Holy Frijoles: A PapaToad Flash Story

Holy Frijoles: A PapaToad Flash Story

*

It was something that we did to each other every year on our birthdays. Today, it was Patricia's turn and I had spent days setting it up. The usual tactic was to cause public humiliation for our spouse, which of course, was all in good fun, the more elaborate, the better.

Patricia and I had been married for eleven years. We both had professional careers and children were not even considered. The marriage was good, the sex was good and the bank accounts were good. What more could a man ask for?

This year, I would need a little help. Dennis Forrester was a good friend who ran the theater department at our local community college. He was more than eager to assist me in surprising Patricia. It would require the help of a female drama student, and Dennis was willing to offer extra credit to any budding actress brave enough to attempt it. I simply explained what I wanted and let him run with it. He had the freedom to be very creative.

I picked Rosie's Cantina, because it was usually full of casual diners having a good time. I didn't want to do something like this in a stuffy, high-class joint. Rosie's was a popular place for parties and fun gatherings. It had to be public to be effective, but I didn't want to create a disturbance.

The waiter had just brought out our food when the mystery woman appeared. Dennis out-did himself. She approached the table carrying a baby and walking a toddler. It was clear that she was pregnant. Patricia had started on her chili relleno, when we were interrupted. I was having a difficult time remaining stoic.

"My name is Sarah Ann Pittman. Calvin is my husband. I followed you here to ask you to stop seeing him. I watched you meet him three times at the Stardust Motel. You may dress fancy and drive a new car, but there is no way in hell that I will let you take my man. Do you understand me?"

Patricia just sat and stared at the girl in front of her. I expected her to burst out laughing, but there was no response. I was sure that she would catch on quickly, so I was a little confused at her reaction.

Since my wife did not respond, Sarah let go of the toddler, reached across the table, and flipped Patricia's plate of food into her lap. The refried beans and rice splattered everywhere. "I asked you if you heard me?" The southern twang was loud and clear.

Patricia was busy trying to divert as much food as possible away from her dress. "Yes. Yes. I heard you!", she shouted without looking up.

As quickly as she came, Sarah Ann Pittman and her tribe, were gone.

Some restaurant employees came to clear up the mess as Patricia went to the ladies room to recover from the onslaught. I took advantage of the break to turn on my phone and make a call.

"Dennis. It's Rodney. I just wanted to compliment you on the fine job that your girl did tonight. The kids were a nice touch. Made it look real homey. She nailed the southern accent."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The girl that you sent over to Rosie's for Patricia's birthday surprise."

"Rodney, I have been trying to call you for the last hour. Your phone is turned off. You never told me the name of the restaurant. The girl is still here. I didn't know where to send her."

We hung up as my wife came out of the lady's room. The emergency clean-up did not go very well. I looked towards the dining room and she shook her head no, and then glanced at the door. I dropped two twenties on the table and we quietly left. It was overcast and raining.

Patricia said nothing on the long ride home. She was either looking out the side window of the car, or staring at her hands which were clutched tightly on her lap.

While she was taking a shower, I made a pot of coffee. A half hour later, she sat across from me at the kitchen table in her bathrobe. Nothing was said for several minutes.

As calmly as possible, I looked into her worried face.

"When were you going to tell me about Calvin Pittman?"

That was when she finally started to cry.

There were no more birthday surprises.