SERIES: Always Hide Your Water Balloons
UNIVERSE: Always...
AUTHOR: Missy
EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com
PART: 1 of 1
RATING: PG-13 (Adult thematic material, language)
PAIRING(s): L/L; S/C; R/S; F/E
DISTRIBUTION: To Myself 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
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CATEGORY: Romance
FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!
SETTING IN TIMELINE:
SEQUEL TO: Ever After, Always A Bridesmaid, Always Prepared,
Always a Mess, Always Apologize First, Always a Challenge, Always Too Much Lasagna,
Always There For You, Always About You, Always Looking In Higher Places and
Always Something Else. Twelfth in this continuity.
Spoilers For: the entire universe, I Do, I Don't.
SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Laverne and Lenny send out their
invitations; Rhonda waits for the results of some tests.
***
One Month Later
"Huh?"
Shirley's voice pierced Laverne's
eardrum. 'I said," she repeated, punctuating
every word with a thrum of her pencil against a manila-colored clipboard,
"where do you want to go on your honeymoon?"
Laverne paused, a folded envelope poised on its journey and
halfway to her mouth. She considered her
options, then said to her best friend, "somewhere with a lotta pretty ceilings and a door I can lock."
"That's not helpful," Shirley remarked, scratching
the bridge of her nose with her eraser.
Laverne took in the sight of her best friend, snuggled Indian-style in
what was once her side chair with a clipboard resting against her folded
ankles, and gave up a quick prayer of thanks to God for making Shirley her best
friend. Due to her advanced organization
skills, preparations for the wedding were speeding along at a good clip.
"I dunno, Shirl..."
The front door flew open, and for a millisecond she felt a wave of relief,
believing it to be Squiggy. Said relief
was not tamped down when she realized it was a frazzled Lenny shambling over
the threshold. "Len," she
said, reaching out for him - he walked over to her, bent over the couch, and
pecked her on the mouth before strolling over to the refrigerator and pulling
out a bottle of Pepsi.
"Lenny, where do you want to go on your
honeymoon?"
"Huh?" he muttered, sounding a thousand light
years away.
"Honestly!" Shirley cried out. "I said where do you
want to go on your honeymoon, you..."
"Watch it with the 'you's,"
Laverne requested quietly.
Lenny paused - bottle of Pepsi halfway to his mouth - and
thought it out. "Somewhere with a lotta pretty pillows and a door I can lock."
While Laverne laughed at their synchronicity, Shirley shook
her head and whapped the clipboard once more.
"I don't believe God made two of you."
"Why not?" Lenny asked, vaulting over the arm of the couch and clumsily sprawling
his way face-first into Laverne's lap.
As she helped him into a sitting position, he looked back over his
shoulder and asked Shirley, "if there wasn't two
of us, there wouldn't be no babies and the Kosnowski line'll
die out."
Shirley nose wrinkled.
"How romantic."
"Shirl, you don't get what
he's saying. If there weren't no me, he wouldn't marry no one else - there wouldn't be no
babies with his name. And I feel the
same way."
Lenny nodded.
"Yeah, that's the smart way of sayin'
it."
Laverne wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a
quick hug. "Aww..."
Her best friend sighed impatiently. "I need an answer."
Laverne looked sideways, her eyes locking with Lenny's. She sighed and shrugged. "It don't
matter, Shirl."
"What?" Shirley cried out, as if Laverne had
insinuated she was a tramp.
Laverne squirmed, looked down at her lap. Lenny said, "there ain't gonna be a
honeymoon. Laverne can't get time off,
and we don't got the money."
A strange fire flickered in Shirley's eyes- before Laverne
could remark, it was gone. "I
thought you were planning on quitting Bardwells'
soon."
"That's the plan," Laverne groaned ruefully. She had been on what felt like a billion
interviews over the last two months, and none of them had been productive.
"So?"
She gestured toward the phone, waving an invitation in
mid-air. "You hear that
ringing?"
"What about your vacation days?"
"I already checked.
My sick days are gone - I kinda used them when
you were on your honeymoon - and I'm saving up my vacation days in case Rhonda
needs us. I already used up two taking
her to chemo in the past month, and, in case I don't get a new job, I gotta take the 27th off for the wedding."
Shirley smiled.
"You deserve it, Vernie - you've been so
unselfish in helping out Rhonda. I just
don't see why you should skip your honeymoon!
Maybe you could drive up to
Lenny shrugged, rubbing Laverne's shoulders. The lack of a trip clearly bothered him, as
much as it bothered Laverne - she was unwilling to admit how much. Still, he seemed to care more about the fact
that she was distraught. "Or we
could swipe the keys to the laundry room and stay there for a night," he
suggested.
"That don't sound like much fun," Laverne muttered
glumly.
Lenny wiggled his brows and took another draught of the
Pepsi. "You ever sat on a washer
when it's spinning?"
"Yeah but..." her eyes widened, a saucy grin
forming on her lips. "You're a
genius," she moaned, lurching toward him and rubbing herself
against his side in a way that made Shirley clear her throat before they got
carried away.
"Could you please put aside your animal desires for a
minute and help me stuff these envelopes?" Shirley pled.
Laverne snorted, separating herself from Lenny and turning
back to the invites. "I don't see
you doing no stuffing."
"That's because I'm coordinating. Leonard, wipe your hands before you touch
those!"
Lenny grumbled, putting down the Pepsi and wiping his wet
palms against his knees. "I thought
we was having a small wedding." He looked at the heap of carefully-folded
papers morosely before picking up an envelope and stuffing an invitation
inside.
"This is a small wedding. There are only twenty-five invitations in
this pile," Shirley informed him.
"We made too many copies at the library," Laverne
added. She stopped in mid-motion and
examined the mimeographed sheet, feeling Lenny's hot breath against the back of
her neck as he peered over to read along with her.
It was another case of Edna's connections panning out in her
favor. One of the waitresses at Cowboy
Bills had taken a calligraphy course over the summer at
The pretty, simple sheet read:
Edna DeFazio Requests
Your Presence At
The Wedding of her
daughter, Laverne Marie
To Leonard John
Kosnowski
In the
the
Formal-to - Semi
casual Dress Required
RSPV at....
Two things popped out to Laverne as she re-read the
invitation - foremost, Edna calling her 'daughter', with the word 'step' not in
sight. Her heart warmed as she realized
that Edna saw her exactly as that - no alterations necessary. Second was the lack of her father's name -
the fact that he wouldn't be there and wasn't giving her away once again
speared her through the heart.
Lenny's lips brushed the back of her neck. "It's okay," he reminded her.
After a moment, she smiled.
"Yeah, it is."
Shirley was, by now, thumping her pencil against her
clipboard with the dedicated ferocity of a drum major. "Leonard, finish sealing the
envelopes. Laverne, read the addressees
so I can check them off."
Lenny pulled away from Laverne and gave Shirley a
mock-salute, then picked up the first stuffed envelope that came to hand and
licked it, handing it causally over to Laverne.
"My Uncle Fungi," Laverne said.
'Check," said Shirley.
"My Aunt Theresa," Laverne said, reading another
envelope.
"Check," Shirley repeated.
"Lenny's pop," Laverne said, placing a third on
the pile.
"Check," Shirley's pencil squeaked against the
small check-list.
"Anne-Marie," Laverne added, re-stacking the small
pile.
"Anne-Marie?" Lenny snickered. "You're gonna invite a nun to the
wedding?"
"She's one of my best friends." Laverne retorted.
"How'm I supposed to take off
your garter in front of a nun?" Lenny cried.
"Keep your eyes up my skirt and pretend we're
alone?"
Lenny gave a pained moan and tossed a handful of envelopes
into the air before lunging at Laverne.
Between the smacking of their lips and the wild mauling of his hands,
Laverne heard Shirley say, "ought to...get a
spray bottle...treat you both like cats in heat..."
Laverne gently shoved Lenny away, smoothing in a motherly
fashion his disheveled ducktail.
"Sorry. I think this waiting
thing's taking its toll on us." It
hadn't been a big issue for awhile, ironically - with Lenny running himself to
pieces taking care of the ice cream and talent ends of Squignowski
simultaneously while she did overtime and inventory to make up good with her
supervisor over the multitude of disingenuous sick and vacation days, their
nights routinely ended in an orgy of fruit punch, TV dinners, and nights dead
asleep in front of her tv set.
"Gee, Shirl, I'm surprised
you ain't going crazy."
"Whatever for?"
"Well, yanno, you
ain't seen Carmine in a month..."
Lenny wiggled his brows up and down, flaring his eyes comically.
"I didn't marry Carmine for smut," she
sighed.
"Yeah, I bet Carmine feels the same way," Laverne
snickered tartly. Lenny gathered up the
scattered envelopes and handed them to Laverne.
"Biff, Dave and Bill from the Brewery," she concluded.
Three more checks made to the list, Shirley continued,
"we're coping.
It's all we can do - which isn't much, since he's all the way across the
country." A glimmer re-appeared in
Shirley's eyes, and Laverne could only guess what they
could be doing in the teensy bit of private time they managed to eke out over
the phone.
Laverne winced.
"I don't wanna know how...Lenny's grandma, Hector, Eleanor, Terri,
Carmine, Grandma, Anthony, and..." her voice lowered itself.
"Fonzie." She shoved the invitation somewhere near the
bottom of the stack.
Lenny had heard.
"What'd she just say?" he squeaked to Shirley, who instantly
became invested in her clipboard.
"Don't get mad..." Laverne said, but her voice
held a warning tone.
"Fonzie?! You invited Fonzie?"
Laverne nodded.
"He's a good friend, too, Len."
"He's your ex-boyfriend!"
"That's right, my EX boyfriend. As in
I'm-not-interested-in-him-and-I'm-marrying-you."
"I didn't invite Karen or Gretchen!"
"Yeah, but you don't wanna see them again,"
Laverne wrapped her arm around his shoulders and began to caress his shoulder
and arm, butterfly-gentle. "Me and Fonzie have a lot of history. He's a swell guy, but he's not the one I'm in
love with..."
"Then why're you..."
"Like I said - he's an old friend. 'sides, he's supposed to be in town and he
was gonna stop by to see us anyway."
"What's he doing up here?" Lenny muttered
distractedly.
"He's gonna be coming through on his way back to
Milwaukee; Eleanor wrote me that he took his new son, Danny, down to Van Nuys
for the summer to see Ritchie and his family.
Anyway,
"Fonzie has a son?" Shirley gasped.
"Adopted," Laverne corrected, not as gently as she
intended. "Danny's around ten or
nine. And Ritchie's got three now."
"Ritchie Cunningham - father of three," Shirley
shook her head, reminiscing. "Goodness, that makes me feel old..."
Lenny glowered.
"I bet Fonzie ain't aged a day."
Laverne petted his arm gently. "I don't care how he looks, Len. Why don't you think of the next couple of months as a chance
for us to say goodbye to our old, single days, eh?"
"You gonna say goodbye to him the way you said goodbye
to Sonny?"
"Yeah, but no below-the-belt stuff," Laverne
teased.
"Let's move on to holier subjects, shall we? Have you decided on the vows?"
"I ain't thought of nothing," Laverne said glumly.
"May I suggest the Corinthians?" Shirley asked.
"They coming to the wedding,
too?" Lenny asked.
"Do you have any suggestions, Leonard?"
Lenny, to the amazement of both women, produced a Bible from
his back pocket. "I hi-lighted a
bunch of stuff," he announced.
"Len, you ain't supposed to highlight the
Bible..." Laverne protested.
'Why not? Makes it a lot easier to
find the dirty parts."
Her eyebrows went up.
"You highlight the dirty parts?"
"I was a deprived child, Vernie. When I was fifteen, all I had was the Song of
Solomon and my right..."
"All right, never mind," Shirley said. "I'll take these down to the
mailbox," she began gathering the sealed envelopes and placing them in a
paper grocery bag. "Maybe the two
of you should deliver the last five to Emmy, Mikey, Squiggy, Rhonda and Adam
West?"
"You invited Adam West?" Laverne snickered.
Lenny just snickered and shrugged. Their new neighbor rarely made himself known,
though Laverne had caught him wearing a Batman costume 'in preparation' for
tryouts down at the NBC studios. She had
barely been sucessful in covering her amusement.
"Okay," Laverne stood, dragged him to his feet and
to the door, the invitations in her hand.
"While you're out, can you pick up dinner for us, Shirl? We gotta celebrate finishing!"
Shirley moaned.
"Gee, I guess so. I've been
on my feet at Lou's all day, and Emmy promised she'd bring home dinner
for the three of us tonight." Emmy
and Shirley had both secured jobs at Lou's diner, Emmy working the afternoon
shift, Shirley the morning breakfast rush.
The length of Emmy's shift often meant that Shirley watched Mikey until
his mother came home in the evening, a task she seemed to find pleasant, if
exhausting.
Laverne dug into the back pocket of her shorts, picking out
a wallet. "I'll pay you for it, Shirl..."
"It's okay - you deserve a break. Poor thing, spending the whole night stocking
shelves..." Shirley said to Lenny, whos features
turned downward as he stroked his way down Laverne's spine in a gesture
probably meant to be comforting. Laverne
felt her blood fire and squirmed against his touch with a sigh, her feet
pulsing again at the memory.
"We'll see you, Shirl,"
Lenny said, opening the door and pulling Laverne out.
"Bye - be careful!" Shirley cautioned, her meaning
containing a double-edge to Laverne.
Alone in the hallway, he pressed her to the wall with lips
and hips, her body curving instinctively around his. She was the one to break the embrace this
time, to his disappointed grunt.
"Not in the hallway, Len."
"We ain't alone anywhere anymore for very long,"
he retorted.
"Yeah, but only 'cause Mikey's too short to ring the doorbell."
"And you still don't lock the door."
She ran her fingers lightly through his greased hair. "You're the only man Mikey's
got in his life right now - it's okay if he wants to come
in sometimes and spend a little time with you."
Lenny shrugged.
"The little guy's grown on me a lot," he admitted sheepishly.
"Me too," Laverne admitted genuinely.
Lenny disengaged himself from her arms, turning around and
bending over to slip Adam's invitation under the door. It was instantly grasped and sucked beneath
the doorframe, sending Lenny backward in a sprawl of shock against Laverne. Wide-eyed, they immediately backed down the
hallway and over to Rhonda's door.
Laverne hesitated before she knocked. "I hope they're home."
Lenny shook his head, his gaze becoming distant. "Dunno, Vernie. It's been a
long time since I seen Squig face-to-face."
She turned back to the door, realizing it had been around a
week since anyone had seen either Rhonda or Squiggy for more than a minute -
usually coming to and leaving Rhonda's radiation treatments. And it had been days since that pivotal
moment in May, since they had come to an uneasy truce in their relationship and
closed ranks against even their best friends.
And Laverne was dying to hear the details. She only knew what she had seen - and that
had been titillating enough.
***
May 23rd.
***
"Rhonda?" Laverne's voice sounded
like an alarm, far more brisk than she intended, as her palm slapped rhythmically
against the heavy oak door. She
heard no response, and in irritation glanced at her watch. It was four in the afternoon, they had to be
at Cedars by four-fifteen at least to get her checked in and prepped for her
treatment. Laverne knew the routine and
could perform it in her sleep by now, but Rhonda was
still adjusting and spent much of her time asleep.
Groaning, Laverne
slammed the door again, until her palm began to ache. Why the heck handn't
she thought to ask Rhonda for a dummy key?
Something could be wrong...really wrong...
"RHONDA!"
Laverne shrieked in an agonized tone.
The sound of Squiggy's
voice made her jump a mile. "What goin' on?" he muttered, sounding half-asleep.
Laverne cast worried
eyes on her fiancé’s best friend as he approached from the direction of her apartment. He looked like hell and probably felt it, considering how
much beer he'd consumed the night before.
Squiggy's dependence on alcohol would normally have been troubling, but
his change in behavior was more of a relief than a disappointment, because he
wasn't acting like a zombie. For the
last month or so he had been sleeping on her couch, and though Shirley had
offered to switch places with him and let him back into his old apartment
Squiggy wasn't having it.
"Rhonda's not
answering the door," Laverne said flatly.
To her surprise, Squiggy's shove only resulted in her smacking lightly
against a wall and out of the way.
"Woman! Open
up," he ordered the locked door. He
looked over his shoulder at Laverne and grumbled, "why
does she lock her door, I dunno what to do with a
locked door!"
To Laverne's relief,
the door opened a tick, revealing Rhonda's puffy red eyes. "Andrew," she said softly. It opened another bit. "Could you take Rhonda to Cedars
today?"
"Rhonda,
I..." Laverne began.
"Rhonda's going
to be a little later than I thought. She
needs Andrew's help with something."
Squiggy snorted. "Why?
You looking for another heart to smash up into
crumbs?"
The sound of a lock
unlatching barely gave Squiggy time to react before a well-manicured hand
thrust its way out through the opened door and yanked Squiggy inside by the
lapels of his leather jacket. Laverne
waited, unable to make another move without confirmation from Rhonda that she
was no longer needed. The silence that
followed alarmed her more than it had before.
Abruptly, Rhonda's
door opened. "Tell Len he's gotta do the route today," Squiggy said.
"Does Rhonda
still need someone to drive?"
"I'll take her in
her car," Squiggy said.
"Squig, what's wrong?"
"She needs
me," Squiggy said noncommittally.
"Tell Len what I said."
And then he shut the door.
Laverne traipsed back
to her apartment, where she had left Lenny sleeping a few minutes before. He had been up all night securing some kind
of big deal for Junko the Clown to perform at a children's society party, she
couldn't wake him now. Actually, she
realized, Lenny had been doing a lot of the grunt work for the business while
Squiggy hovered in his manic-depressive coma.
As she realized the complete unfairness of the situation, her blood
boiled overtime, and sent her running back to Rhonda's apartment to tell
Squiggy off.
But there was nothing
to greet her when she returned but an empty apartment and the sound of Rhonda's
Cadillac speeding away outside.
***
The memory made Laverne regard Lenny with a critical gaze
once more. His eyes were getting baggy,
and he looked exhausted. She bit back a
commentary on Squiggy's using Lenny, once again, as a tool to serve his means
and bent over to shove the invitation under the doorway.
Immediately upon deposit, the door swung open, and Laverne
barely contained a gasp at what was revealed to her. Squiggy in an apron she had seen multiple
times, and the even the presence of said apron over a leather jacket gave her
no pause.
She glanced askance at Lenny, who looked beyond Squiggy's
form and at the couch, exactly where Laverne had directed her attention. Rhonda sat there; regal and glowing, looking
surprisingly well for one with such drawn and distracted features.
Her completely bald head only made her eyes seem bigger.
Laverne stood motionless in the doorway, unable to force a
word from between her lips. Leave it to
Lenny to charge into the gap.
"Hey Rhonda - you look pretty."
The actress smiled self-consciously at Lenny's praise. "Thank you."
"You're gonna swell up her head," Squiggy said,
trying to keep a light tone.
"Rhonda always appreciates the adoration of her
public." She abandoned a copy of
Confidential to the coffee table.
"Come in. We could use the
company."
Laverne took a couple of steps into the apartment, only to
be met by Squiggy's short form.
"You ain't sick, are you?" he looked at them both accusatorially.
"No, Squig," Lenny
promised. "Honest injun."
"Okay. Just
don't breathe on nothing," he stepped out of the way, walking over to
Rhonda's mirrored end table and picking up an abandoned china tea cup. "You want anything else?" he asked
Rhonda, taking the abandoned dishes to her kitchenette and hiding his mannerless anxiety by peering into the sink.
"No, Andrew.
Thank you."
Gingerly, Laverne passed around Lenny and sat at the
opposite end of Rhonda's couch.
"Hey - how do you feel?" she asked, under the rush of water
being poured over dishes in the kitchen sink.
Laverne paused and turned around to gawk - Squiggy washing dishes! What had the world come to?
"Rhonda's fine," she said, drawing Laverne's
attention back into their conversation.
Cautiously, Laverne peered at the starlet. Under her typically flawless makeup, she
seemed a trifle paler than usual, and definitely a few
pounds thinner. "You
sure?"
Rhonda looked up from her once-fascinating nails and caught
Laverne's eye. "To be honest, I'm a nervous
wreck." Then Rhonda's eyes fixed themselves
upon the pink princess phone sitting elegantly cradled on her end table. Laverne realized suddenly what she was
waiting for and felt instantly contrite at her own self-absorption.
"Your doctor ain't called back yet?"
"No, not yet, but today's supposed to be the day."
"So you've been through your last round of
radiation?"
She nodded.
"It's been five days since they took the tissue sample."
Laverne looked up to cast eyes on Lenny, but her boyfriend
had wandered into the kitchenette and was trying to help Squiggy dry
dishes. The "plinking" sound
of free-bank-giveaway china hitting the counter involuntarily made her
jump. Rhonda's touch calmed her, caused
an apologetic wince to marr her expression.
"Rhonda is sorry she hasn't kept in touch," a thin
smile made her features beauteous. She
gestured ineffectually. "My hair
started to fall out, and Rhonda didn't want anyone else to touch me."
"You coulda asked me."
"Rhonda couldn't let another woman...you...see me like
this." She winced again. "Not while Rhonda was getting used to
being...this way. Rhonda was lost in a
Faith Domague-esque world of madness for a little
while, and Andy seems to know how that world worked. And how to shave a
head."
Laverne nodded.
"When he was in the reserves his C.O. tried to palm him off on the
base's barber."
"Really?"
"They didn't want him touching the guns."
Rhonda touched her bare head once again, this time less
gingerly. "He won't leave my
side," she looked over Laverne's shoulder and examined Squiggy in an
admiring fashion, seemingly not minding as he picked his teeth with a cheese
knife before washing it. "Which is
exactly what Rhonda didn't want him to do," she added.
"You should know Squiggy better by now," Laverne
played with a wrinkle in her cut-offs.
"He's loyal."
"To a fault," Rhonda sighed. "Is Leonard doing well without him at
Squignowski?"
"That's what I gotta talk to
Squiggy about. Len's burning the candle
at both ends," Laverne watched Lenny as he leaned against Rhonda's
countertop, half-listening to what his friend was saying as he began to nod
off.
"Perhaps the boys should hire an assistant."
Laverne snorted.
"Rhonda, they can't even afford an office."
"Oh, surely there has to be a woman of desperate means
who'd be willing to take pity on the boys.
This town is filled with psychopathic hen types..."
At that moment, the front door swung open, admitting a
furious-looking Emmaline and a red-faced Mikey.
"LENNY!" Emmaline barked, looking from face to
face until she saw her brother cowering by the sink. She marched her son over to his uncle and prodded Mikey gently
between the shoulder blades. "Show
your Uncle Lenny."
Mikey looked down at his sneakers. "Do I have to?"
"YES."
With a sigh, Mikey turned out the pockets of his
chinos. Hundreds of crumpled foil
wrappers fell to the ground, littering the carpet surrounding his sneakers.
With an incisive glare, Emmaline took in her brother. "What do you have to say?"
Mikey sighed.
"I'm sorry I used all of your water balloons, Uncle Lenny,"
his eyes brightened and he added, "but there was this really big man in a
green bathing suit walking under the window!
He was like a target board, and Mommy had a big brand-new jar of ketchup
and..."
Lenny's beet-red face showed delight. "Did you get him good?"
"Yup."
Emmaline coughed.
"You have another apology to make, young man."
He sighed, marching over to the couch. Emptying out the back pockets of his jeans,
he turned to Laverne and said, "I'm sorry I took the water balloons out of
your purse, Aunt Laverne."
The engaged couple met, eye to eye, over the head of the
little blonde boy. They spoke Emmaline's
name as one.
Emmaline held out a supplicating palm, an undeniable fury in
her eyes. "I don't want to know why
you have enough 'water balloons' to protect the Greek
Army, but I do want to know why you can't keep them out of my son's
reach!"
Laverne bristled.
"Hey, they were out of his reach - he snooped around to find
them!"
"Nuh-uh! I was playing detective, just like Uncle
Lenny taught me. That's how I found Aunt
Shirley's diary!"
Lenny shrunk against the counter.
Laverne smirked.
"Did you hide it again?"
Mikey's nose wrinkled. "Uh huh, under her pillow where I got
it. Aunt Laverne, what's a twenty-five
b?"
"Yes, Aunt Laverne," snarled Emmaline, a thousand
daggers in her eyes. "What is a
twenty-five B?"
Their animosity was quickly curtailed by the ring of
Rhonda's phone.
Immediately, Laverne reached for the actresses' hand, and
Squiggy walked around the other side of the couch to wrap his arm around
her. The gravity of what could happen,
versus their small, insignificant problems, caused the entire group to join in
a sympathetic period of silence for Rhonda.
The blonde picked up her phone, "hello," she said,
a slight waver in her voice, "you've reached Rhonda Lee: actress, singer,
model..." her
voice broke off, shaking slightly, as she listened to the dull mumbling of her
oncologist. "Yes. Yes. All right." robotically, she hung up the phone, avoiding every eye as
she marched directly to the bathroom and clicked the lock shut behind her.
Mikey broke the gloomy silence. "Is Miss Rhonda okay?"
Lenny managed a crooked smile. "She just needed to use the
bathroom," he lied.
Emmaline knelt down, quietly taking Mikey into her
arms. His mother's impassioned action
only confused the boy. "What's
wrong?" he worried, his voice shaking.
"Mikey..." Emmaline began.
"Hey, kid," Squiggy cut in, his dark eyes
bright. "D'you
know that Adam West bought a new turtle last
week?"
The five-year-old's concern was
quickly forgotten. "Oh
boy!"
"Yeah - he's big and brown and he's got mean little
eyes," Squiggy sniffled locked his jaw, and continued, "and Mister
West was sayin' that he's gonna be gone all afternoon
taking rope climbing lessons and there ain't no one to feed little
Herbert."
Mikey frowned, concentrating very hard on Squiggy's
words. "Do you think Mister West
would mind if we did?"
"I was just going to go ask him."
Mikey frowned.
"Why do you need to ask him if he's gonna be gone?"
"Don't sass your elders," said Emmaline, a bit too
emotionally.
"I wasn't sassing, Mamma - honest Injun!"
"Maybe he left his butler home sos we don't need to tear up no lettuce,"
Squiggy lied grandly. "See, that's
who I was gonna talk to, his butler."
He babbled on, moving toward the door and opening it. "You gonna come with me?"
Mikey accepted this with a shrug. "Can I go,
mamma?"
"I don't see why not," Emmaline said.
"Okay!" Mikey rushed to the door, his worries
forgotten in the thrill of reptilian discovery.
"Maybe we can
race him against Missus Cowsington's
Poodle!"
"Everyone knows there ain't no money in legit turtle
racing," Squiggy said patiently, shepparding the
boy outside, "What you gotta do is make a turtle
suit for a rabbit and race it. That's
what you call running a ringer-round the collar..."
Emmaline watched the boys leave. "Is it possible," she asked the
room, "that God made two of them?"
"Two of what?" Lenny
asked as he sank down onto the couch.
"Never mind," Emmaline mumbled. She cast worried eyes on her brother. "You look thin."
Lenny poked a roll of fat poking up over his beltline contemptuously. "I ain't nowhere near
thin."
"Aha," said Emmaline. "I thought that maybe you've been
sweating off too many pounds lately." Her eyes were glittering and
malevolent, focused on Laverne while uttering words meant for Lenny.
Laverne stood up and began to advance on Emmaline again,
only to be yanked back onto the sofa by Shirley. "Not again," said her friend.
"Yeah - we don't got the money
to waste on frozen steaks," Lenny added.
"And we have bigger problems." Shirley looked over her shoulder at the
closed power room door.
Laverne huffed out a lungful of air in irritation. "Whatt're we
gonna do about that? When she wants to
come out, she's gonna come out."
"Rhonda shouldn't be left alone at a time like
this," contradicted Shirley, who stood and made her way to the bathroom.
"Shirl, don't bug her while
she's in the bathroom..." Laverne followed her friend over to the door.
But Shirley began to tap on the closed surface. "Rhonda?" she said softly.
"Go away!" a tearful voice demanded.
"This ain't gonna work!" Laverne pushed her friend
aside and hammered her fist into the door.
"Rhonda! Get your patootie over here and open the door!"
"Rhonda doesn't want to be seen!"
Laverne tried to formulate a response, only to find herself shoved aside by Shirley. "Please let us in."
A long pause followed, then the sound of a lock slipping
open. Laverne and Shirley pressed
themselves into Rhonda's very small - and very pink - bathroom.
Laverne squinted as she took in her surroundings. Wandering over to the rim of the tub and
sitting down, she laughed aloud at the sight of Rhonda's shaggy pink toilet lid
cover.
Shirley instantly went into hostess mode. "How lovely," she said, picking up
a canister of hostess soaps. "Look,
Laverne - they're shaped like shells."
Crossing her legs in a ladylike way, Laverne chuckled. "You always wanted some of th-" whatever else Laverne wanted to say was lost in a
groan as she fell backward into the thankfully-empty and dry tub. Before she could yell for help Shirley and
Rhonda had heaved her out and into a sitting position. Embarrassed, she mumbled a thank you,
watching as Rhonda sat down on the toilet lid, exhausted and pale from the
effort.
"Don't try to make me feel better," Rhonda turned
away from the two women and addressed her bathroom window.
"We're not trying to," Laverne spoke up.
"Vernie..." Shirley
scolded.
"You don't gotta make
yourself feel anything you don't wanna,” Laverne insisted. "Just keep fighting, Rhonda. Keep trying to get better."
Rhonda snorted bitterly.
"I've advanced to stage two breast cancer
- call that better? I have to have a mastectomy
in two weeks - do you call that better?"
"Did the doctor say if you have the surgery you might
go into remission?" Shirley asked.
"Yes. Maybe." Rhonda
threw her hands up in frustration.
"He said I had a fifty-percent chance of making it with a mastectomy
and more chemo. It hasn't spread to my
skin or organs or bones - nowhere but the breast tissue."
"Then you could make it," Shirley thought aloud,
ever the optimist.
"Fifty-fifty, Shirley," Rhonda
said, nearly vehement. "I
could be dead in a year if I don't."
"But you got a shot - and a tough girl like you only
needs one."
Rhonda looked down at her chest and snorted. "If I do make it, I'll be a one-breasted
freak."
"No," Shirley replied, her own vehemence just as
strong, "you'd be a survivor."
Rhonda locked eyes with Shirley. A small grin began to transform the bleakness
of her expression. "What the heck
would Rhonda do without you girls?"
"Go talk to Natalie Wood," Laverne snarked. Her
bitterness was stifled by a hard hug from Rhonda. The embrace lasted for a few minutes, and
then Rhonda pulled away from the girls.
"Rhonda's in a celebratory mood now," she
announced, pulling the lock open.
"Are you girls ready for dinner?"
Laverne's face darkened at the morbidity of the idea, but
Shirley said, "I haven't had anything since my shift at Lou's. Meatloaf sounds wonderful."
"Meat-loaf? What in the world is meat loaf?" Rhonda
wondered, prancing out into the living room and picking up her phone.
"Ground chuck with bread and ketchup," answered
Emmaline. "Is everything
okay?"
"Ground chuck," Rhonda shuddered. "Rhonda serves only the best to her
guests at chez Rhonda," she rapidly dialed up a number, then said into the
receiver, "Hi ho,
"And two hamburgers, fries and Coke for Mikey,"
Emmaline added, getting up with a grunt to get her son something.
"Do you have anything for children?" Rhonda asked.
"Oh...okay...." she muffled the mouthpiece and asked Emmaline,
"does he like chicken fingers?"
"Yes."
"A chicken platter set.
No, I don't have children - I'm entertaining a four-year-old....no, not
a date's child....Thank you! And you'll
put it on my tab?...Wonderful! I'll see you at Ciro's! Ta ta!" Rhonda hung up the phone and jumped to her
feet energetically. "I need to air
out my good linens."
"You've got good linens?" Shirley asked jealously.
"From Grammy Wilson," said Rhonda, her features
darkening briefly, telegraphing that this grandmother was the cancer
victim. Immediately, she seemed to burry
the idea in a flurry of activity, opening silverware drawers and linen presses
in the tiny kitchenette and leaving Laverne, Lenny, Shirley and Emmy to watch dumbfounded
by her progress.
"Who the heck is
"A busboy at La Violette
Chat. We took classes together at
the Strasburg school."
"You went to the Strasburg school?"
Emmaline suddenly sounded very interested.
"I learned under Susan, actually. Back in 62, I took two courses with Wood,
Newman and McQueen..." Rhonda abruptly stopped gathering dishes, leaning
against the kitchen window sill, looking out onto the overheated pavement and a
broiling-hot Wednesday afternoon. "...When I first got into town. Why are there children out in the middle of
the street? It's only three in the
afternoon."
"It's June," Laverne reminded her friend.
"It is, isn't it?" Rhonda said suddenly. "Spring's already gone." Her tone was uncomfortably heavy compared to
her light chatter about the Strasburgs.
Lenny broke through the uncomfortable stillness. "Come on, let's set the table," he
grabbed a pile of plates from Rhonda's hands and began placing them on her
white lace table spread. When Laverne
didn't move, he locked eyes with her and smiled. "Everybody helps," he added.
His warmth radiated through the space, spurring Laverne to
action. For the millionth time that day,
her choice in a marital partner seemed like the wisest move she had made in
weeks. Soon they were all crowded in the
small kitchenette, laying out Rhonda's best glassware, china and silver for the
late-afternoon feast.
Everybody helped.
***
"Does anyone else remember the time Squig
played a carrot in the school play?"
Shirley winced as Emmaline's shrieked memory rousted her out
of a foie gras-enduced
daze. She glanced sideways at the young
blonde, whose rosy tone and lazy smile suggested that she could hold her liquor
about as well as her brother - not at all.
Lenny - comparatively sober beside his fiancée - chortled out loud at
the memory.
Squiggy leaned over his cracked-open lobster and shouted
loudly, "I was a great carrot!"
"You said you were full of 'vinerals
and megitables'.
Then you bumped into 'corn' and knocked him over and you both fell off
the stage."
"I still got a scar from that!" Squiggy said,
"anyone wanna see?" he was already on his
feet, pulling out his tee-shirt.
"No!!" Shirley shrieked, making everyone around
her laugh heartily. "Put your shirt
back on, Andrew - Mikey's going to come back from
Adam West's apartment and see your shame!"
"Pleah. Kids wreck everything," Squiggy
commented, putting his shirt back on.
"Don't blame Mikey," Rhonda smirked. "I don't think anyone else wants to see
it," she sipped down the rest of her wine and grinned. "It is a very cute scar though..."
"I don't wanna know about this," Laverne grumbled,
taking her plate to the sink.
"...shaped like a little heart..."
"Does anyone want more green beans almandine?"
Shirley asked, shoving the red crockery in Lenny and Emmaline's general
directions - the siblings shook their heads.
"...on his bottom..."
"Ohhh," Shirley
moaned. Her very live-looking lobster
suddenly seemed very appealing. She had
eaten a good portion of foie gras,
pasta, cheese and crackers and green beans, with liberal doses of wine. The rest of the table had begun a dessert of
caramel flan, which she had finished a few hours ago while leaving the lobster
whole. It sat lukewarm before her, uneaten,
though Shirley didn't know how she could eat it - the poor think, like its
Milwaukeean predecessor, had sensitive-looking black eyes.
"The last time I saw Squig's
bottom we were skinny dipping at Healy's Pond." Emmaline revealed.
"You went skinny-dipping with my sister?" Lenny
growled.
Squiggy shrugged.
"It was hot...and so was you, Emmy!"
Shirley noted a flicker of jealousy in Rhonda's eyes, but
they immediately brightened up, mock-polite.
"'Was'. Yes I
was," Emmaline looked down at herself
critically. Shirley wondered at her
reprobation - Emmaline was anything but overweight, though her dress and
hairstyle made her look somehow both modern and antiquated, and a bit matronly.
"You'll bounce back, Emmy," Laverne said as she
ran water over the dishes. "I hear it takes a little while for the baby
weight to come off."
Shirley winced at her best friend's jibe, but Emmaline
wasn't one to lie down. "I've heard
that too," she tippled a bit more of the
wine. "What's your excuse?"
Lenny cut off his advancing bride-to-be and steered her toward
her chair. "Lemme
pull out your launching pad, Laverne."
Her anger was quickly forgotten. "Thanks, Len."
"Always a gentleman," smiled Emmaline. "I remember when you were all around six
and you girls would come over to play with our goldfish. Lenny would do just about anything to make
the two of you happy."
"Remember the lemonade?" Lenny chortled.
"Oh my God!" Shirley
blurted out. "I thought I'd never
get all of that sugar out of my shoes!"
"Did your Pop ever find out about that?" Squiggy
asked Lenny.
"Nah. I said it was a science
spearmint, and he said I should stick with the gum racket, 'cause it makes more
than the fish one."
"We were terrible.
And I backed you up!" Emmaline said.
"A good sister ain't afraid to lie for her
brother," Lenny insisted.
Emmaline shrugged and polished off the rest of the wine. She reached for the bottle, pouring herself
another full glass - her fourth. Shirley
sent Lenny a warning glance but he didn't notice. The blonde took another draught, then turned to Rhonda.
"So, Miss Lee - where do you come from?"
"Well, Em, when a man loves a
woman's bod very much..." Squiggy said
dramatically.
"That's not what I mean!" Emmaline giggled, far
more energetically than she normally might.
"I mean, where did you grow up?"
Laverne laughed.
"Good luck getting her to tell you that," she laughed.
Rhonda sat up straight.
"Rhonda Lee was born in the trunk..."
"...backstage during a presentation
of Hello Dolly at the Wiltshire Theatre in
The blonde sniffed.
"None of you have any appreciation for high art," she
complained.
"You have to admit it's a little hard to believe,"
Shirley said. "And
a trifle theatrical."
"Yeah, and a little flashy, too," Lenny said.
"Flashy is important in
"My," Shirley said loudly, "this lobster
looks just...fabulous, Rhonda..." she clumsily cracked a claw and sucked
out the meat. Surprisingly, Shirley
found the taste pleasant and intriguing.
Before long she forgot that the lobster had ever had a face and busied
herself downing the rest of the shelled treat.
She finished her meal with a contented sigh - mopping her
lips, she listened to Laverne recall the story of their first Shotz Talent
Show, and how very uncoordinated she had been, and
their ridiculous fruit-salad hats.
Shirley tried to bring up a protest, but suddenly her tongue felt very
thick. She looked down at her numb hands
to find them shingled with a rash. Alarmed words would not form on her lips.
Laverne was suddenly before her, pulling her to her feet,
saying something about a hospital. The
words made Shirley's dizzy head feel even worse, but somehow she made herself
walk, huffing breath through a thin windpipe.
She didn't complain about Laverne's driving, and Laverne
didn't complain when Shirley threw up all over the floor of the ice cream
truck.
***
Rhonda watched the rest of Shirley's lobster swirl itself
down the garbage disposal with a disapproving grumble. Why in the world hadn't Shirley told her she
was allergic to shellfish? She could
have had
Her ruminations were interrupted by Squiggy's emergence from
the bathroom. "She snores like a
Kosnowski," he decided, hiking a thumb over his shoulder before vaulting
over the back of the couch and leaning over to click on her tv.
"Yes, I can hear the family resemblance." The kitchen now clean, Rhonda couldn't resist
peeking into the bathroom as she re-entered the living room. Through the slightly ajar door, outlined by
the dim pink glow of her night lamp, she could make out the passed-out form of
Emmaline Haarker, snoring lightly against the rim of the tub. "That wasn't
what I meant when I told her she could sleep here for the night."
Squiggy shrugged.
"If she's anything like Len, she'll be okay in the morning. And she'll make the rug a pretty orange
color."
Rhonda's nose wrinkled.
"Thank you for the mental image," she muttered. Before joining Squiggy on the couch, she
headed over to her small white bookshelf and withdrew two cloth-bound
volumes. As she sat down, she spread
them open.
Predictably, Squiggy soon hung over her shoulder. "Who's the blonde with the big
cans?"
Rhonda winced, peering down at the black-and-white
photograph. "My older sister, Inger," she said.
Squiggy grinned, looking at her chest, "I can
tell."
"Not for much longer, you won't."
Instantly, Squiggy sought to appologize-without-appologizing
to her. "Hey, ain't
that you?"
Squiggy was pointing to - more accurately, leaving a grease
stain on - a photograph of a teenaged Rhonda, smiling widely and holding an ear
of corn. "Yes it is."
"What were you doing?"
"Rhonda was Queen of The Corn."
Squiggy looked at her once, then
burst out laughing. A light swat to the
thigh made him stop.
"It was a very prestigious title back in Mudlick," she flipped the page, revealing a parade of
bad 'sophisticated' hairdos and home-made gowns - sashes and crowns flying
by. "Rhonda was also Queen of the
Harvest, the 4-H Beauty of the Rodeo, and Princess of the Pigs." Now Squiggy was roaring. Rhonda slammed the album shut. "If you're going to laugh, Rhonda won't
show you her baby pictures."
Suddenly, the laughter stopped. "I thought Rhonda Lee was born in a
trunk."
"No. She was
born Essie May Wilson."
Before Squiggy could start laughing again, she pointed to a
school portrait - a blonde girl of around seventeen, with a dazzling smile,
unmistakably Rhonda. It was inscribed at
the very bottom. "To Mamma, love Essie." "Essie's short for Esme,"
Rhonda continued. "There's a lot
more to Rhonda than you know." She
lowered her flaming cheeks, watching chapters of her life fly by.
Squiggy stared intensely at the album. "I meant, why're
you showing me all this stuff now? It
ain't exactly like it's glamorous or nothing..."
"No," Rhonda admitted. "But if I don't start opening up to you
now - I might never get the chance."
She ignored his stricken look, continuing on. "Here's a picture of me when I was
two. Mamma made those sweaters for us by
hand, can't you tell?"
***
The following fifteen minutes were a blur of hysteria and
fear for Shirley. Somehow, they made it
to Cedars and she was seated in a wheelchair.
She tossed her cookies one more time before a quick dose of epinephrine
was administered by a harried-looking intern.
Lying flat on a bench, much as she had before her appendectomy, Shirley
tried to relax. She shut her eyes, blocking out the traumatized yelling of
others in the emergency ward, forcing herself to see nothing but black. Eventually, she felt her throat relax, the
heat in her body dissipating and the rash fading away. Soon nothing remained from her episode but a
sense of weakness.
Unable to sleep, she finally opened her eyes. Of course, Laverne sat at the foot of her
bed, eyes filled with tears. Her first conscious
thoughts were of her best friend and her dignity.
"I threw up all over the boys' truck, didn't I?"
Shirley said, feeling a tinge of disgrace and tasting the awful sour in her own
throat.
Laverne burst into laughter, laughter that intermingled with
tears. "Yeah, you did. Don't scare me like that no more, Shirl."
"I won't," she sat up like a jackknife at a sudden
new thought. "You won't tell
Carmine, will you?"
"You don't want him to know?"
"He'll just be worried for no reason," Shirley
settled back down. "He can't fly
out to see me, unless
it's a real emergency."
"According to my chart," an officious red-haired
doctor said as he parted the curtain, "it isn't." He flipped through the pages of his
clipboard. "Looks like you had a
simple allergic reaction to shellfish, Missus Ragusa."
"That's a relief," Shirley sighed.
"Not really. You
need to stay overnight for observation, but now that it's out of your system
and you've been given a dose of epi, you should be
okay to sleep. I'll have you admitted
upstairs..."
"But I can't afford an overnight stay - I don't think
my insurance will cover it." Shirley began.
"Wouldya let me tell
Carmine?" Laverne begged.
"NO."
"All right - I'll pay the bill," she said bravely.
"Vernie..."
"Shirl!"
"All right," sighed the
intern. "Tonight's busier than
usual, and your reaction was fairly simple.
If you can pay the two-hundred dollar bill up front, I can treat and
street you with some benedryl. But if you have a problem, be sure to come
back and we'll admit you right away."
Shirley was already on her feet, pulling off her hospital gown - which she did
not recall donning - and slipping her now vomit-stained top over her head. "Thank you, Doctor..."
"Meaney, Walter Meaney," he smiled. "I'm glad you've recovered, Missus
Ragusa."
She paused, giving the doctor a look-over. He was a pretty-eyed man,
short, well-sculpted, smelling faintly of Olde
English aftershave as she took her bill from him. In another lifetime, he would have been her
dream man - now she wanted to get home and write Carmine a long letter about
her misadventure. "Thank you. And I'm sorry about your shoes."
"I've been through worse," he said smartly,
turning and leaving the scene. "I
spent an entire week in bandages with a head-to-toe rash once!"
"Boy, whatta cutie,"
Laverne smirked, as they headed over to billing.
"I didn't notice."
"Hah! You was looking at him like he was a plate of liver and
onions."
"Yes, just looking."
Shirley and Laverne ended up splitting the bill - her best
friend had just gotten paid and with the wedding in mind could least afford it,
but never even hesitated to lay her money on the counter. They didn't speak another word until they
were breezing back up the
Shirley was taken in by the incredible night sky -
beautiful, even from her disadventageous position in
the back of the truck. She'd never noticed the difference between a
She wondered what
As if reading her thoughts, Laverne grinned, making a
dramatic turn that jostled her insides.
"I dunno what I'd do if this happened and
you was in
Shirley grimaced.
"Carmine would've called you."
"But I wouldn't be there," Laverne grumbled. "Tonight made me think about all the
times I ain't gonna be with you."
"We can't always be with the people we love,"
Shirley pointed out. "I love my
father, but he's on a freighter somewhere in the
"I guess it's cause we've been
living together for a long time. You
know I've lived with you longer than I lived with Pop?"
"That's right."
"I figured that out yesterday. I should be used to you not being there,
since I'm living with Len now, but it's weird.
I keep expecting to wake up and see you there in the morning."
"Would you change anything about what you've
chosen?" Shirley was almost afraid to hear the answer.
"No. I'm gonna
stay here with Len, and be his wife.
You're Carmine's wife already - and one day you've gotta
go be in
Shirley shook her head.
"Just the way we always thought it would be, all the way back to
kindergarten."
"Yeah, but back in Kindergarten you were gonna marry
Jimmy Stewart and I was gonna marry Clark Gable."
Shirley chuckled.
"Jimmy Stewart! Goodness, my
taste has gotten better."
Laverne turned down the onramp, navigating through a traffic
snarl. "You always liked guys twice
your age. That's why I almost died when
you told me you was dating Tommy."
Shirley blushed at the memory of her indiscretion with the
frat boy. "A girl has to
diversify," Shirley explained.
Laverne offered no answer, simply turning a corner and parking Squiggy's
truck under their large shade elm.
As Shirley climbed out of the car, she studied the wide-spread
branches of the elm. It had been there
for centuries, and would be there for centuries more after her death. As she crossed the threshold of the building,
Shirley thought to herself that she would miss that old tree more than the
apartment itself.
***
Laurel Vista, as Laverne had expected, was deathly
quiet. A glance at her watch in the dim
hallway told her it was
When they reached the door, Shirley finally spoke up. "Thank you, Vernie,"
she hugged her best friend tight.
"I'll wash your shoes for you."
"Aww, it wasn't no trouble, Shirl," she
smirked. "I've been thrown up on by
worse."
"Hello," said Squiggy, pushing open the door and
giving them both a start. "Hey,
they checked you out of the funny farm! D'you have to bribe Fat Julio to get out early?"
"I want to the emergency room, Andrew."
"D'they make
you wear the black straightjacket?"
"Never mind," Laverne grumbled, handing him back
his keys. "Where's Len?"
"He took the kid back to your place. Emmaline's taking a nap in Rhonda's tub, and
you," he gestured to Shirley, "'ve got a
phone call in there from the Big Raccoon."
"Carmine's on the phone?" Shirley gasped, suddenly
wide-eyed.
'Yeah, he said something about an audition and being a Lance
a lot..."
Shirley squealed, rushing to the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow!" she
cried.
Laverne chuckled at the girlish scene her best friend
made. "I'll see you tomorrow, Squig. Oh," she
said, unlocking
her front door, "and I wouldn't go near the truck 'til tomorrow morning if
I was you."
"Why?"
"Trust me. Night!"
"Night?" Laverne had
already disappeared into the apartment, locking the door behind her.
The scene in her apartment was surprisingly lively. In the living room Lenny sat on their couch,
intensely scrutinizing a handful of cards.
The boy sat Indian style on the floor, studying his own hand just as intensely
as his uncle. A mound of cards sat
between them on the coffee table, along with a heap of Hydrox
cookies - the lion share sitting in front of Mikey. Stealthily, she slipped behind Lenny and
peered over his shoulders.
"He doesn't have any threes," she told Mikey.
"Go fish!" said the little boy.
"Aww!"
Lenny cried, dropping his cards and shoving a handful of cookies over to his
nephew. Quickly, he turned his attention
to his fiancée, kissing her lightly on the hand. "How's Shirl?"
"She's better.
It was a reaction, but they let her go home. And," she put her purse down on the
table behind him. "It looks like
Carmine got Camelot."
"Really? That's great!" He whispered confidentially to her, "how's Squig's truck?"
"Don't ask."
"Let's play again, Uncle Len," requested Mikey,
gathering together the scattered cards.
"Heck no! You beat me three times in a row!"
"And it's past
Lenny frowned.
"I'm gonna keep growing?"
"I didn't mean you. Mikey, go brush your teeth. You can use the new toothbrush in the
bathroom."
"Aww, but I'm not..."
the little boy yawned.
"Yes, you are," Laverne shepparded
him upstairs. "You go get ready,
and your Uncle Lenny will sing you a lullabye."
Lenny pouted as he gathered up the cards, causing Laverne's
grin to widen.
***
"Puff the Magic
Dragon lived by the sea...and frolicked in the autumn leaves in the
Laverne lingered in the bathroom, listening to Lenny's fine
voice as he sang Mikey the song of Jackie Paper and
Puff - a story that always made her a little bit misty. She brushed her hair, then washed her face -
by the time she'd brushed her teeth, the story was nearly over.
She waited in the doorway as Lenny crooned to Mikey - the
boy looking very tiny in his borrowed PJ bottoms, lying in what had once been
Shirley's bed. The sight of the now-separate
beds made Laverne feel a stab of erotic nostalgia for the passion she and Lenny
had barely gotten to enjoy. Her fiancé
was ignorant of her desire as he sat beside his nephew, rubbing the boy's back
as he sang. The song ended, and he held
the last note for a moment, slowly stopping and steadying his hand. Mikey's deep, even
breathing told them both that he slumbered.
Lenny slipped off of the bed, meeting Laverne's eyes before raking her
body with his gaze. Even though she wore
an old pair of pajamas and men's gym socks, he bit his palm. She closed the space between them, pressing
her index finger to his lips.
Laverne cocked her head toward the empty bed, and he
nodded. She pulled back the sheets and
he stripped down to his boxers, then crawled between
the sheets beside her.
He noticed the tear tracks on her cheek and traced them, a
look of concern communicating all.
"That song makes me cry," she admitted.
He reached for her, and they arranged themselves comfortably
together. This, she decided was nice -
not as good as what he could do to her with his hands and mouth, but still a
vitally intimate thing. As if he could
read her thoughts, Lenny's hand began to creep up her inner thigh. Gently, she removed it and placed it upon her
hip.
"We can't tonight," she whispered.
He smiled, a bit of pain showing in the expression. "I know.
All the rubbers're gone."
She shook her head.
"Mikey'd hear us, you dope."
"Sorry."
"I'm sorry - I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm just mad that I'm gonna have to give the
Trojan guys another five cents."
"Nah. Let me take care of it."
Her eyes were wide open now.
"That ain't just your job, Len."
"But I wanna take care of you."
"We're making love together," she reminded him,
running her fingers down his jaw line.
"When we do it, we're both gonna be responsible for what
happens. If the rubber breaks and I
get..." she gulped, "in trouble, it ain't gonna be just your fault."
"It is if I tear it," he mumbled.
"Don't worry about it." She watched his face in the moonlight,
half-obscured by the crush of the pillow.
Wrinkles were beginning to furrow his brow - he'd be twenty-nine in
October, and she'd reach that age in two months. The rapidity of time began to dig spurs into
her sides, making her worry and ache for him in equal parts.
"Vernie?"
"Mmm?"
"You know if that happened, I'd still marry you - not CAUSE it happened, but it wouldn't stop me from going
through with October. Even if we had to
go to the preacher and you was as big as Eleanor Steffeneck."
Laverne buried a chuckle in Lenny's elbow. "Thanks."
He ran his fingers over her neck, raising goosebumps everywhere.
Another thought disturbed her peace.
"Is Rhonda okay?"
"Squig's still with her. He said he'd stay the night. And my sister's over there, too."
"In the tub."
"I gotta talk to Emmy about
how much she drank tonight."
"You sure she wants to hear it from you?"
"I'll put it real nice."
"Okay," Laverne mumbled.
Lenny spoke again suddenly.
"I can't believe someone our age has cancer."
"It happens," she said.
"Only to old people."
"My mom didn’t even get to be thirty."
Lenny's arms closed around her a little tighter. "I'm sorry."
"I got a confession to make, Len. I've been holding my breath for weeks. I'm two months away from being as old as she
was when she..."
"It won't happen to you."
"How can you say..."
"It won't happen to you." They lay in the silence
for a moment. His hands roamed her back
in a comforting gesture, his hands getting closer and closer to the cleft of
her buttocks. He stopped, and abruptly
laughed. "This is where you're supposda tell me to get out."
Her arms wrapped around him more strongly, her hand going
underneath his tee-shirt, brushing the soft flesh of his ribcage, feeling silky
skin and knowing his scars lay beneath her fingers. "I don't want you to leave me."
"Then I won't."
When he spoke again, Lenny sounded sleepy. "She'll get through this, Vernie. The wedding'll work, and you ain't gonna die. I won't let you."
They embraced in the darkness, and Laverne rested her head
against his inner arm, their faces closet together and their legs intertwined. "Night, Len," she whispered.
"Night," he whispered back. She heard a breeze rattle through the old elm
tree out front, but Lenny's arms lulled her away, and soon enough she was lost
to the world and its complexities, both bad and good.
THE END
SOUNDTRACK:
1: Wedding
2: Everything - Michelle Branch
3: Teach Your Children - CSNY
4: The Difference - Wallflowers
5: Gotta Sin To Be Saved - Maria Mulder
6: Red Dirt Girls - Emmylou Harris
7: Our House - CSNY
8: Puff The Magic Dragon - Peter,
Paul and Mary