Navigating Sea of Love : A Club 40-Something dance starts out with a sense of insecurity. But this gives way to a feeling of hope.

WOODLAND HILLS —  I feel conspicuously alone in a ballroom filled with strangers.

Many, I suspect, are alone, too, although most sit in small knots at round tables, chit-chatting the night away, some seemingly committed to unshackling themselves from loneliness and not being strangers anymore.

It’s a room also filled with oldies--and that includes the music.

Two speakers blast CDs of Sinatra and swing, of bop and rock, of disco and doo-wop, but not even the music inside this Marriott Hotel ballroom can drown out my insecurity. After all, I’m hardly your smooth-operating, nonstop-talking, “Hey, let’s party!” kind of guy--not exactly someone who’s been vaccinated with a Victrola needle.

What do I say? Whom can I turn to? What does one do at these so-called meet markets for middle-aged and senior singles to appear to belong ?

Well, to break the ice, I introduce myself to the deejay, who says his name is “Scott.” Surely, he must be skilled at making small talk.

“Do you like to dance?” he asks above the din, sounding like a carnival barker.

“Sure,” I reply.

“Oh, you’re gonna have a great time!”

Then he asks, “Do you like to meet people?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have a great time!”

This is Club 40-Something--a major player in Southern California’s flourishing singles industry, a host of monthly parties and other activities “for women 35-plus and men 40-plus.” A female voice on the club’s telephone recorder assures callers: “If you’re single and 40, the fun is just beginning!”

Actually, the fun on this Friday night takes awhile to rev up, if only because this party begins with wary glances and nervous banter I associate with college mixers I attended 30-odd years ago--back in the days when my hormones needed no jump-starts, back when I needed no editor to nudge me, as one did this time, figuratively through the door.

It’s an event dedicated to the credo that gray can be beautiful.

Here are scores of presumably eligibles who don’t have to show proof of age or marital status for admission, but must pay $20 at the door or $16 in advance.

They include women who appear chic, elegantly coiffed and as youthful as 30-something and men who look rumpled, avuncular and 60-something--many apparently on the make or on the mend.

As I scan the room for approachable company, I wonder how many are now nursing broken hearts, or caring for their grandchildren , or simply are there because they hold postgraduate degrees in partying or just plain people-watching.

Many carry assorted personal baggage--marriages that once upon a time sizzled, then fizzled; relationships that caused the participants to flip before they went flop. And, unlike the regulars who seem to glide through these nights with more than ample quantities of savoir - faire , a few of us comport ourselves with all the savvy and sophistication of someone groping for a light switch in the dark.

My goal: to be socially functional, but professionally unobtrusive. After all, I want to write about what I see, hear and think, unencumbered by guests who might put up a fuss if they knew a journalist had crashed the party and planned to write about it.

At these kinds of events, the small talk often tends to be dominated by responses to a question: “What do you do?”

Not so this time. Try “Are you divorced?” along with “Do you have children?”

At our table, I ask aloud: “Do you have to be single to be here?”

“I hope so!” a woman college professor blurts out.

“I mean, some of these people here could be married,” I press on.

“Are you married?” she asks, studying my ringless ring finger. “Hmmm. I don’t see any tan line there.”

As more party-goers arrive, lining up at the hot buffet and the cash bar, the tempo picks up. My toes tap, hands clap, fingers snap. Now that’s more like it!

Suddenly the dance floor becomes a swirl of color and fashion, a kaleidoscope of strangers and smoochers, the music of Frank Sinatra and Bobby Darin giving way to Chuck Berry’s “Sweet Little Sixteen” and Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean,” among others.

Now I’m slow-dancing like an old pro--and bluffing through the fast dances. Who says I’m not your “Hey, let’s party!” kind of guy?

Between dances with the professor and a retail clerk who says actress Loni Anderson shops at her counter, the chatter at our table consists of gossip, of which celebrities are homosexual or have undergone nose jobs, of those singles/personal ads, which often read like pitches for used cars.

“I know a man who placed an ad--and he got 50 responses,” a woman says.

She worries, as do countless other Americans, about dating and romance in these AIDS-imperiled 1990s. And she and others at our table ponder President Clinton’s health-care proposals--a perfectly appropriate topic at a gathering of mostly 40-, 50- and 60-somethings.

Soon we’re joined by a woman who introduces herself as, among other things, a parent of a prominent newsmaker. A few minutes of get-acquainted talk later, the two of us retreat to the dance floor as the deejay plays a recording of “Sea of Love.”

Later, as midnight beckons and the party winds down, I walk her to her car inside the hotel’s garage. Another couple strides past, and the man cheerfully says to us, “I hope your night is enlightening.”

Actually, this night has already been precisely that. Never mind that, for me, it began with all the grace and finesse of someone crash-landing off a horse. Now, who knows? I just may climb onto that horse again.

Even if Club 40-Something isn’t exactly a sea of love, it offers--to those of us who navigate life’s journey alone, but aren’t really lonely--an island of hope.

Where and When What: Club 40-Something. Monthly parties and other activities for women 35-plus and men 40-plus. Dancing, deejay, prizes, games, buffet. When: Next scheduled party starts at 8 tonight until 1 a.m. Saturday. Where: Warner Center Marriott Hotel, 21850 Oxnard St., Woodland Hills. Cost: $20 at door. Upcoming: Nov. 12 buffet and dance, Braemar Country Club, 4001 Reseda Blvd., Tarzana. 8 p.m. to 1 a.m. Cost: $25 at door, $20 in advance. Call: (213) 654-4440.