Tiny (Sand) Dancer

Unbeknownst to us- the interlopers at Kahala Beach Resort- the Rainbow Coalition had pitched their cabana within ten feet of our humble Walmart beach toy-littered spot.  Toned and not unattractive, if the teensy tiny bathing attire did not betray, Madonna's sultry crooning from the Bose speakers certainly did: These men, with their umbrella drinks were not of the Sunday football-25 cent "Wing Night" variety.  

And interestingly, they were rather smitten with my beguiling boy.  Granted, given optimal conditions when Kincaid's soft, lilting voice deceptively suggests cherubic qualities even I fall prey to his dimpled charms. Further, he delights in an adoring audience, rising to the occasion for his most indulgent fans.  I watch and learn. So it was not altogether unusual for Kincaid to attract both straight and not-straight attention during his whimsical promenade (to "Little Prayer") along the pristine sands at Kahala.

At one point, I discovered him engaging a bronzed, bejeweled couple and before I could decorously derail, Kincaid was thumping the husband's rotund stomach, exclaiming, "It's a beach ball" in that soft, lilting voice, which demands adoration or clemency or -in this case- both.

As the day progressed, so did the audacity of Caid's beach visitations. Unabashedly, he approached the Goliath-like security guard and in his ethereal voice politely uttered, "Gank you. I go rinse off now." Dumfounded and bemused, Goliath lost his menacing composure and I snatched up my tiny security threat.

Even the Rainbow Coalition produced an au pair with a baby boy named Zachary.  Considering the "sexual dynamic", I rightly concluded: surrogate. Caid simply concluded: more beach toys to surreptitiously "borrow." At one point during Caid's dalliance near the fairy cabana, I intercepted his game of sand tossing and was assured by a not-straight gentlemen (with fabulous hair) that Caid was not a problem at all.

...which was a relief (1) because Caid is often a problem and (2) the man upon whom my son was tossing powdery sand was Elton John's domestic partner!  

Imagine my astonishment when our "photographer" acquaintance (aka Paparazzi) apprised us that the cabana Rainbow Coalition was in fact Elton John's entourage and his son, (by surrogate of course) Zachary.  

I tried to play it cool.  Badly.  Though my dear friend Diana always plays it cool. Perfectly. And where was Elton? In a jogging suit, lunching a table, right behind our little plot of sandy heaven.  

Incidentally, since I know little about Elton John and far more about terrorists, my first thought was, "that's the same track suit in which Yasser Arafat was last photographed."  It is precisely ponderings of this nature that will guarantee my Hollywood anonymity.  However, I am beginning to worry that Caid will be the family exception.

THE Cabana with Zachary John