SERIES: Always a Bridesmaid

UNIVERSE: Always...

AUTHOR: Missy

EMAIL: lasfic@yahoo.com

PART: 1 of 1

RATING: NC-17 (Adult thematic material, M/F sex, language)

PAIRING(s): L/L; S/C; R/S

DISTRIBUTION: To LW, 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: OldTimeFan's Ever After

Spoilers For: OTF's Ever After, I Do, I Don't

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: Laverne battles loneliness after Shirley marries Carmine and faces down a long-suppressed attraction to someone very familiar...

NOTES: Please read OldTimeFan's Ever After first, or this won't make sense.  First in an open universe.  To apply, email me.

 

***

 

 

Laverne DeFazio bobbed, forlorn, in the middle of a storming ocean.  Her waist-length auburn hair floated about her head like a useless life preserver, pelted by a fierce downpour, decorating her drawn and delicately featured face.  Though she was nearly drowned, she had to admit - she looked pretty cute in her clingy new bathing suit.

 

"Oh help!" she purred.  "Won't someone save me from this raging sea?"

 

Miraculously, in the distance, she saw her savior - the green periscope of a snorkel.  It cut effortlessly through the waves until it disappeared beneath her form - then suddenly she shot up from the waves, ensconced in the arms of Lloyd Bridges!

 

"Oh, Mister Bridges - you've saved me from the disagreeable Atlantic!"

 

"It's the least I could do for you, stranded sea creature!"

 

Laverne frowned at his choice of words, but quickly forgot them.  "I would love to get on dry land," she coaxed. 

 

"Easily done."  Within the blinking of an eye, water receded around them, and Lloyd returned Laverne's body to the damp sand.  "You know, Laverne - I think your new bathing suit is really cute."

 

"Do you?"

 

"It matches your eyes."

 

"Gee, and I thought no one would notice!"

 

"How could a man stop himself from noticing such an attractive piece of clothing - and how attractively it covers the wearer?"

 

"Oh, Mister Bridges," giggled Laverne, sprawling out before him as she pulled down the left shoulder strap of her suit, "is there any way I could...repay you for paying attention?"

 

"Would you do...anything for me?"

 

"Yes,” she breathed.

 

"Anything?"

 

"Yes..."

 

He pulled down his diving mask.  "Even...this?"

 

At that point, Lloyd unzipped his diving suit.  The sun was out again, and awful bright, but Laverne was not displeased by what she could see.  As he lowered himself over her body, she threw her arms around his neck, rolling against the sand like Debra Kerr.  "Oh, Lloyd!" she cried out.  He was oddly silent and motionless.  "Lloyd?"

 

He looked soulfully down into her eyes and opened his mouth. 

 

"Brrring!" he said.

 

***

 

As Laverne slammed back into reality, her head began to throb.   The mist of the dream swiftly receded - she was home, in bed, and suffering from one hell of a hangover.  Groaning as she rolled toward the middle of the room, Laverne called out, "Shirl!  Get the phone!", then tried to return to her dream.  Lloyd's hand had been on her hip...or was it higher?

 

Riinng!

 

Damn it!  She tried to force the dream to return, but the mood had been broken.  Well, if she couldn't fantasize, she could at least sleep off the hangover - stubbornly, she remained abed and still to quiet her stomach and think peaceful thoughts.   The phone continued to ring and she slammed a pillow over her left ear.  What had she done?  How drunk had she been last night - and who had she offended?

 

Laverne slowly remembered the answer - she had been at  Shirley and Carmine's wedding.  Or "boyfriend and girlfriend commitment ceremony" - whatever they wanted to call it.  Either way, everyone had celebrated, consuming as much free Champaign and food as they could.  Laverne recalled dancing with a number of attractive men, among them the groom - and Squiggy, she added smirking, wiggling her aching big toe.  While Laverne had scored a couple of phone numbers and generally enjoyed herself,  her night was marred when her Pop cornered her with a "father-daughter dance" and insisted on bringing up the husband issue again.  Laverne had begun drowning him out with big glasses of white wine halfway through the reception; by the end of the evening, was so snuckered that Shirley had been forced to hitch them a ride home with Lenny and Squiggy on the ice cream truck - and because the boys had been so inebriated, Shirley had been forced to hunker behind the wheel in her wedding dress, the only sober member left in their party.  Everything after that was a blur, though Laverne vaguely remembered Shirley heaving her into her bed and covering her loosely with a blanket.

 

The ringing downstairs refused to cease.  Whoever was on the end of the line was determined to reach them, and Shirley, Laverne realized, was probably too miserable to rise and face the day.  Maybe now she knew how stupid it was to object at her own wedding and let Carmine slip through her fingers.  Serves you right, she thought smartly.  Carmine was a good guy - honorable, decent, hardworking, and funny.  Plus, he had a yummy chest.  Laverne chuckled as she recalled that attribute - Shirley was starving herself to death at a banquet with that man.  Even though she deeply understood her best friend's motivation to marry into a white collar lifestyle, Laverne knew what kind of man her best friend was attracted to; what sort of doctor had the time to develop a body like that between rotations? 

 

All thought of sleep fled as the phone rang for the ninth time.  Groaning, Laverne rolled out of her twin, stumbling over a discarded pair of heels.  "You owe me big time," she told the motionless lump on Shirley's bed, then banged into the doorframe as she left her bedroom and rushed downstairs. 

 

"Hold on!" she demanded of the endlessly burring phone.  The world tilted violently as she got her land legs back - tripping over her own feet, Laverne launched forward, smacking against the switch plate and turning on the overhead lights.  "Geeze," she muttered, rubbing her sore palms as she headed down to the small landing and picked up the phone.  "Whattya want?" she garbled into the reciever.

 

"Laverne?  Are you there?"

 

The crisp, educated voice in her ear could only belong to one person.  "Hold on, Barb."  She held the mouthpiece to her breast and yelled up the stairs, "Shirl!  You're mom's on the phone!"  Silence.  "Hey, Shirl..."

 

Panic grasped her.  Something serious had to be wrong - no matter how depressed she was, Shirley could always force herself to paste on a phony smile for Lillian Feeney.  Alarm sent Laverne unsteadily back upstairs, where she turned on the bedroom light and rushed over to Shirley's bed, shaking the lump of blankets - a lump that proved to be nothing more than a robe stuffed under pillows and sheets.  Curiosity replaced panic.  That wasn't Shirley's mother down there on the phone...

 

When Laverne lifted the receiver to her ear, she heard, "...how could you mistake me for Mother?  I certainly don't sound..."

 

"Sorry, Shirl," Laverne said, the dull throbbing in her head petering gradually away.  "Where the heck're you?"

 

"That's a funny story." The lilt in her best friend's voice informed Laverne that Shirley had either embarked on a bender or checked herself into the funny farm. 

 

"Funny how?" Laverne worried.  "Funny ha ha or funny uh-oh?"

 

"Maybe I should let Carmine tell you."  A loud bang and some laughing murmurs sent Laverne to rubbing her ear.  Abruptly, she heard a rattling noise - someone else picking up the phone.

 

"Hey, Laverne!" Carmine's warm tone rang through the line.

 

"Hey - whatt're you two doing?"

 

"Well..." giggling.  Whispering.  "Shirl says she doesn't want you to be mad at her."

 

Confusion and irritation warred for possession of Laverne's voice.  "I won't be mad."

 

"Uh...after the party...Shirl came up to my apartment.  We had a long talk..."

 

And they had done it?  Way to go, Shirl!  Laverne cheered.    She realized that her best friend had gone all the way with a guy before she herself had scared up the courage to do the same and jealousy burned in her soul. Then again, why would they be calling her to broadcast the news? Despite her warring emotions, Laverne yearned for a little bit of vicarious smut and said with improper enthusiasm,  "and...?"

 

"And we drove out here last night.  Oh, Shirl said to say 'here's' Las Vegas, but I thought you'd figure that out.  Anyway, we got a license at two and went to the Angel of the Recessional at three..."

 

Laverne knew what that meant.  The phone slipped from her right hand, smacking against the end table harshly.  Mechanically, she retrieved it, hearing Carmine say, "I think she fainted, honey."

 

"I'm fine!" Laverne said quickly, brightly.  "I'm so happy for you guys.  What was the wedding like?"

 

"Fun!  We picked out our witnesses - Shirl wanted an Elvis impersonator, but I paid him five to sing some Tony Bennet for us.  We danced together to 'Unchained Melody', and they gave us an all night pass to the buffet - we had two hours to eat, but we weren't that hungry..."

 

"Tell her I wanted Elvis," said Shirley, "because it made me feel like she was here with us."

 

But I wasn't, Laverne thought sadly.  The wedding Shirley had plotted for years had been set aside - even the barest of dreams connected to it placed away in favor of the sort of ceremony a girl in trouble might endure.  "So no one came along to witness?" 

 

"Nope, no one but Elvis and Mavis.  That's the owner of the Angel of the Recessional..."

 

"It's all right," Shirley said.  "It's really all right, Laverne.  I'm with Carmine - I'll be okay."

 

The words were tender and touched through with the romantic feelings Shirley carried for her husband.  It made Laverne feel better for Shirley but worse for herself.

 

"I know." She couldn't say out loud that a part of her resented being left out, while another thrilled to her best friend's success.  Instead, she said, "ain't you interrupting something...important...to talk to me?"

 

"Geez, Laverne, I ain't some robot!" joshed Carmine, and Laverne flushed as Shirley squealed on the other end.

 

"What's she saying?  What's she asking?  Why do you have that look on your face?"

 

"We needed a break, and we wanted to call and tell you first - Shirl doesn't think she could get through to her mom, and my folks' phone'll ring off the hook at this hour - hey, are you okay?  Shirl said you were out cold when she left."

 

"Eh, it's a little hang over.  It's almost gone." Laverne's lurching stomach made her a liar.  Sitting down against the end table, she said casually, "how long're you guys gonna be out of town?"

 

"A week," Carmine said.

 

"No, two!" contradicted Shirley.

 

"Two weeks?"

 

"We have enough money...and if we don't...we could...win it..."

 

The change in Carmine's voice made Laverne feel like a voyeur.  "That's so...adventurous...Missus Ragusa."

 

Laverne snickered as Shirley's wicked-woman giggle came over the line.  There was no doubt in her mind that her best friend was changing through her marriage, and right before Laverne's eyes.  "If something goes wrong with the building, we're at the Palm Regency - Room 222," Carmine said, his voice coming in little gasps.

 

Laverne scribbled the number and hotel name down on a nearby pad.  "What would you consider 'wrong'?  A short in the wiring or an earthquake?" Laverne smirked.

 

"A tsunami would count too..." muffled, she heard, "Geez, Shirl!  I'm on the phone!"

 

"We're talking to Laverne - she's been rooting for this to happen for years," Shirley responded.

 

Laverne had been rooting for them - but there was a slight difference between witnessing their intimacy and hoping for the best.  "Lemme guess - you don't want me to call even if we're floatin' in the middle of the ocean," Laverne teased.

 

"We'd never say that to the godmother of our future kid!" Carmine laughed. 

 

But Laverne knew very well that she probably wouldn't hear from them for another week - maybe not even until they got back to Laurel Vista.  After all, Carmine had a lot of cold showers to work off.   The practicality of this enervated Laverne, who had never gone more than two days without sharing words with Shirley.  This separation would prove to be quite a challenge.

 

"Laverne?" It was Shirley again.  "Make sure to keep the plants fed - and get the mail every day!  I don't want Squiggy going through our Marshall Fields fliers and cutting out the brassiere ads again.  And under no circumstances should you throw a wild party while I'm gone!"

 

Laverne cocked her head mockingly at the receiver, bugging out her eyes and twisting her lips. 

 

"And don't you make fun of me!"

 

More jostling.  "Hey," Carmine said, "when you see Lenny, tell him thank you for me."

 

Confused, Laverne muttered, "sure."  She heard Shirley whisper something vague that caused Carmine to loudly guffaw.  Shirley joined him in laughter, and Laverne felt like an even bigger fifth wheel.  "Uh, hey guys - I've gotta go get somethin' in my tummy, okay?"

 

"Huh?  Oh, sorry, Laverne - Shirl!  That's my..."

 

"I know what that is - we're very well acquainted!"

 

Whatever Carmine replied with was lost to the ages, but the intimate laughter was enough to make Laverne blush.  "Okay, I'm gonna go now!"

 

Jostling, grunting, laughter.  Shirley took over.  "I wanted to tell you about the ceremony!  They loaned me bouquet of silk roses that Jayne Mansfield used in her act at the Copacabana and...CARMINE!"

 

"Yeah, I'm sure you got a great story there..."  More giggling.  "H'okay, I'll wait till you get back.  I'll take you to Cowboy Bills, we'll eat ice cream..."

 

"All - all - hee!  Okay, Laverne!  I love you!" Shirley said brightly.

 

"Love you too," said Laverne tightly.  "You take good care of each other..."

 

A low-pitched moan.  "She's doin' that!" Carmine said brightly.

 

"Aww geez, not in front of me!"

 

More laughter.

 

"Bye!" She didn't wait for her best friend to sign off before returning the phone to its cradle. 

 

Turning toward the living room, Laverne was blinded by a golden light as it reflected brightly off of the sundeck.  Her headache was suddenly a thousand times worse, and Laverne headed into the relative darkness of the kitchenette to make breakfast - the pain receded once more while she rummaged through her cupboards.  As she returned to the table with some simple fare, Laverne noticed that the kitchen clock read five in the morning.

 

Too late to go back to sleep now.  Grumbling, she turned toward the coffee maker and poured in a cup of ground, flicking a switch and waiting for it to perk.  A half-hour later, halfway through her black cup of coffee and Cocoa Pops, she realized her life had changed.

 

Shirley was a married woman.  She had beaten Laverne down the aisle - as Laverne always had known she would do deep down - alone, without family but with the man she had loved since her green adolescence.  Taking vows with Carmine meant she must lead different sort of life - the kind her best friend hadn't planned for during those lonely hours on the bottle capping line back in Milwaukee.  Laverne hoped her best friend knew what she was getting in to.  As for herself...

 

It meant a future of loneliness. The one thing she hated the most.

 

Unquestionably, Shirley would move out now - or Laverne would have to.  If Shirley and Carmine couldn't find a better apartment for themselves or a small, cozy, and cheap bungalow, Laverne knew that Shirley would request occupancy of what had been their apartment.  It was the biggest unit in the building, she'd always dreamed of entertaining in it, and beyond that would need the extra room in preparation for the arrival of her own squad of Little Ragoos.  While that entailed a dreamy parade of do-it-yourself projects for her best friend, for Laverne it meant switching apartments with Carmine, taking the sole unoccupied unit in Laurel Vista, or moving out of their cul de sac.  The last idea was so frightening to Laverne that her stomach went icy and threatened to expel her chocolaty breakfast.  She felt hot, then cold - a series of pinpricks all over the backs of her hands and lips, which went numb.  Her throat tightened as the walls seemed to close in and her fingers numbed, her breath beginning to wheeze, her head beginning to spin...

 

Her front door opened, snapping Laverne out of a panic attack.  It was Lenny, who limply drooped through the threshold.  "Hey, Laverne.  You get the license plate off the bus that smacked into us?"

 

She smiled wanly, relieved to note that Squiggy did not accompany him.  "Hey, Len.  You want some cereal?"  Habitually, she had brought an extra bowl and spoon with her to the table, anticipating a friend that lay miles away and in the arms of her new husband.

 

"Yeah," he said agreeably.  He staggered into the kitchen and pulled out a chair.  "Where's Shirl?" He straddled it backward, resting his chin against the back slat.

 

"You're not gonna believe it," she said, pouring him a heaping bowl of Cocoa Puffs and emptying the rest of the milk into his bowl.

 

"I'll believe," Lenny said in his usual sincere way. 

 

"She went to Carmine's apartment after she dropped me home.  They went out to Las Vegas in the middle of the night and got married." She pushed the dish of cereal toward Lenny.

 

Lenny's blue eyes opened wide, then slammed shut against the sun.  "He listened to me.  Wow, he really listened to me."

 

"He said to have me tell you 'thank you'," she chomped thoughtfully on her cereal.  "You were the one who convinced him to go marry her?"

 

"Well," Lenny fiddled with his spoon.  "I told him that if he didn't marry Shirl, he'd be making a big mistake.  'Cause he's everything she ever wanted in a guy - and she's everything he ever wanted in a girl." He began shoveling the cereal into his mouth.  "When you're in love," he said, spitting a fine mist of cocoa over his placemat, "you shouldn't have to wait to be together.  After all, love ain't the Jungle Boat ride at Disney Land!"

 

His insight, simplistic may it be, stunned her.  "That's real sweet, Len."

 

"Nah.  I just told him what I knew.  Okay, I don't know a lot - so I said what I felt."  His eyes flared suddenly.  "Uh - oh."

 

"What?"

 

"Have you seen Squig?"

 

Laverne frowned.  "No, not since last night..."

 

"I just remembered why I came here!  I lost him, Laverne!"

 

"Len, that's silly!"

 

"Last time I saw him, we was in our bathroom, and he said we should have a contest to see who could write their name on the wall the biggest.  I turned around to unbuckle my pants and when I turned back he was gone!"

 

"Well,  I ain't seen him since you brought us home, but I'm sure he's...on the wall?  Guys can do that?"

 

"It takes a lot of practice, Laverne - waitaminute, if you ain't seen Squig - then where is he?"

 

Laverne shrugged.  "Maybe the gypsies got him."

 

"But what if he fell in the gutter or...."

 

Lenny was babbling, and a babbling Lenny was always a useless Lenny.  Laverne seized both of his hands to stop his shaking.  "Breathe deep," she ordered.  Wide-eyed, he tried to comply.  "He couldn't have gone too far.  We're ten blocks away from the place where the reception was.  After we finish up, I'll go north and you'll go south.  One of us is bound to find - "

 

Laverne's sentence was cut off by a feminine giggle, unmasked by the brick wall cordoning Rhonda Lee's bedroom from her living room.  Laverne and Lenny cocked their heads toward the archway, wondering who had squired a rather tipsy Rhonda Lee to bed the night previous.

 

"Oh Squiggles," came Rhonda's melodious voice, "we're all out of honey!"

 

"Hmmm...did I ever tell you about this trick I do with peanut butter?"

 

"Why tell me...when you can show me?"

 

Laverne pressed her left palm to her lips, biting back bile at the pictures flashing through her mind.  Lenny seemed far more amused then nauseated - and obviously relieved. 

 

"I better take my leavings..." he said, standing up in his place.

 

A streak of fear filtered through Laverne.  She couldn't stand to be alone this morning and Lenny, without Squiggy, usually made good company .  "You didn't finish your cereal."

 

"Oh, that's 'cause I like my Cocoa Puffs with a side of head cheese.  You don't happen to have some 'round, do ya?"

 

Laverne gulped.  "No...but hey, are you gonna be busy today?"

 

"Nah - I was just gonna go sit around at the apartment and check over some contracts Squig wrote up last week..."

 

"So you wouldn't mind goin' to the movies with me?  My treat."

 

He eyed her curiously.  "You wanna go with me?"

 

"Sure.  Why not?"

 

Enthusiastically, he started babbling, "there's this great double feature playing downtown - She!  Portrait of a Woman in Love and The Passion of Bluebeard," He intoned both named with all of the drama necessitated by their titles.

 

"Those romances?"

 

"Horror flicks.  The girl has to kill all of these women to..."

 

"Easy, Len - you're makin' my heart beat too fast," she chuckled.  "Save some of the shocks for the movie!" she pushed away from the table and headed toward the door, picking up the handbag she'd discarded the night before.

 

"Hey Laverne - you don't wanna change first?"

 

"Huh?  Why?"

 

"'Cause I don't think a dress that nice deserves to be wrecked with whatever's under the seats at the Rialto." 

 

Laverne looked down at herself - she still wore her sea foam green bridesmaid's outfit from the night previous.  "Oh boy - you don't mind waiting while I change?"

 

"Nah!  I'll just finish up my cereal here." He walked back to the table and took the sugar jar, pouring half of it into his dish, stirring, and then tasting.  "Mmm - it ain't breakfast unless the milk's gray!"

 

Laverne snickered her way to the bedroom, feeling  his eyes on her back all the way up the stairs.  She showered and dressed quickly, sparing little thought to what she was doing.  They both wanted to get away from the house, and Lenny was a nice, sweet guy.  A great friend.  Never anything more, she reminded herself.  Why was she reminding herself, when he had met her in agreement over their aborted romance long ago - a one-sided romance, she recalled caustically.  Laverne quickly forced herself to a rational decision - she wasn't using him to drive away her loneliness.  She wanted entertainment, amusement for the morning - it was Sunday, he was bored, and she couldn't be that cruel.

 

Smiling widely, she took her favorite navy blue purse and met Lenny on the landing.

 

***

 

"Boy, that Elsa sure was a creep!" Laverne said as they reentered her apartment six hours later.  They had gone to church together, sat through morning mass, then spent the following four hours at the matinee Lenny had suggested.  To Laverne's surprise, the time had passed amiably and comfortably.  She'd forgotten how much fun Lenny could be - how relaxed they could be together - how much of a gentleman he was.  He held open doors for her, spoke in polite tones, and yet was somehow entirely himself - goofy, profane, sweet, reverent.

 

"She was a hundred years old and the only thing keeping her alive was some chick's blood," said Lenny, as he shambled over to her couch.  "That kinda gives her a pass on the creepy thing."

 

"Yeah.  You want a snack?"

 

"Sure - got anything to drink?"

 

"You want a beer?" she ducked into the refrigerator and pushed aside old take out containers until she found a couple of bottles of Shotz.

 

"You got some Pepsi?"

 

"Uh huh," she pushed aside some old roast chicken and saw something in a cardboard box.  "Huh!  Lookit this!" she plucked out two bottles of Pepsi and tucked them in the crook of her neck while she pulled into view a small square white box. 

 

"What's that?"

 

"The top of Shirley and Carmine's wedding cake." She kicked the fridge closed and carried it all over to the coffee table.

 

He had popped  the twine string and lifted out the layer of white cake before she returned with two forks and paper plates.  "Ain't Shirl and Carmine gonna be mad if we eat it?" Lenny asked, contemplating the pile of elegant confectionary with obvious lust.

 

"Nah - she didn't put it in the freezer, so she wasn't gonna keep it," Laverne plucked the plastic bride and groom from the top of the cake and sawed through the cake with the side of her fork, splitting everything in half and pushing one portion over onto a paper plate, handing it to Lenny.

 

They ate together in silence, both of them quietly observing the stillness of the day.  Even Rhonda's apartment had gone quiet, to Laverne's relief.  She found herself wondering if Squiggy had put the starlet to sleep, or if he had decided to go out for the morning paper.  Squiggy and the morning paper?  She wondered at herself for wondering.

 

Typically, Lenny finished before her - and more messily, his fingers white with pastiage and butter cream.  Laverne watched him lap his sticky pinky as her fork shattered through a fancy white rosebud.  She noted blandly that the icing had sugared overnight, giving the works a delectable grainy texture as she nibbled.  Lenny spent a moment watching her eat in his usual single-minded way before he tipped over his empty Pepsi bottle.  She watched with benign amusement as he pointed the vessel at himself, then let it spin in a wide, wobbly circle.

 

"You ain't done that," she said, licking her fork, "since we were in third grade."

 

It spun for what seemed like minutes before stopping - pointing, lip-first-at her.  With a smart-assed expression, he scooted over on the couch until he was beside her, his eyes wide and his brows wiggling. 

 

"Lenny," she complained.

 

"Aww, come on Laverne..." he said, advancing heedlessly.

 

They had been through this so many times - he should have learned his lesson by now.  It's Lenny, she reminded herself.  He doesn't learn unless it's through force.  At least she knew the magic words to make him stop.  "Lenny, no."

 

He pouted, but shrank back obediently.  "I want one little kiss," he said.  "One little teensy kiss..."

 

"You're such a baby!"

 

"Am not!" he whined.  Sitting there forlornly, staring at his folded hands as they lay limply in his lap, he looked comically and yet tragically wounded.  Laverne's softer instincts kicked in - with Lenny, she tended to become a protector, the mother he no longer had, while he became the little boy who used to cry on the stoop of her building when his father forgot to leave a dummy key in their mailbox - until she let him in.  She felt guilty when he was miserable, strong when he felt scared.  Propelled by memory and fondness, she scooted over the middle cushion, until she could feel his left thigh against her right.  In her most professional manner, she reached over with her right hand, moved his head, and pressed her lips to his.

 

The kiss was surprisingly sweet - tentative.  At first he recoiled from her aggressiveness, protective of himself.  But she persisted in pressing against him, and so her lips met his - the plump bow mouth parting slightly for a gasp of air.  He ended up swallowing her supply before slipping his tongue between her lips. 

 

That tongue was a rude intrusion into her chaste intentions.  She had meant to give him a reminder of their childhood follies - the way she'd stand on his feet to be of his height at the junior high mixers, before she'd hit puberty but after he'd begun it, and how he'd always take advantage of the position with a kiss.  His tongue made the old memories an invalid point - he was a grown-up with a grown-ups' intentions toward her, ones she had been trying to dismiss and allay for years. 

 

He stroked her tongue with his - a sensation that sparked erotic feeling, little dapples of heat coursing through her spine, surprising her.  She had kissed him willingly on so few occasions that she could not recall what it was like to submit to his probing tongue.  For a moment she sat as inert as he had been, the sensations radiating through her making her dazedly wonder why she'd been fighting him for so long.  She moaned her surprise, and he took advantage of her shock to suck her into his mouth.  Her body reacted without permission, her fingers tangling up in his Brylcreeme-coated hair, pulling him closer against the front of her.  She could smell nothing but him - a faint whiff of aftershave, of the vanilla musk he wore religiously - which he had been doused with during the wedding but now only smelled faintly of.  Little hints of Johnson's Baby Powder and sweat tickled her nose, lying beneath the stronger notes of his cologne.  He tasted like sugar, like coca puffs and popcorn and wedding cake, as if he oozed sweetness from his pores.  She liked it.  He tasted good, he smelled good - her rational mind lay back stunned, as her sensual side demanded more.  Lenny's torso stroked hers, their chests brushed - he could probably feel her erect nipples through the padding of her bra, but she suddenly didn't care - her arms went around his neck and lay coiled there, holding him, a mouse in a snake's jaws.  The kiss deepened as he sucked on her rudely, as she pushed on his chest until he sat back, until she climbed over him, into his lap, feeling him against the junction of her thighs through their jeans, the heat of her breath working through his gray sweatshirt. 

 

A much ruder pressure below her waist reminded her of how fast she had moved - and who she was moving with.  Like an ice water douche, the thought tamed her mood - she broke the kiss and clambered off of his lap, panting and glaring at him.

 

He glared back at her.  "What?" he replied, meaning why did you stop?  When she did nothing, his look softened.  "I'm sorry, I got carried away..."

 

"You sure as hell did," she snapped.  He winced back from her, and her guilt nearly overwhelmed her.  "I'm sorry.  I led you on - I didn't mean to."

 

He sprung up from the couch.  "Yeah, I'm used to it," he stalked toward the door.  "I'll see you, Laverne."

 

"Len, wait..." she began, but he had disappeared through the doorway.  His exit made her blood begin to boil in response.  How dare he!  She never led him on - not intentionally.  Sure, she flirted with him sometimes, but that didn't give him the right to...

 

Didn't give you the right to climb into his lap, either.  Laverne felt a keen, and rare, sense of shame.

 

It was the loneliness - or the prospect of it - driving her to such a ridiculous act.  Had to be.  Lenny had always liked her a little - now she was taking advantage of his good nature all over again.  Something she tended to do when desperate.

 

Her eyes fell on the phone.  Well, Lenny wasn't the only man in the world  - and if she wanted to feel a little less lonely tonight, there were a thousand swains in the Valley willing to fall victim to the DeFazio charm.  A thought formed in her mind before she picked up the receiver and dialed.

 

"Hello?" came Rhonda Lee's voice over the line, somewhere between its usual baby like breathiness and her natural, businesslike tone.

 

"Hey Rhonda - it's Laverne," she said.  "You busy?"

 

"Not for the next four minutes."  An awful warbling noise sounded in the background - Laverne realized it was Squiggy, trying to sing in the shower.

 

"I was wonderin' if I could borrow your address book?"

 

"The red one or the black one?"

 

"Let's just say I want the wildest, craziest, hunkiest bunch of guys possible over at my apartment tonight."

 

"The black one, then.  What are you doing?  You're not planning to have a little shindig without Rhonda?"

 

"'Course not.  What the heck - gimmie both books, and you're invited, too.  Heck, bring Squiggy!  I want everyone in Burbank over at my house tonight, and I want 'em wild and loaded!"

 

"Well, you and Shirley both seem to be turning over new leaves!  Perhaps life will finally be exciting again in Laurel Vista!"

 

"Yeah, about that - I gotta ask you something, Rhonda.  Promise me you ain't gonna tell Shirl about this party."

 

"Is she going out with Carmine tonight?"

 

"You could say that - she's in Las Vegas with him."

 

A little delighted squeal.  "They got married after all?"

 

"Yeah - guess they didn't need their friends around to mess things up this time." Laverne couldn't keep her sour grapes from vocalizing themselves.

 

"So that's what your little party is about - you're feeling lonely!  Rhonda can help - she knows ALL of the biggest names in Hollywood!"

 

"I'll go by your place and pick up the books now..."

 

"No, you'd best let me do that - Rhonda has a marquee value name while you...kindly, do not."

 

Laverne grumbled.  "Yeah, well, tell 'em to be here by eight - and be ready for a good time!" 

 

A door slammed.  "Oh Rhonda, my dove - Squiggles is ready for round five!"

 

Laverne grimaced.  "I didn't want to hear that."

 

"Excuse me," Rhonda said.  "I have to finish my research."

 

"Research?" But Laverne's answer was a dial tone.

 

Slamming down the receiver, Laverne took stock of her kitchen and decided to head to the market.  A good party, after all, required a lot of goodies.  Goodies, she thought childishly, that she would never share with the likes of Lenny Kosnowski.

 

 

***

 

"Hey!  Don't put your cigarette out in that!" Laverne grabbed a vase from the thick fingers of a dark-haired, wild-eyed man sporting a "Mother" tattoo on his left bicep. 

 

He glared down at her - noticing her lack of intimidation, he whined, "hey, you ain't got no ash trays - "

 

"That's because you're not supposed to be smoking!" she grabbed the lit cigarette from his hand and extinguished it on his leather vest.

 

"Lady..." He started toward her, but Laverne had already flown to another area of the apartment.

 

"Don't spit off the balcony!" she scolded two boys who couldn't be older than sixteen.  She peered over the edge of the deck.  "Aww gees, you're not spitting - whatever you do, try to miss that truck down there," she headed back from the patio.  "Where did Carmine leave the hose?" she muttered to herself, her headache renewing with a vengeance.  The music precluded thought - Rachmaninoff, blasting through her cheap speakers.  "And who turned it on the classical station?"  she rushed over and yanked the dial on her stereo, until rock music began blaring through the speakers.  "All right!  Now it's a party!"

 

The shambles of humanity circling her tray of blunders and swilling Shotz over the carpet didn't seem ready to party.  What they seemed was a little bombed.  They also stank of pot - which, Laverne thought poutily, no one had thought to bring and share with the hostess.  She could really use one of those funny brownies she'd had at that party thrown by the London's Bridges, and the false sense of well-being they'd engendered in her bloodstream.  Chocolate, straight with no chaser, would have to substitute - she shoved one of the wilting blunders between her lips and jaunted around, trying to remember how to do the Loca-Motion.  Desperate to get a little entertainment going, she tapped a tall, black-suited figure on the shoulder.  "Hey, sailor - wanna dance?"

 

The figure spun around - a woman's form and face in a guy's suit.  "Sure cutie!" she trilled.

 

"Uh...I gotta go get some more of these blunders..." she staggered over to the end table and began squirting more whipped cream on Oreos.  

 

Two songs later, Laverne gathered the strength to peer at her 'guests'.  She had returned at seven with party supplies to find the apartment already loading up with strange faces.  From the motley crew now trampling all over Shirley's prized carpet, Laverne was forced to wonder about what kind of company her actress friend really kept in her off hours.  It seemed that Rhonda knew an entire league of bikers, two thirds of the best outpatients from LA's finest detox centers, and a few smiling b-list actresses who were clearly uncomfortable standing around in a stranger's apartment.  On a day long ago, she would have treasured such wild company - but in LA, where adventure could mean death and the big headlines were about crazed killers on the rampage, strangers were no longer an exciting sight. Medication - she really needed medication.  Laverne grabbed a bottle of Shotz from her ice chest, popped the cap off with her teeth, and danced over to Rhonda.

 

Her blonde friend sat holding court with Squiggy and a fiftyish male friend in a nook of the living room, nibbling on her blunder with a nauseated expression on her face.  Squiggy was in between Rhonda and her friend, showing her off to their companion, who wore a loud plaid suit - someone who was not Lenny, Laverne noticed with some satisfaction.  Tapping the blond on her shoulder, Laverne hissed, "may I have a word with you?"

 

Rhonda smiled blandly.  "Squiggles, darling, would you keep Joseph entertained?"

 

"Anything for you, Rhonda my pigeon - now, as I was saying, that's the problem with pictures nowadays, Joe!  Too many buildings exploding.  Pictures ain't about people no more."

 

"You mean movies should focus on how people interact - how they feel?"

 

"You got a banana in your ear?  The explosions are fine where they are - but forget the buildings blowing up.  You gotta blow up bigger things!  Blow up planets!  Blow up people!  Keep 'em on the edge of the balcony!  I got this script in my pocket, pal, that I've been working on for the past six months..." 

 

Laverne remained ignorant of the conversation taking place behind her.  In the relative quiet of her kitchen, she hissed to Rhonda, "you said you were gonna bring a MIX of people!"

 

"It's impossible to get a mix of people to come to a party on a Sunday night, even in Los Angeles," Rhonda said, her smile a grit.

 

Laverne scowled.  "BS!  You said you know Warren Beatty!"

 

"Warren is entertaining Ann-Margaret, who's entertaining Paul Newman, who's entertaining Juliet Prowse."

 

"Of all the phony-baloney..."

 

"Rhonda's grapevines wilt on a Sunday afternoon!  Now, if you had asked Rhonda to put together a Saturday evening soiree, you would have had Ryan O'Neil hanging from your chandelier!"

 

"I don't think it could handle his weight," Laverne noted tartly.  A horrendous crashing noise came from the living room, and she pushed Rhonda physically aside to see what had happened.

 

"Hey, I'm sorry - you got some Crazy Glue?" asked a twentyish man with black hair and a blue shirt and work pants.  He almost looked normal enough to spark an interest in Laverne - and she would have asked him to dance, had he not been holding a broken treasure of hers in his hands.

 

Her clay snake vase - the one Shirley had made for her in day camp when they were nine years old.  The one she had painted navy blue - not just blue, NAVY blue - because it was Laverne's favorite color.  The one she had carried with them through two moves, the one that had managed never to break in the hands of her very clumsy and antic friends.  One bump from some stranger, and it had shattered in half, in a way no glue could ever mend.  Laverne bent low, scooping its pieces into her hand, refusing herself the release of tears before strange company.

 

"Get out," she said, low in her throat and from the depth of her soul, her eyes melded to the broken vase.

 

"Huh?" The stranger hovered over her shoulder.  She turned on him, her eyes lacerating him where he stood.

 

"GET.  OUT.  ALL OF YOU." Her voice rose in decibel.  Every head in the room turned toward her.  "LEAVE!  OR I'LL CALL THE COPS!"

 

The chattering guests stared at her as if she had sprouted a second head.  Shrugging, they turned back to whatever they had been doing. 

 

Angered beyond belief, she pushed her way through the mass of people surrounding her phone and picked up the receiver - to find it dead.  Her stomach sickened with dread - and her eyes fell to the full envelope of money stuffed in the opened phone bill, which Shirley, in her weeklong fever, had forgotten to pay.  It had been a month overdue the week before...

 

Grabbing it up in her fist - knowing it was the only money left in the house - Laverne ran over to Rhonda and pulled sharply on her elbow.  The entire front of her dress was then liberally doused in beer, but she didn't give a damn. 

 

"Gimmie the keys to your place," Laverne snapped.

 

"Excuse Rhonda?"

 

"Your keys.  I want to be alone."

 

Rhonda frowned.  "What an odd request.  Can't you..." 

 

"There are people everywhere here, I don't want to take a walk, and HIS place," she stared down Squiggy, who slurped on his beer and averted his eyes, "has Lenny in it.  Shirl took the keys to Carmine's place when she left, so it ain't like I got any more options but to go to your apartment..."

 

"You're giving Rhonda a headache."  She dug a finger into the cleavage of her bright green party dress and withdrew a small brass key.  "Please don't drip on my new ottoman,"  she said crisply.

 

Laverne glared at Rhonda.  She raised her voice another octave - the Hell's Angels were grouped around Laverne's stereo, bellowing the words to "Wild Thing" in an unintelligible slur - and complained,  "I don't think you called any of your so-called friends!  I think you just picked a bunch of names off of the men's room wall at Kroger's!"

 

"Laverne, Krogers is a fine establishment with graffiti-free walls - I got the numbers off of the wall of the new Shell on tenth."

 

Furious, Laverne threw the keys back at Rhonda.  "Never mind!" she pushed her way to the staircase and climbed it.

 

Shimmying in her heels, Rhonda followed.  "You must understand!  Rhonda has a reputation to maintain...where are you going?" she worried. 

 

"Upstairs.  I said I want to be alone.  Unlike you, I ain't an actress - I say exactly what I mean."

 

Rhonda looked subtly uncomfortable.  "But what am I going to do with these people?"

 

Laverne's eyes held a mean glint.  "I wouldn't know, Rhonda.  They're your friends!"

 

Dimly, as she entered her room, Laverne heard Rhonda saying, "do any of you know how to play 'Truth'?"

 

Alone at last, Laverne barricaded herself in her bedroom, using her bureau chair as a lock.  Even in the sanctity of her chamber there would be no real peace- she could hear a thudding baseline echoing through the ceiling as the Beatles wailed away on her stereo. 

 

The noise was a welcome distraction.  If she didn't have it, she'd whirl away into nothingness - into misery and fear.  Her eyes fell on the bowl, still held between her palms - she wondered miserably if anything could put her life back together again.  She sat down on her bed to better study it, better remember a day before she feared separation.  

 

"Geeze, Laverne!"

 

Yelping, she shot up from the quilt.  "Don't try anything!  I've got..." she looked at the pile of clay in her hands.  "...a magnum.  A fifty-eight magnum!"

 

The rangy figure splayed itself across the floor.  "Don't shoot!" he cried.

 

She recognized that voice - specifically, that tone of panic.  "Len!  What are you doing under my bed?"

 

He looked suitably ashamed.  "I'm hidin' from the biker guys," his eyes widened.  "Don't ever tell a seven-foot tall guy named Spike that his bike's parked in your spot if you wanna keep your shoes."

 

She eyed him.  "Or your pants," she added.  Lenny was sitting there in a navy suit jacket, green tie and yellow shirt - his feet bare and red polka-dotted boxer shorts covering his rear.  The sight was comical enough to make her forget that she was mad at him.

 

Lenny scooted on the floor until he could cross his legs Indian style and face her, and then tried desperately to seem comfortable with his situation.  "They could get a lot of money for them in Tijuana!  The guy at Irwin's Big And Irregulars said he killed the finest polyesters to make 'em!" He peered at the floor.  "Are they gone yet?"

 

"Nope.  Party's still going on.  I left them with Rhonda," she laid the ashtray halves on her mattress and poked the chalky pieces with her finger. 

 

"Don't a party need a host?"

 

A shout and a peel of laughter echoed through the floorboard.  "They're doing fine without me."

 

Lenny frowned,  his childlike expression harkening her back to their past, to him holding out his dead turtle and asking her to bring it back to life.  "Don't your friends miss you?"

 

She tilted her chin proudly.  "Forget them.  The million-dollar question is - what are you doing here?  I don't remember inviting you.  And if they took your shoes at the curb, why didn't you go hide from the bikers at your place?" He squirmed and mumbled something.  "Huh?"

 

"I...I was lookin' for Squig!  I got a hot date and I needed to use the tr-...." She gave him a knowing look.   He was a horrible liar.  "Okay.  I was lonely," he admitted. 

 

She couldn't resist teasing him.  "What'd you say?"

 

"I was lonely," he said, a little bit louder.  "I was hopin' you'd see it in your heart to forgive me."

 

She didn't focus on his apology.  "The Lone Wolf was lonesome," Laverne snorted. 

 

"You don't gotta rub it in..."

 

"I'm not rubbing anything in, mister Big Swinger." It was wrong of her to try to make him feel worse, but he had walked out on her - and he was the one who had come running back for more.

 

"At least I got an excuse to be hiding in here," he said pointedly.  "Why'd you check out on your own party?" 

 

She watched him from the edge of her bed.  There was something in Lenny that was so forgiving - she knew she could tell him about her fear, for he knew that emotion better than anyone else in her scope of experience.  "You know why I'm having this party, Len?"

 

"To make me jealous?"

 

She pierced him with her bottle-green eyes.  "No...But you knew about that?"

 

He shrugged.  "Squig came home to change, and he told me I wasn't invited," he shrugged.  "I just...guessed."

 

She took a deep breath.  "It's not really about you and me." His eyes brightened at her choice of words and she sighed.  "In two weeks, Shirl's gonna come home from Las Vegas with a husband.  She's gonna move in with Carmine, and I'm gonna be..."

 

"Alone?"

 

When had he gotten so good at reading her mind?  "Yeah.  I'm gonna be alone."

 

"I know how you feel."

 

"How can you?"

 

Lenny cocked his head toward the door.  "Okay, I don't know yet.  But I get the feeling I'm gonna pretty soon."

 

Laverne crawled closer to the edge, putting her arms around his neck.  "Aww, Len!  This thing between Rhonda and Squig's just some crazy fling."

 

"You don't know him, Laverne," Lenny leaned into her embrace before continuing.  "Squiggy's been walking around all day like he's on cloud eight!  He's REALLY happy - the last time I saw him like this, that jerk Vivian was pushin' him around...” His eyes brightened.  "Hey - you think he was breathin' so heavy 'cause she had him moving around her stuff?"

 

Laverne frowned sourly.  "Nah.  Guys don't sound like that when they're moving junk for chicks."

 

"Yeah, well Squig makes it sound like they're crazy about each other.  He even told me he thinks this thing with Rhonda has a future!"

 

"Nah?  Yeah?"  He nodded earnestly.  "Well, just 'cause he's gonna date Rhonda don't mean you're gonna be alone."

 

"Yeah?  You know anyone who'd be a big enough jerk to hang out with me?  To go to the movies with me, or to a Pirates game?"

 

"Yeah!"

 

"Who?"

 

She patted herself on the chest with her right arm.

 

"Your "L" got indigestion?"

 

She squeezed him harder around the neck, until he squirmed free of her grip.  "I'm talking about me, Len.  I'd hang out with you!

 

He pouted.  "Yeah, you and me are real great friends nowadays."

 

"We had a little fight!  We always have little fights!  That don't mean I ain't your friend!"

 

He shoved himself further away from her.  "The problem is I ain't happy with us just being friends.  It's like banging my head against a brick wall with you, but I might as well say it now - I still wanna be more."

 

She had known, but to hear the words from his mouth sent her stomach flip-flopping  "You'll..."

 

"I'll never forget you.  I've tried to be with a hundred girls since Milwaukee, but all I want is right here in this room..."

 

She whined.  "Len..."

 

"..And if you didn't want more," he pointed out, "you wouldn't've sat in my lap and kissed me like that..." he wrapped his big hand around her little one.  "And you sat in my lap and gave me that kiss," he said thickly, "'cause  I'm the first jerk since Randy Carpenter who could give you goosebumps just by kissing you."

 

She wanted to smack him, deny it, yell at him - the old, tried and true tactics that had worked before.  But her traitorous flesh reacted to his touch by sprouting head-to-toe goosebumps and a fine blush visible beneath her bedroom lamp.  When she looked up from her forearm, his blue eyes were locked on her face. 

 

She met his gaze and fear gained ownership of his body - he released her wrist and crawled underneath the bed, all confidence completely extinguished by that one bold gesture.

 

"LENNY!" She peered over the side of the bed, nearly able to make out the outline of his curled-up body in the shadows beneath it.  "You're gonna lay all of that on me without sticking around to hear what I think?"

 

"I know what you think!" His voice cracked with emotion.  "You're gonna say we're friends..."

 

"...And friends are forever?" she sighed.  Her chin came to rest against the "Hi Sailor" pillow.  "Maybe I was a little hasty when I said that," she ruminated.  "Sometimes love can be forever.  Take a look at Carmine and Shirl -  she ain't gonna settle for less than infinity with him." Laverne smiled crookedly.  "Len, what the hell do I know anymore?  I ain't been in love for more than five months at a time with one guy."

 

Lenny's blond head peeped out from beneath the bed.  "Maybe you just ain't been with the right one yet," he said simply.

 

She turned her eyes away, resting against the pillow.  Impulsively, his right hand shot out from under the bed and wrapped itself around her forearm.  He didn't grab - he didn't squeeze - he didn't pull; he held.  For a long time she consented to his touch, but would not meet his eyes. 

 

Finally, he turned his eyes to the clay coils on her bedspread.  He released her fingers and began poking it.  "Hey," he said, "that's the vase Shirl made you in camp, isn't it?"

 

He remembered?  Of all people, him?  "Yeah."

 

"I don't remember it being all crumbly..." he frowned. 

 

"That's cause one of Rhonda's dopey friends broke it."

 

Lenny frowned.  "Aww, you really liked this thing - you had it since we were little."

 

"Uh huh - I guess it's just garbage now."

 

Lenny shook his head firmly.  "Nah - I bet I can fix it...you got some Superglue?"  He got up from under the bed and scooped the remnants into his lap.

 

She dug around in the drawer of her bedside table, finally pulling out a tube.  He accepted it and began to work with the sort of precision usually accorded to brain surgery.  Laverne watched him put it all back together with skillful, nimble fingers in amazed silence.  When he finished, it looked brand new. 

 

"You did it!" she cried out, throwing her arms around his neck. 

 

He chuckled awkwardly.  "That's what I'm good at.  Puttin' your...stuff...back together.  Besides, I guess you don't get to be clumsy like me without learnin' how to help yourself." The warmth in his fingers seeped through her chilly skin.  "So," he said at last.  "Do you forgive me?"

 

She rested her head against his shoulder.  "Nothin' to forgive.  We were both lonely, and I guess we just needed each other."

 

"You ain't gonna give the littlest thought to what I said?"

 

She said nothing.  For an indeterminate amount of time, he held her.   Sometime later, Laverne realized that the complex had gone silent.

 

They both came from their trance.  "Guess the coast is clear," she smiled wanly. 

 

"You think it's safe?" he worried.  "You want me to go down there with you?"

 

"Nah," she flipped the pillow back onto her bed and over her shoulder with her free hand.  "I ain't afraid of no hairy bikers.  I've gotten rid of plenty in my time, and I've been around the block enough to know how to handle any slimy problems they leave behind."

 

Her doorknob rattled.  "Hello?" Squiggy hollered, banging his fist against it.

 

Laverne shot up off of the bed, dragging Lenny's weight behind her until he gathered enough wit to release her from his grip.  She dragged the chair away from the doorknob and opened it a crack.  "Whattya want?"

 

Squiggy's hooded eyes peered up at her with their usual intensity.  "Where is he?"

 

"Where is who?"

 

"He who!  Lenny who!" Squiggy peered around Laverne's side.  "I been lookin' all over Laurel Vista for him.  I though the biker guys kidnapped him for ransom."

 

"Nah." Lenny made himself known behind Laverne.  "They said I'd take up too much room, and they couldn't afford to rent no sidecar."

 

"Geeze, they didn't even try to cut out your kidney?"

 

"They wanted to, the curb was too warm and they said it'd spoil..."

 

Lenny had climbed to his feet and stepped into light, standing behind Laverne.   Andrew Squiggman - perhaps the world's least-perceptive male - took one look at his roommate sporting his boxers and broke out into a huge grin.  "Well, well - looks like I ain't the only guy bein' showered from above with buckets of heaving womanliness!"  He slapped Laverne on the shoulder.  "Go easy on him - he's got a bum ankle.  I know - I gave it to him."

 

"Nah, nah Squig - it ain't like that!" Lenny said immediately. 

 

"Leonard Kosnowski!" Squiggy complained.  "I may be short, but I ain't stupid!  I know what wooing looks like, and you're pitchin' it all over the place!"

 

"Squig!"

 

"Ol' pal, it takes a lot to pull the wool over my eyes," he rubbed his hands together.  "Well, since you're gonna be up here with Laverne, you don't mind me using our place..."

 

"Whattya need our place for?  Rhonda's got a bigger bed!"

 

"Lenny, my poor, naive friend - there are certain benefits to doin' it in a small bed," Squiggy untied his tie and grinned licentiously.  "and I'm gonna teach Miss Rhonda Lee every one of them."

 

Laverne moaned her disgust and tried to get out from between the boys, but she was pinned between Lenny's chest and the doorframe. 

 

"What about me?  Where the heck am I supposed to go?" Lenny groused.

 

"Don't whine!" Squiggy said.

 

"I'm not whining!" Lenny whined.  "Whe're'm I gonna sleep?"

 

" Rhonda says she gave Laverne her spare key - you can go sleep at her place."

 

"Her place?  Forget it - all those mirrors gimmie the creeps!"

 

"You ain't seen 'em in action."  Squiggy grinned.

 

"Where the heck is Rhonda?" Laverne finally broke in.

 

"She's in my apartment, washing pudding off her knockers." Squiggy's face went thoughtful.  "You ever see a bunch of Hells Angels playing 'truth'?  It'll put you off your food for weeks.  All that hugging," Squiggy shuddered.  "Two of 'em started crying!  Just ain't natural..."

 

Impatiently, she asked, "did everyone go home?"

 

"Yep.  She kicked 'em out for ruining her good dress.  And I was this close to gettin' a deal going with Joe, too.   Boy, nothing takes the spit out of a party faster than weepin' bikers..." He leaned uncomfortably close to Laverne and whispered, "by the by - remind me not to get Rhonda mad.  Whatta temper!" 

 

Laverne endeavored to end the conversation.  "All right then, Squig - we'll see you in the morning."

 

Lenny stared down his roommate.  "Just don't do it in my bed!"

 

Squiggy rolled his eyes.  "Like I'd roll a girl in your bunk!  We'd probably end up with Jeffery crammed up our kiesters!"

 

Laverne tried to jam the door closed on the shorter man.  "Wait!" Squiggy jammed his foot between door and frame.  "Len!  You wanna take our lucky rubber?"

 

"But you got a hot date!" Lenny said.

 

"Rhonda says she's on the pill," he smirked at Laverne, intentionally trying to annoy her.  "Hey Laverne - tell Lenny to do that thing that he does with his tongue!"

 

"SQUIG!" Laverne and Lenny shouted together.

 

It was Laverne who managed to gain independent control of her mouth first.  "Out!"  She said, planting her palm on Squiggy's forehead and shoving him out of the doorframe.  As he staggered away, Laverne kicked his foot out of the door and shut it tight.  She could hear Squiggy chuckling down the hallway as he let himself out of the apartment.

 

Stiffly, Laverne turned around.  Lenny was staring at his own feet, a light blush staining the normally pale skin of his cheekbones.  "You got a spare blanket?"

 

She nodded.  "Where are you going?"

 

"The couch."

 

Laverne stopped his progress from the room.  "You can sleep in Shirl's bed." 

 

"That ain't gonna make you feel weird?"  A lot had been said between them today - the weight of their words rested in his tired blue eyes.

 

Laverne glanced over at the bed with its mussed pink coverlet and stifled a giggle as she imagined Lenny lying among the ultra-feminine sheets.  At least Boo Boo Kitty had tumbled from his perch on her pillows during Laverne's frantic morning inspection and lay face-down on the floor between the beds.  Shirl's gonna kill me, she thought to herself - for letting Boo Boo Kitty lie on the floor all day and for letting Lenny get his hair tonic all over her pillowcases.  "Nah.  I trust you, Len."  And she did, God help her.  "I'll use the bathroom first."

 

"Okay," Lenny said, typically agreeable.  Laverne felt him watching her as he settled down on Shirley's bed and she searched her dresser for a pair of pjs.  Randomly, she grabbed a pair - the blue paisley set Shirley had gotten her on discount, the ones she'd always believed were ugly.  Pushing closed the drawer, she rushed off to the bathroom, relieved herself, brushed her hair, brushed her teeth, and gave herself a quick sponge bath to wash away the scent and stickiness of Rhonda's beer.  Though Laverne yearned for a shower, what she really needed was sleep.  She donned the loose pajamas quickly and then ducked back out into her bedroom.

 

She gestured blandly.  "All yours."

 

Lenny's eyes drank her in for a long moment before he thought to stand up - his gaze was nearly a physical pressure as she awkwardly moved toward her bed, pulling her blanket toward her chin.  "Thanks,"  he murmured.  Silently, she lay on her back, eyes closed tight as she tried not to listen to whatever noises he made behind closed doors.  She heard the bathroom light click off, followed by the bedroom lamp, his feet padding across the floor.

 

When something warm and damp brushed her forehead, she feared the worst - but they were only his lips, it was only his kiss on her forehead.

 

A quiet, gentle little kiss.  The kind of kiss you'd give a little baby's boom boom.   

 

Her eyes drifted open, momentarily surprised by his tenderness.  His smile was crooked.  "Night."

 

"Night," she murmured, astonishment coloring her tone.  Isolated in her little bunk, she watched him climb into Shirley's bed and swaddle himself in her blankets, watched sleep claim him.  She didn't find such satisfaction herself until hours later.

 

***

 

Laverne jerked awake to a pitch dark bedroom and the sound of a man snoring.  She instinctively groped underneath her bed for her trusty Louisville Slugger before remembering who occupied Shirley's bed and drooping to the mattress.

 

Her eyes fell on Shirley's alarm clock.  3:15, and she had to be up at seven for her shift at Bardwells.  Nothing consumers liked more than a gift wrapper with dark circles around her eyes.  She could already hear her supervisor complaining...

 

It was easier to worry about her job than examine her life - a life had been turned inside out in twenty-four short hours.  She turned over, lying her head against the inside of her left forearm, looking at the wheezing lump in the neighboring bed.  The sound of his breathing calmed her completely, and she couldn't fathom why. 

 

But then it was Lenny.  As usual, she couldn't fathom him at all.

 

He was the only man she could conjure to mind that had ever held such a strange effect on her.  He could make her cry - he could make her sing - he could make her angry and make her feel soft inside.  Looking into his face was like looking into one of those prisms Jack Feeney had brought home from Australia for his daughter in their shared childhood - Laverne remembered all of those facets glittering up at her, confusing and bewitching her mind.

 

So maybe he was a deep guy.

 

A deep guy who had set her up with his rapist of a foreman at work...but she couldn't blame him for that.  They had been kids - kids who feared for their jobs as they lived from paycheck to paycheck.  She knew he had lived in hunger and fear for most of his childhood - a poverty more severe than her own.  At least Pop managed to keep dinner on the table every night.  She knew Lenny had lived off of sardines from his father's cannery job most nights.  Ivor Kosnowski kept a jolly, amusing household, even when the children were starving.  Even after Missus Olivia Kosnowski had boarded a bus and abandoned her five-year-old son on his birthday, leaving eight-year-old Emily to watch him in pure fear,  unsure if her father would return.  The specter of real poverty had probably been enough to make Lenny capitulate to Squiggy's demands to set her up with Bif.  He had been the one to cry for her, to crack - to fear for her life...

 

But he was also a deep guy, she recalled, as she hid a smile against her fingertips, who had chased her around a motel room in Nevada with a plunger on his head.  Much of what had occurred in the Royal Cactus that night had become an obstruction to Laverne - it wasn't as bad as Shirley had said, but there had been some running.   Memories of Squiggy chasing a pajama-clad Shirley around the room flashed through her mind and she snickered again.  Even then, as he advanced on her in his Bullwinkle pajamas, she had never been scared of him. 

 

He was the deep guy who had given her number to the nationwide audience of The Dating Game, too - but she dismissed that as Squiggy's idea.  Though she didn't put that tunnel of love fantasy by him.

 

He had called her names, but she had flung her fair share back at him.  He remained the only man she'd ever been on an even keel with.  She never meant to wound him by calling him a 'dope' - same way he never meant to wound her by calling her 'flatsy' in fifth grade.  She had shown him, she smirked to herself.   They had teased each other in the manner of little children - the way boys and girls in eons past tried to gain each other's attention.

 

Lenny Kosnowski - one of the only men she'd dated who'd never really hurt her, who wanted her to be happy.  But she had hurt him.  Guilt chewed her stomach.  Even when he had tried to move on, no woman had ever been good enough for Lenny, the "real sweet guy" she had rejected because he couldn't give her goosebumps.

 

Until today.

 

She was disgusted with herself.  Attraction wasn't supposed to work this way!  It was supposed to come on you in a rush, leaving you wet and weak on your doorstep after a first kiss.  It was supposed to wash you away in the front seat of some muscular hood's Cadilac.  Desire had always been instantaneous for her - sparked off by a nice tushy, a cute smile, firm abs.  It did not sneak up on you and bludgeon you like a hammer in the dead of night and wreck friendships.

 

As she watched the subtle rise of his shoulders beneath the blankets, she knew she wanted him - just the way he had figured out that she did long ago.  What she could barely admit to herself was that her newfound lust ran far deeper than she had ever believed, and had done so for longer than she cared to remember.

 

She was in love with him. 

 

Laverne really didn't want to be in love - didn't want to give away a heart that she was sure had been lost in a building collapse three years before back in Milwaukee.   Lenny was the one of the few people who could possibly fathom the pain she had endured when Randy died - because he had witnessed her near-finance's death.  How he had survived another scar on what was such a fragile psyche lay beyond her comprehending. 

 

Tenderness and fear made a ball in Laverne's stomach.  How long had she loved him - how long had she denied herself?  Suddenly, the past didn't matter - they were all old ghosts, lying in their graves, and rousing the memories would do no good for the here and now.  She only knew that she wouldn't refuse him - never again.  Sitting up, she shoved away the covers and crawled off the mattress, trying for silence, kneeling in the space between her bed and his, throwing away a future of single hood without a second glance - a lifetime of empty one-night affairs with the unworthies of the world.  Now she only wanted to be held, cherished, needed by someone who wanted her as much as she wanted him.

 

His eyes flew wide open when she kissed his lips.

 

"Vernie?" he said into the darkness.  She could see the bright blue glow of his eyes in the moonlight pouring in from her bedroom window.

 

"Len," she said, reaching for him.

 

He pulled away from her.  "You sleepwalking?"

 

She shook her head.

 

"What are you-"

 

She pressed her finger to his lips.  "You're right."

 

It was all she said.

 

It was all she needed to say.

 

His sudden kiss was overwhelming - her nerves seemed to short circuit as she wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed herself to be transported to a place beyond reason.  His arms were around her - pulling her into the bed; she lay cosseted against the front of him while he plied her with kisses and unbuttoned the top of her pajamas.

 

She let out a little gasp when he rolled her onto her back, his hands spreading open the blue paisley top and admiring her for a moment before rubbing across her breasts - open palms, grasping instead of squeezing. 

 

"I don't believe I used to call you flatsy."

 

She hooted at his good memory.  By now he was staring into her eyes and scooting over, his right thigh against her left, his half-hard cock pressed between them.  A fleeting memory of her thought about Shirley that morning came back.  If Shirley had been starving herself with Carmine, then she had certainly been doing the same with Lenny.  Laverne reached down for him but he jerked away, pressing himself sharply against her thigh. 

 

"You gotta be sure..." His voice wavered with tension.

 

"I want you," she said, directly, reaching out to feel him.  He wore a white tee shirt along with the boxers, which she instantly reached for and tried to tug away.  He scooted off of her body instead, sitting up.

 

"I don't want you to touch me 'til you're ready."  He lowered his head to her breast, nuzzling each nipple with his five-o-clock shadow.  She shivered at the burning tickle - dying on a moan when he laved her with his tongue to cool the sting.  He switched rapidly between them, until pleasure began to roll from her breast to her naval to her pussy and she began to squeeze her thighs together rhythmically.

 

His hand slid down her belly, over her naval, under the elastic waistband of her pajama pants.  Lenny's middle finger searched over the delicate lips of her sex, seeking the key to her pleasure.  When he found it - entirely by mistake - her hips shot up off the bed with a high-pitched whine.

 

Silently, he watched her orgasm build, his eyes so intense that they nearly went through her, his finger riding back and forth across the top of her lips, brushing the crux, biting his lip - probably to keep from biting his palm, she thought in her daze.  She had an odd thought for his comfort - the last rational one she could manage.  It couldn't be comfortable for him like this, with his right hand stuffed between her legs, his left arm bent and bearing his weight on his elbow, and - suddenly - his mouth sucking noisily and a tad too hard on her left nipple.

 

Laverne felt her orgasm approach and clutched his head, trying to hold him against her, begging him never to stop pleasing her.  His name became a four-syllable word and she lost control of her mind and sobbed it out, the contractions so strong that she shot up into a sitting position before sinking down onto her back.

 

"Oh L e nn ee  O mi gawd Lenny!"

 

She felt tears trickle down her cheeks - stored up emotion exploding from her - as his finger went lower, gently probing into her entrance.  He pressed forward until her body could no longer yield to him.

 

He gave her a confused look.  As if trying to confirm what he felt, he added a second finger.  Then, wonder in his expression, he abruptly removed them both.

 

"You ain't ever done this before."  It was a combined accusation and exultation.

 

Laverne felt heat flood her cheeks.  "I meant to!  I just...I never..." And she had, but Fonzie was squeamish about cherries, and Norman had been saving it up for a big night which never came, and Ted was always busy, and she and Randy had been waiting until that fateful night to...., and Sonny had called her a cocktease - right before she punched him in the balls and broke up with him.

 

"You're a virgin!"  he exulted.  Then the thrill fled.  "Aww geez - you're a virgin."

 

"Why's that a bad thing?" He tried to get up off of the bed and she seized him by the shoulders, all but pulling him against her.  "You ain't goin' nowhere!"

 

"You're a virgin, Laverne!  You never done this with anyone!  Ever!"

 

"Len," she rolled her eyes.  "I get the picture..."

 

"You deserve more than this for your first time," he said.  "You deserve a bed with big white sheets, and a big fire, and a guy who's shaved and whose breath don't stink!"

 

"You've been reading my Rosemary Rodgers books, haven't you?"

 

He blushed.  "Squig was hogging the new Black Scorpion!"

 

"Yeah, well, I didn't notice your breath stunk when you kissed me," said Laverne.  She could taste her own sour morning breath and winced.

 

His blue eyes pierced her.  "Do you really want me to be the first one?"

 

She bit her lower lip.  The thousand-and-one promises she'd made to Shirley to keep herself a virgin 'til she married floated through her brain.  Shirley had held up her end of the bargain - and she was apparently extraordinarily happy with the result.  But she knew that another guy would never treasure having been her first man the way Lenny would, and he wasn't promising her marriage...yet.   "Uh huh."

 

He sucked in a deep breath.  "You remember what it was like back at Knapp Street?"

 

She knew what he was getting at.  "No one's gonna call me easy in Burbank," she smiled waveringly.  "Everyone's easy in California."

 

"You ain't everyone," he said sharply.  "You're...you're..."

 

"I'm Laverne Marie DeFazio," she bit her lower lip.  "I'm Little Miss Shore Leave.  I'm the Cocksucker of Knapp Street."

 

Lenny winced.  So he didn't think she knew what the boys in the brewery said about her - what they had nicknamed her in her forthright attempt to safeguard her chastity.  What she had ignored with her head held high.  "You're Laverne Marie DeFazio.  You're my girl," he took both of her hands in his, waiting for her to reject that statement.  She didn't.  "You're the prettiest, classiest girl I know.  You're a lady, and I'm gonna treat you like one."

 

She tried to gather the whit to reply to him, but in the dim heat of the room she could feel his hard cock through the boxer shorts, brushing her belly as he squirmed over.  "I'm sorry - I was selfish..." she reached down to touch him.

 

"I gotta go take care of that..." he said, wincing out of her touch.

 

"But I want to touch you..."

 

He looked her dead in the eye.  "No girl's ever touched me and liked it."

 

She felt a flash of jealousy.  "Who?"

 

He took a deep breath.  "Gretchen.  Anna.  Consuelo.  Mary.  Gina.  Karen.  I had to beg them all, and they all hated it.  They all hated looking at me, doing it with me..." he took a deep breath.  "I couldn't make any of 'em come, and whenever I came, they looked at me like they hated me.  I been looking for someone to love for so long that I done things I ain't proud of, so I guess I better put it all out there.  There were strippers, and Squig...got us a hooker, once." He took a deep breath.  "Those girls have the saddest eyes, Laverne.  They didn't wanna be near me.  One of them told me that doin' it with me was like screwing her father.  Can you imagine that?"

 

Laverne had harbored her private harem fantasies - the ones that nearly had her stripping onstage for Lenny and his fellow Minnows years ago.  The reality of it all was so much darker that she felt numb.  "You told me that you thought people only do it 'cause they're crazy about each other."

 

Lenny smiled sadly.  "I still think they do.  Or they should."  The innocence she'd always seen in him radiated through once more. 

 

Laverne had listened to his guilty confession in non-judgmental silence.  She had gone a little too far herself more than once.  Loneliness and need could be horrible things.  "Maybe it's been bad for you because you've never been with the right girl."

 

Lenny smiled tenderly, but pushed away the covers and stood up.  "You gotta get up in two hours."

 

"It'll take two minutes."

 

He wiggled his brow.  "That an insult?"

 

"Lenny...I want to make you feel good."

 

"I made you feel good.  I never did that for a girl - and it's all I wanted for you.  I'm happy with that being it for tonight." He kissed her forehead gently. 

 

"Stop being so noble..."

 

He shrugged.  "We got months to play around," Lenny said.  "If you'll have me."

 

She grinned coquettishly.  "You think I'm gonna let a guy who makes me come like that go easy?"

 

Lenny groaned.  "Doncha think this is all a lot for one night?"

 

She lay back against his pillows.  He was right - exhaustion waterlogged her limbs, and she had barely taken notice of it before this moment.  "Okay.  You win.  But next time," she yawned, "you're coming in my mouth."

 

Lenny gave her a pained grimace as he retrieved a handful of Kleenex from the bedside table.  "'Scuse me," he said.  She pointedly looked at the bulging tent erected against the fly of his boxers, and he covered himself, stepping as quickly as possible to the bathroom.

 

Laverne lay silent as she heard him jog off to her powder room.  A flicker of desire renewed at his muffled groaning, and she wished her hands stroked his body, giving him joy - until he finally clicked off the light and emerged, his smile considerably more relaxed.

 

She felt him crawl into bed behind her and wrap his arms around her.  "You're my girl now, Vernie," he said possessively.  "Neither of us is gonna be alone again."

 

She would have rebelled against such claims before - now she found them a solace.  She drifted off to sleep instantly, his lips pressed to the back of her neck and his left palm against her belly.

 

 

***

 

Bright orange sunshine blasted through Laverne's eyelids, ripping her from a dreamless sleep. 

 

She couldn't recall drawing the shades - in fact, she liked a pitch-dark bedroom.  Lenny, she remembered and smiled.  He was such a morning person.  She rolled instinctively toward her alarm clock.

 

10:20, it read.

 

Laverne's eyes flew open.  "Aww, geeze!" She threw off Shirley's blanket and ran like a woman afire to the closet, yanking out her Bardwells uniform and dressing hastily.  The phone began to ring downstairs as she stabbed herself in the cheek with a mock-pearl earring.

 

Memories of last night returned as she grabbed the phone from its hook.  Lenny was gone  - she vaugely remembered him rolling out of bed and saying he was headed to the beach - and said he'd come by with a pizza for dinner.  She had been to tired to protest, but now pizza sounded wonderful to her empty stomach.  Other than her hunger, she felt elation, solace, a new energy, as if Lenny’s praise had elevated her to a higher level of humanity.  Forcing herself into professional mode, she said, in a flat accent, "hello?"

 

"Miss DeFazio!" 

 

Her supervisor - great.  "Hello, Miss Bauer..."

 

"Don't you 'hello, Miss Bauer' me!  Where are you and Miss Feeney?  You're three hours late!"

 

"It's actually Missus Ragusa now.  Shirley's taking her paid vacation days for a honeymoon - didn't she tell employee relations?"

 

"Why did no one in payroll inform me of this?  And where are you?"

 

"I'm takin' a vacation day, too," Laverne said boldly.  "I'm kinda recovering from the reception, yanno - big celebration and all."

 

"Miss DeFazio, it's HIGHLY unprofessional of you to take a vacation day due to inebriation!  This is going on your file...have to take extra hours...docking your pay..."

 

Laverne let the bad news wash over her and was shocked to feel a lack of dread.  She knew for certain now that she wouldn't be staying with Bardwells any longer than necessary.  She had something to live for beyond work now - someone who felt she was wonderful - someone who knew she was worth more than wrapping gifts for the rich.  But first, she'd have to make some extra scratch.  "Please tell me - do I have the vacation day or don't I?"    

 

Miss Bauer sputtered.  "Well, I...yes, I suppose..."

 

"I'll be in bright and early tomorrow - seven AM - and did you get anyone to fill in for Amelia during inventory?"

 

"Inventory?"  Miss Bauer sounded impressed.  No one wanted to run price checks in the off-hours for inventory, and anyone who did so willingly became a sort of folk hero to Bardwells' upper management. "Why no, but if you are..."

 

"I am," Laverne said kindly.  "If you'll just give me this one professional day..."

 

"Of course.  A professional day - that won't count toward sick days or vacation.  Proud to have you on the Bardwells team, Miss DeFazio - and give my regards to the new Missus Ragusa."

 

"I will, bye!"  Laverne heaved a deep sigh of relief on hanging up the phone.  Lenny and Squiggy had been planning to run a marathon series of auditions for Squignowski the following day - Lenny wouldn't miss her while she worked for enough extra scratch.  Meanwhile, she'd start looking for a more interesting job...

 

It was then that she remembered the previous day's party and got up the courage to finally look at her apartment and see what kind of damage Rhonda's clan had done to her place.  She took a deep breath and looked around.

 

Well, it wasn't TOO bad.  Rhonda had actually cleaned up some amount of the refuse and mopped the kitchen floor, had even put forth the effort to clean a large beer stain on the rug.  There were several scuff marks and muddy prints on the carpet - she squirted carpet cleaner and let it set - and dozens of dishes scattered around, which she emptied and put in to wash later.  She put her albums back into place, then straightened the misplaced knickknacks and tossed armfuls of empties and crumpled punch cups into the trash.  The apartment was already nearly presentable as she ran water over the dishes and slipped them into the drying rack. 

 

For a moment, she wondered when she had decided to channel Shirley.  Well, Laverne reasoned, someone would have to take her best friend's place and start caring about how her living quarters looked.  Laverne understood that she needed to get used to being a caretaker - soon she would have her own apartment to worry about.

 

Rinsing hands, Laverne wondered how she should spend the day.  She could go roller skating, but that didn't sound too appealing. 

 

She could go to the beach...

 

Laverne ran upstairs and donned her new green maillot without thinking about it, picking up her white Jackie O sunglasses and perching them on her nose.  She picked up a bottle of sun tanning lotion and a towel, then she slipped a loose denim dress over the suit.  In it, she rationalized, she could go shopping...with what money?  The phone company bill!  She rushed over to the nightstand table, made sure that the necessary payment remained in place, and then clutched it to her breast.  Resealing the envelope with Crazy Glue, she wove it back and forth to let it dry.  Back downstairs, she grabbed the money and her purse, and headed for the mailbox.

 

Outside of Apartment A-2 - Lenny and Squiggy's place - Laverne saw Rhonda Lee emerge, humming "A Hard Day's Night" to herself as she leaned against the apartment door in her pink silk robe.

 

"Rough night?"

 

The blonde leapt.  "Do you enjoy startling gorgeous creatures, Laverne?"

 

"I dunno - show me a gorgeous creature that scares easy."

 

"Rhonda is not in the mood for your corn pone witticisms," Rhonda sniffled. 

 

"What's wrong?  There trouble in paradise?"

 

"Squiggy's answer would be no," she sighed.  "My answer would be yes."

 

"You run out of peanut butter?"

 

Rhonda stared boldly back at Laverne.  "Rhonda has been snared in her own web.  She's a fragile moth, fluttering against the cruel strands of strategy..."

 

"Plain English?"

 

"Rhonda...seduced Squiggy on Saturday night in preparation for a role she's essaying.  Rhonda has the lead in The Clara Barton Story."

 

"Didn't they just release that?"

 

"It's a remake." Rhonda fluttered her lashes as her eyes rolled.  "Miss Barton was a famous and widely-respected nurse.  Rhonda wanted to know what it felt like to give willingly of herself to the most unfortunate of creatures.  She had been considering a little pit stop at a convent when Andrew staggered tipsily into my apartment and Rhonda...peeled him like a grape."

 

Laverne blocked her ears.  "Please, I really don't want to know what it's like to be with Squiggy that way..."

 

"But my trap was sprung...on me!  Laverne, he's the most fantastic lover I've had in years!"

 

Laverne unplugged her ear cautiously.  "Did you just say  'I'?"

 

"You see what a mess Rhonda is," said the blonde quietly.  "Squiggy is beneath Rhonda socially; he's morally corrupt and reprehensibly unintellectual, and yet I can't keep my hands off of him!"

 

"Aww geeze," Laverne moaned.  "Uh, well, if you don't like him, you better let him down easy before you break his heart."

 

"I can't do that."

 

"Why not?"

 

"He....I...Rhonda...he does things with honey, Laverne!"

 

"Uh, I'm gonna be going before I start dry heavin' here," Laverne tucked her purse under her armpit and passed the blonde.

 

"Do you have any advice for me?  You've been with plenty of men - surely you know how to..."

 

Laverne froze, knowing she shouldn't care - and knowing Lenny had been right.  "Don't break Squiggy's heart," she said.  "He's a lot softer than he looks."

 

Rhonda's miserable expression stayed with Laverne until she reached the curb and saw Squiggy spraying down the ice cream truck, whistling Bobby Darrin's "Splish, Splash" to himself.  Dumping her phone bill in the mailbox, she sent up a quick prayer to whatever utility god might reconnect her phone before Shirley arrived home, then strode purposefully off the front stoop and onto the sidewalk.  Valiantly, she tried to creep by Squiggy unnoticed - and was blasted by a squirt from the garden hose as she dashed by.

 

"Squiggy!" she stomped her feet, shaking water from her curled hair, "You got my towel all wet!"

 

"So?  You're just gonna go roll around on the beach!" He grinned, turning back to the truck and squirting it in loops. 

 

She sighed.  "Lenny's gonna..." she covered her mouth.

 

He grinned.  "Lenny won't mind.  Believe me, he won't mind.  But if you got a problem with it, I keep towel in the truck for special occasions.  It's in the glove compartment."  She had opened the truck's door and crawled in before she heard him say, "We found it in the dump a few years ago.  A cat had a bunch of babies on it, so it's a little...'

 

Laverne re-emerged.  "I'll see you, Squig..."

 

"Hey!"

 

She looked over her shoulder, back at him.  He wore his usual jeans and a black tee shirt, a green visor blocking the sun from his beady eyes.  From some angles, Laverne had to admit Squiggy wasn't that funny looking - in the sunlight, regarding her with a warning look, she understood how he had snared a starlet like Rhonda.

 

"You take care of my buddy.  Don't hurt 'im, or  I might have to kick you in the shins."

 

She grinned and nodded, then shimmied down the street, whistling to herself.

 

***

 

At eleven in the morning, Pilot Whale Beach was completely deserted.  Laverne could never recall seeing the sand so bare before.  It was usually popular with both tourists and their neighbors - their gang, being newbies, had been forced to fend for themselves and fight for their own space during the late afternoon and weekend hours.

 

Only one figure walked the eddies, a hand in the pocket of his jeans, the right filled with driftwood being dragged in his footprints.  In his denim cut-offs and orange-shaded Hawaiian shirt.  Laverne took a moment to admire his tushy - had it gotten firmer somehow when she wasn't paying attention?  Her heart sped up a little.  What a difference a day made...

 

Oblivious to his appeal, he walked with his head down at the edge of the ocean, buffeted by its wind, bright sunshine making the hair on his arms and legs barely visible.

 

He can't stay out here long, she thought.  He'll burn for sure.  And so her approach was swift, unsubtle - when he looked up from his fascinating driftwood and saw her, he smiled widely.

 

"I thought you had to work."

 

She shrugged.  "I took a personal day.  Shirl's usin' up her whole vacation with her honeymoon - and she always did want me to be more like her."

 

He grinned.  "So, you came out here to spend time with me, eh?"

 

"Well..." Laverne hawed.  "I cleaned up after myself and paid the bills, like a good girl.  Squig and Rhonda are gettin' ready for round 10 or something like that...So instead of wasting more time, I decided hang out with my guy."

 

Lenny gave her a double-take, clearly astonished that she had called him her guy.  She poked him in the side.

 

"Come on, Len - be a grown up.  If we're gonna be together, you're gonna have to get used to me being nice to you - sometimes."

 

"Grown up?"  He looked around himself for that described grown-up in the brilliant sunlight.  She noticed that he had taken a dip in the ocean at one point - his dirty blond hair dripped down the nape of his neck in an improvised ducktail.  She couldn't remember the last time she had seen it without its usual weight of grease and fought the urge to reach out and touch him.  We're take it slow.  Slow-er, she amended mentally.  "You mean I gotta be the grown up?" he teased her.

 

"Nahh."  She never wanted him to completely mature - what fun would he be then?  "Maybe I'll be grown up enough for us both."

 

Randomly, he asked her, "who got your towel wet?"

 

"Squig.  He squirted me with the hose while he was cleaning throw-up off of the ice cream truck.  Sorry about my guests by the way."

 

"Nah, don't apologize.  I'm not gonna say I'm unhappy with how it turned out for me.  That was a hell of a party you threw last night."

 

"Yeah," she smiled.  "But I think I'm gettin' a little old for stuff like that."

 

"Yep," Lenny sighed.  "That old gang of our's gettin' up there.  Everyone's shackin' up, gettin' hitched..." he took her hand.  "Falling in love..."

 

For a heart stopping moment, she thought he'd drop to her knees and propose.  His eyes were sentimental as they regarded her - and very blue in the sunlight.

 

"Hey, Tigerlily," he said suddenly.  "Do you see Captain Hook anywhere?"

 

Laverne remembered this game - Peter Pan and Wendy Darling.  Only she had insisted on being the adventurous Indian princess Tigerlily instead of the dull, almost-grown-up Wendy.  Peter Pan and Tigerlily had annoyed all of the neighbors in their building for five years before she turned twelve and seemed to sprout breasts overnight.

 

"Nope, Peter," she unrolled her damp towel and unsnapped the buttons on her denim dress.  "It looks like the canoe of my father, Chief Powahattan."

 

"I dunno." Lenny shielded his eyes from the sun with both hands and peered out over the rolling waves, pretending to see some form in the distance. "They look like pirates from here."

 

She adjusted the straps of her green swimsuit, and he appreciated her form with his eyes as if he had never seen it bare.  "There's only one way to find out for sure."

 

His expression turned mischievous as he held out her hand - as she accepted it.  Their fingers locked together quite neatly before they rushed into the tumbling waves, shrieking as they kicked through the water rushing over their heads.

 

END

 

SOUNDTRACK

 

1: Sunday Morning Coming Down: Johnny Cash

2: Days Go By: Keith Urban

3: Loco-Motion: Little Eva

4: Happy Together: The Turtles

5: I Wanna Hold Your Hand: The Beatles

6: Wild Thing: The Troggs

7: Cooling- Tori Amos

8: Gold Dust - Tori Amos

9: Snow Cherries From France: Tori Amos

10:  Jackie's Strength - Tori Amos

To "Ever After"
To "Always Prepared