SERIES: Always Safe

UNIVERSE: Always...

AUTHOR: Missy

EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com

PART: 1 of 1

RATING: PG (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 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

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 and Always Hide Your Waterballoons.  Thirteenth in this continuity.

SPOILERS FORL  The entire universe, I Do, I Don't.

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Rhonda's battle with cancer post-mastectomy, from finish to start

NOTES: This fic, like the movie Memento, works in reverse order - the first section occurs at the end, the last section in the beginning.  Read from front to back or back to front at your own discretion.

***

The longer Rhonda stared at Doctor Hellinski's desktop motion machine, the more hypnotized she became.  Rhonda seems to be losing it officially, she thought to herself, her eyes following the back-and-forth clacking of the balls.  What would they put on her tombstone?

HERE LIES RHONDA LEIGH LEE....

No, daddy would never let them bury her under her stage name.  She mentally replaced that with...

HERE LIES ESME MAY WILSON...

She couldn't envision the rest of the tombstone, but knew it must be pink granite, like Marilyn's too-recent monument.  She wanted a lot of flowers, and several strong, well-muscled men to take her to her eternal rest.  Maybe Squiggy would send her flowers on her birthday every year, just like Joey DiMaggio...

This calm contemplation of death drove Rhonda from her accepting stupor.  Why was she considering eternal memorialization?  The future wouldn't be fixed until her oncologist walked into the office and told her the truth. 

Rhonda huffed to herself, recrossing her legs and resting her palm without conscious thought upon the bandage still affixed to what had once been her breast.

The pain that flamed through her right side was not as severe as it had been in the weeks after her mastectomy.  It had been a week since the wound had seen a needle, Rhonda having finished a second round of chemo - the doctor wanted to do a week more, either way, but this appointment would confirm "further course of the treatment of her illness."

Doctor Hellinski's dry way of speaking and poker face had done little to help her through the healing process.  The minimal health benefits she pulled in through Equity indicated that he was the best oncologist available, and his general handling of her progress offered spurts  -and only spurts - of hope.  Her mind conjured his Elmer-Fudd-tinged voice: Miss Lee, as you can tell by these radiographs, the edema in the effected tissue around the carsomic cells have decreased...

She had no idea what all of that meant, but she felt better this week than she had the entire wretched summer.  Rhonda tried to be grateful for this - and for the possible suspension of future chemo treatments - but a sword hung over her head, able and ready to sever her pretty neck at will.

A door opened behind her - swiveling in the uncomfortable puce-colored art neuvoish chair, she saw Squiggy  slamming his way into the office.  Sporting a green plaid suit jacket, black shirt, yellow tie and blue jeans along with his high-tops, he was all motion as he crossed the room and settled down in a chair beside her.

"I got you some ice," he held out a tiny Dixie Cup rattling full of them.  Rhonda felt hungry enough to consume the moon, but she smiled and took Squiggy's offering, then tried to meet his eyes.  A brief glimpse into them showed watery brown marbles.  Her features became a mask of sympathy; Squiggy instantly looked away and began playing with the left sleeve on his jacket.

"Have you heard from Lenny and Laverne?"

Squiggy snorted.  "Len ain't called me since he and Emmy had their little blow-up." 

"Poor Lenny," Rhonda murmured.  Why hadn't she been more helpful? 

"Don't poor Lenny him - s'about time he cut the ol' heartstrings where it comes to his sister."

"She's the only close blood relative he has," Rhonda remarked, finding herself in the unusual position of defending Lenny's actions.

Squiggy shrugged.  "Emmy ain't taking him and Laverne getting together too well."

"I don't know why not," Rhonda sniffed.  "Lenny is the best that Laverne will ever do, and vice-versa."  She knew why not, but wouldn't tell Squiggy while he held the burden of another secret.  Too much information had a way of overloading his brain.

"So Laverne used to shove snow down Lenny's back and make him play tea party with her and she ran his underwear up Filmore's flagpole for her Angora Debs initiation, so what?"

She winced.  Emmy had a small point in her anatomization of Laverne.  "I understand that Lenny can't stand it when people are mad at him."

"His grandma's getting into town in a coupla days - she usually makes everything right when he and Emmy brawl."  Squiggy studied her again, his mood changing abruptly.  "They got worse problems than that..."

"Squiggy," Rhonda muttered.

"Why can't I tell Len Laverne ain't with Bardwells no more?" he whined.

"Because that's Lenny and Laverne's business!"

"It ain't gonna just be their business when she can't pay her half of the rent," Squiggy grumbled.

Rhonda shook her head, "No, Andrew.  Laverne was miserable at Bardwells anyway - hasn't she found a new job?"

"She's out on interviews all day, but she ain't got nothing."

Rhonda opened her mouth to say something but groaned when she felt dizzy.  The usually clueless Squiggy was suddenly right by her side.  "You sure you don't need anything else?"

"I'll be fine."

His mouth flattened into a long line.  "Yeah.  You'll be fine," Squiggy said, as if to convince himself.  He withdrew a plastic comb from his front pocket and began to untangle his hair. 

"You look fine." 

"'Course," Squiggy muttered, as he continued to comb nervously.

The door opened behind them.  Instinctively, Rhonda's hand clutched Squiggy's knee beneath the desk.  "Do you want your dad?" he muttered.

Rhonda swallowed hard and shook her head.  She nearly asked Squiggy to leave but met Doctor Hellinski's beetle brow and jowls with a small smile.

"You're looking well, Miss Lee," he shook her hand, then took Squiggy's.  Beneath the group of case histories, she noticed a small jar of her father's homemade brew and winced.  "Your father's a gastronome, how interesting." Doctor Hellinski's nose crinkled and withdrew his hand from Squiggy's grip, then took a handkerchief from his lab coat pocket and wiped clean his palm as he placed his things on the desk.  Rhonda leaned forward in her chair, almost without conscious decision, as he flicked off the fluorescent lighting and pressed her radiographs against the overhead projector.

Rhonda couldn't stop herself from groaning aloud at her father's antics.  "He thinks he has the best recipe in the entire county - simply because he sells a hundred jars a year at out roadside stand." She explained.  "My mother makes jam and they sell ham hocks all summer every year.  He was in my kitchen for most of yesterday, and now I know what he was doing." Her confessions fell from her lips reluctantly - all the parts of herself she'd been hiding since she came to California dripping from her mouth.  Squiggy watched her with a strange look of fascination but added nothing to her conversation.

Doctor Hellinski nodded, his face somewhat thoughtful as he turned on the small projector.   He pointed to the photograph on the left, which popped up behind him on a bare white screen. "I won't keep you in suspense any longer.  As you can see from this image the carcomic tissue has died and is nearly nil in evidence on this date.  Compare the absence of white in this image to the one on the right, which was taken before your mastectomy."

Rhonda studied the image as if it were a particularly hard puzzle, but made no comment. 

"There are no evidence of edema.  Further study shows no evidence of new tumors or the disease spreading to the left breast or connecting organs or tissue."

Rhonda's heart seemed to stop.  She waited...

"Your bloodwork," he flipped open a file, "shows your red and white cell counts are normal.  I want you to complete a final round of chemo for precaution, but," he smiled warmly, the first time she'd ever seen him do so.  "Congradulations, Miss Lee.  You're a hundred per cent healthy."

Squiggy's embrace nearly knocked her out of her chair. "For real?" he asked her doctor but stared only at his girlfriend. 

"Miss Lee," he said sonorously, "I would suggest your boyfriend refrain from squeezing you to death."

***

She wretched weakly into the small kidney-shaped pink dish before her mouth and moaned at her own stupidity.  Solids had been a good idea yesterday and a bad one today, and the whys and hows of it all didn't make sense - she only wanted the pain destroying her body to stop and leave her in a cool patch of peacefulness.

When it receded a little, leaving her sweaty and weak-limbed on her bed, she sank into nothingness.  She felt Squiggy's small, furry hand mopping her with the rough touch she'd once found thrilling and now comforting.  He covered her loosely with the pink silk sheets and murmured something against her brow.

She fell into a fevered sleep.

Sound brought her back to life, cicadas in the bushes a chiming bell - eyes opening she saw her room dark, lit by her small bedside lamp, her once-upon-a-time mood lighting.

She held still, cautiously, afraid to set off some violent chain reaction within her body once more, but her insides didn't rumble.  She felt - quite unexpectedly - normal again.

A body stirred in her boudoir chair, feet clothed in men's athletic socks at the end of her king-sized bed - she rolled over carefully and saw Shirley Ragusa occupying the space with her usual girlish sensibility.  Shirley caught sight of her and instantly began her meticulous and typical study of Rhonda's pale face.  "How are you feeling?" she placed the clipboard she'd been checking on the quilt and kissed her friend's forehead - Rhonda smirked to herself, remembering Laverne's complaints about Shirley's mothering .  Had she awoken in a new world?   Shirley had placed her lips where Squiggy's had been. 

"Where's Andy?" she asked automatically, then felt a whiff of regret as she saw Shirley wince.  She hadn't thought to ask for her father, who had taken a much-needed day trip to DisneyLand on her insistence.

"He and Lenny are selling ice cream at the Junior Cup finals.  Do you want me to get him?"

"No," Rhonda said.  She scooted up on the bed.  "Rhonda feels a bit better now."

"Would you like something?"

She considered it.  "Maybe some Chamomile tea?"

Her teakettle chirped from the kitchenette.  "There should be enough for two cups," Shirley muttered distractedly as she left.  Abandoned to the patience she'd gained in her invalidity, Rhonda waited for Shirley to return.  The scent of brewing tea made her empty stomach rumble, and when Shirley returned with a small mug, tea bag limply drooping over the rim, she accepted it quickly.  A few experimental sips told Rhonda that everything was staying where it should for the moment - she slowly finished the mug as Shirley took her place on the chair.

Her scribbling intrigued Rhonda.  "Things for the wedding?"

Shirley smiled.  "I'm so happy Laverne and Lenny decided to do everything outdoors so we wouldn't have to deal with banquet halls!"

"Rhonda guesses dealing with florists and bakers are easier?"

Shirley winced.  "Touche," she muttered, crossing something out.

"Could Rhonda help?" she asked.

"Are you sure you feel up to it?"

She nodded.  Shirley scooted across the bed and handed her a clipboard and a green pen from Altamont Bank.  "Read down the list, and check things off as I go along."

Rhonda nodded, selecting the top item.  "Dresses?"

"Back from Paramount - thank you very much - mine is in my closet, yours is in your closet, Terry's is in Laverne's closet, and Edna has hers hidden under Frank's good suit.  Everything is steamed and pre-pressed.  Check."

"Tuxedos?"

"Lenny told me he has something already - I'm afraid to find out what - that he tells me is clean and ready to go but will not show to me.."

"You should be grateful for that..."

"...Carmine is bringing suits in the correct sizes for all of the groomsmen from the wardrobe department at the Pantages, and he said he'd bring three navy ties so that everyone will match."

"They're certainly being generous with him."

"Yes, if he's telling me the truth and not 'borrowing' them." A brief shadow crossed Shirley's face.  "Everyone's bringing their own shoes and socks.  Check."

"Hair?"

"Made an appointment with the Beautiful You Salon for the morning of the wedding - nine AM.  Everyone's getting a wash and style," she smirked.  "I've prepaid in cash for the four of us, but cut and colors will cost extra and bridesmaids will have to pay on their own."  She didn't notice Rhonda grimace and reflexively touch her bare arm, which had been stripped of its blonde, downy and invisible hair. "The boys have been told to shower and wash their hair in the morning.  And sponge baths don't count!  Check."

"Flowers?"

"Four red carnation boutiners, four bridesmaids bouquets and one bride's bouquet have been pre-ordered and paid for.  They're supposed to be delivered on the night before the wedding to Laverne's apartment, where  they'll chill in party ice overnight.  Laverne insisted on tiger lilies, which are completely out of season," she sighed.

"They'll go well with the red bridesmaid dresses.  No petals?"

"We don't have a flower girl.  And," she smiled," I think Mikey would be insulted at the offer.  Check."

"The vows?"

"They picked out a passage from Corinthians, but I have this horrible feeling Lenny's going to write something.  Check."

"Rings?"

"Bought with Laverne's employee discount at Bardwells.  They've already been sized and they're somewhere in Squiggy's bureau at my apartment.  Check."

"Rehearsal arrangements?"

"Buffet for fifteen at Big Boys'.  Check."

"Transportation?"

"Lenny and Laverne are taking the truck - the bridal party will use your car.  Squiggy said he's going to hire a few drivers to take care of the guests...."

"I have proof he's done that."

"I guess we can check that off."

"Music?"

"We have a guitar, a set of bongos, a hi-fi, a stack of albums, a PA and Carmine."

"Should Rhonda check it off?"

"I suppose so.  Lenny and Laverne don't even have a 'song' yet, if you can believe it."

"Rhonda didn't know that was a requirement for true love."

Shirley sighed and pressed a palm to her chest.  "Every couple needs their own song!"

Rhonda supposed that was true - and knew that she and Squiggy didn't have one.  "It's going to be an  interesting reception, isn't it?"

"Yes.  And check."

"Food?"

"Cake's ordered.  The boys are bringing the ice cream, and we otherwise have almost everything we need for the dinner.  Check!"

"Photography?"

"We're using a Polaroid and a Kodak.  I'm going to make prints while Lenny and Laverne are on their honeymoon and mail them out when they come back.  Film's bought, too, and Squiggy said he'd tape it with his Super Eight Check."

"Seating?"

"Pre-arranged.  The church is going to loan us folding chairs, and for the reception we're going to drag over some tables Edna's brining from Cowboy Bills.  I bought material for the tablecloths and will finish sewing them next week, and I bought a bunch of candles at the drug store - we'll cut some flowers from the Garden and use them as centerpieces."

"Do you have the church's permission?"

"I'm sure they won't mind.  Oh, and I've rented tents."

"Tents?"

"Well, it might rain.  Check."

"Favors?"

"...Laverne and I wrapped up some Hershey bars with some spare paper she snuck out from Bardwells and ribbons last Saturday.  That'll go over big with our crowd.  Check."

"Hershey bars?!"

"We come from a chocolate loving people," Shirley retorted. 

"At least let me buy some lollipops from Sees..."

"That would be lovely, Rhonda, but the budget is stretched to the absolute maximum," Shirley rubbed her temples in agitation.  "Lenny and Laverne saved for four months and on top of that they've sunk most of their life savings into this wedding, and we have just enough money left over to buy perishables for the wedding dinner!"

Rhonda clapped her hands, eager as a little girl.  "Rhonda knows where you can get some extra money!  Are Laverne and Lenny saving for a honeymoon?"

Shirley nodded.  "They started putting money away in June - with that and Lenny's savings they've scraped together enough for a weekend at an inn in Petaluma."

"Rhonda's friends are too good for Petaluma!  Let me let you in on a secret," then she whispered, "Squiggy's  paying for Lenny and Laverne's honeymoon!"

Shirley gaped at her.  "How in the world can Squiggy afford all of this?"

Rhonda sighed. "Haven't you noticed how well Squignowski's been doing?"

"Yes - I've heard they have a few new clients."

"Squiggy's got two animal acts booked for commercial gigs, and he's got Junko making rounds on the party circuit.  They're doing fantastically financially - and if Papa's connections pan out for them they could make money off of their little drink."

"If they are," Shirley complained, "Lenny isn't seeing a dime."

An old anger burned through Rhonda.  "Is Squiggy cheating him again?"

Shirley shrugged.  "It's always been this way with the boys.  Squiggy takes most of the money, Lenny gives most of the sweat.  But it works for them."

"You find it acceptable?"

"No, but Lenny seems to.  There's only so much guidance I can give him," she glowered.  "Would you like to run the guest list?"

Rhonda nodded, and Shirley continued, "The bridal party, of course - Lenny's sister, unfortunately, and Michael - his father and grandmother.  Laverne's Grandma and her cousin Anthony, Arthur Fonzarelli and his son, your father,"

"I'm sorry about that," Rhonda frowned.

"The more the merrier..Adam West and Biff and Dave from the Brewery and their dates...I think that's everyone."

"Emmaline's still coming?"

"This is just a silly tiff," Shirley said.  "And if it isn't, Lenny's eating lasagna for two."

"We could always give leftovers to the father performing the ceremony."

Shirley's eyes flashed.  "I have every little detail of this ceremony planned to the last little minute.  We're expecting twenty-two people, and we'll have them."

"Isn't it a shame?  Laverne asked half her family to come but Frank got to them first."

"It's a real pity they can't make up for the sake of the wedding, but Frank is under the delusion that Lenny's hurting Laverne, and nothing Edna's said to snap him out of it has worked.  Laverne won't speak to Frank for once in her life - she's on this little independence kick," Shirley grumbled as she picked up the clip board.  "I should knock their hard heads together!"

"Speaking of hard heads, how's Carmine?"

Shirley winced.  "Rhonda..."

"Sorry - Andrew has a way of rubbing off on people."

"Carmine is fine - the director seems impressed with his work, and he has all of Lancelot's lines memorized just in case." Shirley winced.  "I'm not supposed to spread this hither and yon, but he's been bussing tables at Carnegie Deli to keep the lights on.  I told him to stop sending me money because Emmy and I are doing well by ourselves, but his stubborn male pride seems to be needling him."

"Plenty of girls in this town can tell you how big Carmine's pride is..."  Rhonda squirmed under Shirley's gaze.  "That was not a double-entandre."  Rhonda noticed the young wife's discomfort and brushed the girl's arm gently with the tips of her fingers.  "Rhonda knows you've made a big sacrifice in staying here.  These should be the best months of your marriage to Carmine and you're spending them taking care of me."

"I wouldn't trade it," Shirley scolded.  "You need someone to look after you, and Carmine would be here if it was possible."

"But...you're still looking forward to living with him in New York."

"Yes - but I'm nervous.  We'll be there all alone, without anyone we really know nearby.  Worse, Laverne and I will be living our married lives an entire country apart, and I never counted on that."

"You seem confident about it when you talk to Laverne."

"I have to be - Laverne doesn't deal well with partings," Shirley gathered up her pencil and tucked the clipboard under her chin as she retrieved the now-empty mug.  "Sometimes we lie a little to each other - just for our own mutual good.  When I'm scared, Laverne gets scared herself, so I have to remain calm.  I," Shirley said with great pride, "am the rock that holds these twigs together."

The bedroom door burst open with such sudden violence that Shirley choked on her own words.  The intruder was blond, tall and brandishing a pair of pants.  "Help!  My zipper's stuck!"

Shirley gave a pleading glance toward Rhonda but the blonde shrugged.  "Twigs don't fix zippers."

Shirley hid her eyes, blushing.  "Can't Laverne fix it for you?"

Lenny's lips pouted in confusion.  "Not the ones I'm wearing, Einstein!  The ones I got in my hand."

"You should have said so," Rhonda sighed, and Shirley blindly took the black dress pants from Lenny's hand and began to work the broken zipper.  "Why are you so snippy?"

"I ain't snippy - I'm cut-y," he held out his thumb, which bore a tiny white mark.   "I caught it in there," he added childishly.

"Poor baby."  He held out his thumb expectantly and she frowned.

A minute later, Lenny pulled back his hand.  "Vernie woulda kissed it," he muttered.  Forcing aside his apparent disappointment, he said, "how're you doing, Rhonda?"

"I'm fine," she lied.  "How are things with Emmaline?"

"The same," Lenny said, his eyes both steely and saddened.  "I ain't going to apologize."

"One of you should," Rhonda said, a sudden urgency in her voice.  "There's only so many days in your life, Lenny.  I really wish you would..."

"I been living half a life for too long cause Emmy's afraid I'm gonna hurt myself.  I ain't a baby no more.  And I won't let her get away with saying a bunch of rotten stuff about Vernie!"

"Even if it's true?" Rhonda insinuated.

"It's in the past," Lenny muttered.

"Laverne won't hurt you, and Emmy needs to let go.  Go have that conversation with your sister," Shirley gave the zipper one hard tug and it went back into order, "now that you have working pants."

Lenny thanked Shirley with a smile and grin.  "I gotta finish changing.  Me and Vernie have our last pre-cana class tonight."

"Good luck," Shirley said, sitting on the edge of the bed.  Before he opened the door Shirley called him back.  "Your father called this morning - his train's coming next Saturday at nine."

Lenny grimaced and rubbed his stomach.  "Thanks for reminding me," he said glumly before leaving.

"I thought Lenny had a good relationship with his father," Rhonda uttered. 

"They do.  Lenny and Ivor are very close, actually.  But they come from different worlds," Shirley explained.  "Lenny's artistic and emotional, and Ivor is a born soldier.  From the time he was a baby, Lenny's loved his dad  tried to be like him, but no matter what Lenny does he calls himself a failure."

"Mmm," Rhonda muttered thoughtfully.  Suddenly, she felt very heavy.  Sleep had a way of wiping her out now, dragging her out of her body and to the unreal night world.  The pink silk sheets were pulled over her scarred chest once again.

"Rest," Shirley instructed.  "Laverne will sit with you for awhile after her pre-cana class."

Her dreams were fuzzy and incomprehensible.  Something about frogs and half-zebras that ate out of her hand.  When she awoke once more her little alarm clock read "two twenty", morning or afternoon she could not dischiper for the heavy blackout curtains over her bedroom window.

The sound of a woman weeping brought her to full wakefulness.  Still bleary, she remembered a unicorn had been crying in her dream...

But the heaving sound was familiar, coherent and recognizable.  "Laverne?" she murmured.

The figure perched by her bed rose her head.  "Sorry," she said, rubbing her eyes. 

"You didn't wake me.  What's wrong?"

Laverne unballed her fists and held out a slip of pink-colored paper.  "They canned me," she said numbly.  "I went in for my pay stub on the way back from pe-cana and they canned me!"

"I'm so sorry," Rhonda said.

"My supervisor said they don't need more than one year-round gift wrapper on staff.  And they picked her over me 'cause she's got more experience!"

"There, there," Rhonda soothed, patting Laverne's shoulders as she sniveled.  "You and Lenny will find your way..."

"How?"  Laverne cried out.  "I know how much Lenny makes!  He can barely afford his half of the rent and power bills!"

"You'll find another job!"

"Yeah," Laverne said, childish overtones coloring her voice.  "Another job in the salt mines with no hope of  getting a promotion.  This ain't no way to live, Rhonda," she got up and began to pace.  "When I was a kid, I thought I was gonna get married and stay home and be a mama.  But now..."

"You don't want to?"

"Even if I did, there ain't enough money for me to think about it."

"If you find a bottler..."

"That might not happen.  You said your dad don't have real connections, that he could be just bluffing us all - I can't stake everything I got on him.  We don't got a house, or even a car of our own, and,"  She flopped down on the bed.  "I got a little secret, Rhonda - if I was a housewife like I planned, I'd probably be bored," she frowned.  "I can't cook, I don't sew good - I want to but they just ain't my thing.  When I think of work, it makes me feel like I ain't some failure.   Gift-wrapping was better than bottle capping.  I didn't get to meet the drunks who slugged down Shotz, but all of the people I wrapped stuff for seemed to like what I did."

"You liked the validation it gave you."

"It made me feel good," Laverne shrugged. 

"Lenny doesn't seem like the kind of man who'd mind your working."

"He ain't.  But he thinks he oughta be the breadwinner - that's how we was brought up."

"If I were you, I wouldn't keep this from Lenny," Rhonda urged. 

"You ain't me," Laverne said tartly, then forced a smile.  "Don't tell Len I lost my job.  I had to hide it from him all the way home, and now he's waiting for me back at our place.  I know that's weird, me asking you to after I told Len about your cancer."

"My cancer was something I couldn't hide," Rhonda said.  "This is something..."

"...I can't hide, either - but I need time to show him I can take care of myself.  I'll look harder, maybe I'll find something quick..."  The door opened, forcing her to end her speech.  She crumpled the pink slip in her fist before Squiggy could see it. 

Squiggy strode into the room.  "Hey ladies," then, addressing Rhonda, "you feeling better?"

Rhonda nodded.  "I had some tea - it stayed down."

"Want to eat something?"

"Maybe tomorrow."

"I'll leave you guys alone," Laverne said, exiting quickly.  When they were alone again, Rhonda watched Squiggy undress and slip between her sheets in a tee-shirt and jeans.  His hairy forearms bristled over the quilt as he tucked them both in.

They lay in the semidarkness of the room, awake, but before Rhonda could ask about his day Squiggy blurted out, "whatt're you broads hiding from me?"

"Hiding?"

"Laverne was all red in the face.  She only gets like that when she cries - did Len do something?"

"No, it has nothing to do with Leonard."

"Oh..." Silence filled the room.  Rhonda drifted away, nearly to sleep, before Squiggy said, "'Sit have something to do with her getting canned?"

Rhonda's eyes flew open.  "How did you  know about that?"

"I listened through the door.  Laverne's real loud when she's scared." 

"Squiggy, you can't tell Lenny about this.  She knows he can't support her by himself, and beside that Laverne wants to keep working.  I don't think they've talked about that."

He shrugged.  "Fine.  I ain't Len's keeper."  They settled into quietude.  "Why's she wanna work?"

"Because," she snapped, "her job gives her a feeling of self-worth."

Squiggy's eyes crossed.  "Wrapping people's junk makes her feel good?" He leaned in and whispered, "Bardwells sells gentlemen's novelties now?"

Rhonda pushed him backward and stared into Squiggy's eyes.  "You have no idea how the feminine mind works.  Or how the mind of your fellow man works!"

"Guys think about food and sex."

"Is that all?"

"And sleep.  What's in your craw, Rhonda?"

"Lenny's in my craw!" she sat up, dragging a pillow from beneath her head.  Bopping Squiggy on the crown, she snapped, "you aren't giving him his fair share from Squignowski, so Laverne needs to make ends meet!"

"But..."

"But nothing!  Lenny isn't an unpaid wage slave, he's the best friend you'll ever have!" she bopped him upon the head with her pillow.  "You need," she batted him repeatedly with the pillow, "to think...about...your...actions!" she smacked him one more time, then looked at what she had wrought.

Squiggy's beloved hair stuck up and out at the oddest angles, his worm plastered across his right earlobe.  He sputtered at her before conjuring up  an energetic "WOMAN!"

They traded a look of such complete understanding that she began to laugh - her first true laugh of the entire month of August, her last laugh of the summer.  She laughed so that he must laugh too, until he placed his head on her shoulder and they lay heaving for breath together.

"Don't think about the money," Squiggy said.  "I got my reasons."

His enigmatic words haunted Rhonda as she closed her eyes and tried desperately not to dream of unicorns.

***

It was hot.

Stiflingly hot.  For a second she worried that she'd been transported to hell, but then she remembered the month and the time.

Eyes opened.  She was alone. 

A rare luxury.  She savored it like a fine truffle as she idled in the bathroom, giving herself a sponge bath and a cloud of perfume.  Her dowdy pajamas wouldn't do - undressing, she found in her drawers what she wanted.  Putting on silk red under things, a lovely blue-striped striped boat neck top and a pair of jeans, she felt young and womanly. 

Then noticed her thin, ivory face in a hand mirror.

Makeup, then.

She powdered her face, then put on her largest set of lashes, matching them with blue shadow and red lips made fuller than their natural lines.  She forewent a wrap for her bald head and picked up a purse and navy-strapped sandals.  She tossed her keys, meds and emergency numbers into the bag without thinking.

In her living room she met up with Squiggy, a slave to his love affair with her sixteen-inch TV.

He paused, looked her over, whistled, and she gave him the old front-and-back routine.  He seemed not to notice her missing breast.  "You still wanna go out tonight?"

"Rhonda's survived fireworks on the beach for years."  She felt a little tired and blah, but everyone had gathered for a bonfire and she didn't want to be the lone holdout.

"Yeah, but you got cut up last -"

"Rhonda remembers what happened." She took her navy suit jacket and donned it.  "I'm ready to go."

He insisted on taking the truck, and the short drive was filled with details about his day.  He had signed a new client, sent two more on auditions, and sold King Cones to a minor league baseball team on Canoga Parkway.  She listened and watched out for his often-reckless automobiling.

The beach was crowded with sunburned bodies cooling off in the moist, thick night air.  She maneuvered through the tangled limbs and cursed the Beach Boys for making her Southern California seem so seductive to the rest of the world - in many a July past she had been comfortably alone on this very stretch of land. 

Squiggy pulled her heedlessly through the complaining audience, stubbing their feet against odd limbs and earning them mild threats from well-sedated families.  Suntan oil and hot dogs burning mixed with ocean scents as a beach ball striped with primary colors rolled in the ink-colored waves, forgotten. 

Their little gang shared an embankment of beach towels over near a rocky outcropping - undesirable territory, old memories reminded her.  They had started a huge bonfire with driftwood, its radiant orange and red flames radiating warmth, and Rhonda felt a sense of invitation.  She saw Emmaline first, in her high platinum beehive at the edge of the group in her green maillot.  Mikey sat between her knees, chewing a hot-dog while his mother slathered his red back with lotion and scolded him.  Rhonda loosened Squiggy's grip on her hand and sent him off to be with Lenny, choosing to spend some time with an outcast Emmy.

The woman smiled at Rhonda when she sat down next to her.  "Are you feeling well?"

"Rhonda's sick of that question."

Emmaline smiled thinly.  "I'm worried about your color - have you been eating?"

"I can't keep much down," she admitted.  But oh, did Mikey's hot dog look good...

The boy was telepathic - he held out his half-eaten sausage and gave her a ketchupy smile.  "You can have the rest of mine, Miss Lee."

She eyed the relish-covered dog.  "A growing boy needs to eat.  But I wouldn't mind one of my own - with mustard..." That statement was directed at a still-nearby Squiggy.

"I'll get you one, my dove!" Squiggy called from across the way.  She appraised her boyfriend/lover/whatever and tried to figure out where their association was headed.  It was a useless puzzle for a night such as this.

Emmaline had eyes.  "Honey, Uncle Lenny has marshmallows - ask him to show you how to roast them in the fire."

Mikey stood and placed his Kosnowski-long arms around her neck, squeezing her quickly - she smelled Bazooka Joe and French fries.  "I hope you feel better, Miss Lee," he said shyly.  She hugged him back loosely and smeared her lipstick upon his cheek - Mikey whined and rubbed at the red stain as he joined Lenny on the other side of the bonfire.

Emmaline offered her a fresh bottle of Pepsi.  "Have you told Squiggy you'll think about his proposal?"

Rhonda felt her skin shrink.  "I gave him the ring back."

"But you'd decided you were going to think about it..."

"I told him I would think about it, but I haven't decided."

"Why on Earth are you torturing yourself?"

Rhonda drank deeply from the bottle.  "There's no future at the moment. Rhonda lives each and every day for itself."

"You still don't think you're going to beat this."

"We have a saying on the farm  - don't count your chickens before they hatch."

"I'm familiar with that one," she retorted.  Emmaline diverted her gaze to the fire.  "Every young girl should be married," she said.

"You believe that?"  Emmaline nodded.  "After what Gil put you through?"

"It's what's right.  Women stay home and men bring the bacon."

Rhonda noticed that Emmaline was looking through the flames - at her brother and son as they roasted marshmallows on driftwood sticks.  A dripping-wet Laverne, fresh from the ocean, came up behind Lenny and wrapped her arms around his neck, causing him to laugh in surprise.  The three of them together looked like a natural family, and Rhonda felt uneasy.  Emmaline simply looked livid.

"I don't think Lenny and Laverne aren't going to live that way," she ventured.

Emmaline laughed mirthlessly.  "Lenny insists that he'll take care of her - but that shouldn't be his job.  He should be concentrating on his guitar, getting gigs, playing his music - that's been his lifelong dream...except for those three years he wanted to be a cowboy."

"Laverne wouldn't get in the way of his dreams.  Why don't you like her?"

"Besides her lack of class and poor taste in hairstyles?"  Emmaline sighed at her own weak jab.  "Lenny's loved her from the time he could walk.  They met when they were barely able to put sentences together, but when he was four he told me that they would get married one day.  But while she was 'the one' for him she's never loved him back in that way.  Always, it was 'Lenny's my best friend' or 'Lenny's a real sweet guy'.  I'm probably the only person besides Squiggy who knows how badly that hurt him."

"The sudden change confused Rhonda as well at first.  But if you watch them together the situation makes sense."

"What kind of motive could she have in saying she loves my brother?  She's not pregnant, and Lenny's as poor as he was in Milwaukee."

"Maybe they're in love."

Emmaline smiled wanly.  "There's no such thing as storybook-style love.  You find the person who makes you comfortable and if he doesn't mind being tied down you make a life together."

"You poor thing!  You've forgotten passion!"

"I had passion with Gill," she laid down on the towel and put on her cats-eye sunglasses.  "I don't want Lenny to end up alone and hurt like..."

"You?"

Emmaline said nothing, and Rhonda got up to join the rest of the family around the fire.

Laverne sat with her back to Lenny, toweling her wet hair while he finished off a marshmallow.  "Are you really gonna write me another song?"

Shirley chuckled - she had settled down beside her girlfriend and was wiping Mikey's mouth with a yellow paper napkin.  "Yes, Leonard - are you planning to?"

Lenny stared off into the fire.  "I dunno," he mused.  "What rhymes with Laverne?"

"Certainly not 'Love'," Shirley remarked.  Her knowing laugh made Rhonda frown, and the brunette turned to Rhonda and explained, "Lenny wrote her a song for Laverne a few years ago called 'I'm in Love With Laverne.'"

"Sounds like a masterpiece," Rhonda said archly.

"It was nice," Laverne replied - she flicked her hair back, the wet locks coming to rest upon Lenny's neck. 

"Anything sounds nice after hearing 'I'm So Blue, How Are You?' a million times a night."

Laverne glared at Shirley, "The only way I'm gonna get better is with practice, smarty pants.  Len even promised he's help me with my fingering, right?"  Rhonda choked at the unintentional double-entandre. 

"Why don't you sing us something, Leonard?" Shirley asked, her guilt complex poking at her.

"Okay!" Lenny said, too eagerly.  He picked up his guitar and began to tune it.  "What do you wanna hear?  Mr. Tambourine Man?  Sugar Pie Honey Bunch?  Satisfaction?"

"No Mick Jagger," Shirley ordered, covering the boys' ears.

"Shirl, a little music ain't gonna hurt him..."

"'I can't get no girlie action'?" Shirley quoted to her friend.

"What's girlie action?" Mikey asked.

Lenny plucked a soft, rhythmic chord that erased Mikey's question.  Easily, he began to sing 'Mister Tambourine Man', Dylan's words and the Byrd's sense of cadence siphoning through Lenny's sensibilities.  When he sang his closed his eyes, fingers knowingly plucking out each chord.  Laverne's eyes were closed, too, her head resting against the back of his, knees curled up and palm upon her long, tanned legs.  Rhonda watched the faces of her friends as the song went on; Shirley sat in the sand, limp in her orange-print bikini, watching Mikey from the corner of her eye with a distant and lonely expression.  The boy sang quietly along, awe for his uncle visible in his expression.  Emmaline rolled over on her towel, listening to her brother, watching him with a mix of resignation and pride in her eyes.  And Squiggy...

Squiggy was over against the mass of rocks, talking to her father as if they were the oldest of friends.

Rhonda pouted.  Her father's ignoring her was unusual, nearly inexcusable, so she waited for Lenny to finish singing and politely applauded him before getting up and tracking them down.

Laughter and beer wafted up to meet her.  Bubba Wilson reached out for her on sight, squashing her still-sore scar tissue against his droopy chest.  He kissed both of her cheeks and said, "My little honeybell's looking better, ain't she?"

"Rhonda's always looking good."

Bubba tilted back his cowboy hat and said with great authority, "watch your mouth when you talk about my little girl, boy!"

Squiggy went into a rigid militariast stance.  "Yes sir!"

"Essie baby, you need anything from PawPaw?  You runnin' out of money?"

"No, PawPaw," she said, squirming.  She loved her father's gooey affection, but it sometimes resulted in her feeling helpless and childlike. 

"I'll take care of her, Bubba!" Squiggy insisted.

"My lil' honeybell don't need no one to look after her," his meaty hand clapped down on Squiggy's shoulder.  "D'I tell you that Andy and your daddy're going into business?"

Rhonda blinked.  "No."

"He's got quite an idea.  Beer n' chocolate drink!  Who woulda thought of that?"

Rhonda glared at Squiggy.  "He didn't..."

"I know some bottlers out of Nashville - I might just be givin' 'em a buzz when I get back home."

"Squiggy," Rhonda hissed.

"Not now, my little cupcake!"

"Come with me!" She ordered, yanking him by the arm as her father to laughed.

"Look at that spunk!  My little honeybell's just like her momma when there's a bee in her bonnet!"

Rhonda ignored this compliment, so livid was she.  Pulling away from the crowds, they walked a ways down the beach and were nearly alone when Squiggy pulled out of her grip.

 "If you cut Lenny and Laverne out of this deal with my father, Rhonda will never let you hear the end of it."

Squiggy began rubbing the back of his head, a sure sign that he was frustrated.  "Your Pop says we could make a lot of money off of this."

"Money that belongs to the four of you - money my father doesn't need thanks to his prospering farm and should be split evenly, three ways."

Squiggy began to turn red at the ears, and she felt a flash of satisfaction - she was getting to him.  "You say Len deserves money?"

"Yes, he does.  He and Laverne created that drink - we both know it."

"Your dad talks fast and I get dizzy and I don't think right..." he started to lie.

"If there's an honest bone in your body you'll tell the truth."

"You're talking to a Squiggman," he reminded her.

"I know," she smiled.

His hand slipped into hers.  "So," he said thickly, "you ever think about what I said?"

"When?"

"You know when."

The sky glowed with a thousand sparkling flickers of light.  They turned toward the shore and watch the bursts of multicolored explosions, the percussive booming ringing in their ears.  Minutes passed by and Rhonda had not a single productive, worrying or ill-bred thought.  It was an idiot's paradise.

Probably where Squiggy lived every day of his life.

When they ended he released her hand and said something about finally getting her that hot dog, but the beach was deserted when they returned but for Rhonda's father.

"What happened?" even the bonfire had been extinguished.

"The tall blonde gal had a fight with the tall blonde boy."  Bubba took a puff of his fat cigar and a bite from a  piece of watermelon.  "He said she wasn't his sister anymore and she grabbed the little boy and left.  He and his lady went back in your truck, and the little brunette gal followed him."

Squiggy winced.  "I gotta go find Len."

"Go," she urged him, and he pecked her on the cheek.  She turned to her father and he looped his left arm through her right.  "You wanna walk a girl home, daddy?"

"You feelin' okay, Honeybell?"

"I can handle it."

They started out under the near-midnight cover of darkness.  "Your little fella's smart as a whip.  You think you could get him to cut his hair?"

She smiled.  "There are a few things I need to tell you about Squiggy."

"I think I know all about him already.  Little fella talks like he's got a tornado in his mouth."

"Squiggy's not my fella, pop.  I don't know what he is - but he's not that."

He stopped her under a streetlamp, his eyes incredulous and wide in his large face.  "Honeybell, I dunno what's in that lil' head of yours, but you oughta think twice about letting Andy go.  He's as smart as they come and that drink's gonna make him richer than a shielk!"

Rhonda frowned.  "That's the other thing, PawPaw.  There's something I need to tell you about the drink..."

***

She wasn't afraid.  Not really. 

No, she was petrified.

Rhonda opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings.  Manilla hospital room, green gown, blue blanket, two IV lines, one making her feel extremely tired and one keeping her nourished.

This wasn't really happening to her, was it?

It was.  She looked down at her chest and sighed.

Goodbye girl.  I enjoyed you while I had you.  Her mind returned to her youth, the hands who had molded and shaped the right breast that would soon be absent.  All the memories were bittersweet and unhelpful.

The door opened "All right, Miss Lee," smiled the boy with the Beatle cut, an orderly who had emptied her bedpan earlier.  "They're ready for you."  He was joined by a strongly-built Hispanic boy who lifted her onto  a gurney. 

Her surgeon arrived, a tall, efficient-looking redhead who smiled down at her.  Walter Meaney, his nametag read - she knew he was an intern, and had taken her case at half price.  "How are we feeling, Miss Lee?"  he always used the plural, as if he felt anything she did.

"Sleepy."

"That's right," he smiled, comforting as a shot of Novocain.  The orderlies began to roll her bed out of the room and down a long, green-painted corridor.  She was Bette Davis - this may be her moment of dying, but she would go with her chin up.

"EssieMay!"

Rhonda gasped at the twangy voice by her ear.  "PawPaw?"

The bed stopped as Bubba Wilson rushed up the hallway to meet her.  He kissed her forehead, making the fussing noises of a baby. Bubba was short, hugely fat, and had a meringue-colored clump of curls on top of his head.  Two merry blue eyes twinkled out of a round face, and his fingers were plump as sausages.  Involuntarily, Rhonda's eyes went to her father's meaty chest.  Large breasts - the Wilson family trait, she thought deliriously.

"Who called you?" she wondered.  His large dairy farm usually required Bubba's constant pretense - and Rhonda hadn't wanted the gang to actually see the roots of her neurosis in person.

"Some fella calling himself Squiggy," Bubba scratched his head.  "It shoulda been you, honeybell."

"I didn't want to bother you.  It's slaughtering season..." she looked over his shoulder.  "Where's mama?"

"She's back on the farm watching over things. Your brothers are doing the bull work while I stay here and watch over you."

"Miss Lee, we have to go," Walter insisted.

"I'll be right here, honeybell!!" he called. 

Rhonda waved to him as he stood frozen  in his white suit, cowboy hat in hand.

The bright lights made it impossible for her to completely surrender to the sleepy feeling coursing through her veins.  Laverne and Shirley suddenly appearing over her head didn't help, either.

Shirley couldn't speak through her tears, but Laverne punched her in the shoulder.  "Emmy sends her love - she couldn't get off of work to come, but  we'll see you in a couple of hours," she smiled.

She'd nearly forgotten.  "Laverne, you have to call Lorna Woodbine at the Paramount Lot - have the operator patch you through to Burbank A67."  Laverne frowned, so Rhonda elaborated, "she's a designer, between official jobs at the moment and a dear friend of mine.  I've paid her to make your bridesmaid's dresses."

"Rhonda, I can't..."

She squeezed her hand.  "In case I can't give you a wedding gift."

Laverne's eyes filled with tears.  "Don't talk like that - you got fittings to do and a wedding to stand up for...not that it's going to be much of a wedding.  Anne Marie ain't coming."

"Your nun friend?"

"She sent a lovely note," Shirley said out of her tears.

"All it said  was 'I'm praying for you,' Shirl!"

"That's a compliment where she comes from."

"Girls," Rhonda called them to order.  "Don't fight."

Both women waved and said goodbye as she was wheeled on down the hallway.  Appropriately, the last person she met before going into the OR were Squiggy and Lenny. 

"Fight for it, Rhonda," Lenny muttered.  He wiped a tear-stained face, somehow holding it together while she was in his presence. 

"Len, can you give me a second with her?"

Lenny withdrew from her bedside.  Squiggy then listed forward - Lenny had been the only thing holding him up, she realized.

"Hey, you don't let them do nothing rotten to you.  Don't let them steal your money or eat your Jell-O or..." he coughed to clear his emotion-congested through, "don't die."

She managed a wan smile.  "I won't.  Thank you for calling my PawPaw."

"Any guy going through your underwear draw would do the same thing."

He was trying to cheer her up.  What a kidder..."Squiggy."  She touched his cheek with the lightest, most fond of touches.  "I'm thinking about it."

"Huh?"

She smiled enigmatically.  "What you said to me at LaBrea, silly."

He looked up at Doctor Walter.  "Those meds are making her crazy."

"No, just delirious.  She's very tired, Mister Squiggman - don't take what she's saying to heart..."

Rhonda reached up and, with surprising strength, pulled Squiggy down to her level.  "I know exactly what I'm saying.  I'll think about marrying you."

Squiggy blinked back tears and kissed her forehead. 

When Rhonda looked over her shoulder they were gathered - her friends and family, watching intently as the medical profession tried to salvage what nature could not.

She waved with her free hand before they pinned it down.

Climbing onto the operating table, there were kindly, bland smiles, as if the doctors and attending had been waiting all of their lives to bask in her star quality.  One remarked upon the false eyelashes she wore.

"They're my trademark.  They make me Rhonda Lee."

But when she laid down on the table she wasn't anyone but Essie May from Mudlick, a scared little girl.

Walter smiled at her comfortingly and pressed an oxygen mask to her face.

"Count backwards with me, Rhonda.  20,  19, 18, 17, 16, 15..."

"14...13...12...11..."

By ten the world seemed hazy and lovely.  By seven she couldn't seem to make her mouth form 'six'.  Her mama would be so ashamed.  What came after five?  What came after five?

The hazy whiteness turned black before she remembered.