Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 25

"What?" Carmen asked. "WHAT?"

Shane giggled. "Huh. Nothing." She shook her head no, but still laughing at something.

"Shane, what?" Carmen repeated.

"I'm sorry ... it was something your mom told me. When you were little, you had this teddy bear that you would, ah ... "

"Oh, God!" Carmen muttered, looking up at the ceiling for divine guidance. She knew what was coming.

" ... rub its tummy and then take a piss on it." Shane couldn't help giggling and chuckling. She thought it was the funniest thing.

Carmen's arms were folded in body language that said I am not amused. "Really, really cute, Shane. My mother is now sharing my personal stories with you. That's great." It wasn't. "I can't believe she invited you to dinner."

"She invited us," Shane said, seeing that Carmen wasn't taking this well.

"Yeah, and who's this person she wants you to meet anyway?"

"I don't know, Carmen, I don't know," Shane protested.

"Oh. So, you're like really close to my family, you know? Right?"

"Well ... yeah," Shane said, turning to her and wondering what she'd done wrong now.

"Good. That's good," Carmen said with an edge. "So you can be intimate with my family, but you can't be intimate with me!"

"Jesus Christ, Carmen!" Shane protested again. "What, do you not like the fact that your family and I have taken to each other, is that it?"

Carmen said nothing. Shane looked away, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," Carmen said in quieter, apologetic tone. "You're right. You're totally right." She took Shane's head in her hands, and turned her to look her in the face. "I'm sorry. Look at me. I love the fact that you and my family have taken to each other. Okay?"

Shane didn't seem happy with that. She shrugged Carmen's hands away. But after a while she asked, "What does your abuela think of our tattoos?"

"I don't know. I think she thinks it means that we're friends."

"Mmm. I thought I heard something about 'wedding rings.'"

"God, your Spanish is getting good," Carmen marveled.

Shane shrugged, feigning modesty. "What can I say?" But she was proud of the compliment.

"Wow," Carmen said.

"Are they upset?" Shane asked, meaning about the tattoos and their significance.

"No," Carmen said, "they just make up stories about us being friends, and that way they don't have to deal with it."

It was their turn for pictures, They walked up onto the dais and stood in front of the palm tree backdrop. Carmen put her arm in the crook of Shane's elbow.

"I'm thinking of taking Spanish lessons," Shane said. Carmen turned her head and looked at her, smiling but surprised.

"You ... uh ... really?"

Click. The photographer snapped the first photo.

"Yeah," Carmen said.

"That's great!" Carmen replied, happy. Click. They turned for the photographer so Carmen's back was to Shane, Shane wrapped her arms around Carmen's waist, click, and they mugged for the camera. Click.

***

Max sat at the dining room table with all the money from the fundraiser laid out in front of him in neat stacks. Jenny, still in her girlie black nightdress, came in and sat down opposite him with two cups of coffee. She gave one to Max.

"Three thousand, four hundred and fifty-two dollars," Max said. Jenny could tell he wasn't happy.

Jenny blew out air. "Wow. It's so much money."

"It's crap money!" Max exploded. "It won't even pay for one tit!" Jenny stared at him like he was crazed. Which he was. "Where were all your rich friends last night?"

"Where were all my rich friends?" Jenny asked. She didn't like where this conversation was going one bit.

"Helena Peabody could have paid for my entire transition in what she pisses away in a single day!" He swept his hand across the table, knocking the stacks of money into a confetti cloud that landed all over the floor.

Jenny stared at him. Finally she said quietly, "I don't know you. You're becoming a completely different person."

"You don't understand!" Max said, frustrated and angry.

"No, I don't understand," Jenny said. "I really don't understand."

"I'm not okay," Max said, anguished. "I can't wait for years and years. I'm totally freaking out. I'm not okay in this body!"

Jenny leaned forward confronting him. "And when you get the body you need, who's going to live inside of it? Is it going to be that sweet, kind, compassionate gentle person that I met" -- she suddenly reached for a handful of cash on the table and flung it at him -- "or is it going to be THIS MOTHERFUCKING MONSTER?" She walked slowly from the room.

***

The next day, a Sunday, Carmen and Shane spent the afternoon cleaning their home, doing laundry, and other weekly or biweekly chores. Carmen went to the supermarket to do the shopping while Shane cleaned the kitchen and bathroom, and then vacuumed the rest of the house. Shane loved to vacuum; it was one her favorite things, and she was nearly OCD about it. She had a new Dyson, which was one of her most prized possessions, and she loved it dearly. Part of it was that vacuuming gave Shane some control over her environment, and by extension her entire life. Another part was that it gave her immediate gratification. When she cut hair in her salon, there was usually some on the floor, and cleaning it up was a satisfying conclusion to a job well done. When Carmen got home Shane helped her bring in the groceries and put them away. Then Shane jumped in her pickup and took it to a chain lube shop that specialized in oil changes while-you-wait.

Meanwhile, Carmen changed for the dinner they'd been invited to at her mom's house. While she waited for Shane to get home and get dressed, she sorted and folded the week's laundry she'd unloaded from the dryer. She took the pile of Shane's clean, sweet-smelling underwear and some other clothes to Shane's room to put them away. She had checked Shane's underwear drawer a couple of times over the past few weeks, and knew her letter had been found, but the strap-on had still lived there.

Now when she opened the drawer Carmen saw that the strap-on was gone and there was a box about two feet long at the back of the drawer. It looked like the kind of box flowers might come in. On top of it there was a small envelope with the word "Carmen" written on it. Carmen opened it and found a folded half sheet of paper. She unfolded it and read what Shane had written: "It's only meat."

Oh, shit, Carmen thought, remembering her one-sided food fight in the kitchen the morning after the Cherie Peroni disaster. She prayed silently that Shane hadn't gone out and bought some god-awful, hideous, 18-inch, King Kong Dong strap-on monstrosity or double-ender. She put the note down and tentatively lifted the lid of the box. No, Shane, please, God, no.

Inside was a two-foot long stick of plastic-wrapped pepperoni, the kind sold in the big box discount supermarkets and Italian delis. It's only meat.

Carmen sat down on Shane's bed and laughed until she thought she was going to be sick.

***

It had all the makings of a fine family dinner. They had the long table in the backyard of Mercedes' house, and everyone was there, Carmen and Abuela, Carman's two sisters Patricia and Anna, and their husbands, Freddie and Carlos, her cousin Evi, and a fellow Shane hadn't met before. And the food -- bowls of salad, and refried beans, tortillas, enchiladas, chimichangas. When Mercedes brought a big bowl of paella out onto the table everyone called out happily and applauded: Mercedes' paella was legendary, in the family and in the neighborhood. Everyone piled in.

"Pablo, tell Chane about your business," Mercedes said as she sat down. Pablo was the stranger sitting across from Shane. He was good-looking, clean-cut and clean-shaven, about thirty years old. He wore a black golf shirt, and spoke with no trace of accent.

"Ah, she doesn't want to know about that," Pablo said shyly.

"Chane is a very good hairdresser," Mercedes ignored him, "and she wants to know a good ... what do you call ... limpiador de la alfombra--"

"Pimp," Carmen translated incorrectly, not looking up from her food. Limpiador de la alfombra means a carpet cleaner. It was like a slap in the face. Everyone was silent. Carmen's sister Patricia glared at her.

"Carmen!" Shane reprimanded. Shane was as shocked as anyone that Carmen would say such a thing, and so disrespectfully, to her own mother. Worse, in front of this stranger.

"What?" Carmen asked, still eating and still defiant.

"I don't understand," Mercedes said, angry herself.

"That's what you're doing, Mom. You're pimping out Shane. Go right ahead."

"Carmen? Let it go," Patricia begged. Carmen did a slow burn.

Pablo tried to jump into the gap and spoke directly to Shane. "Um, I own a carpet cleaning business, so, ah, if you ever need the carpets cleaned at your hairdressing salon, I can, uh, it's not a problem ... ."

"Thank you," Shane said politely, "but we don't actually have carpet at the salon, but ... it sounds like a nice job, thank you." She smiled at him, hoping to make amends for Carmen's behavior. Trouble was, Pablo really did seem like a very nice guy, if you're into that sort of thing.

"It's very good, Chane," Mercedes plowed on straight ahead, still selling. "Good money!"

"Okay, Mom, just stop. Stop this right now," Carmen interrupted. "Es una sota, cuanto mas. Shane nolo interesado en Pablo. Okay?" It's an insult, too much. Shane's not interested in Pablo.

"Mama, let's get the next dish," Carmen's sister Anna said in English, attempting to distract Mercedes.

Mercedes ignored her and responded to Carmen, "¿Cómo sabe? ¿Está su intérprete?" How do you know? Are you her interpreter?

"Soy su novia," Carmen said, quietly but insistently. And there it was, finally, after all these years, out on the table in plain sight. I'm her girlfriend.

"No sabes lo que estás diciendo," Mercedes brushed it off. You don't know what you're talking about.

"Sí lo hago. Shane es mi novia y yo soy suya." Yes, I do. Shane is my girlfriend and I am hers.

Shane's Spanish wasn't good enough to follow, and her processing speed, as always, was notoriously slow. But from the tone of voice and the body language she knew Carmen and Mercedes were angry and that some bad shit was going down. She knew Carmen's propensity for shooting from the hip in the heat of battle. But she was helpless to intervene. She took a sip of her sangría and prayed, please, Carmen, please don't lose it. Please don't do this.

"Abuela made her flan for dessert," Patricia tried to throw in, another attempted distraction.

"No, Mom," Carmen said, staring at her mother and speaking in English. "I'm her girlfriend. We live in the same house, and we sleep in the same bed, Mother."

"Carmen, that's really not necessary," Anna said with equal vehemence.

"Te vas," Mercedes said, standing up from the table. "¡Licencia! Usted quiere solamente lastimarme porque usted es embarrassed de mí... porque no fui a la universidad y no soy una mujer elegante, ni puede yo hablar inglés bien. Bien, I' el ll le dice lo que puedo decir en inglés: Get out, both of you. Get out of my house."

Get out! Leave! You only want to hurt me because you're embarrassed by me, because I didn't go to college and I'm not an elegant woman, nor can I speak English well. Well, I'll tell you what I cansay in English: Get out, both of you. Get out of my house.

"Mercedes," Abuela called from the end of the table, "¿usted está diciendo? ¡Usted no lanza a la familia hacia fuera en la calle!" What are you saying? You don't throw family out on the street!

Abuela persisted. "¿Mercedes, cuál es éste alrededor?" What's going on?

Mercedes turned from glaring at Shane and Carmen to answer her. "Su nieta es una lesbiana." Your granddaughter is a lesbian. She turned back to them and looked right at Carmen. "Mejor puta que lesbiana. Se van, ya me oyeron." Better a whore than a lesbian. You heard me. Go.

Mercedes turned and went into the house.

"Get up!" Carmen said to Shane. "Let's go." She stood from the table and flung down her napkin.

"You're so selfish!" Anna told Carmen.

"I'm the selfish one?" Carmen shot back. "When you all sit here and you expect me to live out some kind of lie so you can live comfortably, and you're calling meselfish?"

"You just could have waited," Patricia said.

"Well, obviously I couldn't!" She turned away from the table. "Let's go."

"Maybe we should talk to—" Shane tried.

"She doesn't want to talk," Carmen said. She grabbed Shane by the wrist and dragged her away.

***

Carmen drove, and with the top down and the wind noise, conversation was nearly impossible. Anyway, Shane could tell from Carmen's clenched jaw and flashing eyes that she was as pissed as she'd ever seen her, so there'd be no point in trying to discuss it now anyway.

"Come on, motherfucker, the light's green. Step on the fucking gas," Carmen growled.

"Move it, lady, move your ass."

"Goddam it, use your fucking turn signal, dickhead."

"Oh, great, a fender-bender. Let's everybody slow the fuck down and let's all take a real good look, shall we? Let's lean out the window and fucking gawk, okay? Morons."

Except for Carmen's traffic monologue, the ride home was almost but not quite silent. When they got to their street, Carmen slammed into the driveway, jammed on the brakes, slammed the gearshift into Park, and slammed into the house. Shane didn't even bother to get out of the Jeep. She just let her sphincter relax for the first time in 20 minutes, released her fierce grip on the safety hold bar, and lit a cigarette.

They had talked about Carmen coming out to her mother. These had been calm, reasonable discussions. They had discussed possible lines of approach. They had discussed whether it would be useful to have Patty and Anna there, since they already knew and approved. They had given thought to how Mercedes might react. They recapped and considered Mercedes' well-known views on the subject. They talked about how Hispanic and barrio culture regarded lesbianism, and homosexuality in general, and yes, sadly, in that culture, being a lesbian really was regarded as being worse than a whore. They had discussed timing. They had sought input, at one time or another, with nearly all the Friends, singly, and in group. They had read magazine articles and watched videos and talk shows about it. Through it all, Carmen had been perfectly sane.

And then it had all turned to shit in a heartbeat.

Shane loved Mercedes. She loved Abuela, and Patty and Anna, she liked Evi, and she was fond of Freddy and Carlos, who regarded her with affection and respect. More, she loved the entire Morales household, not just the individuals in it but the idea of it as "family," one of the key things Shane had not experienced in twenty years, and before that not very well. She had lived with Harvey for eight months in some sort of ad hoc, artificial two-person family, and had come to learn what it was like to have a good, noble, heroic, gentle, loving father figure, something she'd never had from Day One. And now she'd found an equally wonderful, loving, warm mother figure in Mercedes -- and not just a mother, but an entire family, hearth and home, the whole enchilada -- and in a heartbeat lost them all. Just as she'd lost Harvey, also in just a blink of an eye.

Except for finding Carmen, life just wouldn't cut Shane a break, but that's not how she looked at it. That wasn't Shane's way. Instead, she blamed herself. She wasn't worthy. She didn't deserve a family like this, she wasn't good enough. Better a whore than a lesbian, Mercedes had said, and Shane had been both. And though she had given up prostitution a decade ago, she was still the lesser of the two, in Mercedes' opinion.

She brought her hand up and covered her eyes, not surprised there were tears there. She couldn't help it; sitting there in the Jeep in the driveway, she cried.

***

Shane pulled it together, and tossed away the butt of her cigarette just as it began to burn her fingers. She wiped her face, and sighed. Shit, shit, shit. She was no stranger to grief, to loss, to mourning. And to all the noise in her ears, and all the background processing going on. She wanted a drink. Better yet, she wanted a joint, and to fall into blissful numbness. Her stomach growled; she'd barely had any dinner. God, she loved Mexican food, and Mercedes' cooking. Gone, all gone: the paella and the mother love, the warmth, the affection, the acceptance, the home.

She got out of the Jeep and walked slowly into the house. She didn't know where Carmen was, but she wasn't in the kitchen. Maybe she was in her room, crying, like Shane had been. Shane knew that, sooner or later, Carmen's anger would break, and then there would be the regret, the realization that she'd screwed up. The remorse, the sorrow. Shane knew that she was just going to have to wait it out until that happened. She didn't think it would take long, because every other time Carmen had stepped in it, she'd realized it almost immediately, and had felt bad almost immediately.

Shane opened the refrigerator, took out a Dos Equis, and reached into the large zip-lock bag of sliced pepperoni -- cut down from the stick Carmen had found in Shane's underwear drawer -- and took out a handful of slices. She opened the Dos Equis, popped a slice of pepperoni into her mouth, placed the cold Dos Equis bottle against her forehead, and closed her eyes, chewing.

She heard Carmen come into the kitchen, but kept her eyes closed. She felt her throat constrict again.

"You could have waited, Carmen," Shane said, her voice on the edge of tears. "You could have at least told me before you threw it on them like that."

"Yeah? Well, I didn't exactly plan that, Shane. Besides, it was her fault anyway."

Shit, Shane thought, she's still pissed. But Shane was angry, too, and couldn't let it go. "Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Really. Hmmm. That poor woman is in denial," Shane said, gesturing helplessly. "Don't you think that's hard enough?"

"I'll tell you what's hard, Shane, what's hard is watching your mother try and fix up your girlfriend with some dickhead from the carpet cleaning busi—"

"Please!" Shane held up her hand like a traffic cop stopping a car.

"What?" Carmen yelled. "You know what? I don't fucking get you! It's like one minute you're my girlfriend, you're on my side, you love me, and the next minute you're—"

"I don't want to lose your family!" Shane burst out. "Okay? I don't want them to hate me. I think it would be really fucked if they sat there and they blamed me for this, which I am so sure they already have."

"What do youknow about family?" Carmen snapped.

It was mean, and it was a conversation-stopper. They looked at each other, hurt in both their eyes. And then it happened, the moment Shane had waited for when Carmen realized she'd transgressed, blurted something hot-headed and over the line. Carmen put her hand over her eyes. Shit, shit, shit.

Shane's cell phone chirped. She ignored it, letting the hurt and anger turn to sarcasm. "That's nice," she whispered in response to Carmen's remark.

"Shane," Carmen tried to start an apology, but Shane walked to the table and opened her phone.

"No, really, that's nice of you," Shane said quietly. "Thanks for enlightening me." She spoke into the phone. "What?" She listened intently. "Al?" She listened some more.

Carmen blew out a puff of air, waiting for Shane to get off the phone. She was going to have to do some serious, world-class apologizing. It was her temper, that and her fast, fast mouth. She started trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. How to make it right, if that was even possible.