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| - Having just returned from a whirlwind overseas business trip, Condor had to unwind. No place better than the Spa at Camelback Inn. It has been years since Condor visited and, as I expected, they did not recall that on my last visit I mistakenly thought the terrycloth robe and slippers were a gift. The letters demanding their return stopped after 3 months.
Arriving in the lobby I was greeted by the soothing sound of Asian Zen music and the tranquil flow of fountain water. After a quick flashback to the three days in a jungle hut cell due to a jade sale gone bad, I headed to the luxurious locker, donned the fluffy terrycloth robe and settled poolside.
My first disappointment of not having a drink in hand almost immediately was soothed when staff opened the bar 2 hours early. Talk about customer service at 7:30 in the morning. Having the secluded pool to myself, literally, I settled in to a literary vacation of the mind. It had been a long time since I read "US Weekly".
Engrossed in the torrid life experiences of the hoi polli, I hardly noticed Companion had arrived and asked why I had already consumed six umbrella laden cocktails. "The heat," I responded. "It's 75 degrees," Companion stated with the accuracy of a former weekend weather girl in San Diego.
Well, more cocktails ensued, including Companion's Mango Margarita, whose orange color I compared to the stunning, skin tight dress worn by an unknown actress named "Roxie" at a Red Carpet Event in the pages of "US Weekly". The color of the Mango Margarita complimented the snow white of my robe after it was hurled in my direction.
Another drink soothed Companion's ire and it was time for the highlight of the day: our individual Swedish Massages! Escorted by my Massage Therapist, the spitting image of Peta Wilson (Google it.) I was soon transported into a realm of relaxation and bliss. The bad news came when I was awaken from my trance by a knock on the door. It seems my snoring had disturbed the guests next door and my session was cut short.
No matter, more poolside time with Companion awaited and more frothy cocktails. Unfortunately, upon return to my chaise lounge, I was greeted with a note. Apparently Companion and her Male Masseur hit it off and were enjoying cocktails at the Valley Ho Hotel down the street. I was definitely not invited.
Well, upon reflection, the facility, service, therapist and massage were excellent. Although romance did not blossom, I did add another terrycloth robe to my closet, albeit with a Mango Margarita stain.
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