Hand In Hand
By Shotzette, Old Time Fan and Missy

Episode Fourteen
By OldTimeFan

Thank You To Chesh For Tireless Hours of Betaing!
One month later...

It was good to be out, just the two of them. Lenny winked at Laverne across their small table and she gave him an affectionate grin in return. He knew she was thinking the same thing.

They had hoped that once Frank and Edna began finding their way back to each other that he might lay off the wedding pressure. Unfortunately it hadn't worked out that way. Even when he didn't say anything, the look in his eyes as he watched them eat at Cowboy Bill's said it all. He kept slipping pamphlets from the church under Laverne's apartment door. The ones that cautioned against living in sin particularly amused Lenny, but he knew that they hurt Laverne, made her feel guilty even though they weren't officially living in the same home. The premarital sex was enough of a violation of her strict Catholic upbringing to make her squirm. Lenny wondered if he could talk Frank into backing off, but kept picturing the confrontation ending with him getting socked in the nose, and he liked his nose. It was one of his best features.

The audience clapping brought Lenny's attention back to the stage of The Twenty-One Club. He grinned and joined in as Carmine stepped out and approached the microphone. He was looking real spiffy, in a nice suit that probably cost more than a month's rent on the craphole they'd shared in New York. His shoes were polished and his dark curls clipped and neatly styled. Still, there was something not quite right about him. Lenny couldn't put a finger on what it was.

Carmine stood there a moment, his eyes closed, and Lenny started to wonder if he'd forgotten the words to the song. Then Carmine took a deep breath, raised his eyes to the audience, and began to sing.

Lenny had heard his friend sing many, many times over the years. He knew enough about music himself to know that Carmine was good, even great sometimes. But tonight, it was like he'd never heard the guy before. There was something else going on, beyond talent or practice. Lenny closed his eyes and just listened, letting the words and the melody of the song get inside. He felt a weird tingling in his skin that he usually only felt with Laverne. As one song faded into another, he felt hollowness in the pit of his stomach, like he'd lost something important. By the end of the set, he felt like his mother had left him all over again.

As the last note hung in the air, the room around Lenny was utterly silent. He opened his eyes, surprised to find that there was wetness clinging to his eyelashes. He glanced around, wondering what was wrong with himself, with everyone in the room. Then the applause began, rising quickly to a crescendo, until the folks assembled around the little tables were all on their feet clapping. Lenny joined them, as did Laverne. He glanced over at her and was startled to see her cheeks were streaked with tears. Turning back to the stage, he saw Carmine incline his head slightly, a small smile on his face. Hardly the reaction Lenny would have expected after all the years the guy had struggled to reach this point in his career.

Carmine looked over at him. As their eyes met, Lenny suddenly understood what was different, with the singing and with the man himself.

Grief. Utter, devastating sorrow. The pain was seared into his eyes, and had filled every note of each song. He'd channeled his suffering into the music and shared it with all of them, the raw emotion transforming what had been simple talent into something else, something greater. Lenny was frightened for his friend, wondering how he was living with such misery inside him. At the same time he was blown away by the result.

The audience settled back down after Carmine left the stage with an appreciative wave. Lenny offered his hand to Laverne and led her backstage. "Wow," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, I've never heard him do that before!"

She always knew how to say just what he was thinking. "You ain't kidding."
"It was just so...so different, you know? Not the usual stuff he sings, nothing light."

"Naw. No light at all."

"Yet it was so..."

"Amazing."

"Yeah. And kinda scary, too." She pressed her lips together. "There's only one other person I know who has that kind of hurt inside them."

"Shirley."

Laverne nodded. "At least she's starting to inch past it. I caught her humming the other day when she was cleaning the bathroom. Shirl's always enjoyed a good tidying session. And now that she ain't drinking...well, it just seems like there's a little spark of hope back in her."

"Yeah, I know. Squig's been a lot chipper too, since he and Rhonda eloped. Even though he still has those bad days, all he's gotta do is look at what he wound up with..."

"Cheers him right up." Laverne grinned. "Yeah, I've seen that, too."

"Kinda like when I look at you. Makes me feel all sorts of better, no matter what's going on." He paused and held out his arms. Laverne melted into them, her head pressing against his chest.

"You and I got each other, Squig's got Rhonda, even my Pop seems to have that witch back..."

"Laverne."

"Sorry, sorry, but its gonna take me a while longer to trust that she ain't gonna hurt him again." Laverne pulled away. "The point is we all got somebody to lean on, no matter how tough the going gets."

"Except for Carmine and Shirley."

"Yeah." Laverne sighed. "The two people who always had each other to turn to, now they got nobody. I mean, they got us, but friends ain't quite the same."

Carmine was sitting in a small folding chair backstage, staring at the floor as though seeing right through it. Lenny smiled and said, "Hey, buddy, nice job out there!"

"Yeah, Carmine, you were great!" Laverne chimed in, crouching down to hug Carmine. He rested his head briefly against her shoulder before pulling away.

"Thanks, guys. Glad you liked it."

"Liked it don't even come close. Carmine, you were fantastic." Laverne patted his cheek. "Shirl wanted to come tonight, you know."

Carmine looked away. "Tonight's her AA meeting. That's a lot more important than - this. "

"So." Lenny struggled to find something to say. "You okay?"

Carmine shrugged. "'Course I am. Club's extending my contract, I got a steady and pretty healthy paycheck for the first time in my life, and I got a good review in the Times. Everything's coming up roses."
"So how come you look like someone just died?" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could censor them. Lenny groaned inwardly. Idiot!

But Carmine barely reacted. "It doesn't matter."

Laverne knelt beside him, taking his hand. "Carmine," she said gently. "You got a real future here, the career you've always wanted. You worked hard for this. Look, I know a lot is bad right now, but at least..."

"The future died," Carmine said flatly, pulling his hand away. He gestured toward the stage. "This? This is just killing time." He stood up like a man twice his age and slowly walked away.

Laverne started after him, but Lenny stopped her by resting his hand on her shoulder. "We ain't the ones he needs to talk to."

"Yeah, I know, but..." She looked over her shoulder to where Carmine had been, before turning back with a helpless expression. "Shirl's barely holding herself together. She can't help anyone else, especially him!"

Lenny knew she was right. She usually was. But it didn't make him feel the least bit better.

***

"She's goin' to hell."

"Frank! You know that isn't true."

"Oh, oh! Wait, you're right. First she's gonna wind up knocked up and alone like Shirley was. Then? Hell!" Frank slumped down in his chair and rested his chin in one meaty hand.

There was no talking to him when he got like this, but Edna knew she had to try. "Frank, relax. Laverne is a smart girl. I'm sure she and Lenny are using protect..."

"Ah! Don't say it!" Frank covered his ears.

Rolling her eyes, Edna pried his hands away and said, "Frank, Laverne isn't a teenager. She's a grown woman in a mature relationship with a man."

"A man, she says. That's a man." Frank stood up and began pacing. "She had a man. Sonny, Sonny was a man, with a real job and in his right mind. Would've already made my Muffin an honest woman. But no! She has to spite Pop one more time! Throw aside the perfect paisano for that good-for-nothin', Polish sausage-for-brains!"

Edna didn't like how flushed Frank's face was becoming. She half expected to see steam shoot out of his ears. "Okay, I know that Lenny wouldn't be your first choice. Goodness knows, back when he was infatuated with Amy, he wasn't mine, either."

"There. We agree!"

"But unlike Amy, Laverne is capable of making her own choices. Whether or not you agree with all of them, they come out of a clear-minded, worldly woman. You need to respect..."

"Respect?" Frank all but spat. "Respect! Where's my respect, huh?" He stalked over to her, jabbing a finger into his chest. "My daughter don't respect the boy I like for her, or the plans I got for her future, or a single damned word that comes outta my mouth! I'm just dumb old-fashioned Pop. What do I know about relationships or commitments? Look how well mine turned out!"

Edna flinched. "So, we're back to this again, are we? I thought we were going to put all of that behind us and move forward."

Frank glared for a moment, then turned away muttering, "Why should I expect my daughter to respect me when my own wife don't?"

"I do respect you! It's just...you make it so hard sometimes! I want to stand beside you and love you and be your partner in everything, but then..."

"What? What do I do that makes all of you run from me, huh? Go on, tell me. What's old Frank doing so wrong?"

She let loose. "You smother everyone who cares about you! You're not content unless you're telling us what we should want, how we should get it, when it's the right time for it to happen! If you would just stop being so controlling and just let us all live our lives..."

"Why? So you can cut me out of 'em?"

She blinked. "What makes you think that?"

"It's what you want, ain't it? You, Laverne. Always lookin' for an excuse to get rid of me." He held his palm against the wall of the trailer, as if holding himself upright. In a voice almost too soft for her to hear, he said, "I just want to be a good husband, a good father. Is that so selfish?"

"Frank." She walked over and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Frank, you are a good father, and a great husband. When you aren't trying to run everyone's life, that is."

"Runnin' things is what a man's supposed to do. My Poppa, he kept our family runnin' like a Swiss timepiece, made all the decisions, made sure all our lives turned out right."

"It isn't a man's responsibility to run every part of every person in his family's life! That's how you push people away, Frank. That's why...that's what drove me away."

He turned to face her, his puppy-dog eyes weary. "I don't know no other way, Edna."

"Well you'd better learn." She leaned closer and kissed him. "Or else, you will drive Laverne away, too."

He didn't respond, but she could tell that he understood. Now the only question was, would he do something about it?

***

Amy bit her lower lip, trying to keep her tears from bubbling up. So Mom still thought she couldn't think for herself, after all the hard work she did at school and all the help she'd been running the buildings. Not clear minded? Unable to make her own choices?

She'd show Mom.

Amy crept out the front door while Frank was being particularly loud. She knew how to pick a man as well as Laverne did. He was a nice man, a little sad sometimes, but he could sing better than an angel, certainly just as good as a Beatle.

She reached into her handbag and rummaged through the gum wrappers and lip gloss until she found a small, neatly-folded piece of paper. Opening it up, she read Carmine's phone number, which he had given her the last time he came to push her on the swing, right before he said he wouldn't be around so much anymore. Some more searching produced a nickel, which she clasped tightly in her fist as she skipped down the street toward the gas station.

***

"How'd the audition go, my little turtledove?" Squiggy grinned at her in anticipation from his straight-backed chair, the one that he could get into and out of most easily.

Rhonda giggled. "Wonderful! Rhonda is sure to get the part! You were right, Andy-Pandy, they did need a woman my height to fit the costume." She scurried across the room and embraced her husband.

"Yeah, yeah, I told ya! After that other chick broke her ankle, they needed someone to fit the dresses they already had. And how many girls are as tall and...mmmm...luscious as my Rhonda?"

She winked. "Not many." She stood up and gazed down at him affectionately. Though she had been his wife for nearly a month and a half now, it still hadn't fully sunk in. They were more like best friends, who just happened to share an apartment and a last name. Although lately, when she looked at him at certain angles, she felt a certain, strange stirring inside. It was a lot like the way she felt with that other fellow...what was his name again? The boy she nearly married before Hollywood beckoned. It was all very strange and a little frightening.

"Remind me to thank Sonny for the tip." Squiggy said, breaking her reverie.

"Sonny? Oh, yes, that's right, he's doing stunt work on the film."

"Yeah, but I'm the man that took his little tip and turned it into an opportunity."

"Don't I know it." She smiled. "Let's celebrate. How about dinner at Le Petite Chien?"

"Hmm, sounds good." He leered. "Will ya wear that tight little red dress that makes me feel all tingly?"

"If you're a good little boy," she teased.

He stood up. "And what if I'm a bad little boy?"

"Well then, maybe I won't wear it." She lowered her eyes and added coyly, "Maybe I won't wear anything at all."

Squiggy took a step toward her. He wasn't using his cane, she noticed; it was a good day. In the back of her mind, she began to wonder how good.

He was far too short to take her into his arms and carry her off into the bedroom. Even if he were bigger, his condition would prevent any such clichéd romantic moves. But his eyes were filled with desire, only and entirely for her. That, and his hand slipping into hers, was enough to sweep her off her feet.

It turned out that it was a very good day. It was an even better night.

***

Carmine tossed back a couple of Valium with a water chaser. He stared at the telephone for the tenth time that night, wanting her to call, wanting to call her. Neither had happened so far.

What did he expect? Shirley was doing what she could to recover, from the miscarriage, the alcohol. From him. Who was he to interfere with that process? What right did he have to expect anything from the woman who had carried, then lost, his child?

"My daughter," he murmured, swallowing another pill. "My little girl."

It was stupid really, his mourning a lost child that he'd scarcely known about and had never meant to create. He had no right, none whatsoever. Shirley had been the one who suffered. She ached from the loss, he knew, yet she wouldn't let him comfort her the few awkward times he'd reached out. Finally he'd gotten the message - this tragedy wasn't going to bring them closer together in mutual suffering. Their suffering wasn't mutual; it was all hers and only she could claim it. Whatever he was feeling was deserved, a punishment straight from God.

"Not that you poured the booze down her throat," he muttered to the four silent walls. His new place was nice, not too big, but clean and decently furnished, probably the best place he'd ever lived in his life. Yet it felt empty and cold, not a bit like a home should. One man in a place however nice wasn't home. Home meant family, a wife...kids....

He loosened his tie and shrugged off his suit jacket, then stretched out on the sofa. He held up the bottle of Valium and read the label. "Take as needed for depression. Not to exceed six pills per day." Had he exceeded the warning the club owner's personal pharmacist had so carefully placed on the bottle? He couldn't remember. "Do not take with alcohol." Like he'd touch the stuff that had killed his baby. Even beer made his stomach turn these days. He was sober as a judge. A judge who, despite his own guilt, was more and more often turning his dour gaze on Shirley and her addiction, if only in the privacy of his own mind.

"She was hurt," he told the part of himself holding the gavel. "She was distraught and trying to drown the pain."

"Bullshit. She was scorned and wanted revenge," the judge in him responded. "She didn't care."

"That's ridiculous. Shirley's always wanted a baby. Even under the circumstances..."

"She didn't want yours. She wanted Dr. Perfect's baby, not the bastard conceived with the loser who dumped her after a one-night stand."

"It wasn't her fault! She didn't mean for the baby to die!"

"Didn't she?"

The thought chilled him. It had been hovering in the back of his mind ever since the night he'd learned about the miscarriage, but only now did he dare face it. Had Shirley deliberately gotten drunk after their confrontation? Was it her ultimate 'I'll show him' to kill his child in-utero?

The thought was so sick, so twisted, that he immediately tried to stifle it with a couple more pills. As he gulped the water, the telephone rang.

Carmine reached for it, his hand missing the receiver on the first try. Sighing, he forced himself into a sitting position and picked it up. "Hello?"

He didn't quite recognize the soft, female voice at the other end of the phone. "Hi, Carmine. How are you?"

"Shirl? Is that you?"

A pause. "No. It's Amy. Hi."

"Oh. Um, hi, Amy. Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"Did you want something?"

"Yes."

He waited. Finally he said, "Look, Amy, I'm really tired. It's been a long night..."

"How was your show? Were you wonderful? I bet you were."

Despite himself, he smiled. She was so sweet, so innocent. Just like Shirley had been before he wrecked her. "I did all right. Why didn't you come?"

"You didn't invite me. Did you?"

He thought about it, but thinking was becoming more and more difficult. Good, that was good. It hurt a lot less when he didn't think. "Sorry, I...just got mixed up for a sec. I'll send you an invitation for next week, okay? Front row center, a special spot for a special girl."

She squealed. "Oh, Carmine, thanks! That would be terrific!"

"Okay. Good night, Amy."

"Wait. Carmine, I wanted to know if you were still sad."

His hand tightened on the receiver. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound find."

"I'm just tired. Like I told you Shirl..."

"Amy. I'm Amy, remember?"

Her voice was so gentle, so free of guile and reproach. He could picture Shirley the way she was in high school, her long hair tied back in a red bow, her crinoline-lined skirt flouncing around her ankles as she scampered off to class. Stolen kisses next to the lockers, notes passed in English class, giving her his jacket to wear when he walked her home. "God, you were so beautiful," he whispered.

"Me? You really think I'm beautiful?"

"You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. It was like your face was shining, there was so much light inside you." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I shouldn't have taken that away from you. I shouldn't have killed that light."

"Carmine? What light?"

"But you know, you made mistakes too." He unscrewed the lid on the Valium and down a couple more pills without bothering with water. They were bitter as they melted on the back of his tongue. "You didn't have to trash your life just to get back at me. You could of just found a nice guy...that doctor guy seemed okay...and shown me a thing or two by being happy without me. You didn't have to drink. You didn't have to kill her..."

"I didn't kill anyone!" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded hurt. "I wouldn't do that!"

"I know. I'm so sorry, I don't know why...I know you didn't mean it! Please, can't you just forgive me?"

"I'm not mad, I'm just...Carmine, you're confusing me. Why did you think I killed someone? I just wanted to call and tell you that I like you. I like you a really lot."

"That's sweet." She'd told him that in tenth grade, then run back to whisper with her buddies in the Angora Debs. He'd just stood there and blushed, wondering if she'd meant it or it was just a prank. All these years later, he knew she'd meant it. Except now it didn't matter anymore. "Nothing matters," he continued aloud. "Not all the attention, not the money. I'd toss it all away if I could just turn back the clock and make things the way they were before that damned night! Believe me, Shirl, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

He felt tears stinging his eyes. Uh, oh, more depression! He upended the bottle and felt the remaining little pills slide down his throat. They went down a lot easier this time. He hardly noticed the aftertaste, though he coughed a bit.

"Carmine." The voice at the other end of the phone had changed, becoming concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Angel Face. Just taking my medicine."

Silence. Then, "Where are you, right now?"

"I'm at my new place. I'd love to show it to you sometime." He grasped the receiver with both hands as the room tilted around him. "Whoa, that was weird." He chuckled.

"Are you there all alone? You should tell me your address, so I can come and visit."

"My address? I'm...what is it? Five-fifteen Laurel Vista...no, wait...not anymore!" He chuckled again, leaning back against the sofa. "I mean, the Beacon...can't think of the number...can't think...."

The receiver slipped from his hands. He considered leaning over to pick it up, but it was so far away on the floor. Why bother? Instead, he lay back on the sofa, pulling his legs up with difficulty. They were so heavy...everything was so heavy. But at least he didn't care anymore.

There was a voice on the other end of the phone, calling his name, yelling some other stuff. But he didn't care anymore about her, either. Pretty soon, all the voices in the room and in his head fell blessedly silent.

***

Amy didn't know where to go or what to do. But she knew she had to find help. She couldn't go back to Mom and Frank, they'd be mad at her for sneaking out so late and calling a boy. So she went to the place where she knew Carmine's friends lived, the place she now had the address for. Laurel Vista.

Amy dug out enough money to pay a cab to take her there. When she got out, she tried to remember the number Carmine had told her. It was five, five something...oh, why hadn't she written it down? Her teachers told her to always write things down so she didn't forget, especially important things. Carmine may not live there anymore, but she knew he'd had a roommate. Maybe the roommate could help her.
She hurried into the building and climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. Then she looked around and started knocking on all the doors. Whenever someone would answer, she said, "Did Carmine used to live here?"

Most people just shook their heads or closed their doors without a word. But finally, a tall, beautiful man with dark hair and dark eyes opened the door and said, "Yeah, he did, but he's not here now. Who...?"

"Please, you have to help me!" She looked up at him, her hands clasped together. "Carmine needs me but I don't know where to find him."

"He's downtown, at the Beacon Towers."

"I know, he said that, but I don't know how to find it!" Tears filled her eyes and she wanted the beautiful man to hurry up already. "I think something's wrong. Can't you take me there?"

The man frowned. "What makes you think something is wrong?"

She told him about talking to Carmine on the phone, how strange he had sounded and the odd things he'd said. Then she told him that he stopped talking to her, but the phone wasn't hung up."

"You said he was taking medicine?" The man looked worried now, too. Good, he was paying attention to her finally.

She nodded vigorously.

"Hang on." He disappeared for only a moment. When he returned, he had car keys in his hand. "Okay. Let's go, sweetheart."

She hurried after the tall man, relieved. Surely someone like him would know what to do to make Carmine feel better. At least, he would take her to Carmine, so she could finally tell him that he didn't have to be sad and alone anymore. He could be with her, instead, and she would treat him much nicer than Shirley apparently had. She only hoped that he gave her the chance to prove it.

FIN






To Chapter 13

On To Chapter 15











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