"Your father didn't say anything, but you were quite late coming home last night, Carlos." Carmela handed her son his lunch and helped him on with his jacket.

"Sorry mom, it wasn't that late, I was hangin' with some of they guys from school... you know." He kissed her cheek and headed for the door.

"Hanging, Carlos. Not, hangin', you must speak properly, a college boy now."

He nodded a weary smile and left the house, watched by his doting mother until his car was out of sight.

Carmela removed the dirty dishes, placing them in the dishwasher, and reset the table for her husband, keeping a cautious eye on his simmering omelet, and another on the clock.

"Good morning dear, " she said cheerily, precisely timing his arrival at the table with the omelet and a plate of warm buttered toast, "would you like juice and coffee this morning, or just coffee?"

"What's the weather?" Gruff.

"Warm with partial sun and a chance of showers this evening." She set the morning paper by his elbow and stood awaiting his decision.

"Both." Antonio dug a forkful of omelet from his plate and flipped the paper over, reading the headlines.

"Will your day be busy?" The juice appeared along with the coffee, and she sat down across from him, hands in her lap.

"Busy enough with having to spend half my time at the theatre." He chewed and read the paper as he spoke.

"Will you have time to come home for lunch then?" she asked calmly.

"No." Then, "Why?"

"Well if you don't need a lunch then I think I'll spend the day working in your vineyard."

"His eyes drifted up from the paper locking on hers. "Good."

*****

Tiffany sailed into Hardware Heaven in a blaze of orange Capri pants, fluffy white blouse with matching sandals, and a loosely clipped, silver chain belt about her waist. Two hoops dangled like gymnasts rings from her ears, bouncing jauntily with each strutting step.

"Hi Ross. " She waved brightly. "How's it hangin'?"

"Higher than it was." He gave her a broad leering wink.

"Naughty boy, where's Allen, I need to see him."

"Upstairs in the stockroom, I think. Go on up." His joking leer changed to a private, knowing smile.

"Thanks," she glided down the aisle to the back of the store and up the stairs, with arrogant confidence.

"Allen, you up here?" She picked her way past piles of boxes and crates, gingerly avoiding splinters and dust on her pants. "Allen?"

"Shhhh! I'm over here, by the window." Tiffany rounded a ceiling high rack of steel shelving and came up behind Allen, standing crouched in front of the window peering through a pair of large binoculars.

"What on earth..."

"Shhhh!"

"Don't shush me, Allen." She reached out and snatched the binoculars from his hands and copied his crouch, looking across the street, her broad bottom strenuously testing the tensile strength of her pants.

"What are you looking - is that Daryl! Are you spying on my husband? On Daryl?" She stood up, thrusting the binoculars back at him, folding her arms tightly and tapping one foot.

"I wasn't spying- I wasn't- I was trying to see what he was looking at."

"What do you mean, what he was looking at?" Her eyes swiveled to the store across the street. "What was he looking at?"

"That's what I was trying to find out. He's got a pair of these too." He said, indicating the glasses.

"Give me those." She snatched the glasses back and trained them on her husband's office window, tracking his line of interest down to the street. "The dirty little bugger. " She spat. "He's watching Grace Winston!"

"Where?"

"Down there." She said, jabbing her finger against the glass with a painful yelp. "Outside Jeffrey's office getting into her car."

"Let me see."

"No! You dirty little man..." She held the glasses behind her back and shoved him away.

"Ti-i-i, Jesus, keep it down will you. There's people downstairs that'll hear you!" Allen took a bold step toward her, tentatively taking her by the arms, cooing softly.

"It's not enough he leaves his saliva all over our windows at home- he- he- oooh, I'll kill him."

"Ti, c'mon now, really. Take a minute and calm down." He let his arms slide down her sleeves and onto her waist. "Let's put this whole thing in perspective." A patronizing chuckle.

Her chest slowed its stressed heaving, and he could feel her posture relax. "There, there, that's better." His fingers inched around to grasp two handfuls of her taut buttocks.

"Allen, what the hell are you doing?" Asked with tired, angry annoyance.

"Just trying to calm things, Ti, make you feel better" He gave her an oily smile.

"Well calm this." She said, swinging the glasses by the strap right into his crotch.

"Aaahooooowaaa!"

*****

Melaine checked her appearance in the pull down courtesy mirror, slipped on the huge black sunglasses and climbed out of her Mercedes Sports Coupe, locking and closing the door. She caught sight of her reflection in the window of the cleaners, satisfied that the bandana, dark glasses and simple cotton shift, provided a suitable enough disguise for her purpose. She strolled quickly along the busy sidewalk, checking her watch, and pausing in front of a dress store window, feigning interest in the display. Lowering the glasses, she peered over the tops at the bank door across the street, gratified to finally see Tilly pushing out the door and heading up the street to the tearoom for lunch.

Resetting her glasses, Melaine hurried across the street, head down, clutching her purse in both hands. Inside the bank, several customers stood in line in front of the sole teller, chatting amiably with one another, and through the glass at the end of the room, she spotted Cal sitting hunched over his desk, busily writing. She slipped casually past the line and headed straight for his office door, willing herself invisible.

"Melaine!" Cal looked up in surprise as she popped through the door, holding it closed behind her. "Melaine, what the..." He jumped up from the desk and went to the window, twirling the louvered blinds closed for privacy, "What is this?" He stepped back, looking at her. "What are you, Mata Hari?"

"I had to see you." She said, pulling off the glasses and crossing the room to a chair opposite his desk.

Cal looked at her, bemused. She looked back, waiting.

He coughed a laugh, spreading his arms in puzzlement. "About what?"

"Us. The other day, in your car... and her..." She groaned in exasperation.

"You mean Tilly? I told you, Melaine, she's not a gossip - she's making my life miserable - but she won't say anything to anyone else." He crossed the room and squatted down in front of her.

She blushed, almost aloud, and avoided his eyes. "I'm sorry, Cal. I feel so stupid, it's just-"

"Hey, lighten up." He took her face in his hands. "What's the worst that can happen. Milo's gonna find out and make a scene? I don't think so, not while he's got his own chickens to tend."

"What do you mean? What chickens?"

He dropped his hands to the floor for balance, giving her a stunned look. "You don't know? I can't believe it. You don't know Milo's been stuffing Amanda for ages now. Christ, everyone knows. I just can't believe-"

She sucked in a shocked breath and sagged back in the chair. "Milo and Amanda?"

"Holy cow, Melaine. They think they've been discrete but everybody knows. It's a joke around town."

He tried to bite back his comment, seeing the abrupt look of hurt in her eyes, wishing he'd been discrete himself.

"Am I a joke around town as well?" Her voice trembled beneath the sudden flood of tears.

"Aahooaah no, Melaine, honestly. No." He took her hands and stood, pulling her up out of the chair. "If you could ask them, people would tell you how respected you are in this town - I'm serious!" He added, when her eyes swept his with a doubtful gaze.

She fumbled in her purse for a tissue, blowing her nose noisily. "I've been suspicious that something was- he just- oh Cal, hold me... please."