Hey, we’ll let Huckleberry enjoy his lunch. Speaking of something, if you are in a better mood now, come with me to the Rainforest Room. I have something to show you. I wanted to wait until you calmed down because it means a lot to me, and I hoped you might be happy for me. Here, come with me.”
He led her back to the previous room, which had amazing, rare rainforest plants in it.
“Check this out!”
He tossed her a magazine that said Horticultural Digest on the cover. Holly neatly caught it and opened it up to the dog-eared page.
Blaring across the page in huge font was the title: WILLIAM SMITH, THE RAINMAKER OF SHELLESBY COLLEGE’S FAMOUS RAINFOREST ROOM. It was a five-page spread with big glossy photos of the Rainforest Room sprinkled throughout the article.
“Five, count ‘em, five pages! That’s my record. Until now, they’ve only given me four. Check it out: I’m the Rainmaker, baby! Let it rain, let it rainnnn!”
William stomped around in make-believe puddles on the floor. He picked up a garden hose lying along the side of the room and held it upright like an umbrella.
“I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain. What a glorious feeling. I’m happy again.”
Holly squealed with laughter and applauded.
William jumped up on a large over-turned pot and shifted the hose to now play air guitar while he repeated the verse.
“William, there is no air guitar in that song!”
“There is now, baby!”
Holly exploded again in laughter, clutching her sides.
After a few more seconds of air guitar, William jumped off the pot and lowered his voice considerably.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” William said in his Elvis impersonation.
He now held the garden hose like a microphone and said, “My next song is dedicated to my beagle, my very own hound dog, my Sweetpea. Sweetpea, girl, this is for youuuuuuu.”
He now launched into Elvis’s famous “Hound Dog.”
“You ain’t nothing but a hound dogggg.” With this, he also twirled the hose by holding it tight two feet from the nozzle, then twirling the nozzle in little circles above his head like a lasso.
“Work it, William! Work it!” Holly screamed in laughter.
He did some choice hip swivels as he sang “Hound Dog,” sending Holly into peals of laughter.
“William, stop! Stop! Where are you? I can’t see I’m crying so hard!”
William dropped his voice even lower and more dramatically.
In his best Elvis voice, he said, “Well, if you can’t find me darlin’, I’ll find you.” He dropped on one knee and gently picked up her hand.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” he said in Elvis mode.
“My next song, I dedicate to my one and only, to my Holly-Dolly. Little prickly pear, this one’s for youuuuuu.”
He now launched into Elvis’s famous “I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.”
“Take my hand, take my whole life, too, for I can’t help falling in love with you.” With that, he gave her hand a soft kiss.
He then jumped up onto an empty potting table and spun around once on his butt, then pushed himself the length of the entire table, and slid off the far end.
“Loose, footloose!” William picked up his garden-hose microphone again and kept singing. “Kick off the Sunday shoes . . .”
He sang the entire song, and then Holly exploded in appreciative applause.
He was breathing heavily and had a million-dollar smile on his face.
“Hoo-wee, that was fun! I am so sweaty now, hoo-boy!”
He splashed some water on his face, and then shook his hair.
“William! When are you going to enter that karaoke contest at the coffee shop in town? They’re paying $1,000 to the winner of their contest. No one can beat you! That was unbelievable!”
“That was fun.” William laughed. “Are in a better mood now?”
“How can I not be? You are THE best!