On Court. In Culture. Founded 1971.
Palm Springs
Padel Club
A club built on padel, friendship, culture, and the stories that happen after the match.
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On Court. In Culture. Founded 1971.
A club built on padel, friendship, culture, and the stories that happen after the match.
"Some places don't need to be explained.— A. Palm
They just need to be found."
In 1971, a reckless dreamer named Arthur Palm discovers a strange new racket sport in Mexico and returns to the California desert determined to build the perfect club.
What he actually creates — alongside the brilliant woman history almost forgets — becomes something far bigger than sport: a place where movie stars disappear, friendships are forged, legends grow, and generations of members find a second home.
Told through twenty years of myths, mysteries and unforgettable characters, The Curious Story of Palm Springs Padel Club is a warm, funny and unexpectedly moving story about belonging, legacy, and the simple idea that the best things in life happen after the match ends.
Two founders. One club. Twenty years of stories.
Founder & Dreamer
"In 1971, Arthur Palm drove back from Mexico with a half-remembered sport, a napkin sketch, and an unshakeable conviction that the desert needed a club. He was right about the club. Wrong about almost everything else."
"Arthur supplied the fireworks."
General Manager & Architect of Everything
"While Arthur conjured the dream, Vivian built the reality. Courts. Membership. Accounts. Hotel. Events. Everything — in that order. The brilliant woman history almost forgets, until now."
"Vivian supplied the victory."
Membership
Every member receives the same number.
Not because everyone arrived in 1971.
Because everyone belongs to the same story.
Membership is free. All members receive the same number. This has caused confusion since 1971. The club considers this part of the experience.
Each week, a note arrives from the Club. A random week from the archive, 1971–1989. Court rotas. Match results. Social evenings. The song of the week. Written by Arthur. Filed by Vivian.
🎵 Song of the Week
Fernando — ABBA
No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. Played twice at the Sunset Bar. Once by request. Once because nobody stopped it.
🍸 Cocktail of the Week
Harvey Wallbanger
Vivian's note: "Three members ordered this believing it to be a sophisticated choice. Arthur was one of them."
🍽 Dish of the Week
Beef Stroganoff
Chef Rodriguez's Wednesday special. Fourteen portions. All gone by 7:30pm. Four members disappointed. Arthur was not one of them.
🎾 Court Rota — Week 14
Mon: Court 1 — Members Open · Court 2 — Reserved · Court 3 — Sunset Rule applies
Tue: Court 1 — Desert Nine practice · Court 2 — Ladies Morning · Court 3 — Reserved (A. Palm)
Wed–Fri: Open booking. See Vivian.
📊 Match Results
Palm/Morgan def. McQueen/Fleming 6-4, 7-5
Hendricks def. all comers (Tuesday). Unconfirmed.
Golf: Thursday scramble — Jensen takes the pool. $47. Denies it.
🎤 Social Week
Mon: Karaoke — Sunset Bar (compulsory enthusiasm)
Tue: Live band — The Desert Palms
Wed: Film night — Clubhouse
Thu: Golf dinner
Fri: Open terrace. Bring your own stories.
Every week is different. Every week is from the archive.
Join to Receive the Founders NotesNot a blog. Not a newsletter. The Archive. Everything discovered in the back room of the clubhouse, 1971 onward.
A broken Mercedes south of Ensenada. Two cartons of cigarettes. A bottle of tequila. And the strangest sport Arthur Palm had ever seen. He drove back to California with a napkin sketch and an idea that would change everything.
The courts were finished first. The bar was always the priority. For a few weeks, everything worked beautifully. Then reality arrived. Not all at once. One small disaster at a time. The limes ran out. A booking was lost. And then Vivian walked in.
A lunch became dinner. A doubles match became drinks. One drink became sunset. Nobody could explain it. People simply kept returning — and staying longer each time. Arthur measured success in delayed departures.
Nobody remembers who told him about the club. The first sign of trouble was a silver Porsche that appeared in the car park shortly after lunch. Parked badly. Deliberately badly. Conversations slowed. Not visibly. Just slightly.
Three hundred people watched a match that was never scheduled, never announced, and never officially played. The greatest afternoon in Club history. Nobody could agree afterwards on who won.
Most places become famous because somebody decides they should be. Court Three became famous because people kept coming back. Management considered this a success. Management also considered this someone else's problem.
The flamingo arrived on a Tuesday. Nobody knew who put it there. Nobody removed it. By Friday it had a name. By the following week it had a story. Arthur claimed no involvement. Nobody believed him.
He arrived with a red Ferrari, three suitcases, and an impossible confidence. He brought the racing world to the desert. The car stayed three weeks longer than planned. So did he.
Nine holes. The founders believed lunch was more important than the back nine. The committee agreed. There was no committee. Still nine holes. Still the best morning at the club.
The Desert Nine was Vivian's victory. The racing car was Arthur's relapse. Marco Bellini returned one winter — quietly, without the red Ferrari, without the three suitcases. He sat at his usual table and said almost nothing. Then the plan began.
Nobody knew his name. Nobody asked. He arrived every Friday at seven, took the same table, ordered the same drink, and watched Court Three until closing. The rule he inspired outlasted everything else.
When the sun drops below the mountains, the match doesn't end. The drinks come out. It wasn't written in any handbook. It didn't need to be. It simply became the way things were done.
Some things are found. Some things are left behind on purpose. The ledger. The key. The letter with no address. Vivian kept them all. Filed under E. She never said what the E stood for.
Every member receives the same number. Not because everyone arrived in 1971. Because everyone belongs to the same story. The card arrived in a green envelope. No postmark. Signed: A. Palm, Founder.
Every year. Same weekend. No agenda. No formal invitations. Arthur announced there would be no speeches five years running. The microphone was always ordered in advance. You either knew, or you didn't.
Some people leave. Others simply don't come back. He didn't show for breakfast. Left his key on the bar. Left his car in the car park. Left his plans on the table — exactly where Vivian would find them.
Everybody knows. Nobody talks. Stars without entourages. Champions without ego. Deals without signatures. Friendships without effort. A club that was never supposed to exist — and never stopped existing.
The archive grows each week. Members receive new entries first.
A dispatch from 1971 Court Three Drive. Updated each week.
The soundtrack to Court Three. Playing now.
Each week a new dispatch arrives. Every letter is filed here. The archive grows.
The desert has made its position clear. There is no negotiation with June.
Dear Member,
The desert has made its position clear. There is no negotiation with June in Palm Springs. You accept the terms or you leave. Most of our members have accepted the terms.
The early morning sessions continue to fill faster than we can post them. Six-thirty on Court Three has become something of a ritual — the same faces, roughly the same order of play, the same argument about who is serving first. I find this enormously comforting. Routine is underrated. Particularly when it happens before the rest of the world is awake.
We had a small padel competition this week — nothing formal, no trophy, no committee. Four pairs, a round robin, and a disagreement about the score in the third set that I suspect will not be fully resolved until autumn. The winners were gracious. The runners-up were gracious also, though they have asked that I note they were runner-up on points only, and that the final set was played in conditions they consider irregular. I consider this a reasonable position and have recorded it here accordingly.
On the golf course, Wednesday morning produced one of those rounds where the golf itself is largely incidental. The Desert Nine was in good shape. One member holed out from the fairway on the seventh. He has mentioned this four times since. We expect at least two more mentions before the week is out. He has earned them.
At the bar, Rafael has introduced something he is calling the Summer Arrangement — which is simply the Founders Margarita served slightly colder and with a little less ceremony. Nobody has complained. Several people have asked for two.
Vivian spent part of the week sourcing something for the kitchen she won't be specific about. She used the phrase a small project twice, which in my experience means something considerable is being planned quietly. I have learned not to ask. The results are always worth the patience.
The book is moving. Some weeks it moves faster than others. This was a slower week — not because nothing came, but because what came needed to be sat with for a while before it was ready to be written down. I think this is how the best things arrive.
Until next week — stay on court, stay in culture.
Arthur Palm · Court Three, Palm Springs · Est. 1971
The heat has arrived properly. Court Three is busier than ever.
Dear Member,
The summer heat has arrived properly now. Not the polite warmth of May — this is the real thing. By ten in the morning the air sits heavy over the courts and by noon only the committed are still out there. I respect them enormously.
We have adjusted accordingly. Early morning sessions from six-thirty are now full every day. There is something about playing in the desert before the sun takes over that I cannot adequately describe. The light is different. The ball sounds different off the glass.
On the courts, we welcomed three new members this week — a couple from San Francisco who discovered padel on a trip to Spain last autumn, and a retired architect who has been walking past the fence for two months before finally coming in. He played for three hours on his first day.
At the bar, Vivian has moved the evening service outside onto the terrace. Small tables, candles once the sun drops, the mountains going dark in the distance. She found a case of old Rioja from somewhere she won't say.
In the kitchen, this week's dish was a simple thing — grilled sea bass, a little oil, some herbs from the pot by the back door. Sometimes the kitchen knows exactly when to get out of the way.
On the golf course, the Wednesday nine has resolved its handicap dispute. I won't say how. Everyone showed up and nobody left early — the only measure of a good morning.
Until next week — stay on court, stay in culture.
Arthur Palm · Court Three, Palm Springs · Est. 1971
Arthur writes from Court Three. The desert is hot. The club is alive.
Dear Member,
The bougainvillea is rioting again along the east fence. Vivian says we should cut it back. I say we should let it do whatever it wants. This is Palm Springs. Things grow here that have no business growing anywhere.
It has been another full week at Court Three.
On the courts, we had sixteen sessions across five days. Martinez has been working on his serve and it is beginning to show. The Tuesday evening doubles has grown to the point where we now run a waiting list.
At the bar, Vivian introduced a new cocktail this week — The Deuce. Mezcal, fresh grapefruit, a measure of something she won't name. It arrived on the menu without announcement and sold out by Thursday.
In the kitchen, our guest chef served a cold roasted pepper soup with smoked almonds that caused a table of six to fall entirely silent. In thirty years I have not seen that happen.
On the golf course, the Wednesday morning nine continues. Four members, one cart, a disagreement about handicaps that has now entered its third week. I am staying out of it.
Until next week — stay on court, stay in culture.
Arthur Palm · Court Three, Palm Springs · Est. 1971
New note every week. Members receive it first.
Join to Receive the Weekly NoteThe Club has always had a look. These are the first three pieces from the archive. Limited. Considered. No restocks. No rush. They exist because the Club exists — not the other way around.
First Drop · 01
A small crest on the chest. The flamingo. On the back: Member No. 1971. Public Secret. Private Club. The only number that matters. The only tee worth wearing on Court Three.
Members First
First Drop · 02
Forest green. Cream embroidery. Pink flamingo. The cap Arthur never wore — but Vivian always kept behind the desk. Available to members first. Then, briefly, to everyone else.
Members FirstFirst Drop · 03
Museum-quality archival print of Member No. 1971. Signed by A. Palm, Founder. Co-signed by Vivian Morgan, General Manager. Framed version available. The Club considers this the correct way to display it.
Members First"PADEL PARADISE OR PALM SPRINGS SCANDAL? Arthur Palm's wild ride from Mexico tequila benders to building a celebrity playground where movie stars lose to accountants and a flamingo rules the roost! Steamy proposals on Court Three, vanishing founders, suspicious suitcases, and a 'public secret' club that's basically The Great Gatsby meets Cocktail in the desert. Juicy, addictive chaos."
Pour me a margarita and sign me up.
"A warm, meandering love letter to a fictionalized private club that feels more real than most memoirs. The prose has a rhythmic, conversational charm that mirrors padel itself: quick rallies of dialogue, unexpected bounces off the walls of memory, and constant forward momentum. In an era of fractured attention, Palm Springs Padel Club celebrates the radical act of staying — for one more point, one more drink, one more story."
Highly recommended for anyone who's ever lost track of time on a terrace.
"A work that cleverly disguises itself as club lore while executing a sophisticated exploration of myth-making, place, and the architecture of belonging. The structure is episodic yet cumulative — each chapter a standalone vignette and building block in the club's emerging mythology. In an age of isolation and digital ephemera, Palm Springs Padel Club makes a compelling, sun-bleached case for the enduring value of third places: spaces designed not for transaction but transformation."
A surprising, generous, and quietly profound debut.
"On its surface, this is a book about the origins of a niche sport in a sun-drenched corner of California. But open the cover, and you will quickly find that the game itself is merely the stage. A beautifully stylized, atmospheric, and deeply observant masterclass in subculture, myth-making, and the invisible threads that tie people to a place.
"Arthur supplied the fireworks. Vivian supplied the victory."
It transcends the typical sports memoir to become a poignant meditation on community and what it means to be truly seen. A gorgeous, nostalgic, and utterly infectious read. You don't need to know a single thing about padel to fall completely in love with the culture built around it."— Early Reader · Perfect for fans of Joan Didion's California observations, vintage subcultures, and mid-century Americana.
"The courts, the terrace, Court Three, the Empty Chair, the Sunset Rule, the membership card marked 1971 — they feel less like inventions and more like memories. The book succeeds because it understands something many clubs, businesses and communities never do: people arrive for an activity, but they stay for a feeling.
"Long after I finished reading, I found myself wanting to pull up a chair at Sunset Bar, order a drink, and watch the sun go down over Court Three."
The greatest compliment I can give the book is that by the final chapter I wished Palm Springs Padel Club were real. And that's a much harder thing to achieve."— First Guest Reader
"Written as a collection of interconnected legends, myths and club anecdotes, the book follows the evolution of Palm Springs Padel Club from four dusty courts in the desert to a cultural institution filled with unforgettable characters, rituals and traditions.
"By the final chapters, the club feels so vividly realised that readers may find themselves searching online to see if it actually exists."
Arthur Palm is one of the most charming fictional founders in recent memory, but the emotional heart of the story belongs to Vivian, whose quiet stewardship becomes increasingly important as the narrative unfolds. Whether you play padel or have never picked up a racket, Palm Springs Padel Club is a place you'll want to visit — and, like its members, you'll almost certainly want to return. Highly recommended."— Early Reader · At its heart, a book about the places that become part of us, and the people who make them matter.
"Less a novel than a lovingly polished collection of club legends — part tall tale, part love letter, part affectionate myth-making. Arthur supplies the spark and the legends; Vivian supplies the structure and the soul. Their relationship, anchored by the recurring flamingo motif, is the emotional core and one of the book's quiet triumphs: romantic without sentimentality, complementary without cliché.
"The literary equivalent of a perfect membership card — something you want to carry with you."
Evocative, witty, and surprisingly moving. A delightful debut that leaves you wishing the gates would open just for one more match at sunset. Highly recommended."— Early Reader · Ideal for readers who loved A Gentleman in Moscow, club memoirs, or any story that understands how places become legends.
"Less a novel than a lovingly polished collection of club legends — part tall tale, part love letter, part affectionate myth-making. Framed as the origin story of a private desert sanctuary born in 1971, it follows the chaotic visionary Arthur Palm and his quietly formidable wife Vivian as they accidentally (and then deliberately) create something far more enduring than a few padel courts: a place where status dissolves, stories multiply, and no one ever quite wants to leave.
"The prose has a warm, after-dinner glow — dryly humorous, elegantly repetitive in the best oral-tradition way, and full of desert light. Arthur supplies the spark and the legends; Vivian supplies the structure and the soul.
"The literary equivalent of a perfect membership card — something you want to carry with you."
Evocative, witty, and surprisingly moving. A delightful debut that leaves you wishing the gates would open just for one more match at sunset. Highly recommended."— Reader Review · Ideal for readers who loved A Gentleman in Moscow, club memoirs, or any story that understands how places become legends.
"The prose has a warm, after-dinner glow — dryly humorous and full of desert light. You don't need to know a single thing about padel to fall completely in love."— Early Reader
"The book wisely keeps padel itself in the background — it's the excuse, not the subject. What matters is the culture that forms around it: the lingering matches, the shared rituals, the sense of belonging."— Early Reader
"Arthur supplies the spark and the legends; Vivian supplies the structure and the soul. Their relationship is the emotional core — romantic without sentimentality, complementary without cliché."— Early Reader
More reviews coming soon. Be among the first to read it.
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