SERIES: Always Ring It In

UNIVERSE: Always...

AUTHOR: Missy, OldTimeFan

EMAIL: None

PART: 1 of 1

RATING: PG-13 (Adult thematic material, language, sexual situations)

PAIRING(s): LDF/LK; SF/CR; RL/AS; FD/EB AF/OC

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 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, Drama

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: California, Post-I Do, I Don't

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, Always Something Else, Always Hide Your Waterballoons, Always Safe, Always Calm Before a Storm, Always Say You Love Me, Always Kiss Me Goodnight, Always Remember Walking in the Sand and Always Something There To Remind Me. Nineteenth in this continuity.

SPOILERS FOR:  The entire universe, I Do, I Don't.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY:  Christmas comes to (all three) towns, bringing surprises pleasant and unpleasant to all three of our couples.

***

Milwaukee

Lenny Kosnowksi winced as his wife finger-combed his shellacked hair.  “Vernie!” he whined.

“Wouldja stop acting like a big baby?” Laverne retorted.   He nearly-patiently waited for her to finish fooling around with his hair.  Finally she stepped up onto his sister’s front porch and smiled satisfactorily.  “There; now you look swell.”

He lifted his chin.  “Some of us don’t wake up beautiful every morning.”

She smiled and acted rather bashful, but Lenny knew what he said was the truth – he’d been waking up with her for two months now, not counting all the nights they’d been together without BEING together before their marriage.  That thought alone made him tingle all over.  

“Do you think your sister’ll like this?” Laverne worried, studying the two small festively-wrapped packages she held in her hand.  A tender smile crossed Lenny’s lips; he knew Laverne was less worried about impressing Emmy than keeping the peace.

“She’s been hinting around that she wanted those Patti Page albums all year, she’ll love ‘em,” Lenny insisted.  He admired his wife before knocking firmly on his sister’s front door.  Laverne looked terrific in her old California-days black checked mini-dress and new black peacoat – a thrift store cast-off they’d bought during a desperate, shivery November afternoon.  He sported his slowly-wearing-away highschool letterman jacket, which felt thin against the stiff December wind.  Lenny frowned as he recalled their predicament.  

The Dead Laslo’s property – which had floundered after Frank sold it to his cousin Gianni, who had drunk the place’s profits away – turned out to be something of a pariah with local real estate agencies.  Before he’d moved to California Frank had bought the restaurant back, closing it down temporarily until he could find able hands to run it.  Unfortunately in the months before the move they received lowball offers from all comers and all agents, who knew what a lousy location it was situated in.  His pride interfering, Frank let the property sitting vacant for three years.  And – Lenny knew this far too well – a lot had happened in the ensuing passage of time.

He and Laverne had been faced by the exact same problem as they’d made the round from agency to agency trying to sell the place.  Laverne’s years of studying Frank’s books hadn’t gone by in vain – she knew how much land was worth and how much the property could bring in once it was fixed up.  Despite this armament they met with huckster after huckster, offering them a thousand dollars less than what the land had been appraised for because of the building’s condition.  Their highest offer left them a thousand dollars short of the asking price for The Buttered Cocoon, and the owner refused to negotiate lower.  After endless meetings with real estate agents, Davy of the Buttered Cocoon, and public defenders trying to take their case, Lenny was starting to think that his wife’s arsonery idea was a wonderful one.

Lenny tried not to think of their financial predicament – and feel how light the wad of cash he’d lifted from Squiggy had gotten – but couldn’t help himself.  They had exactly five hundred dollars left; just enough to keep them in their motel room and feed them for the next three months.  They had cut down on all luxuries, bravely agreeing not to give each other gifts this Christmas or even splurge on a tree.  Times were tough all around, and their biggest splurges had been on a fifty-cent album for his sister and a ten-cent red tin fire truck for his nephew plus postage and paper for holiday cards.  Times were so slim that  Laverne had sent Shirley a handmade coupon book filled with stuff like “Mail Me to Laverne for one free hug.”  Lenny felt the anxious weight of the future on his shoulders.  They could never return to California, but where else could they go if they failed here?

The door swung open, and his nephew threw himself against Lenny’s middle.  “Uncle Len!” he squawked out happily, and when Lenny bent for a hug he was enveloped in the warm scent of eggnog and pencil shavings.  

He ceded the boy to Laverne, who also received a long hug.  “Hey, Mikey – merry Christmas!” she said jocularly.

“Merry Christmas,” he said quite politely, stuffing a sugar cookie into his mouth.  As Lenny entered his sister’s house, he marveled at how neat and homey it seemed, with Christmas cards draped everywhere, candles crackling on the mantle and a big fir tree settled right at the center of the room.   Gil had done well enough for himself before he left Lenny’s sister, and Emmy was taking full advantage of what money he’d left her.  He felt the scuff marks she’d made in the door while jimmying it open and felt another wave of pity for his poor sister.

Laverne was walking around the tree, studying all of the ornaments hanging on its branches.  She found an angel made out of egg cartons which Lenny had made in elementary school and fondled it gently, her smile nostalgic.  To avoid thinking of what her hands had done to his body this morning, he headed to the coffee table and grabbed a sleigh-shaped cookie, stuffing it into his mouth.

“Where’s your mom?” Lenny asked around the mouthful of sugar cookie.

“She’s taking a nap,” Mikey said wisely, his eyes glued to the TV.  Lenny saw Rudolph dance across the screen and was momentarily transfixed.  

“Lenny!” the squeak in his sister’s usually deep voice made him choke on the tidbit of cookie.  Turning, he saw Emmaline perched on the staircase, staring with wide-eyed fear at them all.  “You’re a little early…”

“The appointment with our lawyer got cancelled…” he pouted.  “Ain’t you happy to see us?”

“Ey, Emmaline!” came the sound of a strange man’s voice, “you out of the bathroom?”

A shaggy brown head peeped around the corner.  Laverne snickered.  Emmaline flushed.  Mikey stared at the TV.

Lenny grabbed a cookie angel off the table and bit its head off.

New York

“Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells…” Shirley sang to herself as she decorated the small fir tree in her tiny one-room apartment with silver tinsel.  Her cheery mood had been impenetrable for the past four weeks, due to her husband’s incredible good fortune.

It was still hard to believe.  HER HUSBAND HAD THE CO-LEAD IN CAMELOT!  And while he wouldn’t be acting opposite Julie Andrews nor Richard Burton, both of whom had left the production a month after he entered his understudy roll, he had been treading the boards at the Winter Garden for months to decent reviews and solid audiences.

Shirley tried not to worry about the future – right now, they were sipping the sweet champagne of success.  But deep down Shirley knew that the show rode on Carmine’s performance, and if it closed because of his lack of a name…

She pushed that thought aside. Catherine De Laxroix had plenty of star power – she and Carmine had gone to see one of her pictures on Shirley’s long-ago last night in Milwaukee, and from what she gathered of the plot between kisses the woman was a well-respected actress, though their brief meetings post-rehearsals and at cast parties had been simply and only cordial.  ‘

Shirley pushed it all aside.  The season was beautiful – everything was done for their celebration -  she had made the obligatory phone call to her mother and her packages and cards were wending their way to where they belonged.  She was off from Paws ‘N’ Claws until after New Year Day’s, and after Carmine finished the Christmas Eve matinee he was free until December 26^th.  That meant hours of free time to explore the city and be alone together…

Her front door burst open.  “Angelface!” Carmine shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls and making their neighbors shout and pound in response.  Shirley couldn’t wait to move, but they both thought it was best to sock away their money over the winter months and move somewhere fancier when snow wasn’t such a threat.  “How soon can you be ready?”

“Ready?” they hadn’t planned anything for the afternoon but a re-run of “It’s a Wonderful Life” and Chinese takeout.  

“Darling,” he said patiently, “tonight’s the cast party at Catherine’s place.”

She slapped her forehead.  “I completely forgot!” she rushed over to the closet and pulled out her best little black dress.  Swiftly taking off her sweatshirt and jeans, she donned her slip, and then turned around for Carmine to zip her up.  She smiled as he lingered over her exposed neck with his lips before accomplishing the task.  Shirley sat down and shimmied into some black stockings and shoved on her black pumps.  She watched him donning his cleanest sweater and khakis.  “Is it supposed to be fancy dress?”

“She told me semi-casual,” Carmine responded, as Shirley slipped on her sapphire pendant and gold communion watch.  She was such a stunning creature that he momentarily lost the ability to speak.

She supposed that meant fancy. “Do I look all right?” Shirley asked, playing with the freshly-cut ends of her bob.

“Better than all right,” he grinned, pulling her close.  “You’re a work of art, Angelface.”

She pecked him on the lips, then grabbed her jet beaded purse from the chest of drawers.  “I want to do you proud,” she said.

“You never fail me there, Angelface,” Carmine insisted.

A picture of elegant Catherine flashed through her mind.  Shirley forced a smile and grabbed her grey coat.  “We’ll see,” she said, betraying her nerves as she opened the door.

Two familiar faces stood on the doorstep.

“Mom?  Dad?” Carmine squeaked.

Burbank

“Would you like more tea, daddy?”

Bubba Wilson looked up from his cup and stared at his only daughter.  “I’m all right, Honeybell.”  Uncomfortably, he shifted his feet on his daughter’s bright pink hassock.  She had certainly done herself up to the nines in a red velveteen missus Clause outfit – with perhaps a little too much cleavage on display – and the apartment was alight with Christmas-related chotchkes.  But Bubba felt the strain of what he had been hiding building beneath his skin.

No – better to wait after the Holidays.  He concentrated on the nearly manic festiveness of his daughter as she shoved another piece of fruit cake beneath his nose.

“I’m really full now,” he smiled.  “Come on, sit with papa.”

Rhonda did as he requested, occupying the other end of the couch.  Her countenance showed a sober distance, and Bubba knew exactly who she missed, though he didn’t dare say it.

His daughter sure had started behaving strangely since that Squiggly fellow disappeared.  Bubba couldn’t make heads or tails their situation, but his leaving had sucked the air out of his daughter’s life – she seemed more lethargic now than she had been while wasting away of cancer.  

Rhonda headed toward the stove.  “I don’t want to overcook the turkey,” she said.  “Andy hates dry turkey…”

Bubba stared at the space between them.  There might as well be an ocean standing in the way..

Milwaukee

“Well, would ya look at what Santa delivered early,” said Laverne. “How’ve you been, Fonzie?”

Arthur Fonzerelli grinned at her, without even a glimmer of embarrassment at being caught in all his post-coital glory. “Hey! How you been, Laverne?” He winked and gave her a thumbs-up. “You’re looking great.”

“Aw, thanks, Fonz. What can I say; marriage agrees with me.” She was proud of herself for maintaining a level, conversational tone, even though inside her thoughts were screaming, Oh, my God, Emmy and the Fonz? Emmy’s getting it on with Fonzie? Oh, this is too good!

Fonzie shuddered. “I’m glad the – uh – M-word is working for you, kiddo. I’ll be right down, gotta go drain the fuel tank, if you know what I mean.” He headed for Emmaline’s bathroom, clad only in a very petite terrycloth towel. Despite herself, Laverne flashed back to an old makeout session with Fonzie and her face warmed at the memory.

Bad wife! she scolded herself, and looked to Lenny to dispel her adulterous thoughts. It was then she finally registered her husband’s less-than-cheery reaction at seeing the Elvis of Milwaukee again.

“Um, Lenny? Honey?” She put her hand on her husband’s shoulder, felt the bunched muscles. Uh, oh.

Lenny’s fist closed around the remainder of cookie in his hand. Crumbs sprinkled down from between his fingers onto the immaculately-vacuumed carpet like fairy dust. “Emmaline,” he said, from between clenched teeth. “You have something to tell us?”

Emmy’s face was beet-red. She drew the belt of her thick robe tighter around her middle and practically leapt down the staircase. “Lenny, Laverne, I…you’re early,” she repeated. Her eyes were round with panic.

“Apparently,” snickered Laverne. She knew it was rude, especially considering Lenny’s obvious anger at the situation, but she couldn’t help it. Emmy’s deer-in-the-headlights impression was delicious. Plus, she was more than a little happy to see that her lonely sister-in-law was getting some after being alone for so long. Some rolling in the proverbial hay with Fonzie could only improve her disposition.

“Yeah. We’re early,” said Lenny. “Didn’t realize you’d be taking a…nap.”

They both looked over at Mikey. Mikey, to his credit, kept his eyes glued to the television screen, though his awareness of the situation was obvious in the quick, short breaths that lifted and dropped his rounded shoulders. Laverne felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. He was a little too smart for his own happiness.

“Lenny, I, ah, heard. About the restaurant. You’re trying to sell?” Emmy spoke as if English had suddenly become her second language. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding their gazes entirely.

“Emmaline,” Lenny began, taking a step closer to his sister. “What exactly do you think you’re…?”

“Money!” Emmy exclaimed. She scooted across the living room, barely avoided the tree, and snatched her purse off the kitchen table. She opened it and started flinging items onto the table. “You’re just short on what you need for the Butter Cookie, right?”

“Buttered Cocoon,” Laverne corrected. She heard the shower turn on upstairs, followed closely by Fonzie’s enthusiastic, if somewhat off-key, rendition of Blue Christmas.

Lenny winced. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, talk. Talk’s cheap.” Emmy laughed, too loudly, and clawed out her checkbook. She yanked out a pen and flipped to a fresh check. “How much?”

“Mikey was right down here!” Lenny jabbed a forefinger at his nephew.

“Five grand.” Laverne was surprised at herself. She searched her soul for an ounce of shame at taking advantage of Emmy’s panicked state. None could be found.

Lenny shot her a look of wide-eyed disbelief. She shrugged.

“Five? Well, I don’t know if I can…how about a grand? Every little bit, right? No problemo.” Emmy grimaced, realizing she’d used a Fonzie-ism. Laverne rethought whether this was a one-night stand they’d walked in on. Maybe it was a two, or three-night stand. Maybe more?

Emmy scribbled away while Lenny clutched his head as though it might explode. “I mean, Fonzie, of all people? Really, Emmy. Really? Do you have any idea of his rep….”

“I’ve lived in Milwaukee a long time, Lenny.” Emmy slammed down her pen and tore off the check. She shoved it at him, her eyes flashing with defiance. “I’m not twelve, I’m not stupid, and I’m not looking for anything more than – that.” She nodded toward the upstairs bathroom, from which Fonzie’s triumphant final notes echoed.

Don’t think either of you will be having a blue anything, Laverne thought. She walked over to Lenny’s side.

“For Pete’s sake, Emmaline,” said Lenny, ignoring the check pressed against his chest. “You’re a mother!”

“Yeah, but she ain’t Mother Mary,” said Laverne. She locked eyes with Emmy and sent her moral support. Hell yes, Emmy could be a bitch on heels, but she’d had a tough time of it, and if Fonzie made that better, than more power to her.

Emmy blinked and her expressions softened. Her gratitude to Laverne evident, she handed her the check. “Merry Christmas. I’ll give you more if I get another nice dividend check for Christmas. My idiot husband at least knew how to invest. Oh, and you owe me a free cuppa for life.”

“Done and done,” said Laverne. She took the check and tucked it into her bra. “Why don’t you go on upstairs and finish…um…getting ready, and me and Len’ll keep Mikey company.”

“Wait! What?” Lenny’s gaze whipped from his wife to his sister and back again.

“Thank you, Laverne.” Emmy turned and headed back up the stairs.

“Hey!” Lenny called after her. “I wasn’t done!”

“Want me to get the oven pre-heated?” asked Laverne.

“Why, thank you, Laverne. That would be great.”

Lenny threw his hands up in the air. “I’m talking! I’m standing right here and words are coming out of my face!”

Laverne chuckled. She pulled her husband’s arms down by his sides and pushed him toward the kitchen. “And now you’re not.”

“But…she’s…with Fonzie!”

Laverne patted his back. The check scratched between her breasts in a comforting way. Nothing like a little guilt money to brighten the holidays.

***

New York

Carmine stared at his parents, blinked. No, they couldn’t really be there. Could they?

“Surprise!” Marie Ragusa threw her plump arms wide.

“Yeah. Surprise.” Berto Ragusa folded his arms and nodded once.

Carmine closed his eyes tightly. He opened them again. Nope, they weren’t his overactive imagination. Damn.

“Why, Mother Ragusa, Pappa,” said Shirley. Somehow less fazed than he by his parents’ wholly unexpected arrival, she hugged each in turn. First Marie, who squeezed his little wife so hard she gasped, then his father, who remained board-stiff in Shirley’s quick embrace.

“Ain’t you gonna invite us in?” Berto gave him the stink eye and just like that, Carmine felt ten again.

“Come,” he broke off and cleared the squeak out of his voice, “in. Come in.” Reluctantly, he stepped away from the threshold and let his parents enter.

“Merry Christmas. How’s my little star?” His mother was as round as she was tall, with a thatch of wild black curls framing her circular face. She radiated such pleasure at seeing him again that he wanted to run screaming into the night.

“Mamma, I’m fine.” He forced a smile. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Nice,” said his father. Berto was half-a-head taller than Carmine, with thin, steely gray hair and eyes so dark brown they appeared black. His expressions of dour disappointment hadn’t changed since Carmine failed to go into the family business, give up his dream of becoming an entertainer, or reach six feet in height. Berto sucked the air right out of the apartment, leaving Carmine short of breath.

“What I mean is, it’s such a tough drive from Brooklyn.”

“We took the subway,” said Berto. His eyes roamed the apartment before returning to Carmine’s face to declare their disapproval.

“The subway? On Christmas Eve? Oh, my.” Shirley hurried into the kitchenette and began rustling up mugs and coffee.

“Oh, it was no big deal,” said Marie.

“It’s a wonder no one mugged us,” said Berto. “Probably get us on the way home.”

Marie elbowed her husband in his lower ribs. “Stop it, you want we should be cursed?” She made “puh-puh” sounds and mock-spat between her index and middle fingers.

Please let me be dreaming. Carmine rubbed his eyes. “Why didn’t you call ahead?” he asked. “We would have,” made sure to have been out of here before you arrived, “met you at the station.”

Berto nodded down at his wife. “Your mother wanted we should surprise you for the holiday. You know, since you’ve been living here for months and somehow forgotten we lived a couple boroughs away.”

“Oh, Berto, stop it.” Marie smiled warmly at Shirley, who arrived with two mugs of coffee that she handed to her in-laws. “Thank you, sweetie. You sure you’re not a little Italian?”

Shirley shrugged. “Still Irish I’m afraid.”

“Yet such good manners.” Marie took her mug and sipped. “Mm, Chock Full o’ Nuts. So fancy! My sweet boy must be taking good care of you.”

“I can’t complain, Mamma Ragusa.” Shirley smiled, but her eyes sought out Carmine’s. He read the obvious question in them, what do we do now about the party?

“I wanted to bring you a bracciole for dinner, but your father here,” Marie shot Berto a mock-angry look, “he was afraid the muggers would see us carrying Tupperware and attack us.”

“I told you, those goombas don’t know it’s only a roast you’re carrying. They see anything in your hands, well, you’re just asking for it.”

Carmine tried to take a deep breath. It didn’t work. “Well, I’m afraid we weren’t prepared for a big dinner or anything tonight, so….”

“That’s okay, mio.” Marie pinched his cheek. “We’re just fine sitting with you and sipping this rich man’s coffee and hearing all about your little show.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So. You’re really making some money off that thing you do.” Berto sat down on the sofa and took a sip of coffee. He shook his head. “Your cousin Paulie’s buying a house after the holidays, what with all the money he’s made drywalling.”

I’m in hell. I’ve died and gone to hell. “Pappa, we’re not going to have this conversation again, are we?”

“What conversation?” Berto shrugged, but his gaze was steady, cold. “I’m just making small talk about our family business and your cousin’s incredible success that could’ve been yours, that’s all.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. Shirley broke it mercifully. “I have cookies! I forgot, they’re in the cupboard, I’ll go get them.” She turned and hurried into the kitchenette again.

“Ooo, what kind?” Marie bounced after her. “Almond? Sesame?”

“I think they’re Chips Ahoy.”

“A brand from the store? Oh, my.” She shot Carmine a proud look. “I should’ve dressed up more.”

Carmine gave her a wan smile, watched her disappear around the corner with Shirley. He was left standing in front of his father. A floorboard squeaked under his feet as he shifted his weight back and forth, and he vainly hoped the floor would collapse beneath him, swallowing him whole. “So,” he said.

“So.” Berto put his coffee cup down on their wobbly coffee table.

Carmine sighed. “Pappa, I’m sorry we haven’t come by for a visit. I’ve just been so busy with the show, and Shirley’s working most days.”

“Whoa, hold up there.” Berto blinked a Morse code of shock. “Did you say Shirley is working?”

“Um, yeah. Just afternoons, mostly. She’s helping out at a vet’s, she loves animals, and….” Carmine could hear himself babbling.

His father cut him off. “Your wife is working. I thought you landed this big part in a big show. What are you, volunteering?”

Carmine felt his blood pressure rise. He forced his clenched jaw muscles to work. “No, Pappa. I’m in a major Broadway production and I’ve got a great role. I’ve only had it for a few…”

“So then why is your wife not keeping your house or giving you a son? Instead she’s playing with animals?”

“She’s not play…look.” Carmine pointed to his chest. “I’m supporting my family just fine. It’s just until we get a little more in the bank, and then we’ll be shopping for houses like Paulie. Bigger than Paulie’s, trust me.” Carmine felt ashamed of himself for falling into his father’s game of one-upmanship, but he couldn’t stop himself. Berto could always bring out the worst in him with a single frown of disapproval.

“This is how we taught you?” Berto looked heavenward. “You take a boy to work since he can crawl, show him all the ins and outs of a nice, family business, offer it to him on a silver platter, and what?” He returned his obsidian eyes to Carmine’s. “He watches a few too many Fred Kelly and Gene Astaire movies with his mamma and suddenly the basics ain’t good enough no more.”

“It’s Gene Kelly and Fred…never mind.” Carmine pointed to his watch. “I’m not having this conversation with you again. We both know how it goes. You remind me that I’m wasting my life, I tell you to mind your business, Mamma cries, and we part company.” He heard Shirley and his mother come back into the room, but it was too late. His dander was up and he couldn’t reign in his words. “Let’s try this, Pappa. Why don’t we just skip to the part where you leave in a huff, so my wife and I can go to the red carpet soiree we were scheduled to go to before you decided to show up uninvited!”

“Carmine!” Shirley sounded horrified.

“No, no, Shirley darling, it’s all right.” Marie sniffled as she placed the plate of chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table. “If Carmine wants us to go, we’ll go. Come on, Berto.”

“Nice, very nice.” Berto stood up, gestured to his wife. “You made your mother cry for Christmas. Hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“As a matter of fact, I am,” said Carmine. He realized how that sounded and backpedaled. He took his mother’s hand and kissed it. “Not for making you cry, Mamma, never for that. I love you.” He glared at his father. “I’m proud of myself for landing a lead role in Camelot. I’m proud of myself for following my dreams through good and bad and finally making it. I’m proud of my beautiful, supportive wife and the life we’re enjoying together. And I’m really, really proud,” he paused to straighten to his full height and glare at his father, “that I didn’t just blindly follow in your caulk and paint-stained footsteps.”

Berto laughed without humor. “Oh, you got that right, sonny. You tappity-danced off down your own road. Bravo.” He snatched his wife’s hand. “Come on, Marie, we’re not welcome here.” He nodded curtly to Shirley. “Thank you for the coffee, little Mrs. And God help you.” He pulled Marie toward the door.

Carmine turned away, his chest heaving with emotion. It had to be said, he comforted himself. His father was long overdue for a talking to. So why did he feel like he’d just lived down to all Berto’s worst opinions?

“Wait!” Shirley’s voice; unusually firm and angry. “No one is going anywhere, not like this!”

Carmine looked over at her. The determination on her face stunned him into silence. Even Berto hesitated in his rush for the door.

Shirley planted her fists on her hips. “The party can wait,” she said to Carmine. Directing her gaze at Berto, she added, “Your hurt feelings can wait, too. This family is going to sit down and work some things out, before it is too late.”

“Too late happened a long time ago,” muttered Berto.

“On that we agree,” said Carmine. “Shirley, please, I know you mean well, but there really isn’t any point.”

“Bull,” she began, then caught Marie’s expression and amended, “pucky. Now, sit down. All of you!”

Carmine couldn’t believe his eyes. His father glanced down into his mother’s round face. At her nod, he followed her back to the sofa and they sat. There truly is no escaping this night, he realized, his stomach sinking to his toes.

“Now, Pappa,” said Shirley. “Why don’t you begin?”

***

Burbank

Rhonda nearly bit her tongue. What did she care the kind of turkey Andy preferred? It wasn’t like he was coming over. She didn’t invite him. He hadn’t called. So it could be dry like paste, for all his opinion mattered.

But what if he does drop by? Would that be so bad? She bit the inside of her lip.

“Rhonda? Darlin’?” Her father waved a hand in front of her eyes, startling her out of her reverie.

“Fork,” she said, absently. Shaking her head, she started up again. “I forgot to give you a fork for the cake. I’ll be right….”

“No!” The vehemence in Bubba’s voice made her blink. He lowered his head and said in a quieter tone, “Honeybell, we need to talk. I can tell you’ve got the jitters and I think I know why.”

Rhonda sighed. It wasn’t like her father to be insightful, most of the time, but every so often he surprised her. A lot like a certain someone else she knew and, despite all her better instincts, missed like hell. “Rhonda’s sorry, daddy. You’re right, something is on Rho…my mind.”

Bubba cleared his throat. “All righty, then. I was gonna wait until after the holidays, but I can see that ain’t gonna work.”

Rhonda felt her lower lip tremble. “I wish mamma could’ve come with you,” she blurted. He looked as though she’d kicked him in the shin and amended, “I mean, I really appreciate your wanting to hear about all my silliness, but it’s more a woman’s conversation.”

Bubba muttered something she couldn’t make out. It sounded like an apology. She patted his knee. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not your fault Aunt Double-wide fell.” ‘Double-wide’ was the family nickname for her mother’s fifth-younger sister, who was the size of a…well, a full-figured woman. “Mamma had to take care of her for the holidays.”

“Yeah,” said Bubba, “I suppose we should start with that.”

Rhonda wasn’t sure what he meant, but all of her feelings were bubbling up so fast that she had to let them out. Even if it was to her questionably ethical, rarely-seen father. “Oh, daddy, I miss him so!”

Bubba looked away. “I’m really sorry, Honeybell, If there was any…wait. Him?” He looked up at her, face crinkled in confusion. “Him who?”

“Andy! My little Andy-Pandy.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Daddy, I just got so – mad. No, not that so much, more like – disappointed? My feelings are all mixed up and I’m not even sure now what I really want.”

Bubba let out his breath with a whoosh. Rhonda wondered why he’d been holding it. “You’re talking about the Squigman boy. I thought you two were peas in a pod?”

“We were.” Rhonda blinked and a tear rolled down her cheek. She was thankful for her waterproof mascara. “Then I let my imagination go wild. He did something and the more I thought about it, the more he started to remind me of y…er, qualities in a man that I don’t…that trouble me. I started to think that maybe I was staying with him out of gratitude and that’s not really fair to him, right?”

“T’ain’t fair to you, neither, darlin’.”

“No, it isn’t. But I was harsh and he looked so, so sad. I really think he wanted to make it right, but I didn’t give him the chance. Instead of encouraging him, I tossed him out.” She reached for a napkin imprinted with a wreath and daubed away her tears.

Bubba reached for her. She only hesitated a moment before sinking into his arms. For all his faults, he was her daddy and he was here for her now. She appreciated it more than she dared realize.

Bubba stroked her hair. “Honeybell, why don’t you call Andy up and tell him you’ve got some regrets. Boy’d probably be at your door in two shakes.”

She sniffled against her father’s shoulder. “How do I know if I’m doing the right thing, daddy? He’s still basically the same guy, even if he’s sorry about one thing. What happens when he plays dirty the next time? Do I want the same kind of life that….”

Bubba sighed. “That your mamma put up with?” he finished. She knew she should correct him, make him think she meant something else, but the excuse just wouldn’t come. “S’okay, I know I ain’t been an exemplary sort. Your mamma was right to….”

Rhonda waited. When her father didn’t continue, she pulled back and sat up to look at him. His face was red and somber. “Mamma was right to what, daddy?”

“Never mind that right now.”

Fear blossomed in her stomach. “Are you and mamma – is there a problem?”

He looked down at the floor and squirmed. “Your mamma just needed a little break from me, that’s all.”

“What?” Rhonda sprang up from the sofa. “I thought she was taking care of Aunt Double-wide! Are you saying…did she leave you?”

Bubba wouldn’t look at her. It was answer enough. “But why?” Rhonda squeaked. “After all these years, why now?”

Her father’s shoulders slumped. He looked up at her with an expression of utter defeat. “I messed up but good, Honeybell,” he said. “You’ve heard of final straws? Well, I snapped mine and ground it underfoot.”

Rhonda’s heart drummed in her chest. She searched her memory for all the shenanigans her father had ever participated in. There were some doozies, to be sure, but her mother, although she’d shaken her head and scolded him, had never, ever packed up her bag. What would it take to drive her away? Rhonda was too frightened to ask.

“Here’s the thing,” Bubba began.

The doorbell rang. Twice.

They both jumped at the sudden interruption. Rhonda backed away from her father. “You’re not finished,” she told him, blotting away the last of her tears.

“I only wish,” he sighed.

She turned away from him and faced her front door. After taking a moment to compose herself, she opened it.

Andrew Squigman stood framed in her doorway. His eyes were bright. In one hand, he held an enormous bouquet of roses. In the other, he clutched a sheaf of papers.

“Andy,” Rhonda’s breath caught in her throat. She was momentarily elated, before confusion set in. “What are you doing here? I didn’t….”

“Rhonda!” he exclaimed, waving the papers under her nose. “Oh, boy, are you gonna be proud of me!”

***

Milwaukee

By the time Emmaline and Fonzie made their way back downstairs, Laverne and Lenny had heated up the ham and fixings, scrounged up a bottle of wine for the table and opened a bottle of grape juice for Mikey.   Lenny gave his sister a disapproving glance as she barreled into the room, still fluffing her bouffant.

“Mikey, it’s time for supper,” Emmaline said briskly.  “Thank you so much, guys,” she smiled, seeming not to notice her son’s anxious expression as he ambled up to the table.  She briefly caught her brother’s gaze and looked guiltily back down at the plate.  Despite himself, Lenny realized his sister didn’t look too bad - she wore her nicest dress, an old green thing that had been very chic ten years ago.

Fonzie smoothly slipped behind her, pulling out the kitchen chair and gesturing for her to sit.  “Ladies’ first,” he smiled, then in an additional gesture of suavity pulled out Laverne’s chair as well.  Lenny glared at his wife’s ex - and his sister’s current – intended..ewww, better not think about that knot.  Fonzie gallantly ignored Lenny’s challenging glare and settled down beside Emmy.  “Nice lookin’ spread,” he complimented.  “Smells good, too!  You could make Missus C. jealous, Em.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Emmy blushed.  “Wait until you taste it…” She shot her brother a challenging look before taking the two hands offered to her.  “Would anyone like to lead the prayer?”

Laverne dove in swiftly.  “Dear God, thank you for giving us this…stuff..and the stuff we got all year.  Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed everyone else, and Emmy began to pass around the platter of ham.  Dinner began in silence, amended only by Lenny’s aggressive cutting of his meat.  

His head was a foggy swirl of anger.  Why, he wondered, had Emmy fought so hard against his marrying Laverne, only to turn around and throw herself at Fonzie?  Girls had forever been an unsolvable puzzle to Lenny, but his prim and proper, moral sister who had only ever lived to take care of people had always been the exception to that rule.  Now – he glanced at her again, as she sipped flirtatiously at her wine while making goo-goo eyes at Fonzie – who the hell knew?  

A soft laugh made him scrape his knife against the plate, sending a bone-rattling squeak through the room.  “What’s funny?” Lenny snapped, hating having every eye in the room on him.

“I was just thinking back to Christmases past.” Emmaline said, straining for sisterly conviviality. “Lenny, remember the monster in the malteds?”

It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place the words and shrugged noncommittally.    

“On Christmas Eve,” Emmy continued, “daddy always took us to Uncle Laslo’s diner for hamburgers and malteds.”

“Nuh uh!  I never met Uncle Laslo!” Lenny cut in firmly.

Emmy shook her head.  “You were very young when Daddy stopped taking us – he and Uncle Laslo had a terrible fight when you were nine….Anyway, I would always tease you that there were evil monsters in your vanilla malt and you had to drink it down before he got you.”

The memory made Lenny smile, despite himself – though he had no real memory of Laslo, he did recall that game.  “Remember how the place’d clear out when I’d yell, ‘I’m killin’ him, Em!  I’m killin’ him!’?”

While the Kosnowskis shared a fond chuckle, Laverne and Fonzie shot one another glances of mild concern.

“Those were good times,” Emmy said fondly.    

“Yeah,” Lenny agreed.  “Too bad they’re gonna be over soon…”  For the first time ever, he thought of that old cruddy diner and got nostalgic.  “S’for the best.  Me and Laverne ain’t got the cash or the knowhow to turn it around.”

Emmy’s expression turned thoughtful.  “No, you don’t…but I might,” she reached out to Laverne.  “Give me back the check?”

Reluctantly – and with some embarrassment – Laverne reached into her brassiere and pulled out the check.  Emmy seized it and ripped it up.

His wife stood in her place, sputtering.  “But – but b-…”

“How much are you asking for Dead Laslos’?” Emmy asked, grabbing her purse from the counter behind her and rediscovering her checkbook.

Laverne was wide-eyed, unable to collect herself, so Lenny said, “Ten thou.  That’ll cover the turnover fee and get us overhead payed off of the Buttered Cocoon.”

Emmy had seized her discarded checkbook.  She glanced quickly at the balance.  A grin spread across her face.  

“If I add up all of the money Gil stashed away in the Alaskan and Caribbean accounts, that’s exactly how much I have left!”

Laverne had rescued herself from her mental netherworld.  “Whatt’re you gonna do with Dead Laslos?” she asked.

“Hire some contractors to fix it up and then run it, of course,” Emmaline scoffed.

Lenny blinked.  “Em, what do you know about running a restaurant?”  

Emmy drew herself up to her full six-foot height.  “What do you know about running a coffee joint?  At least I have years of kitchen experience,” she pointed out, her chin lifted in a display of arrogance.  “And I ain’t gonna let another piece of Kosnowski history disappear – if I fix this one up, I’ll be able to give it to Mikey when he’s older.  And this way you and Laverne can make your own memories.”   She scribbled out the amount and handed it to Laverne, who had regained her cool, a look of relief passing over her features.  “I’ll buy Dead Laslos off of you, and you take the cash and get your Butter Cookie place.  Do we have a deal?”

Lenny glanced at his wife.  Dreams danced in her eyes.  He offered his hand.  “Put ‘er there, sis.”

Fonzie rose.  “To Dead Laslo’s Place and The Buttered Cocoon!  Two new joints that’re gonna make Milwaukee a swell place to live again!”

“And,” Emmy said forwardly, “to love,” she said, standing and pecking Fonzie on the cheek.

“To love,” Laverne echoed happily, squeezing Lenny’s right hand.  They pecked each other on the lips before toasting with his sister’s wine.  When he turned to Mikey, Lenny finally noticed how pale his nephew had gotten.  He reached over and squeezed Mikey’s hand, and the boy smiled and sipped his grape juice, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes.

New York

Silence filled the tiny apartment, as all four members of the Ragusa family stared into space – to better avoid speaking to each other.  Berto glared at Shirley, crossing arms over his chest.  “I said I don’t have nothing to say.”

Carmine glared over at Berto, sitting proud to better match his height.  “I don’t have anything to say to you, either, old man.”

“That’s too bad,” Shirley firmly stated, grabbing them both by the ears and then dragging them closer to each other on the sofa, “because you’re going to sit here until you come up with something,” she smiled at Marie, who had been watching the events play out with wide, frightened eyes.  “Come on, Mama,” she said warmly.  “We’ll watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.”

“Is that on?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Shirley said firmly, “if we look for LONG enough, we should find it.”

Grumbling came from beside her but, Shirley noted, neither man had moved from the chairs.  She really was a born leader, Shirley congratulated herself as she fiddled with the tinfoil-wrapped rabbit ears.  

“Look,” Carmine said, “the only way she’s gonna let us get out of here is if we talk.”

“Fine.  You start.”

“Boys,” Shirley said flatly, “I don’t care which one of you begins – the important thing is to start talking.  Mama, I’m going to make some popcorn…”

“Do you have Jiffy Pop?” Marie wondered.  Shirley nodded as she walked over to and began rifling through the cupboard.  “Such a wonderful life you have,” she smiled, without an ounce of insincerity.

Berto snorted – and Carmine pointed accusingly.  “You see?”  he stuck out his chin.  “No matter what I say, no matter what I do, It ain’t good enough for him!”

“Maybe that’s because it ain’t!”

“Pappa – Carmine,” Shirley was between them in an instant, before it could come to blows, “whatever happened to the two of you?  When Carmine and I were younger, you were so close…”

“That was before,” Berto said sharply, “this one started hanging out with hoods and common criminals after school!”  He glared.  “You never cared for the honest way!  Always, it had to be the easiest path, no matter how dangerous…”

“That’s what upsets you,” Shirley declared.  “You were afraid he was going to get hurt.”

Berto locked his jaw and looked down.  “It happened, didn’t it?” he asked.  “He almost died on the street ‘cause of some punk’s gun.”

Carmine turned pasty.  “Dad, that didn’t have anything to do with who I used to do business with,” he said, perhaps too quickly.  

“You had it coming,” Berto declared.  “After all of those deals you made back in Milwaukee – who knows what price is out on your head?”

Shirley intervened quickly, seeing Carmine’s skin turn almost translucent.  “But you’re so upset because you don’t want Carmine to be hurt.”

Berto shuffled his feet.  “Maybe.”

“And you only want to make your father happy,” Shirley said.

“Maybe,” Carmine responded, looking down at his feet.

Shirley plunked the Jiffy Pop container on the stove.  “That’s a start,” she declared.

The two men glowered at each other, the girls’ words a life sentence.

The popcorn exploded to life in its tinfoil covering.

Burbank

“So,” Squiggy concluded breathlessly, “that’s what I done,” he took a long draught of eggnog from his cup.

Bubba couldn’t stop himself from exhaling a low, sliding whistle.  “That’s a lot of charity for one night, boy.”

Squiggy tilted his head.  “It ain’t charity.  It’s…what I owe people,” he declared grandly.  

Both men glanced at Rhonda, who had sat patiently as he listed off the wonderful deeds he had done for Laverne, Lenny, Shirley and Carmine.  “Andy,” she began, “you’ve made some wonderful gestures tonight….it’s a lot for Rhonda to think about.”

He lurched over the hassock, grabbing her around the wrist and jostling the mugs of eggnog sitting there.  “Don’t think,” he encouraged, “just do what comes natural.”  

Impulsively, Rhonda did that – reaching over the cushion and kissing his lips.  When they parted, the look was one of shared surprise at the tenderness they experienced.  They were both unaware of the ringing doorbell and Bubba, unwilling to break the mood, got up and answered it himself.

What stood there on the doorstep provided his biggest shock of the night.

New York

Carmine jumped at the bang of the popcorn. To his surprise, he saw his father also flinch. Their eyes met and mutual embarrassment made them shrink back against the sofa cushions.

Shirley hummed loudly in the kitchen, pretending like she was no longer listening, though the distance between their kitchen and living room was next to nothing. Still, Carmine appreciated her giving him and his father the illusion of privacy.

“Little jumpy, eh?” Berto said.

“Like son, like father.” Carmine folded and unfolded his hands in his lap. “Look, I appreciate you worrying about me, but I’m not that dumb teenager you remember. I’m not funding my dreams with get-rich-quick schemes and shady deals no more.” The fib made his throat constrict. He was hardly a teenager when he’d joined Anthony in that alleyway, but his father didn’t need to know the details about that. Still, Carmine knew, and his shame was palpable.

“Carmine, is it so wrong that I wanted a nice, safe, secure life for you?” Berto cupped Carmine’s chin in his palm. “You’re my only boy, my figlio. I just don’t understand why you want such the crazy things.”

“Poppa.” Exasperated, and not a little guilty, Carmine pulled away from his father and stood up. “I know that a son who sings and dances for a living was never what you had in mind for me, but I love it. I do. Why didn’t what I want ever count to you?”

“It counted! It counts!” Berto’s hands waved as though conducting an invisible orchestra. “Look, you got talent, I know that. I saw the recitals your mamma dragged me to. You’re good!” He shrugged and tilted his head to one side, studying Carmine as though he were only seeing him for the first time. “You’re better’n good. You’re like that Tonio Bennett fella.”

Carmine blinked. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he stammered.

“That wasn’t never the point.” Berto stood up and rested his hands on Carmine’s shoulders. “Carmine, you don’t have babies yet. Yet!” He raised his right hand and eyes heavenward, as if reassuring God that it was only a matter of time. Then he looked back into Carmine’s eyes. “You will, though, God willing, and when you do, you’ll understand. You’ll want their lives to be easy, easier than yours, and safe. And if one of them has wacky dreams and does crazy, dangerous things to make them happen, you’ll know why.”

“Why what?” Carmine could hardly breathe.

“Why your old poppa worried at you all the time. Why he nagged and pushed and tried to shake some sense into you.” His father shook him, but not very hard.

Carmine couldn’t meet Berto’s gaze. Words spilled out before he could censor them. “Poppa, I might not have any kids – yet – but I do understand. I’m scared, I’m worried and I’m scared all the time now. I hear gunshots every time I go outside. I see Shirley taken away from me a thousand different ways in my head. Everyday. I dream and I’m always in an alley and I wake up and I run past them on my way to work.” He raised his eyes and saw surprise in his father’s expression.

“Carmine, that’s no way to live. Trust me, I know.” Berto patted his cheek and Carmine pressed his face against his father’s rough, warm hand. “Did I teach you this, boy? Is this the lesson you learned? Cause if it is, then….” He shook his head and pulled Carmine close.

Carmine closed his eyes. His father hadn’t hugged him since he was a child. He hadn’t wanted that kind of closeness from the old man; hadn’t expected or needed it since then.

He clung to his father like he was eight again. Then it was because he had flown off the handlebars of his cousin’s bike when they hit a pothole, and his father had come sprinting out of the house moments after Carmine’s cry of pain rent the quiet Sunday morning in their old neighborhood. His father had wrapped him in his strong arms and carried him back to the house, where his mother took over cleaning his scraped knees and bloodied palms. But it had been his father’s warm embrace that had made his tears dry up, soothed his pain, and made him feel safe again.

The memory shocked him with its vividness. It had been easy to forget what his father’s love felt like, considering the years of disapproval and disappointment that had intervened. Now that he felt it again, he desperately didn’t want it to end.

The doorbell rang.

Reluctantly, Carmine pulled away from his father. He sniffed and widened his eyes, to dry them out before tears could escape. “I better see who that is,” he mumbled.

Berto gave him a knowing smile and ruffled his curls. “Yeah, you better go do that, mio.”

Carmine went to the door. He cleared his throat and said, “Who is it?” as he peered through the peephole.

“Delivery for Carmine and Shirley Ragusa.” The blue uniformed man on the other side looked official enough. Carmine undid the three locks on the apartment door (one standard, two he’d added himself) and opened the door.

The blue uniformed man doffed his hat, then pushed a large cart of covered silver platters into the apartment. “Whoa, what’s all this?” Carmine asked.

The delivery man pulled a card out of his pocket. “Dear Big Raccoon,” he said, and Carmine instantly knew who it was from, “Congratulations on finally making it to the big, Wide Way.” The delivery man paused to roll his eyes. “His words, not mine, sir.”

“I get that.”

“To continue: I know Shirley probably misses us all being together on Christmas, and since her cooking ain’t so great….”

“Hey!” said Shirley. She walked in from the kitchen, giving up her charade of being out of earshot. Marie Ragusa giggled in the background.

“I wanted you guys to have a nice Christmas feast of your own to celebrate the holiday and all your success. Just have Shirley set up her dollies and pretend they’re Laverne, Lenny, Rhonda, etcetera and it’ll be like we’re all there. Enjoy. From, Your Sort of Friend, Squiggy.”

“Squiggy?” said Berto. “What’s a Squiggy?”

“It’s a pig’s tail,” explained Carmine. He chuckled. “And a sort of friend of ours.”

“Oh.” Berto muttered something in Italian.

Shirley appeared at Carmine’s side. With each lid the uniformed delivery man removed from the platters, her mouth formed a larger and larger O shape. Carmine couldn’t blame her. There was an entire glazed ham studded with pineapple rings, a succulent turkey with stuffing overflowing its innards, golden roasted potatoes, green beans shimmering with butter and sparkling with almonds, a chocolate layer cake emblazoned with a sugared, green tree…Carmine had never seen such a spread in his life.

He looked at Shirley and she shrugged. “I guess…Squiggy was feeling…generous?”

“Geeze, I hope he’s not sick or anything.”

“Carmine! What a thing to say.” She watched as a plate of petit fours was uncovered. “Oh, dear, he must be dying.”

Carmine blinked at her. She covered her mouth and giggled. “Well, it isn’t like him, now, is it.”

He laughed with her. “No, it sure isn’t!” He reached in his pocket and pulled out several dollar bills. He gave them to the delivery man. “Have a merry Christmas, buddy. Thanks.”

The guy looked at the bundle in his palm and tipped his hat to Carmine and Shirley. “Thank you, sir. Hope you enjoy it.”

As Carmine closed the door behind the delivery man, he heard his father say, “Kinda generous with the tip, eh, son?”

Carmine turned back to Berto with a smile. “Hey, I was that guy for a long time. Trust me, he’s earning it.”

Carmine put his arm around Shirley’s slim shoulders. They faced his parents across the cart of food. He squeezed his wife once and she nodded in reply – no further discussion was necessary. “So, mamma, pappa,” said Carmine, “looks like we’ve got a Christmas dinner ready after all. Hope you aren’t too disappointed we won’t be just dining on Jiffy Pop.”

“But I thought you have a big, fancy party to get to,” said Marie. “We don’t want to impose.”

“It isn’t an imposition,” said Shirley. She looked at Carmine and smiled. “Family comes first.”

“Exactly.” Carmine dragged his eyes away from his wife’s luminous face and looked at each of his parents in turn. There’d be plenty of other parties. How many more Christmas dinners would he have with his folks? It had already been too many years since the last one and he knew all too well that the future couldn’t be assumed. No, he had to take this opportunity, just as he’d taken the one that led to Camelot, and, most importantly, the one that had led to making Shirley his wife. “Carpe diem, or should I say, carpe dinnerum?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Berto.

“It means I’m gonna help my wife set the table and then we’re going to have us a proper Christmas dinner. The way families should.” Carmine smiled at his father. “Merry Christmas, Pappa.”

Berto smiled, the unfamiliar expression highlighting the creases and crags of his face. “You maybe could get your mother and me some tickets to that Camelot show of yours sometime?”

Carmine nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. Shirley squeezed his hand, reading his emotions perfectly as usual. “I think that can be arranged,” she said.

The first annual Ragusa family dinner continued on without a single hitch.

Burbank

“Ma!” cried Rhonda.

Her mother stood in the threshold. She flung her arms wide and said, “My baby girl!”

She barreled past Bubba and she and Rhonda fell together in an embrace. Squiggy grinned proudly at the sight. He glanced over at Bubba. His smile faded as he took in Rhonda’s father’s expression. Uh, oh, he thought, I think I missed something.

Bubba looked as though the Ghost of Christmas Past had just walked in. Squiggy wondered if the old guy was about to have an attack of some sort.

Rhonda and her mother squealed, embraced, and twirled into the apartment. It wasn’t until their second revolution that Rhonda’s mother caught sight of Bubba hovering in the background. She froze, leaving Rhonda to complete the rotation alone.

Rhonda looked at her suddenly empty arms in confusion. Her smile twitched away. “Ma, what is it?” She looked over at her father, then back at her mother.

The looks her parents were exchanging could’ve scared off an entire platoon. Squiggy’s heart sank. This was supposed to be his grand finale, his big finish, the final cherry on his gift giving cake. “Uh, surprise?” he said.

“It sure enough is,” said Rhonda’s mother. She glared at Bubba, even as she extended her hand to Squiggy. “Mr. Squigman, is it? I’m Ellie Sue. I understand I’ve got you to thank for my trip to see my beautiful daughter?”

“Andy, you arranged for my mother to come for Christmas?” Rhonda tore her eyes away from the flames shooting between her parents and looked at him with unabashed affection. “What a wonderful, thoughtful surprise.”

“Well, I knew you was missing your mommy, and it being Christmas and all…family time…that kinda stuff.” Squiggy gulped. “I thought it’d be nice if you had…uh…both your parents together here for the holiday.”

“You thought wrong,” Bubba muttered.

“But his heart was in just the right spot,” said Ellie May, staring daggers at her husband. “I’m guessing you didn’t tell our sweetie girl, did you?” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I didn’t see a reason to ruin her Christmas!” snapped Bubba. “But I guess there ain’t no way around it now.”

Oh, I screwed up, thought Squiggy, I screwed up so bad.

Rhonda took her mother’s hand, reached for her father’s. He kept it firmly by his side. Her face crumpled. “Would one of you please explain what is going on here?” She sounded like a lost little girl. Squiggy longed to take her in his arms and run from what was about to happen. He’d witnessed the scene about to play out too many times as a boy, between his own parents. He knew how bad it was going to get.

“Rhonda, sweetie girl, your father and I aren’t together anymore,” said Ellie May.

Rhonda’s mouth fell open. “I…what? Why? Since when?”

Ellie May glared at Bubba. “Oh, not since he lost our farm and all our worldly possessions in his latest screw-up-quick scheme.”

“What!” Rhonda clapped her hands over her mouth. “Daddy, no!”

Bubba hung his head. At least he had the good grace to look guilty. That was better than Helmut had ever mustered whenever he got caught. “Rhonda, I swear, I had no idea,” said Squiggy. “I’d’ve never arranged this if I’d known.”

She waved away his concern. “I know that, Andy. You were trying to be sweet.” She focused on her parents. “Daddy, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Like what?” He kicked at the carpet. “How was I supposed to tell you I bet the farm and lost it? Not to mention drove your mamma away. I couldn’t break your heart, baby, not after all you been through, not while you were having your own romance problems.”

Rhonda choked back a response. She turned to her mother. “You really left him?”

Ellie May nodded. “Packed up and moved in with your Auntie Double-Wide. I couldn’t take any more, darlin’. He flushed away everything we ever worked for, your inheritance, for another handful of magic beans.” She all but spat the last in Bubba’s direction.

“Hey, if that invention had worked out, we’d be rolling around like pigs in shit right now!” Bubba said.

“We’re in the shit, all right,” snapped Ellie May.

“Stop it!” Rhonda clapped her hands over her ears.

Squiggy wanted to curl up into a ball and roll far, far away. His most important present, and it was turning out so, so wrong. He had to be able to fix it, somehow….

He rummaged in his pocket for the sheaf of papers on which he’d written out all his goodwill gift plans. He flipped past the invoice for dinner for Carmine and Shirley, the one for the tree delivery that Lenny and Laverne would awaken to tomorrow morning, the airline info that had brought Ellie May to Rhonda’s door…nothing. He was out of plans, out of ideas.

But not out of dough.

Squiggy pulled out his bank book from his leather jacket pocket and read the contents. It was still pretty flush, even after all his generosity. But would it be enough?

Rhonda’s parents were still sniping at each other, while his poor beloved stood between them, struggling to play peacemaker. Squiggy leapt to her side, waving his bank book like a white flag. “Wait, hang on, shut up a minute!” he cried.

Ellie May and Bubba looked at him, as did Rhonda. “Thank you very much,” he said. “Now listen, you two. I need to know; do you guys hate each other? Really?”

Ellie May looked startled. Bubba just hung his head. “How could I hate her?” he asked. “After all, I’m the one what drove her away. It’s my fault.”

Ellie May bit back whatever response she’d planned. After a moment, she said, “I’ve been with this idiot since I was in pigtails,” she said. “It’d be easier if I could hate him, but….” She trailed off.

Good. So there was a chance. “Listen, Bubba my man, I know what it’s like to mess up big time. I’m kind of a pro at it.” He felt Rhonda’s hand squeeze his shoulder and reached up to pat it. “Now, now, sweetheart, you know it’s true.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” said Rhonda, without bitterness.

“Oh.” Squiggy cleared his throat. “Anywho, money is money and family is family. Money can be fixed. Family – well, that part’s harder.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” asked Bubba.

Squiggy pointed to his bank book. “How much you in the hole for?”

Bubba stared at the bank book like it was a life preserver. “Twenty five large,” he said.

“Twenty....” Squiggy choked on his own spit. That was darned near every cent he had left. He recovered enough to continue. “So, if you were to repay that to the bank, would they give you your farm back?”

“I suppose they just might.”

“That’d be lovely,” said Ellie May, “that way, he can flush it away again on some other ridiculous plan.”

“No I wouldn’t!” protested Bubba. “You think this old dog can’t be taught, but believe you me, I got this lesson. This would be the rock bottom for me, Ellie May. I lost everything that matters in the world – my farm, my daughter’s trust, and my wife. You think that doesn’t cut me good and deep? You really think I’d want to feel this low ever again?” His eyes reddened and his voice broke. “Darlin’, all I ever wanted to do was improve our lives. I know I messed it up real bad, but like our daughter’s young fella here, my heart was in the right place, I swear! It ain’t like I was gonna spend my fortune on hookers and booze, you know. I wanted to share it with you, for all you’ve put up with living with me so long. I love you, Ellie May. I just…I love you.”

Rhonda began to cry softly. Squiggy had to admit he felt a little sappy himself.

“Those are mighty fine words, Bubba,” said Ellie May. She studied her long, red fingernails. “Mighty fine. But I can’t do this anymore. We’re entering our golden years and I don’t want to spend them wondering whether or not we’re gonna have a roof over our heads. I don’t need a fortune, I need some stability.” She fixed her eyes on her husband’s. “Is that even possible with you?”

Bubba shrugged. “I honestly can’t say. But I can tell you that, should you find it in your heart to give this old fool another chance, that I will surely not mess with our finances again without talking it through with you first.”

“No you won’t, and I’m gonna make sure you stick to that,” said Squiggy. He pulled out a blank, somewhat crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

“What’s that?” asked Bubba.

Squiggy cocked his head to one side. “It is a piece of paper, sir.” Rhonda’s father really wasn’t very bright. Before Bubba could open his mouth again, Squiggy continued. “In a moment, however, it is going to become a binding contract. I am a professional; I know how to write those. And this one is going to say that I will bail out your farm.”

“Andy, that’s incredibly….”

“I ain’t finished!” Squiggy interrupted him. “It’s going to have a stipulation, sir, that I will only do this if the deed is put entirely in your lovely wife’s name.”

Bubba’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Now hold on there just a….”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable to me,” said Ellie May, smoothly.

“Hang on, woman!” Bubba said.

“It does to me, as well,” said Rhonda.

“I will not be ganged up upon!”

“Then it is settled. I pay off the bank, the farm goes to Miss Rhonda’s mother, and that’s that. Okay?” Squiggy gave Bubba a pointed look as he pulled a pen out of his other jacket pocket.

Bubba blustered a bit more. Then he said, “Are you saying that’d get you to come back to me, Ellie May?”

Ellie May smiled sweetly. “Make sure you get that contract notarized, dearie,” she said to Squiggy.

He nodded. “No problemo.”

Bubba slouched, defeated. “All righty, then.”

Rhonda wiped her eyes and wrapped Squiggy in her arms. “I’m about to write,” he protested, but he didn’t really mind the interruption.

She propelled him backward under the door and nodded upward. He followed her gaze to the mistletoe hanging there. “Merry Christmas, Andrew,” said Rhonda. “Thank you for making it perfect.”

“I love you,” he said. The words surprised him more than her. They didn’t come naturally, not to someone who’d been kicked in the teeth by more girls than he could count. But he meant them like he’d never meant them before.

“I love you, too,” said Rhonda. Her eyes were alight and he knew it was true. She really, truly did.

They kissed and, at least for that night, all was right in the world.

Milwaukee

Lenny landed on top of Laverne bright and early the next morning. She squeaked at the impact, fearing more for the rickety hotel bed’s health than her own. “Len, are you crazy?”

“It’s Christmas morning, it’s Christmas morning!” He rested his hands on her shoulders, his knees on either side of her legs, and bounced. “Getupgetupgetup!”

“What are you, seven?” she grumbled. She found him so adorably excited that she couldn’t stay annoyed. Instead, she followed him out of bed and over to the door to their room.

“I got a surprise for you,” said Lenny, grinning broadly.

“Len, no,” she said in dismay, “I thought we agreed; no presents this year. Money’s just too tight.” Although thanks to Emmy and a heaping helping of embarrassment money, it wasn’t nearly as big an issue anymore. Still, she’d abided by their agreement and not bought Lenny anything. If he’d gone and splurged on her, she was going to feel awfully bad.

“Oh, I know, I know,” he said, “and I didn’t get you nothing – well, nothing brand new.”

“Len….”

“Don’t worry.” He hugged her. “Just – look!” And he flung open the door.

Laverne looked. And blinked. And looked again.

There was a tree outside their door. A Christmas tree, fully decorated, star on the top, rooted in a pot of water – the works.

A banner slung like tinsel around the middle read, “Dear Lenny and Laverne Merry Chrismas Please Forgive Me I Love…” Laverne squeezed out the door and followed the banner around to read the rest, “You Guys Hope You Like Th.” She shook her head. “Th? What’s th?”

“I think he ran outta room.”

“He? He who?” She’d assumed it was yet another guilt offering from Emmy. Then she realized, “Christmas is spelled wrong. This is from…”

“Squiggy.” Lenny finished for her. For the first time in a long time, he uttered his ex-buddy’s name without ice in his eyes or a frown on his face.

“Well.” Laverne wasn’t sure what else to say, so she simply repeated, “Well, well.”

“Yeah.” Lenny patted the tree. “Think we can fit it through the door?”

It took some scraping, turning, and tilting, accompanied by much grunting and moaning, but they did manage to fit it through the threshold into their room. They scooted the tree into the middle of the room and stood staring at it, catching their breath.

Finally, Lenny said, “I can’t believe he arranged this.”

“Me, neither.” Laverne rubbed her chin. “It’s kinda unusually…”

“Thoughtful of him.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

They contemplated Squiggy’s peace offering in silence. Then Lenny said, “’Tis sorta the season for forgiveness.”

“Goodwill toward man and all that,” said Laverne.

Lenny’s eyes met hers. “It hurts being mad all the time, especially at someone you used to love.” His eyes widened. “And by love, I mean in a completely macho, manly, totally best friendly-brotherly way.”

She rolled her eyes. “I got that, Len.”

“Good. Cause fruitcake ain’t my thing.” He shrugged, his eyes pleading. “Would it be wimpy of me to, you know, give Squig a call and maybe thank him? And then, if he had some other stuff to say, maybe hear him out?”

Laverne smiled. Her husband really was the sweetest guy on Earth. “No, I think that’d be fine.”

Lenny slumped in relief. “Oh, good.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. “But it’ll have to wait until after this!” He danced away and began rummaging through a drawer. He re-emerged with a small, awkwardly-wrapped present with a bow stuck precariously on top.

Laverne mock-slapped him upon his return. “What is this? I thought you said…!”

“I did, and I didn’t. This is kind of a rerun gift.” He held it out to her. “Merry We-Got-This-For-Our-Wedding-But-I-Forgot-to-Give-It-To-You-So-Here-It-Is-Now Christmas!”

Laverne sighed and took the package. “Oh, Lenny.” She tore off the wrapping paper and found herself holding a medium-sized basket. She peered at it closely, and gasped.

It was full of what could only be politely described as toys. Lotions that heated when rubbed on skin, French ticklers, a pair of edible undies. Unable to come up with a more suitable response, she burst out laughing. “Let me guess who gave us this!”

“Shirley and Carmine,” Lenny confirmed. “It was originally for our honeymoon, but the tag fell off or something, so it got shoved in with the other gifts we already opened before we opened it. I found it when we was packing to come to Milwaukee and figured I might as well rewrap it and save it for…um…a special occasion.”

“I suppose starting a new life and a new business qualifies,” said Laverne. She picked up a pair of padded handcuffs and grinned wickedly. “Looks like I’ve been underestimating my best friend’s naughty side for years!”

“What say you and I try a couple of these items out?”

She started to agree, hesitated. “Hang on, I haven’t given you your present yet!”

Lenny arched one eyebrow. “But you said….”

“Yeah, yeah, but I got something on hand, too.” She scurried over to her big, blue suitcase and began rummaging through the side pockets. Where was that thing? There! She pulled out the gift Rhonda had given them for their wedding. She’d intended to share it with Lenny on their honeymoon, but they’d been so busy, she’d never gotten around to showing him.

Laverne slipped a pillowcase off the bed and wrapped it around the book. Might as well have a little fun with it. “Shirley gave me this before our Alaska trip, I guess so’s I’d have something to read on the plane or whatever. I’ll bet it’s something on etiquette. Or kittens. Anyway – Merry Christmas, Len.”

“Oo, I hope it’s kittens!” He stripped off the pillowcase. “Oh. Oh!” His mouth fell open. Laverne saw him begin to flip slowly through the pages, and his eyes widened to saucer-size. “Oh, ho, ho!”

“Let me see that.” Laverne snatched back the book and pretended to be shocked. “Nope, no kittens there.”

“The Illustrated Kama Sutra,” Lenny said. He pulled the book back again and flipped a few pages. He turned the book upside down and his face flushed. “Wow, you can do that?”

“Let me see!” Laverne hopped to his side and twisted her head to look at the intricate drawing. “I don’t think my foot can go there.”

“Wanna find out?”

She grinned at him lasciviously. “I was just kidding about Shirl. Rhonda gave us this. Surprise!”

“Ah, ha, you’re funny.” Lenny brought over the basket of naughty goodies and set them down on the floor, close to the bed. “Still, I guess we both owe our best friends calls about their little surprises.”

Laverne laid the open Kama Sutra carefully on the side table. “Later,” she whispered, kissing her husband’s neck.

“Much later,” Lenny agreed. He swung her up in his arms and laid her across the bed, then eased himself down on top of her.

Their first official Christmas together. It was the merriest one of them all.

-- END --

To Always Something There To Remind Me
To Always Watch The Clock