Pampered--and Downright Dirty

It’s amazing what a huge role movies can play in life’s decisions. My editor chose UC Berkeley for college because of “The Graduate,” and I went through a spell of wanting to be an astronaut because of “The Right Stuff.”

Robert Altman’s 1992 dark comedy, “The Player,” made me want to live in California. Tim Robbins played a murderous studio exec--but who could get worked up about the death of a measly screenwriter? It was the opulent homes dripping in bougainvillea and the white Bentley convertible he drives off in at movie’s end that got me. And those his-and-her mud baths at Two Bunch Palms spa in Desert Hot Springs? My idea of paradise.

Last weekend, my boyfriend and I fulfilled the spa portion of my “Player” fantasy. The Capone suite, featured in the movie, was booked--at $495 per night, it was too expensive for us anyway. We settled for a ground-level room off the hot springs.

The hotel was more, well, earthy than I had expected. But, after all, Two Bunch is about escaping the trappings of daily life: Cell phones are verboten, clothing is optional, voices are expected to be kept low.

Our priority Saturday was a mud bath. We slipped into our robes and strolled down to the mud huts. I was primed for a glamorous and romantic experience.

The pamper palace I expected turned out to be vaguely reminiscent of a slop house, complete with plank floors and garden hoses.

As the spa attendant, Kim, herded us into our treatment room (really more of a stall with a curtain), she explained that the mud was a mix of clay from the desert’s mineral-rich springs and specially grown peat, which would condition the skin and expel toxins.

The first thing that hit me was the smell: wet manure. My stomach turned at the sight of the mud, dark green and thick with thistles and twigs. Pushing my body down into the warm slop was no easy feat. To my left, Adam was already submerged.

“Stop me if I start grunting,” he said.

“I have never felt more like a pig,” I said, overcome by the urge to oink. “And we’re paying for this.”

After about 10 minutes, Kim came in to apply cool washcloths to our faces and serve ice water.

“You guys all right for another 10 minutes?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, determined to enjoy myself.

“The peat is a great exfoliant,” she added. “But you have to move around in it.” As Adam and I rolled around, I was sure Kim and her pals were having a good laugh behind the curtain.

“Look, hon,” Adam said, his hand rising from the mud. “I’m the creature from the Black Lagoon!”

*

The “etiquette of tranquillity and harmony” section of the Two Bunch pamphlet warns that “discreet” nude sunbathing or swimming could occur at the resort. Well, discreet is hardly the word I would use to describe the two bombshells who let loose by the pool Saturday.

I was lying on my stomach when I noticed them trot in and set up shop on the chaises. Decked in short shorts and tank tops, the blond was gabbing on a cell phone (not allowed), while lighting a smoke (strike two) and signing a tab for beers (before noon).

In one fell swoop, the serene rustling of the palms was pierced by the sound of jaws dropping: The women had ripped off their tops exposing their bare breasts, and they seemed almost practiced at it.

“Porn stars,” I sniffed. “Have to be.”

I thought it was awfully considerate of me to let Adam keep reading without pointing out the nude scene unfolding behind his back.

When I told him about it later, he responded with the appropriate amount of distaste. Isn’t he the best?

Booth Moore can be reached at booth.moore@latimes.com.