The Great Disneyland EU Debate - Part Three
The ride to the party went as smoothly as one could expect, given the volatile combination of my psychedelic dress, Ulak, The Mother, and Cem. Every five minutes Cem's cell phone rang with Fur Elise, and he pushed a button, held it to his ear, and yacked in Turkish. I couldn't tell what he said, only that it seemed businessy, cool, cordial, uninteresting. Ulak kept his eyes on the road, his mom kept her eyes on Ulak, and I kept my eyes on the scenery, watching the Marine boys and girls jump from whirly bird copters and drive cammo tanks on the short strip of scrub lands skirting the beach, watched the burning hills turn into the bright house-spotted palm-lined terrain of San Clemente to the green canyons and mesas covered with thousands of tall white sparrow houses of San Juan Capistrano, gradually giving way to higher and higher buildings, high tech glass edifices, more fast food joints than the eye could count, into the sprawl of Los Angeles.
My cell phone rang once, a low chirp chirp, a call from my son, 17, asking where the heck did I hide the microwave popcorn. I answered him quietly, quickly, and returned my phone to my purse.
"Allah save us. The woman uses a phone in company. Pffft." Ana spat the word "woman" as if it tasted of vinegar and I felt spit hit the nape of my neck. I kept silent.
Ulak didn't speak a word the entire hour and a half ride. As we passed the spaghetti swirl of malls, industry high-rises and highway exits marking the I-5/805 split, I saw him reach up to his visor, pull out a pair of black tweezers and watched in fascination and horror as he glanced at the rear-view mirror and plucked two stray ear hairs. I closed my eyes for the remainder of the trip.
I felt the car slow, turn off the freeway, come to a stop light. I opened my eyes, saw the endless procession of hotels lining Katella Avenue, all decorated with Mickey and Pluto and a million tiny white blinking lights, mistletoe, holly, Santa, Rudolph, more kitschy Christmas decor than the mind could process. Our destination wasn't among these cheap imitations. Ulak drove past them all, turned onto the official Disney Drive and straight to the new Disney Californian Hotel, a many leveled structure built like an old-fashioned lodge with open beams and iron work and hundreds of peppy Disney employees catering to your every plastic whim. He glided to a stop at the valet parking portico and jumped out, first opening the door for his mother and her silver walker, then me.
Ulak and I walked behind Ana and Cem, an act of elder respect toward the old woman. I knew there would be plenty of old-school Turks attending the party, and reminded myself to watch my mouth. Ana's walker slid hard against the blacktop, made a scrapping sound that made my skin crawl. We passed under a swooping entrance arch and into the hotel, alongside countless couples dressed in tuxedos and ball gowns, all heading to different holiday parties, all warm and smiling and Disneyland-happy against the fake snow sparkling in the warm California moonlight.
To be continued...
12:08:05 PM 
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