Lenny stares at her in disbelief.  "Carmine's a junkie?"

Laverne's eyes are filled with disbelief.  "That's all you got out of that whole story?"

"It's the most important part.  I can't believe it - he was so into exercise and being healthy and junk."

Laverne's fingers lock onto the hem of her skirt.  "Drugs do that.  When we broke up, he hadn't showered in a week.  Are you going to help me find him?"

Lenny leans over in his place on the couch, reaching for Laverne's hand.  "You really sure you wanna do that?"

"Why?"

"'Cause -if you do, he might be too broken up to fix."

Laverne shakes her head.  "Even if I can't help, I just wanna see him one last time - so I can close the book and let go."

"So you can get your money back."

"It's not about the money!"

The virulence of her tone shocks him.  "Yeah, but you look like you need some, Laverne - you don't look too good."

Her expression is, by turn, miserable and self-aware.  "I ain't had a real meal in three weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me before?  I woulda bought you dinner after the gig."

"'Cause I ain't no charity case!"  She sits up a little straighter, avoiding his concerned eyes.  "Ajax cut my salary after I came to work whacked out on acid.  I only kept my job because Pop got me hired."  Lenny's blank expression tells her everything she's been accusing herself of is correct.  "I let the drugs own me, Len."

"You ain't using no more?" He's afraid of her answer.

"Not since that day at Ajax.  I dried out on my own."  That explains her shaky stride and hollow-cheeked visage.  "And no needles ever."

"Okay," Lenny sits closer to the edge of the chair, and Laverne crawls a little closer to him.  "Cinnamon knows some people in The Combat Zone - that's the contraband district in Boston."

"You got a whole block for that?  Milwaukee didn't even get a street!"

"Yeah, it's dangerous - most of the drugs and gangs are over in Roxbury, but Cinnamon told me they 'deal' to the businessmen over in the Combat Zone."

"How'd you know all this stuff?"

"I learned from having to live out here - you don't know that, do ya?  I had to live on the street for awhile."

Laverne pats his arm.  "I wish you woulda come home."

"But I'm glad I didn't - my life is pretty great, here."

Her eyes flare passionately.  "You mean you don't even miss me?"

Cinnamon promptly cuts off his answer by entering the room with a flourish of sparkle and feather.

"Lenny, you're up late!"

"It's gig night."

"Is it Saturday already?  The days, they fly by." Cinnamon flitted through the pile of bills on their high board.

"You know any late-night restaurants?  Laverne needs to eat."

"Len!"

"Well, does a canary sing?" Without even pausing to change, Cinnamon retrieves her purse and reopens the door.  "Come on, I know just the spot!"

***

Only in Boston past midnight can a six-foot drag queen in a feathered headdress, a guy in a leather vest and maroon ruffled shirt, and a sallow-faced girl in a shag haircut go unnoticed.  Their chosen restaurant, a comfortable and yet glamour-free diner book ended by impeccably-maintained brownstones is shabby but still comfortable.  The black-and-white checkered floors have worn scuff marks on them, but the chrome and pink Formica countertops gleam like new.  The fixtures seem new, but the waitress' outfits seem a blast from Lenny and Laverne's youth.  Laverne's eyes dart around, watching faces, fascinated, looking for ghosts, while Lenny and Cinnamon study their menus. 

The usually-aggressive diner Cinnamon allows Laverne to order for them, and she orders for each of them the Belgian waffle platter - impressively simple - and a round of coffee and chocolate milkshakes. 

"Goodness, I never thought she'd leave," Cinnamon retrieves a cigarette from her purse, then holds one out to Laverne.  "You smoke, dear?"

Laverne shakes her head. 

"Oh well - I know Lenny doesn't.  I'll wait until we leave." She smiles attractively, her bright orange lipstick clashing garishly with the sea foam-colored upholstery.  "Lenny's told me an awful lot about you."

Laverne's expression turns modest.  "Yeah?"

"Oh yes - he simply adores you-"

"Cin..." Lenny's tone holds a warning.

"Oh, for the love of..." Lenny is hunched down against the table, hands a tight circle around his milkshake.  "You're Lenny's favorite person, you know."

"CIN."

"All right," Cinnamon sighs.  "But I have wanted to get a good look at you for the longest time."

"I ain't too interesting," Laverne shrugs.  "Not like you!"

"Oh, please, honey - I put on my pantyhose every day, same as you.  And when I find the right girl, I take 'em off!"

Lenny laughs manically while Laverne stares at him.  He was once highly suspicious of anything that seemed, in the least bit, 'fruity' and now one of his closest friends is a drag queen - the dichotomy confuses her.   "Do you know Darren?"

"Lenny's band mate?  We're acquainted, but not intimate.  Lenny and I run in different circles socially, you understand.  But I know most everyone in the theatre district."

Laverne fixes Lenny with a pleading look, and he sits back against the seat. 

"May I ask, Laverne, what brought you to Boston?" Cinnamon wonders.

Laverne's fingers stiffen on her coffee cup.  "Len and I're old friends, and I ain't seen him since his best friend got married.  I missed him, but I'm looking for someone else."

"And I need a favor from you," Lenny confesses.

Cinnamon regards Lenny archly.  "Really now?"

"Yeah - we're lookin' for someone."

"Does he wear heels and sing uptown?  That's where all of my connections are."

"Uh..." Lenny licks his upper lip.

"We're looking for an addict," Laverne jumps in.  "We need to know where all of the hardcore addicts hang out in the city."

"Oh, honey!" Cinnamon is clearly appalled, so Lenny takes over.

"Cin, you know folks in the theatre community, right?"

"Yes..."

"Our friend..." The word 'friend' rang out heavily.  "Was an actor..."

"Carmine's too proud to call in a favor like that," Laverne argues.

"If Carmine's as different as you said he is, he would.  He used to tell me all the time he had actor friends all over the country, so if he's in the neighborhood he's probably staying on someone’s couch, doing dope.  What we need to know is if someone new's come to town - within the last two weeks."

"Actually - I do know someone who has a guest in town.  My friend Marc Daniels, he does lighting for the Wang Theatre, and he's hosting a friend from the West Coast."

Laverne's expression lit.  "Did he say what that friend's doing here?"

"Auditioning for a production of 'Fiddler on the Roof'.  But there isn't a production of 'Fiddler' for him to audition for - I was suspicious for a second, but Marc's a very moral guy - strict Itallian-Cathlotic."

"YES," Laverne utters.  "That's gotta be Carmine."

Cinnamon has already found a tube of bright red lipstick and is scribbling an address down on a napkin.  "He works in the Theatre district, but he lives in Chinatown, over the Ma Song Noodle House.  You should wait until the morning to go, because the neighborhood's very dangerous...where on earth are you going?"

Laverne has her coat and is trying to push past Lenny, who blocks her way "We gotta get to Carmine before he scores again."

"Vernie, maybe we ought to wait like Cinnamon says.  If it's dangerous..."

"If we wait until morning, he'll be asleep - worse, he'll be coming down and be looking for a fix.  There might be a little window when he's functioning-high, and he'll be almost normal.  We gotta get to him then, before he starts coming down, or it'll be like talking to a wall."

Lenny vacates the booth.  "You aint' going alone." His words are final.

Laverne nods her head briefly.  "I gotta use the lady's room," she walks across the checkered floor in the most delicate and careful manner.

"You're going to get yourselves killed."  Cinnamon protests.

"I know how to take care of her."

Cinnamon's manicured hand rests on Lenny's wrist.  "She's the one you'd do anything for, isn't she?"

Lenny nods his head.  When Laverne re-appears, they leave - ditching Cinnamon with three plates of Belgian Waffles.