Not About You, Dude

There's a whole lot of undulating going on in Hollywood

On one recent Friday, a core of elementary-school kids did lilting arabesques, a half dozen women danced with billowy veils, and Beaucaire herself, in a silky costume and stiletto heels, did a nightclub-style belly dance, with an astonishing variety of thoracic shakes and grinds. Then a circle of drummers unleashed a hypnotic beat, and a couple of women did uninhibited Senegalese dances.

Passing couples, friends of the dancers, and a few members of Hollywood's homeless people spilled from the sidewalk out into the street. A passing pair of Harleys briefly drowned out the music, and frustrated motorists shouted out warnings. But the performers continued unperturbed.

One man, apparently engrossed by the sight of so much femininity, pursed his lips suggestively, making lewd kissing sounds and jerking his head. He had absolutely no effect on the dancers. "C'mere, c'mere, c'mere," he muttered. Then, suddenly looking around as if he had awakened from a sweaty dream, he plunged back into the night.

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