(Same disclaimers as before)

Laverne spent the night tossing and turning, trying to sort out what she was feeling.

At first, she had been mad that Lenny would take a song that embarrassed her, had shocked her when she first heard it, And sold it to for profit. But other parts of her chimed in; the proud part, which wondered how Lenny had gotten it on the radio in the first place. To put it simply, she was confused.

That was quite the turnaround; Lenny had never confused her feelings before. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she had confused his for a very long time.

For as long as Laverne could recall, he'd had a small crush on her. She'd realized that when he'd kissed her after he and Squiggy had argued over their apartment and she had been forced to play peacemaker. When she realized that he had developed feelings for her, when he'd written that song for her, she thought she had been able to dissuade him from loving her.

But the little things persisted; the way he looked at her when she said something funny, or how he'd hold her hand when she was upset. They had shared a few moments together like that, after Laverne had gone and before he'd disappeared. Even in their combative moments, something had been there...

She realized with a start that his feelings for her had only deepened over time. Lenny had only learned how to hide them from her, and his lack of true guile only.

Don't start thinking like that, Vernie. She told herself. With determination, she grabbed her borrowed pillow and pressed it firmly to her ears, blocking out everything but the sound of her own heart beating.

***

Naturally, Laverne overslept the next morning, into the late afternoon. The next thing she could remember was the feeling of two firm little fingers pinching her nose closed.

She awoke with a start, her head jerking up from the pillow and bumping into a little arm. It took little brain power to figure out that the arm was Veenie's. Laverne shook the cobwebs from her mind and grinned down at her "niece".

Veenie Meeny was the picture of her mother at the age of four; plump cheeks, pixieish expression, dark, almost black hair, and merry blue eyes. The sole difference was Veenie's long, long hair, worn hippie-style and parted in the middle. She didn't look a thing like Walter, something Laverne was secretly happy about, for, in her opinion, Walter looked like a fish gasping for air.

"Aunt Vernie!" She piped, wrapping her arms around her favorite "aunt's" neck.

"Heya, Veenie," Laverne said, wrapping an arm around the small girl's waist and pressing her firmly to her torso. "How's my second-favorite girl?"

Veenie smiled, "'Cited! Mommy says we're going to see Uncle Carmine's show in an hour!"

"Yup! She tol' me...An hour?!" Laverne became acutely aware of the time; she slapped her forehead, "Your Ma let me sleep all day?"

"She said you needed to." The little girl shrugged and began to play with the rickrack trip on the collar of Laverne's nightie.

Laverne put Veeny back on the floor and withdrew her radio from beneath her pillow. Guilt picked at her bones; This trip was for Shirley's sake, not to worry about what Lenny's song was doing on the radio. Just then, Shirley reentered the room. Laverne was struck by her appearance; in that very moment, she felt as though a stranger had stepped into the room in Shirley's skin.

The dress Shirley wore was several seasons out of date, A MOD-ish but elegant black sheath dress, just a bit lower than knee-length, accessorize by a gold chain, black hose, and a small evening bag. With her longer hair and bangs, and light makeup, Laverne thought Shirley looked both exotic and every bit a lady. The doctor's wife had replaced Shirley, her lifelong friend, in a second. It was like looking at an alien.

"Wow, Shirl, that's a fancy little number there. Dja get it in town?" Laverne tilted her head as Shirly beamed and spun around to the "Ooohs" of her daughter.

"Thank you, thank you," Shirley said, with exaggerated gaiety, "Walter got it for me when we were in London," Pride mixed with sadness in Shirley's voice.

Laverne couldn't believe the change in her friend; she had grown up and grown up fast.

Guilt filled Laverne again; she was struck by the feeling that she couldn't seem to say anything right today. She could hear Lenny's song whenever she closed her eyes, and that both disturbed and somehow made her happy.

"It's OK, Laverne," Shirley said softly, patting her friend on the shoulder comfortingly before picking Veeny up, "Come on, Honey, let's show Auntie Laverne your new party dress!"

Veeny seemed even more excited by this, and she and her mother left for the bedroom to change. This was Laverne's cue to fix up her face, carefully unroll her best dress (a hundred-dollar red mini-dress with a white "L" sewed to her left breast) that had been bought for a job interview, and generally make herself presentable. By the time Shirley reappeared with Veeny, Laverne felt about as sophisticated as her best friend.

Shirley herself mirrored Laverne's surprise. "You look wonderful, Laverne!"

"Thank ya," Lavene smiled (And Veeny Ooohed and ahhed). "You got the tickets?"

"Yup!" Shirley said, "They're in Veeny's purse," Veeny held up her handbag, which matched her bell-bottoms and shirt.

The three very elegant young women stepped into the hallway and then the elevator, their heads held high. Until Laverne heard what she was sure was gasping behind her.

Anger built inside of Laverne, for the gasps built when they walked through the lobby and hailed a cab. When the cabby's eyes bounced back and forth between Laverne and the road, she finally lost it.

"Alright!" She snapped, not noticing the panic on Shirley's face as she launched forward against the back seat, "What're you starin' at, wise guy?"

The man stuttered and stumbled, seemingly surprised by her sudden outburst, "Aren't you...I mean, didn't you?"

"Didn't I what?!"

"Do you know the Ocean Breezes and is your name Laverne?"

Laverne was inches from exploding, so Shirley calmly pulled her friend back against the seat cushions, "Yes, her name is Laverne, but she doesn't know the Ocean Breezes.."

Before she could finish her sentence, The cabbie swerved right, throwing his passengers against the doors of his cab. He turned around, a gigantic grin plastered across his face and picked an object up from the seat beside him.

Laverne was fully prepared to throw herself across the seat to save Veeny, but the cabbie pressed the object urgently into her hand.

"It's you! It's really you!" A pen joined the object in her hand. "Could you make it out to David?! Oooh! Oooh! 'To David, With Love from Your Inspiration, Laverne!"

Laverne reached her boiling point, "Look, I don't know who the Ocean Breezes are, and I don't know what this thing..." The object (A record album, she realized) caught a dim gleam from the smoky streetlights above; Laverne held the album to the light and facefaulted when she made the image out completely.

It was her.

Prettier, she thought; the way she had always wished that she looked. The outfit she wore was the same that she'd sported at the Debutante Ball, where Lenny had presented her to royalty; yet it was a bit more modern. Her hair was upswept.

Laverne drew the album closer to her face; she realized that it was a painting of her, rather than a picture; The Ocean Breeze's name scrawled in cursive writing and the album's title, "I'm In Love" in thick blue cursive at opposite corners. A faded yellow sticker proclaimed it "New York's biggest sensation of 1970". In smaller print beneath it, the words "Featuring the Number one Hit single 'I'm In Love With Laverne"."

Laverne signed her name across her portrait without thinking. She knew now what Shirley had been hiding from her, knew why she had asked for an extra Christmas portrait last year.

Her emotional state became cloudier. She couldn't extricate her pride from the jaws of shame.

Shirley seemed mortified that the secret was out; Veeny was happily oblivious; she grinned when she recognized the album, "It's Uncle Lenny's record!" She said happily, "Mommy plays it for me, even though Daddy doesn't like it much..."

Shirley patted her daughter's back affectionately, "I don't think this is the best time to talk about it, Sugar." Laverne was obviously confused; she refused to do more to add to her problem.

Silence reigned all the way to the theater and to their front-row seats. When the curtain went up, however, the tension between the girls dissolved. Carmine stepped out on the stage and it was like nothing had changed.

Laverne had seen Carmine once on stage(In Camelot), when she had been in town for her Grandmother's funeral. But Shirley had never seen her ex-boyfriend and former steady in this light before, and she clearly was wowed.

Laverne tried to remain focused upon Carmine's performance, but by the middle of the show her mind took a stroll and wound up focused right back on the album.

Anger finally built enough to warrant an expression, "Ya knew about the album, didn't ya, Shirl?"

Shirley was distant; she barely heard her friend. "When did Carmine get so...stocky?" She asked. Laverne knew that she meant "swarthy"; he'd grown a beard and gained a bit more weight for the role.

"It's for the play. Ya knew, didn't ya, Shirl?"

"Why is it strange to look at him now? There's got to be something different.."

"SHIRL." Laverne said, firmly, as loudly as she dared to.

Shirley froze for a moment; Veeny remained happily ensconced in her Uncle Carmine's world, "Yes, I knew."

"You let Lenny put that...song all over the world without tellin' me? An' then you let him use my picture..." She wondered if people were laughing at her or admiring her, even in the theater as Carmine belted out his solo.

Shirley sighed, "If I didn't give him the picture, he'd be starving out on the streets right now."

"What?!"

"It's true!" Shirley's voice had risen by several octaves.

"Shssh!" A rotund lady in purple velour demanded of them.

Shirley lowered her voice, embarrassed, "Lenny was working his way through music school. Last Christmas, he was laid off, and you know what that means."

Laverne nodded; he would be forced to rejoin the army. "But he got lucky; a recording engineer heard him playing at a coffeehouse by the campus; Lenny had just escaped his lecture, actually. And, well, he was playing your song..."

"It's not my song!"

Shirley's face betrayed sympathy, if not pity, "It is your song, Laverne; and you should appreciate that."

"Waddya mean?!" Laverne protested, "You called Lenny everything from a disgustin' worm to a little troll!"

"That's not my point," Shirley said stiffly, "It's not about Lenny being the one who wrote you the song. My point is that a man wrote you a lovely song and you should enjoy it!"

"Lovely?!" Laverne shut down suddenly. She recalled hearing "I'm In Love With Laverne" for the first time; even then, though it wasn't Shakespeare, it was a nice melody; in it's reformed, folkified, with a longer bridge and refashioned lyrics, it was a sweet rock ballad. She couldn't argue Shirley's point.

"Lenny wrote me for advice earlier this year; he asked me what you'd've wanted him to do. He was too shy to write you and ask, of course, so I thought, and I mean really thought, about what you would have done in my position." Shirley stood up and actually began to pace back and forth in the aisle, trampling feet as she began to pour out the timeline that had brought her to her decision.

Laverne could barely make out snippets of Shirley's conversation. "You would be embarrassed, of course, but you wouldn't want him to suffer, or starve. So I told him it was Okay."

"Sit down! Down in front!" The crowd hissed. Laverne shot each heckler a dirty look as Shirley sat back down and returned to whispering.

"The engineer introduced him to a bunch of producers, and one of them liked the song enough to want it recorded. Lenny did a demo recording for him, you know, a rough cut of a song? Well, the producer was mad for the song, but decided Lenny had to go. He had a group that he signed, a folk group called..."

"The Ocean Breezes?" Laverne asked.

"Right! So he asked Lenny to dig up a few songs for them. You know the record that cabby was holding? Lenny wrote all of the songs on it."

Laverne was dumbfounded, "How'd my face get on th' album, then?"

Shirley squirmed a bit, "It wasn't Lenny's idea. The Ocean Breeze and their management kept asking him about the woman who inspired his songs. He didn't want to say, but they kept pestering him, and then one day he just told them."

"That I inspired "I'm In Love With Laverne'?"

"That you inspired half of the songs on the album. So it became a concept album, about this beautiful, unattainable girl. And they wanted a picture, and the producer insisted on the real thing...."

Laverne's eyes widened, "I didn't?!"

"You did."

"I couldn't've!"

"He told me you did."

"This is so embarassin'!"

"Oh, don't be silly! Your name's hardly on the record at all!"

Laverne slumped in relief.

"Peace and quiet! I thought I'd never hear it!" Groused the velour-clad woman behind them.

Laverne turned her head and met the eyes of the complaining woman, "My friend and I came here to see our friend...well, actually, her ex-boyfriend...well, more like her ex-fiance..."

"Could you finish your sentence and spare me a your life story?" The woman sniffed.

Laverne bit her tongue, "...Perform tonight. And we'd like it if we could just watch the show!"

"Would you by chance be here to see the swarthy Italian fellow with the beard who's about to bump into John the Baptist?"

Laverne winced as she saw the normally-graceful Carmine bump right into the false prophet, his eyes burning holes through Shirley's face.

The rest of the play passed beautifully, and Shirley, Veeny and Laverne hooted and stomped their way through a curtain call. Tears streamed down Shirley's cheeks unabated; her pride was evident.

The girls waited until the theater emptied and Carmine peeped back through the curtain. He smiled and gestured for them to climb onto the stage, which they did, Veeny easily and her loved ones less so.

Carmine met Laverne in an embrace first, "Hey, how is Shirley holding up?" He asked her.

"Why don't ya ask her?" Laverne asked. Carmine's expression became icy for a moment, taking Shirley in.

"Shirl?"

"Carmine." She stated.

"How are you doin'?"

"Fine."

"How's Walter?"

"Fine."

Laverne felt sorry for the ex-sweethearts as they stiltedly spoke. The focused on one another intently; friends, barely so, their romance between them.

Carmine didn't acknowledge Veeny's existence as she stood between them.

Laverne wondered how Shirley had received those tickets when the two hadn't spoken, obviously, in some time.

Feeling like a third wheel, Laverne fiddled with her "L" shaped-earrings, studying the scenery as crewmembers tore it down.

"Hey, Carmine, did the girls show up or..."

Laverne jumped, startled by the sound of his voice, unused to it's reintroduction to her ears after a several-year long gap.

"Len?"

His eyes widened, a question answered more quickly than he anticipated.

Laverne knew, by his expression, his hyperactive stance (hands still jammed into the pockets of his Lone Wolf jacket, rocking on the heels of his old boots), that Shirley had been unable to keep his secret from her.

"Hi, Laverne." He said; the awkwardness made her want to reach out and comfort him, but she drew back.

"I know about the album, Len. And I understand." She said, to relieve them of the tension. All at once his stance loosened, and he laughed.

"I'm real sorry," He started, "I never wanted anyone else to hear it or nothin', but the guy was so..."

"Insistent?"

Lenny nodded, "I didn't hurt ya or nothin'? If I did, I'll..." She wondered what he would do for her, at that moment. It was a perverse notion. Lenny had been devoted to her for years, but it was the softest devotion, comfortable as an easy chair. The kind you never see missing until it's gone...

"Ya didn't hurt me. I'd never want ya to suffer, when I could help. You're one of my best friends, Len." And she meant that, but that last 'best friends' part rang false, as it never had before.

For a moment Laverne thought that he'd span the distance between them and hug her; some motherly urging in her breast urged her to.

"Shirley, Wait!" Carmine called from across the stage.

"Oh no!" She uttered softly, watching a sobbing Shirley drag Veeny down the center aisle and out the Theatre doors. She rushed up to Carmine.

"What happened?"

Carmine shook his head, "I just asked her how things with Walter are, and she started cryin'. Lemme go after her..."

"Let me..." Laverne said, hopping off the stage and tracing her best friend's steps. But Shirley wasn't in the theatre lobby, and as Laverne ducked out into the street, a cab's tail lights trailed in the opposite direction of the theatre, back to the hotel.

"It's too late," She groaned, going back to the Theatre. "I've got to get back to them. It was nice to see you, Carmine," She gave him another quick hug.

"And Len..." She reached up to embrace him, but paused instead, and patted his back.

She heard footsteps approach her at a run from behind as she left, "Hey, Laverne?"

"Yeah Len?"

"Would ya mind if I walked ya back to the hotel?"

Laverne smiled up at him, "Nah, c'mon Len."

Ritz Carlton was a few steps away before Laverne realized that she was really having fun. For the first time in a long time, she was laughing, interested and happy.

And most of it was due to Lenny. Make that all of it. He hadn't changed much since the Army; well, he'd matured a tiny bit, maybe.

"....But no! The giant spider came crawlin' up out of the ocean!" Lenny said, recounting the last monster movie he'd seen.

"What?! The villagers blasted 'im with Super Chemical X!"

"Don't getta head of the story, Laverne; anyway, the spider comes out of the ocean, and it's wavin' it's spider legs and smashin' tanks...and then the scientist guy..."

"Not Professor Smith!"

"Yeah, Professor Smith! He runs up and starts yellin' that his scientist stuff got messed up in the explosion, and..."

"Don't tell me..."

"Chemical X makes nuclear super spiders grow bigger!!" They shouted in unison.

Laverne realized then that her hand was in his at that moment. And she didn't want to move it.

What's wrong with ya, She questioned herself, Yer holdin' hands with a guy whose every disgusting habit you know all about...and you don't feel sick.

"We're here," He said.

Laverne stopped and tilted her head all the way back and looked up at the hotel; up at the steel, neon and sheet rock that made up the place. It was all so artificial, compared to Milwaukee.

And Lenny felt disturbingly real.

"Len.." She withdrew her hand from his and smiled, "I've gotta find out how Shirl is. How long're you gonna be in town?"

Lenny thought for a moment, "Long enough to see 'Giant Spider Invasion' again. School's back in next week."

"Hey, we could go together; I'll be here tomorrow," She said, and instantly felt guilty because Shirley was hurting so much.

"Sure; it's been a long time since I've had a girl around...I mean, I'm stayin' at Carmine's," He said, "If you wanna come over..."

"I'd like that, Len."

He looked down into her eyes. The queerest feeling streaked through her, and she knew instantly that he was going to kiss her.

Don't kiss me, Len, she thought, but her mind was slower than Lenny's mouth, which always moved on tumultuous impulse.

It was so natural a kiss; surprising, sweet. Her knees were melting; her hands grasped his shoulders, looking for balance, a bird searching for its perch.

They froze in that position for a moment, before he finally withdrew from her, shell-shocked. Wonderment crossed his face, her own wide eyes. She wiped the corners of her lip with her thumb and just stared at him.

"Ohh, I'm sorry, Laverne," He blurted out.

"Nah, don't be sorry, Len," She blurted back.

"I'll go, I'll go now...I'll see ya," He backed away from her so quickly that he fell into a potted topiary, rose back up from it quickly. His jeans were studded with piney needles.

Laverne watched his back as he retreated, blushing, from the New York night.

Little tinges of delight poked the skin of her arms. Confused, she rubbed her arms, trying to circulate her blood more vigorously through her body.

Her hands fell away from her arms.

"How did...Len do it?" She asked herself. For, as she held her arms up to the dim streetlights, she could see the risen, blushing flesh of her arm, too abrupt to be a rash, without an itchy sensation.

She knew what they were; she knew the signs; the one physical symptom she had always longed to develop but had always been absent, until now.

"Goosebumps!" She gasped, "He gave me goosebumps!"

(The end of "Goosebumps" To be continued in the next story arch "AngelFaced with Regrets.")