She sang the song, smoothly altering the pronouns to fit the changed gender. Again Damon showed no reaction. He was one cool cheater, if he was a cheater.
Again I followed him to the hardware store and waited; again he closed up at six and walked home. I was mystified.
The next day, after Damon left for work, I telephoned his wife, admitting that I had discovered nothing and asking her permission to try a more direct approach. After some hesitation, she agreed, so following another round of ginger ale Hacienda heartburn, and Patsy’s singing, I followed Damon to the hardware and this time I went in.
Not being a handyman, I am in terra incognita when surrounded by tools, wires, bulbs, and other exotic objects that decorate the walls and shelves of this kind of store.
“Mr. Fiedler.”
“I’m afraid we don’t have any drinks or sandwiches here and I can’t sing.” Obviously he recognized me.
“My name is Rock Tuff.” A blank look. “I’m a …friend of your wife.” Now a worried look. Was he feeling guilt at last?
“I should have expected this to happen. How long have you known her?”
“Three days.”
“Three days? You’re a fast worker, Mr. Tuff.”
It was my turn to be puzzled. There seemed to be a major misunderstanding.
“There’s nothing between us, Mr. Fiedler. She thinks you’re having an affair — the daily absences, the secret phone calls — and she asked me to help.”
“Oh, dear, no. Penelope is a wonderful wife, but I was afraid she was bored . She’d always wanted to go to Hawaii, but we can’t afford it now that I’m retired. I got two part-time jobs and I’ve been saving money for the trip. I even walk to work and from job to job to save money. I wanted to surprise her, but I guess I was too good at keeping my plans secret.”
Damon and I both felt a little foolish, but I was also flattered that any man would think that his wife would cheat on him with me.
He closed the store and I drove him home where, over dinner, we cleared up the terrible misunderstanding. Penelope’s cooking was much better than that of the Happy Hacienda. Then they sat on the sofa and held hands as we drank coffee. Damon had nearly enough money for their second honeymoon. To help, I waived my fee and expenses. I’m a sucker for romance, as long as I am not a participant. I felt half-detective and half-Cupid.
“Please drop in at the Hacienda anytime for a free Roaring Rapids,” Damon offered. “You should hear Patsy sing ‘High Noon’.”
“I’d like to,” I lied. I had loved the movie, especially the theme music sung by Tex Ritter in his off-key bass. Somehow, Patsy’s wouldn’t be the same.
A few weeks later, I received a postcard from Hawaii with a picture of grass-skirted girls playing ukuleles. “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here — but there’s no RR Lite.” And no Happy Hacienda food, I thought. Maybe Hawaii isn’t such a bad place.
