SERIES: Italiano Song

PART: 5 of 8

RATING: PG (Adult thematic material)

PAIRING(s): L/L; S/C; F/E; some Shirley/Anthony DeFazio

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG 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: Romance

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: During "Festival," after part one and just before part two; some alternate material from the established canon for the episodes.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: What if Laverne's grandmother had taken a shine to Lenny instead of Squiggy during "The Festival"? 

NOTES: Basically follows the events and timeline of "The Festival," though using some alternate material.

***

"You're awake, too?"

Laverne rolled over, meeting Shirley's bleary gaze.  Her little alarm clock read "5:45".  "Yeah."

Shirley shifted onto her back.  "I promised I'd meet Antony at six for breakfast.  I keep thinking that I have to see him and I have to tell him about Carmine but at the same time I don't want to..."

Laverne stretched, trying to work the kinks out of her aching right shoulder.  She and Shirley had unconsciously curled together for comfort in the middle of the night, but it hadn't tamed their private concerns. "Antony'll understand.  He's a good guy."

Shirley sat up, tousled her hair, and yawned - forcing Laverne to yawn alongside her.  "Pshaw.   Even the nicest guy doesn't take being dumped well.  Remember Doctor Sterns?"

"Yeah, well, you gotta tell Antony the right way..."

"That's my problem," Shirley stepped out of bed and tucked in her side, avoiding the sleeping Edna.  "I don't know what the 'right way' is with Antony."

"Well, he likes honesty.  You just gotta tell him about Carmine real truthfully - though I dunno why you WANNA do that."

"Because when we go back to Milwaukee, everything's going to be the way it's always been," Shirley said, her voice turning to agitation.  "I'll date Carmine, you'll date skuzzy hoods and we'll keep living on Knapp Street.  Not breaking up with Antony would do him harm because on Sunday night we're leaving." Shirley pulled back their blanket and patted Laverne on the side.  "Spit - spot!  I want to make the bed before we leave.  Why don't you take a bath while I do it?"

The creepy domesticity of the moment amused Laverne, but she followed Shirley's orders, stepping over Edna, taking her suitcase and randomly pulling out new underwear and a fresh dress before heading to the bathroom.

Filtered sunshine poured over the occupants of the DeFazio living room - Laverne couldn't tell apart the five snoring lumps on the floor by species or sound.  After using the faculties and powdering herself, Laverne slipped into what she had blindly selected.  When she realized what she would now be forced to wear all day, she groaned - a powder-pink off-the-shoulder blouse with a red "L", cut-offs and sneakers.  Nothing quite went together, but when she wore them all at the same time they seemed to make sense on her body.  Relieved, she brushed out her permanent set and opened the door.

Shirley waited in her bathrobe.  "I put your purse on the sideboard," she whispered.  Laverne nodded, slipping by her roommate and taking her bag - the red one with the pink daisy and "L".  While Shirley used the faculties, Laverne tried to live as quietly as she could - her silence was interrupted by a squawk at the cold poking of a wet nose.

"Hi, Maggie," she said, in a cheery but soft noise.  The dog tried to jump up on her, but at Laverne's dodging, settled for sitting down at her feet for a petting.  Laverne scratched her fingers through the soft, amber-colored fur - the dog sighed in a near-human way before closing her eyes.   That was how Shirley found them when she emerged in her pink sundress, white shoes and cream-colored handbag.

"Maggie!" She squeaked in her soft but high-pitched voice.  The dog lowered her ears and let out a quiet whimper, but with Laverne still scratching her she allowed Shirley to pet her head.  After a few seconds Maggie tired of their treatment and got up, walking over to the lump Laverne presumed was Lenny and curling up beside him with another sigh.

Shirley opened the door and crept over the threshold, leaving room for Laverne to exit behind her.  Laverne fastened closed the millions of bolts that protected her Grandmother from the outside world.  As the two friends made their way up the Brooklyn sidewalk and began walking east toward the small cluster of businesses not completely enveloped by the street fair, Shirley began explaining her rationale again out loud, as if trying to cheer herself.

"It's all for the best, isn't it Laverne?  I'm never going to see Antony again after Sunday  -  heavens, that's only two days from now - and I'm going to have Carmine in my life until I die.  Oh, he says he's not interested in commitment at the moment, but I know he loves me - he wouldn't have gone steady with me for this long if he wasn't!  So I'm doing this for the best of everyone involved..."

"Yeah, everyone but you," Laverne muttered. 

Shirley stopped suddenly.  Her reflection was mirrored by the over lit front window of a bridal shop, and  her face, magnified onto the tulle skirt of the gown within, was drawn and tired.  "What do you mean by that?"

"You what honesty, Shirl?  I'll be honest with you - are you breaking up with Antony because you're in love with Carmine, or because you're afraid of risking everything with a guy in a long-distance relationship?"

Shirley sputtered.  "Why - why - how can you ask me something like that?  Of course I love Carmine!"

"Sure you do!  I love Carmine, too!" Shirley's features darkened with anger.  "As a friend," Laverne added quickly.  "That's what I mean.  People love each other in different ways, at different times.  You probably don't love Carmine right now the same way you loved him in high school -"

"Yes, I do!"

"Oh yeah?  Would you give yourself pneumonia just to watch him play football?"  Shirley looked downcast.  "You see what I mean?  There comes a time when you don't want to sacrifice anymore of yourself to another person."  Laverne held herself back from admitting Lenny's conspiracy with Carmine.    "Somewhere in there, you love Antony, too.  Maybe it's not the way you love Carmine, or you don't love him as deep or in the same sort of way.  But it's love, all the same." Guilt marred Shirley's face.  "It's okay to be torn between two guys.  Carmine and Antony have a lot of stuff in common - they're both good guys who do hard work and care about the women they love. They even sorta look alike - if you squint," Laverne chortled.  "You're not using Antony because he reminds you of Carmine?  Or to make Carmine jealous?"

"No!  What you said about him is right.  Antony's a nice boy, and he's very attentive.  Much more attentive than Carmine," she admitted.  "When we go back to Milwaukee I'm not even planning on telling Carmine about this part."

"Now you know what you're choosing between.  Carmine's not coming out of this looking too good.  He wouldn't come here to be with you in Brooklyn, but he," she realized that she'd nearly revealed Lenny's secret and stopped herself.  "He won't stop bugging you, even though you said it'd be good for you to spend time apart.  I think he's being kind of creepy.  It's like he's trying to control you."

"Carmine's not controlling," Shirley protested. "He's only calling so much because he's worried about me." 

"If he was so worried, he would've come and stayed with us.  My Grandma offered him room and board."

"He told me that your father wanted someone to watch the restaurant.  You should be proud of him for being so responsible," Shirley said harshly.

"You still care about Carmine - that's good.  If you feel something for him, you can still work it out."

"What would you do if you were me?"

"If I were you, Shirl," Laverne said as she started walking again, "I don't know who I'd choose, but I'd be living it up.  Two guys don't throw themselves at a girl at the same time as often as they should."

"I can't enjoy it," Shirley admitted.  "Trying to decide between Carmine and Antony is like torture.  Antony gives me everything I've ever wanted emotionally from a man, but we've only known one another for three days!  How can you build a lasting relationship in three days?  Meanwhile, I have this relationship with Carmine's that's lasted almost ten years.  I know him better than he knows himself, and we're...physically compatible.  Good gravy - ten years ago, I thought I'd be someone's wife," Shirley's expression turned bittersweet.  "Promise to keep a secret for me, Laverne?"

"I always keep your secrets."

"I'd give up my dream of having a doctor if Carmine proposed," she admitted.  "In a second.  He knows me so well that I know I'd never regret giving up a picket fence if he'd be mine," she matched Laverne's brisk pace as they closed in on the cafe of her destiny.  "But there are so many obstacles between us - so many differences.  All of the other women, for one.  His inferiority complex about money.  He might end up working for the mob again, to give me the things he believes I want.  Sometimes, I think Carmine doesn't want to marry me.  I think he loves being a bachelor too much to ever give up seeing other women, and without a wife he doesn't have to worry about anything but achieving his dream," Shirley leaned in conspiratorially and said, "I've been wondering lately if I should just vodeo-do-do with him, just to see if he'd stay."

"That's the wrong reason to do it." In the back of Laverne's mind, she knew precisely why it was such a bad idea - that plus a broken condom was how Rosie Greenbaum had trapped Ogden into marriage their senior year of high school.  Laverne, meanwhile, had given her virginity up to Fonzie in a third-floor room at the Pfister Inn the night of their senior prom.  That Laverne wasn't as virginal as Shirley still was remained one of the few things she'd never shared with her best friend in all their years of friendship.   She had no regrets about her decision.  Some things were just too private to share, even for two women who were near-sisters.  Her relationship with Fonzie had been her mistake to make - it was the same one she had made with Norman, Jake, Tom and Steve, but she was not ashamed.  Her reasons for putting out had been varied, but none of them were as dumb as Shirley's would be.   "You've been saving yourself for the right time.  It'd be wrong to just give in out of the blue.  You deserve the best."

"Thank you.  I guess you're right," Shirley sighed.

They reached their destination - a white-trimmed cafe set in an antique brick building on the corner of an intersection.  "It sounds," Laverne said, as they took their spray-painted white iron chairs, planting their rear ends on the bright red painted seats, "like you don't know what you're doing, Shirl.  I wish you'd take more time to think about it."

Shirley's eyes narrowed.  "Did Laverne DeFazio just tell me to take my time and move more slowly?"  Laverne nodded her head slowly - then she hid behind a menu.  "I wish I could, but I only have two more days.  Solving things through phone calls and letters wouldn't be fair to Antony."

"Are you afraid to choose?"

Shirley sniffed, picking up her own menu.  "I wouldn't preach to me about being afraid if I were you."

Laverne's head shot over hers.  "Whatya mean?  I ain't afraid of anything!"

"No?" Shirley bent low over her menu to privatize their conversation as commuters began to drift up the sidewalk for their pre-work breakfasts.  "Then why are you leading poor Lenny on again?"

Laverne hid her flaming cheeks behind a laminated white menu.  "I ain't leading Lenny on.  He's a sweet guy, but he's....LENNY..."

"Is that why you kissed him yesterday?" The menu fell forward, smacking Shirley on the nose. "Did it leave a mark?" She panicked.

Laverne captured Shirley's face between her palms, examining Shirley's nose.  "You're fine," Shirley sighed in relief.  "That red mark'll go away soon." Shirley groaned in dismay, then pulled a compact out of her purse and began powdering her nose.  "How did you know I kissed Lenny?"

"Your grandmother told me."  It was Laverne's turn to groan.  Then both women felt the heat of staring eyes on them and quieted.  "Why do you keep protesting that you have no feelings for that boy and then signal that you're interested?"

"I'm not signaling!  The kiss was a friendly little gentle kiss - the kind I gave him when he used to scrape his knee...The kind I gave him when he stapled his thumb last month!"

"Laverne, your grandmother makes it sound like it far more than a little gentle kiss.  She said she could see his tongue in your mouth from two floors up."

Laverne moaned.  "I'm so embarrassed..."

"I'm only saying that it seems like your feelings for him are changing," Shirley replied.  "You've certainly spent a lot of time together during this trip.  And Maggie IS very attached to you..."

"Dogs like anyone who tastes salty," Shirley frowned at her.  "Dogs lick people for their salt.  It was a Bazooka Joe Fact.  It's okay for Maggie like me - we're gonna see each other all the time in Milwaukee. The only reason I'm spending time with Len is 'cause you're always out with Antony.  So it's nothing, Shirl - all of this is a big pile of nothing.  We'll go back to Milwaukee and Lenny'll keep being my annoying friend and I'll go back to dating hoods, like you said."

"Let me echo what you asked me: are you sure that's what's best for you?"

Laverne was clearly disturbed by that question, but was absolved of a response by the sudden appearance of Antony.  He came west up the street, then bent over and kissed Shirley on the mouth, hard and fast.   After parting from her now-pliant form he said, "hey, Laverne."

Shirley's expression was stunned and spacey.   "Hello, Antony..." she said, unbidden.

"Hi, Antony," Laverne said, made awkward by the shared affection. 

"Hey, did you order yet?" He straddled a chair backwards.

"No, I haven't seen a..."

Laverne's sentence was truncated by a shout.  "ANTONY!" A waiter uniformed all in white appeared.  The two started laughing, slapping each other on the back.

"Hey, girls," Antony said, parting from his friend's embrace.  "This is Gino!  Gino and me went to high school together."

"Sure as hell did.  Hey, man, you're holdin' up good!"

"You ain't holdn' up too bad yourself," he jokingly patted his friend's midsection.  "When're the twins due?"

"Heey!!" He laughed.  "You and the ladies want something?  I'll charge you a'la carte!"

"We'll take a round of orange juice, three number fives and a basket of cinnamon rolls."

"I got you man!  You gimmie your number before you go - I don't wanna wait for the reunion to get together."

"Right!" Antony sat down between Laverne and Shirley, then put both of his elbows on the table, guffawing heartily.  His manners clearly appalled Shirley, but his next words negated everything.  "How're you doing, beautiful?"

"Fine," both girls said together.  Laverne realized he was addressing Shirley and began fiddling with her menu. 

"When you called I thought you wanted to see me alone.  Lenny had to stay home, Laverne?"

"I ain't Lenny's keeper," Laverne uttered crossly. 

"Geez, don't be mad! I thought he'd come is all.  Grandma told me you're real close now..."

"It didn't mean nothing!  It was just a little quiet, gentle peck on the lips!" Laverne blurted out.

"The sunuvabtich kissed you?” snapped Antony.

Laverne moaned, resting her head on the table.

"Don't worry about Leonard.  He's a nice boy," Shirley said softly.  "He's wonderful with Laverne.  You don't have to worry about him compromising her virtue."

Antony stared at her with bald-faced incredulity.  "Laverne?  Virtue?  You gotta be kidding me."

"Shirl has something to say to you," Laverne interrupted, throwing Shirley on the fire to avoid further interrogation. 

"Oh, that can wait until after breakfast, can't it?" Shirley opened her clutch purse.  "It'll be my treat, Antony."

"Forget about it.  I'll get it Gino to put it on my tab."

"Gee, you think he'll let you do that?"

Gino arrived then with their food, serving the trio with some sense of the gallant.  "Hey, my friend - I'll put it on your tab.  The boss says I can if you remember to pay off twenty percent before the end of the month"

"Great!  Hey, tell him I'm waiting for pay day."

"Good - I'll tell him he'll get his money next year!" 

Antony laughed heartily.  "Tell him he'll get it when he gets it, my man." Antony and Gino shared a laugh as he turned back to the table.

The two girls began to eat immediately, wanting as much distance between them and the truth as possible.  Following their instruction, Antony ate much more sparingly, unused to the quiet.  Distracted by the traffic as it passed. 

Laverne finished first - in her chair faced the street, her mind and eyes wandered.  Her gaze fell on a little girl hopping up the sidewalk in a pink dress - her dark hair and chipper demeanor reminded her of Shirley at that age.  It hadn't been so long ago that she had been six, running around on the streets of Milwaukee, a motherless child being raised on a street corner.

"Hey Laverne!"

"Hey, Len - what're you doing?"

"Wait - watch - see?"

"Hey!  You tied your shoes  just like I taught you to!"

"Uh huh.  You teach real good."

Her memories of that age were all mostly bad - her first year without a mom to lean on.  Remember who was with you the whole way?  The answer was the same in every memory.  The only good spots during that entire time had been Shirley and Lenny.  Strangely, she had been closer to Lenny at that time than she had Shirley, until he had decided he was in love with her and told their whole third-grade class that he would marry her some day.  After that, she had hung out with Shirley more often.  Squiggy had been between them for an even longer time, but he, she thought grimly, was at least easily distracted.

"Antony," Shirley said suddenly, her voice erratic with anxiety, "I've had a wonderful time with you, but..."

"And I've had a wonderful time with you.  You're a great lady, Shirley Feeney."

"Oh, Antony," she swooned.  "I meant to tell you that..."

"Do you need a date for tonight?  They're having a contest at the bandstand in town square for armature singers - gonna be more fire works and a live band.  And dancing!"

"I'm a terrible dancer," she locked eyes with her half-eaten French toast.

"So's Antony," Laverne encouraged - Shirley met that reproof with an icy glare.  "But Carmine..."

"Who's Carmine?"

Shirley's animated response was vivid.  "I'd be delighted to go with you!  We'll hang out, go on some rides..."

Antony grinned.  "I'll buy you some popcorn."

His kindness made her realize what she had agreed to.  Shirley twisted the napkin between her palms.  "Why do you have to make this so hard?"

"What am I making hard?" he wondered.

"It's a mess, Antony," Shirley admitted.

"Does that mess gotta do with some Carmine in Milwaukee?" She nodded.  "Then forget it.  You're on vacation here - you're my family's guest.  It's my job to make you feel welcome and comfortable."

"I can't forget about home!  I'll be there in two days, and whatever I do here comes back there with me!"

"Then we won't do nothing you'll regret."

"But..."

"DeFazios don't take 'but' for an answer, do they?"  he asked Laverne.

"Nope."

Shirley seemed ready to murder her with her dull butter knife, but said, "I really don't have anyone to dance with tonight..."

"Good.  I'll meet you on Grandma's stoop at eight," He tossed off the white napkin he'd tucked into the collar of his plaid work shirt.  "I gotta be at the site by nine.  You make sure she don't do anything crazy," he ordered Laverne.

"That'd be a full time -"Antony cut Shirley off with a kiss.  Her cheeks turned a soft pink from the warmth of their contact.  "Must you unsettle me?" she plead.

"I just like it when you blush," he grinned.  "See you girls."

"Bye Antony," Laverne said.  When her cousin was out of sigh, Shirley's sharp nails latched onto Laverne's wrist.

"What am I going to do?  We didn't solve anything!"

Laverne shrugged.  "You were the one who agreed to go on the date.  Just relax and go with Antony to the dance tonight.  Tomorrow you got a pole to climb.  After that, it'll all be pictures for your scrapbook."

"What if I don't want Antony to become a memory - what if I want more?"

The idea obviously tortured Shirley.  "Then you'll choose.  But I know you'll choose the smartest thing, 'cause you're Shirley.  But right now, I want to do anything but think about guys!" Laverne picked up her purse and stood up.  "Why don't we go to the movies?  My treat."

"No, my treat - I know you spent nearly everything you saved at the fair yesterday," Shirley reproached mildly - her instincts, as always, were correct.  "Is your Grandmother expecting us for lunch?"

"No, but I need to be back by six so I can help her make parmesan for Saturday's dinner.  We can spend the day together, if you're free."

"I would like that," Shirley said, taking her own purse from the ground.  "We've barely seen each other all week!"

"Yup," Laverne said.  "But we're always together at home.  Guess we wanted a little break."

Shirley frowned.  "I didn't want us to take a break!" 

Laverne knew differently, but she smiled with grace.  "Let's go - there's a theatre down the block.  Race you!"

They were six again by the time they got to the Diamond Theatre's ticket booth.   Shirley lost the footrace, but only by inches - and only because she lost one of her patent black flats.

***

The Diamond's house lights came up approximately two hours later, or, by Laverne's count, after they had consumed two Pepsis, a box of popcorn and six scented tissues.

She had allowed Shirley to select the movie - a weeper called "Imitation of Life" - and proceeded to watch her friend meld with her seat, tears dripping down her chin as Rock Hudson gave up his life to follow the young paraplegic whom he had accidentally crippled.  The movie wasn't Laverne's favorite - by the second reel she knew where it was going and waited impatiently for it to get there - so she chilled out and waited for a make-out scene that didn't come.  By the end of the film, she simply concentrated on the popcorn.

"I can't believe he left her!" Shirley sniffled as they emerged from their plush violet-colored seats.  The theatre had been a silent movie house before Laverne was born, and had seen vaudeville acts when she was a young child.  Now it was an awkwardly plush place to take in a matinee and cartoon with a newsreel for fifty cents.  Laverne felt strangely out-of-place there, as if her plain day clothing existed as an affront to what the old movie house stood for.

"I would've left her if I was Rock - all she did was cry for two hours," Laverne snickered.

"She lost her legs.  I would be crying, too!"  Shirley rubbed her red eyes.

They emerged onto the bustling sidewalks of Brooklyn, blinking and squinting against the sunlight.  "All right - whattya wanna do now?" Laverne asked.

"How about some window shopping?" Shirley suggested.  "This section of the neighborhood fascinates me.  Look at the lovely shops!"

"It's been around for years!  Too bad it didn't always look this swell.  My grandma said something about urban renewal.   Every Sunday when I was little I used to hang out here, and Pop would take me to a bakery on this block -" Laverne pointed to a small shop, redolent of pink neon and bleached white bricks, up at the end of the block, "And we'd have cannolis and chocolate milk."

Shirley's mouth began to water.  "Cannolis - that doesn't sound bad..."

"I'll show you how to figure out which one is the best one!"  Laverne pulled her best friend up the street, and at their destination a jingling bell signaled their entrance to the White Star Bakery. 

A tall African-American gentleman wearing a flour-coated apron bounded around the pastry case to embrace Laverne.  "Little Laverne DeFazio!  But you're not so little anymore!"

Laverne hugged back, "Mister Smith - gee, it's been ten years?  You look great!"

"I try!  Well, look at you!  You grew up too fast!" 

"Everyone keeps saying that!  I haven't been around the neighborhood in so long I surprised anyone remembers me.  How's Maria?"

"Retired, finally - and the boys are spending the summer in Utah with their Uncle."  He eyed Shirley.  "Who is your friend?"

"Oh, this is Miss Shirley Feeney," she pushed Shirley gently forward.  "Mister Smith's owned this place for...a long time."

"Thirty years now," he strode back over to the pastry case.  "Would you like your usual?"

"If by 'usual', you mean 'cannolis', then yes please," Laverne responded pertly.  "Four - Pop'll kill me if I don't bring some home for him and Grandma."

"No chocolate milk?" 

Laverne blushed.  "Nah...but if you've got a bottle of Pepsi..."

"Is Alessia well?"  Mister Smith headed behind the counter, sliding the case open and picking up a cannoli in each wax paper covered hand with efficient smoothness. 

"She's doing good - still standing at seventy-eight," Laverne grinned.  "Pop's doing good, too.  The Pizza Bowl's gettin' good business."

"I told him he'd do well - get a good pizza joint in a fast neighborhood and you rake it in," Laverne took the one in his left, Shirley the one in his right.  "Tell me they aren't perfect," he bragged.

Shirley looked over the pasty with trepidation - its oddness was something she'd never encountered in Milwaukee.  The fried shell was tubular, cradling down its length a portion of creamy goo and chopped pistachios.  At the crown of its seam sat a puff of whipped cream and one maraschino cherry, and the entirety was dusted with powdered sugar.  Laverne didn't make any such examination, already having bitten off the end of hers.  She smiled around a full mouth, and then swallowed.  "Good as always." 

Her friend responded by taking a bite, a smile dawning around a full mouth.  It was sweet and creamy with ricotta filling and powdered sugar, and yet crispy.  Not the least bit soggy.  "Very good."

"Made with farm-fresh butter and real ricotta - you can't have a bakery in the middle of a Jewish-Italian neighborhood and not do that.  People know the difference."

Laverne had her purse open.  "Is it still five cents apiece?"

He pushed her bag gently forward.  "I'll give you the two for your folks free of charge."

Laverne knew that meant she had to pay for the one she had consumed, and the one Shirley ate lustily.  That she had no money suddenly dawned on her.  Without discussion, Shirley opened her purse on the counter and handed him a dime.  He reached into the case, selected two plump canolis and wrapped them up on the counter in waxed paper, then placed them in a box. 

"Thank you for shopping at White Star Bakery," he said formally.

"Thank you for not changing the recipe for these cannolis!" Laverne retorted.  "Business is still good, right?"

"Good," the implication was "not great".  Laverne had seen a sign on a development across the street  - 'for lease'.  Competition was a danger for every businessman in such a small enclave. 

"I hope it works out for you guys," she said.  "Ask Grandma for my address in Milwaukee - I'll send you a card at Christmas."

"I'll do that - hey, I'll see you at the block party Sunday night!"

"See you there!  Bye!" 

"And it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Feeney."

"It was a pleasure to meet you - thank you so much for the cannolis!"

"Just be sure to come back when you go back to Brooklyn."

They exited the shop hand-in-hand, wiping their powered sugar-covered hands.  "I didn't have the heart to tell that man that I'm not coming back to Brooklyn," Shirley said.  "How does he know your family?"

"Mister Smith was the first negro I ever met," Laverne admitted when they had left the bakery and begun to walk westward.  "When he moved to the neighborhood,  no one but Grandma would talk to him.  She made sure to invite his wife to every party she threw, and made sure everyone knew Alessia DeFazio wouldn't come to your party if you didn't invite Maria Smith.  They moved in downstairs from her, and she was his character witness on his first loan application.  Now he's got the busiest bakery in the neighborhood."

"Your Grandmother's such an amazing woman."

"Yeah, she's been living in Mister Kenedy's age of enlightenment for a long time,"

Shirley stopped walking - pointing and squealing at a tenement building a step away.  "Ooh!  I want to get my palm read!"

Laverne noticed what Shirley had set her sights on - Madame Mimi's House of Palmistry, located on the third floor of a row house between an Indian and an Italian restaurant.  The nondescript structures were plainly made, held over from the early 1890's.  They used garish neon signs to draw attention to the businesses within - a pool hall, Madame Mimi's, and a used book store. 

"I didn't think you went in for that heebie-jeebie voodoo stuff," Laverne teased.

"Normally, no, but this is my vacation.  Besides, it's always useful to see where the future will lead." 

"Shirl, gypsies are swindlers.  They take your money and say stuff anyone could come up with."

"For pete's sake!  Loosen up!  Have some fun!"

"You're telling ME to loosen up?  As long as it's your money - I only have six dollars left, plus the bus fare to get back home."

Shirley took the lead up the block to the palmistry, pulling Laverne up a narrow stairwell and to the third floor.  The Listerine-scented interior made Laverne wrinkle up her nose, but they passed the hallway quickly and parted a multicolored glass bead hanging screen to enter Mimi's place.

The recorded sound of rain falling filled the room, which was painted over in magentas and reds.  The floor was covered and draped with silks and pillows covered in oriental silk. On a nest of pillows of many colors at the center of the room, a woman crouched over a crystal ball, a red silk turban on her head and a black silk robe around her shoulders - obviously Madame Mimi.  Laverne and Shirley stood still in the doorway.  She didn't even look up at their entrance. 

"The dark-haired one - give me your right palm."  Spoke the woman in a heavy Russian accent.  Shirley's blue eyes were huge at the surprise.

"Laverne!" She trilled, unable to find further words.

"Do it, Shirl.  I ain't giving her mine!"

Shirley trust out her hand, the rest of her body reeling backward toward the door as a protective measure.  The elderly woman examined Shirley's palm lovingly, her cold, hard fingers exploring.  "Yes, yes," she crooned.  "A long life line.  It intersects nicely with money and health.  A pioneer, perhaps.  Are you interested in medicine?"

"Single doctors," Laverne wised off.

"Perhaps you should forget romance and study the profession," the older woman suggested.  "You have an inherent kindness mixed with level headedness.  You were meant to care for others, and to work with children."

Shirley considered this.  "Well, I always have wanted a family of my own..."

"There is more to it than children of your own.  You have the palm of a saint - a Mother Theresa.  You will have a long, solid, worthwhile life that extends beyond love and romance."

"What about love?" Shirley blurted.

"Ahh...love...you have many suitors, but little experience in the physical sense.  Perhaps you should check the bulls before buying their meat, eh?"

Shirley flushed, and Laverne began chuckling.  Mimi's eyes zeroed in on her. 

"You, the one who thinks I'm full of baloney, your palm."

Her bravery shrunk a little, but Laverne tossed her head and offered Mimi her palm. 

"This one...is different," she mused.  "Your life may be very hard...or very happy.  There is a choice coming soon.  One decision will lead you to a relationship, the other to bachelorettehood.  Either option is worthy - but it is best to pick the one that suits you and not hurt the one who loves you.  He is weak in matters of the heart, and another rejection from you will destroy him." Madame Mimi looked over her wire-rimmed glasses, the black of her robe blending with the deep plum of her lips.  "Do you dance?"

Laverne struggled for glibness.  "Not for money."

"You should.  You are a greatly talented tap dancer, but you do not believe that this ability will provide for you.  A cynic.  You're the sort of person who believes in doing what you wish - independent to a point.  And yet you cannot stand to be alone.  Here is a lesson for you - you will be a dancer.  Alone or with a partner, it will be your life.  This is your choice to make."

Laverne didn't even have the whit to suggest the idea was foolish.  Shirley was pulling her out of the room, throwing a few dollars at Madame Mimi's feet.  The girls nearly collided as they ran out the door and from the building.

"That was spooky," Shirley admitted.

"Huh!  Spooky," Laverne scoffed, covering for her anxiety.  "Fortune tellers make it up as they go along, Shirl."

"Then how did she know I was interested in medicine?"

"Lucky guess?  Don't worry about it, Shirl - you're gonna be a doctor like I'm gonna be a dancer."  She laughed.  "A dancer!  You know how young you gotta be to dance professionally?  And the money it takes to learn how?"

"You're a good dancer.  It's conceivable, isn't it?"

"It's baloney," she said, deliberately avoiding thinking about the last part of the prediction - her choice.  "Come on.  I know a dress shop on third that lets you try everything on without buying!"

The plush third street shop was indeed patient.  Laverne tried on a number of frothy gowns and elaborate pantsuits.  Shirley tried on dozens of gowns, but couldn't find anything she liked.

"Do you think this makes me look too hippy?"

"Shirl, you are not hippy.  You never will be hippy."  Laverne frowned at the image in the boutique mirror.  Her black ball grown drew attention to her natural thinness and bony shoulder blades.  Lenny was right - she needed to eat more.  She was disturbed that his ghost had decided to rise up at the worst times. She distracted herself by putting on an enormous white hat with a black ribbon around the crown.

"Laverne, you look just like Holly Golitely!"

"Not even close!" Laverne shook her head at the picture before her.  Trying out clothes in a swanky shop was an act of masochism.  She would never be able to buy things like this for herself.  "It's lunchtime," Laverne said suddenly.  "You wanna try on some sweaters or leave?"

"It's not sweater season - and a hundred dollars off of two hundred is not a bargain," she snubbed the discount bin.  "Let's go change.  Lunch is on me!"

 They selected the cheapest place within walking distance: the lunch counter at Woolworth’s, where they ate ice cream sodas and grilled cheese until they could barely move.  When they made the homeward journey, Madame Mimi's dire predictions had been reduced to no more than a nagging sound in the back of their minds.

***

Laverne and Shirley returned, laughing and surprisingly light, to Alessia DeFazio's home at six sharp.  The place was deserted, except for the sound of Mario Lanza and the smell of peppers roasting. 

"I'm going to go change for tonight," Shirley said.  "If your Grandmother needs me, come get me."

"Okay," Laverne stowed her purse in the living room, then strode purposefully into the kitchen, where she found her grandmother humming over a pot of meat sauce.

"There you are, bambina!" She directed her granddaughter to the kitchen table.  "I changed my mind - we're making chicken cacciatore!"

Laverne looked at the two whole, and completely unappealing, chicken carcasses and shivered.  "You want me to cut 'em up?"

"While I get the sauce ready, please."  She handed Laverne a cleaver and turned back to the stove.

Facing down the pile of meat, Laverne's mind drifted as her knife tarried against the skin.  She wondered again what the fortune teller had meant - dancing?  How in the world could she be meant for dancing?  She had a little professional training, but every dancer - the only dancer - she knew made absolutely no money.  She supposed it was better than bottling beer all day, but the idea came from left field and felt wildly impractical.  Why was she wasting time wondering about it - Madame Mimi was just a charlatan, like every other "gypsy" in Brooklyn.

Then how did she guess how I felt about her?

It must have been obvious on her face - Laverne had never been tactful.  It was her brain and her virtue.  The woman had read disgust and just made up the rest. 

And as for that 'choice' - something she obviously didn't have to make, since she didn't love Lenny - she supposed a lifetime of 'fun' would be all right, even without the love.  It was Shirley who was hysterical about marriage, Shirley who had become unglued when the prospect of never being married had arisen. 

You don't love Lenny.  Good thing you figured that out, huh?  At least it won't make a difference when you tell him tonight that yesterday was a mistake. He won't blame you for going a little crazy.  Your feelings have been all turned around ever since you got here, and that's how you mistook friendship for love.  He did the same with you, so he'll understand.  Easy as that.

It was New York, Laverne guessed - that old town filled with glitter and romance.  It turned your heart around, made you think you're in love with someone you usually couldn't stand.  Lenny had done some pretty horrible things to her, she recalled.  It didn't take her very long to conjure up a thousand impropriety gropes, a million stolen kisses, a few mean-spirited words entrances without a knock.  Then again, she and Lenny related to one another like a couple of kids on the playground, pulling braids and kicking shins to show affection.  But then there were the wonderful things - from taking her to the debutante ball to proposing marriage during her pregnancy scare.  He believed in her, and not even her Pop had expressed that much faith in her.  For every bad memory she conjured, a sweet one emerged.  No, she didn't really dislike him - it was impossible for her not to love him as a friend - as a goofy younger brother.  Yet what made her kiss him repeatedly?

"Bambina, you're cutting the table cloth!"

"Sorry, Grandma," she came out of her trance.  The chicken had been completely eviscerated beneath her uncaring touch, her fingers slippery from their innards.  Maggie had emerged from underneath the table and begun to lick at her digits.  She hoped that wouldn't hurt her and pulled her hand away, causing the dog to whine.  "I gotta wash my hands."

"Go ahead - I'll take these and put them in the oven," Alessia was already arranging the chicken pieces in a large dish.  Laverne went to the sink and turned on the water, scrubbing her hands, watching her grandmother cross the floor and then begin ladling marinara all over the chicken parts.  As Laverne turned off the taps, Alessia slipped the chicken in the oven. 

"Where is everyone?"  She asked.

"I forgot the wonderful news!"  She smiled.  "Your cousin Philomena went into labor!"

"Philomena’s pregnant?"  Laverne recalled her cousin - chubby, knock-kneed, crossed eyed.  Her age.  "When did she get married?"  She had vauge memories of turning down an invitation, unable to get time off from Shotz. 

"A year ago!  Your Aunt Morena hopes for a son," Alessia chuckled.  "She has no idea of the value of a woman.  Your father went to the hospital with Edna."

"Where are Lenny and Squiggy?"

Alessia seemed more hesitant to reveal this.  "They went to run an errand for me.  They will be back for dinner!"

"Oh!" Laverne realized.  "I'm sorry.  Me and Shirl had a late lunch, I don't think I'll be hungry for anything."

"It is all right.  And good - you spent time together!"

"It was real nice.  But me and Shirl spend all day together at home."

"I remember when you would come to see me from school - you would tell me all about little Shirley Feeney and your adventures..."

"Adventures!  I remember - I got something for you and Pop," she went back to her purse, which had been stashed on the kitchen table, picking up the pink box of cannolis and handing it to her Grandmother.  "Mister Smith said hello."

"Cannolis!" Alessia squeezed Laverne's chin between her hands.  "What a thoughtful bambina!"

"Gramma, I only get one chin!"

Alessia released Laverne.  "Sorry.  You get me excited!" Alessia took the box to the refrigerator, then turned to the table.  "I'll have it right now!"

"Okay, I'll go to the living room.  I wanna listen to Mario Lanza before I go down to watch the armature singing contest."

Grandma shuddered.  "That noise!  That's why I'm playing him so loud.  These modern singers with their guitars!!" She threw her arms up at the impertinence of Laverne's generation - modern as Alessia could be, some things were lost in the translation.

"I'll tell 'em to keep it down for you," she laughed.  As Alessia busied herself with the treat, Laverne entered the living room.

She sat down on the couch and did nothing but listen to the music.  Mario Lanza had a way of yowling, she realized - a way of showing undeniable pain with his voice.  It reminded her of Lenny - who tended to use sarcasm the same sort of way.  The thought of him drove away her peace, drove her from the room, up the hallway - but before she reached the room, she stopped before her grandmother's curio.  Laverne knelt before it, staring inside - looking at the little portrait of herself at her Christening, locked away beneath glass and brass.

She had been crying all day.  Her mother had helped her practice her catechism every day, no matter how hard she coughed or how tired she was.  It was bitterly ironic that her little girl had completed her CCD classes a week before her final hospitalization.  The last two recitations had been practiced from her bed in the hospital.  For four weeks now, Josephine had lain in the ground.  It was her father's idea to go through with the ceremony Josephine had worked so hard to prepare her for as a way of getting on with their lives. 

Laverne didn't feel like accepting God as her savior.  He had just decided to take her Mamma away.  Didn't He know how much she was needed by her little girl?  Mama had wanted her confirmation to take place in Grandma's big church, the one with the huge windows, but her Pop had insisted it was too expensive to fly back to New York - all of the money they had saved went to the undertaker from the Blessed Assurance Funeral Parlor.  So her confirmation took place among her big CCD clss at the Saint Vincent Church in Milwaukee.  Even the weather was yucky to her - too cool for a spring celebration.  She couldn't help but believe that everything in New York, at that very moment, was perfect.  So it was like to her grave she marched into Saint Vincent's, holding between her gloved fingers a tiny white Bible.

"Hey Laverne!"

The voice made her turn away from the pack of similarly-dressed girls around her - it was a boy's voice.  She saw him, then - Lenny Kosnowski, in his best Sunday suit, hanging upside-down from a tree branch in the courtyard.  When he knew she was watching him, he stuck his index fingers into the corners of his mouth and made an outrageous face, adding a "bleh!" for good measure. 

Laverne burst out laughing - a miracle.  Her first real expression of joy since her mother's death.

And he'd gone on trying to make her laugh since then, she realized.  Lenny seemed to live to make things all right for her - on putting her back together when things were falling apart.  Similarly, he came to her for the same sort of mothering - loving from a motherless child to a motherless child.  They had raised one another, and she realized that she depended on Lenny to be there, to help her pry her head out of her ass and move on with life.  The same way he relied on her to give him courage in the face of numbness.  It occurred to Laverne that they were pieces of each other - flawed puzzle portions that became whole when put together.   It was a stunning revelation.  She felt as if she had been struggling against ties binding her for years, only to look over her shoulder and realize the bonds were only mental. 

The little girl in the case was far more fortunate than she had believed, Laverne realized grimly.  She never had to struggle against her self-doubt.  A gypsy's prophecy would have been laughed off just as quickly out loud, but it never would have stuck within.  The idea of being loved by Lenny Kosnowski would have been nothing more than a chuckle between friends.  Now it was a real possibility.

Tears began to pour from her eyes.  Damn him for changing the status quo!  She was so lost to her own misery that she did not feel the shaggy presence of Maggie until she began licking her face, whimpering in confusion at her pain.

"Maggie," she snuggled the dog.  "You're such a good girl."  And she knew how to make Laverne feel better - just like her master.  "You know I like Lenny, don't you?"

The dog wagged her tail and barked. 

"You're smarter than Lassie," she smirked.  The dog rolled over on her back, demanding Laverne pet her - and Laverne did as requested.  "You're hard to ignore, too.  Just like him."

"Bambina!" Alessia entered the hallway.   "So this is where Maggie went!" The dog got up and went over to the old woman, wagging her tail energetically.  "I have dinner for you!" She led her away, and when she returned for her Granddaughter she saw Laverne staring at the Communion picture.  "You and Leonardo love that picture."

"Lenny was looking at it?"

She nodded her head.  "You remember telling me about the little girl.  Do you remember telling me about the little boy?"

"I didn't talk about Lenny!" Laverne insisted sharply. 

"Did you not?  I remember a little girl who would eat cannolis at my kitchen table.  'I have a friend.  He's a boy named Lenny.  He has a bicycle and he let me ride it...'"

"I don't remember," Laverne admitted.  "Grandma, how can I love him?  He's gross, and he can be mean, and he's..."

"...been there through your life, and you just noticed him."  Laverne leaned against her grandmother's shoulder.  "Sometimes, love is this way.  It is hidden inside.  The ones with courage face it embrace it,"  Laverne knew that Alessia would never tell her exactly what she should do, and instead of adding a benediction to her statement she stood.  "Come now - we get ready for the entertainment!"

At least, she thought to herself, there was someone she could please - even if her relationship with her grandmother was built on comforting lies.

***

After some primping, Laverne emerged from the building.  It was past nine, and the armature’s contest was in full swing - a skinny man with a black tie and white suit was massacring Ray Walker Jr.'s "Shotgun" up on the ribbon-festooned bandstand.  The street was filled with couples of all ages dancing madly in the night, and at the center of the activity was Shirley, with Antony - whirling without a care in the world.  Laverne went unnoticed among them, trying to find a handsome smile and an empty pair of arms to drive away her uncertainty - there were no available parties.

When Squiggy came up to her and uttered his familiar "Hello," she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

"Whatt're you, trying to kill me?"

"Like you're tryin' to kill Len?" he asked tartly.  "Don't make that face at me, you she-devil!  I been stuck with Lenny all day, and every other word out of his mouth was 'Laverne'.  You know how hard I worked to scrape your name outta the bathroom wall of his mind?"

Laverne stiffened her posture.  "Don't worry about it, Squig.  I'm gonna turn him down easy later on."

"Yeah, yeah - just don't break his heart no more.  Or I'll...I'll rip off your L!"

Laverne calmly cracked her knuckles - and Squiggy quickly merged with the rest of the crowd. 

The band onstage played off the competitor.  "Tony Amaral, everyone!" Cajoled the bald-plated MC from the microphone.  Polite applause and a bit of girlish screaming perfumed the air.  "I'm sure you all know why we're here - for the Feast of the Blessed Virgin!  Tonight's gratuity will go to rebuilding a stained glass window in Saint Anthony's Parish, and even a little bit helps!"

Laverne drifted through the crowd, trying to find Lenny.  The bandstand had been erected just beyond the craft booths, and was surrounded completely by teenaged girls in their tee shirts and dressed and capri pants.  Laverne felt another shock of envy for those worry-free girls and their careless grinning.  She came up close to the bandstand, resting her chin against it.  Festooned with red and green streamers, the structure looked like one of the floats left over from the previous day's parade. 

Standing beside the MC was the next act - an Elvis imitator, she thought with some disdain, in leather pants and a jacket and a bowl cut dirty blond hair.  "Next up is one half of the Squiggtones - what's a Sqiggtone?"  He received no response for his question.  "The Polish Bobby Vinton - Leonard Kosnowski!"

Laverne's jaw dropped.  THAT was Lenny?  That leather-suited, grimacing, guitar-playing fool was Lenny?

She hated it.  But the bandstand groupies did not agree.  Lenny peered through the small lights surrounding the stage.  He scanned the crowd for Laverne and, when he found her, gave her a wise-ass smile, and then began the opening chords of "Not Fade Away".

Laverne had forgotten Lenny's talent - mostly because it was obscured often by Squiggy's songwriting and clarinet playing.  He did fair credit to Buddy -and then Gene Vincent, when the applause demanded he do an encore.  Laverne was enraptured by the freshness of his talent but could not get over her inexplicable anger over his image change.

Two performers later, the contest ended, and Lenny won by a huge margin of applause.  His prize was a ten-dollar gift certificate to Old Bob's Records, which he embraced to his chest like a long-lost child.  After a few bows, Lenny jumped off of the stage and parted the grasping cluster of teenagers to get to her.

"Well, whattya think?" He said, and then posed in a 'ta-da' manner.

She regarded him cooly.  "I think you look stupid."

He frowned.  "You mean you don't like the new me?"

"No!" She blurted out.  "I hate it!"

"Why?"

"'Cause this ain't you?  It makes you look like a sleazy gang member, not like the guy I  -" She covered her mouth and backtracked. "I mean..."

"You mean that you like me the way I really me.  And changing me makes you mad."

She stuck out her jaw and refused to meet his gaze.

"You like me for me," he said.  "You don't want me to be someone else 'cause if I change, I might get someone else to like me just as much!"

"I get it, Len," she said quietly. 

"Did it bug you - all those girls screaming for me?"

Her eyes darted.  He knew what that meant.  He covered the distance between them.

"Your grandma was right." Laverne knew somehow - that this makeover was her grandmother's idea, but she pretended ignorance.  "She said you'd hate it."

"She knows me.  I...I'm real mad at her...I...like the real you Lenny.  I don't know what else there is to say..."

"I asked her what would make you mad and she said this would do it." He rocked back on his heels.  "Do you want to dance?  Even tho it's with the new me?"

Her feet were already moving.  It was like being under the influence of a drug - Every dance from there on in seemed to happen naturally, without a single question between them.  Her brain had turned itself off, replaced by a warm feeling of fatalism.

During the last slow dance of the night, she looked up into Lenny's eyes and felt overwhelmed.  All of the love she had denied was right there.  All of the love that she felt rose in response.  She couldn't even admit it to herself.  He took advantage of her confusion by covering her mouth with a kiss.  That kiss followed two more, until Laverne wasn't quite sure what was up and what was down anymore.  They were suspended in air, in space, in time. 

The die was casting itself.  She felt it go and let go with it.  He had crawled under her skin and there was only one way to quench her need.

"What're we doing?" He wondered.  She took his hand in hers, walking toward the building.  His feet were like led.  "We can't - your grandmother'll see - your Pop - Shirl...LAVERNE!"

Her hands were in his back pockets, pulling him close - the words came out in a whisper.  "I know somewhere we can go," she said softly.

"You mean...you want to?"

The night was crazy.  It was magic, right in the middle of a middle-class neighborhood in Brooklyn.  All of the calculation within her had been swept away by animal reason, and all it took was the sight of him pretending to be someone else for her to realize how foolish she was to throw away who he could really be.  Now, nothing mattered was the two of them and the sticky Brooklyn evening.

Her fingers closed over his, cradling their bigness against her feminine, smaller ones.  "I want to," she said, pulling him upstairs and into her grandmother's building.