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Life at the Coral Sands
by Terry Tazioli
Seattle Times Travel Editor
July 2004 PALM SPRINGS, Calif. - Louis B. "Guard Dog" L'Amour, maybe 10 inches tall at the ears, was pointing dead-on toward the entrance to the Coral Sands Inn. Every time he barked, he shot skyward, each leg a little synchronized rocket.
Outside, some guy Louis the Chihuahua didn't know was ringing the bell next to the motel's locked gate, jumping up and down, trying to see in. Wouldn't ya know it. Louis's mama was out running errands, one guest was asleep in her room, another was sitting alone, poolside. Everything had been calm in Louis' capable paws - until now. Then comes this guy, acting like some kind of nut.
What's to see, Buster?
It's a motel. A six-unit, pink motel. It was here in Palm Springs before you were a bullet in somebody's six-shooter. Why don't you just high-tail it to some other place to bed down. Rawf!
Wait a minute! The guest by the pool is going over to let the nut case in - the guy says he has a reservation. Why does this always happen? Why do so many guests figure they run the place? Louis glowers and turns away.
Life's just like that at Ruby Montana's Coral Sands Inn.
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Welcome to the party!
Just Desert
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. Its seven units of tasteful Americana kitsch (yes, this term can exist without being an oxymoron). Its 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. Its pink. More than all these things, however, it's Ruby's place.
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