SERIES: Cake and Pie

PART: 1 of 1

RATING: NC-17 (M/F sexual situations; language)

PAIRING(s): Laverne/Lenny

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CATEGORY: Romance, Humor

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Pre-The Mummy’s Bride

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: "That’s a Lot of Living In 30 Years, Laverne." (LaverneLenny  Humor.  The Future.  A trade of cake and pie.  Shotzette will find that funny.)

NOTES: Written for Shotzette on the occasion of her birthday.


***

 

“How’s the birthday girl?”

 

The ‘birthday girl’ glared at him from under the brim of her paper crown, her fingers tightening around her paper horn.  “Old.”

 

“Jeesh,” he teased.   A little shock of surprise raced through him as Laverne glowered in response.  He grabbed a chair, turned it around, and straddled it, facing her.  He became fixated on the large hunk of birthday cake sitting on the table in front of her.  “You gonna finish that?”

 

She stabbed the yellow, spongy surface of the cake viciously.  “Yeah,” she retorted.   After a bite, she glanced up at him, then reached out and gave a quick snap to the elastic holding on his paper party hat.  “You don’t wear it like that, Len.”

 

He instinctively protected the top of his head, even though the hat sat capping his chin.  “You do too!”

 

She reached over and adjusted it with motherly affection, until it rested correctly upon his part.  “No, that’s how you do it,” she said. 

 

Lenny’s jaw tightened – he hated it when she scolded him.  “What’s wrong with you?”

 

She glanced to their far left, where Shirley was wrapped up in the arms of Walter Meaney.  Lenny smiled at the sight of them slow-dancing to the new Peter and Gordon ballad, oblivious to the rest of the world.  He looked back at Laverne and noticed she seemed a lot less happy.  “They look happy,” Lenny said.

 

“I know,” Laverne said, her voice wounded as she watched the dance.

 

Worry flickered in Lenny’s stomach.  “Why don’t you like it?  Is Walter mean to her?”

 

Laverne came out of stupor.  “Don’t be a dope.  He treats her great.”

 

“Then what’s wrong?”

 

She sighed, cut off another hunk of the cake and popped it into her mouth.  “I think this might be it for her.” 

 

Lenny’s eyes bugged out, then filled with tears.  “Really?” he gulped.  “The end?”

 

“Lenny…”

 

“You’re real brave, Shirl!” he called across the room to Shirley – she gave him a confused glance over Walter’s shoulder before nestling her face against his neck.  “She don’t even look sick!” Lenny whispered to Laverne.

 

“Not the END,” she whispered, dragging him across the table by the collar of his good yellow shirt, “I think she and Walter might be the real thing.  She told me this morning that she might marry him, if he asks.”

 

His features softened.  “Really?”

 

She let go of his shirt and nodded.  “Yeah.”

 

“Aww, that’s wonderful!”

 

“I know.”  She looked at them once again, and, noticing their obliviousness, turned back toward Lenny.  “They look good together, don’t they?”

 

“Yeah….I don’t wanna be the guy who tells Carmine, though,” he sipped the remnants of his warming beer and rested the empty mug on the table.  “Why didn’t he come home for your birthday?” 

 

She fiddled with the mouthpiece of her green paper horn.  “Len, you know that nobody gets between Carmine and his fishing trips,” Laverne replied.  “He spent his ten-year anniversary with Shirley trying to grab some wall-eyed salmon on some lake.  Then when he got home they spent all night cleaning them.   I got back from my date at five and they were still going at it.”   He managed to pry the shocked expression off of his face at her admission.

 

“I remember – we all had dinner together at six in the morning.”   It had been a delicious but odd affair – Shirley and Carmine has sat stonily at opposite ends of the table, ignoring one another.

 

“I thought I was gonna starve to death.”

 

He took her hand, “I don’t think you’re mad now ‘cause you’re hungry, Vernie,” he proclaimed.

 

“Nope,” she said, picking at her cake again.

 

“Then what’s the matter?”

 

A long silence passed between them.  “I guess I’m a little jealous.  Shirley stuck to her guns and found a great guy, and look at me – no regular guy, no ring, and now I’m thirty…”  She gestured helplessly to her stylish baby-doll dress and exotic eye makeup. 

 

“So what?” Lenny wondered.  “I’m thirty, and I ain’t married.”

 

“You’re a guy,” she said condescendingly.

 

“Last time I checked,” he smirked, taking a finger full of her frosting and popping it into his mouth.

 

She didn’t swat him away, though her glare was strong enough to melt the polar ice caps.  “Guys don’t have to get married,” she added, taking a long draught from her beer. 

 

“They don’t?” Lenny gaped. 

 

“No, Lenny, they don’t.” She rolled her eyes.

 

“Then why the heck’re Walter and Shirley talking about doing it?  OW!”  he rubbed the arm she’d swatted.  “Sorry, I’m listening…”

 

“I thought things’d be different in California,” she added a self-depreciating laugh.  “I was supposed to be a movie star.  Four years gone by and I ain’t even auditioned for anything yet.  I don’t even got an agent…” At his wounded look, she amended, “my agent ain’t sent me on any auditions.”

 

“Don’t blame me!  Squig says it’s hard to find parts for tall girls with nice patooties,” Lenny nodded wisely.

 

She choked on her ice cream.  “Squig don’t talk about my patootie, does he?”

 

“La-verne!” he exclaimed.  “Squig knows you’re forbidden fruit…”

 

“Len…”

 

“If it helps, I think you’re as pretty as Ann-Margaret.”

 

She laughed.  “You always say stuff like that, Len.”  She scooped a mouthful of ice cream into her dark red-lipped mouth.  “I’d give anything to hear a guy tell me those things and mean it…”

 

“Who says I don’t mean it?”

 

Laughing, she looked him in the eye.  “Okay, I wish some other guy would mean it.  Some tall, blond guy with great teeth…” she frowned.  “What’re you smiling at me like that for?”

 

He sat back.  “I got new caps last week.”

 

“You got caps?” she sounded disappointed, and he felt stupid.  “I never thought you’d get so into this whole Hollywood thing, Len.”

 

He straightened defensively.  “An agent has to look his best,” he recited.

 

She looked down at his long hand as it lay trapped between hers.  “You could’ve grown potatoes under these a couple of years ago,” she scratched at his manicured cuticle.  

 

He pulled his hand away defensively.  “So I changed a little.” He stuck out his jaw and looked her up and down. “So’ve you.”

 

“No I ain’t!”

 

“Yeah, you have.  Ten years ago, you wouldn’t even look twice at a jerk like that producer guy…unless he had a nice car.”  Her sour glare quieted him.  “Nowadays you’re going out with any guy who asks.”

 

“That ain’t new,” she sadly replied.

 

He ran his hand lightly over her arm, and she felt her hair prickle.  “There were a coupla guys you wouldn’t go out with. ..”

 

“That’s cause I love them.  Love them like friends.”  She patted his hand, but he drew away.

 

“I remember.”

 

She looked into his wounded eyes.  “We decided a long time ago you and me was never gonna work out.”

 

“You decided,” Lenny said, his voice slightly throaty.  “I said I wanted to be with you.”

 

“Don’t do this to me tonight, Len.”  She turned her head, only to be met with Shirley and Walter’s flushed, excited faces. 

 

Shirley’s short arms locked around Laverne’s head, smothering her against her small but floridly-perfumed bosom.  “We had a wonderful time, Vernie.”

 

“You’re gonna leave?”  Laverne asked.

 

“Walter’s taking me for a walk on the beach, then we’re going back to his place for drinks.”

 

Laverne blinked.  “Are you gonna stay with him tonight?”

 

Shirley blushed.  “I don’t know yet.”

 

“Shirl!”

 

She tugged on Walter’s sleeve – he had been busily stuffing his mouth with the rest of his cake.  “We want to beat the low tide, Wally.  Let’s go.  Say goodbye.”

 

Walter made a gesture of farewell with full hands as Shirley dragged him away and out the door.  “But,” Laverne sputtered, watching them leave. 

 

“Aww, don’t be sad, Laverne – you’ve still got me,” Lenny winked. 

 

She smiled, in spite herself.  “Yeah?”

 

“Yep – for the next five minutes.  I gotta get home – me and Squig’ve got a big meeting at Paramount tomorrow.”

 

She eyed him incredulously.  “Oh, really?  Don’t let me keep you from your fancy-shmancy deal, then,” she said, more harshly than she’d intended.

 

Lenny’s expression turned kindly.  “You should be happy for us – we worked really hard to get where we are.  If Junko gets this deal tomorrow, we could be thousandares!” 

 

She snorted.  “You and Squiggy, thousandaires?  Well, now I know why he left so early…”

 

“Uh huh – and it just broke his lil’ heart, too.  You know he was planning on running around with a lampshade on his head…”

 

She swallowed the rest of her beer.  “I thought he had a hot date with his lint collection.”

 

“Nah!  He just cleaned it out last weekend.   I still got a rash on the back of my neck from helping him – wanna see?” 

 

“No, Len,” she scrunched her face and winced back from his collar as he lifted it.

 

He opened his blue eyes extra-wide.  “Sure?   The big patch looks just like Orson Welles!”

 

“LEN!” she whined.

 

He held out his palms and backed away.  “Okay – I’ll be goin’ now.  You sure you don’t want me to walk you back to your place?”

 

She shook her head.  “Nah, I think I’ll stay here with Pop for awhile.  I’ve been working overtime at Bardwells so much that we hardly ever see each other.”

 

“Laverne!” her father bellowed, emerging from the kitchen.  “I just got a letter from your cousin Sophia – she sent new pictures of  baby Tony.”

 

“Aww,” Laverne remarked, looking over the Polaroids.  She could hardly make out the yellow-swaddled figure in the cradle, which barely registered as human thanks to the many layers of cotton blanket it had been wrapped in.

 

“Sophia’s a year younger than Laverne,” Frank told Lenny.  “She married that Angelo Michinelli from the old neighborhood - you remember him, Muffin?”

 

“Yeah,” she smiled at her father but caught Lenny’s gaze and rolled her eyes, indicating he wasn’t the charming swain Frank hinted at.

 

“You coulda had him,” Frank lamented.  “He kept sending messages to our place when we was visiting your Nonna a year ago, but you was always out with that punk Johnny Monano…”

 

Johnny Monano and his magical hands weren’t a subject she wanted to bring up with her father in the room.  “I was busy,” Laverne defended, squirming a little.  “Grandma was sick that whole week, remember?”

 

“She had a bunion,” Frank snorted to Lenny.

 

“Pop…” she moaned.

 

“I want GRANDCHILDREN, Laverne…” her father whined.

 

“I know, Pop…” she mumbled.

 

“You ain’t getting younger…”  he declared, hands on his hips.

 

“Pop.  Please.  Not tonight.”  She stood up and grabbed her purse.  “Tell Edna I say thanks for the party.  I’ll see you at Mass tomorrow.”

 

“Where ya going?  I got an ice-cream sundae with your name on it in there!”  he gestured back to the kitchen.

 

“Sorry, Pop,” she smiled sweetly, then seized her friend’s fingers, dragging him toward the exit.  “I need to walk Lenny home.”

 

*** 

 

“Your Pop’s still on you about getting married?”

 

Her laugher had a bitter edge as she grabbed two bottles of Shotz and headed back into the living room.  “You think he’d give up his favorite hobby?” she gave him a weak smile and sat on the couch to his right. 

 

“It ain’t right that he does that,” Lenny said quite decisively, popping his bottle of Shotz open and taking a sip.  “He knows it hurts you.”

 

She snorted.  “You do the same thing,” she grabbed the opener and popped her bottle so fiercely that she seemed to seek the elixir of life between its glass walls.

 

“I do it nicer,” Lenny retorted.  “You know I’m just kidding you when I say stuff like that, Laverne.”

 

She shrugged.  “I just didn’t wanna hear the grandchild stuff today.”

 

“Let’s not talk about kids, then.  Or what we ain’t done,” he raised his glass.  “To Laverne!  And all of the stuff she got done in her life.”

 

She snorted.  “What stuff?”

 

“Well, you live on your own – and you got a pretty good job that’s better than the one back in Milwaukee.  You’ve got some really good friends.   You’ve done stuff I wish I could do.”

 

“What?” Laverne couldn’t think of very many things she’d done that Lenny had never tried.

 

“You got to fall in love.”  Her smile faded a little, but she squeezed his knee.  “That’s a lotta living in thirty years, Laverne.”

 

She shook her head, rubbing up his thigh.  “How come you always know the right thing to say, Len?”

 

Lenny’s eyes widened, and he managed another shrug.  “I just talk ‘til you smile.”

 

Her grin widened.  “That’s my Lenny!”

 

“Your Lenny?” he mumbled.

 

“The one I used to run around Main Street with on tin can stilts,” she smiled.  “The guy under all this Hollywood Agent stuff.”

 

“You mean the poor loser who don’t got two pennies to rub together?”  He shook his head.  “I’m trying to get rid of him.” 

 

“Don’t!” she smacked him on the shoulder, making him moan and wince.  “The best thing about you is your niceness.”

 

He smiled bashfully.  “The best thing ‘bout you is that you give everyone a chance – even the jerks who don’t deserve one.”

 

She remembered Slimy Producer Jerk and shuddered.  “You ain’t a loser.”  She repeated, squeezing his thigh. 

 

“Yeah?” he looked up at her shyly, shifting closer to her, his hand slipping from a casual position on her shoulder to a more intimate caress of her right side.  She expected him to take her kindness for flirtation, but her own body’s response – a melting of her tension, the relaxation of her body into his, a kiss that had promise – brought a thousand unanswerable questions to the fore.

 

They parted and he stared at her, those wide blue eyes of his showing confusion and need.  “Laverne, I didn’t mean to…”

 

“Do you want to come upstairs with me?”  her voice was surprisingly small.

 

He blinked.   “Oh no, I think I’m hearing voices again…”  he rubbed his ears frantically.

 

She took his head between her hands and repeated, very slowly, “Lenny, I want you to come upstairs with me.” This time her voice was loud, brassy  - Laverne-like. 

“Now?” he squeaked.  She nodded.  “You and me?”

 

Laverne smiled tenderly.  “Uh huh.”

 

“Why?” he whispered, his voice fogged with emotion.

 

“Cause I don’t wanna have no regrets,” she decided – thinking of all of the men she’d allowed this far only to be cruelly rejected.  With Lenny, this would never happen – she began unbuttoning his shirt and felt his skin shuddering beneath her touch.

 

“Regrets?” he squeaked, as she unbuttoned his shirt. 

 

“Yuh-huh.  There’s something I’ve always wanted to try, but I never had the guts to ‘til now,” she confessed. 

 

“What?” Lenny mumbled, his lips dipping toward hers.

 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breast to his bared chest.  “You.”

 

***

 

“…Okay, that was good for starters,” she said eagerly, squirming beneath his heavy, prone body. 

 

Lenny raised his head, a look of mild panic on his face, his hair sticking out in spikes about his drawn face.   He looked down at himself, then into her eyes.  “That’s good for me for the next couple of weeks.”

 

Laverne ran her fingers through his hair – his scalp tingled and he moaned through clenched teeth.  “Didn’t you like it?”

 

“It” had taken place up in her bed, been good for her – he’d made sure of that, and before he’d taken off his pants – and ultimately lasted five minutes.  “No!  You’re so good Mr. Happy ain’t gonna be able to salute for a week…”  He allowed himself to be shoved onto his back and felt the caress of her lips upon his chest.  “It ain’t gonna….mmm, Laverne…”  His fingers began to itch as her right hand slipped the used rubber off of his half-limp cock.   “Lemme do something for you,” he mumbled, reaching for her. 

 

She sighed happily, turning awkwardly around, straddling his chest and spreading open, her breasts pressed against his stomach as her hands began to taunt the soft flesh of his belly. 

 

Lenny couldn’t reach her with his tongue – his fingers brushed and played with her open thighs before slicking themselves against her tender outer lips.  She made a muffled groan as she took him into her mouth – his fingers parted and entered the heat of her body.  He tried to avoid roughness but she sucked on him so ravenously that he began to whip his fingers into and out of her – she moaned loudly, squirming to get closer to his hand – he slowed himself, her hips dancing in rhythm to his efforts.  Her upside-down position made it harder for him to find her clit, but a little effort rewarded him with the plumpness bit of flesh.  His motions were careful but passionate – avoiding touching the tip of her clit, he rubbed over the delicate folds protecting it, dragging them against the bud, making her back arch.  She rode his fingers harder, her mouth wide open against his shaft.

 

He knew from her posture, the increasing slickness that encouraged his fingers, that she was ready to come.  She cried out, her spine rigid, and he felt her squeeze him at last.  Minutes after she stopped shuddering, he pulled himself free of her body.

 

She turned about, straddled his lap, and pulled him into her.

 

He sat up.  “Rubbers!”

 

“Pill,” she mumbled, rotating her hips.

 

He couldn’t force a complaint through his constricted throat.   This time lasted longer, resulted in an insanely intense orgasm, and put him in a black-out sleep.

 

She woke him with a purring kiss.  “You know how to flatter a girl.”

 

Somehow, he smiled – which quickly faded.  He forced the embarrassed question.  “Did you?”

 

She stretched, yawned and smiled.  “Right before you.”  She got up off of his lap and sat beside him.  Lenny rolled onto his side, stroking her hip. 

 

“You’re terrific.  THAT was terrific”

 

She smiled.  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

 

He bowed his head with mock-humility.  “Wasn’t nothing.”

 

They stared at each other, allowing silence to reign the moment.  Neither of them had a guideline to help them through post-coital pillow talk with their almost-best-friend.

 

Laverne made the first move.  “Well,” she said, grabbing his undershirt and donning it, “I’m gonna do downstairs and make a sandwich.  You want one?”

 

Lenny nodded.  “Bathroom.  Meet me back here and we’ll watch Gidget.”

 

She said something about his taste, but he was too busy staring at her too-perfect legs, barely covered by his tee shirt, her mons peeking into view every few steps.  She teasingly pulled it lower. 

 

“Staring?” she smirked.

 

Laverne was long gone by the time he collected his jaw from the floor.

 

***

 

Sex, she decided, was a good way to turn over a new leaf.  That she and Lenny could come together  - in every sense of the word – so easily was evidence that they could achieve anything, if only they stopped marking time on worthless frivolities and settled down to the meat of their goals.

 

Everything, she decided, was going to change – her relationships, and her career.  She’d get a backbone and move forward, just like Shirley.   And as for Lenny….’slow’ should be their watchword, she decided.  Not that ‘fast’ hadn’t been a barrel of joy, she smirked to herself, but what they’d just experienced would be worth exploring to see if it was real.  From the way her skin tingled at the memory of his touch, she had a feeling it might be.

 

Laverne crept upstairs with the sandwiches, and a tiny part of her expected him to have disappeared, leaving her alone in frustrated disappointment with a long chain of dead-end dreams.

 

When she opened the door, there he was.

 

END