TITLE:  Helter Skelter

UNIVERSE/SERIES: Alternative Season Eight Universe

EPISODE: 4 of ??

RATING: PG (Adult thematic material, violence)

PAIRING(s): L/L; past - S/C; SFM/WM; AS/RL;

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, Kai, Myself and FG so far; any other archives are welcome to ask, but disclaimers must be included, my email left intact. Send a URL, and provide full disclaimers as well as credit me fully. Please inform me if you are going to submit my work to any sort of search engine.  Please do not submit my work to a search engine that picks out random sets of words and uses them as key words, such as "Google"

Please contact me in order for this story to be placed on an archive, or if you want know of a friend who would enjoy my works, please email me their address and I will mail them the stories, expressly for the purpose of link trading. MiSTiers are welcomed! Please do inform me that you'd like to do the MiSTing, however, and send me a copy of the finished product. I'd also love to archive any MiSTings that are made of my work!

CATEGORY: Romance/Humor

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Replaced “Death Row, Parts 1 and 2” in canon continuity - takes place after “A Bunny's Tail” in this alt version of history.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Shirley's back - pregnant, but without Walter Meaney.  What does this mean for Carmine, and will she come between Lenny and Laverne?

NOTES: The fourth 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.

***

Laverne DeFazio gave silent thanks for the advent of instant cocoa as she pulled out a kitchen chair for Shirley Feeney...Meaney, she mentally corrected herself.  It was definitely Meaney now, and if she needed a reminder all she had to do was glance down at the swelling form of her best friend.

Shirley gave Laverne a vivacious, lying smile that never reached her eyes as Laverne pulled out an opposing chair and occupied it with an ungainly flounce.  The costume felt even tighter and flimsier than it had back in the Playboy Club, and she crossed her forearm across her breasts and searched in vain for something to cover herself. 

"Did you just come back from a costume party?" Shirley asked innocently.

Laverne gave her a genuine if embarrassed smile.  "Sort of.  I was doing paid training for my new part time job."

"You left Ajax?"

"They furloughed me," Laverne grimaced.  "This," she gestured to her costume, "didn't work out.  I'm gonna start looking for something better in the paper tomorrow." Shirley's expression showed that she listened, but her stare had drifted from Laverne's face to the revealing cleavage of her red Bunny costume, her face showing a flicker of distaste.  Laverne hunched behind the table.   "I got your last postcard two days ago - you didn't say Walter got a transfer back to the states."

Shirley's eyes became cloudy with emotion.  "He hasn't been transferred.  I'm here alone."

"Really, Shirl?" Lenny Kosnowski asked, bringing two mugs of instant cocoa to the table and making a third to the conversation, sitting between the girls.  "Why'd he let you come by yourself?  You look kinda ready to blow up." He glanced at her ballooning stomach, barely covered by a blue paisley maternity top.

"Honestly, Leonard," Shirley complained, her hand resting protectively on her belly.

"Len's kinda right - even if the way he said it's sorta dopey," Laverne gave her boyfriend a warning glare and he got up from the table, heading over to the utility closet and pulling out the spare pillow and blanket he'd used the night before.  "Ain't you due next month?"

"Yes, in August."

"Did Walter get stuck on detail?   'She commin' when he gets leave?"

"No - he's not coming at all.   I had to tell you in person because I couldn't bring myself to write it - we're separated."

The words struck like a mouthful of lead in Laverne's belly.  "I'm sorry, Shirl..."

"I'm not.  Things haven't been very good for a few months."  Shirley stirred her cocoa in clockwise circles, watching it foam.    "We haven't been the same since my pregnancy.  You see, we didn't plan for the baby, and...Oh, Vernie, I don't think Walter wants him...” Laverne reached out and squeezed Shirley's hand as she burst into tears, then embraced her awkwardly large form with both arms.

As always, when Laverne couldn't find the words, Lenny could.  "If he don't want the baby, then he's a dick."

Laverne snickered and shook her head, and was pleased that Lenny's words caused Shirley to stop crying.  "I mean it, Vernie!  Any guy who don't wanna own up to what he did needs a five-knuckle wake-up call."  She heard a rustling noise and the soft sound of foam hitting foam.  "These look okay?"

Looking up, she saw Lenny had made a nest of pillows and blankets on the couch.  A wave of tiredness swept over her - she could fall into it and nap without remorse, even in her fishnets and bunny costume. 

Shirley smiled.  "Thanks, Len - I could use the sleep..."

"Nah, this couch has a crazy spring and it sags in the middle.  I'll stay down here again; you girls can go upstairs and have a slumber party."

"I dunno - you mind sleeping in the same bed with me?" Laverne asked her ex-roommate.

Shirley's pale face flushed pink.  "You have a double bed?" She recovered before Laverne could explain herself.  "Of course you have a double bed...no, I wouldn't mind sharing.  You won't be put out, Lenny?"

"Nah - it's not so bad."  He pulled off his motorcycle boots and dove under the acid green blanket, pulling it up to his chin and buried his nose in the pillow.  "Hey, Vernie - I found the spot that don't smell like wet dog!"

"Great, Len," Laverne flushed, putting aside her cocoa and offering Shirley a lift to her feet.  "Well, we're gonna hit the hay," she walked over and pecked him on the lips, then whispered in his ear, "rain check."

"Tomorrow, my truck, back alley," he retorted to her snickering.  They were abruptly conscious of Shirley's watching them with curious eyes.  "Uh, yeah," Lenny coughed.  "I'll see you girls tomorrow."

"Night, Len," they said simultaneously, taking the short jaunt upstairs alone. 

***

"Just how often do you make Lenny sleep on the couch?"

Laverne nearly choked on her mouthful of toothpaste as Shirley queried her from the bedroom.  Spitting, she wiped her mouth and said, "Just twice.  We got over a tough spot yesterday."

"You've only been together for six months and you're already in a tough spot?"

"Shirl..." Laverne said warningly, emerging from the bathroom in her football jersey.  The caress of the cotton on her skin felt oddly foreign - she had become accustomed to sleeping nude since she had moved in with Lenny. 

Shirley heaved a deep sigh - she lay in her maternity dress under the quilt, perfect white Mary Janes on the floor pointed starboard at the side.  Boo Boo Kitty, retrieved from his spot of honor in the bedroom, lounged at her left, peering eternally at Laverne, who moved over to her side of the bed in disquiet.   "I'm sorry.  Seeing you with Lenny's just something I'm not used to yet.  For lack of a better term, it's strange."

"Yeah, I'm barely used to it," Laverne chuckled, but one word stuck in her mind.  Strange - that was just how Laverne had felt about Walter Meaney.  He truly had come from a horror movie - the mummy who stole my best friend's heart, Laverne thought.  Pushing aside the light blanket, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers up.  "You wanna borrow my robe?"

Shirley patted her belly.  "I'm sure I wouldn't fit into it," she sighed.  "I should have packed a change of clothing...I just wasn't thinking when I stormed out..."

"Doctor Walter ticked you off that bad, eh?"

"Ticking me off...that's a way to put it..." she rubbed her belly.  "Poor little guy - I'm sorry about daddy."

"Hey," Laverne said, speaking to her best friend's belly - and feeling nothing but embarrassed as she did so, "you don't need 'Daddy' when you got Aunt Laverne."

"That's right!  We don't need a daddy when you have uncles who love you - unwashed though they may be..."

"Don't call my boyfriend unwashed!"

"Laverne, what else do you call a man whose underwear cuts like a diamond?" Laverne watched Shirley's belly jiggle with unsuppressed laughter. 

"See, you're already climbing out of the dumps!"

"Thanks, Vernie -” she yawned.  "I haven't laughed in a long time."

"I missed you, Shirl," she smiled, watching Shirley drift off to sleep.  She sighed and flicked off the bedside lamp, surrendering to the darkness.  "Everything but your lousy sense of timing."

***

Shirley staggered her way downstairs past ten in the morning the following day.  The kitchen and living quarters were empty - even Lenny's blankets had been put away.  The surprisingly clean confines and quiet home place made Shirley mildly suspicious.  Maybe her leaving had forced Laverne to grow up - the apartment was a little cleaner and better organized than it had been when she left.

For Shirley, seeing Lenny's possessions everywhere only reminded her that Laverne had a boyfriend now - a live-in boyfriend.  How did they manage to get that one past Frank? She wondered.  Well, it wasn't exactly her business, and she had no reason to be sorry for herself.  There was breakfast to be made, and then she would have time to dust the living room a little bit.  After that, she could watch her soaps. 

And after that?   Shirley felt a chill beneath her skin.  She had no idea what she would do.

Pushing the worst thoughts away, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk - onto which was taped a note bearing Laverne's scrawl. 

"Shirl - went job hunting.  Don't drink the milk, it's bad.  Laverne."  Shirley snickered.  "Well, I guess some things do stay the same."  She dumped the milk down the kitchen drain and poured herself a glass of orange juice, then dumped a cup worth of Cheerio-Os into Lenny's Bugs Bunny jelly jar.  Taking them to the table, Shirley pretended to pay attention to the want-ads sprawled out in front of her bearing Lenny's ubiquitous uneven highlighter strokes and Laverne's slightly-neater red pen circles, drinking the juice and eating  handfuls of the cereal like popcorn. 

Once finished, Shirley rinsed out her glass and began to dust Laverne's various knickknacks.  She had perched herself on a kitchen chair and was scraping some unidentified crud off of the top of the refrigerator when a familiar knock sounded at the door.

Carmine's knock.

She nearly tumbled from her perch at the sound.  Nails digging into the side of the refrigerator, she shouted over her shoulder, “Come in!  QUICK!"

She heard the door burst open.  "What happened?  Did you find that mouse..." he trailed off.  "Shirl?"

"Carmine!"

"Shirley?!"

"CARMINE!!  CATCH ME!"

As he often did, her white knight rode to the rescue, running to her and thrusting out his arms and catching her weight as she tumbled off of the chair.  The wind momentarily knocked out of her frame, Shirley looked up to see Carmine looking down at her, pain evident in his expression just from holding her up.  The old feelings resurged momentarily and she flushed.  He gave her a crooked smile.  "Nice of you to drop in, Shirl."

"I didn't mean to," she said, then blushed.  "I should have realized that a woman in my condition shouldn't climb up on chairs, but I needed to do something with my time..." the disquiet in his expression silenced Shirley.  Gently, Carmine pushed her upright and she straightened the hem of her maternity dress, looking at the suddenly fascinatingly ugly linoleum floor.

"What were you doing up there?" he scolded.  "Did you hurt, uh, somebody?"  He looked at her belly absently, a bitter tinge to his tone.

Shirley covered her belly protectively with both hands.  "No, we're all fine," she said tiredly.  "I was just cleaning - and no, that wasn't Laverne or Lenny's idea, as I said, I felt like doing something."

"Oh.  So, how long're you going to be in town?"  He asked, sounding uncomfortable.  She watched Carmine walk out of the kitchen, trying to lean casually backward against Laverne's couch.  He succeeding in tumbling slightly backward, resembling the awkward preadolescent he had once been.

"Indefinitely." 

"You and Walter on vacation?"

"No, Carmine.  We've split up."

He stood up, reached out, and patted her white hand.  "I'm sorry, Shirl.  Really."

She managed a wan smile, knew him to be sincere by his expression.  "I know.  I never thought we'd end up this way...I guess that's how life goes sometimes.  He tried, and I tried, but this little guy was a surprise he didn't seem ready for."  A deep anger reigned in Shirley's voice, but the calm placid surface expression was never breached.

Silence reigned as she stared awkwardly at him, and he at her.  "Shirl..."

"Carmine..."

They laughed together, shying awkwardly from the center of the awareness they shared.

"How is Mary - Laurie - that girl you were dating, what was her name?"

Carmine flushed.  "I don't remember.  We broke up."

"Oh..." Shirley trailed off.  "How is your job?"

He brightened noticeably.  "Good!  Squiggy got me an audition for a movie!"

"Really?"

"Yep.  You're looking at the new leader of the Cosmatics - if I pass the audition Monday."  She smiled.  He coughed.  "Would you like to have breakfast with me?" he asked, for want of something fresh to say.

"I just had a little snack, but Davey makes me so hungry most days - I'm willing to have another."

"I know this great diner on fourth and main..." he patted his empty pockets.  "Ugh - I'm tapped, but I have twenty dollars in the bank."

"I wouldn't mind walking down with you."

"You can in your condition?"

She moaned softly in disgust.  "Carmine, I'm not going to explode!  I'm just pregnant!"

A sad look crossed his face.  "Yeah - how are you feeling?"

"You already asked.  And all right - a little tired now and again.  You're sweet for asking more than once."

Carmine opened the door for her.  "I ain't anything if I ain't sweet."

"Too true," she smiled, and exited the apartment, Carmine at her heels.

***

The Golden West Bank had not changed in the short amount of time since Shirley's final visit to its hallowed halls - when she'd withdrawn half of the vacation account she'd established with Laverne as nest egg money.  The carpeting and paneling inside was still the color of dried oatmeal, the walls the color of vanilla ice cream, the exterior a less-than-pleasing shade of green pea soup vomit.  Shirley stood awkwardly to the side of the maroon-colored ropes hemming Carmine in, third from the back of the line. 

"I'm going to go wait outside," she explained herself.  "My feet are aching."

"You want any help?"

"Carmine, you don't need to be so chivalrous," she sighed, walking away and out the large glass doors.

She settled down on a large concrete bench imprinted with roses and daisies, inscribed on the pavement "To Our Fighting Men Overseas, from the Ladies Auxiliary Club."   Immediately, she thought of Walter, and then felt guilty about doing so.  Shirley had walked out of their apartment in Bern with no regrets, flown back to California and sought Laverne's succor with no other thoughts than to have her pain balmed.  But, she thought to herself, what else could she have done?  The man she thought she had loved had referenced to her baby as "it" one too many times - had complained out loud that "its" upcoming birth had forced him to stay in one place instead of following his CO into the snow and encouraging his promotion to Colonel .  Shirley simply couldn't whether the strain anymore when it reminded her too much of her own parent's ceaseless sparring.  Not my baby, she thought to herself.  If she had to, she would remove Walter's presence entirely from the baby's life to avoid him or her going through the false-worship hell she had endured as a tot.

In her meandering and desperate thoughts, Shirley didn't notice the presence of another until she heard a Valley-tinged accent say, "groovy dress."

Shirley whipped around to face the woman sitting beside her - a blonde-haired woman wearing a purple tied-dye headband, batiked violet and red top and bell-bottomed jeans.   A hippie!  Her inner Midwesterner gaped, as a million old voices resurfaced within her memory to remind her that hippies were dangerous and unpredictable.  Ready to rush off with a mild excuse, Shirley turned toward the woman and noticed an unmistakable rise beneath her tunic.  A pregnant hippie - they couldn't be nearly as dangerous as the non-pregnant sort, right?  "Thank you," Shirley said.  "I got it at..." she paused, wincing, "Frieda’s Big and Stocky." 

The woman's smile was nonjudgmental.  "Is that like the Salvation Army?"

Shirley's smile widened.  "It's sort of the Salvation Army of Bern, Germany."

"You're German?  My old man's German!"

"No, I'm Irish - I just came back from Germany."  Why was it so hard to admit out loud that she and Walter had split up, even to a stranger?  "My name's Shirley Feeney," she said, using her maiden name again for the first time in nine months. 

"My name's Flower," the woman said - and bypassed the handshake for a hug.   Shirley struggled against the intimate contact, then pasted on a false smile when released.  "When are you due?"

Shirley nibbled her bottom lip at the intimate question.  "Next month.  You don't seem very far along..."

"Only five months," she smiled, resting both hands over her belly.  "I'm going to do it naturally - out in the organic garden at the commune."

"That doesn't seem very hygienic..."

"No, it'll be totally clean - my life mate will wash his hands in our freshwater pond before he delivers our child and my sister Ravenhair will hold my hand and play the sitar..."

Shirley held back a nervous laugh.  "I'm planning on a hospital."

"Hospitals are the tools of the patriarchy," remarked Flower.  "They've brainwashed our whole generation for years!  Do you think we really need all of the drugs they force down our throats?"  She held out her right hand, showing Shirley a silver-colored scar across the width of her middle finger.  "I cut myself hoing our tomato patch.  Bubbles sliced a trimming from her aloe plant and rubbed it on my cut - look, it's only been a week and I'm already totally healed up..."

"That's nice...well, golly, look at the time - I'm going to have to be go -” Shirley’s exit was cut off by the blaring of an alarm.  Her eyes widened and a shriek came from deep within her throat as two large shapes in tie-dyed masks, dressed quite similarly to Flower, burst through the door of the bank while slashing two bowie knives menacingly in the air.  Their free hands held knapsacks overflowing with money.  Shirley's head whipped sideways as she looked through the ceiling-to-floor glass door - her eyes locked with Carmine's as he lay belly-down on the floor of the bank.  "Good gravy!" Shirley cried out.  In a second, she was on her back, a chilly sliver of horror as something sharp and metallic pressed her throat.

"You gonna be cool, man?" Flower asked.  Shirley nodded eagerly, thinking only of protecting the baby.  "You're coming with us!"  She was wrenched to her feet and forced to run from the safety of the shopping center, then pressed with surprising gentleness through the open back door of a VW Bus.  Face-down, she righted herself, feeling the bony press of Flower's body to her right and the rank unwashed scent of her red-haired companion to her right.  The bus squealed as it burned rubber out of the lot. 

The driver, a stocky African-American girl with long black hair, threw her hand-knit mask into the back seat, taking a hairpin curve with grace and ease.  "We made it, Flower baby!  Two thousand in cold cash!"

"Groovy!" Flower enthused.  "That's plenty for gas money to the march in Las Cruxes, plus we could donate a bunch to the free clinic!"

"I thought you didn't believe in supporting the patriarchy!" Shirley whispered to Flower. 

Flower sighed very deeply, as though Shirley were especially slow.  "That's why we don't have jobs, man!"

"Yeah," the redhead announced, who had a day-glo tattoo with the word "Bubbles" on her forearm.    Shirley realized with a start that she, too, was a woman beneath her large afro and tie-dyed poncho.  "We’re just taking this money from the Man and giving it to the Sisters who need it."

"There were people in that bank who aren't rich!  My - friend Carmine, he lives hand-to-mouth every day..."

The redhead gave Shirley a sharp glare.  "Who needs men?" she retorted.

Shirley's eyes darted to Flower's belly, but she knew enough not to make wise about the young blonde's situation. 

"You want me to shut up the hostage?" Bubbles asked Flower, her hand already gathered into a fist.

"Nah," Flower said, leaning back against the recently-patched cushion of the VW.  "She's cool."

The redheaded girl nodded, grunting, leaning back against the cushion as well.  Shirley looked over her shoulder as Ventura Boulevard whizzed by, hoping to see her Sir Galahad racing up, on foot or on bike to rescue her.  But there wasn't even a police car in sight.

***

"Oh yeah - that's the spot," Laverne moaned as Lenny rubbed her instep.  She leaned back in her seat, forgetting entirely her Bronco Burger as his thumbs rolled over her tender and heel-pinched feet. 

"You try anything you liked?" he wondered, carefully rubbing an extra-red area. 

She frowned.  "Two more waitressing jobs and one selling cars."

He solemnly nodded.  "If you get that, I can lend you my plaid jacket."

She smiled, despite herself.  She was so content that she didn't even bother straightening up when her Pop came to the table with Lenny's burger.

"Here you go - extra horseradish and a pickle."  He placed the red basket before Lenny.

"Thanks, Frank," Lenny smiled - placing his right hand back above the table and taking a large bite from the burger.

Frank's face twisted in disgust, and he quickly returned his attention to Laverne.  "You know you got shifts waiting for you here if..."

"Yeah, Pop, I know - and I ain't gonna take you up on...oooh, Lenn..." her stern tone melted away as he rubbed a sensitive point.

"Do you gotta do that in public?" Frank complained.

"He's just rubbing my feet - look at 'em!  They're all red!  I can't even get them back into my shoes anymore!"

Suddenly, the swinging doors leading into the restaurant swung open, admitting wild-eyed Carmine.  "Hey, Carmine - you know what to do for swollen feet?" she asked.

Carmine shook his head and began babbling incomprehensibly. 

Lenny frowned at his girlfriend.  "He's trying out kinda early for that Martian part..."

"Carmine?  Carmine!"  Laverne gave her father a worried look, and Frank was on the scene immediately.

"SNAP OUT OF IT!"  He bellowed, smacking Carmine lightly in both shoulders.

That brought Carmine around.  "Shirley!  Hostage!  Hippies!"

"Ohh!  It's charades!  First word?  What's the first word, Carmine?" Lenny wondered.

He shook his head wildly.  "We went down to the bank and she got taken hostage by robbers."

All relaxation drained out of Laverne's body.  "What?"

"I was out of money and we were gonna go to breakfast.  A bunch of girls came in and wiped the bank out.  They took her with them."

Lenny's eyes fired.  "Hippies?  Rhonda knows hippies!  Maybe she could find Shirl..."

Carmine's face darkened.  "That's a hell of a long shot!"

Lenny released Laverne's foot, but not the burger.  "It's worth trying.  She was down on some commune with Squig a couple of weeks ago - they went to see the Yogurt of Mahashishi..."

"The Yogi of Maharishi?"  Lenny nodded at Carmine's suggestion.  "It's worth a try!  Come on - she's down at the theatre on fourth and Hollywood!"  Both men rushed out of the restaurant in the hope of tracking down the starlet.

Laverne was on her feet, shoving them back into the shoes.  "I gotta go down to that bank!"

"Muffin, it might be dangerous..."

"I don't care, Pop!  Shirl would put herself in danger for me."  She grabbed his meaty hands and squeezed them hard.  "Try to call Squig at the apartment - ask him to watch the phone at my place and have Edna stay by the phone here."

"Laverne..."

"Please, Pop!"

"All right!  Don't get yourself in trouble."

"Pop, when do I ever get myself in trouble?" she laughed, tossing her purse over her shoulder and running as quickly as she could from his sight.

Those words echoed in her head as Officer Shanahan of the fifth precinct rolled the bars shut on her, after booking Laverne into the LA County Jail for assaulting an officer.

***

Well, Shirley mused to herself, it wasn't nearly as filthy as Lenny and Squiggy's apartment.  She examined her surroundings with judicious eyes and found the mock-Indian rugs well-maintained if not completely grime-free, the large beanbag chairs well-stuffed and the multicolored posters tacked over the shabby and crumbling walls attractive, if not tasteful.  The hideout/commune was, ironically, a basement apartment in a tenement building, and the "garden" Flower had spoken of was a hydroponic one hemmed in by oriental screens and bathed in artificial light, inhabited by quite a few funny-looking plants.

Shirley looked on the bright side of things as she very carefully hunched down and settled into a beanbag chair.  Her captors, who were busy counting their money in a semicircle on the floor, didn't seem very interested in tying her up or holding her at knifepoint. 

"Two thousand!"  Announced Bubbles proudly, slapping the last bundle of hundreds onto the top of the pile. 

"That's one groovy take," Flower said, her hand resting upon her belly.  Her eyes were distant, and Shirley saw a loophole through which she might be able to crawl.   

"Ladies, when was the last time you had a good, home cooked meal?"

Bubbles' spine stiffened slightly.  "I cook all the time!  One hundred percent organic whole-wheat..."

"When was the last time you had a cheeseburger?"

The African-American girl and Flower suddenly showed marked interest in Shirley's words.  "Cheeseburgers?"

"I don't eat cheeseburgers," Bubbles sneered.  "I'm a vegan..."

"You know how to make cheeseburgers, lady?" smiled the slim, wiry dark-skinned girl.

"I've been cooking for myself for years, Miss..."

"They call me Breeze," she ran fingers through her natural.  "As in, call me the Breeze when you tell me you got some meat on the table!"

"You guys said you like my veggie burgers!" whined Bubbles.

"Honey," Breeze sighed, "you know I don't like the same damn thing day in and day out!"

Flower snickered, but said nothing.

"If you get me some hamburger," Shirley said, crossing over to the dank electric range, "I'll make you a quick lunch.  I imagine what you did took a lot out of you."

"I'll run down to the convenience store - while I'm there, I'll put a couple of thou under the door of the free clinic," Breeze said, donning a large sunhat and a fresh pair of sunglasses, and pocketing her switchblade. 

"Thank you," Shirley said to Breeze's back.  Her eyes scanned the countertop.  "Where do you keep your cleaning products?  I couldn't find a griddle in all of this soot if it were on fire."

"I'll help!" Flower said enthusiastically, crawling over and searching under the sink for scouring powder and a clean rag with which to clean the stove.

"Thank you," Shirley smiled.  "And," she said, pointedly looking at Bubbles, "I'll make a salad to go with them."

Bubbles watched her warily, flicking the point of her switchblade into and out of its sheath, in expression reminding Shirley very much of Squiggy.  She abruptly stabbed the knife downward into the floorboards and turned onto her back, head nestled comfortably against her beanbag.  "Get me up when you're done."

A wave of determination rose over Shirley.  If she had to be here for God knew how long, then she would make this Bubbles girl like her - to spare the life of her unborn child, if for no other reason.

***

"What’re you looking at?"

The sneer, issued from a long-haired redhead sporting a side-part and a shiner, made Laverne draw herself up to her full height, her own lips curling into a responding snarl.  "Nobody," she eyed the girl up and down, hoping that she projected an aura of toughness.

The shorter girl snorted, turning backwards and flopping onto the bench behind her.  Laverne leaned forward against the iron bars hemming them in, allowing the cool metal to press against her hot eyes.  Funny, that she didn't feel fear now - in a big-city lockup - not as much fear as she'd faced when stuck in the pen the first time - of course, the first time she had been innocent - and she wasn't exactly innocent of slapping that cop, but she had been short-fused and near mad with fear.  It wasn't exactly a picnic, Laverne thought, but it could be worse.  Her cell could be filled with roaches.

"Hello, ladies!"

Every hair on Laverne's neck stood on end as Squiggy strutted onto the scene.  A rush of female prisoners pressed flesh to the bars of their cells, hands reaching out for the magazines and candy Squigg pulled from beneath his sports coat.

"Settle down now, settle down - no below-the-belt stuff, not yet," he laughed, making his way over to Laverne's cell.  Pausing for a second, hand hovering right next to a Zagnut bar, Squiggy frowned.  "Hey, you look kinda familiar.  I think I've seen you without bars over your face..."

"SQUIGGY!" Laverne snarled.

"Hey, no first names - just call me your love monkey..."

"Squiggy, I want Lenny..."

"That's cause you ain't had a slice of Squiggman love pie..." She grabbed him by his shoulders, jamming Squiggy's forehead hard against the bars, but allowing him a good look at her face.  "Laverne?"

"Right," she snapped.

"How'd you get locked up in the slammer?  D'you get arrested for indecent exposure?"

"NO.  I slapped a cop."

"LAVERNE!  What would your father say?"

"Squiggy, please listen to me - REMEMBER what I'm saying - I need Lenny to bail me out.  Have him come to LA County - the seventh precinct - my bail is two hundred smackers.  If he doesn't have it, get it from my Pop.  IF YOU FORGET ANY OF THIS I'LL PULL YOUR HAIRWORM OFF WITH MY TEETH, GOT IT?"

Squiggy let go of the bars, righting his clothing with a quick tug.  "Okay, woman."  He reached into his pocket, and then tossed the Zagnut bar into her cell.  "I'll be back before six.  Stay low and don't get shived during recess."

"Shived?" Laverne wondered, but Squiggy was already gone, doling out candy for kisses.

Laverne's cellmate piped up abruptly.  "You're messing around with Lenny?"

Instantly in tough girl mode, Laverne turned her shoulders into twin spikes of bone.  "He's my...Big Papa."

"Puh.  Lenny Kosnowski, settling down - he must've swallowed the brown stuff Squiggy grows in his closet."

"What's it to you?"

She laughed.  "Me and Lenny had a little thing going on.  Mostly during conjugal visiting hours."

Laverne's eyes narrowed, but she kept her back to the woman.  "Yeah?  He teach you how to play checkers?"

"Leapfrog."

The woman's tone of voice made Laverne's fingertips turn icy.  "Far as I knew, he ain't community property no more."

"That's what they all say - then two months later, they're back for a little more free way hay hay."

A horrible black fog of jealousy obscured Laverene's sanity.  The woman had to be lying - Lenny had told her she was the only and first woman in his life!  She shoved the girl backward against the wall.  "Listen up - Lenny Kosnowksi is my man.  You got it?  You don't touch him!"

That was how Laverne found herself in solitary confinement.

***

"...And then I told Arnold 'forget the pickles - where did you put the mustard'?"

Shirley gave the group of women an appreciative smile as they roared with laughter.  "You're a groovy chick," proclaimed Flower suddenly. 

"No, no - well, perhaps.  I've done a lot of living lately, and it's always fun to share experiences."  She took another bite out of her burger and groaned at the luxurious taste.  "This is marvelous.  Are you sure you don't want one, Bubbles?"

The redhead growled at Shirley over her bowl of bulgher wheat.  "I'm fine."

"All right..."  She gingerly stood and made her way to the refrigerator.  "Do you have any soda?"

"We try not to pay the man for our sugar," Bubbles said, contempt in her voice.

"That's right," piped Flower.   "We only steal it from supermarkets."

"I'll have the water," Shirley decided, and began to rummage through the cabinets for a glass.  The sudden clatter of a door opening nearly knocked her down. 

There was a sudden parade of women - tall, short, blond, red-headed, pockmarked, smooth-skinned, pale and dark-skinned women - All of whom seemed well-acquainted with the girls if one judged from backslaps and handshaking.  They all wore an alarming amount of leather, in any event.  A small hi-fi was turned up - more bulgher wheat was made.  Shirley found herself a quiet corner and tried to remain inconspicuous.

Eventually, Flower crawled through the crowd and sat down on the bean bag.

"You really used to be an extra?"

Shirley smiled tenderly.  "We were in a Troy Donahue movie for a minute."

"Wow," she smiled.  Then Flower leaned in close and whispered, “don't tell the other girls, but I came to California to be an actress?"

"Did you?"

"Uh huh.  I ended up camping out on the beach.  That's when I fell in with Breeze and the gang.  I always thought I'd have a picket fence n' stuff, but this is okay..."

"Who are these girls?" Shirley asked Flower.

"Oh, don't worry about them - they're just the Sherwood chapter of the Hell's Angels.  They're all wanted for holding up a Trader Vics in the next county."

"Flower, dear - that's illegal..."

"Anything that gets back at the pigs is okay with me," Flower smiled, her eerie, brainwashed smile.

"But you're a corroborating witness to a robbery!  Withholding evidence is a crime, and your baby could be born in jail...you don't want that to happen, do you?"

Flower rubbed her belly, a smile on her lips.  "We're members of the sisterhood," she said.  "We'll take care of ourselves from now on."

"These people aren't going to take care of you when times get bad, or if the cops find us," Shirley corrected gently.  "They're not your real friends, Flower." 

"Just be cool, man."  Flower instructed.  "They're all part of The Movement."

Shirley pushed herself up, holding onto a counter.  "This is so destructive!  And so bad for your baby!"

"We can't let you go til the heat dies down, if it does..."

Shirley knew what the alternative to badgering her captor was.  "I need more water, excuse me," she said softly.

As she ran the taps, Shirley noticed an unusual-looking woman standing beside her.  In a large straw hat and purple oversized jacket, she seemed out of place among the leather and brawling voices.

She squinted, moved closer; saw a familiar shape of the nose.  Before she could gasp out a name, a hand seized hers. 

"Don't say my name," Carmine hissed.  "Don't look around you - now just walk with me slowly to the door.  Okay?"

"How did you find me?" Shirley whispered, unable to disguise her irritation.  She did NOT want to be saved from this place - not when she was just starting to get through to Flower!

He grinned.  "Rhonda knew a girl who knew a girl who knows one of the girls who runs with the Angels.  I got lucky."

She resisted the impulsive voice screaming at her to throw her arms around Carmine's neck - to strangle or hug him, she wasn't sure.  Resisting his advice would cause a bigger stir, so Shirley strolled along beside Carmine, looking as nonchalant as possible.  They made their way through the thick crowd, toward the door.

They were inches from sweet freedom when Carmine fell over the hem of his muumuu, knocking his wig off.

The party went into slow motion.  Every eye rested upon him.

The words chilled Shirley.

"A man!  Get him!"

***

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen...."

"Hey, DeFazio, pipe down!"

Ignoring the complaints coming from down the hall, she bellowed at the top of her lungs, "NOBODY KNOWS MY SORROW!"

She rested her head against the door of the little white hatch that was solitary confinement.  Her father had always warned her strongly against displays of temper - why had she turned a deaf ear to him?  But Laverne knew the answer wasn't a hard one to grasp; her strongest and weakest points would always be her loyalty to those she loved.

The rattle of a key in the lock and the sound of a door opening gave her just enough of a warning.  The warden looked her up and down with some distaste.

"You're free to go," he announced. 

When Laverne saw Lenny standing in the hallway she nearly tackled him over with her flying leap.  "Save a couple of kisses for Squig," he teased her.  "He found me at Cowboy Bills and said you were stuck here."

"Where is he?" She asked breathlessly.

"Back home, watching Heckle and Jeckle on your couch."

All of the gratefulness she'd felt toward Lenny dissolved as she recalled Squiggy flirting with the female inmates.  All of her doubt resurfaced instantly.  She ignored her poor Pop, boxing Lenny into a corner while Frank paid the bond.

"I met some girls in there," she said “Seems you was a real sweet talker."

Lenny fidgeted.   "Girls liked us, but the two of us didn't do nothing to any of those girls."

"Yeah?  Not even a tall redhead with legs that won't quit?"  A look of guilt crossed Lenny's features.  "Are you lying to me about me being the only one you ever been with?"

A look of horror crossed Lenny's features.  "No!  Why the heck would I lie about something like that?!"

"You're hiding something from me, Len!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"KIDS!" Frank barked, ending the argument.

"Let's just go home," Laverne grumbled.  Despite her father's warmth when they entered the ice cream truck, Laverne's frosty silence precluded any talk about their situation.

***

"What’re you going to do with me?" Carmine asked as Bubbles tied his wrists firmly with a bit of clothesline.

The party had quickly cleared out, on Bubbles' brisk orders, and only Flower and Breeze remained in the hovel to watch their hostage.

"You're gonna be our extra insurance policy," Bubbles smirked, the tip of the revolver brushing the top of Carmine's natural.  "You tell the pigs about the hideout?"

"I didn't tell the cops anything.  I swear on my mother!"

"He's telling the truth!"

"Too bad I don't believe you," Bubbles gave Carmine a not-quite friendly punch to the solar plexus.

"It's true he knows everything about loyalty oaths!"

Bubbles perked up.  "He street?"

"I was in a gang like this when I was your age."

"Please don't hurt him!" Shirley cried.

"Hurt him?  He's worth more to us alive than dead..." a sick grin marred Bubbles' features.  "But he would make a groovy object lesson to those pigs..."

Carmine braced himself for the inevitable, but suddenly a warm, blond-haired body threw itself between Carmine and Bubbles' gun.  "No!" Flower cried.

"Get out of the way, man!"

"You can't do it, Bubbles!"

"You think I won't?"

"This isn't the way we wanted it to be!  When I met you, you talked about making our group a huge revolution, a big, non-violent union!  If we kill him, we won't be better than those cops - we'll be just like them!"

Bubbles' grip on the gun wavered.

"Go ahead," Carmine said calmly.  "Shoot me.  I don't care if you kill me.  But first, let Shirl go."

Bubbles blinked.  "You'd really do that for her?  You'd take a bullet for that chick and she's not even having your kid?"

Carmine smiled weakly.  "We go way back."

The gun shook one more time as she lowered it.  "Untie him," Bubbles muttered, collapsing to the beanbag chair.

Breeze and Flower followed the orders of their defacto leader, and Shirley watched mutely until Carmine was safe.

"You go - but don't tell the cops where we are!"  Bubbles menaced - suddenly sounding girlish.

"Flower!" Shirley called, as Carmine pulled her out the door and into a small, shrouded alleyway.  "Don't forget your dream!" she cried.

A flicker of hope appeared in the girls' eye for just a moment.

As they strolled toward the bus stop, they both heard the wailing of sirens in the distance.

She froze and met Carmine with a gaze of chilly anger.

"You're safe now," he told her softly, then helped her into the waiting car.

***

Squiggy laughed loudly as Heckle and Jeckle flittered across the screen.  Munching away at his bowl of popcorn, he was completely ignorant of Lenny and Laverne re-entered the apartment and began slamming as hard as humanly possible everything bearing a hinge.

He barely felt the couch shift under their weight, but the second set of slamming doors really wrecked his concentration.

"Shirl!"

"...Acted Like a Moron!"

"SHIRL!"

"...I don't want you to ride up on your big white horse to save me anymore!"  That was Shirley - she was safe?  Squiggy looked up to see Carmine staring the woman down

"You're nine months pregnant, Shirl!  I couldn't wait around and let the cops take care of things!"

"But you knew enough to call them up and rat out Flower!"

"''Rat Out'?  They kidnapped you after an armed robbery!"

"You acted without even an ounce of consideration!  Those poor women have been through hell - Flower is a run-away, Breeze's father abused her..."

"Do you have Stockholm Syndrome?"

"They're perfectly interesting women.  With a little bit of real help, they could be ordinary, productive members of society!"

"What part of They're Armed Robbers don't you get?"

"My time with them did me a great good, Carmine," Shirley declared.  "In fact, it gave me a goal - plans for a career.  I want to become a youth counselor for the underprivileged!"

"Work with kids in the ghetto?”

“You say that like we didn’t come from a ghetto…”

“No, Shirl!  It's dangerous - I can't let you..."

"Let me?"  Squiggy watched with approval as Shirley walked to the door and yanked it open.  "Get out."

"Why should I..."

"Get out, Carmine!" Shirley barked.    When he obeyed her request, the brunette sat limply upon the couch.

"Aww, Shirl," Laverne comforted, running her hand over Shirley's bare arm, "it'll be okay..."

"I don't want to talk about it, Laverne."

"Are you sure?"

"Please.  And take Leonard with you."

"C'mon, Len..."

"You wanna go upstairs with me?"

"Yeah - there's stuff in the world that's a lot more important than 'firsts'."

Squiggy watched his friend leave.  Slowly, very slowly, it dawned on him that he was alone with Shirley.

"So....you wanna sleep on the left side of the couch or the right?"

A pillow to the kisser ended his pursuit of an answer.

To "A Bunny's Tail"
To "Fear of a Black Cat"