“Whatever you do, Len, don’t stop running.”

Lenny Kosnowski let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh as he tried to keep pace with his treadmill.  “Waddya mean, don’t stop?  I don’t got a choice!”

Laverne replied with her own laugh.  She sat on the floor of their master bedroom, trying a yoga exercise.  “The doctor let you off easy,” she replied.  “You only have to lose ten pounds and watch what you eat.  I’ve got to ‘de-stress’, whatever that means.”

Lenny jogged along, panting lightly.  “It means you gotta stop worrying about the restaurant all the time - and the kids – and me.”

“You mean stop breathing?” Laverne replied, huffing as she tried to tuck her legs into a forward and raised position.  “Ugh!  I’m less bendable now than I was when me and Shirl used to do aerobics.  Aww, I can’t even get my foot on my shoulder anymore…LEN!”

Seconds before slipping off the treadmill, Lenny tripped his way back onto the machine.  “Laverne, how much longer do I got to do this?” he whined.

She glanced at her watch.  “Two more minutes.  Then we hit the showers.  And after that, the ham.”

“It’s gonna be great seeing Andy and Caitlyn,” Lenny said. 

“He better have a good excuse for not calling last week,” she huffed, carefully getting into the ‘downward facing dog’ position. 

“Maybe they’re keeping him late at the studio, or he’s gonna get a promotion…”

“Or he broke his leg riding that stupid ninja bike of his?”

“There you go again!” Lenny wheezed.  “Why do you always have to look on the bad side of stuff?”

“Cause I’m the realist in this family,” Laverne retorted. 

Lenny’s watch beeped.  “That’s it,” he declared, turning off the treadmill.  “It’s twelve and I’m done.”

“Uh huh – but you’ve got one more minute on the clock...”  she arched her back and gingerly landed on her posterior.

He eyed her up and down, “There’s something else I’d like to do for a minute….”

Laverne recognized Lenny’s smoky tone.  She pouted coquettishly.  “Only a minute?”

He sat down beside her and pulled her into his lap.  “I guess we can do it a little longer.  If that’ll calms you down…”

*** 

Skye nibbled her thumbnail as she poured Cadbury Eggs into a pink bunny-shaped dish. 

“The Prozac-filled ones are on the bottom,” kidded Brandon as he entered the room, Leon clinging to his hip.

“I ate those while I was mashing the potatoes,” she responded.  “Any sign of your father?”

“Not yet.  I called his cell four times and I keep getting his inbox.”  He grabbed a handful of the eggs and shoved them into his mouth. 

“Maybe his flight was delayed,” she suggested, taking a smiling Leon from his father and placing him on the floor. 

“Me and Grandpa Paul are gonna play cowboys and Indians!” Leon enthused,

“I know, sweetie,” Skye said, her smile a ghastly parody of her usual joie de vivre.  Brandon reached out and wrapped an arm around Skye’s shoulders. 

“Anything I can do to make this less stressful for you?”

“Yeah – try to stay calm around Rhonda.”

“I can’t help it – she makes me a little edgy.”

“Why?”

“For starters?  The ‘glam-ma-ma thing?”

Skye barely bit back a laugh.  “She’s just trying to be cute.”

“She’s not my kids’ grandmother.”

“Honey, some day she might be.  You’ve gotta calm down and accept that.” She rubbed his skinny shoulders affectionately.

Brandon sighed deeply.  “Whatever makes Dad happy.”

“Rhonda’s not a bad woman,” Skye insisted.  “When I was a little girl she was my favorite crazy aunt.”

“Crazy is the applicable word…”

A blast of chirpy Hannah Montana music from upstairs, followed by the excited footfall of Marie as she tested the limits of their new floorboards. “Grandpa’s here!”

Brandon pasted on a tight smile and strode to the door, Leon and Marie beside him, Skye at the rear.

They were met by a blast of perfume and a high head of white-blonde hair.

“Hi – ho, everyone!  Come give glam-ma-ma a big kiss!”

***

Clipping her necklace together, Laverne stumbled downstairs and toward the blaring doorbell.  “Frankie!  Get the door!”   Her eyes narrowed as he bumbled in from the kitchen, his mouth stuffed with a piece of bread.  “We’re having dinner in five minutes!”

Frankie yawned and scratched his stomach.  “I felt like a snack.”

She slapped his arm.  “Go upstairs and put on a clean shirt.”

He glanced down at himself.  “This is a clean shirt.”

“But I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear a Flaming Snot teeshirt to Easter dinner,” Lenny insisted, coming downstairs with a flamingo-emblazoned tie in his hand.  “Vernie, can you knot me?”

Laverne glowered, helping her husband tie his tie.  “Go put on a turtleneck.”

“I dunno what the big deal is,” he glowered.  “It’s just Andy and Caitlyn.”

“Just humor your ma, all right?” Lenny said, gagging a little as Laverne’s sheep shank of a knot nearly cut off his airway. 

“You guys are such dorks,” he complained, stalking upstairs.

“Watchyermouth!” Laverne ordered her son’s back. 

“He’s got a point,” Lenny said, heading to the door.  “You are kinda keyed up.”

Laverne shrugged her shoulders.  “You get the feeling Andy and Caitlyn are getting ready to unload something on us?”

“Huh?”

“It’s like they’ve got even bigger news than the San Francisco move.  Like they got a secret they’re keeping and they’re gonna spring it on us.”

“Vernie, that sounds crazy.”

“I know,” Laverne shrugged.  “It’s just women’s intuition.”  She pecked Lenny on the cheek and headed to the door, flinging it open.

Her other stood on the doorway, hand-in-hand with Caitlyn. 

“We brought a Jell-O mold!” he enthused.

*** 

“…So then Rhonda told Connie Stevens to collect her husband.  She found him with his head in the refrigerator talking to my butter.”

Paul’s soft laughter filled the air, accompanied by the grinding of his son’s teeth.  \

“What’s a Connie Stevens?” asked Marie, shoveling stuffing into her mouth.

“If you’ve got five-fifty and the right role you can find out,” Rhonda uttered tartly.

Brandon’s snarl sent his wife to her feet.  “Would you like some more wine, Rhonda?”

“No thank you,” she patted her surgically-tightened curves, “you’ve just indulged Rhonda to the absolute maximum, Skye.  What a cook you’ve become!”

“Mom taught me well,” she shrugged, plopping another spoonful of mashed potatoes onto her plate.

“Darling, you should have tried Laverne’s cooking back in the sixties,” leaning in Paul’s direction, she added, “Laverne used to ‘practice’ on the six of us when she had a promising boyfriend.  By the end of the night, the only thing that seemed ‘promising’ to the rest of us was a glass of Pepto!”

“Do you have to use air quotes?” Brandon mumbled under his breath, gladly distracting himself with Leon’s anxious questions about dessert.

“Dessert does sound good.  Is everyone in the mood for pie?” Skye asked, piling Leon’s empty plate atop hers.  “I’ve got a light dessert wine in the kitchen, too.  Want to help me uncork it, SOULMATE?”  she hinted.

 Paul stood.  “May I make an announcement first?”  Brandon’s shoulders hunched, his eyes darkening briefly.  Paul continued, “you know that Rhonda and I have been getting closer as the months have passed…I scarified a bit to spend time with her in Las Vegas.  Well, Rhonda has grandly returned the favor.”

“Rhonda’s taking a job with Donald Trump,” she said.  “And we’re going to come back to Long Island to live.” 

“Long Island,” Brandon repeated.

“To live?” Skye mumbled back.

Rhonda smiled.  “Won’t it be splendid?  Glam-ma-ma will be less than a minute away!”

Marie’s ear-piercing shriek of delight drowned out Brandon’s protests.

“But what about your own clubs?” Skye finally cut through.

“Rhonda will still own them – someone else will be managing.  Won’t it be a dream?”

“Honey, kitchen.  Now.”  Brandon whispered.

“Okay,” Skye said, shutting the door tightly behind them and turning her attention toward the pie, “let’s bright-side this.”

“She’s going to be within driving distance!”

“Don’t you think you’re over-reacting?”

“DRIVING DISTANCE.”

“Honey, chill.”

“Chilling is out of the question!  That woman isn’t good enough for my father.”

Brandon watched his wife’s face turn white and knew, without turning around, he’d made a stupid mistake.

He pivoted on his heel and met the red, angry face of Rhonda Lee.

“Not GOOD enough?”  she growled.

Knowing that there would be quite a tongue-lashing in Brandon’s future, Skye picked up her slices of pie, patted his shoulder, and pushed her way out of the kitchen.  She loved her goober, but Rhonda was right.  At least this time.

She glanced over her shoulder at the dessert wine and wondered if slugging another glass on a full stomach was a bad idea.

***

Laverne felt herself slowly unwind as dinner progressed.  Despite Frankie’s initial mopiness, he and his brother fell into their usual teasing patter.  Shy Caitlyn answered the Kosnowski’s rowdy humor with her usual honest politude.  It was a nice, comfortable mixture; the knot in Laverne’s stomach had dissolved completely by the time they were in the living room, eating her angel food cake.

After they’d finished a round of beers, Andy rose to his feet.  “Everyone, Caitlyn and I have an announcement…”

“Another one?” Lenny whined.

Laverne drew her lips up into a tight smile.  “What’s up?” she asked, mentally chanting please no blue sticks, please no blue sticks.

Andy smiled broadly.  “Mom, Dad – Caitlyn and I are gonna buy a co-op together.”

The knot was gone now, and Laverne nearly melted to the floor in relief.  “A house? “Lenny squawked.  “You can afford a house already?”

Caitlyn blushed.  “Gramps cashed in his IBM stock last week; he gave part to Uncle Don and Uncle Mike, and the rest came to me - $300,000.  He was hoping I’d use it as a nest egg for my own place.”

“With half of her money and everything I have in the bank, it’s enough for a down payment on our own place.”

“You’re sure you can make the mortgage?”  Laverne asked.

“It costs less to live there than in an apartment on the Bay.  We did the math, Mom,” Andy squeezed her hand and grinned – and was promptly tackled by Lenny.

“A land owner!  My boy tackled the American dream and he’s only twenty-one!  Ain’t that great?”

Neither parent realized Frankie had vacated the room until they heard his door slam. 

***

“…and I happen to be the best thing that’s happened to your father since your mother died!” Rhonda finished firmly.  In the silence afterward, Brandon remained quiet.

“This hasn’t been easy for me,” Brandon defended himself.    “I loved my mother…”

“Oh, sweetie – Rhonda isn’t trying to replace your mom…”

“I’m well aware of that.  You’re just so unusual compared to her – and you have quite a different effect on my father.”

“Obviously.  We’re different women,” Rhonda replied drily.  “Perhaps you’d like to tell me about  her?”

“She was a humanities major,” Brandon began.   “They met in college.”

“You must have loved her a lot.”

“She was an incredible woman.  That lady gave everything she could to make sure I grew up right.  She ended up staying home with me because her bosses wouldn’t even consider her for a promotion; she said she’d rather quit than work for a flock of assholes.”  He winced, seeing something of himself in that declaration.

“Times have changed.  Consider Skye.”

He smiled at their shared epiphany.  “I could always tell mom wanted more.  She always talked about going to Europe or Asia, and when they sent me off to college they’d been talking about leaving after he got his tenure…”

“Cancer took that choice away from them.”

“Yeah,” Brandon said thickly.  “I know none of this is your fault.  The change is harder than I thought it’d be.”

“Rhonda understands,” she reached out and squeezed Brandon’s arm.  “We’ll come to know each other slowly.”  She patted his hand. 

“I’ll try to be more understanding….glam ma ma…”

She squealed and clutched him to her breast.  “Thank you!”

“Aww,” Skye said, entering the kitchen.  “Can I turn this into a group hug?”

“mpwmph!” said Brandon.  His father had entered the kitchen, his eyes fawningly caressing Rhonda.

“Can I hug gla ma ma?” wondered Leon, with an enthusiasm that made Brandon worry.

“Hug me later,” she encouraged. “But first, let’s all go to the movies, Rhonda’s treat!”

“Yay!” the kids enthused, running into the living room.

“But we were going to hunt for Easter Eggs!” Brandon said, freeing himself from Rhonda’s smothering embrace. 

“Honey, it can wait,” Skye pointed out. 

“But…”

“They’re made of plastic…”

“But…”

“TRYING, dearest…”

“Okay,” Brandon headed to his father, looping his arm through his.  “Come on, Dad – let’s go surf the net for openings.”

“Supurb!”

“As long as you don’t touch my keyboard.”

Skye hugged Rhonda, once they were alone again.  “Thank you.”

“Rhonda knows it can’t be easy to have a possible stepmommy at thirty,” she replied. 

“It’s not easy at any age,” Skye admitted, recalling too well her youth.  Her cell phone began to ring.  “Excuse me,” she smiled.  “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

Rhonda discreetly exited the room, and Skye answered.  “Hello?”

“Skye?”

“Marianne?”

“Can you swing by my place?” she wondered.  “I need to talk…”

“Is it an emergency?  I’m taking the kids to a movie.”

“It’s an emergency to me.”

Fear punched her in the gut.  “Your dad.”

“No, it’s me.”  She took a deep breath.  “Skye, I think I’m in love…”

***

A parent for over thirty years, Laverne knew exactly how to treat a closed door and the blast of heavy metal music pouring from beneath it.  “OPEN UP NOW!” she demanded, her fists hammering the surface. 

“I wanna be alone!” Frankie whined.

“Frank?  It’s dad,” Lenny called, his palm slapping the door.  To Laverne’s surprise, the music halted – and the door opened. 

Lenny stepped alone into his son’s domain, which was a litered mess of sheet music, magazines, and dirty laundry.  He shoved a pile of tee-shirts off of the kid’s desk chair and sat down.  “You wanna rap about why you’re so upset?”

Frankie’s brow quirked, but he plunged on.  “Take a look at my brother and figure it out.”

Lenny frowned.  “Don’t be mean to Andy.  He’s doing great.”

“That’s the problem – he’s doing great.  I’m not.”

“Whaddya mean?  You’re writing great songs and going out to more gigs…”

“But I don’t have a band anymore.”

“You don’t need a band to be successful,” he whispered, “don’t tell your Uncle Squig, but I always wish I’d tried going solo.”

“Yeah?” he laughed.

“Yeah.  I used to have this little dream about running around in spandex pants with big hair…”

Frankie eyed his father’s nearly-bare scalp.  “You made the right choice.”

Lenny self-consciously fluffed his hair up a little.  “Baldness runs in the family,” he warned.  Frankie worriedly played with the curly end of his fauxhawk.   “Ain’t so funny now.”

“ This ain’t getting me anywhere.  I just wish Liz’d find me the right gig.”

“Why’re you in such a rush?  It ain’t like we’re throwing you out.”

“It’s…Andy’s so freakin’s successful it makes me sick sometimes.”

“That’s cause he’s bookish guy,” Lenny explained.  “They get ahead quicker.  But look at me, and your Uncle Squig – it took us twenty years to get where we are.”

“Twenty years?” piped a suddenly pale Frankie.

“That’s ‘cause we wasted too much time at Shotz.  Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if we quit like he planned and started our own key grinding business.”

Comprehension dawned on Frankie.  “You would’ve stayed in Milwaukee, and you wouldn’t have followed mom to California.  You wouldn’t have done it with Karen and had Skye.  And…”

“…And I wouldn’t’ve married your mom.  And you wouldn’t be here.  What I’m trying to say is, things happen in their own time, and they take as long as they need to.” 

Frankie smiled.  “You’re real smart, Pop.”

“Yeah?  Nah…Just do me a favor.  That guitar was pretty expensive, so don’t stop playing.  ”

“Don’t stop playing…don’t stop playing…” Frankie sang.  He grabbed his guitar and tried a chord.  Slowly, he began to come up with a riff.

Lenny sat, fascinated, on the bed, listening to his son play.  He wasn’t aware of Laverne’s drifting into the room until he felt her hand on his shoulder. 

“I wish I could do that,” she pouted.

“Written anything since ‘I’m So Blue, How Are You’?”

“I should try.  Remind me to ask you for a lesson,” Laverne whispered.

“You’re not gonna take it up again, are you?” he shout-whispered.

“It relaxes me.” she winked.

*** 

It would be past nine when Caitlyn and Andy were scheduled to begin their long trip back to San Francisco.  Laverne stood in the kitchen, bagging leftovers for the long trip - a dozen leftover rolls, a Tupperware filled with stuffing and as many Italian cookies as she could shove into a Ziplock.  “And CALL next week, please,” she had ordered before he’d headed to the back yard, twisting her oldest son’s ear.  He was off to LA in two weeks to cover a crucial Lakers’ game and swore he would drop in for a quick visit.

Frankie had become downright cheerful with a new song under his belt.  After an awkward cup of coffee with Andy and Caitlyn her younger son had emerged and decided it’d be a good time for a pick – up football game.  Laverne would join them momentarily – and, from Caitlyn’s shrieking, none too soon.

Her phone rang – distracted, she answered.

“Happy Easter, Laverne,” Shirley trilled.  “How is Caitlyn behaving?”

“She’s a downright angel, Shirl, but she can’t throw a pass.”

“Andy finally talked her into playing touch football?  Oh my?”

Through the window, Laverne watched her sons pile atop her probable future daughter-in-law.  “Didn’t Walter teach her how to take a guy out?”

“He taught her the gsftg method of self-defense; ‘go straight for the groin’!” Shirley recited dramatically.

Laverne snorted.  “How’s Carmine?”

“Have you been watching Celebrity Big Brother?”

Laverne winced.  “There’s a limit to friendship.”

“He called today to tell me he’s in the final five; and things are fine, except he and Lorenzo Lamas are fighting over the last pickled egg.”

“Give him our best when he calls.” 

“I will.  Are the boys well?”

“As well as they’ll ever be…”  she heard the front door opening, then the sound of something heavy hitting the boards.  “Be right back,” she told her friend, grabbing her trusty Louisville slugger from a lower cabinet on her way in.

Fully armed, she lunged toward the stooped figure in the center of her hallway. 

The shrieking being became instantly familiar with a flash of black nail polish.

“Liz?” Laverne wondered, trying to get up off the floor.

“Yes,” Liz panted, getting off the floor.  “Is that how you welcome people in this part of the country?”

“You scared the cheese wiz out of me!”

“I called Frankie.  Doesn’t he ever pick up his messages?”

“You know him better than that.”

“I’ve been trying to instill some responsibility in that boy,” she sighed.   “We’ve got to have a talk when I see him…speaking of, where is he?”

“Liz?”

“Yes?”

“Why the pile of suitcases?”

“Oh…I was hoping to talk to you about this later.”

“WHAT?”

“Oh, I’ve run away from home,” she shrugged.  “Do you have any leftovers?”

END