Traverse City Record-Eagle

Dee Blair: The View From Sunnybank

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December 26, 2010

View From Sunnybank: Exaggerated glories

By Dee Blair Local columnist

Last week Joe and I flew to Phoenix to an exclusive, Asian-style spa/resort to attend our friend Ron's Christmas wedding there. Tree trunks were wrapped in lights; huge cacti twinkled from top to bottom. Large, imported Christmas trees were tastefully decorated. Even in the high desert, t'was The Season.

The spa's clients are elegant People of Note. Ron's lovely bride has been the resort's popular social director for years.

During our delicious lunch outside, above the intriguing infinity pool -- which seems to suspend gravity -- Joe suddenly choked on his salad. His eyes widened. He gestured with his fork toward the large patio area below us, where guests were sunbathing and chatting. I looked. Ohboy! A woman, perhaps 30, was bent over her deck chair, the better to display her gravity-defying wonder -- a volleyball-sized bust. Sunbathers lowered their shades to gape. (This resort attracts the discretely understated sort, so she -- well, stuck out.)

Three men enjoying the very large Jacuzzi nearby dunked themselves to clear their heads, then checked again. Sure enough, she was real.

Accompanying her was a tall, massively muscled fellow with a narrow waist, who wore black silk trunks that flowed to his knees. But there was something peculiar about him. From the top of his bald head to his toes he'd dyed himself a deep plum-purple color. His back sported a huge black eagle tattoo. More designs decorated his limbs.

She massaged his calves as he laid face-down, then smoothed her own towel and fussed with the drinks on her little table in such a way as to display her amazing, er, charms.

Her swimsuit, designed especially for her, was certainly not meant to actually get wet. It was one piece, but cut in such a way that much of it had vanished. What was left traveled from her hips, dramatically narrowing as the material approached her central targets, to only just cover them. She constantly adjusted the slender bits of cloth: the suit struggled heroically to cope.

The woman had lovely long, tattooed legs, an even tan, fluffy blond shoulder-length hair, and up-to-date plumped lips. Satisfied she had everyone's attention, she positioned herself carefully sideways on the lounge chair to sunbathe. Getting situated was tricky. I wondered how she managed to sleep. In the background, Frank Sinatra sang "I've Got You -- Under my Skin," which made me gasp, then giggle into my napkin. The scene was surreal.

Joe found his voice. "Do you see what I see?" I nodded, and focused again on the plum man, who'd lowered himself into the Jacuzzi to chat with the other lightly tanned, or pale men. Hmmm. The dye, obviously impervious to water, was off-the-wall odd, but honestly, on him it worked. "The guy's probably a professional wrestler," mused Joe, sparing him a quick glance. His eyes, like every other man's, were locked on the woman, who had carefully risen to teeter on spiked heels toward the dressing room holding a long-stemmed martini glass. After a very brief absence she teetered back, walking with dainty steps, her head held high. Never have I seen anyone like her. Or him. When they entered the pool area, everybody there was rendered instantly insignificant. We women felt ironing board flat.

Apparently they were the talk of the resort for days afterward. We heard later from other guests that she, an exotic actress, had just finished making a movie. They'd come to the spa to unwind.

Anyway, we finally finished lunch and left, and so missed her spectacular backward topple into the Jacuzzi, having sipped a few too many cocktails.

Heavens ... Did that incredible swimsuit survive?

Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are closed for the season. Her new book, "The View from Sunnybank," a collection of her columns, is available at Horizon Books, Amazon.com and at www.deeblair.com. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.

 

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