SERIES: Series Finale Fic

AUTHORS: Cheshyre And Missy (This Part)

EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com; cheshyre_chick@yahoo.com

PART: 1 of ??

RATING: PG (Adult thematic material)

PAIRING(s): LDF/LK; SF/WM; SF/CR; CR/RL; AS/OC

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine.  Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

CATEGORY: Humor/Gen/Romance

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Replacing “The Mummy’s Bride” and everything after – canon for Perdifery In Blue and everything before it.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: An alternate version of the way the series could have ended – Shirley is torn between her ambitions, a suddenly-successful Carmine and a handsome young doctor; Laverne is puzzled by her strong reaction to Lenny’s Hollywood makeover; Squiggy finds true love; Carmine finds himself paired in a double act with Rhonda.

NOTES: A collaboration between Missy and Cheshyre.

****

“I don’t believe it!”

Shirley Feeney gave her best friend a sympathetic look, one that almost masked the annoyance bubbling inside her.  “Laverne, you’ve been saying that for the past two hours.”

Her friend ignored Shirley’s words, scowled at her navy blazer as she dumped it emphatically into the kitchen trashcan.  “But I don’t believe it, Shirl; we sweat and bleed for Bardwells for two years, and they give us the ol’ heave-ho!”

“Don’t throw that away!” Shirley cried, ignoring what Laverne’s sentence meant.

“Yeah,” a devilish grin crossed Laverne’s face.  “Do you remember where Carmine left that can of spray paint after he finished the fence Sunday?”

“Laverne, we put down a twenty-dollar deposit on these jackets!” Shirley held her own jacket in her lap, cradling it like a favored child - affectionately, she stroked the golden piping on its left shoulder. 

“It ain’t like we’re gonna be able to pay them back,” Laverne muttered.  Her words took root in Shirley’s mind, and the reality of their new situation finally seeped in – causing the little brunette to weep.  Shirley allowed tears to flow onto the heavy, resilient surface of the blazer, burying her face against its folds.  In a moment Laverne was by her side.   “aww, dry your eyes there…it’ll be okay – my Pop can get us a few more shifts at Cowboy Bills’…”

“You don’t understand!” Shirley lifted her wet face from the expensive crying towel and looked into Laverne’s worried eyes.  “Bardwells was the first job we ever had that wasn’t ashamed of!  It was classy, Laverne - I had class at the tips of my fingers and it was snatched away!”

“So?  We ain’t exactly classy broads, Shirl.  Remember when Fonzie

invited us to that society dinner back in Milwaukee, and we tried to fit in with everyone, but they all KNEW we was out-of-place?”

“That’s my point!” Shirley bounced to her feet, sending a “Hi, Sailor” pillow tumbling end-over-end to the ground.  “They knew just by looking at us that we didn’t belong!  That we were outcasts!”

“Did I ever tell you what I learned that day?”  Shirley shook her head as Laverne explained herself.  “That I should always be myself, no matter what phony-baloney place I end up in.  Face it, Shirl; I was never Bardwells material – you may’ve liked it, I may’ve liked it, but we didn’t fit in.  You can say it any nice way you like, but people like me are meant to be on an assembly line all day.”

“If they didn’t like you, they wouldn’t have hired you!  Even you have to admit that job was the best thing that ever happened to us.”

“Yeah, and it didn’t last.”

Shirley hadn’t realized that Laverne was grieving in her own way for their lost positions.  “Come here.”  Laverne reluctantly walked over to her best friend, and Shirley wrapped an arm around each of her shoulders. “Laverne, listen to me when I say this:  you’re a smart woman, and you deserve much more than you allow yourself to have.”

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause you’re my friend,” Laverne pouted.

“I may be partial, but everyone knows what a hard worker you are.  Even our supervisor at Shotz thought so.”

“That was then, Shirl.  What about now?”

“Well, maybe it’s a blessing that we were laid off.  Tomorrow we’ll open up the “Help Wanted” ads and begin again!  After all, there’s got to be something out there for two qualified women our age to do that’s better than wrapping gifts on our feet all day.”

Laverne shrugged.  “As long as I don’t got to pick garbage up off the street.”

The door slammed open.  “Hello!”

Laverne groaned.  She really didn’t want to know why the boys were wearing their best suits and grinning at them like they’d just won the lottery.  “Fellas, we’re not in the mood to –“

“Flattening, Laverne, will get you everywhere –“Squiggy said.

“Yeah, especially if they smoosh ya real flat…” Lenny countered.

“- But Len and me ain’t got the time to chit chat.” He pushed a slip of paper into Laverne’s hands.  She noticed that it was bright pink and about the width of her palm before she felt Shirley’s breath on the back of her neck.

“What’s it say?” Shirley asked, trying to peek over Laverne’s shoulder.

Trying to dodge Shirley’s prying eyes, Laverne whined, “don’t do that!”  Her friend paid no heed, and the two women commenced a struggle over the flier, momentarily forgetting Lenny and Squiggy’s presence in the heat of battle.  When Laverne emerged, triumphant and with Shirley in a headlock, she noticed the boys staring at her - Lenny stuffing his palm into his mouth, Squiggy puckering up his lips, and both of them making obscene noises.  Shirley triumphantly snatched the flier away from a distracted Laverne, wiggling out of her headlock and reading out loud:

“Squignowski Talent Agencies Present:

Carmine Ragusa

One Night Only

The Avalon Ballroom

September Second, Fifth and Thirtieth!” 

Shirley’s eyes bugged out.  “The Avalon Ballroom!”

“Didn’t we see Fabian there last year?”

“And the Beatles performed there!  It’s the busiest theatre in Burbank!” Shirley said, almost in a daze.

“That’s what I thought,” Laverne narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the boys –her cynical tone erased Shirley’s fantasies and the expression on her face when she looked at the boys said everything.

Squiggy tilted his chin skyward.  “Whatt’re you lookin’ at me like that for?  This is on the up-and-down!”

“I don’t know, boys,” Shirley eyed the pink photocopied sheet suspiciously.  “I mean, the Avalon Ballroom…”

“Whatt’re you sayin’?  That we ain’t smart enough to get our biggest client a good gig?” Squiggy asked.

“How many pennies make a dollar?” Shirley retorted.

“That’s a trick question!” Lenny stepped between them. 

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t make pennies into a dollar!”

“Yes you can!”

“You don’t fool me, Shirley Feeney…”

“No, you really can, Len,” Laverne insisted.

“Really?  But how do ya turn the metal into paper?”

“I told you they was witches, Len.”

Shirley rolled her eyes.  “Get out!”

“But we ain’t even done askin’ you to be our arm candy at Carmine’s big gig!”

As one, the girls moved through the living area, firmly pushed the boys up the landing and toward their front door.  “OUT!”

“They don’t believe us, Squig!” Lenny stated, his dignified posture undercut by a clumsy backward fall into the doorway.

“Yeah, and I’m getting’ sick of them treatin’ us like this!”  Squiggy’s spine became stiff, a pure display of pride as he stood up to the girls. “You women‘re gonna be sorry you treated us so bad when we’re the toast of the town!” Squiggy’s eyes locked deliberately on Shirley as he concluded, “and all you girls are gonna be able to say is that you knew us when we was just the yellow stuff underneath the brown stuff!”

“GET OUT!”

“OKAY!  But first, do you girls got any of those five-dollar pennies?” Lenny wondered.

Shirley slammed the door in their faces as an answer.

“Now you see what I mean about broadening our horizons.”

“The only thing I wanna ‘broaden’ right now are my hips.”  Laverne grinned as she moved toward her purse.  “Bardwells owes us a night on the town, I think.”

“Oh!” Shirley moved to the coat rack, pulling down her purse.  “There’s this wonderful new French restaurant on Palisades I want to try, and Carmine’s been too busy at work to take me…then again he probably wouldn’t have brought me there if I asked.  They don’t take coupons.”

“French food?” Laverne whined.

“Oh, come now – I’ve heard the atmosphere isn’t as stand-offish as La Fondue’s was.  I’ll pay.” Laverne remained implacable.  “It’s also been said that it has a marvelous beer selection.”  No further reaction.  “Mary Lynn in men’s wear told me that a certain not-to-be-named actor eats there.”

“Paul Newman?”

“Steve…”

Laverne was off the couch before ‘McQueen’ escaped Shirley’s lips.

***

The meal was simple, hearty, and attended by a waiter that had no problem translating the French-laden menus into English.  As she finished her cassoulet Shirley felt mild surprise at her own tranquility - maybe it was the wine, but the day certainly seemed better than it had when she had been handed a pink slip.

She didn’t want to tell Laverne that she had told her so, but their meal had been wonderful – not a lobster to be had, though her friend had been reluctant to try something. After being told that the cassoulet had no cow brains hidden among the beans and sausage, her worries had been quelled and she settled down to her meal with delight.  Over a wine glass filled to the brim with a raspberry trifle the conversation halted completely, leaving Shirley timed to reflect on Lenny and Squiggy’s appearance back at the apartment.  Despite Laverne’s skepticism, Shirley wondered if Lenny and Squiggy had made Carmine’s fondest wish come to life – a springboard to fame, a sold-out theatre and the paparazzi at his beck and call.   She smiled dreamily – could it be his ticket out?  The perfect steady job that would finance his future and encourage him to propose?

A loud cough disturbed her reverie.  She looked across the table to Laverne, but her best friend was obliviously happy in her custard –slathered reverie.  The coughing quickly became alarming – Shirley followed the noise behind her, putting down her wine glass and looking over her shoulder.  At the table behind her sat a red-faced man clutching his throat, his eyes bugging out - the sound of his body struggling for air was audible.

Without thinking, Shirley flung her arms around him, her night school courses kicking in.  For a moment they teetered crazily back and forth before she managed to dig her knees into his sides and he grabbed the table for support.  She had enough leverage to pump her arms upward twice – he made a retching noise and pulled away forcefully, and from the floor Shirley saw him cough up the chicken bone which had been lodged in his throat.  

In the stillness that settled over the scene afterward, Shirley took stock of her position - she landed in a heap on the floor between his table and hers, her legs sprawled awkwardly.  The rest of the restaurant had quieted, and she knew that most of the eyes in the room were watching her.  But Shirley’s predominant thoughts were focused on her accomplishment – somehow she had saved a man’s life, done so with a natural flair that felt foreign and yet revelatory.  She understood that she had discovered an important part of herself and that it had been right there the entire time.

He was saying something to her.  What was it - she tried to feel beyond her amazement to hear his words.

“I’m sorry; I think I got a chunk of chicken in your hair.”

She touched her forelocks and felt nothing.  “Don’t apologize.   You were dying…”

“I usually have better manners than that,” he laughed, a mellow sound that warmed her insides.  “May I help you up?”

She noticed his hands before they touched hers –they were finely manicured and callous-free.  His grip felt solid and yet gentle.  Her eyes slid up his wrist, up the expense of creams and gold that made up his shirt, until she found his the dark, striking features of his face.

The staring patrons of La Petite disappeared.  The voice of her best friend faded to nothing more than a far-away echo.  It somehow didn’t matter that she sat splayed on the floor, her legs positioned without dignity, a chunk of chicken lost somewhere in her shaggy bob.  It didn’t matter that she had no job.  It didn’t matter that she had a boyfriend.  For once in her life, Shirley Feeney sat in complete silence, rapt and deaf to the world. 

She didn’t notice that he seemed just as transfixed.

When she came out of her trance, though great effort, she heard Laverne still calling her name – peering over the table; her dress rucked downward and creased by the cheap wood.

“Shirley?  Shirl?”

But there wasn’t any reply.  She couldn’t make her mouth form the words.  Still holding the stranger’s hand, she turned around and met the eyes of her best friend.

Laverne had seen that expression before.  And it meant trouble.

“Uh-oh.”