Hand In Hand
By Shotzette, Old Time Fan and Missy

Episode Seven
By Shotzette

Thank You To Chesh For Tireless Hours of Betaing!

Episode 7

Andrew Squiggman, Agent extraordinaire, smiled benevolently at the always beautiful Rhonda Lee seated next to him in the stretch limo. Her doe eyes gazed adoringly into his, silently pleading for a repeat of the passionate act they participated in during the traffic jam at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. "All in good time, my little turtledove," he said, "all in good time." As much as he would like to return to feasting on her sumptuosly well-endowed body, even Hollywood had some standards of propriety. Especially at the Oscars.

Still... It was so hard to resist her. She was perfection in his eyes, dripping in the diamond jewelry he bought her at Montgomery Wards, and her statuesque body clad in the tightest of satin gowns. The gown was so tight that he had privately asked Lenny to crank up the air-conditioning a notch every few minutes, so he could watch Rhonda get colder.

Lenny.

It was good to have the big idiot back. He'd called from New York, bawling his eyes out like a little girl, crying because Lenny finally figured out that he couldn't make it with out him. Squiggy had forgiven him, of course, for running out on him during his hour of need. Who wouldn't? That's just the kind of man Andrew Squiggman was. He took care of his friends. Not only did he wire Lenny a plane ticket back to Burbank, first class, of course, he offered him a place to stay and a job. It was nice having Lenny back, living in the room over his ten-car garage and being his chauffeur.

Only... Why was Lenny just circling the block? They'd driven past the red carpet four or five times already. It wasn't like they were going to get towed or nothing.

"Hey, Len? You wanna stop or something? I mean, if Rhonda ain't there to accept her Best Actress award, they might give it to the first runner up or something, and my lady ain't leaving the Oscars with just some lousy year's supply of Turtlewax and Rice-A-Roni!"

"Nah, Squig. I checked, and they only give out Rice-A-Roni at the Emmys," Lenny replied.

"Rhonda doesn't mind, Squiggles," Rhonda breathed into his ear as her long, acrylic, nails began to gently stroke his thigh, "Rhonda likes having you all to herself."

"Rhonda, as much as I like what your hands are doing, especially if they move faster and more to the left, I ain't just about us. What will poor Irwin Allen say if we're late? Let's face it, without you, "The Jiggling Hills" would have been just another earthquake movie. Hey, Lenny," he said, agitatedly, "you passed the red carpet again."

"Sorry, Squig. I'll stop next time."

"There may not be a next time," he whined, then winced. Rhonda was scratching a little too hard with those damn phoney nails of hers.

"Squiggy, Rhonda can barely keep her hands off you," she whispered huskily in his ear.

"Could you try a little harder? You're starting to hurt me!" With that he tried to gently move her hands away from his thigh, but her arms were like iron.

"But I want you..." she simpered.

Trying to distract himself from the pain, he looked out of the limosine window at the throngs of autograph hounds lined up alongside the red carpet. Even though he showed no signs of stopping, Lenny had slowed down a bit.

That's weird. What were Laverne and Shirley doing on the carpet? He'd sign autographs for them anytime. As long as there was some nakedness involved, of course. He then saw another face in the crowd he recognized.

Fonzie. Dancing a polka with Big Rosie Greenbaum? He looked again, unable to believe his eyes. It wasn't Big Rosie in the Fonz's arms, he realized as he let out a sigh of relief.

So why was Fonzie dancing with Hickey Hector Ketzenbaum?

He reached forward to tap Lenny on the shoulder. To see if Lenny was seeing the same crazy stuff he was.

Except Lenny wasn't Lenny no more.

He was some awful looking skelaton in a black hooded cape.

Squiggy pulled away in horror, instinctively putting his arms around Rhonda to save her from Death.

Pain shot through his thigh and he looked down to see clawed hands ripping through his flesh. A horror only surpassed by looking into the once beautiful, but now dead and decaying, face of Rhonda Lee.

A scream tore through Squiggy as he lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside his hospital bed, his left arm trapped under his imobile lower body. He screamed again as he tried to turn himself over, unable to breathe easily with his nose against the linoleum.

Minutes, hours, days for all he knew; a thick pair of ankles clad in white support-hose and hospital issue brogans came into his line of sight.

"Not again," mumbled a tired voice. Then louder, "Hey, Earl! Gimme a hand when you have a minute. The little MS guy fell out of his bed. Again!"

The scorn in her voice made Squiggy realize his nightmare hadn't been so bad after all.

At least there he had been surrounded by friends.

*****

Shirley Feeney Meeney looked into the face of a stranger in the mirror above the Motel 6 sink. A stranger with a puffy and blotchy face, swollen eyes, mussed hair, and a dab of vomit on her chin.

Suffice to say, it hadn't been the honeymoon of her dreams.

Well, she was legally married. That's the part that mattered, she thought to herself, as she once again tried to make lemonade out of lemons. Legally married to a doctor.

She glanced at the sleeping man in the bed across the room from her. Walter had nodded off almost immediately after they had made love.

Made love. She nearly groaned aloud. She could think of a few other ways to describe what they did tonight, but making love was not one of the options. They had intercourse. Mechanical, pour-cement-on-a-bargain, make-it-official-intercourse. Between her nausea and his fumbling it wasn't exactly the beach scene in "From Here to Eternity". Like their wedding, they had intercourse because that's what people are expected to do on their honeymoon.

Good God, she wanted a drink badly. Can't do that, she reminded herself, with a touch of her old primness. Can't have a drink for seven months.

A helluva lot to ask a Feeney.

Then the phone rang.

Shirley dashed to the other side of the bed to answer it before it woke Walter up. He was due on call in the base infirmary in four hours.

"Hello?"

"Shirley!"

"Mother?"

"Oh, sweetie! Did I wake you?"

"No, Mother. I was up--"

"Shirley, I don't need to hear the sordid details of your private time with your husband. Anyhow, I just wanted to call and tell you how sorry I was that I couldn't make your wedding."

"It's all right, Mother. I understand."

"I just couldn't drive the four hours up from San Diego with my bad back. You understand, don't you sweetie?"

"Of course, Mother."

"Will you send me pictures? Of you in your beautiful white gown? I'll bet it was a lovely ceremony, wasn't it?"

"Yes, Mother. Lovely."

"I'm so glad Laverne's father was there to give you away. At least with Mr. DeFazio and Laverne, you weren't alone on the happiest day of your life. Once again, your father was no where to be found when he was needed."

"Mother, Daddy's in Singapore. There's no way he could have gotten home in time. I understand that."

"Well, at least one of your brothers should have been there to give you away. It's disgraceful that no one in your family was with you on your big day..."

"Mother, I told you. We wanted to get married right away since Walter might be transferred overseas soon. Otherwise, I would have postponed the wedding until everyone could attend."

"Shirley, you have a large heart, but you need to trust your head more. I'm glad you married Walter, that's his name, right?, right away. Just a little friendly advice, sweetie. I've always been very honest with you when it comes to men. They're weak, Shirley. All of them--"

"Mother..."

"Don't interrupt. Now I know you've always idolized your father, and to a lesser extent, your brothers, but don't be naive. All men will cheat if they're given the chance. And woe to the trashy bimbos that cross their paths. If I had a nickel for everytime I've heard about some cheap little tramp getting in trouble, I'd..."

"Mother, I need to hang up now. Walter needs to call his commanding officer about his transfer."

"Well give him my love then, and tell him I can't wait to meet him. I'm so proud of you Shirley! You not only married a doctor, but an officer as well! See, living virtuously and waiting for Mr. Right, has it's rewards. Speaking of Mr. Right, now that you have Walter, do you think he had a nice friend who would be interested in Laverne? I mean, she's not getting any younger..."

"I have to go, Mother. I love you. Goodbye."

Shirley hung up the phone quickly, before her mother could hear the tears in her voice. As her sobbing got louder, another realization hit her.

Walter Meeney could sleep through anything.

*****

Carmine Ragusa grinned into the morning sun as he walked briskly down the sidewalk. It was good to be employed again. Granted, the job wasn't much, but it involved music and he would have his mornings free to either go on auditions or earn some more scratch by helping Mrs. Babbish.

He frowned slightly. He was worried about her. The Mrs. Babbish he saw these days was a far cry from the woman who used to tap dance with him, and occassionally let him pay his rent late when he had an exceptionally bad month. She was cold to the point of being brusque. It's like she resented him and Lenny for being there, reminding her of her past.

He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could thank Amy for putting a roof over his head. He was sure the girl had intervened on his and Lenny's behalf. If it wasn't for Amy, he knew he and Lenny would be back to sleeping in the car, or staying in a flophouse like the one where he crashed last night.

Memories of last night made him step a little quicker, the thought of a scalding hot shower was paramount in his mind.

If he caught crotch-critters from the dump he stayed in last night, he was going to knock the crap out of Lenny.

Then again, if things didn't go the way Lenny wanted them to go with Laverne last night, he'd probably already jumped off the roof and saved Carmine the trouble.

Carmine rounded the corner of their block just as the morning sun broke through the clouds and illuminated the front of the tenament. In the right light, the place looked almost liveable. Hell, compared to the place he stayed last night, it was a palace.

He engtered through the battered front door and made a mental note to remind Lenny to repair the lock. The bum who threatened Amy was hardly a rare breed in this neighborhood, and the thought of just anyone crawling through the front door in the late night hours made his skin crawl.

Speak of the devil...

"Good morning," a softly hesitant voice said behind hm as he climbed the stairs to his floor.

"Morning, Amy, what do you got there?" He said, indicating the clipboard in her hand.

"A list for Lenny." She frowned momentarily. "Mama wants him to put mousetraps in the cellar."

Great, Carmine thought as the itching on his scalp made him realize he was living with wall to wall vermin. "I'm sure Lenny will just catch them then set them loose in a field somewhere," he lied, as he made another mental note to tell Lenny to never let Amy see him emptying the traps in the dumpster in the alley.

His worries about Amy's sensitivities were only heightened by the time they reached his front door.

There was a sock hanging from the knob.

The age-old male signal, handed down from the time of the caveman, that warned other males no to interrupt his loving under penalty of death.

It seemed like things between Lenny and Laverne went better than even he could have anticipated.

Quickly, he grabbed Amy's slender wrist before she could knock on the unlocked door.

"Amy," he exclaimed in a chipper and much louder tone than necessary, "Why don't you let me take care of the things on your list?" as he prayed Lenny would wake up and hustle Laverne out of there. Preferably via the fire escape.

As psychologically damaging as it would be for Amy to walk in on her platonic "boyfriend" banging Laverne, he didn't even want to consider how Laverne would react to Edna if they came face to face.

Lenny owed him big time for this.

"Come on, Amy," he said as loudly and suavely as possible, "I want to go over this list with your mother, just to make sure I'm doing things the way she wants me to." And I'm sure that doesn't involve you seeing the birds and bees acted out live, he thought as he smiled and guided her down the stairs gently by her elbow.


*****


The doctor removed his stethoscope and nodded gravely as he pulled the sheet over her face. He then left the room, as silently as a ghost.

It didn't take a man of science to tell Frank DeFazio what he already knew.

His Mama was gone.

He'd remembered how he had felt when he was ten, when his Papa had been gunned down in the street in front of twenty witnesses, all who later claimed to have not seen a thing. He never thought that he, an old man, a war veteran, a businessman with a grown daughter, could ever feel so abandoned and vulnerable again.

He had been wrong.

He clasped his Mama's hand in his, the warmth from his own skin infusing hers, mimicing life. Frank hand't known he was capable of shedding so many tears. he hadn't cried this much when his younger brother, Paolo had died of tuberculosis when he was fourteen. He hadn't even cried this hard when his beautiful Josephine had been taken away from him.

He looked around his mother's bedroom, as if part of her still lived in the room that had been her world for the last few weeks. He could smell the lilac sachets she kept in her bureau drawers. The scent of her hand cream sill hung in the air, provoking memories from his childhood, when the DeFazio clan had been a large and happy, if poor, family.

It seemed like a lifetime ago. As he caught sight of his reflection in the bureau mirror, he realized it had been.

Now, he was just an old man in a room spending his lat few private moments with his dead mother. The steady hum of teh borrowed air conditioning unit masked teh sounds of the rest of his family downstairs. He supposed they were making arrangements of some sort. his beleagured mind could not take that thought any further.

Family. that's all that really matters in this world, he thought as he rose from his chair, his muscles crying out from their inactivity.

Now, where the hell was his daughter?


*****


She was an angel.

Lenny looked down at the beautiful woman lying beside him and prayed that if this were a dream, he'd never wake up.

Laverne fit so wonderfully spooned up in front of him, with one of his arms as her pillow, the other draped over her waist. He could smell her hair, let the sound of her breathing lull him back to sleep, rub his legs against the backs of her's until he was nearly crazed with desire again.

She even made the dingy room he shared with Carmine beautiful. The lumpy twin mattress that was to cramped for him alone, seemed to be just the right size when shared with the love of his life. He didn't even think it smelled like cat pee anymore.

His goddess stirred against him, a smile playing on her sleepy lips. She rubbed herself sensuosly against him, as she looked over her shoulder, all but purring in satisfaction.

"Good morning," she whispered, her green eyes shining.

"Hi, there," he answered as he experienced, euphoria, shyness, and desire.

"What time is it?" she asked, glancing around the small room for a clock.

There was no clock, and he had pawned his watch earlier in the week. "It's," he hesitated, trying to gauge the time by the angle of the sunlight streaming through the newly cleaned windows, "sometime during the day. I think."

"Oh," she murmured, turning in his arms so they were face to face, "then we have time..." as she kissed him deeply.

He responded eagerly, until the the little nagging voice in his head forced him to gently break the kiss.

"Laverne, as much as I love you, and this, we gotta stop,"

"Why?"

"You know I didn't plan for any of this last night, don't you?"

She grinned, somehow making herself look even sexier than she had three seconds earlier. "Of course you didn't plan anything, Len! You didn't even know I was in New York."

"Well, uh, yeah. And, I want you to know that I ain't the kinda guy to keep a supply on hand just in case, y'know, a million to one shot or something, and I get lucky--Not that I thought I got lucky last night," he added hastily, "Although I don't feel unlucky at this point..."

"Len! Just spit it out," she said, stroking the side of his face.

"I didn't have any rubbers," he said bluntly. "And I'm sorry, I should have been thinking of you, but I really didn't have a lot of blood in my brain last night, not that I usually have a lot anyhow..."

"Lenny," she said, giggling as she wrapped her arms around him, "it's okay. I've been on the Pill for a few months now. We got nothing to worry about."

"You sure," he said, looking seriously into her eyes, "because I'd be a stand up guy about it, you know that, don't you? I'd never ever leave you alone when you were in trouble."

"Lenny, I know what kind of guy you are. That's why I'm with you," she said earnestly, with sincerity in her eyes.

"Vernie," he whispered huskily, as he crushed her in his arms. He pulled back suddenly. "Do you need to take anything, uh... before?"

"I'm good. It don't work that way."

"Are you sure it's safe, for you I mean? As much as I like feeling you instead of a piece of rubber, I don't want you to take something that might make you sick."

"Len, trust me I'm fine. The only side effect I had was I put on five pounds, and," she said, glancing down at herself with a smirk, "I sort of like where it landed."

His gaze followed the direction of her's, and a faint flush crept up his cheeks. "I got no complaints," he replied with a grin before pulling her on top of him and kissing her passionately.

The sound of an opening door and an irate voice quickly turned his paradise to purgatory. "Lenny! Why aren't in the cellar setting--Laverne?" the voice squeaked in surprise.

"Edna."

FIN






To Chapter 6

On To Chapter 8











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