The White Russian
Chapter two: Hamburgers and Shirley Temple
The rain had increased and Velma pulled her collar up to protect her neck, making a dash for the front entrance. The Malt Shoppe hadn't changed that much since her last trip, the night she had cut ties with Mystery Inc., fresh paint and new plastic over benches were the more obvious improvements. Her eyes drifted to the booth where she had spent many joyful hours.
"Hi, Tim." Velma said, taking a seat at the counter.
"Well, Velma. Haven't seen you around in a while. What will you have?" Tim answered back, surprised to see her. Tim had been surrogate father, confessor and supplier of good advice to different teens throughout the years.
"'The works', fries and iced tea." Tim had the knack of remembering orders without the need of writing them down. "Saves paper," was his stock answer when asked why he didn't write anything down.
"Got it. Be right up. Want your tea now?"
"Yes, thank you, Tim." Velma folded her arms, leaning on the counter. The sound of coins being dropped in the jukebox caught her attention and the young man. She watched as he made his selections,
waiting for the first song to begin.
"Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one above you?
Fill my heart with gladness, Ease my troubles,
That's what you do. *
That had been their song, theme song to be more exact, but this couldn't be Shaggy. The man before her was as tall as him but this man was thin to the point of being gaunt. He looked more like a scarecrow with arms.
"Oh, the morning sun in all its glory
greets the day with hope and comfort too
And you fill my life with laughter, you can make it better,
ease my troubles, that's what you do."
How many times had he filled her dark days with comfort, laughter and eased her troubles. Yet, that night, he had tried but she hadn't listened. He may have heard Tim call her name, the last coins dropped and he turned, seeing her for the first time.
"Velma!" He cried out, wrapping his arms around her waist, lifting her off the floor, swinging her around before lowering her. "What are you doing here?"
'Hoping to see you' rose to her throat, but said, "I was in need of sustenance." She hadn't counted on the reaction she would have if she did see him.
"They have hamburgers, never heard of that sustenance you mentioned." His hand rested on her waist only inches from her hip. The noon crowd had left leaving them the only two customers, it would be slow until later that afternoon when school let out.
"Please get us a booth, Shaggy. I'll get my tea." She was surprised at his looks, not just the loss of weight but the vacant, sunken look in his eyes scared her more than she was willing to admit.
"Tim, add another 'works' and fries, please." She whispered conspiratorially to Tim. She picked up her drink and the first hamburger Tim gave her, walking to the booth selected by Shaggy.
"What have you been up to, Shaggy?" She sat the hamburger in front of him. "I'll take the next one."
"Odds and ends, not much of anything. Thanks." He dove into the burger.
"Don't eat too fast. And Scooby?"
"He's around somewhere." Not really an answer she noticed and decided to let it pass for the moment.
She reached out, covering his hand, knowing the answer to the next question before she asked it.
"Shaggy, where are you staying now?"
"Miss Dinkley, Mr. Rogers? We'd like a word." The man standing in front of them flashed a badge, "Agent Williams and Guthrie, F.B.I."
"What's this about Agent Williams?" Velma squeezed Shaggy's hand but refused to remove it.
"We would like to talk to you at the F.B.I. Headquarters tomorrow morning, eight o'clock. Everything will be explained then." Without waiting for a reply, the agents turned and walked away.
Velma turned her attention back to Shaggy, repeating her former question. "Where are you staying?"
"It hasn't been easy, Velma. We, Scoob and I, have been living on the streets or out of the Mystery Machine."
"Not any more, I've got an extra bedroom. You and Scooby are welcome...I'd like the company. It hasn't been easy for me either."
"I don't want your pity."
"Good, 'cause I'm not offering any. I can't count the number of times you've been there for me.
"And we've got that meeting with the F. B. I. Tomorrow morning. Shaggy, You don't think..."
"I refuse to say it!" He laughed, Velma hadn't realized how much she'd missed that laugh.
Xxx
Coolsville, later that evening
Daphne Blake, red headed heiress and freelance journalist, sipped from a small glass containing a reddish liquid. She sat in a booth, a small notebook laid out in front of her, a gold pen lay close by. 'Freelance' meant just that; not employed by any particular paper or magazine, you sent in an article and hoped for the best. If accepted, you got paid by the word, more words, more money. Not that she needed the money, she could buy and sell this establishment several times over without blinking an eye.
The Fox and Hound, wasn't exactly busy tonight which explained Daphne's attendance. She had been contacted by a local 'rag' to do a series of articles on upcoming entertainment. Eager to earn validation for her writing, she'd accepted the assignment.
"Play it again, Sam." Daphne lifted her empty glass. The bartender acknowledged her with a wave and went about making another Shirley Temple.
"Daphne?" A voice she knew well, perhaps too well, came from behind her. A voice that at one time could play her heart strings like a Master playing a violin.
"Fred? What are you doing here?" She thought she was over him but the Master was warming up, her heart rate speeding up. She indicated the chair beside her, perhaps she wasn't as far over him as she thought.
"I could ask you the same." He took the offered chair, "did you get the flowers I sent?"
"Yes, they were lovely, thank you. And I am now a working girl. You?"
"Vacation, heard they were trying new entertainment to improve business. Thought I'd check it out. Didn't expect to see you here but glad I did."
A girl stepped to the front, taking a microphone. She wasn't particularly pretty but nice looking. Her song was slow ballad, melancholy.
"Excuse me, would you be Mr. Jones?" The burly man indicated Fred, then turned to Daphne. "And Miss Blake?"
"Yes," Fred answered. "And you are?"
"Excuse me, I'm listening to the music." Daphne made a note, ignoring the man.
"Agents Williams and Guthrie, F.B. I.. We'd appreciate a word with you."
"Fred, what trouble have you gotten into, now?" Daphne continued to write in her notebook.
"Actually, Miss Blake, we need to speak to Mystery Inc.. Please be at F.B.I. Headquarters at eight o'clock in the morning."
"I wonder what that was all about?" Daphne closed her notebook.
"I have no idea. If you're finished, how about dinner?" Fred asked. She accepted.
Meanwhile at Velma's home...
Velma and shaggy knelt beside the tub giving a very reluctant Scooby a bath. Scooby had went ballistic when he saw Velma and Shaggy emerge from the car. "Relma! Raggy!"
"Get ready to be attacked." Shaggy had warned as Scooby bounded toward them.
After being nearly mauled, the three had left Shaggy's parents' home with promises to visit soon, Velma had insisted on a stop for new clothes for Shaggy and Scooby Snacks for Scooby.
Entering the house, she handed Shaggy a bag, "you shower first, then we'll give you know who a b-a-t-h."
It had proven easier said than done. Never one to bathe voluntarily, Scooby had fought hard, valiantly but in the end had been subdued. Shaggy and Velma had laughed together at his antics. Waiting for his
chance, Scooby jumped out of the tub between them, spraying water all over and knocking them back.
They lay on the floor, laughing. Shaggy rolled over, starting to rise then noticed Velma. The water had drenched her sweater; the wet material outlining her breasts. He lay back, her laughter fading, he cupped her chin, lifting it. A line was about to be crossed, one from which there could be no reprieve.
He kissed her lips, "Velma, I don't have a ring for your finger now, but will you marry me?"
she reached up, placing her hand behind his head, pulling him into a deep, passion filled kiss. "Yes! But think a moment, if you have in mind what I think you do, remember where we are. We're lying on a wet bathroom floor, every towel is soaked along with our clothes. May I suggest moving someplace more comfortable?"
'Laundry is going to be hell tomorrow.' Velma thought.
TBC
* Song: "Have I Told You Lately"
Performed by Rod Stewart
Year: 1989
Album: Avalon Sunset
Label: Mercury
Written by: Van Morrison