The Accidental Detective

awfully tan,” Marla said, two weeks later.
    “Am I?” He looked at his arms, which were reddish-brown, while his upper arms were still ghostly white. “You know, I changed suntan lotion. I was using a really high SPF, it kept out all the rays.”
    “When I paid the credit card bill, I noticed you were spending a lot more money at the country club. Are you sneaking in extra games?”
    “I’m playing faster,” he said, “so I have time to have drinks at the bar, or even a meal. In fact, I might start going out on Sundays, too. Would you mind?”
    “Oh, I’ve been a golf widow all this time,” Marla said. “What’s another day? As long”—she smiled playfully—“as long as it’s really golf and not another woman.”
    Charlie was stung by Marla’s joke. He had always been a faithful husband. That is, he had been a faithful husband for thirty-six years, and then there had been an interruption, one of relatively short duration given the length of their marriage, and now he was faithful again, so it seemed unfair for Marla to tease him this way.
    “Well, if you want to come along and take a lesson yourself, you’re welcome to. You might enjoy it.”
    “But you always said golf was a terribly jealous mistress, that you wouldn’t advise anyone you know taking it up because it gets such a horrible hold on you.”
    “Did I? Well, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”
    M ARLA CAME TO THE CLUB the next day. She had a surprising aptitude for golf and it gave her extra confidence to see that Charlie was not much better than she, despite his two years of experience. She liked the club, too, although she was puzzled that Charlie didn’t seem to know many people. “I kind of keep to myself,” he said.
    The month passed quickly, so quickly and pleasantly that he found himself surprised when Sylvia called.
    “Well?” she asked.
    “Well?” he echoed.
    “Did you tell her?”
    “Her? Oh, Marla. No. No. I just couldn’t.”
    “If you don’t tell her, you’ll never see me again.”
    “I guess that’s only fair.”
    “What?” Sylvia’s voice, never her best asset, screeched perilously high.
    “I accept your conditions. I can’t leave Marla, and therefore I can’t see you.” Really, he thought, when would he have time? He was playing so much golf now, and while Marla seldom came to the club on Thursdays, she accompanied him on Saturdays and Sundays.
    “But you love me.”
    “Yes, but Marla is the mother of my children.”
    “Who are now grown and living in other cities and barely remember to call you except on your birthday.”
    “And she’s a fifty-seven-year-old woman. It would be rather mean, just throwing her out in the world at this age, never having worked and all. Plus, a divorce would bankrupt me.”
    “A passion like ours is a once-in-a-lifetime event.”
    “It is?”
    “What?” she screeched again.
    “I mean, it
is.
We have known a great passion. But that’s precisely because we haven’t been married. Marriage is different, Sylvia. You’ll just have to take my word on that.”
    This apparently was the wrong thing to say, as she began to sob in earnest. “But I would be married to
you.
And I love you. I can’t live without you.”
    “Oh, I’m not much of a catch. Really. You’ll get over it.”
    “I’m almost forty! I’ve sacrificed two crucial years, being with you on your terms.”
    Charlie thought that was unfair, since the terms had been Sylvia’s from the start. But all he said was: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lead you on. And I won’t anymore.”
    He thought that would end matters, but Sylvia was a remarkably focused woman. She continued to call—the office, not his home, which indicated to Charlie that she was not yet ready to wreak the havoc she was threatening. So Marla remained oblivious and their golf continued to improve, but his assistant was beginning to suspect what was up and he knew he had to figure out a way to make it end. But given that he wasn’t the one who had made it start, he didn’t see how he could.
    O N T HURSDAY, JUST AS HE WAS getting ready to leave the office for what was now his weekly midday nine, Sylvia called again, crying and threatening to hurt herself.
    “I was just on my way out,” he said.
    “Where do you have to go?”
    “Golf,” he said.
    “Oh, I see.” Her laugh was brittle. “So you have someone new already. Your current assistant? I guess your principles have fallen a notch.”
    “No, I really play