Lost in Camelot

Because there isn't enough Laverne & Shirley fanfic on the internet (and because I've always had a thing for Penny Marshall), I now present a sample of the genre that a wrote about ten years ago:


Lost in Camelot

by Johnny Pez


Washington, D.C.
September 9, 1961

Laverne De Fazio and Shirley Feeney were the last two members of the tourgroup to enter the White House. Laverne, who believed in travelling light, had her purse slung around her shoulder. Shirley, who tended to go overboard, was weighted down by her own purse, two different cameras, and half a dozen bags full of recently-bought souvenirs. Laverne's efforts to listen to the tour guide's spiel were being drowned out by her friend's enthusiastic gushing.

"LaVERNE! Can you beLIEVE it? We are actually standing in the WHITE HOUSE!" She was snapping pictures of the furniture, the walls, the ceiling, the potted plants, everything.

"Could you put a cork in it, Shirl? I'm trying to hear the tour guide, here!"

Shirley, momentarily deflated, paused long enough for Laverne to make out the words "--burned by the British on August 24th, 1814, it was--". Then Shirley started up again.

"Gosh, Laverne, do you think we might see President Kennedy?"

"Grow up, Shirl, they ain't gonna let us get anywhere near him."

"You never know, Laverne, he might decide to come downstairs for a snack!"

"Shirl," said an exasperated Laverne, "he's the President of the freaking United States! If he wants a snack, they'll bring him a snack!"

"Why do you always have to be such a pessimist, Laverne?"

"I'm not being a pessimist! I'm just telling you--"

"You are too being a pessimist! Whenever I try to bring a little romance--"

"--that John F. Kennedy doesn't need to get his own snacks--"

"--you always have to make some mean little--"

"--and you get all huffy with me--"

"--comment when you know--"

"--like I'm trying to--"

"--how much I--"

"..." Laverne reached up a hand and covered Shirley's mouth. Shirley continued making indignant "mmm mmm" sounds for a few seconds before falling silent.

The two girls looked around. The rest of their tour group was gone. They were alone.

Laverne removed her hand. "Shirl, did you see where everyone went?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

"Oh, Laverne," Shirley whined, "what if they catch us here and they think we're Russian spies? They'll send us both to PRISON!"

Laverne's mind had turned to more practical matters. "If we can find our way back to the front door, we should be all right."

"Or maybe they'll even EXECUTE us like they did the Rosenbergs!"

"Would you snap out of it, Shirl?"

Oblivious, Shirley continued, "And then our names will go down in history as traitors! They'll call us Laverne and Shirley Arnold!"

"Shut up about executions, will you Shirl? Try and remember the way back to the front door."

Shirley shook the visions of electric chairs from her head, and looked around. They were standing in a T intersection. Shirley pointed down one of the corridors and said, "I think we came in that way."

"Right, let's go," said Laverne. She grabbed Shirley's hand and led the way down the indicated corridor. That ended in another T intersection, and Laverne led the two of them down the left hand passageway. Unfortunately, after turning a couple of corners, that led them to the bottom of a stairway.

"I don't remember coming down any stairs," said Shirley.

"Right," said Laverne, "we'll go back the other way." The two girls turned around and threaded their way back the way they came. Somehow, though, instead of reaching the last intersection, the corridor led to another upward stairway.

"Do you think we could have gotten turned around?" wondered Shirley.

"I don't see how," said Laverne. "I guess we got no place to go but up." So saying, she started up the stairs.

"Laverrrrrrne," Shirley squeaked as she followed her friend, "we can't go up there! The President lives up there!"

"Maybe we can get Jackie to show us the way back to the front door," said Laverne.

After three or four turns, the stairway led up to a closed door. Laverne shrugged, turned the doorknob, and went inside. Shirley, her mind assaulted by fresh visions of electric chairs, followed.

They were in a dimly-lit bedroom with a large four-poster bed. Sheets were draped over a couple of chairs, and heavy curtains drawn across the room's only window kept out the afternoon sun. Shirley automatically closed the door to the stairway, then panicked and tried to open it up again. It refused to budge.

"Laverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrne," she squeaked again, "we're trapped in here!"

"No we're not, Shirl," said Laverne. "There's another door on the other side of the room. See?"

As soon as Laverne had pointed out the other door, its doorknob began to rattle. Someone was coming into the room! They would be caught here and executed as Russian spies! Without thinking, Shirley abandoned her bags of souvenirs and dove underneath the bed. Laverne quickly joined her there.

The two girls heard the door open, and two sets of footsteps entered the room. A woman's breathy voice said, "Jack, what if someone finds us here?"

A man with a familiar Boston accent said, "Don't worry, Marilyn, there hasn't been anyone in this room since the err Hahding administration. Now come heah you little err vixen!"

Two bodies crashed into the bed above Laverne and Shirley.


(probably not to be continued)