Land of the Swaying Palms. It was an expression Dora remembered from her childhood, a joke she and her best friend shared from their lonely Lake Ontario island outpost. It seemed nothing they would ever see in their small-town lives. Imagine their wonder and excitement when they went on a trip to Florida during the Spring Break of their final year at that pokey little school. Finally to see it, feel it, breathe it, for just one week: the land of the swaying palms.
Years followed on years of struggle, although having her two beautiful daughters, now older teenagers, made up for a lot. Dora found herself carrying thirty (or more) extra pounds as she stared down the gun barrel of sixty without having achieved much if any of her bucket list of adventures in life.
The unfinished house to whose mortgage she was a slave would never be paid for. Each month was a crap shoot of whether they could cover all the bills. The credit cards were fully maxed. The survival anxiety was always palpable and always there. Indeed, Dora had learned to expect, if not fully accept it as the consequence of long-ago decisions, even as she tried to make different and better decisions, like giving up booze for weight loss, and to save money.
The scarcity lens coloured all moments, all transactions, all thoughts. Dora’s only escape seemed to be the detective novels she read and re-read as she tried to get to sleep at nights, dropping in and out of worlds where all mysteries were solvable and all endings brought closure and relief as things were tied up in neat little packages. She could only hope that somehow her beloved girls–both still in school–could transcend it all, eventually, in their own lives.
Dora clung to small talismans in her day-to-day existence. One was a mug that Aubrey had brought home from a job site. It said “Little Giant Ladder Company” in faded letters and had a graphic of, you guessed it, a ladder climbing up to the infinity beyond the edge of the rim. She jokingly (for she was still, somewhere inside, the same little girl who chuckled with Mara in that long-ago schoolhouse) thought of it as “one of the perks” of being with Aubrey.
Well, the perks should have been stuff like going to Europe for the wedding of one of their nephews, or to Ottawa for the funeral of Aubrey’s mother. They should have included the ability to spend summers at what used to be Dora’s family compound in the Maritimes. But really all there was, was this mug. You could laugh or cry–and Dora chose to laugh. Yet she could dream sometimes. And her dreams coalesced into a single phrase.
Land of the Swaying Palms.
*****
Imagine Dora’s surprise when Aubrey came home one December evening from doing odd jobs for their upscale neighbours, Prunella and Bob, and made the fateful announcement, “How would you like for the two of us to go to Palm Springs this winter?”
“Uh.” Dora, seldom at a loss for words, was speechless.
“Yeah, we had a few beers at the pub after I finished that fence, and Bob invited us to join them at a rancher they’re renting there for a couple weeks. He says all we have to do is get ourselves there.”
It seemed highly unlikely.
Dora laughed, “Yeah, sure.”
*****
Three weeks later, the tickets were booked. Dora had a sense of unreality about the whole thing, as if it couldn’t really be true. Still, she joked about it with her girls, and Clara and Laurie entered into the spirit of the thing. The phrase became her stock in trade as the winter rain and winds drew in around them. Why Dora had escaped a small island in Ontario only to settle on another off the coast of British Columbia was one of her life’s unfathomable mysteries. She evoked the phrase like a mantra as the time for travel drew nearer: “Land of the Swaying Palms!” She even added a hula-like swish of the hips, Hawaiian style, but that was neither here nor there.
Soon they would be there, she thought, as she packed her suitcase several weeks in advance of the departure date, afraid to jinx it all somehow. She worried about how she would look in her bathing suit, wished she had time to lose a few pounds. No point trying to compete with Prunella, who was always immaculately coiffed, garbed, and groomed–even when she attended the book club they both belonged to. Dora had never even had a manicure.
Every once in a while, Dora would check in with Aubrey: “Are you sure Prunella and Bob really want us there? Does it even make sense? Why would they?” and so on.
She went as far as to email Bob to find out what flights they had booked. At a dinner party they all attended , she mentioned packing for the trip. “Everything except my bathers–I’m trying to get in a few sessions at the Aquatic Centre before we go and I just have one suit.”
“I might have a spare bathing suit I could pass along to you,” offered Prunella graciously. “It’s too loose in all the wrong places.” A bit of a gut punch, it was at least an acknowledgement that their shared trip was happening, and Dora felt relieved. She smiled and drew in her tummy.
*****
With the seats booked for herself and Aubrey, Dora felt a surreal sense of inevitability. Land of the Swaying…
Was it really real? And how had it come about? What Aubrey didn’t seem to realize was that it wasn’t just a case of getting themselves there. They’d have to eat, drink, and presumably do some touristy stuff at this vacation destination. And they were already beholden for the accommodation itself. She tried to lean into it all, though, as best she could. This was actually a perk of being Aubrey’s wife. It’d been long enough coming.
*****
All these thoughts besieged Dora as she and Aubrey (and somewhere at the front of the plane, Prunella and Bob) sped through the bumpy skies on a southbound 737. Whatever her misgivings, it was far too late to turn back now.
The flight attendants made their way up and down the cabin, somehow missing Dora and Aubrey’s row when they distributed the free cookies, suspending coffee and tea service when the turbulence got rough. Just as well, thought Dora. Those cookies were on the naughty list, if she even wanted to fit into her thrift-store clothes. Banish, oh banish, the horrific thought that Prunella might recognize her own donated items among the items in Dora’s second-hand wardrobe.
Before she knew it, they were all safely disembarking onto the Sonny Bono Concourse at Palm Springs airport, the sights and sounds of this brave new world everywhere around them. Land of the Swaying Palms, for real, at last.
The thought came to Dora unbidden: “Smells like old people.”
Bob’s rented car, a pristine white Audi that mysteriously smelled of old hamburgers and/or tacos inside. On the drive to the rancher, sailing past the stately palms and low stucco walls of gated communities and tourist resorts, nestled among the dusty hills, they decided to stop for a very late lunch. Dora for one, was starving.
The first place that came up on the app turned out to be a sports bar with blacked-out windows and a cartoon of a scantily-clad gal in a martini glass. Prunella quickly vetoed this option, much to Dora’s relief. Next came a Gourmet Vegan Cafe, which Bob summarily dismissed, much to Aubrey’s relief. Finally they pulled up at a barbecue place in one of the many malls that dominated the suburban landscape.
Fifty dollars for a pile of greasy grub washed down with diet soda–and Dora felt she had never spent money so wisely! Her crispy chicken burger and creamy coleslaw were as manna from the gods. Aubrey and the others tucked into their trays (yes, trays not plates) of pulled pork, mac and cheese, and baked beans. Barbecued green beans on the side represented a nod to nutritional balance.
Their feast complete, they piled into the Audi and drove through the strangely deserted streets. “Everyone is inside or poolside in this heat,” Bob explained. “We’ll just take a quick stroll down the main drag to give you a feel for the place.”
“Shopping!” Prunella’s eyes lit up. Prunella purchased jewelry, while Dora bought t-shirts for her girls at the Palm Springs General Store. As they walked past a high-end make-up boutique, a slim, elegant young man handed Prunella a free sample while sizing Dora up at a glance.
“You!” he barked as she tried to hurry past. She made eye contact, and before she knew it, was whisked into the store and made to sit down on a high stool in front of a mirror. Prunella was outside with the guys, amused. “Glasses,” the young man commanded. Dora obediently removed her specs, and felt her under-eye area being swiped with a cotton swab. “Now tell me, what products are you using at home?”
“Uh. Soap and water?” Dora felt her heart beating in her chest and in her head. Full panic mode. The elegant young man registered disbelief.
“Well, how about your friend out there?”
“Yes, she’s waiting for me. I’ve got to go!” Dora squeaked, and fled.
*****
Next stop was the super-mega-market where they would stock up on provisions for the week. Dora’s eyes goggled at the sheer size and range of food and drink. Steaks the size of dachshunds, pre-boozed margarita mix by the gallon, caesar salad for ten, the list went on and on.
“Can I give you some cash or e-transfer?” Dora asked Prunella nervously as they approached the register.
“Oh, let’s let the boys figure it out,” replied Prunella. That was all well and good, but Dora had already tried the same line on Bob, and he had advised her to “take it up with Prunella.” The same thing would happen the next day at a bistro where they went for “happy hour,” by which time Dora was sufficiently relaxed to joke, “OK, well, just put it on our tab I guess.” Bob’s awkward laughter was enough to tell her maybe she shouldn’t have gone that far, but the deed was done. After all, for the next several days, these people were, well, family? And the place they were sharing was, home?
Besides a golf course, the ranch-style bungalow stood among dozens of similar yet unique dwellings dating from the 1970s, the era of Dora’s youth. Perhaps it was that aesthetic alone that created an instant feeling of homelike familiarity. In any case, Dora’s fears seemed to dissipate, to sublimate into the desert heat. Almost before she knew it, she was clad in her thrift-store bathing suit and plunging into the backyard pool.
The tiny waves sparkled in the fading light, and the sunset sky against which the tall palms were silhouetted, began to glow with an otherworldly purplish hue. From the wall of the covered patio, holding pride of place above a suite of elegant wicker furniture, a white papier-mache antelope head gazed placidly in Dora’s direction. Dora felt those extra thirty pounds buoying her up as she burbled and splashed from one end of this kidney-shaped heaven to the other.
While Dora swam, the others were toured the house (which Dora would do later), admiring all the quirky details of its seventies charm, the rustic woven wall-hangings, diner-style chairs and glass-topped table, the cow-hide rug and leather sofa. Equally welcome sights were the gleaming, modern appliances, and state-of-the art bathroom fixtures. Mood music wafted from the stereo speakers: easy listening jazz hits from a bygone era.
The house boasted three bedrooms, a larger ensuite and two smaller yet equally charming ones, again well-appointed with seventies kitsch. Dora followed Aubrey into one of them and plonked down her suitcase with a satisfied sigh.
“We’re thinking of buying one of these places,” Prunella declared.
“Let the drinking begin!” came Bob’s resounding announcement from the living room.
Something inside Dora (her resolve not to drink) snapped. Without abandoning herself completely to the recklessness of unchecked margarita-swilling, she gracefully accepted a small glass of super-mega-market wine. The rest of the crew were off to the races before you could say Jack Robinson, Dora observed, her mildly intoxicated brain rampant with cliches.
They knew so many of the same people back home, of course the conversation devolved to talking about them. Dora often imagined herself the object of such musings, so it was refreshing to be in this privileged position. “Ah yes, the Dobsons!” she enthused. “Aren’t they a caution?” God, she sounded like someone’s elderly aunt! Well, so be it. Sixty was looming.
Through the drowsy haze of boozy conversation came Prunella’s voice. “I have no patience–none–with women who make bad decisions.”
And later, “Yes, that Libby Dobson! So superior about not drinking! Just because I told her, Bob, how you got so tipsy that time around Christmas and invited Aubrey to,” she stopped abruptly and switched topics. But in that moment, Dora knew, with the certainly of a detective who has finally figured out who done it. “Oh, that’s why Bob invited us! He was drunk!” she almost exclaimed out loud.
In another conversational moment, the talk had turned to another couple, George and Judy. “Did you know she makes him sleep on the couch?” asked Bob. “You know, if that were the case with us, we sure as heck wouldn’t go around telling people, would you Prune? I mean, at least we still sleep together. Would you, Dora?”
“Uh. Certainly not,” Dora mumbled.
“Actually,” piped up Aubrey, whose bald head, flecked with age spots and sparse grey fur, suddenly looked to Dora like that of a very old man, “I did go ahead and move my stuff into the other bedroom here. To avoid your snoring, hun. Even at home, where you’re on a different floor, I swear the snorts and farts keep me up at nights.”
Dora felt the pricking of teardrops starting up behind her eyes. Another sip of Malbec. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a fat brown rat scurry across the corner of the elegant outdoor patio.
The rest of the evening was a blur, punctuated by a raucous card game in which the women were successfully pitted against the men. “Girl power!” they exclaimed with a high five. In her cups, Dora felt finally and irrevocably bonded to her friend and neighbour. Which was why, the next day at the pool, she could not for the life of her figure out why she had the urge to push Prunella into the water as Prunella skooched by the lawn chair where Dora sat baking in the sun. Perhaps the impulse was simply born of sleep deprivation, as she’d worried her nightly noises might awake her magnanimous hosts in the room down the hall. Of course she didn’t push Prunella into the pool. But why had she even thought of such a thing?
*****
Just in time, Prunella and Bob announced they were off for a short visit with Prunella’s brother, who lived locally. Dora and Aubrey had the place to themselves, and perhaps could talk about how the hell they were ever going to repay Bob and Prunella for everything on this trip. Or perhaps they would go into their separate rooms, close their doors, and rest.
