The Club House
In the center of hundreds of acres of perfection, the hub of all activity was The Clubhouse.
Seeing so many empty houses that showed no signs of life, a few odd passing cars, a lonely jogger or two prompted one to ask, “where are all the people?”
Pulling up to a huge Spanish-style pink building, heavily laden with a mass of blooming bougainvillea, a smart young valet leapt out to park the car.
Under a huge stone canopy, large terracotta steps led the way through beds of pinks up to impressive twenty-five-foot double wooden doors, which opened into sub-zero temperatures like a wall of invisible ice.
A deafening noise of hundreds of unseen people filled the air, thundering and vibrating.
Elegant ceilings above us were studded with a million spotlights shining like twenty-four-hour stars and flooding the halls with light. A huge marble table with a four-foot flower arrangement obscured the view, but the noise kept coming.
We entered a pale green, soft pink dining room, with thirty-five-foot high glass windows showing a view of the golf course and right across the greens.
Fifty-five-foot buffet tables displayed every dish known to man, laden with cruise ship-sized platters filled to capacity.
Waves of eager excited chatter washed towards us and across the room. Food obviously excited people, as large portions called for strong voices.
Baskets of breads were hurried to waiting tables to replace others as soon as the wicker showed.
Joints of meats carved from small dinosaurs fed carnivorous dinners holding up plates that consumed fields of salads.
Young men and women ran like emergency staff in between tables in case a patient passed out from malnutrition.
“Hey miss!”
“Hey there fella!”
Rang out the chorus from each table, indisposed with feverish chatter.
I was shivering with cold, but I had not noticed, being so flabbergasted at the sight before me.
Moving on to explore more, I wandered down wide corridors of pink walls and moss green carpets. They led surreptitiously in different directions, with small graceful engraved signs on plaques, promising pleasures.
Card room, Spa, Gym, Therapy room, Library…each one I wanted or needed, so I headed for the gym.
High arched windows with wood surrounds looked out onto a tropical rain forest of twisted foliage, thick and alive. Through the branches I could see a lake-sized azure swimming blue pool lying placid and undisturbed.
Lines of obedient treadmills were in front of the windows, each one responsible for hundreds of miles of travel, and yet they had not moved an inch.
They seemed to be arranged in pecking order - the best ones getting the front row views, and cleverly the tinted window glass was one-way, so the pool bathers could not see in and make out the figures exercising inside through the tangles vines. I am sure one group would have made the other feel guilty for one reason or another.
The machines stood silent and motionless; the room looked new and unused.
Neat rows of weights lined one wall, and charts above gave instructions on what to do with them in drawings showing muscle groups in various colors.
I thought a pin-up calendar of thin girls might have motivated us more.
This room obviously did not want to be disturbed, so I left and followed another green corridor, but I ran out of time and turned back.
Unknown to me, this room was going to be my refuge and I would be in here and not just to exercise.