They were drinking mai tais at the Tiki Lounge, staring out the windows at the sun setting behind the hills of Palm Springs, when she commented how depressing it was being on vacation.
“In a few days, we’ll be back to our ordinary lives,” she said. “Going to work, driving the kids to school, acting as everybody else’s servants.”
“Let’s enjoy this while we can,” he said and stroked the hem of her vintage dress.
“How can I when it’ll all be over soon?”
“You’ll have the clothes you bought, the photos I took, the meals we ate.” He pushed forward a plate of Polynesian nachos with pineapple and coconut shavings.
“Those are just fantasies.”
Silence divided them, filled by Elvis crooning over a ukulele.
“Let’s go see Frank’s house again,” he said. “You loved that.”
“I could barely see over the fence.”
“This time, we’ll peek inside.”
So they wobbled through the twilight streets of town on rented cruiser bikes, past homes of glass and steel that promised a better life in the mid century. He pointed out a few buildings by famous architects, but she remained fixated on Frank’s place.
At last they reached the Sinatra estate just as a cooling breeze blew in over the desert. The cinder block walls offered no viewpoints, but by squatting they could peer under the iron gate at the back.
“I saw more from the tour bus,” she said.
He acknowledged it was true. The topless double decker had elevated them over the privacy screens—but from a distance.
“What if we could get inside?” he said.
“You mean . . . .”
He kneeled so she could step on his thigh, boosted her over the gate, then bellied after himself.
The pool shimmered in the twilight, inviting them in, so they stripped off their vintage getups and swam naked as he crooned, “The Way You Look Tonight.” The waters retained the heat of day, fulfilling her desire for luxury.
But soon they grew bored of merely swimming adjacent to the great house, which spread out around them like a chaise lounge. She stood before the sliding doors and peered at the living room.
“I wanna go inside,” she said.
He found a loose lock on the back door and pried it open. The furniture felt even more indulgent than the pool waters—especially on bare skin—with soft pillows, deep couches, leather recliners. Whiskey from the pantry tasted better than any cocktail served by the local bars. Even the air inside felt luxurious.
“Look,” he said, pointing at a stereo built into the wall. “The guide said that was Frank’s.”
He put on one of the Chairman’s old albums and sang along, uninhibited by alcohol.
Once that played out, they wandered into the master suite, where a king-sized bed invited them to indulge themselves.
“People knew how to live back then,” she said. “Just imagine if all we did all day was lie here naked.”
“I bet he and Ava Gardner went at it like hyenas,” he said.
After they’d done the same, he walked to the bathroom to clean himself, then called, “You can still see the crack in the sink from where Ava threw a Champagne bottle at Frank.”
“He threw it at her,” she said.
“I remember it the other way.”
“Don’t spoil this.”
Instead, he found a bottle of Chanel No. 5 in the medicine cabinet and dabbed it on her neck as she reclined on the big bed.
“Share the fantasy,” he said.
“This is how we should always live.”
“We could.”
“How?”
“You play guitar, I sing.”
“Major chords,” she said, “And off key.”
“These days, it doesn’t matter. Anybody can get famous.”
“Not without connections.”
“What about that girl, that teeny bopper . . . .” He snapped his fingers to recall the name.
“Her daddy got her an agent.”
“Still, all it takes is a YouTube channel.”
He filmed with his phone until they laughed so hard that the footage became blurry.
As fatigue from the day set in, they settled back into the pillows.
#
When a security guard awoke them the next morning, he asked, “What the hell they thought they were doing.”
“Sharing the fantasy,” she said.
Bio:
David Hagerty has published more than 50 short stories online and in print. He is also the author of four mystery novels about a politician seeking revenge for his daughter’s murder. Read more of his work at https://davidhagerty.net.