Review — Frontiers Magazine...
Poolside vista
Just Desert
At Ruby Montana's Coral Sands Inn in Palm Springs, the greatest treasure in this museum of Cowboy Americana is its proprietress
by Bett Williams
Frontiers
WHEN I ARRIVED AT THE CORAL SANDS, Ruby Montana was trying to decide if she should turn up the heat in the pool. After all, Amanda Lepore was coming in a few days, and she has a reputation for getting naked. I suggested she not worry about it—Amanda probably wouldn't swim, because her makeup would come off. Ruby turned up the heat anyway. She knows not to mess with the mojo of the pool. After all, photographer Donna Ferrato lingered on its handrail in a latex dress, and over Palms Springs Weekend last year a pack of pierced baby dykes took it over with all the grace and sobriety of rugby hooligans. This, by the way, is a good thing.
The Coral Sands is an inn where a geriatric Chihuahua in a sweater will greet you when you ring the bell. It's seven units of tasteful Americana kitsch (yes, this term can exist without being an oxymoron). It's the best location in Palm Springs, right near Marilyn Monroe's and Liberace's houses, and watched over by a mystical and maternal mountain range unobscured by streetlights. It's pink. More than all these things, however, it's Ruby's place.
Ruby Montana rolled into town from Seattle, where she was the founder of a Spam-carving contest and ran a store called Pinto Pony. From what I gather from all the cool stuff she has around the inn, she was less of a dealer than a curator and historian of cowboy kitsch.
Okay, I have to cut to the chase here. Ruby and I are both German/Cherokee blonde Libras. Ruby made me dinner, got me drunk in her kitchen, and played me Dusty Springfield, Ann Peebles, and Leonard Cohen's one dance-able song, "The Future." We danced, but not to that song. That song we just listened to, and I remarked that it needed a back-up singer/dancer like Judy Davis in the movie High Tide. She then proceeded, from her chair, to do all Judy's dance moves. I mean, I didn't know anyone even saw that movie. Later, in my room, I was flipping through the guest book. A lesbian couple was joking about how next time they would make sure to bring their maid outfits to wear for Ruby, and how they hoped they could dance again with her to Leonard Cohen. So! Ruby does that with all the girls' Sigh. Well, I suppose that's a good thing.
A French fashion magazine did a shoot here Judging from the photos, they wanted to capture a Joan Didion-esque California beauty, and the Coral Sands was perfect for this. The model was underage. At the end of the day, Ruby found her crying and asked what was wrong. She said in a thick accent, "I miss my Mummy, I've worked really hard, and they won't give me anything to drink." "Darlin', don't you worry," Ruby said, on her way to the kitchen
Ruby helped me not worry a lot. In her kitchen the second night we hung out with a straight couple visiting from Seattle. The woman was an artist, a really good one. Ruby phoned up a local gallery owner and had her come over to look at the woman's work. We sat around for hours, talking about everything from hatred of Dave Matthews, to roads in Montana and ex-boyfriends on MySpace. When the guests left, we talked about the real stuff, like ex-girlfriends and the intensity of losing a parent. Ruby's beloved father died just a few months ago. She played me the song she chose for his funeral. It kinda blew the top of my head off. We danced and I went to bed in my room with the two ponies above the headboard. Before I retired, I took a look at one of the mounted "tiny heads" in the dressing room. Instead of a slain deer head mounted on wood, this one was a small stuffed lion. It was even a little soiled. It was brilliant. I thought if I ever gave up writing I'd steal this idea and start making these things. I went to bed inspired and woke up way more refreshed than I should have. (By the way, my room had a really cool kitchenette, which I never used because Ruby was always cookin' and bringin' me coffee.)
Ruby refers to herself as a "motelier." I, however, see her as a curator. In the rooms as well as in conversations with Ruby herself, the personal intersects constantly with the cultural. She understands that the best kitsch is about a sense of place crossing paths with marginalized identity. No wonder John Waters stays there.
By the way, there's a picture of her in the kitchen. She's on a hike, holding two black snakes in each hand. Just so you know who you are dealing with.
