Chapter 9, Palm Springs, 1998

PRINCE CHARMING

The air smells like a combination of chlorine and cocoa butter sunscreen as I recline poolside with my sister, soaking up the warm desert sun. Los Angeles is colder than usual this fall, and here in Palm Springs, it seems that it’s still summer. I have joined my sister and her in-laws for the holiday weekend in Palm Springs. They gather at their family vacation home, located on the oldest and last remaining guest ranch in California. It’s called Smoke Tree Ranch. It is a place of history. Families have been here for three, four, and five generations. The ranch is filled with Smoke trees and Tamarisk trees, not just Palm trees, which are usually the sole tree equated with Palm Springs. There are remnants of an old railway stop on the ranch – fenced and safe-guarded to preserve them. There are tennis courts – some clay and some regular hard courts. The pool is long and rectangular and heated to a balmy ninety-two degrees per the request of the primarily retired residents of the ranch. There is a giant main ranch house building that was rebuilt after a fire claimed the original one around 1990. Residents of the ranch gather to eat in this beautifully furnished rustic building if they don’t feel like cooking in their separate residences. They also gather to play Bingo, sing karaoke, or enjoy pre-dinner cocktail hour. I am always hesitant to fly all the way back to Minnesota to see my family for a brief stay. The airport in Los Angeles is crazy on holiday weekends, and my sister’s invitation to the ranch, including this poolside bliss, is a much more attractive alternative. On the way to Smoke Tree, my sister informs me from the driver’s seat that this weekend is the opportune time for me to meet a guy -my ideal type, apparently, and “totally the perfect husband.” I giggle when she says these words. Carolyn always wants me to do what she is doing. In her mind, now that she is getting married, I too should get engaged. Our first morning waking up on the ranch, Carolyn, Chris, and I head from Chris’ family home on Rock Nine to Rock Two. This is how houses here are organized. There are no street signs. We find ourselves at the home of the supposed “perfect man,” Dines Francese. His family home has a back gate that leads to a trampoline built into the ground. We jump and jump and jump. The patio door swings open, and out comes a classically tall, dark, and handsome young man. His smile is more infectious than a news anchor’s smile. He is wearing dark green khaki shorts, a collared shirt, and adorable sneakers. I am smitten. My heart skips a beat. We hot-tub and swim for hours, and we laugh. He doesn’t ogle my bikini-clad body like most of the guys I meet in Los Angeles. He looks deeply into my eyes when we talk, and he smiles constantly, which makes me look deeply at his lips. I try to stay focused on his eyes. The more I talk to him, the more I make discoveries. He is kind – truly kind. He is gentle and more charming than he is good-looking…and he is beyond good-looking. He is super handsome. Dines IS Prince Charming. He is even more attractive than Andy Garcia in my favorite movie, When a Man Loves a Woman. I giggle to myself, realizing his brilliant white teeth remind me of Andy Gibb.

My sister has just introduced me to the love of my life. I am on cloud nine. She beams watching us together. Carolyn has done it again. She has found the man I couldn’t find on my own. It makes sense. Who else would have known my perfect fit?