Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 26

Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 26 Robin

Saturday after lunch Carmen sat at the table in the studio with her laptop open in front of her and her headphones on. In the morning they had done their weekly chores, Shane cleaning and vacumming the house while Carmen went to the supermarket to food-shop. Shane was dressed in maximum boi -- a pair of oversize, baggy black cargo pants and a dark gray,sleeveless T-shirt with the logo "rt alive" on it in sky blue lettering she'd bought at a yard sale, even though it had originally come from the Ron Herman store. Carmen was one of those lucky women who could wear a burlap bag and look great. But in Shane's opinion -- and it was one of her best -- Carmen never looked more sexy, charming and alluring when she was wearing her weekend casuals. Today she wore her cutoff jeans shorts and a longsleeve, ribbed white jersey top. The cutoffs were cut off high, leaving all those lovely Carmen legs exposed, right up to the swell of her wonderful ass cheeks.

In theory she was listening to music and had a specific chore to do with it, and she was doing it, but her mind was somewhere else. The first she knew Shane was behind her was when Shane leaned over and kissed her forehead from on top. She raised her arm back, drawing Shane in.

"Hi," she murmured.

"Hey," Shane said.

"You startled me," Carmen said, removing her headphones as Shane parked her head on Carmen's right shoulder.

"Sorry. Are you staying here all day?" Shane asked.

"No. Just until I finish updating Dana's iPod." They had agreed with Alice to go to the hospital to visit Dana at 5 p.m.

"I didn't know you were into classical," Shane said, reading the list of music Carmen had displayed on the laptop from Dana's iPod.

"I'm not just another pretty DJ," Carmen said, making Shane laugh.

Dana's tastes ran to Schubert -- she already had on her iPod his Piano Quintet in A, called The Trout; the Impromptu No. 2 in A-flat major; and Heidenröslein, the Goethe poem Schubert wrote music for in his D.257 (Op. 3, No. 3). She had Chopin's Prelude in E minor, Opus 28, No. 4, the one often called Suffocation. It was one of the pieces Jack Nicholson played in Five Easy Pieces, but Carmen thought it was still a pretty dark choice, since Chopin requested that it be played at his own funeral. She didn't like what Dana might have been thinking.

The other Chopin was the Impromptu No. 3 in G-flat major, the one in 12/8 time. Dana had Bach's Jesu, meine Freude, another short funeral piece that troubled Carmen. Then there was Beethoven's Symphony No. 5, with its memorable "dit dit dit dahhhh V-for Victory" opening notes featured in dozens of World War II movies Carmen could name. The last piece Dana had was Tchaikovsky's Nocturne, Opus 19, No. 4, in C-sharp minor. To this assortment Carmen was in the process of adding Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D major, Opus No. 35; Mozart's Divertimento in D major; Beethoven's 9th Symphony; and because Dana liked Schubert so much, Der Doppelgänger.

"You and Harvey would have really loved each other," Shane said. "You know almost as much about music as he did. You'd have been soul mates."

"I bet we would have, but the role of my soul mate is already taken. Still, there are a lot of other little things you don't know about me," Carmen said as Shane walked over to the couch against the wall and flopped down.

"I bet there is. Like what?"

"Uh, like..." Carmen looked up at the ceiling, wondering how this was going to go and why she'd even started it. "In high school I was captain of the volleyball and basketball teams, and in college I was on the swim team and studied musical theater, I had a role in the musical Chicago, and studied opera. That's partly how I know about classical music."

"Opera, huh? Well, I'll be damned. Not only a thespian but a jock, too. No wonder you're in such good shape. What else?"

"I shot a gun once."

Shane snickered.

"It was my cousin's, a Glock 36, and it was very loud."

"You know, I shot one once, too," Shane said, tying a shoelace on her high-tops. "All right, come on, tell me some more."

"I cheated on you," Carmen said, staring blindly at her computer screen.

Shane's head snapped up. Noise suddenly roared into her ears. She looked at Carmen's back.

Carmen sat unmoving for long, long seconds. She hadn't expected to play it this way, after all the thought she'd given it. But there it was. Like coming out to her mother, it had just popped out of her mouth.

"I said, I chea—"

"I heard you," Shane said sharply. She felt like she'd been punched. Sucker-punched. She tried to process it, all the thoughts and feelings welling up. Anger. Jealousy. Disbelief. Hurt. There sure was a lot of hurt building up.

"When?"

"After you fucked Cherie Jaffe," Carmen whispered, still not looking at her.

Shane sat, feeling all the emotions building. Finally she got up and walked out of the studio and went into the house. She paced around the kitchen, went to her room, came out of her room, got a Dos Equis from the refrigerator, left the bottle opener on the kitchen table, went into the living room. Why did this fucking hurt so much? Mindlessly, she sat down on the couch, picked up the TV remote off the coffee table, snapped the TV on. It appeared to be some show called Bullshit! hosted by the magician Penn Jillette, doing something with a Ouija board. It would be wrong to say that Shane watched the show. Yes, she faced the screen. Yes, she saw moving images, yes, she heard the sounds that came out of it. She held the remote in her hand. She had no idea what it was about. Her mind was a thousand miles away and trying desperately to make sense out of the chaos that her emotions had suddenly become.

Carmen came into the house and stood behind Shane. Gently she reached out, touched the back of Shane's head, her fingers in Shane's hair for a moment. Shane flicked her head in annoyance. Carmen withdrew her hand. Shane raised the remote, turned the TV off. "What's her name?"

"You don't know her—"

"Tell me what the fuck her name is!" Shane hissed.

"Her name is Robin."

Shane turned around to glare at Carmen. "Robin Howard?"

Carmen paused, confused. Who was Robin Howard? "No." She said, "I don't remember her last name." That was a lie, and Carmen had no idea why she told it. She almost never told lies. Maybe it was just to keep something private ... private.

Shane put her hand over her eyes.

"Did you fuck her more than once?"

"Well, why does that matter, Sha—"

"Did you?"

Carmen thought it over. "Who said that I fucked her?" It was a stupid thing to say, and Carmen knew she'd said it only to be contrary and difficult. It was, essentially, the second lie she'd told in less than a minute. What was the point of inflicting this horrible truth on Shane ... and then adding a couple of pointless lies about minor details? Carmen had no idea.

Shane stood up. She said nothing. She walked out of the room, into the kitchen, taking her bottle of Dos Equis with her. She sat down at the kitchen table, stretched back, put her legs up on the table, and began to read the newspaper. Carmen waited a moment, and left the room.

A few minutes later it was Carmen who sat at the kitchen table, starring at her laptop and trying to finish updating Dana's iPod, but like Shane, her heart wasn't in it.

Shane came into the kitchen with her empty beer bottle, set it on the counter, opened the refrigerator, and took out another Dos Equis.

Carmen turned and watched Shane look for the bottle opener. "Shane, what are you gonna do, get drunk? It's two o'clock in the afternoon."

Shane ignored her, still looking.

"It's right here," Carmen said, holding up the bottle opener.

Shane took it, opened the bottle.

"You seem upset," Carmen said.

Shane came over and put the bottle opener on the table next to Carmen. It was her turn to say something stupid. "That's you projecting, Carmen," she said quietly but intensely. Carmen watched Shane's back as she walked away. She knew she wasn't projecting.

Shane went to her room, laid down on the bed, started to try to read a book. Like the TV show before, Shane saw the object in front of her, saw the words on the page. The words meant as little as the words coming out of the TV had meant. There were words already in her head, her head was overflowing with words. I cheated on you. After you fucked Cherie Jaffe. I cheated on you. Robin somebody. Pretending not to be upset. Keep it cool, Shane. Tamp it all down. Don't listen to the roaring noises. Because this thing fucking hurts, doesn't it? It really hurts. It's not supposed to, because isn't that the point of never getting involved, never falling in love with anyone, never giving your own heart to anybody? Because any time you do that, anytime you give away your heart, somebody fucking stomps on it. Even if it's deserved. Even if it's a revenge fuck and you started it, you had it coming, baby, and you feel awful about it because you fucked up, and now this woman who has been hurting so much over the stupid fucking thing you did, this woman just broke your heart only you won't admit it. Because you never give your heart so how can anyone ever break it, ever touch it? Because you shield it. You won't let anyone near it, so how can it be possible this sweet, lovely, gentle, kind-hearted, warm, loving girl with the firm, willing hips you love and the breasts you've kissed went and got fucked by some cunt named Robin and why does that hurt so fucking bad? And Carmen had even told you, the morning she'd thrown the pizza at you, didn't she, that you should have no problem with her going out and fucking whoever she wanted. She actually told you this might happen, only neither of you believed it. Well, you certainly never believed it would happen. That was your mistake, and it hurt like hell. Carmen had only done exactly what she told you she might do.

The bedroom door opened and Carmen edged in. "Can I come in?" she asked meekly.

Without looking up, Shane mumbled something Carmen took for assent. She walked over to the bed, knelt on it, then straddled Shane's leg. Gently she pulled down the book Shane was not reading. Shane refused to make eye contact.

"I'm sorry," she began. "It was so stupid, and it's not like me." Shane finally looked up into Carmen's face. "Can't we just start again?" Carmen asked. "Clean slate?"

Carmen started sniffling. She was afraid she was going to lose it. Shane looked at her for a minute, then closed her book and tossed it aside. Slowly she rose up to look closely into Carmen's face, seeing the tears welling in Carmen's eyes.

"Do you feel better now?" She let the knife slip in. "Do you feel good, now that we're even?" Carmen looked at her. "Hmmm?" Shane asked when Carmen said nothing.

Carmen was horrified. She thought she'd lost Shane forever. She got up and turned to walk to the door, but for once Shane instinctively did the right thing: She grabbed Carmen's wrist, wouldn't let her go, spun her around. Then they were kissing, Carmen's arms pinned but trying to flail, or maybe not, because Carmen gave a hundred percent to the kiss, her lips meeting Shane's as Shane kissed the only person who'd ever made her feel this way.

In bed, fucking. "Look at me," Shane says.

***

Her name was Robin McManus. Carmen didn't know why she'd lied and said she didn't remember Robin's last name. Perhaps it was a kind of denial.

Carmen had a Saturday night DJ gig in a club two and a half hours south of Los Angeles on the far, far outskirts of San Diego, northeast of the city in Santee near Gillespie Field and the hills near Sky Ranch. She'd been recommended by a friend of a friend of somebody who knew Russell Simmons's agent's brother-in-law, who'd seen Carmen at The Planet and thought she was great. The gig was every Saturday night for a month, a four-week contract that paid so well Carmen couldn't say no. It not only paid for the gig, it paid generously for Carmen's travel time, and paid for her overnight stay at a nice, big chain hotel where the club was located, because it was understood it was too far and too late at night for Carmen to pack up all her gear and drive all the way home to LA. So she was a VIP guest of the hotel, all expenses paid, just as though she'd been one of the hotel's nightclub acts, which in a way she was. The resort hotel wanted to boast it had acquired a major Hollywood DJ, and so it had.

When Carmen told Shane about the gig, Shane nodded and said it sounded like a really good opportunity, and said Carmen should take it, even though it meant they'd have to sacrifice two of their get-away Traveling Wilbury weekends. Carmen asked if Shane wanted to come along that first weekend, but Shane had a wedding late Saturday afternoon she had to do the hair for, and much as she'd like a day or two lolling around a resort hotel pool, she couldn't go. In a way, Carmen was relieved, but didn't know why. But she knew she wouldn't mind the solitude of a two-and-a-half-hour drive down, and another drive back at her leisure Sunday afternoon. A little me-time every now and then helped keep a relationship fresh.

The first Saturday night gig had gone well, and Carmen, wearing her hottest gold lamé booty shorts and fringed, low-cut gold lamé top, had never noticed the shy girl who watched her all night long.

Carmen first noticed her sitting quietly at the end of the bar a week later, sipping an O'Doul's. Carmen wondered if the girl had a problem with alcohol, or maybe was the designated driver that night, or for some reason just wanted to stay sober and alert. And for no reason she could think of, Carmen knew that was the correct answer: The girl just didn't want to get buzzed. She was nearly Carmen's own age, early to mid-twenties, was petite, seemed to have a nice figure, a little flat-chested, which was fine with Carmen. She had a wide mouth and prominent cheekbones. She wasn't classically pretty, but she was cute, and for some reason she reminded Carmen of a funny, lovable cartoon animal, not a mouse exactly, but perhaps a chipmunk? A squirrel? Bambi? Some adorable forest critter who would make you laugh and love her. Carmen would learn later that the girl blushed easily, and when she smiled a pair of generous dimples appeared in her cheeks that could jolt your heart. She wore nice slacks and a powder blue, Oxford, button-down shirt. She wore her black hair high on her head in a bun, and it looked to Carmen that if she let her hair down it would go to her waist. She had a cute face, but by far the one thing that anyone would notice first were the glasses. She wore very large, very stylish glasses with black frames and thick, Coke-bottle lenses. Because her eyesight was very bad and because she had to wear such thick lenses, rather than try to diminish the size of her glasses, the girl had chosen to exaggerate them, making them oversize, funky, fun. And she was right: Carmen decided the girl looked cute as hell in those big glasses. Maybe there was some medical reason the girl couldn't or wouldn't wear contact lenses, but Carmen guessed that when the girl wore contacts she seemed to lose something in her appearance, and knew it. Hence the big, black, oversize frames. It wasn't that they let her look out upon the world; it was that those lenses pulled the world into the girl's orbit. And then Carmen had a flash of insight. If you were looking at the big glasses, you weren't looking at the girl behind them. The girl was hiding something about herself behind those glasses, and Carmen knew what it was.

She put on Springsteen's Thunder Road, picked up her diet soda, and, taking a sip, scanned the room full of dancers and drinkers, men and women inspecting each other and trying to figure out what pick-up line might work. Carmen swiveled her head slowly, and was about to turn back to her turntables and disk players when she noticed the cute girl with the O'Doul's and the funky oversize glasses. They made eye contact, and Carmen nodded and smiled. It seemed to catch the girl off guard, and she smiled back. The party got louder and more intense over the night, and Carmen was hot hot hot. She held the audience in the palm of her hand, and she was enjoying herself immensely. She looked at the girl still sitting quietly in the corner, who was looking away, out over the crowd. She didn't look interested in anything or anyone, and no one seemed interested in her. Shortly before 1 a.m., before Carmen made her announcement that the last song of the night was coming up, she looked over and saw that the girl was gone.

The third week was a repeat of the second. Carmen saw the girl, nodded, smiled, and got a smile in return; by now they had a kind of acquaintance. Carmen had looked over at her a couple of times. It was obvious the girl had been watching Carmen almost exclusively. Then, toward the end of the evening, the girl disappeared.

The fourth and final week of Carmen's contract: the same. Shy girl, big glasses, adoring glances, O'Doul's. Carmen never planned it to happen, which is to say, she had no idea what she was going to do before she did it. There was no malice aforethought. Yes, she was still muy pissed at Shane for fucking Cherie Jaffe, but in her heart she couldn't say that was what motivated her. But suddenly she knew she wasn't going to wait until the end of the night, when the girl might very well have slipped away. Whatever she was going to do, she was going to do it ... now.

Carmen thought it would take a few minutes, so she wanted to play a long song. She put on one of her new favorites, a medley by The Tidwells. The band, a kind of Irish-American, Brooklyn-born version of U-2 Meets the Beach Boys, wasn't her usual kind of music, but she was strangely attracted to them, and didn't know why. Their lead singer was a doughy, stocky guy who dressed badly and needed a haircut. By rights, they were the kind of group she didn't like, a little arrogant, a little sexist, a little rough around the edges, a little too in-your-face, but underneath there was a kind of ... something. Gentleness? A raw humanity? She didn't know. The medley, Alimony Blues/Ode to Dani/Death in the Orange Grove, came from the group's skyrocketing live album, The Fabulous Tidwells: Stakeout at Carnegie Hall.

Carmen came down off the dais with her empty diet soda glass and stepped into the gap at the bar next to the girl.

"Hey," Carmen said, acknowledging the girl while flagging the bartender's attention.

"Hi," said the girl, quietly.

When the bartender came over Carmen ordered two O'Douls. When they came she took one and handed it to the girl.

"This one's for you," Carmen said. "My treat. The hotel covers my bar tab, so it's on the house."

"Well ... okay, thanks," the girl said, and responded when Carmen tapped her own bottle against the girl's. "¡Salud!"

"¡Salud!" Carmen turned her back to the bar and rested against the rail. "Nice crowd," she said.

"Uh-huh."

"I noticed you don't seem to be here with anybody."

"Uh, no," the girl said, sipping her beer.

"You from around here?"

"Abington," the girl said. "It's a suburb of San Diego."

"Nice town," Carmen said. "I like San Diego."

"It's okay," the girl said.

"I was hoping maybe you were from out around here," Carmen said.

"Why's that?"

"I wanted to find somebody who could tell me where there's a good all-night diner or a Johnny Rocket, or something. After my gig's over I like to go out and get something to eat, unwind, ya know? It takes me a little while to come down and drain the adrenaline so I can get to sleep."