TITLE:
PART: 1 of 1
RATING: R (Adult thematic material, mild references to pedophilic
themes and activity as perpetrated by a
minor, original character, domestic violence)
PAIRING(s): L/L; SFM/WM; L/OC
DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other
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CATEGORY: Romance/Drama
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: AU post-California
SPOILER/SUMMARY: Life is a series of ups and downs (LaverneLenny, post-Hair)
NOTES: If you're sensitive to any of the descriptors in the
Ratings section, please hit the "back" button or the nifty little x
in the corner of the page. Trust me, it's not a rough ride.
One of my favorite pieces, and my forty millionth fic
named after an Amy Ray song.
***
"Open your mouth and close your eyes and you will get a
big surprise."
"I ain't fallin' for that one
again!"
The blonde-haired little girl pouts, putting her hands
behind her hips and thrusting her feet forward.
"Daddy!"
"You gotta get up pretty
early in the morning to fool your old man," Lenny says, very proud of
himself for outwitting the thirteen-year-old as he swirls around his
half-finished milkshake. The eyes
watching him are mirrors of his own, childish in their disappointment as she
pokes at the sundae. "Yanno, you're not being a good girl right now," he
says, using his best Ward Cleaver tone.
"And little girls who ain't good don't get to go to see fireworks
with Aunt Shirley tonight."
"We saw fireworks yesterday," his daughter says,
spooning bananas and melted vanilla ice cream into her mouth.
"But today's the fourth of
July," Lenny whines. "You gotta go see fireworks on the Fourth of July! It's Kosnowski family tradition!"
"It's not Kosnowski family tradition! Every Fourth of July, I go to Buzzard's Bay
and watch fireworks with Aunt Shirley and Uncle Walter and Aidan and the
twerps. I dunno
what you and mom do."
He hopes he isn't blushing - the kid's getting harder and
harder to fool the older she gets.
"We do grown-up stuff."
"Do you mean you have intercourse?"
He chokes on his milkshake and the green-eyed girl reaches
out to shake him. "Daddy! DO YOU NEED THE HIEMLICH MANUEVER?" she
shouted hysterically.
He regains control of his throat and gently pushes her back
into her seat, giving fake and semi-sarcastic smiles to the other people
patronizing The Purple Cow.
"Where'd you learn about that?" he whispers.
She shrugs. "We
had sex ed last year.
You signed the slip I brought home, remember?" He remembered, and didn't want to. She folded her hands in front of her and
concluded, "Missus Bradwyn said you should never
have intercourse without a condom. I
thought you should know."
"That's okay. I
knew," he says, feeling a blush creep up his neck.
She pats his hand comfortingly, suddenly as wise and calm as
Doctor Ruth. "Don't be embarrassed,
Daddy! Whatever you and mom do, I'm sure
your intercourse is part of a healthy and nurturing relationship between two consenting
adults." Her clipped tone tells
Lenny that she's parroting whatever the teachers have told her. The school had beat him to educating his own
daughter, and now more than ever he realizes it's time to deliver 'the talk',
an option that makes his stomach clench.
"Yeah. Let's not talk about this again. EVER," he says. While standing up from the bench and
stretching, Lenny feels bones crackle in his neck. "Okay, whattya
wanna do?
Her expression melts into a shrewd moue and she gobbles down
the rest of her sundae eagerly.
"Can I ride the carousel again?"
He considers, mixing up the chocolaty goo
on the bottom of his gray-and-red-flowered paper cup with a whirl of his
wrist. "Okay. Then we're getting fudge and meeting your
mom."
She jumps up with a whoop and runs
down the street, sending him off into a run at her heels. She is a wild, headstrong thing and it
frightens him. She's thirteen, he thinks to himself, and she thinks she's forty. Had
been forty and holding from her first breath, the day the stern-faced nurse
placed her in his arms and his daughter looked up with him with her ancient,
wise eyes. Lenny knew instantly that he
was in over his head. What were we thinking? he asked his
wife. She always laughs at his jokes,
but a pillow to the side of his head informed him she was in no mood for one at
that time. When their daughter had
turned into a spirited and big-hearted little hellion, he would look at her
with a superior little lift of his chin on occasion. I told
you so. They had differing
points-of-view on parenting from the start.
His goal was to keep the baby safe.
She sought the opposite with no fear - a ride through life like a
Comanche on horseback. That's
why we need another one, he thinks to himself. This
one will listen to me.
The do listen to him, even if they don't always pay
attention. That's one reason he knew
he'd never leave. The other reason also
explains why he loves his daughter so much.
She's just like
Laverne.
***
Sixteen Years Before
***
They were married on a cloudy, stormy night. The bride was attended by her best friend,
but the only relative in attendance was her father. She wore white, he wore black, and in tribute
to the married couple a very large Doberman plunked himself directly in the
path of the exiting wedding party and took an enormous piss.
What Lenny really remembered was the cake - three layers,
devil's food, white icing. In his opinion, the best thing about the reception. The sad thing, Laverne told him much later,
was that the cake was the best thing about the marriage right from the
beginning.
The news had blindsided him, though he tried not to show his
shock. As it had been with Shirley and
her Doctor Walter, he and Squiggy had barely gotten an introduction to Arturo Spirito before being invited to the army officer's wedding
to Laverne. Lenny tried his best not to
be hurt by that. He knew what it felt
like to be swept away by real love, even if it'd never worked out for him. While he indulged his inner doormat, Squiggy
had been incensed by Laverne's thoughtlessness to the point of inconsolability,
and was placated at last by Laverne's offer to have them both be ushers.
Lenny met the groom for the first time at the rehearsal
dinner, which was memorable for the French pastry tray, half of which he'd
stuffed into his coat pockets as a take-home gift. He had been nervous because Laverne liked the
man, and he wanted to make a good impression, maybe even put himself up for
future god fatherhood.
The wedding coordinator - a redhead in a busy dress - pushed
himself and Squiggy into line beside two beefy Army guys sporting square
haircuts. They were so boxy that Lenny
felt like a little shrimp beside their towering presence, but their opinions
didn't matter to him, so he stuck out his jaw and tried to look tough.
Curious, he looked up the line, peering at Arturo. The man looked like a model - a typical
Laverne conquest, Lenny mused - big, muscular, sparkly dark eyes, big head of
curly hair. When her Pop walked her up
the aisle and placed Laverne's teeny hand in Arturo's, Lenny noticed that the
groom's mouth was loaded with huge, white Chicklet-like
teeth. .
Laverne had hooked herself a pretty nice fish, Lenny decided, a wave of
gloom washing over him. He half-listened
to the orders of the coordinator, knowing that his part involved helping Missus
Babbish down the aisle and into her seat.
A monkey could do it, he pouted to himself.
"Hey, dummy," Squiggy said, smacking him in the
shoulder. "Show's over and supper's on."
He came out of his trance to see the wedding party assembling
themselves by a buffet table. His
stomach grumbled and Lenny obeyed it, starting with the little fried shrimp.
The chicken wings were out of reach. Thrusting out his hand, Lenny's nails scraped
up along the crystal plate. He went on
tiptoes, pointing like a figure on a fountain as he searched for a little chunk
of chicken. Just as he reached victory
he lost his balance, and went smack - bang! - Into the solid shoulder of an impossibly-monster
shaped dark hulk beside him.
Lenny looked up, sporting his biggest smile and desperately
trying not to ruin the day.
"Sorry..."
he gulped. A pair of cold
gray eyes looked him up and down, a nasty superior sort of look that gave him a
chill.
"No problem," the voice was pure
Squiggy had already begun to advance in on the scene,
instantly defending him in the way, Lenny realized with a stab of horror, he
would a woman. A nasal whine cut off any
attempt at violence.
"Arty," Laverne called from up the line, "is
everything okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just meeting my ushers," Arturo said
back, in a deep voice.
"Boys, be nice."
Lenny tried to meet her eyes, tell her he'd never do
anything to ruin tomorrow for her, but she had already turned away and was
gabbing to Shirley about the bridesmaid's dresses.
That night, he tossed and turned in a lonely bed, replaying
the dinner in his mind. There was
something dark, unsettling in Arturo that made Lenny worry for Laverne's
safety. He told himself to quit thinking
about it, that Laverne had dated gang members and that she just loved dangerous
guys and that Arturo was a soldier and thus a nice guy, but he kept coming back
to those cold eyes and that kung-fu grip.
Something was wrong, it was his job to fix
things with her when they went wrong...
But he'd promised not to ruin the wedding, and when Lenny
Kosnowski made a promise, he stuck to it.
At the reception, he picked at his food - everything but the
aforementioned cake - and danced with several bridesmaids, including a very
pregnant Shirley Feeney-Meaney. He
wanted desperately to just go back to Laurel Vista and bury his head under a
pillow until it was morning, but luck - and Squiggy's interest in the newly
divorced Eleanor Steffeneck - kept him sitting at his
table staring into the flame of the centerpiece candles.
At last, Laverne came to his table and patted him on the
shoulder. "Wanna dance?"
She had never asked him before. It was as if they had been transported back
to Wilke Junior and she was still the prettiest girl
in school and him the biggest dork.
Stiffly, he got up...then tripped over himself and landed in her arms.
"It's all right, Arty," she said - Lenny looked
over his shoulder to see Arturo advancing on him. "Come on," she said to Lenny, patient
as a mother with a misbehaving toddler.
She led him out to the middle of the floor, placed his left hand on her
waist, and led him into a slow box-step as Connie Francis sang "It's The
End of The World."
Connie was right, Lenny thought. It was over.
The woman he held in his arms didn't want him and never would. That was why he was so wary of Arturo Spirito's presence - he was jealous, and his jealousy was
unfair to Laverne.
He spoke her name again, needing to find the words that
would release her.
She sighed.
"Len, Len, Len," she sighed, cupping his cheek. "I know me and Arty happened kinda sudden."
Laverne squeezed his hands.
"He's so nice - he'll be a wonderful dad. And whenever he kisses me, I tingle all over."
"Goosebumps?"
"Huh?"
Lenny remembered Shirley's story about Laverne and her goosebumps - the reason why Laverne had never married Sal Malina. "Does
he give you goosebumps?"
Laverne gave him a small, confused smile and glared over her
shoulder at Shirley. "I never
notice."
Wow, Lenny thought, but the word didn't come to his lips. She drew him close to her as the song
ended. "I know you're scared for me
'cause I'm gonna have to go to Washington alone and I ain't known Arty for real
long, but I'm so happy. This is the happiest I ever been in my whole
life. Can you be happy for me,
Lenny?"
She had used the word "happy" three times in three
seconds, but the emotion never showed up in her eyes. He looked into them and said the hardest
words he'd ever spoken. "Uh huh."
She patted his cheek.
"I hope some nice girl comes along and sweeps you off your feet one
day, Lenny Kosnowski, 'cause I love you."
The words made his heart flutter violently, but Lenny didn't
need to hear her say that she loved him "as a friend". He knew.
He understood.
After the fine staff at Ma's Dinner Hall kicked them out,
Lenny and Squiggy ambled over to their home away from home - the red light
district. They started doing
boilermakers and long island iced teas, getting nicely blitzed at the Purple Hippo
as they tossed half their pay down the g-string of a curvy blonde named
Ginger. Toward the break of dawn, they
staggered out of the place with a couple of cocktail waitresses.
Lenny couldn't recall what his looked like once he sobered
up, but he remembered an overbite and dark green eyes and soft little hands
unbuttoning his fly. His next clear
memory was of lying stark naked on top of the girl, drooling into her ear while
he caught his breath.
"That was good, tiger," she whispered in a British
accent, watching Squiggy mate vigorously with her friend on the floor, "But
who's Laverne?"
***
Lenny presses five dollars into his daughter's palm, and she
pecks him affectionately on his cheek.
She turns. "Two times
around," she tells the ride operator, a short man in an Edwardian striped
shirt, black pants, fake handlebar mustache and straw hat. Her father gives the man a sympathetic smile,
one the stranger returns, if a bit forcedly.
He would rather be anywhere than in
"Daddy! Do you want the lion or the seahorse?"
He climbs up onto the large, ornate carousel and tries to
choose between the delicately painted, gold-trimmed figures. "This one," he says, and wraps his
hands around the golden pole of the green sea lion, straddling it.
His daughter puts distance between them, sitting two rows in
front and to the left of him, on the back of a white pony with flaring
nostrils, a red, yellow and green-painted saddle, and a black mane. She pushes back her own mane - heavy, long,
blonde, and curled - and pushes her aviator glasses from her forehead to block
the glare of the setting sun. His wife
says she's getting into 'that phase'; the point where fashion and boys are more
appealing than Barbie dolls, but Lenny doesn't notice it. Sometimes, he hears her talking to her
stuffed dog in the middle of the night - LaLa, the
one-eyed tail-free gray poodle Shirley bought when she was born. The only signs pointing to her impending
adulthood seem to be her preoccupation with her hair, which she refuses to cut and had begun curling at the start of seventh grade.
Then, as if for the first time, he sees the long, rangy
dangle of her legs and the bright neon pink of her tank top and feels a
familiar hint of worry. Childish things
may not be behind her, but the girl's body's beginning the painful trek toward
adulthood. Lenny's already resigned
himself to his part in her future - the examination of an onslaught of boys
more ungainly than he, the wedding, the grandchildren
at his knee. Bad things and good, rolled
up together like a burrito.
If that's what she
really wants, he thinks, seeing two women walking by, hand-in-hand,
enthralled.
The carousel begins to whirl - organ music pumped in from
above, as the seahorse begins to pump itself up and
down, lifting him high and letting him down. His daughter shrieks "Here we
go!" as if she's on the scariest of roller coasters.
A wise person once told Lenny that carousels are a great
metaphor for life. But most up-and-down
things usually are.
***
Fifteen years before.
***
"D'you hear? Laverne's back in town."
The words hurt Lenny less and less each time Squiggy said
them. He squared his hips and lined the
tip of his stick to the ball. "Yeah? Did she
bring Arturo?"
"Big Arturo or Little Arturo?"
Lenny rolled his eyes, for once exasperated by Squiggy's
exacting nature. "Little. You know
me and Big don't get along."
Truthfully, Lenny hadn't spoken to Laverne since she called him from the
hospital with news of little Arturo's birth, and had no contact with Big Arturo
since the wedding.
"Yeah, the kid's with her."
"Where they staying?"
"At Jay's trailer with him and Missus
B."
"Why're they doing that? Couldn't they get a room somewhere? Aww! There's a burlesque convention in town and
you didn't tell me!"
"Nah, she ain't just in town for a little visit,"
Squiggy leaned in conspiratorially.
"She and Big Arturo ain't together no more."
Lenny tried to pick his jaw off of the table before it
ruined his perfect run. "What? Who says?"
"Wanda."
"Wanda Mizurski? The one who's a waitress at
Cowboy Bills'?"
"Yup. When I went by for supper and our usual
morning hello grope, she said Laverne came in a couple of hours before with a
little baby and she ain't wearing her ring."
A spark of foolish hope leapt up in Lenny's chest - before
he could tell himself 'no', he slammed down the rest of his beer. "Hey, I'm gonna cut tonight
short..."
Squiggy's posture became rigid. "Oh no, Leonard
Kosnowski! I ain't lettin' you run over there like some Sir Garlichead on a white steed!"
"I ain't trying to be like Sir Garlichead!"
"Then why're you in such a
hurry to see her? What's wrong with
tomorrow?"
Lenny squirmed under Squiggy's intense gaze. "I wanna meet the kid."
"Since when do you care about little kids? You didn't even like yourself when you was a tot!"
"I dunno - I just wanna
see..."
Squiggy's eyes brightened.
"You wanna see if motherhood's turned Laverne's mountains into
craters? Okay- just don't get all
girly on me and start writin' songs for her
again." He let Lenny pass, watched him pick up his denim jacket from the
edge of the table and don it. "You taking the truck?"
"Yup. Can you make it back all right?"
"Sure," Squiggy replied, turning back to the game,
hitting his seven into his five and sinking the ball home. Ruining Lenny's perfect
setup for him.
Lenny soon found himself alone, driving up the Pacific Coast
Highway and sneaking glimpses of himself in the rear view every few minutes,
just to see if everything was as he'd left it.
Not much had really changed in the year since
Laverne had left
Nothing had changed, Lenny realized for the millionth
time. The only thing he'd been able to
prove to himself in twelve months was that he could grow a pretty thick beard
in a year's time. She had outlived him
by a huge margin - she'd had a baby and was getting a divorce, and he'd never
even managed to get to the ring stage with a girl.
He pulled into the Shining Pines Trailer Court a little past
eight at night and it was nearly deserted.
Orange lights glowed in from the windows of each motor coach - TVs
flickering and the mixed scent of dinners wafting from open windows. The DeFazio plot stood at the foot of a hill,
on rocky, sandy terrain, the land hemmed in by two large families and their
children's swing sets. Lenny parked
himself under a shade elm and scanned the dark trailer for a sign of life.
He found it in the gentle rocking motion of a thin, womanly
frame, sitting on an olive-and-maroon swing set near the edge of the DeFazio
property. He knew who it was. He would have recognized her with both eyes
shut.
"Laverne?"
Her head came up - the line of her nose visible suddenly and
her huge eyes reflecting in the light.
She smiled, stood up, walked to him.
If he hadn't changed, she'd done so. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon,
Laverne's once-gawky young body had gained a slight curve - her breasts and
hips slightly thicker, softer-looking.
She had finally managed to grow out her hair, and it hung in dark red
curls around her shoulders, curtaining a pink poncho.
She embraced him and he marveled again at the soft brush of
her breasts and the strength of her right arm.
"Lenny," she murmured, her voice caressing his name, making
his skin tingle. She stepped back and
caressed his cheek. "You grew a
beard?"
He touched his own cheek - the same place she had touched
him. "You like it?"
A soft whimper came from between them - from beneath her
poncho. She pushed it aside, revealing
an infant, dark-haired, soft-faced, arms flailing in
search of a pacifier dropped.
"Hey, little Arty," Lenny greeted softly. He found the pacifier on the baby's chest and
pushed it between soft lips. Lenny was
momentarily surprised by the strong suction.
He looked up to remark on it to Laverne, but she had gone pale.
"Please don't call him Arty," Laverne said
softly. "I'm callin'
him Aidan now."
Confusion marred Lenny's features. "He's cute. Looks like his pop...."
Her skin went even whiter.
"Really?" her voice shook a
little as she pulled the baby closer to her breast. "I think he looks like my Pop."
Lenny squinted in the darkness and guessed so - the swarthy
features were Italian for sure but indeterminate in source. "Can I hold him?" he wondered.
Laverne smiled, her thin lips disappearing in a pained
way. "Okay." She gently placed the baby in his arms,
arranging the dark head against the fold of Lenny's left elbow. He looked down into a pair of dark eyes and a
curious little mouth, the end of the pacifier bobbing away. He smiled; the baby smiled back around the
hunk of rubber and made Lenny's insides quake like Jell-O.
"He's cute," he repeated himself, for want of
anything new to say.
"I guess so," Laverne said, sounding tired and far
away. She sat against the bumper of his
ice cream truck, watching him with her son.
Lenny played with the baby's pudgy hand. "I'm sorry about you and Arturo,"
he said, without meeting her eyes.
She stiffened visibly.
"Who told you about us breaking up?"
He decided to cover up Squiggy's faux pas. "You ain't wearing your ring."
Self-consciously, she looked at her left finger, which had
so recently been uncovered it sported a white tan line. "I don't wanna talk about Arturo,"
she pled, hiding her hand against the pink shawl which had once covered Aidan's
romper-clad body.
Lenny winced, as if she had bitten him. "Okay.
Sorry."
"Don't be, Len. I'm taking my troubles out on you," she reached
out for the baby and he gave the infant back.
For minutes she looked down into the child's little face and said
nothing to her guest.
Impulsively, he said, "Do you got someplace to
stay?"
Something unknown flickered in her eyes. "My Pop's putting me up."
"Oh," he said quietly. Then the words came out in a rush,
unbidden. "'Cause I was going to
ask you if you wanna come stay with me and Squig."
"You'd do that for me?" she sounded surprised.
"Sure," he stuffed his hands into his
pockets. "This ain't no place for the little guy to grow up. Frank don't got
nothing in the back yard for him. A kid
needs someplace to play, and me and Squig've got more toys than we know what to do with."
She laughed - that bark of a nasal laugh that he loved. "He don't even
crawl yet."
"Yeah, but he will, and you're gonna want playground
when he does. We never had a one when we
was kids, remember?"
"Why do you think I care? You was the one who
always wanted one." She didn't say
out loud that it was he who always dreamed of living in a little house where he
could see the stars, have a swing set and a dog. The closest he ever came to having a living
pet was that was the mouse living in the wall of his tenement apartment.
He lowered his chin, trying to capture her eyes with
his. When she finally gave in and looked
at him, he saw the difference in her - sadness, wideness, indefinable
change. "Please Laverne?" he
wheedled.
She held the gaze for a little while longer, then sighed,
shifted her shoulders, and turned around, walking back to the trailer. "I gotta get
my diaper bag and stroller. Can you
wait?"
He nodded and faded back into the darkness. Shifting, the baby peeped at him over her
shoulder the whole way, grave dark eyes watching him, as if he didn't trust any
man over four feet tall.
Lenny leaned back against the bumper, looking up into a sky
bathed in moonlight. The stars winked
back at him, tauntingly. What the hell
had he just promised?
****
"Eew,
pecans."
Lenny raises one shaggy brow before popping a piece of
pecan-chocolate fudge into his mouth.
"It's good," he proclaims, chewing noisily.
"Daddy, don't chew with your mouth open," she
whines.
"I ain't chewin' with my
mouth open!"
She winces back from him, sprawling dramatically against the
glass candy case, dodging pecan crumbs.
"You're spraying!"
He swallows. "I
am not!"
She rolls her eyes, moving back into place and resting both
palms against the case while looking down.
"Hmm...bubble gum fudge or
strawberry?"
Lenny licks his lips.
"No more for me."
"What would mom want?"
"Coffee."
She sighs, looking up and pasting on a big smile for the
gawky, zit-faced brunette standing behind the counter in his pinstriped
shirt. "One
fourth of a pound of strawberry fudge and one fourth of a pound of coffee
fudge."
He kid nods, the paper hat on his head dipping rakishly as
he pulls up slices of the creamy treat from wax paper-covered tin pans. His face is familiar - does his family own
the shop? Lenny tries to remember, but
memory is supplanted by the moment, as he sees Aidan standing further up the
shop staring lustily at a stack of lollipops - and the girl stacking them in
too-tight jeans.
With purpose, Lenny strides up to the teenager and pokes him
on his tee-shirt-clad shoulder; the figure spins around, his dark eyes snapping
and a rude comment dying on his lips.
"Hey," says Aidan.
"Hey yourself," Lenny counters, crossing arms over
his chest. "Your mom
know about that?"
"What?"
"That!"
Lenny points to Aidan's head, which that morning had sported a mullet,
and now is combed up into a gell - filled faux-hawk
with a purple stripe.
"Ohh..." he shuffles his
feet. "Well, yanno
Rachel? Rachel Meaney?"
Lenny rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, Walter and Shirley's kid, the one who's two years older than
you." he
replies, speaking in a slow, syrupy drawl as if to someone infinitely slower
than he.
"Yeah, and she's going to cosmetology
school?" Lenny nods. "Well, she needed someone to practice on
for her final, 'cause she can only use her dummy head once..."
"So you said she could practice on you?"
Aidan grins, his winning Laverne grin. "Yup."
Lenny can't resist smiling back - that's just the sort of
sucker's bet a Kosnowski would fall for, and Aidan is a Kosnowski, if not by
blood. The fun ends when an unpleasant
thought crosses Lenny's mind and he utters it. "You didn't try to get
something off of her....did you?"
Aidan sighs dramatically, that superior
I-know-everything-dad noise. Lenny
remembers the last time he used it was when he and his wife had refused him
permission to see Dawn of the Dead at the Tri-Boro. Aidan had said those words he dreaded most -
five barbed contractions: "You're
not my real father." Lenny had
cried for five hours after those words were spoken, and Aidan had felt so
guilty about saying them that they had spent the entirety of the next day at a
Godzilla Monster Marathon at the
A wave of relief crashes over Lenny. "Nah, it don't
hurt to be nice." He looks this kid
up and down and is once more stricken by how much he resembles his younger self
in motion and deed - all gawk and false arrogance. "Your mom in
here?"
"Nah, she's taking pictures with Aunt Shirley on the
big pink whale up the street."
Pink whale? It takes Lenny a moment to remember the ubiquitous
decorations sprinkled all over
"Dad? You're doing it again!"
"Huh?
Sorry," he picks up a lollipop and carries it decisively back into
the main body of the shop. "You had
enough independence yet?"
Aidan smirks.
"Until I get my license, yup," he shuffles behind Lenny, unobtrusive,
like the wallpaper. Like himself.
He's a good listener, Lenny
thinks to himself. And being a good
listener was yet another Kosnowski trait he was proud of having passed down
through deed, not genetics.
***
Fourteen years before
***
"You going out with Laverne
again?"
Lenny sighed dramatically, carefully combing his beard with
a soft, old toothbrush and barely looking up at Squiggy. "We don't go out, we just..."
"Hang around like sheets in the wind."
Lenny shook his head and laughed. "I guess, Squig."
Abruptly, he flapped into motion, stamping his way out of
the room and over to the front door.
"I'll tell Inga she's gotta
find another guy to rub Svetlana's corns!
But mark my words, Lenny, I ain't gonna come
running when you start cryin' that you need someone
to fix your zipper!"
Lenny shook his head as the little guy departed, promising
himself he'd make it up to him when he could.
With unseemly speed, his thoughts turned back to Laverne, and their
movie "date" scheduled for the evening.
There was no one huge defining moment that Lenny marked as
the major turning point in their long friendship - the little drips of change
along the way only registered as tremors to his memory. Her stay in his apartment had been a
temporary one - as soon as she had landed a job with the Faccinelli
Oyster Cannery, she moved herself and the baby into Carmine's old apartment
across the hallway. Lenny had offered
her the old place - behind Squiggy's back, which his friend never did find out
about - but Laverne had turned him down.
"This is your place now, Len," she said. "Sides, we should always live across the
hall from each other. For
good luck."
Lenny supposed so - things were better for her than they
ever had been when she lived with Shirley.
In the space of four months she moved from canning to labeling and then
to packing, the last of which she considered the easiest job she had ever had
and the best. It paid a little better,
too, but even though she had extra money she never would leave Aiden with anyone other than Missus Babbish, Squiggy or
himself. Why she trusted Squiggy with
the kid he didn't know - his friend used the kid as an audience for his
inordinately bad stand-up comedy routine - one so bad that even Lenny
recognized its awfulness.
In the past, Lenny had always hung out with Laverne when she
didn't have a date or he wasn't too busy.
The old pattern resumed now, and gradually they began doing things
together with a greater frequency than they ever had before - taking long walks
during their lunch breaks, going to the beach, to movies, out dancing. The amount of time they spent together put
Squiggy on guard. "She's tryin' to get a free lunch out of you," he said
grumpily over the millionth beer and round of pool they'd shared at the Jabba Hutt. Lenny had no answer for him - maybe she was
using him, but it was better than being alone while Squiggy was off squiring
his latest conquest.
But - this thought had come to him more recently - maybe it
didn't have anything at all to do with him.
Maybe it had to do with that motherfucker Arturo Spirito,
and whatever had happened to Laverne in the brief year they'd been married.
Lenny knew - she didn't have to tell him that - Arturo had
done something obscene, or cruel, or frightening to make her leave him. It had to be serious, very serious, for her
not to stay in Washington and try to work things out and do exactly what she
vowed she'd never do - get divorced. He
worked on the facts alone like Sherlock Holmes - remembering how she went white
as a ghost whenever someone mentioned her husband offhandedly, or called the
baby "Arty" by mistake.
There were little changes in her behavior - anxiety about leaving Aidan
with a babysitter, even at daycare. Her
spirit had become loudly opinionated and forceful, and she was prone to flashes
of anger that were sharper than the norm, yet she withdrew at any sign of
violence.
The most startling change he had discovered by complete
accident. One Saturday he went looking
for his copy of the Blue Hawaii soundtrack and burst into her apartment as he
always did - unannounced. That he'd
accidentally caught her nursing Aiden was enough of a
start to Lenny - not even the sight of her exposed breasts, rounded with a new
ripeness, drew his attention. It was a
tattoo - a huge garland of roses draped from her shoulder and down across her
collarbone, ending where her breasts cleaved in two. He had stared open-mouthed
at her chest even as she yelled at him to get out. A grandfather clock sailing by his ear
managed to make Lenny move, but the image hadn't left his mind. Laverne was a baby about pain. Why would she get a tattoo?
It all came out as most things do - innocuously, and that
very night. Aiden
had been with Missus Babbish - the last time she would see the baby before
leaving Frank for a bullfighter, Lenny recalled - , Squiggy with Inga, and
Lenny and Laverne had been combing through the movie section looking for a show
to see.
"How about 'Night of the Living
Dead'?" Lenny asked.
She considered it. "Nah. Too gory."
He frowned. "I
thought you love gory." The invisible curtain fell down again, obscuring her real
emotions, and Lenny was in no mood to let her retreat. "What's wrong with you, Vernie?"
"Nothing."
He put down the paper and reached for her, his hand meeting
hers on the arm of his old recliner.
"I know something's wrong."
She tried to avoid his eyes, but they pinned her down. Laverne spoke lightly. "I've had enough of monsters. They don't
scare me no more."
Lenny moved off of the couch, kneeling in front of her. "You can tell me," he said. "I won't tell no one,
I promise." Her green eyes were
reflective, shiny, as she bent forward in the chair, and she cupped his face
tenderly between her hands.
The kiss took him by complete surprise.
While her mouth enraptured his, her hands climbed downward
restlessly, trying to pull off his shirt, and that so
shocked Lenny that his brain refused to surrender to its animal impulses. He pulled out of her grip and landed flat on
his rear end, staring up at her. "What’re
you doing?"
She stared back with her huge green eyes, looking as
startled as he felt. "I wanted to
shut you up," she declared, voice shaking.
"That was the quickest way."
Lenny felt a chill race through him - awful, like being
dumped naked into the
"Huh?"
He stood up. "Squig was right! All
the months we spent together, walking, going to the movies - I thought we was
getting close! I thought we was real friends - well, you ain't my friend! You don't wanna be close to me - you wanna
free lunch!"
She shuddered, cowering back from him a little. "Shut up!"
"The Laverne I know wasn't afraid of no one! She'd do more than tell someone to shut up, she'd make 'em shut up!"
The flash of anger and the slap that bruised his cheek were
satisfyingly reminiscent of the real Laverne DeFazio. She hit him twice more, hard, as if she were
battling Godzilla, and Lenny stood still, taking her blows, feeling them strike
his skin and turn it purple.
Finally, the physical pain stopped. He bit his trembling bottom lip, refusing to
cry, to allow the shake building in his chest to come out in words or
sounds. He looked into her eyes and
found himself drowned in her store of emotional suffering. "I don't want nothing
from you, Leonard Kosnowski!" she screamed like a child, and stomped out
of his apartment.
Lenny spent the night brooding and was barely aware of
Squiggy entering the appartment and flopping down
beside him on the sofa bed. As his best
friend snored away, Lenny remained aware only of the hurt. God, it hurt, he thought, to get that close to
Laverne time after time, only to have her use his affection for her as a
pretext to getting what she needed - silence, a moved couch, a bought plant,
whatever suited her at the time. But the
more he thought, the more the aching in his head was trumped by the ache of his
heart. He was wrong - she was no
tease. She had never led him on. The conflict he'd felt in her soft body, seen
in her green eyes, spoke of a thousand different things at once, but not maliciousness. Only a darkness that he could not shine a
light into, not without her help, not until he knew the magic word. He knew he needed her to say what was wrong
before the monster she swore she wasn't afraid of ate her up.
That morning, he rose with a new determination. It was determination that faded into horror
when he saw a note taped to the door of her apartment.
"For Missus Babbish" was scribbled on the outside
of the envelope. Lenny tore it
carelessly open, his eyes stumbling over the bigger words, but their meaning
fully evident.
"Edna,
You don't have to worry about looking after Aiden for the next month, I'm
taking him away on summer vacation. I
ain't gonna be home 'til the third of next month, so please bring in my mail,
and keep an eye on..." that was crossed out, but Lenny could read it
anyway, "tell the boys not to watch my TV.
If you need to know where we are, Shirl has my
number. It's 555...."
Lenny crumbled the note in his fist. Typical Laverne, running away just when
something scary's gonna
happen. Lenny turned and stomped back
into the apartment, picking up the phone and dialing Shirley Feeney-Meaney's number.
It picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Shirley."
"Leonard?" a long silence. He
worried that she would disconnect the call.
A rattle, and words spoken in a soft tone. "I should hang up on you."
"Don't, please don't, I'm sorry I made Laverne
mad..."
"You should be sorry!
If you knew what she's been through..."
"She won't tell me what she's been through - that's why
we fought."
A long silence. "You wouldn't lie to me about that,
Leonard?"
"Never."
The world seemed to make a full revolution on its axis
before she said, "she's here with us, at our summer house in
***
"Daddy! Mara and Casey are going for a snow cone. Can I go, too?"
Lenny's daughter had been communing with a group of
loose-limbed, long-legged teenagers at the foot of the steps leading into Kandy Kitchen, while he chatted with his son and ignored
the giggling of the younger girls. He
takes a gander at the group, and sees a lobe with six earrings and green hair
and immediately cancels out the notion of his child going anywhere with the
strangers. "Honey, they look too
old for you."
"Daddy, they're my age," she sighs. In the little shake of her shoulders and
impatience of the foot, she is her mother's child.
"You're too young.
No."
"DADDY."
"Your mom's waiting for us," he points out,
smiling apologetically to the mean-faced, snickering girls.
"Dad..." Aidan can see the explosion coming, but
his father never can.
"Come on," he insists, dragging them both down the
street, toward the flock of whales, their Aunt Shirley, their mother.
His daughter shocks him by yanking her hand out of his. "Stop it!" she whines. "You always act like I'm a little baby,
like I'm too young to take care of myself and I don't know what to do! Everyone else I know gets to stay home alone, they don't have to run around with their daddy all
day like I do! Why can't I make my own
mistakes? You make mistakes! Look at that dumb tattoo!" she pointed at his
forearm.
He covered his left forearm protectively with splayed
fingers. "This tattoo," he
said, "ain't stupid."
"I don't wanna go to the fireworks - I wanna hang out
with those..." she turns around to run back to them, but the teenagers had
disappeared. "You scared them
away!" she whines.
Lenny feels a horrible stab of fear, the premonition of a
future loss - the fact of her willfulness rolling in on him, the hugeness of
her oversensitive heart pulsing on her sleeve for everyone to see, the
overwhelming need to be popular with strangers making her a fool. Maybe
I'm wrong. Maybe she's really just like
me.
"Maybe you're the one who scared them away, shorty," retorts Aidan.
She shoves him with all of her strength. "Fuck off!"
"Stop it," Lenny instructs, trying to sound like a
grown up. They're approaching the end of
the curb, within spitting distance of their goal.
"Mommy!"
"Mom!"
A pair of green eyes lock onto his,
and suddenly the children disappear.
***
He drove for a week straight. Did he sleep?
Did he eat? He doesn't
recall. The sensations are what he
remembers - the change in atmosphere and air as he passed through the desserts
and into the cornfields, the chill of the breeze as he crossed the
Immediately, he disliked the tony
atmosphere of
It was unlocked.
Alarmingly, the house was empty.
Aimlessly, Lenny began to roam about - seeing Shirley and
Doctor Meaney and the children staring back at him with their wide, blank
eyes. Everything was carpeted and upholstered
in pink and yellow - even the bathroom.
In desperation, the final door he tried was the guest bedroom.
She sat by the window in a rocking chair, looking elderly at
twenty-nine. The sight of him made her
rise from her seat.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"You shaved," she replied.
He touched his cheek, recently cut, recently shaven in one
of those unmemorable bathrooms and felt the yellow of his bruised skin. "Is Aiden
okay?"
"He's fine," she took a step toward him. "Len, I wasn't being nice for all these
months just to take advantage of you."
He laughed. "I
know, Vernie.
It was a dumb thing to say..."
"Yeah," she laughed, and when he pouted she
reached out and held him. "It was
all me. I've been havin'
a real hard time getting used to being single again."
"Are you ready to tell me what happened?"
She sat down tiredly on the bed, patting a spot beside
her. "It's not a pretty
story," she said.
"Didn't think it was."
She looked away from his unwavering gaze. "It was two weeks into my marriage. I was cleaning out one of Arty-Arturo's
closets, so I could put some of my clothes away. I found a shoebox he had hidden under a big
pile of underwear. So I sat there and
started wondering what was in there, what he'd wanna hide from me. So I pulled it open and found...." she
gulped. "I found all of these
pictures, Len. Pictures
of naked girls."
"He had pictures of old girlfriends?" She shook
her head wildly. He gave her a look of
blank confusion, and so she pressed on.
"I showed them to Arty and he said they were just old
girlfriends - he liked them young but they eighteen or a little older, he said
- dated for looks and married for love, he said. I tried to pretend it didn't bother me. A couple of weeks later I found out about the
baby..." she looked behind her shoulder and out the window, and Lenny saw
Shirley playing with Aiden and her brood of two in
the sand. "I was so happy. Arty seemed so happy," she began to play
with the hem of her skirt, folding and unfolding it. "I kept finding things - magazines
hidden under mattresses and stuff like that.
I thought it was just my mind, yanno - they
were all wearing make-up and heels, maybe they were women who just looked
young..."
A sickening knot formed in Lenny's stomach - if he didn't
know what was coming, he'd begun to sense and fear its
denouement.
"Everything was fine for awhile, up until Aiden was born. By
then we had a next-door neighbor - a little girl. She was only twelve, and her name was Amelia,
she had straight black hair and eyes that were purple - purple, Len, I
swear! Every morning I'd go out and pull
weeds in my violet patch and she'd be on her front lawn, playing with her
Barbie Dream House. Her pop was a
no-good drunk, always in and out of jail, so she was living with her
grandparents while he tried to get himself together. Arty noticed her riding her bike on the
sidewalk one day and said that maybe we should have her watch the baby during
the afternoon, 'cause he said I looked tired. And I was tired, Len, so tired, so I said it
sounded okay to me. She started watching
Aiden every afternoon while I went to see my
neighbors or did the shopping or the laundry..."
Lenny didn't understand why she lingered so on the
babysitter, but he continued to listen.
Her eyes danced away again, rested on her lap. "One Saturday, I went to get my hair
done. It was a cut and wash, and I got
finished a lot faster than I thought.
You know how I always wanted to get my hair done at a real nice beauty
parlor?" her voice cracked, "I got home an hour early. The house looked empty at first. I was so mad at Amelia, 'cause it was cold
out and she didn't know where I kept Aidan's sweaters. I was getting ready to yell out the window
for her grandmother when I heard this moan coming from the bedroom..."
He felt the blood drain out of his face.
"I thought Arty was home, maybe his CO told him to come
back early, that he was watching an old movie on the set we had in there. So I decided to surprise him with my new hair
and my Scanty Panties..." a shudder wracked her body, she closed her
eyes. "I threw open the bedroom
door, sorta 'ta-da', and
there he was..."
a deep sob wracked her body.
"He was on top of Amelia. Raping her."
"Jesus God," Lenny blurted out. He had thought Arty was no good, but he had
worried Laverne would be abused - not this, never this...
"He had his hand over her mouth, and there was blood -
blood on his hands, on my pillow. She
was biting his hand and he was strangling her, trying to get her to keep quiet
so I wouldn't come in..." Laverne took a deep breath. "I turned around and ran, trying to find
where Aiden was, trying to get away. I knew I had to save Amelia but I couldn't
let the baby stay there, couldn't risk him doing something to Aidan - the baby
was my life, Lenny...I found him alone in the kitchen, right there in the
supply closet like a pile of garbage!
His diaper was wet and he was crying..." she broke down, allowed him to comfort her,
then continued, "I had the baby, I was running for the door - I heard
Amelia screaming, and Arty saying, "I can't let you talk, I can't let you
talk..." She pulled down her top,
showing him the rose tattoo. Silently,
Laverne drew his hand to her collarbone.
He felt the rise of a scar, running the length of the thorny green vine
as she drew his finger downward, reading the Braille of her body. "He knew if I got to one of the
neighbors his life would be over, and so would his job with the service. That meant more to him than
anything." A
far-away look. "He grabbed
me when I hit the back step. Had a big butcher knife from the top drawer." She cleared her throat, in a vain attempt to
stop her tears. "Knocked me down -
boobs up, thank God, so Aiden landed on my
belly. Started cutting me, tried to slit
my throat, missed, went down across like that... The doctor said if he had gone
any deeper, he would have hit my ju...my big
vain....one cut and it would've been curtains for me, Len..."
His embrace nearly knocked her back to the mattress. For what seemed like years, he cried and she
held him, and he rubbed his face against her dark red hair, rocking animalistically against her, seeking human comfort and
proof that the world was not a wicked place.
"Hey, I'm gonna need you to hold me up soon," Laverne said.
Lenny pulled himself slightly away, dashing away his tears. "Poor you! Poor Aiden! That poor little girl! She was just a baby!"
"A baby, but a strong girl. While I was gettin'
cut up, Amelia was looking for something to hit Arturo with. She found that cast-iron skillet - thanks for
the wedding present, by the way - and bashed him over the head with it."
Lenny grinned.
"Good!"
"He was only knocked out," Laverne said, "But he was
out of it long enough for me to tie him up with some clothesline rope and call
the cops. All that time we spent playing
cowboys and Indians didn't go to waste, either," she laughed. "They took his magazines and his
pictures, but they couldn't promise me he'd go to prision. I told Amelia I'd do whatever I needed to do
for her, to keep her safe. They took us
both to the hospital to get examined," Laverne bit her lower lip. "I found out later that, from the cop
who took my statement, that Arturo was dead."
"Amelia killed him?"
She shook her head.
"He woke up in the paddy wagon.
They put him in the drunk tank 'cause of overcrowding. Guess who was in there?"
"Amelia's dad?"
"Uh huh," she looked out into space. "He was bragging out loud about what he
did, and Amelia's purple eyes gave him away.
You know you can kill someone with a couple of shoelaces?"
"Jesus," Lenny muttered, seeking supplication.
"I told Pop I was a widow," Laverne
explained. "Made
up something about a car accident killing Arty. Got the tattoo to cover up
the scar. I sold everything that
wasn't mine before the marriage, anything he touched, and I buried him in a
pauper's grave. The only people I asked
to come to the funeral were friends or family of his. Arty was town scum by then, so we had to do
it quick and at night, and I had to lie to his poor mom that that was what he
wanted. After that, I had Aidan's name changed. Everyone in my new neighborhood knew about
what had gone on, so
I couldn't stay there. If I lied enough,
I knew I could come back to
"Your Pop don't even know what
that asshole did to you?"
"No, please Len, please, let's keep it that
way..." Her knuckles went white as she squeezed the material of her
skirt. "It's my fault."
"Why?"
"I saw those pictures, the magazines, before he started
hurting Amelia -
'cause I stuck my head in the sand. I coulda stopped it. All 'cause I followed my...yanno...instead
of my heart."
"You followed your heart, baby. You're a good girl, Vernie. You don't think the worst about people."
"I should've," she said quietly. "If I listened to my heart..."
"What?"
She looked away.
"It's stupid."
"What?"
"If I listened to my heart," she said, standing
and then taking off her jeans and the already-lowered shirt, as his jaw dropped
lower and lower, "I would've been with you years ago."
"What?" he blurted out.
She silently nodded her head. "It takes a long time for me to listen
to my brain, Len. Sometimes I listen to
my heart while my head's saying no.
Sometimes everything in me says no, but I'll do whatever I want, just to
piss someone off," she sat down on the bed in her little white panties and
took his big hands in hers. "And
sometimes," she said, leaning close to him, until he could feel her heat
radiating over his body like a sunbeam, "My body and my heart want to be
in love, but my brain tells me everyone's looking at us when you kiss me and
it's really stupid to feel that way about someone who thinks Bolivia is a
bowling joint." Lenny winced. She had his head between her palms, turning
him gently toward her. "I never
thought I'd feel this way about you, 'til we started spending all that time
together in back in
Lenny lowered his head.
"We don't gotta do this, Vernie."
"Don't you want to?" her voice was almost
childlike in its anticipation.
"I always wanted to," Lenny said quietly. "Always will. But if you're just doing this to shut me up
or something..."
"It's been a year since I felt like a woman, Len,"
she said, her voice absent of its usual nasal bray. "If you ever did anything right, it was
make me feel like a lady. I don't know
if I'm any good, I faked it with Arturo, and he was my first. Maybe if I was better at it, he wouldn't've..."
"Don't say it," Lenny warned. "You're all woman, Vernie. Even when you wasn't
doing it with anyone, you were."
She placed his hands on her shoulders.
Lenny's eyes widened at the implication of what she wanted
to do. He didn't even have the wit to
bite his palm. He just stared at her
with over bright blue eyes in complete disbelief.
"Len," she said, her
voice clear as a bell, "please."
Neither of them said the words 'make love to me' or 'fuck
me' or 'take me'. There were no
passionate declarations from the pages of a romance novel, no crude urgings
cribbed from a dirty book. It simply
happened - two imperfect bodies joining in union in time to nearby laughter,
waves rolling on the shore. Her body
felt softer than he remembered, softer than it ever had as it moved slowly
beneath him in an odd rhythm. Lenny kept
the pace, felt her dampen his palms, and heard her distant moaning as he proved
to her she was anything but frigid with his lips and tongue. He tried to keep himself under control, touch
her the way she deserved until her urgency broke his control. She mumbled something about being off the
pill because she was nursing, and then there had barely been time to sheathe him
in a rubber before she drew him down into the heavenly confines of her
body. Lenny saw lightening flash behind
his eyelids as the motions began. Then
what he had dreamed of for years happened, though it was nothing like the
fantasies that had lit his lonely nights and everything that he had wished for
all at once.
At the end they had no strength, no control. He but followed her over the edge of the
world and waited there for the world to stop spinning, his body to stop spasming into the rubber.
His efforts were rewarded by the tremble of her flesh, the soft cry of
her body, and then he didn't even have the will to crawl away from her,
collapsing against her side and curling around her body protectively. They fell asleep curled like puppies, naked
beneath Shirley's patchwork quilt, holding hands.
***
He woke with a start to a completely dark room and the sound
of someone breathing beside his ear. It
took him less than a second to realize it wasn't Squiggy, and the soft arms
encircling his middle belonged to Laverne.
In the darkness, Lenny turned to see her lying
there, her long arms draped loosely around him, elegant in sleep as she wasn't
in the waking world
He stared into her face and tried to figure out what he was
going to do. Had he taken advantage of
this woman? This beautiful girl he had
worshipped for his entire life?
Other thoughts pushed the important ones from his
brain. It was hot inside, stiflingly
so...His eyes fell to a small basin and pitcher by the nightable. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel
good about herself again. Gently, he
squirmed out of her embrace, went to the bathroom, discarded the rubber, and
filled the basin with cold water, taking two washcloths from the linen closet
and carrying them out with more caution than he'd ever exercised in his life.
She woke up when he gently began to stroke her with the
towel. "Whatt're
you don'?"
He didn't answer - just cleansed her gently, brushing her
soft skin with the cloth, using it as an excuse to examine her body. When every part of her front glistened in the
dim light, he towel-dried her carefully, and by the time he had finished she
stretched out beneath him, like a big, satisfied cat. As a parting gesture, he kissed each blossom
on her tattoo and crouched down beside her on the bed.
"That was nice.
What was that for?" she asked.
"'Cause it's hot out," he lied. "There ain't any air conditioning in
here." She gave him a wise look,
and he melted. "I wanted to make
you feel good."
"You did that, twice." he blushed at her declaration,
and she moved her torso slowly back-and-forth.
"You think that cooled me off?" she chuckled, and reached
over, taking a book of matches and lighting a cranberry-colored oil-filled
hurricane lamp sitting on the dresser. A
soft orange glow filled the room and he blushed and tried to cover himself, but
she pushed his hand aside, apprising all of him at once. "Leonard Kosnowski, you are a beautiful
man," she informed him.
"Nahh," he said quietly.
"Yeah," she said.
"You're a beautiful woman, Laverne DeFazio," he
retorted, then picked up the half-full basin of water and laid it on the bedstand so they wouldn’t' spill it and ruin Shirley's
percale sheets, and laid both washcloths beside it. Lenny sprawled beside her, then, to his
surprise, she reached over the side of the bed and dipped the dry washcloth
into the bin. "What’re you
doing?" he wondered.
"You oughta get cool
too," she pointed out, straddling his body and gently stroking every part
of him with her washcloth. To his
surprise, her touch was tender, almost reverent. It brought up emotions he hadn't had in the
longest time - feelings of being protected, cherished, loved.
As she dried his body, he admitted what had been burning in
his heart for years. "I love you,
Laverne. I always did."
The washcloth stopped moving. Her answer wasn't anything more than a kiss
to his chest and the press of her flesh there, lulling him back to sleep.
***
A hissing, a pop, an explosion and a flash of light woke
Lenny from deep sleep. Laverne
instinctively clutched at him, her legs around his waist, frightened.
"It's okay," he said, kissing her forehead,
pointing out the window. Another
firecracker exploded against the skyline, flashing red and green brilliantly in
the now-dark room.
"I forgot it's the Fourth of July," she said
softly, resting her head against his chest once more.
For a painful minute, they lay in silence, listening to the
boom-hiss of the fireworks.
"Vernie, what happens
now?" he asked the wall.
Her voice was tiny, lonesome. "I dunno."
"Do you wanna go back to being friends again?" the
idea shattered his soul, but he had to suggest it.
"We can't," she said plaintively.
It was the end of the world.
"You hate me," he whispered.
"Lenny..."
He pushed away from her, sitting up. "You don't need me." He tried to crawl under the bed, but her arms
surrounded him like a vise.
She followed, her hands were on his
shoulder. "Who says I don't?"
Lenny looked at her with incredulity. "You survived the worst a guy can throw
at a girl, Vernie.
I wouldn't blame you if you never wanna be near anything in pants for
the rest of your life. You earned
it."
"I don't hate all men in the world, Len - just one, and
he's in the ground," she rested her head against his shoulder, her hand
going to his lap and stroking.
Lenny's brain devolved into nothingness - his body became
turgid and moist, responding to her touch instantly. "But what can I give you that you don't already
got?" he asked in a grave tone.
She straddled his lap.
"Your smile every time we wake up together. That dumb joke you tell about the armadillo
and the nun..."
"That's a good joke," Lenny protested, but she
went on.
"A cup of coffee once a day. Your hands on my back in
the middle of the night."
She poised herself over him, her arms going around his neck. "Your ring. Your name. And," she lowered herself down around
him, sheathing him in her unprotected warmth, "the one thing I don't want
from no other guy in the world."
He thought to pull her off, but her body was so seductive
and welcoming. "What?"
She grinned at him, her hips rocking slowly, teasingly. "A little girl."
He rolled her gently over, onto her back. He agreed with her decision in actions
instead of words - his name, a ring, and a baby between them, a sweet little
girl. "Okay. If we can call her
Amelia."
She nodded her head, arms around his neck. "I love you, Lenny," she admitted,
resting her head against his shoulder and allowing him to rock within her,
slowly.
"I love you too."
Whatever else he wanted to say - a speech remained in his heart - was
cut off by the curious motion of her hips, which set him ablaze like a roman
candle.
Then there was nothing but the bang of the fireworks and the
squeak of the old bedstand.
***
"Aimee," Laverne says, handing her daughter a
disposable camera, "take pictures.
I need to send some to Auntie Amelia."
She sighs, "tuh, mom! She's a big time lawyer - what does she care
about me?"
"You're her namesake.
She'll always care about you."
Amelia "Aimee" Starmonkey
Kosnowski pretends to listen to her mother, leaning out of the side window of
the red station wagon, following the progress of a passing boy.
"Shirl..." Laverne says
in warning..
"Aimee, buckle in," Shirley says, and the teenager
does so with a grumble. "You're
almost as bad as Shawn Patrick!"
"Mmm, Shawn-Patrick..."
murmurs the teenager.
Shirley covers her horror well, and then, to Laverne says,
"we'll be back by
Aidan waves goodbye, listening intently to his Walkman, but
her daughter grins incisively. She sees
Lenny come up behind his wife, carrying two sodas and fare for a cab.
"Bye mommy. Sorry, daddy."
Whatever she's thinking isn't said, but Laverne can hear the wheels
turning inside of her.
"What were we thinking when we made her?" she asks
randomly.
Lenny pouts thoughtfully.
"I was probably thinkin' 'ooh baby'. But I don't tend to think too clear when I'm
on top of you."
Laverne laughs, shaking her head - his blue eyes sparkle as
they stroll up the main drag, hailing a taxi and directing it in the opposite
direction, back to Shirley and Walter's place.
He holds her hand the entire way back, knowing what will happen in the
sunset-filled guestroom, until the stars twinkle and rockets explode.
It's been thirteen years and he still can't wait to do this
with her. Again and
again and again...
***
They were married on a sunlit summer afternoon. The bride was attended by friends old and
new, but the only relatives in attendance were her infant son and her unborn
daughter, kicking quietly in her womb.
She wore green, he wore gray, and in tribute to the married couple a small
orange cat pranced up onto the altar of Saint Catherine's Cathedral, stretched
itself out, and purred, tail twitching thoughtfully, as if contemplating this
thing humans called love.
***
She comes out of the bathroom in a brief red nightdress - he
waits for her naked beneath the quilt.
Their bodies meet in a dance of imperfections - scar on scar, tattoo on
tattoo.
She traces the script –print black "L" on his left
bicep. "I still don't believe you
did this for me."
"Neither did Squig,"
Lenny retorted, grinning. "I almost
broke his hand squeezing it." He
kisses her shoulder, feels goosebumps, wonders if she still has nightmares about that night. I saw
Arty lyin' there on the floor, with Amelia standing
right over him, Laverne had told him once, And I realized that there ain't no real monsters, Len. Just little boys in
costumes. "What can I
give you this year, Missus Kosnowski?"
She pretends to think.
"Another song. Another cup of coffee. Another kiss..."
"Another baby?"
"Well..." he moves in a new and unexpected way and
her eyed flutter. "Woah - where'd you learn that?"
"Squig.
He said to pretend you're scuba-diving and..."
She covers his lips with her index finger, and he licks
it. "I'll have to do him a favor -
not that kinda favor,
fresh!" she laughs when he makes a face, "but something good."
"We've got good."
"We do," she agrees. Her hands move to the back of his neck. More distantly, strained, she adds,
"Len, whatt're we gonna do about that
girl?"
"Whatt're we gonna do about
the boy?"
"Aidan's girl-crazy but he don't give us no
trouble. This one thinks she knows
everything..."
Lenny raises an eyebrow, pretends to think. "Let her run through life like a Comanche
riding bareback," he decides.
"That's not..."
"It's what we want.
Don't be afraid, Vernie," he reminds
her. She relaxes. There is no fear in her hungry green eyes as
they watch his face, as he moves his hips.
Smoothly, evenly. Then her body meets his, rising like a
whitecap crashing into the ocean only to crash down to the star-lit depths
below.
"I love you, Lenny," she says, while she still
can.
"I love you too," he replies, while he still has
the strength.
Then there's nothing but the bang of the fireworks and the
squeak of the old bedstand.
THE END