Greengirl: Part 4 Green Vacation
By Ally Polly
It’s our second day in Madoff-stricken West Palm Beach, where the sun is hotter than I remember and the rates are now lower than the height of Hurricane Season in New Orleans. Mike from Indiana missed me, and invited me to join him for the weekend at his conference. I can hear him singing in the shower, and even though he’s been rinsing and repeating for more than ten minutes, and 20 gallons of water, I’m going to look the other way. I must get my neti pot out of the hotel safe, and it’s far too cool to dry brush my skin out on the balcony. I just might have to skip applying my buckroot body balm this morning. It has a strong odor and it’s not worth blowing my cover.
Mike from Indiana warned me he would be in meetings all day, so I’m agreeing to my first golf lesson. He thinks I will be a natural since I am coordinated and athletic, but I’m not sure my bamboo undergarments are going to survive all that swinging. Maybe I’ll feign a temporary lower G.I. series so, I can sit by the pool with the rest of the Real Housewives of “It’s a Good Excuse to Get Away for the Weekend,” apply my 750 SPF sunscreen, and finish the rest of this new romance novel that’s printed on tree-free paper.
Joanne is already texting me for the fourth time this morning, which I don’t mind except that I’m trying to download the new Eucalyptus iPhone App. It synchronizes with your GPS and tells you when your Chakras are becoming inflamed. She’s bugging me to ‘maintain an air of mystery,’ which is going to be hard to do since I’m spending most of the day in a bandeau with matching wheat grass pareo. I write back that as soon as I finish the rest of the milk chocolate dinner mints I found on the floor from last nights’ Turn Down Service, I promise to be aloof and mysterious.Mike from Indiana emerges from the bathroom all clean and fresh, but I yearn for the musky smell of a round of nine holes, cigar ash and filet mignon that he wore last night.
“Check this out,” he says turning to show me the raw sunburnt skin at the base of his neck. I rush over to examine it. “ Don’t touch it” he squeals. “ Just look!” I insist that he lie down, worried that his shower was too hot and he’s going to blister. “That crap stinks,” he comments on my application of an aloe vera-infused yak placenta gel.
“Did I ever tell you I spent a summer working for Doctors without Borders?” I lied, determined to build an aura of the unexpected. “Shhh, you rest now, my big man,” I said, pulling a cool sheet over his Nancy Reagan-Red farmer’s tan.
From the balcony, off in the distance, I could see Brooks and his Brothers trailing their golf carts. They’re probably still making fun of my outfit from last night, since I’m not only the sole non-wife here, but also the only woman not wearing bespoke Lilly Pulitzer.
No, I wore the latest from the YSL Vintage collection – new summer classics cut from the unused cloth of past collections. It’s his homage to recycling, plus it has extra large side pockets, which I need to transport dinner rolls and extra butter patties back to the room. Mike from Indiana would have been crushed if he knew the steamed vegetarian plate he pre-ordered for me left me ravenous and cranky.
I look at my cruelty-free leather watch and dial room service again, hoping the menu really meant you could order “ anything, anytime.”
Now I just have to figure out how to intercept the delivery tray before they ring the bell, so I can eat my cheeseburger, medium-well, but not too well, side order of onion rings, and a large diet coke with vanilla syrup in peace.
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Steve July 6th, 2009, 2:07 pm
Mike from Indiana is one Lucky Guy.
You are 2 funny.
Leo July 7th, 2009, 1:31 pm
Wish we could get ahold of some of that aloe vera-infused yak placenta gel up here in Dutchess County. How far north are we? Well, we don’t have a Duane Reade, so that should give you some idea.