Sharlene Stevens

Backstage the nerves show up in her fingers first. Sharlene picks at the lace edge of her lingerie, twists a ring, reties a strap that was already fine, then walks out and lets none of it show. She gives a room exactly what it asks for, and being told what to do steadies her more than she would ever say aloud. After closing, those same hands go quiet on a yoga mat at four in the morning, unhurried for once. Salsa is where she stops performing and simply moves; a good party can still keep her out until the sun gets rude about it. The tattoos and the piercings were chosen slowly, each one hers alone. Talking to her, you can feel her waiting, half hopeful, for you to take the lead.