TITLE: Rocketwoman
UNIVERSE/SERIES: Alternative Season Eight Universe
EPISODE: 2 of ??
RATING: PG (Adult thematic material, especially if you know
what I mean by “tie”)
PAIRING(s): L/L; past - S/C; AS/RL; S/W
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
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CATEGORY: Romance/Humor
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE: Replaced “Lost In
Spacesuits” in continuity - takes place after “I Want To Know”. in this alt
continuity.
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Lenny and Laverne move in together -
mostly because Laverne's lost her job.
Can they withstand Frank's disapproval - and can Laverne cope with her
new job?
NOTES: The second fic in an open
universe which seeks to retell the events of season 8 through an L/L spectrum,
and also to return Shirley to the canon.
Since Chuck was designed as a Lenny replacement (and in this
universe, we don't need one), I've taken the liberty of slightly changing his
character. Rest assured, he's still a science geek - just a more serious about
things.
****
"A little to the right...a little to the
right...more...more....HOLD IT!"
On Laverne DeFazio's rigid command, Carmine Ragusa released the armchair, which promptly fell forward
and squashed all of the toes on his left foot.
Cursing, he hopped around in an attempt to relieve the pain throbbing
through him - unsuccessfully. Seeking relief, Carmine threw himself onto
Laverne's couch. As the pain receded, he
heard the most mortifying sound - laughter.
Glaring up at a giggling Laverne, he asked, "you got anything else to move? Or am I gonna leave this place with my bones
intact?"
"Nah, everything's perfect now," Laverne picked up
a denim-covered beanbag chair and deposited it in the space Carmine had
created. She then stood back and admired
the cozily romantic atmosphere they had created in the room. Lenny's minimal furniture didn't crowd her own out - instead it made a quaint picture of a lived-in
home. His records cohabitated with hers,
the boxing gloves he never used hung on pegs beside her green dice. With a satisfied sigh, she sat down beside
Carmine. "You want some ice for that toe?"
Carmine rubbed the tip of his big toe through his
sneaker. With grim amusement, he said,
"I'm good. I'm getting tired of
getting hurt every time I go to your place, though!" he leaned back
against the cushions, resting his head.
Carmine gave a forlorn look toward a pile of large cardboard boxes
stacked on the landing. Knowing it
needed to go upstairs, he moaned.
"I didn't know Lenny even owned this much stuff!"
"Me neither - his place always looked empty to me. Guess when you live out of boxes, it looks
like you have less." Laverne rubbed
the bridge of her nose between her index and forefinger. "Did I tell you what a disaster last
night was?"
"Last night? You
were helping Lenny pack, right?"
"Yep. Or, I tried to. Before we were finished, Squiggy came home,
took a look at what we had picked, and decided we were trying to take his
stuff."
"That sounds right.
Isn’t Squiggy’s the one who handles their money?"
"Yeah, but he wanted the mousetraps."
"So?"
"AND the cheese in them!" Laverne shook her head. "Lenny wouldn't fight him for
anything. Squiggy got to keep the TV and
all of their inventions. When he finally
left for his date with Rhonda we started stuffing things into cardboard boxes
and took them down here to avoid another fight," she watched Carmine's
amused reaction to all of this and gave him a sour glare. "I don't think Squig's
taking Len's moving out too good. This
is his way of making him stay."
Carmine shrugged.
"I can imagine how he feels.
I know I'm surprised,
I never thought Lenny'd be the one to
move out on Squiggy."
Laverne's posture changed slightly, showing her rigid
pride. "Goes to show you what you
know, Carmine - He's changed a lot since we started dating four months
ago."
"How?"
"How? Haven't you seen how independent he is? Remember how he used to be afraid to go
anywhere without Squiggy? Heck, Len's
out working his route by himself while Squiggy rounds up more clients for
Squignowski. That's why I'm the one
moving his junk upstairs."
"Speaking of jobs, how's the search going?"
Laverne's expression showed indifference. "Meh. I've been out on six interviews since Bardwell’s
laid me off, and I circled a couple of options in the paper this morning. Turns out I can't type more than two words a
minute, I don't like mice, and I'm too scrawny to be a hand model."
"Rough break," Carmine watched Laverne walk to the kitchen and open up the refrigerator, pulling
out two bottles of Pepsi. She tossed one
to him and sat down beside him again, twisting off the metal cap from
hers. Carmine quaffed half his drink, and
then said, "Hey, Laverne, you know if things get really bad you can count
on me, right? If you can't find work
anywhere else, I could get you a job with the singing telegram people."
Laverne's reaction showed cool amusement. "Thanks, Carmine - too bad I can't
sing."
"Hey - I'll sing and you can dance. We'll be the first singing telegram
double-act."
Laverne chuckled.
"If worse comes to worse, I'll start waiting tables - for ANYONE but my Pop."
"You'd rather work for a stranger than Frank? Why?"
Laverne's expression turned guilty. "Pop ain't handling me and Lenny being
together good. He ain't threatening to
crush Len's head like a can of beer anymore, but he's gone from being hostile
to asking us when we're getting married.
I know Pop's never put me out, but taking his chaity'd
make me feel like I had a debt to him.
Take it from a girl, Carmine, there ain't
anything worse than feeling like you owe someone your first born!"
"Hey, it's better than being the last single guy in
your group!"
"Since when does that bother you?"
Carmine stared at his bottle of Pepsi. "When all your friends are 'a couple' it
gets under your skin," he admitted.
Her witty retort was aborted as Lenny burst through the
door, covered in chocolate sauce and sprinkles.
Staggering toward the middle of the room, he heedlessly dripped whipped
cream from his shirt to her recently-washed floor.
"Hey Laverne - you got any spoons in these boxes?"
Carmine snickered.
Laverne ignored him.
"What happened to you?" she inquired to Lenny, standing up and
meeting him on the landing, then wiping away a blot of butterscotch from his
left cheek.
Though still somewhat shell-shocked, Lenny managed to get
out a few words. "Six
year olds - topping fight - yelling like Indians!"
"Poor baby," Laverne rubbed his shoulders. "Go get into the tub - I'll put out some
fresh clothes, get your things upstairs, then we'll go out for dinner."
He frowned. "Aww - bath's ain't any fun unless
someone's there to wash your back..."
Laverne grinned, a minxish look
crossing her face. Carmine mock-coughed, and her expression turned to disappointment. "Later."
"Aww!"
"You can wash my back when I take a shower. That sound
fair?"
His eyes brightened. "Okay - gee, I hope I packed my
rubbed duck..."
Laverne chuckled as Lenny retreated to the bathroom
upstairs. "Okay, Carmine - I think
I can handle it from here."
Carmine was obviously glad to be relieved of his
duties. "Not a minute too soon, 'cause I got a hot
date tonight."
"Oh yeah? Actress?"
"Waitress. My black book's starting to get thin. All of the girls our age know what I'm about
already, and there's not a lot of hot young foxes willing to be seen with an
old man like me - or rather, an old man like me with no influence."
Carmine's attempt at ruefulness didn't mask the genuine despair.
Laverne was determined to jolly him out of his bad
mood. "Too bad. I hear actresses fake it the best." And with that, Laverne left Carmine on her
doorstep, open-mouthed but laughing.
***
A few minutes later, Laverne sat before her dresser, combing
her hair and listening to Lenny splash about in their bathtub. She never bothered to count the number of
strokes applied to her poofy mane, unlike Shirley,
who counted an even hundred strokes through her dark-brown pixie hairdo every
morning since her ninth birthday. And
probably still did, even with her pregnancy and a household in
Indifferent to herself, she flopped
down on "their" bed - really, Shirley's twin pressed up against hers
and made up with new queen-sized sheets and blankets. The differences Lenny had made in her most
intimate space were already evident. Above her, slung over the rightmost bedpost by its strap, hung his
guitar, her own slung over the opposing bedpost. On the floor of her closet in neatly-folded
(thanks to Laverne) piles were his minimal articles of clothing - well-worn tee-shirts,
chinos, jeans, and a couple of button-down dress shirts - ready to occupy what
was once Shirley's half of the closet.
Set upon her dresser was his cologne - a cheerfully abrasive and
undeniably cheap musk - sat beside her perfume.
Jeffery and her stuffed poodle occupied the Spanish-style wrought iron
chair her Pop had bought her in
Laverne leaned back, languidly, across the two beds,
satisfied with the arrangement she had made of Lenny's possessions. She pushed away the thought that they still
had an entire living room and bathroom to organize. The bedroom was perfect, and that was what
was important....
Her thoughts were dissolved by a sudden loss in physical
altitude. Startled, Laverne struggled
against the sudden collapsing - she was held up, however, like a woman in a
hammock. She quickly realized that she
WAS hammocked - the beds had been pushed apart by her
crawling, and she lay supported by the sheets.
Shirley would be pleased to learn that sheets folded with the hospital
corner technique she had so vigilantly taught Laverne could withstand with
weight of a human being.
Self-preservation kicked in - Laverne tried to struggle upward but could
not loop her leg around the top of the bed.
She kicked against the air, trying to find support, hitting her beside
lamp and wincing as it fell to the floor in a clatter.
"Okay," she told herself, "you can do this,
DeFazio. One...Two...THREE!"
She threw herself upward, but immediately sank back down. She heard an alarming ripping noise. "LENNY!"
"Waah?"
He appeared above her, his hair dripping wet.
"Hey, that looks like fun!
Can I join you?"
"I ain't doing this for fun! I'm stuck!"
Lenny had her up and on the bed in less then a second. While Laverne regained her bearings, he
shoved the beds back together with his knees.
Now that the world was right side up again, Laverne took notice of
Lenny's appearance; he wore a towel and tee-shirt and nothing else. When he began to rub his hair dry with a
second towel, the slight shimmy of his body caused the one around his waist to
droop lower and lower. It was a
delightful sight, and Laverne wasn't about to let him know what was going on until
he could feel the breeze. By the time
Lenny did, he had already put on quite a show for her.
Laverne grinned. "Now that's a nice housewarming
present."
Lenny covered himself quickly, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "Gee, thanks, but what we need is a
toaster."
"Toaster, smoster. Feed me Sugar Pops every morning in that
towel and I'll be happy." Lenny
towered over her, and Laverne felt puny sitting on the bed. "Well, whatt're
you doin' over there?"
Lenny slunk toward her very slowly, and then gingerly sat at
the opposite end of the bed - then crossed his legs, attempting to preserve
modesty. Laverne crossed her own legs,
dangling her feet in the air and trying to look unconcerned. Silence filled the space between them, and,
desperate to break it, Lenny turned around and looked at the sheets behind
him.
"This is a real...big bed," he noticed, patting the mattress.
"Yeah..."
He regarded the tulip-spattered sheets and bright yellow
quilt, which were so unlike her - unlike the two of them - that he felt clearly
awkward calling it his own. "The
sheets are pretty soft - and yellow..."
Laverne frowned.
"You like 'em? I got the whole set on sale at Bardwell’s. Last thing I got with my employee discount
and it was in the bargain bin."
"Oh -well, it still looks good," Lenny said, his tone careless.
Laverne gave a nervous chuckle. "Len, you're actin'
like you've never shared a bed with a girl before." He gave her a miserable look of
admission. "Okay, you never shared
a bed with a girl before. I knew
that..."
"You ever shared a bed with a guy?"
Laverne tried to erect a wall of blasé between them. "Sure!"
"I don't mean motel beds, Vernie
- I mean a whole bedroom that you share with just one person."
Laverne nibbled her lower lip. "Besides David?"
"That only lasted two hours."
She smiled ruefully.
"Good point. No. I never shared a bed with a guy, Len. Not before you."
He was obviously thrilled by that fact. "Are you nervous?"
"Nahh..."
"Me neither - I mean, it's not like we ain't been
together before like this..."
"Uh-huh."
"So..."
"So..."
They looked to each other for some sort of signal -
something to tell them it'd be okay for them to share an unmarried bed. Stealthily, without permission or discussion,
all of their old childhood guilt began to rise, like angels out of tombs. Laverne shot to her feet. "Wanna help me
take that bath?"
"Oh yeah!" Lenny said,
jumping off of the bed and following her into the bathroom. Somehow, fooling around in the tub didn't
seem quite so apt to provoke furious anger from on high...
***
"No, no, no, no!"
Freshly washed and pampered, the twosome hovered over the
want ads at a table in the middle of the bustling Cowboy Bills franchise. All was idyllic - except for Laverne's strong
headedness. Lenny gave her an
exasperated look, then marked a big red x through each
item he had shown her. "Well, where
else're you gonna go work?"
"Anywhere but at a meat packing
plant!"
"But they let you bring home whole sides of beef!"
"I'm not gonna go because I already tried there,"
she sighed, tracing the rim of her bottle of Shotz. "I wasn't strong enough to carry the
whole side and it...fell on me." He
broke into a full-blown laugh and she smacked him lightly on the arm. "You don't gotta
be mean about it!"
Lenny grumbled, rubbing his arm with one hand and skipping
down the page with his free index finger.
"You're running out of choices, Vernie,
and this ain't no time to be picky."
"I know, I know - we'll find something..." She
bent over the paper, scanning each item and quietly rejecting them in summary
fashion. At that point, her father
arrived with a tray.
Laverne straightened up like a military school cadet, trying
to seem like the proper young woman she knew she wasn't. Her Pop regarded her with open affection and
undisguised hope; once again she regretted not telling him immediately about
her relationship with Lenny. They had
been dating for only two weeks when an eggnog-lubricated Squiggy had blurted
out the truth to Frank during a Christmas party at Cowboy Bills - and, after
four weeks of silence, threatening glares, and crushed beercans,
her father began rhapsodizing about children and pressuring Lenny to marry his
muffin. Lenny had responded by launching
into an immediate anxiety attack whenever the subject was brought up - and they
often got so bad that he tried to avoid Frank entirely. Once, Squiggy found him at four in the
morning, curled up underneath a sink in the men's room, hyperventilating. Frank hadn't been dissuaded by Lenny's
reaction - as evidenced by the extra-large pizza he placed over the want ads
between them. Lenny frowned, reaching
for his wallet, already mentally trying to count the cost.
"Hey, don't worry about it - the two of you've gotta stay strong and healthy, eh?" He clapped Lenny
hard on the shoulder - and Lenny, wide-eyed but willfully ignorant, began to
divide up the pizza, selecting a large slice for himself. "No future son-in-law of mine's gonna
starve." Lenny promptly choked on his slice, earning himself another blow
on the back from Frank to dislodge the pizza.
"Pop..." Laverne's tone held nothing but
warning.
"Hey, you ain't gettin' any
younger, and Lenny -" He eyed the boy as he folded his slice of pizza in
half and flicked it backward into his mouth.
"-is the best you're gonna do at this point."
"Hey!" Lenny said, or tried to say, his mouth
stuffed with pizza. But he was clearly
outraged on Laverne's behalf, and that was satisfying.
Laverne glared at her father. "I wish people'd
stop dismissing him like that. You don't
know what Lenny's got to offer the world."
"Yeah, well, he better start showin'
it. The two've
you are almost thirty. I wanna be young
enough to enjoy my grandbabies..." Frank went off, muttering to himself.
Laverne sighed audibly.
"I wish he'd give up the grandbaby stuff."
A stricken look crossed Lenny's face. "You don't want kids?"
"Of course I do!
But not just 'cause he wants some grandbabies. And not right now!"
He seemed relieved.
"Okay. I'm not ready,
either," he laughed, trying to rid himself of
tension. "We're too young to spend
a good Friday night wiping someone's butt."
On cue, into the restaurant burst Andrew Squiggman. "Hello!" He said, and with flourish
dumped a cardboard box at Lenny's feet.
"What's this stuff?" Lenny asked, kicking the box
with the toe of his motorcycle boot.
"This 'stuff', ex-roomie of
mine, is your girlie magazines."
Lenny's face contorted in discomfort, and Laverne hid her
amusement. "Lenny don't need those anymore, Squig. He's got me."
"Laverne, my dear, dumb bunny, there are times a man
feels a certain manly urge and no woman is around. That's why Bettie Page makes more dough than
I do."
She eyed her boyfriend.
"Bettie Page?"
"Whatt're you talkin' about, Squig? The Bettie Page ones are yours - the Playboys
are -" Lenny's
jaw dropped open, and his pale face swiveled toward Laverne. "I read 'em
for the articles."
"I believe that..." Laverne indulged,
giggling. "It's
okay, Len. You can look at other
girls." Menace entered her voice. "Just don't touch 'em. Ever."
"Deal."
"Eh, keep 'em, take 'em,
I don't care," Squiggy cut in, trying to draw attention back
to himself. "You might need 'em at your place.
Everyone needs a break from the old lady sometimes..."
Unfortunately for Lenny, Frank DeFazio happened to be
walking by at that very moment with a trayful of beer
for the next table over. "Your
place?" he asked, his steely glare on his
daughter.
Wide-eyed, Lenny spun around in his chair, confronting the
hulking threat of Frank DeFazio with what could be considered great aplomb -
for someone who was suddenly very sweaty.
Unfortunately, his choice of words proved graceless. "Uh - uh..." he squeaked.
Frank's eyes were on Laverne. "You ain't livin'
in sin with this punk!"
Laverne stuck out her jaw, leaping up from the table. "Who're you to tell me who I'm gonna
live with? I'm a grown woman!"
"Grown women get married!" he slammed a mug of
beer onto the surface of the neighboring table, managing not to spill even a
bit of froth while making the maximum amount of noise. "They don't break their father's
heart!" He slammed another mug onto
the table. "They listen to their
elders!" He dropped a basket of
"There ain't nothing to fix!"
"Nothin' to
fix?! NOTHIN'
TO FIX!" Frank's voice rose hairs on the back of his daughter's
neck, but she stood firm. More than she
could say for Squiggy, who was already backing away.
"I'm gettin' out of
here!" Squiggy blurted.
"You chicken!" Lenny cried.
"Chicken I may be, but my dad always says 'better a
chicken than a chicken salad!" With that, Squiggy made a break for the
swinging barroom doors.
Laverne whiplashed around, glaring down her father. "Pop, you're yelling!"
"Good, maybe if I yell loud enough, Saint Jude'll here me up in heaven! Movin' in with a
boy you've been dating for four months!"
"Stop it!" Laverne protested. "There's nothin'
sinful about what me and Len're doing - we love each
other, and we want to be together..."
"Yeah - knowin' Len, they
probably pray before they -” Lenny gave Squiggy one dark-humored glance and he
quieted instantly, disappearing through the doors.
"And besides those VERY good reasons, me and Len moved in together 'cause I lost my job, and I
can't afford the rent any other way."
Lenny was suddenly on his feet. "I would never do nothing to hurt
Laverne's reputation, Mister DeFazio, honest - I'll sleep on the couch!"
"LEN!" Laverne protested
hotly.
Frank's hard features melted a little - he looked right
through Lenny to Laverne. "Why the
hell didn't you tell me that - I'd get you some extra work around here..."
She shook her head.
"I can't wait tables for you and look for a new job at the same
time."
"Whatt're you saying?"
"I ain't taking your charity, Pop,
not anymore."
"It ain't charity if you work for it!"
"It is if you know it's being given to you, instead of
earned," she said firmly.
Frank grumbled, staring Lenny down
- Lenny had wisely begun to sink low in his seat. "There's gotta
be a way to -" Frank silenced himself, his dark, swarthy face suddenly
bursting forth with a grin. "I got
it! My old war buddy, Buddy Ajax, he's lookin' for a new girl to fill in at his place..."
"Pop..."
"He'd give you an interview 'cause you're my daughter,
but he wouldn't give you the job. We may
be friends, but he don't play favorites - if you get
hired, you earned it!" Frank's grin
was brilliant.
Laverne's interest in self-preservation wavered. "What's the job? Stenography? Line work?"
"Testing. They make suits for NASA. I heard his last girl quit 'cause she's
pregnant - hope that doesn't mean it's too rough..." Frank suddenly had
second thoughts.
"What's the pay?"
"That, I don't know.
But I hear good."
Her green eyes darted to Lenny's hopeful face. "Go, Vernie -
I know you can do it."
Her eyes went bright.
"Okay, Pop. Gimmie his
number."
***
Laverne tugged at the breast of her blouse, trying to smooth
out a deep wrinkle creasing the bright red "L" situated over her
heart. She squeezed her knees together,
watching the red vinyl on her go-go boots catch the dim overhead lighting of
the laboratory. She worried suddenly
that she had overdressed for the interview - but she hadn't really been
subjected to very much of an inspection.
She had taken a physical a week before the interview, and filled out a
personnel questionnaire form at the kitchen table with Lenny. She had been ushered into the well-organized
office of Miss Susan Bright, an overweight spinster with bright blond hair and
an attractive complexion. She didn't have
a question for Laverne -she reviewed the available information, rubber-stamped
her approval, and sent her on to the testing lab.
It had all been perfectly ordinary and boring to Laverne -
nothing she hadn't done to prove herself a worthy member of the WACS, minus the
rope burns on her thighs. The last part
of her interview was what had her jumpy, excited. What would they ask of her? Could she provide it? The medicinal greens and tans of her
surroundings were not promising.
She crinkled the top of her lunch sack - lovingly prepared
by Lenny earlier in the morning. She had
smiled to see it sitting on the kitchen counter, with "Tu
Laverne, Luv Leny"
marked on it with a black Sharpie pen.
He had supported her strongly throughout the interview process, not once
complaining about helping her get her medical forms in order. The only concern which remained was their
background checks, but Laverne figured Lenny would pass with flying colors
thanks to his Army background. She
nonetheless found it endearing that he remembered how to spell her name, and
not his own. Still, she hadn't looked in
on the contents - and the prospect of what they might be made her nervous
stomach lurch.
The door opened, admitting a frizzy-haired man slightly
shorter than Laverne. He had thickly
knit beetle brows, and eyes that suggested checked violence masked by his
perfectly white lab coat and little brass nametag. Laverne felt apprehensive, but stuck out her
hand. He was busy reading her chart.
"Are you Miss Laverne DeFazio?"
"Yes, I am - hi," she said, offering her hand - he
shook it briskly without meeting her gaze.
"Great, great," he placed the clipboard on the
steel workbench before them. "My
name is Charles Finster, my friends call me Chuck,
and I'm going to be your supervisor for the next two hours. What we're going to do is run you through a
rudimentary set of tasks which are designed to work as an overview what we do
here at Ajax Space Company. First,
you'll need to take those boots off."
Laverne grimaced as she placed her lunch sack on the floor, then reached down to unzip her shoes. "I'm sorry. I wanted to wear something really nice and
impress you..."
"This isn't a single's bar, Miss DeFazio." Laverne returned her attention to the boots,
getting them off and stepping onto the icy floor in her stocking feet. "All right - step into these gravity
boots."
Laverne followed Chuck's pointing finger, to a treadmill-like
apparatus. Two gravity boots sat on the
belt of the treadmill, and Laverne strapped herself into them. When she finished, he then turned the exercise
device on, and the belt began to move at a brisk pace.
"Now begin walking."
Laverne did. The
boots were heavy, and not completely comfortable, but eventually she got the
hang of it. To her surprise, she sort of
liked the heaviness of the weights. She
turned to Chuck and said smartly, "guess I don't have to go to my aerobics
class tomorrow morning."
Chuck sniffed.
"Fraternizing is against company policy."
Laverne turned back to the conveyor belt, marching blandly
ahead. Boredom rapidly set in. Some adventure this was going to be!
After fifteen minutes of well-paced walking, Chuck turned
off the treadmill. "All right - did
you experience any problems walking?"
"No."
"Is your heart rate above the normal level you
experience while exercising?" Chuck reached out, grabbed her wrist, and
timed her pulse. Laverne was insulted by his
grabby hands but was smart enough not to let on her disgust. "No," he replied to himself. "Excellent," he ripped a carbon
copy from his clipboard. "Have
these filled out and returned by tomorrow afternoon. Next, the jet pack
room."
Laverne's heart jumped.
"You mean I get to fly around with a jetpack?"
"No, you get to test the level of resistance a pair of
gravity boots make when paired with a jet pack," he ushered her into
another green-painted room, then handed her a jet pack and pointed to a pair of
boots in the corner.
"My lunch!" she protested, far too late.
"You eat on your time.
Now put on those boots, then this jetpack." Laverne did so, swaying beneath the
weight. Chuck then flipped a switch on
the back of the jetpack - Laverne heard a huge rush of air and felt a force of
energy that nearly knocked her over, but managed to keep her footing. "Now, walk around the room." Laverne did this - in concentric circles. Nothing happened. After twenty minutes of walking, Chuck
switched off the jetpack. "Did you
feel, at any time, as if you might leave the ground?"
"No!"
"Really? Nothing?"
"Nothing!"
"Excellent!" Chuck ripped off another carbon copy
of a form and pressed it into Laverne's sweaty grip. "All right, final test - this will take
the longest..." He led her into a third room, which proved to be just as
plain as its cousins, but painted pink.
At the center of it sat a large water tank, and beside it a space
suit. "Get into this suit and
submerge yourself in the water to your waist.
Leave the forms here, please..."
Laverne did as was requested - and though it was a wonderful, amazing
thing, to be wearing a spacesuit, it was a far more awkward thing to tread
water in one. Despite her new
surroundings, Laverne was enrobed in boredom.
Her legs were beginning to ache, but she treaded water with
single-minded determination. Eventually,
her mind turned away from the task at hand - and to Lenny, to what he was doing
- and eventually she forgot to make the effort to tread. When she took a mouthful of saltwater, Chuck
asked her to stop.
"Did you feel dizzy?
Lightheaded?
Most importantly - wet?"
"No, no, and no." Laverne felt nothing but the
desire to curl up and sleep. Her hair
was soaked thanks to her momentary lapse of consciousness, her legs ached, and
she was bored out of her mind. All of
her early enthusiasm had fled - she hadn't counted on the awful repetitiveness
of the job, the mind-numbing dullness of it all.
"Wonderful," Chuck then did something completely
uncharacteristic of him: he grinned and held out his hand. "Congratulations, Laverne."
"You mean I passed?" Her voice quavered.
"That's right!
You're a member of the
Laverne then did something highly uncharacteristic of
herself. She welled up.
"How wonderful! You're moved!"
Even as her legs throbbed, Laverne managed a smile. "Yeah. I'm touched, all right..."
***
Two hours later, Laverne attempted mediation as Lenny dumped
another bucket of ice over her sore feet.
"You wanna go out to celebrate tonight?"
She groaned.
"Okay, we won't go out." Lenny sat down beside her, rubbing her
rock-hard shoulders. "I'm real
proud of you, Vernie.
You did something you ain't never done
before."
"A mindless, repetitive task? Len - I'm the patron saint of mindless,
repetitive tasks."
Lenny shrugged.
"I'm still proud. You're
gonna get a huge raise from this. And benefits!"
She nodded.
"What're we gonna tell my Pop when we're still living together
after my first check comes in?"
Lenny gulped.
"I've been thinking about that, Vernie..."
Laverne's nails dug into Lenny's thigh. "Lenny..."
"I think Squiggy needs me. This morning, he came to work with his tie
buttered. He was mad, 'cause I took the
butter out of the junk drawer and he couldn't find it..."
"Len, Squiggy's a grown human being...I think. He'll be able to adjust..." She studied
his features. "And I think you know
that. This is about something
else."
Lenny gulped.
"Okay. Remember all that
stuff I told you when you tried to move in with David? About buying tomato slicers?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, I'm kinda...borrowing
the tomato slicer with you, aren't I?"
Laverne shook her head.
"Len, I'm not living with you just to try you out. I already know what you're like, what we have
in common. We got some promise, maybe a
future - something I really didn't have with David. There ain't anything to test out - we know
what we're like - the good stuff and the bad stuff."
"Do you think God's mad at us, 'cause we're living
together?"
Laverne stared at her boyfriend. It was the most perfectly innocent question
she'd ever heard in her life. She leaned
back against Lenny, and he stiffened against her touch. "Remember what I told my Pop, Len? That I don't think anything we do together is
a sin?"
Lenny was incredulous.
"Not even the thing we tried with the hot fudge..."
"NOTHING," she reiterated. "I really believe that. Nothing we do together makes
me feel dirty - it actually makes me feel a lot clearer than I ever have."
Lenny sighed.
"Phew! I felt like a huge hippopotamus
there for awhile!"
Laverne chuckled, accepting a kiss from him. Living with Lenny was perfect! If only she could dispel her anxiety about
sharing a bed with him....
***
Laverne frowned with deep concentration as she tried to
arrange two-dozen steel blocks into stacks of eight with her weighted gloves.
The conditions were supposed to represent the pressurized conditions of a space
shuttle. Her progress was easy and
steady - she feared a little too easily.
If her results were off, even by a hair, she would get another dressing
down from Chuck, and after the rocket fuel incident that as the last thing she
wanted.
Suddenly, the lunch bell rang. Heaving an irritated sigh,
Laverne stripped off her work gloves and pushed away from the counter - at
least she'd have her lunch hour to think things over in peace. Tromping down to
the break room she was already exhausted, and became near - comatose by the
time she passed a open supply room door. Curiosity made Laverne stop, peer inside, and
take note of a space suit suspended within.
For all the time she had spent in the NASA-designed outfits, she hadn't
had the least bit of fun. The temptation
to test it out was near-overwhelming.
Laverne checked the corridor; it was rather deserted. She didn't feel
the need to resist her strongest impulse - and entered the closet.
The space suit - off-colored and obviously discarded -
tempted Laverne to scrawl a scriptive "L"
on it's breast with a Sharpie she'd stored in her
smock. And well, since no one seemed to
be coming...she pulled on the space suit, just for a lark.
It was a bulky, heavy encumberment;
far heavier, it seemed, than the suit she had tried on during the water
immersion test. As she tried to lift her
arm, Laverne found the struggle great - as though a thousand padlocks bore her
limb down. Instead of lifting her arm,
it fell back against her side uselessly...and then dropped against a hidden
button on the side of the suit, which began to beep alarmingly. Laverne panicked - in all likelihood, this
adventure of hers was against the company seccurity
agreement - and she tried to figure out which button she had selected by
mashing her palm against the control panel.
The suit suddenly became a sentiment force - with a blast of red light,
she began to ascend rapidly, the force of the blast both
lifting her up and rocking her forward, sending her rear-first out of
the supply closet. Mortified, Laverne
tried to turn herself around, but the rocket jets attached to the back of the
suit propelled her ever upward, until she collided with the ceiling.
This can't get any
worse, she thought to herself.
Predictably, fate promptly made her a fool, as the small but
intimidating from of Chuck walked up the hallway. She held her breath, hoping against hope he
wouldn't get curious about the airy sound of the rocket thrusters. Since this day most closely resembled her
worst nightmare, Chuck stopped, directly under her hovering form. He put a finger to his chin, pivoting on her
heel, then searching around her for disturbances in the experimentation rooms
and offices. When he saw nothing, he
sighed to himself and began to walk up the hallway.
Laverne's form became limp with relief...the sudden change
in resistance firing the rocket boosters violently, sending her erratically
streaking across the ceiling in loop-de-loops.
She sought to save herself by the only possible means - by grabbing onto
a heavy iron pipe, wrapping her arms around it, and shouting Chuck's name.
Her supervisor gave her a double-take that could not have
been improved upon even by Lou Costello.
Already, he screamed at her, "DEFAZIO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"I was bored," she said mildly, her body shaking
with the effort of keeping itself fixed to the pipe.
"Do you know what that is? You're wearing Experiment 5-XT! A highly volatile automated
prototype space suit that hasn't completed its first round of testing!"
"Why did they put it in a closet?"
"To make our sticky-fingered
employees less curious - a CLEAR failure in intelligence on all sides! How on earth did you get an "L" on
that suit?"
Laverne felt the metal pipe begin to bend - her eyes
widened. "I told you, I was
bored! Chuck, you gotta
get me down from here!"
"Yes, I do - if anyone else finds out about this, my security
clearance will be nullified - and YOU will likely be fired and made ineligible
for another government contracted job!"
"Who cares about the contract? I don't wanna die!"
"You won't die - just try not
to float near that air shaft," he pointed toward a plain-looking grated
plate on the wall. "It leads to the
central conditioning system - lots of sharp fan blades in there..." Chuck positioned himself directly beneath
Laverne, then pulled as hard as he could, until her
feet nearly touched the ground and he could see the control panel on the side
of the suit. Laverne lost her grip on
the large pipe and grasped another, thinner copper tube, clinging like a
gymnast. He squinted at the metal slab. "How did you do this? The anti-gravity modification has been
enacted - it needs to be turned off manually from one of the main control panels."
"So? Let's go
find a main control panel!"
"Well, wouldn't that be a pat solution to our
problem! Unfortunately, all of the
control panels are located in
"You mean I'm gonna have to live on the ceiling?"
"Not necessarily - I'm sure I could find you a
nonessential air duct -"
"Are you crazy?!
I've got a family at home!"
"All right, so that's a no to the air duct
idea..." Chuck frowned.
"WWCKD?" he muttered.
"Huh?" Laverne struggled to maintain her grip on
the pipe.
"What Would Captain Kirk Do?" she snickered. "I wouldn't mock a highly evolved future
generation, Laverne - Gene Roddenberry is a wonderful teacher for today's
society -"
"But Captain Kirk ain't real!"
"I know that, Laverne - I'm not an idiot....and
speaking of intelligence, I recall watching this sort of circuitry being
installed during a seminar. All I need
is a simple, ordinary screwdriver..." He walked away from Laverne,
releasing her feet - and resulting in Laverne being plastered, stomach-down, to
the ceiling.
Around a mouthful of tile, Laverne managed to call,
"Chuck? Hurry back."
***
"I'm tellin' ya, Len - BiBi Bartakamous is the wave of the future!"
Lenny didn't look up from the platter of ribs he was trying
to arrange in a chafing dish. "You
think Laverne'll believe I cooked?"
Squiggy snorted.
"You got lard in your ears?
I'm talking to you!"
"I heard what you said - and you're wrong!"
"What're you talkin'
about? I ain't never
wrong!"
"Squig, I know you like
blondes with big cans, but there's somethin' that's
not right about BiBi."
"And what, ol' pal, might
that thing be?"
"Her boobs is crooked."
"What?"
"It's true - her left one's pointin'
up, and the right one's pointin' down. It's spooky!"
"Len, you gotta have a
problem with your eyes, 'cause they look good to me!"
"Yeah...from far away. Just like Dani
Carter."
"That ain't fair!
A girl with a wooden leg's not the same as one with a crooked
rack!"
"I got you to admit she has a crooked rack."
Squiggy frowned.
"You ain't actin' like yourself,
Len. That she-devil Laverne's got her
claws into you - she's turnin' you into someone
else!"
"Someone with a spine?"
The doorbell rang. "Can you answer that for me?" Lenny asked.
"What's wrong with your legs?"
"Busy" Lenny explained, indicating the mountain of
mashed potatoes he was attempting to tame into a serving dish.
Squiggy jerked himself off of the couch, stomping toward the
door. "Lousy women...oughta take back the vo-" he
was silenced by the appearance of the knocker, a stern-faced woman in a navy
suit. "Hello," he said meekly.
"Hello. Do you
know a Mister Leonard Kosnowski?"
Squiggy glared, looking over his shoulder. "I used to."
"I see..." The woman turned to her clipboard. "Do you know the whereabouts of a Mister
Andrew Squiggman? A
Mister Carmine Ragusa? A Mister Frank DeFazio? A Miss Edna Babbish? A Miss Rhonda Lee?"
"Carmine's wearin'
a French fry suit, Jay's yellin' at his waitresses,
Edna's lookin' over his books, and Rhonda's playing
Miss Jo March in the Gordon Dinner Theatre's version of Little Women."
"What about Andrew Squiggman? Do you know him?"
"Too well. You're lookin' at
him."
"Excellent. Can
you tell us a little bit about your relationship with Miss Laverne
DeFazio?"
That drew Lenny's attention.
"He don't got one! I do!"
"Yeah, like I'd touch that floozy with a ten-foot
pole!"
"I ain't ten feet tall!" Lenny came around the kitchen and headed
through the living room and up the landing.
In his most polite, grown-up tone, he turned to the woman at his door
and asked, "can I ask what this is about?"
"I don't know if you can, but you may," said the
woman.
Silence.
"This is some kinda Vulcan
mind trick. I saw it on Star Trek!"
Squiggy said.
The woman gave up.
"I'm Maria Martel, and I'm here in regard to the character reference
Miss DeFazio gave on her resume for the Ajax Space Corporation. I'm here to
judge her character - to see if she contains the moral fibre
necessary to be an employee for the A.S.C.
If you don't mind, I would like to interview the two of you as to Miss
DeFazio's character."
Lenny felt sweat begin to bead on his brow. He hated questions - they made him feel
inadequate and stupid. But it was for
Laverne - and he would do anything for her.
"Okay," he made way, drawing Squiggy aside. "Come on in..."
***
Laverne lay against the ceiling, feeling for the entire
world like a butterfly trapped in a net.
Any little motion might send her rocketing uncontrollably in a new
direction, so she chose not to move at all.
It didn't stop her mind from screaming at the utter stupidity that had lead her to this problem.
Why in the world, she lamented, did she follow her worst
impulses? Hadn't she learned from years
of experience that following her whims - no matter their inclination - always
lead to horribly sticky situations? But then, she chastised, if she hadn't
followed her impulses she never would have made love to Lenny. She wouldn't have the relationship she
treasured so. Still, there had to be a
better solution to her never-ending series of travails...
"I've got it," Chuck's voice startled her, but she
managed not to move. He tugged hard on
her legs, and she felt him tapping away at the control panel. "Excelsior! Just need to flip one little
switch..."
Laverne felt an alarming drop in altitude. With nothing to brace her, she fell without
abatement, until something very hard and lumpy served as her landing pad. When she regained her sense of self, she
pushed herself away from Chuck and his sprawled thighs.
"You're heavier than you look," he noted.
"And you're more useful than you look," she
retorted.
They shared a laugh.
"You'd better get that suit into the closet and away," Chuck
said.
"Hey," she smiled.
"Thanks for helping me out of that jam. You just might become a human being if you
try hard enough."
"I'm plenty human," Chuck shrugged. "I just find other forms of life far
more interesting."
Laverne was charmed.
Maybe there lay someone decent under Chuck's prickly skin. As she stripped off the suit she decided
that, nonetheless, she was glad that she wouldn't have to live in the air
ducts.
***
"So, describe Miss DeFazio in one word."
Squiggy pouted thoughtfully.
"Eas-" Lenny's foot came down hard
on his.
"Smart," Lenny said flatly. "Right, Squiggy?"
"Please don't direct the questioning," Maria
flipped a page on her clipboard.
"Would you say Miss DeFazio is a resourceful worker?"
"Yep! One time, she was in this contest with
crating, to see how many slips of paper with her phone number she could slip
into this shipment of beer Shotz was sendin' to the
navy. Forty guys got ink poisoning, but
they all called her the next day," Squiggy said.
"That's not what she was lookin'
for! One time, the conveyer belt in her
section of bottling got jammed. So
Laverne got underneath the machine n' fixed it with a hairpin and a piece of
gum."
"Interesting..." the pen scribbled away. "Is she honest?"
"No!"
Squiggy called out.
"Whenever I ask her if she thinks I'm handsome, she says I would be
if we lived in a house of mirrors!" Squiggy shook his head. "I know her heart burns with lust for
Andrew Squiggman. That's why she's leadin' on my poor dumb pal Len - to get close to me."
Lenny's glare was stony.
"Yeah, she is. Sometimes, it
takes her a little while to get to the truth if she's afraid she'd hurting someone,
but she gets there soon," Lenny insisted.
"I see...do either of you know if she happens to
practice good hygiene?"
Squiggy opened his mouth, but Lenny shut it with a withering
look. "She takes a bath every
day."
"All right - what of you? Have you ever voted communist?"
"Nah," Squiggy shrugged. "I wrote in a vote for Howdy Doody once, but that's cause Len
was votin' for Nixon and I didn't want to cancel him
out."
"It didn't work, too."
"Well, that's cause you had to
go and change your mind and vote for Kennedy, 'cause Laverne was too!"
"That's not why I voted for Kennedy! I voted for him
'cause he likes unions!"
"Gentlemen," said their questioner. "Which one of you is cohabitating with
the employee?"
"That'd be stretch," Squiggy said, hiking a thumb
in Lenny's direction.
"I would like to question Laverne's roommate alone, if
you don't mind."
Squiggy shot up on the couch. "This is an outrage! I ain't done speakin'
my mind about Laverne yet! D'you people know that she wears a mud mask? And she only flossed her teeth on
Sundays?"
"Squig," Lenny said,
standing up and leading his friend toward the door, "why don't ya give BiBi a call? Maybe she'd be interested in goin' over to your place and having a fondue party with you
and Rhonda."
"You think she likes cheese?"
"Lord knows you have enough of it," Lenny
snorted. "'Sides, she could use
something to make her bones hard - maybe it'd make her headlights
straight."
"You're a wise man, Leonard Kosnowski. Wise, and completely whipped."
Lenny lead Squiggy out the door and
closed it. "Sorry about him - he's
the greatest guy I ever knew, but sometimes he goes a little far."
"That's quite all right," she flipped the document
over. "Mister Kosnowski,
is your living situation with Miss DeFazio strictly platonic?"
"Me and Laverne are
dating."
"Yes, but do you share a bedroom?"
Lenny's eyes widened.
He was suddenly very suspicious.
"Did Frank send you here?"
"No, Frank did not send me here," she said
crisply. "Mister Kosnowski, the aeronautical industry is a very
family-friendly industry. You young
people think you can switch around company standards simply because you're in
the middle of up heaving years of societal norms, but Mister Ajax still
believes in keeping a wholesome workforce.
And I'm afraid an unmarried couple cohabitating just doesn't fit into
company image."
God had an odd sense of mercy. At that moment, Frank DeFazio interrupted the
interview, entering the apartment unannounced.
"Mister DeFazio!" Lenny said,
his voice overly cheerful. "Look,
Maria, it's Laverne's dad!"
"Who's this? You
already steppin' out on my
daughter?"
Lenny's face turned chalky.
"MISTER DE FAZIO! This is
someone Laverne works with. She's here
to test out her character thing?"
Frank's face snapped into a mask of professionalism. "Hello," he said, wearing an
awkward smile.
"Yes, hello. Do you know if your daughter and this man are
cohabitating platonically?"
Frank looked from Lenny's death-mask expression to the
woman's indifferent face. "My
little girl's a good Catholic woman. She
goes to church every day. You're askin' me if she'd live with this goof?"
"Yes."
"She is." Lenny nearly fainted dead away, but
Frank quickly said, "they're livin' together,
but they ain't sharing a bed."
"So they're not sharing a bedroom?"
"That I wouldn't know. But I know my daughter...and I know Lenny,
here. He's a good boy. He wouldn't do nothin' to my daughter. They're both good, honest, decent people -
and they deserve each other."
"Do you corroborate Mister DeFazio's stance?"
Lenny nodded.
"Excellent," Maria finally smiled. "I believe I've seen enough here. The two of you have presented a portrait of a
woman who has an excellent moral character.
I believe Mister Ajax will be delighted to read my report."
Lenny's body went weak with relief. "It don't matter that we ain't
married?"
"It certainly won't.
You both seem to be simply delightful, highly moral people in the early
stages of romantic attachment. I'm sure
your living situation is explicable by other means."
"Don't worry about it - they're only living together
'cause my daughter couldn't afford it any other way. When she gets her check, he'll move
out," Frank's paw slapped down on Lenny's shoulder. "Ain't that right, Kosnowski?"
Lenny's eyes darted frantically, but he managed a somewhat
convincing, "yeah, yeah! Thank you, ma'am."
"Let me see you out," Frank said. "I wanna show you some baby pictures of
Laverne I got in my wallet..."
"You don't need to..."
Frank already had her by the arm, leading her away. "Here she is at five - look at that Girl
Scout uniform! Wasn't she a cutie?"
Lenny almost cried, he felt so relieved. He forced himself to return to the kitchen,
and began slicing up some tomatoes for a salad.
Frank re-entered the apartment, loaded for bear. "I hope you know I lied for Laverne -
not you. Capice?" Lenny kept his eyes on the tomatoes. "Hey, I'm talkin'
to you..."
Fear made Lenny's stomach an icy lake. He wondered if a cooked pork rib might be as
good for a black eye as a steak. He
opened a container of green beans and began to place them in a chafing
dish. There was so much food - he
doubted he and Laverne might be able to eat it all...
He looked up.
"Did you eat yet?"
"EAT YET?" Frank bellowed.
"Yeah - are you hungry, or should I give what's left to
Squig's pet mouse?"
Frank's mustache twitched.
The aroma of the ribs seemed oddly familiar, but pleasant - the mashed
potatoes were thick and fluffy.
"You're cuttin' the tomatoes
all wrong," he picked up a sharp knife and began to slice. "Get out the lettuce and a bottle of
wine - I'll show you how to get together a vinaigrette..."
Lenny returned to the counter with two bottles.
"I said one."
"One's for the vinaigrette," Lenny popped the cork
from the other bottle with his bare hands.
"And one's for us."
***
Laverne returned home to the scent of beef ribs and the
sound of two drunken voices singing "Il Traviato
in bad Italian accents." You could
have knocked her over with a feather when she realized it was her father and
her lover at the dining room table, eating and drinking merrily.
"D'you save
any for me?" She asked.
"Hey Laverne - hey, Mister DeFazio! It's Laverne!" Lenny slurred.
Frank grinned at his daughter. "Hey, Muffin - you want some chianti?" He held the bottle out to her.
Laverne peered into it.
"I would've - but it's empty."
"Aww - d'you
give it all to Dave?"
"Must've. Pink elephants don't hold their liquor
good."
Laverne headed over to the counter, searching through a
cabinet and then pouring a kettleful of water.
"Why don't we have some coffee, and I'll tell you about my
day." And she did, sparing them no
details as the boys gradually sobered up.
"Gee, maybe we should invite Chuck over for some
ribs," Lenny suggested.
"Yeah, I'm sure Pop'll spring
for them."
"Whaddya mean your Pop? I made dinner!"
Frank frowned, "I knew that sauce tasted
familiar!"
Laverne sighed.
"Either way, I'm not gonna quit.
The pay's not bad, and I think I may've found a friend."
Frank's smile failed. "But you ain't all the way
happy?"
"No. But
happiness comes and goes - I'll get happier as I get to know the work."
Frank abruptly fell into a rage. "No daughter of mine's gonna make
herself miserable!" He glared at Lenny. "You!
This is your fault! You should be supporting her!"
Lenny stopped shrinking beneath the whip of Frank's voice.
"No I shouldn't."
"What?"
Lenny's voice came out, clear and strong. "No, I shouldn't. Laverne don't want to be taken care of! She told me that she's no
housewife and she never wanted to be - and you know what? I don't want one,
neither! If we get married, it's gonna be OUR marriage
- OUR house, OUR chores, OUR kids. I ain't gonna stick the only woman I ever
loved in a cage and tell her what's right for her - which is more than you ever
did!"
Laverne was wide eyed - she tried to rise to her
still-swollen feet but could not manage it. "He don't
mean that - he...Pop, why the hell're you
laughing?"
And Frank was indeed laughing, his arm slung around Lenny's
shoulder. "Finally! Finally, I got some piss and vinager out of you!"
"Huh?" Lenny replied, his eyes not leaving Frank's
squeezing hand.
"Lenny, Laverne ain't ever dated a guy who could stand
up to me before. 'Cept for
that Fonzarelli kid," Frank's jaw set itself
grimly before unlocking. "I want the guy Laverne marries to be just as
bright and strong as she is, but able to stand up for her no matter what. Even
to me. I wasn't seein' that fire in you, but I was hopin' it was in there somewhere - and here it is!"
Laverne's shoulders relaxed. "You mean you're okay with
us living together?"
Frank glowered. "I don't approve, but I can put up with
it for awhile. It's only till she gets
paid, after all!"
The two lovers shared a guilty look. "Pop...you gotta
know - Lenny's not moving out at the end of the month. He and me are movin' in together permanently." Lenny began to sink underneath the strong
pressure of Frank's hand.
"Pop! Stop hurting him! I love Lenny - I love him a lot. But we're not ready to get married yet. Marriage means a lifetime to me, and I'm just
not ready to risk my whole life. We've
only been together for a few months."
Frank looked at Lenny as he might a slimy snake. "You ain't gonna marry this guy, but
you're wastin' time on him?"
"I ain't wasting time on Lenny! Who knows if we're going to get married or
not, Pop - I could get run over by a bus
tomorrow! We take each day as it
comes. My point is that when I get
married, I want it to be forever. I know
this ain't your generation's idea of taking it slow, but for our generation it
is. Now, please - let go of my
boyfriend."
Frank's fingers gradually unclamped themselves. "I ain't exactly happy about this. But if it's what makes you happy, I'll
tolerate it."
"We'll settle for that," said Laverne gratefully.
"Yeah...settle....thank you...sir..." Lenny
babbled.
"Sir? What's this sir stuff?
You call me Frank from now on!" He clapped Lenny hard on the shoulder.
"What you say to that?"
Lenny smiled waveringly. "I love you, Frank!"
Frank then withstood an infamously hard Kosnowsi
bear hug; just the first step in a million toward acceptance and tolerance.
***
"Keep your eyes closed, Len."
Lenny squeezed them shut, marching carefully ahead. His toe stubbed against his box of and
grunted.
"Uh - uh - eyes shut."
"Vernie, I feel
silly..."
"Silier
than usual?" He heard a
suspicious rustling, then the sound of springs.
"Open up."
He did - a rapacious grin spreading across his face at the
sight before him. On the bed - THEIR
bed, a brand-new Spanish-style wrought-iron bed - sat Laverne, in a black, lacy
negligee. Their guitars were mounted
directly behind the bed frame, horizontally and at loggerhead. The sheets and blankets were new, too - a
lovely shade of blue. "You
like?" She kicked her heels girlishly.
His voice came out thickly.
"You or the bed?"
"Both," she grinned. "I didn't think it was fair for you to
be sleepin' on Shirl's
bed. We both deserve to have a real
place of our own to start our lives together with."
He sat down on the bed beside her. "I love you, Vernie."
"I love you, too," she replied, kissing him
gently. His hand drifted around the
middle of her back. She gently pulled
away. "Almost forgot my other
surprise!" She bent over the bed,
giving him an eyeful of her rear end, and then surfaced - she held his black
and white portable TV.
"How'd you get that?"
"Squig said that he thought
you needed it..."
"Really?"
"Yeah...and Rhonda just got a new color TV."
"Remind me to thank him." Laverne flicked the dial on the set, and she
settled back into his arms. "They're showing the space shuttle launch live
on ABC in a minute - the astronauts are supposed to be wearin'
the suit I tested!" But, lying as
they were, together and against the pillows, they soon found one another far
more interesting than the telecast...
"T-Minus 5-4-3-2-1...Liftoff! We have liftoff of the Spaceship Athena and
"Yeah - me and the boys were
wondering - why are there L's on our suits?"
The End
"Mars Ain't The Kind of Place To Raise Your Kids / In Fact,
It's Cold as Hell / And there's no one there to raise them, if you
did...."
-Elton John,
Rocketman
LA END