Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin',
Singin' in the rain

Birnbaums’ Deli and Restaurant…near UCLA…

Rita looked out the front window and was surprised to see a very rare if heavy downpour that seemed to wash the streets clean. Almost daydreaming, she sighed as she watched the people out front scurry quickly for shelter under the restaurant awning.

“Miss?” The man beckoned Rita to come. She walked over and pulled the pen from behind her ear and grabbed the check book from her apron.

“Somethin’ else? We’ve got some nice rice pudding.” The man shook his head.

“No, thanks. Maybe a cup of coffee, come to think of it, but…” He put his hand on her wrist gently, almost like a father would to encourage a sad child.

“My colleague and I were in here a few days ago. You mentioned you had a friend. We have a study going on, and I think it would be good if your friend participated.” He pulled out his business card and handed it to her; she had given his card to Marnie the other day.

“Sure thing….” She paused, trying to remember his name.

“Rosenthal….Sydney Rosenthal.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rosenthal,” Rita said in an effort to dignify the man’s office. He smiled and placed his hand on her wrist again. Rita had dealt with a lot of customers who had gotten familiar, but this touch was different. He shook his head.

“Do you have your high school diploma?” He tilted his head and displayed what you might call a whimsical expression. She bit her lip and glanced sideways in thought. She nodded, looking puzzled.

“We…my colleagues and I…we don’t often get people who are interested in the success of others. I’ve got a whole classroom of kids in one of my classes who seem to be in it just to get a grade and get ahead.” He paused before adding,

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But to find someone who is so obviously looking out for others…well.” He paused again. Rita wondered where this was going. She didn’t feel at all like the man described which was par for her course, as her uncle would say. She shook her head no.

“Seriously…Miss?” He looked at her with wide eyes, tilting his head slightly to the left.

“Oh… Rita Contaldi.”

“Miss Contaldi? The people at our school …the school of Psychology? We’re looking for people who care, and you strike us as someone who does care. We’d like to offer you a slot in our fall classes… undergraduate in Psychology, if you don’t mind?” At twenty-five, Rita had consigned herself to waitressing…..at best. Old habits called to her from her past; ‘you’re stupid,’ and ‘you’ll never amount to anything.’ The last one, ‘You’re a cheap whore, just like your mother,’ brought her to tears, which in turn brought her to embarrassment. She felt his hand grab hers. A gentle squeeze.

“A very wise man once told me that it doesn’t matter where you come from; only where you’re going. I think we can scrape some money together …money won’t be a problem, Miss Contaldi.” She blew out a breath as she took in what he had just said.

“Think about it, okay. You don’t have to decide right now. We come in here all the time, and we may be a bit pushy, but I think that you’ve never had anyone tell you that you’re smart or kind or good.” She nodded silently, blinking back tears.

“I want you to understand something, okay? I’ve seen a lot of girls just like you.” She cringed at the phrase, feeling entirely condemned. He shook his head no.

“No, Miss Contaldi….I’ve seen a lot of girls like you…girls who were told they were no good; told they were bad somehow… damaged goods. You’re not bad, Miss Contaldi. Only hurt. But you don’t have to stay hurt.” He rose and stepped around the table.

“You’ll be just fine, Miss Contaldi.” And then he did something; awkward enough if they had been alone or on the off-hour with few customers. The restaurant was crowded, which added to her apprehension and fear as he stepped close and hugged her. The first time in her life that a man had been that close and sought nothing for himself and everything for her. She put her hand to her face, barely covering the confused expression on her face.

“Think about it, okay?” Dr. Rosenthal squeezed her hand once again before picking up the check. Looking at it he pulled out some money and placed it under the plate before walking out. Rita looked up to see him slip through the doorway. As she tried to gather herself she felt a tug on the tie to her apron behind her. She turned to see an elderly couple. She tilted her head in question. The woman smiled at her and spoke.

“We overheard. He’s right, you know.” Her nostrils flared ever so slightly and her eyes welled with tears.

“Our Nancy would have been about your age. You have that look about you; like you don’t give up without a fight. Nancy fought hard right up to the day she died. I hope you listen to the Doctor. I bet you can do it, you know?” The man smiled, blinking back his own tears as he squeezed his wife’s hand. She looked up and smiled once again and spoke.

“Like he said, child. You’ll do just fine.”

I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feelin'
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds
So dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for love

Meanwhile, at Fanelli’s Restaurant, West Hollywood…

The waiter placed their food on the table and winked at both girls; ‘Marco,’ his name tag said; a young man who wasn’t averse to flirting. The girls nodded and he walked away feeling somewhat in awe of himself, even if the girls weren’t at all interested. They happened to be seated by the front window, but they were so absorbed in hiding in a crowded restaurant that they paid no heed to the downpour just on the other side of the glass.

“I’ve…I’ve never been in such a nice place,” Linda said, her head down. She took a bite of her veal, wondering what it would have cost if she had to pay, since the owner knew Jean Hagen and their meal was on her credit. Marnie said nothing but an‘um hmm;’ her own head down in somewhat awkward embarrassment. The other diners seemed to be oblivious to them even as they felt entirely out of place.

“That was very nice of Miss Hagen…don’t you think?” Linda said and Marnie offered the same wordless comment once again. A second later Marnie felt Linda touch her hand. She pulled it away quickly and grabbed her water glass as if that was what she had meant to do all along. Linda touched her other hand and she went to pull it away, but found that Linda had gripped her wrist.

“We’re not gonna get out of first gear if we don’t shift.” An expression her father told her that fit almost everything in life in addition to learning how to drive.

“I don’t know about you, but this is so damned scary.” She said and Marnie lifted her head slightly to reveal a face filled with apprehension. She was biting her lip, and would have thrown her hand up in front of her face like some damsel in distress in one of the old silent movies. Not horrified, but scared none the less. And a bit of shame mixed in for good measure. Her frown….one of several ‘I’m not worthy’ expressions in her repertoire, seemed to beg for Linda to let go. She looked around at the other tables; the diners were involved in their own conversations about their own lives and didn’t seem to notice the two girls sitting in their midst.

“I’m not a kid, Miss Svenson.” An odd bit of formality that pushed the girl away slightly even as Linda continued to grip Marnie’s wrist. She leaned closer and whispered.

“If I don’t say something I’ll just kill myself.” She sighed. Marnie at one time had actually thought about the same choice, but not in some silly hyperbole, but actually considering it. She shook her head; not wanting to hear what Linda had to say. But say it, she did.

“If you don’t like me….if you don’t even like girls, I understand, but…” It was Linda’s turn to be cautious. She bit the inside of her mouth, hoping to spur herself.

“I….I never thought about it before. You…” The girl’s face began to grow hot. She took a gulp of water and tried to continue, but all she could do was stammer ‘you.’

“Before we go any further…” Linda sputtered and faked a cough, as if that would conceal her own nervousness. She went on.

“I’ve never…I didn’t even think I did, either.”

“Either….either what?” Marnie asked nervously.

“Like girls!” She said it loudly enough that one of the women at the table next to them hurrmpmhed, so to speak. It wasn’t that she ‘liked girls,’ so much as that she said it loudly enough to draw rude attention to herself, thus pulling the woman’s attention away from her self-absorbed chat with her friends.

“Yes…I guess I do,” Marnie stammered, answering a question Linda hadn’t asked. But she went on.

“I….I’m not….”

“You don’t have to like me, Miss Svenson. It’s perfectly okay.” Linda didn’t realize how much she wasn’t okay with that until the words left her mouth. She wanted Marnie to like her.

“NO…you don’t understand…. Oh gosh….” Marnie looked into Linda’s eyes; those dark blue eyes that seemed to capture Marnie’s soul, despite every denial and every barrier she put up. She sighed.

“I do….I do like you. I just don’t…. If you knew…” She put her head down. The diners around them had returned their attention to their own conversations and paid no heed to the girl’s nervous tones, which grew increasingly loud, as nervous words have a tendency to do.

“What? What can be so wrong?” Linda didn’t think anything was wrong; she just reflected what Marnie had just said. Still, awkward, first-time communication can often be misconstrued, which Marnie immediately did.

“I’m wrong…. I’m wrong.” She stood up suddenly, sending her water glass spilling all over the table.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” Marnie grabbed her purse.

“I’ll catch a bus….” She said and with that she ran out of the restaurant into the downpour. Linda sat at the table. Her veal was awash with the water from Marnie’s glass. She looked out the front window in time to see Marnie boarding the bus and a moment later the girl was gone. Linda looked down at her plate and shook her head, but the ruined meal was the furthest thing from her mind. She looked out once again to notice the rain was letting up. Her attention was drawn to the bus stop where only moments before Marnie had stood.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked as he began to clear the table.

“No…I think I’ve had enough for one day.” Linda was a pretty together person most of the time. Today wasn’t among those times as she put her elbows on the table and cradled her head as she dissolved into tears.

Let the stormy clouds chase
Everyone from the place
Come on with the rain
I've a smile on my face
I walk down the lane
With a happy refrain
Just singin',
Singin' in the rain

And Finally: You Are My Lucky Star

Singing in the Rain
Words and music by
Arthur Freed and
Nacio Herb Brown
As performed by
Debbie Reynolds
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wI4jJq98tU