An Evening with Cher, Sophia, and Cha Cha

Sharon accuses me often of being an events coordinator on a cruise ship. This criticism reeks of “I didn’t just say yes to three different requests to do things for the next day while I was drinking and hobnobbing at the palapa so it must have been you.” Sharon’s inability to say no to any social opportunity amazes me. But to say yes to join thirty people to watch a cheesy Cher imitator at Heather’s Place….you have got to be frickin kidding me!!!!!
In past visits to Mazatlan I have walked by Heather’s Place when she has placed plastic chairs in rows, and I listened to some dreadful entertainers like Roy Orbison, The King, Kenny Rogers, etc. I swore that I would take a gun and shoot myself before I would attend such an event. Even Sharon admitted that Cher would be dreadful, but we would go out dancing afterwards with some friends. “Bruce, you don’t own a gun, so suck it up.”
Friday night:
5:00 Larry and Barbi’s cocktail party
6:00 Buffet at Heather’s Place
7:00 Cher sings
8:00 Back up singer performs
8:45 Cher sings again
10:15 Puerto Viejo for cocktails
11:00 Lorna’s for more cocktails
11:30 Son Sin – Mexican karaoke and dancing
1:00 Mambo Café – Salsa dancing
Bed time as yet to be determined.

We attended the cocktail party late because Larry and Barbi own two condos (one in Paraiso I and another in Paraiso II). We had told several people the wrong location, so in a mad dash into and out of elevators in the two buildings to correct our error, we arrived late. We also forgot to tell one couple who we had asked to go dancing with us about the cocktail party. They dressed up, waited for us, called us, took the elevator to our condo around 7, and then went to bed early. I haven’t ditched someone since the eighth grade. I felt horrible about it the next day. I felt horrible the whole next day about my tequila consumption as well.
At the cocktail party Sharon floated around like a butterfly and stung me like a bee when I looked bored. We boarded into a friend’s van and arrived late for the Cher dinner show. In stead of rows, Heather had placed ten chairs to each table in her parking lot. Since our group had reserved thirty spots, she assigned us preferential seating. Since we wandered in late, we sat at the table directly in front of the eight by eight foot stage. I literally had to move my chair every time that Cher walked out into the audience. Frickin lovely.
Heather’s idea of a dinner show consists of waiting in line to spoon some indescribable warm slop onto a plate. This food would not be a buzz buster. We kept the cocktails coming. I caught a glimpse of Cher in the restaurant. Damn she looks young. How does she do it?
Heather, knowing that the stage would be condemned in the States, grabbed the microphone and from her table at the side of the stage and introduced Cher. Her credentials actually sounded impressive. She had preformed for the Jay Leno Show and several other TV shows. She gingerly sidestepped onto the platform, exaggerated some Cher like gyrations as she belted out a song. I know watching American Idol doesn’t qualify me as an expert, but she could sing. I loved her show. If I ever am to watch a DVD of a Cher performance, she will have to really dazzle me to convince me that she sings better than what I listened to that night.
Yes, I knew about three of the songs. Yes, the couple next to me, Shelley and Phillip, plied me with shots of tequila that I washed down with rum and Cola lights. As cynically as I wanted to be, I had to acknowledge that she blew me away. When Cher completed the first set, the audience exploded into applause. At this time of the year the audiences in Mazatlan have garnered some years. This night the mean age had to approach 73. So what transpired next didn’t really happen; did it?
I looked over at my wife as the back up singer started to sing, “My Brown Eyed Woman” and I knew that Sharon’s alter ego, Sophia, had arrived. These qualify as “Oh Shit” moments for me. Sophia can’t be denied. No “I don’t dance unless seven couples are on the floor” husband or 73 year old Q Tips will stand in her way. She bounded out of her chair and scooted past two chairs to a space in front of the stage. She started to dance. She grabbed Barbi (serves you right for the cocktail party invite) and they started to dance. She soon moved onto me. Sofia and tequila overcame my shy tendencies in front of 200 people that I don’t know well. Oh well…..we were off and dancing. She coaxed some more women out. She performed a quick lap dance for the cantankerous Norm who celebrated his 80th birthday earlier in the month. Then a slow song sat down everyone, but Sofia. She told me to dance with Barbara, and she grabbed her 75 year old husband Billy. Billy doesn’t shy away from the limelight. His broken wing chicken act had most everyone in stitches.
The music heated up, and Sofia beat her way through tables gathering dancers like the Pied Piper gathered rats. Soon we expressed disappointment when Cher had to return. This disappointment wouldn’t last. Cher pulled Barbie’s husband, Larry onto the stage. Too many of our group wanted me up there for my comfort. But Larry reluctantly allowed Cher to place a Sonny wig on and coaxed him through, “I Got You Babe”. Hilarious.
A few songs later Cher grabbed Sofia and three of her friends onto the stage to perform a back up dancing routine. Sofia had the group doing some acceptable can-can routines to the crowd’s delight. Lastly, and I mean the last song, she grabbed me, Shelley and two other guys onto the stage, handed us blow-up plastic guitars, and asked us to play them on the stage for the final number. Now I have watched a couple of music videos over the years, and I had consumed a couple of cocktails by this time in the evening. I am hopeful that no one video taped the performance, but I admit to displaying uncharacteristic enthusiasm in my role. I am pleased that my jean’s knees did not blow out when I slid on them across the stage.
The night with Cher exceeded our expectations and our timeline. We arrived much later than we expected at Puerto Viejo, but we had talked another couple into meeting us there. They had gone home. We then wandered over to Son Sin. ChaCha, the owner of the bar with the riding crop that she uses to maintain order in hand, smiled at us as we entered. This event bears mentioning because I have never seen another gringo ever in Son Sin. She recognized us, as did Felipe, whose woody chased away a Canadian lady a couple months ago. We bought Felipe and his every Friday night friends cervezas. Singers belted out their songs, and we danced. Sofia talked ChaCha into singing for us. ChaCha will never be confused with Cher. ChaCha does wear a wig though. She also wears her 60 or 70 years like a natural woman who has lived hard and has smoked for far too many decades. ChaCha and Cher can both sing like nightingales. I love to hear this woman light up her place with her voice. She doesn’t need a riding crop for discipline when she belts out her songs with such passion because everyone stops their conversations to listen.
By 1:00 am we weaved our way in search of a taxi. When I asked for him to take us back to Paraiso, no one complained about not going to the Mambo Café. Nothing could have topped the three passionate women who had entertained us this night.