L Gets Her Groove Back

I needed an adventure; a break from the daily reminders of my second failed marriage and the weight of my responsibilities. Club Med, Playa Blanca, was the chosen crime scene.

It had been difficult to crawl out of the divorce-induced doldrums this time.  I had been dumped for a friend of mine.  Sad but true.  That story will be told another time, but suffice it to say the double betrayal sent me to the hospital and cost me nearly twenty pounds.

Some good news came out of the bad news, though.  Missing those twenty pounds made my body bikini worthy for the first time in ages.  I had just turned 40.  In my mind, I had one foot in the nursing home and the other in a convent.  What man would be interested in an "older" woman with a teenaged kid?  An inadvertent glance in the closet mirror as I stepped out of my shower one day made me think "Well, maybe...."

 Friends insisted that my prospects for new romance would materialize if I just "put myself out there."  What did that mean?  Should I place a Woman Seeking Man ad in the personal classifieds?  Should I find a barstool in a local bar to have my butt-print memorialized?

 I am the product of the 1950s and 60s.  Young ladies did a lot of waiting in those days.  We waited to be asked to dance.  We waited to be asked out on a date.  We waited to be asked to marry some guy.    We also never did anything alone.  Ever.  

Since I was so convinced I was doomed to be alone for the rest of my life, I devised a recovery plan for myself so I could get on with what would pass for a life.  For example, I forced myself to go to the movies alone.  Big deal?  Yes, it was.  I felt as if every person in line for tickets was watching for my "date/husband/boyfriend" to join me in the line after he parked the car.  When I chose a seat, it was always in the last row, partially because of my far-sightedness, but mostly so that I could be observed in my aloneness by the fewest number of judging eyes.

When I traveled on business trips I would eat every evening meal in my hotel room via room service rather than sit solo in a restaurant attracting questioning stares from happy couples, or so I imagined.  My recovery plan required me to take all meals in public in order to overcome my discomfort.  I always took a book to the table to keep my mind and eyes busy as I ate my meal.

Things were progressing nicely after a few months.  I found myself actually preferring to go to the movies alone.  No need to strain to listen to someone trying to whisper asides during the film when one is alone.  Eating solo was no longer uncomfortable.  Now it was time to really strike out.

I booked my vacation for early June of 1986.  I was budget-conscious, given my new single-parent status, so the all-expense-covered aspect of Club Med was appealing.  I chose Mexico for its proximity to my California residence.  And rather than incur the expense for a single occupancy, I agreed to take a random roommate assignment.

It was at that point that I decided I would become somebody else.  Anybody else.  It didn't matter, so long as I could leave all my emotional baggage, boring history and real identity on the ground at San Francisco International Airport.

By the time I landed in Puerto Vallarta I had shed all memory of Lezlie.  When I met my roommate in the airport bus line, I introduced myself as LeeLee.  (I have no idea.)  I was a San Francisco lawyer, single and worldly.

Have I mentioned that I don't drink?  I drank enough beer during my four years at a Wisconsin college to fill an Olympic swimming pool.  When I turned 21 as a senior and started adding shots of extra sharp ginger brandy to the mix, I realized that I hated being drunk.  Control freak that I am, I freaked out and swore off all alcohol for life when I couldn't stop the dry heaves for two days after a game of Gotcha one night. 

LeeLee, on the other hand, didn't have that problem.  She was a party girl, so drinking Diet Coke with a slice of lime, Lezlie's usual, just was not going to cut it.  LeeLee started nursing Mexican beers the first night at The Club.  Short hitter that she was, it wasn't long before she was high and flying.   She told a different story to every new person she met.  To John she was a bartender.  She told Phyllis she was a socialite from New York.  By midnight, when she was pulled into the swimming pool by the handsome doctor from Mexico City, she was a stripper.

The next night, after recovering from her mild hangover, LeeLee and her roommate joined a group of guys they had met the night before at dinner.  They were a lot of fun and Lezlie easily slipped back into the LeeLee persona.  Gamely, LeeLee decided to try a Long Island Iced Tea.  The LIT is deceptively easy to drink.  It tastes identical to a well-brewed, restaurant iced tea, but it is made of the following:

 1 part vodka
1 part 1800® Tequila
1 part rum
1 part gin
1 part triple sec
1 1/2 parts sweet and sour mix
1 splash Coca-Cola®

Unfortunately, no one bothered to tell LeeLee what was in the drink, so when she began to sip her third one, she slid effortlessly off the barstool and onto the pool deck.  The roommate informed her the next morning that she had been carried to their room over the shoulder of one of the guys. 

I woke up with the expected side effects.  I wanted to stay in bed the rest of the day to avoid moving my heads (no typo there), but LeeLee had agreed to go with the group on a boat trip to an island picnic.  I had no choice but to soldier on.  I wish I hadn't. 

The group took a bus to a remote beach located about an hour away from Club Med. We would return to Playa Blanca via boat.

The first thing we saw as we reached the beach party setup was a galvanized steel tub filled with sangria.  Since I was a non-drinker, I had no idea that this refreshing punch-like drink was alcoholic.  That didn't matter, though, because LeeLee didn't care if it was or not.  She was determined to maintain her party-girl character.  

Club Med staffers had planned all kinds of games for the beach.  It was hot and humid, as usual, and the sangria was chilled and refreshing.  Even the sliced citrus fruits floating on top soothed the relentless heat.  

                                             BEFORE SANGRIA>

A whistle blew and another relay race was announced.  Each woman was paired with a man as a single leg of the race.  The object of the game was to run into the ocean up to one's neck and switch bathing suits with your partner.  LeeLee was all for it, because she was drunk again.  But Lezlie had decided to wear a one-piece swimsuit for this event, which meant that switching with what's-his-name would cause LeeLee to emerge from the surf topless.  Clash of the alter egos!  This was definitely not something Lezlie would do, no matter how drunk.  But LeeLee?  

I would have posted the photo of LeeLee stumbling onto the beach in her teammate's trunks, but I destroyed it and the negative (remember, that was long before digital cameras).  I should have packed some tassels!