywhere in the Vegas Valley? Exactly. So it follows that I was shocked to see a damning wall of fierce purple and black clouds engulfing the city when I left work at 7:30 to head over to the Rio’s Calor Latin pool party at Voodoo Beach.
I’m so screwed. Only I would plan to attend a pool party during a monsoon.Just seconds before I reach the casino door I lodge my heel into a gap in the pavement and nearly take off without my right leg. A dark, handsome man on a cell phone comes flying to my aid. “Are you Brazilian?” he asks. Not that I know of. I dart into the building just as three fat, round raindrops fall on my leg.
I’ve attended a lot of promoter Mario Guardado’s Latin events, so I pretty much know what to expect; the events are always well-attended and genuine. “You’ll see the samba dancers later at 9 p.m. on the stage,” he says as one of four blue-befeathered Brazilian girls lays a bead necklace around my neck. More dancers wiggle their bottoms onstage while two traditional go-go dancers show off their own superior posteriors.
Super Estrella 92.7-FM is on the scene in a big way with raffles, radio personalities and even two colorful vehicles wrapped with the faces and names of Shakira and rock en Español band Mana. A moderate crowd encircles the stage and dance floor, every now and again casting a doubtful look up to the heavens. Some head straight for one of two bars or the tented gaming area. Others, indifferent to the encroaching storm, enjoy the abundant colorful pool seating in pink, blue and green made even more vibrant by the bright stage lighting that peppers the pool complex. The crazy ones swim.
I invest $5 in a margarita popsicle and am not entirely surprised to find that the yummy frozen cocktail on a stick comes enveloped in a thick layer of gooey ectoplasm. I eat my drink and wander to the stage, where a new crop of dancers are doing things with their hips only hula hoops are usually privy to.
Latin promoters from all over town mill about in soft linen suits and cabana hats. “What have you been up to?!” I ask one old friend. He wiggles his eyebrows: “Nothing good, to be honest,” he says, and saunters up to a couple of young chicas. DJ Dave “Dog” Guzman throws on “Suavamente,” which represents about all the Spanish I learned while working with him at Club Rio’s Latin Libido Thursdays; that party has since moved over to the Empire Ballroom. Director of Nightclubs Pauly Freedman winds through the crowd and reminds me that there are still a few Calor monthly pool parties left before the end of the summer, with August 29 featuring a white party called Blanco and the final installment in mid-September.
One at a time, men carrying drums and gourds of all sizes and shapes join a growing circle. They head off to a corner to practice. Fortunately, the weather is holding out, except for the misters overhead, which go thhhhpppt and spit more round drops on my head.
“I can see you in a bikini,” says my savior from earlier, who has found me, still finishing off my shotcicle. “Yeah, you’ve got sexy potential.” Potential?! I relocate immediately.
“Would you like to dance?” a sweet young man asks, offering me his hand. Just then a very fast song with an inconstant punk beat sends the many dancing couples fleeing. I politely decline.
At 9:30 the drummers take the stage. The crowd has swelled in the last half-hour, and the temperature is blissful. The Brazilian dancers with the feathery shoulder pads make way for at least 16 drummers and maraca-shakers. Together with a singer and a whole lot of passion, they lift up their voices and bang away till everyone’s butt is shaking in some semblance of unison—even mine. The gentleman standing next to me comments, “These guys are throwing a party for themselves!” Yes, I agree, I think that’s the idea. When I finally do leave it is with my hips swinging maybe a little more than usual. And why not? I’ve got sexy potential.