Beautiful Like a Rainbow
Part 1
By Missy

SERIES: Like a Rainbow

SERIES: Like a Rainbow

PART: 1 of ??

RATING: PG-13; eventual NC-17 (Explicit Heterosexual Sexual Activity, Adult thematic material, language, adult content, character death, trauma)

PAIRING(s): L/L; S/C

DISTRIBUTION: To Myself  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: Drama

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SEQUEL TO : Shotzette's "True Colors"; a true and proper one more so than "With Words" could be.

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Early Show AU; Canon for Happy Days up to the girls' first appearance.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Dare to dream.  (Lavenny, Carly)

NOTES: An alternate version of the "True Colors" side of things - much more romantic in nature.

 

***

 

"Laverne didn't dream anymore, she probably never had..." - True Colors

 

***

 

He had fallen asleep on her again.

 

Laverne's face twisted slightly as she paused in mid-gesture and studied the man beside her on the blanket.  Lenny Kosnowski had a face like a little boy - the only part of him that was childlike, she bragged to herself mentally - and large, callous-roughed hands that grabbed her in fits of clumsy desire.  Those hands lay unfolded and cupped in sleep, making him look like a ragged doll. 

 

He had taken her to his bed this time.  His bed, not the rumble seat of his Plymouth over on Inspiration Point...

 

Her eyes fell on his watch - Lenny insisted on making love to her completely naked - a squint at the dial reading midnight.  She had to get home - Shirley had left her key - probably intentionally - on Fonzie's dresser on their little "date" a few weeks ago.  She smiled viciously to herself - Shirley was currently offering Milo the key grinder a little tit-for-tat for a new set of dummy keys for the apartment.  Whether or not her ploy had worked, Laverne needed to get home before her "friend" did to let the girl in.

 

If she didn't, Shirley would break a window.

 

She returned for a second to the days of her childhood - when she and Shirley had been real friends.  It hadn't always been this way...

 

But what did she care?

 

Grunting, she moved beneath the rough green blanket, climbing out of his bed and picking up her so-easy-to-unzip red dress and panties from the floor - unlike Lenny, she insisted on keeping something on while she fucked.  In the chilly room, she dressed as swiftly as possible, looking around herself at the tidy, efficient bedroom of her lover.  She shook her head in disgust - if she didn't know better, she would have thought Lenny was a pansy.  The walls were painted a salmon color, filled with white-painted furniture that seemed to belong in a doll's house.  Andrew had bragged to her once that they'd gotten the entire set for less than ten dollars at a swap meet, and Laverne wouldn't be surprised if they had.

 

Her eyes fell on a picture of Lenny's best friend - Andrew J. Squiggman, professor and forensics champion of East Milwaukee and felt her stomach twist angrily.  Andrew had a great habit of taking advantage of Lenny's father's money - it was Lenny who had supported him through college without even asking for a thank-you.  And what kind of thanks did Lenny get, except for a spare room in Squiggy's big new townhouse while Lenny tried to get his singing career off the ground?

 

Wait, why did she care?

 

She looked again at the man sleeping there in bed.  They had met at an ROC mixer - Shirley's panties had a way of falling off around military men even at sixteen - he had spilled an orange drink down her dress, she had given him a hand job in the backseat of his car, and from that day on she hadn't been able to shake him.  They had started screwing almost right away - he had been a virgin, but she had turned him into a fabulous lay.

 

A fabulous lay who wore a condom every time they were together and made no excuse about not liking them.

 

A fabulous lay who wanted to take her places when every other man treated her like party trash.

 

A fabulous lay who didn't date anyone but her.

 

The pump dangled from her palm as she looked at Lenny again - studied him with a tilt of her head.  Maybe he was just undersexed or something.

 

She looked at the bulge under the tightly-pressed sheets.  She had measured him with her hands and her mouth a million times plus two that night. 

 

Maybe not.

 

Why was she wasting her brainpower?  She shoved away her wandering thoughts and bent over to retrieve her other pump from beneath the bed.  A small orange ball of fur hissed at her.

 

She glared back at the malevolent green eyes staring her down.  "Shut up, Jeffery," she muttered to the tabby. 

 

"Mrrowl," responded Jeffery, his tail wagging back and forth.  Swiftly as she could, Laverne grabbed the heel of her scuffed pump and dragged it across the wooden floor before the cat could scratch her again.  She looked up briefly at Lenny - good, he was still asleep - and congratulated herself smugly.

 

Then smacked her head on the bed frame, waking him.

 

Blue eyes looked at her in confusion.  "Szit morning?" he muttered.

 

She shook her head.  "Nah.  I gotta get going."

 

He sat up automatically.  "You don't want me to walk you home?"

 

"I can make it by myself..."

 

He pushed back the blankets, accidentally flashing her.  Half-hard, he was a shadow of the man who could fuck her to oblivion and back, but it still stirred her desires.  His hand took hers, caressing it over the black pump.  "Lemme take you," he said tenderly.

 

Laverne grinned.  "Okay..."  she pushed him down by the shoulders and straddled his hips.

 

 

***

 

"But, Mister Odenkoswi..." Shirley whined, as a beefy hand shoved her firmly out the front door of his package shop.

 

"OUT!" he said firmly.  "Unless you can pay with cash, I ain't taking what you're offering!"

 

It was raining outside.  Damn it, she'd have to walk all the way home in this rain.  She turned around, letting the streetlamps illuminate her black lace dress, turning it see-through.  "I've seen that hag of a wife of yours," she said.  "A big, strong fella like you's got to be awful lonely."

 

Milo's eyes narrowed.  "Sorry.  I'd rather go to heaven!"

 

He slammed the door on her, leaving Shirley fuming on the street.

 

HEAVEN.  He'd rather go to heaven than fuck her!  Of all the nerve in the world!  Shirley Feeney had major issues with heaven.  It had a way of letting the scum-suckers in - something she'd learned at a painfully early age.  She stuck out her chest.  No reason to cry over split milk.  She'd ask Laverne to go back.  Maybe he was a tits man...

 

Lost in her storm cloud of anger, she didn't see the squat, solid form until it bashed straight into her.

 

Shirley sat on her ass in the soaked gutter for a good second before shrieking invective at whatever had knocked her off her heels.

 

"I'm sorry!" the voice coming from above was pleasant, accented.  Brooklynish.  She looked up to see two dark eyes, a mop of dark hair, and a solid, delicious-looking build.

 

She suddenly wasn't very angry anymore.  "It's all right," she accepted the hand he offered and crawled out of the mess. 

 

"I ain't been thinking straight all day," he laughed, "see, I got a big prize fight in a couple of months."

 

"Prize fight?" Her pussy began to drool as her mind wailed a warning against getting hooked up with deadbeats.

 

"You ain't heard of me?" he punched the air with a series of uppercuts and hooks.  "I'm a junior heavyweight contender!"

 

Shirley had no idea what that meant, but his biceps were very appealing.  "I see.  Do you know a place where a lady could dry off?"

 

"If you wanna tell me your name, lady."

 

"My name is Shirley Feeney," she said smoothly, placing her hand on his bicep and feeling the hope in his body.  "What's your name, champ?"

 

He smiled rakishly and slipped his arm through hers.  "It's Carmine.  Carmine "Kid Gloves" Ragusa."

Part 2