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Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 01

By: O_G_Salli





Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 01



Shane stared at Carmen's chest, her shoulders, her arms, hardly noticing the tribal lesbo tattoo on Carmen's left arm high up at the shoulder, some kind of torch thing. But it wasn't the tat that drew Shane to Carmen, it was her skin, so tan, so smooth, so flawless ... so kissable. Shane's hands danced to the front of Carmen's skirt and unsnapped the three snaps there, folding back the flaps of the skirt and revealing the swell of Carmen's hips. Shane looked down and there they were. The tattoos. 

Shane was no stranger to ink; she had seven herself, including a swallow on her own left triceps, and audere est facere, "to dare is to do" in Latin, on her right triceps, the "submissive" side, according to lesbo tat lore. Shane had fucked plenty of girls with tats and tramp stamps, usually modest tats in girly places, a lot of roses left, right or centered just over the pubic hair and one or two right there on the shaved mound. Gang tats, jail tats, on fingers, arms, butt cheeks, tits, sides, backs, thighs, cunts. Shane had seen so many tribal tats up there high on the left shoulder, the lesbian's so-called "dominant" side, and she had kissed a hundred of them, and kissed a hundred nautical stars on the inside of wrists. She wished she had a nickel for every Labrys she'd licked. But Shane had to admit she'd never seen anything quite like the tats on Carmen's hips. They fascinated her.

The tats were black and symmetrical, and seemed to start down inside Carmen's panties, at the edges of her mons, rose up to the girl's hipbones, and then ran parallel to her waist around her sides, like vines drawn and stylized as curved, wide bands, one each side, some kind of tribal belt thing. 

"Wow. Where does this lead?" Shane asked, but before Carmen could answer Shane spun her around to see where the vines went, pulling Carmen's skirt down a few inches. There, at the top of Carmen's buttocks on each side, the vines lead into two harshly stylized dragon heads facing each other across her coccyx, their chins just above the top of Carmen's low-rider coral-colored panties. 

Shane stared.

"Oh, it was from my father. I never met him, but--"

Shane bent Carmen over the sound board and began to nuzzle her back, kissed her shoulder blade.

"-- supposedly he was some kind of Mayan medicine man."

Shane moved her lips over the back of Carmen's shoulder, mesmerized by the softness of the skin overlaying smooth muscle underneath. She could feel Carmen's skin fluttering, quivering in anticipation. Shane could tell this was a girl who liked a lot of foreplay, a lot of touch, a lot of kissing, a whole lot of slow. 

"How come you never met him?"

"He died in a motorcycle crash before I was born."

That stopped Shane: Another one, like herself, who had never known her father. How could anyone as different as Carmen was from Shane be the same as Shane?

Carmen turned and faced Shane again, looked into her eyes, saw something there. Pain? A memory? What? But it didn't matter, because they were kissing again. Shane put her hands on Carmen's hips and slide her skirt to the floor. She dropped to her knees and pulled Carmen's skirt away from her booted feet and tossed it aside. She had to have another look, close up this time, and slowly turned Carmen around again, her fingers tracing the vines of Carmen's tattoo and then staring at the dragon heads. Slowly Shane lowered Carmen's panties, and drew in a sharp breath. This girl had the most incredible ass Shane had ever seen. Smooth and lovely tan like all her other skin, firm, no shake, no jiggle, no cellulite. Shane ran her fingertips over the swell of Carmen's bottom cheeks, and knew she could spend days right here, doing this girl's tight rear end, never mind the treasure cave that undoubtedly waited on the other side.

Shane's nostrils flared. She could smell Carmen's desire, could smell the wetness she knew Carmen was leaking, and knew she had to taste it. She stood and turned the girl around yet again, facing her, then lifted Carmen back up onto the soundboard console again, Carmen's knees spread, Shane closing in between them, kissing Carmen's mouth, and her neck, smelling her perfume, maybe some sort of sandalwood, nuzzling her collarbones then down her sternum, thinking about removing the black bra and kissing her breasts but no, being in a hurry now, no time for tits, because Shane could smell another of this girl's scents, a perfume very familiar that Shane had smelled a thousand times before, always the same but each time always a little different, faint, fragrant Channel #5. Shane dropped her hand down between Carmen's legs, feeling the wetness there and hearing Carmen groan as Shane rubbed her hand over the liquid channel in question. 

Carmen felt Shane's lips on her stomach, kissing, nibbling, licking downward ever downward, and then she felt Shane drop to her knees. She felt Shane lower her head, felt Shane's tongue lapping hungrily over her cleft, wet, yes, very wet, the voice in Carmen's head whispering, Quiero, quiero, quiero, Shane turning her face to the side, kissing and nuzzling Carmen's left thigh, and then her right, felt Shane pause with her cheek on Carmen's thigh, and Shane drawing a deep, deep breath, inhaling the scent of Carmen's drenched, wanting pussy. Carmen raised her hips to draw Shane in, thinking my God, I can't believe I'm doing this at work. She looked down and saw Shane's face sinking slowly like a sunset behind Mount Venus, Shane's eyes closed in evensong prayer, worshiping. Carmen nearly came right then.

Shane inhaled, then opened her eyes and looked up into Carmen's eyes, looking down at her, her face full of silent pleading. Still keeping her eyes locked on Carmen's, Shane moved her head forward, her tongue starting at the bottom of Carmen's wet slit at the perineum, licking slowly upward as Carmen gasped, then Shane moved forward, her tongue probing between the slick lips, Carmen looking down as Shane began to slowly tongue-fuck her delicious cunt.

***

"You ain't twenty-one," the woman in the storefront tattoo parlor said, speaking in Spanish. Carmen guessed she was in her mid thirties, this chicana. Not bad looking. Dark hair pulled back in a bun, dark eyes. A small nick in her chin, a scar, some bar fight maybe, or maybe where her old man had hit her once, Carmen thought. Pierced eyebrow, nostril stud. Tats on the bare forearms and above the top of her T-shirt, vivid reds, blues, greens and blacks, colorful twining, a lot of leaves and vines and things.

"Sure I am," Carmen lied, also speaking in Spanish. "I just look young for my age." She was nineteen. She added, thinking it might help, "A lot of people in the barrio recommended you. They told me you were very good, an artist. De aquellas," the best there was. "You are the one who calls herself Picassa, right?"

Carmen and Picassa both spoke flawless English when they wanted, just as they both spoke perfect Spanish, but like most people in the barrio talking amongst themselves their speech folded in a lot of Chicano Caló, the accumulated street slang of Mexican-Americans. Caló contained bits of the older Pachuco slang of the 1930s and 1940s, the days of the Zoot Suit Riots, plus pieces of Nahuatl Aztec, plus slang from the drug culture, from the music culture, from the barrio, from the surrounding alien Americano culture. People dipped in and out, back and forth, navigating between the two major languages and the street slang almost at random. No one thought about it; they just did it.

Picassa picked up her cigarette from the ashtray in front of her on the counter, took a deep drag on it, and looked around the storefront tattoo parlor. A couple of kids looking through a book of designs and snickering. Not serious customers.

"I've been saving up the baro," the money, Carmen said in a low voice so the kids looking through the albums didn't hear. "I've been working two jobs. I've got the money, in cash."

Picassa looked at Carmen, sizing her up. Cute. Great eyes. Great smile. Kind of bubbly. Fuckable. Wonderful skin, too, a really nice canvas to work on. Wonder who's doing her, which gang? Somebody's getting a piece of that chamaca, that teenager, Picassa thought, lucky bastard.

She made up her mind. "Okay, but I'm gonna ask you to sign all the waivers and shit, and this better not come back on me, got it?"

Carmen grinned. "Great! Thanks," she said. "I've been doing a lot of research, and I know this is going to be a long and tough process. Do you want to see my sketches?"

Picassa wanted to laugh, but didn't, wondering what kind of research this pretty little bonita might have done for her tramp stamp.

"Sure," she said, "Let's see what you've got." 

Carmen reached into her bag and brought out a notebook and laid it on the counter facing Picassa. "It's all in here."

Picassa started flipping through the pages, looking at Carmen's sketches, her notes, her research, her refinements, and then her final design plan.

"Holy shit," Picassa said, "what is this?"

"This is to honor my father, who was a Mayan medicine man. A medicine man is called a ha xiu, it's spelled ex eye you, but in the Yucatan you pronounce the ex as an ess aytch, so it's pronounced 'hah she-you.' That's the man who knows how to use the medicine of the plants."

"Yeah, I know how to speak Spanish, chiquita," Picassa said dryly. "What's these dragon head things you want on your ass?"

"They aren't dragons, they are jaguar heads, one of the various ways the Mayans drew them. They drew jaguar heads lots of ways, but this is the way I like, and my mother says my father had one like this on his hip. This particular female jaguar is called Ixchel, the goddess of medicine in the Maya culture. Ixchel is the goddess of some other things, too, but medicine men use Ixchel because of the medicine thing. You probably never heard of the Dresden Codex, that's a book about the Maya alphabet drawings, but in the Dresden Codex, Ixchel is shown as a wise woman with jaguar ears. Ixchel is also related to two Aztec earth goddesses, Toci Yoalticitl, which means 'Our Grandmother the Nocturnal Physician,' and another Aztec goddess of birth, called Cihuacoatl. Ixchel's two greatest talents are healing and midwifery."

Picassa found herself not really caring about the fucking Dresden Kotex, but she was charmed anyway by Carmen's infectious enthusiasm, and the evident hard work she had done putting all this stuff together. Picassa had inked some strange shit in her time, and she had long ago ceased to make judgments about the stuff her clients asked her to draw. But damn, this little chica bonita was cute. And anyway, this job looked like a challenge, and Picassa didn't get to be the best by turning down challenges.

" ... Now the other really neat thing is the word chel, that part of Ixchel? By itself one of the things chel means in Maya is 'rainbow,' isn't that cool? Oh, I forgot to tell you, I'm gay, see, so that's why I like the double meaning of chel. The Mayans had a bunch of jaguar gods and goddesses, and they all had two or three things they each did--"

"Real multitaskers," Picassa said.

"Right! Very good. So anyway, Ixchel may also have been the goddess of war, which I'm not real happy about, and there's some indication she may have had something to do with cannibalism, it isn't really clear, but I don't much care about that--"

"Wait a minute," Picassa said. "Ixchel being the war goddess bothers you, but her being a cannibal doesn't?"

"I like to think of it as what I learned in English class, that it's a metaphor," Carmen said. "After all, I like to eat women, too."

Picassa threw her head back and laughed heartily. "Okay, you got me there. And Ixchel is a big jungle cat, and you both like pussies too."

It was Carmen's turn to laugh. "Exactly! Okay, now here's where the part about the vines comes in. Know where the main Mayan shrine to Ixchel was? On the island of Cozumel, you know, that island where a lot of tourists go now. And their second most import place was on a small island off Cancun, called Isla Mujeres, Island of Women. Have you ever been to Cancun or Cozumel?"

Picassa shook her head no.

"They're both cool, you should go some time. Now, Isla Mujeres was named by the conquistador Francisco Hernandez Cordova, because when he landed there he found lots of idols and statues of women, and here, this is a direct quote" -- here Carmen pointed to some notes on one of the pages of her notebook, and Picassa read them as Carmen spoke them -- "'because of the idols he found there, of the goddesses of the country, Ixchel, Ixchebeliax, Ixhunie, Ixhunieta, only vestured from the girdle down, and having the breast covered after the manner of the Indians.' See, that's where the part about my tat girdling the hips comes in, wrapping all around just below my waistline. So it starts with the twin faces of Ixchel on my lower back, representing healing and midwifery, and the vines wind around my hips and when they get around front the vines dip down into my groin, over my womb, signifying and symbolizing childbirth as well as midwifery. See how it all ties together? What do you think?" Carmen looked to Picassa for approval. 

"What's your name, baby doll?"

"Carmen. Carmen de la Pica Morales."

"Well, Carmen, honey, here's what I think. I think you put a lot of work into this. And I can see how it ties you in with your daddy and his Mayan heritage and all that, and that's cool. I'm down with all that, that's your thing and I respect that. But there's some things I feel obligated to tell you about doing a job this extensive and this complicated, because you're talking about quite a lot of skin, some of it really delicate skin, too. So I gotta give you the safety precautions talk, and the care and maintenance talk, even if you had it before, and all that, 'kay? This is gonna take multiple sessions, and we're gonna have to let parts of it heal up a bit before we start on new work, you understand? And it's gonna hurt, you probably already know that. So, if you're still game, we'll have the talk, and then I'll send your sweet little ass home tonight to think it all over, and if you still want to do it, you come back tomorrow. How's that sound? And I got some ideas, too, about the design, if you want to hear them."

"Sure, great, oh, thank you, thank you," Carmen said, reaching across the counter and giving Picassa a hug.

They talked for forty minutes, Picassa giving Carmen all the due diligence stuff, and then the two of them going over the drawings, making small changes and adjustments. When they were done, Picassa said, "One last thing, baby. Tomorrow before you come back, if you still want to do this, get yourself a trimmer and trim your bush down pretty good. I don't know how much bush you got down there, but we're gonna need a clear landscape to do our work, right? You don't have to shave your chocha; I'll do that right before we start, and I'll only shave what needs it. Probably leave you with a cute little landing strip, or maybe a vee or triangle. Understand?"

"Loud and clear, Picassa," Carmen said, knowing that she already kept her bush trimmed down just about to zero, because it made for better carpet munching if there was little or no carpet to begin with. And Carmen loved getting her chocha eaten, almost as much as she loved to eat one.

***

Carmen got to the shop right after 5:30, and Picassa looked up from a tattoo magazine when she heard the girl come in. There were no other people in the store, and Picassa could read the girl's determination all over her face. She smiled and went to the front door, locked it, flipped the sign from "Open" to "Closed," and turned to the girl.

"We're gonna do this, aren't we? I'm not gonna be able to talk you out of it."

"No," Carmen said, handing Picassa the baro, ten $20 bills, a first installment. Picassa took the money, opened the cash box she kept under the counter, and put the money in.

"Need a receipt?"

"I trust you," Carmen said. 

"Yes, I suppose you do, chica. Here, come look at this, I made stencils for the first part, like it said in your notebook. If you approve of them, we can proceed."

Carmen didn't just like the stencils, she loved them. They were exactly how she had envisioned. Picassa had somehow managed to tap into Carmen's mind, into her subconscious or unconscious, or wherever these visions lived. She couldn't contain her excitement, she was like a schoolgirl, a giggly 12-year-old. Picassa felt herself falling a little bit in love.

"Well, then, let's get started," she said. She came from behind the counter, took Carmen by the hand, and led her to the back of the parlor. As they passed through a door to the back room, Picassa turned out the lights in the store, and closed a door behind them. Carmen stood and looked around the workroom where Picassa earned her legend. It was clean and bright, almost surgical in its cleanliness and order. There was a big table like a massage table, a couple of chairs, some rolling stools, a rolling cart for equipment, tall floor lamps, and in the center of the room a special chair, the kind obstetricians use for women to put their feet up in stirrups and give birth. It was the set-up Picassa used for working on the upper thighs, lower stomachs and bellies, and most of all the cocks and pussies of her customers. The stirrups allowed Picassa to sit on her rolling stool and move close in to her work area.

Carmen was a little intimidated by it. 

Picassa saw her face. "Surely you've visited the gynecologist at least a few times," she said.

"Y-yes. I know what it is. I just had ... expected something else. It's very professional-looking."

"Well, don't be nervous," Picassa said. "Give me a minute to get everything ready. There's a bathroom over there if you need to take a piss before we get started. I strongly recommend it." Picassa started setting up her equipment, getting her tattooing gun and ink out, bringing a big floor lamp over. She went over to a big wall unit full of CDs and audio equipment, selected one of her favorites, the Gipsy Kings' Cantos de Amor CD, and put it in a player. In a moment, she heard the rough voice of Nicholas Reyes begin to sing Un amor. How appropriate for this lovely little chicana, she thought.

When Carmen came out of the bathroom Picassa said, "Okay, take off your skirt and panties. You can leave your top on, and your tennies. Then hop up onto the throne while I get the basin."

Picassa had a large metal basin in her hands and went into the bathroom while Carmen unfastened her skirt, folded it carefully, and laid it on a countertop. She shimmied out of her panties, and put them on top of the skirt. Naked from the waist down, she climbed up into the chair, spread her legs, put her feet into the stirrups, and laid back, looking up at the ceiling. "Holy shit!" she said out loud. She heard Picassa laugh in the bathroom while she ran water into the basin.

Mounted on the ceiling directly over the gyno chair was a huge photograph five feet square. It showed the pelvic area of a naked woman from the middle of the thighs up to bottom of the sternum. Whoever had posed for the photo was beautiful, possibly a chicana or Latina with beautiful light tan skin that glowed, even though the photograph was only a black-and-white. The woman's bellybutton was a small knot, and looked like it wanted kissing and licking, made you want to dip your tongue into it. The abs next to it had just a hint of definition, looked firm and warm. The public hair was short but curly and looked completely natural like it had not been shaved or trimmed back; it was just ... wonderful. The hipbones were there, not too prominent, and then the junction of the legs, slightly spread so there was a gap between them. And below the cunt hair the modest hood of the clitoris, hiding inside it the moist, pea-sized glans of love. The pussy lips where equally modest, tucked away, not yet engorged and open. Nevertheless, they held so much promise. It was a pussy waiting for whatever was about to happen to it. Carmen licked her lips. "Wow," she said.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 01



Picassa glanced up at the ceiling. "Yeah, she's something, isn't she? How you feeling? Nervous?

"A little," Carmen said. "Okay, maybe more than a little. I'm nervous, but I'm excited, too. I've been planning this for months." 

Picassa smiled. "Would you like to smoke a leño? I've got one all ready. A lot of my customers like to zone out a little bit, it takes the edge off their nervousness and dulls the pain a little bit."

"Really? Uh, sure, okay."

Picassa opened a drawer in the rolling cart and took out a generous doobie, a metal ash tray, and a litro, and handed them to Carmen. "Go ahead, fire it up."

Carmen lit the joint and took a drag, keeping it in as long as she could.

Picassa put the big stainless steel basin down on a ledge just below Carmen's pussy.

"I'm going to wash you and shave you now."

"'Kay."

Picassa dunked a washcloth into the warm water and proceeded to gently wash Carmen's thighs and pussy. She wrung the washcloth out, put it back into the warm water, and then spread it out over Carmen's groin. It felt really good, Carmen thought. 

"Pásame las tres," Picassa said, let me have a hit.

Carmen sat up and put the leño to Picassa's lips. She took a big hit and grunted, "Thanks."

Carmen took a another drag and asked, "Want another?"

"No," Picassa said. "I just wanted that one drag. You finish it."

Carmen laid back down and looked up at ceiling. "Wow," she said again.

Picassa laughed. 

"Who is she?" Carmen asked.

"My roommate."

"Really? Wow. She's something."

"Yes, she is," Picassa said. "I'm going to shave you now." She pumped a little foam from a dispenser into her hand and lathered up the two creases on each side of Carmen's trimmed bush. Then she took out a triple-bladed razor from its case and began to shave a path one razor-blade-width wide on the inside of the crease. There wasn't much there, but Picassa wanted it bare-ass smooth and hairless. This was the termination point of the tat, and it was really sensitive territory.

"Did you take the photograph?"

"No, my other roommate did."

"Ah. What's her name? The woman in the photo," Carmen said, gesturing up to the naked torso over her head.

"Maria."

"And your other roommate?"

"Carlos."

"Carlos? Your other roommate is a guy?"

"Yes."

"Am I being too snoopy? I'll shut up now."

"I don't mind. Ask me anything you want." Picassa could tell the girl was starting to get a little stoned. She shaved the opposite side of Carmen's pussy. Her remaining pussy hair described a small triangle about two inches on a side, a tiny, fleecy topiary. Picassa gently wiped away the foam remains and washed Carmen's entire pussy area all the way to the hip bones. Taking a big towel, she slowly patted the area dry.

She got up from her stool and took the basin and shaving gear into the bathroom. When she returned she sat down on her stool and surveyed the body before her, Carmen's thighs spread wide, the lovely little triangle of soft black hair, the gentle belly swell, the cute outie bellybutton, and most of all the delicious, tantalizing pussy, the clit peeking out, glistening with moisture.

Picassa closed her eyes for a moment, thinking, "Thank you, Jesus. God, how I love my work."

"Ready?"

Carmen giggled. "Oh, yeah. Ready. This is really good shit," she said, taking a long drag.

Picassa smiled. "Carlos brought it back from Mexico," she said, applying the stencils she'd made to each side of Carmen's mons.

"Carlos," Carmen said, staring up at Maria's cunt. "Is he your boyfriend? Do you sleep with him? Or is he gay?"

Picassa laughed. "No, honey, he's not gay. Yes, I sleep with him. I sleep with Maria, too."

"Oh," Carmen said. "Wow. So she's your jaina," girlfriend.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, cool. And they sleep with each other, too?"

"Yes. Pretty much every night. All three of us sleep in one big bed."

"Can I ask why you put that photo up there?"

"To give customers something to keep them amused and occupied while I work," Picassa said. "It's better than staring at a blank, painted ceiling, don't you think?"

"Oh, yes," Carmen said. "I can see why lesbians would like a panochota like that." Good pussy. "And I can see why straight guys would like it. But what do straight women and gay guys say?"

"The straight women don't mind it," Picassa said. "You'd be surprised. I never had a straight woman complain." She picked a pair of surgical gloves out of a box on the rolling cart and snapped them on.

"And the gay guys?"

"I tell 'em to shut the fuck up and close their fuckin' eyes if they don't like it." 

Carmen laughed. On the CD player Nicholas Reyes sang Quiero Saber, one of Carmen's favorites. She started softly singing along. Picassa listened to Carmen's lovely voice, and sighed.

"Okay, here we go," she said, picking up the tattoo gun. 

***

Picassa had been at it for nearly two hours. Two hours hunched over Carmen's panochota, two hours carefully applying ink to the intricate patterns on each side of Carmen's luscious mons. Her back ached, her neck hurt, she was stiff and sore. Getting old, she thought, getting old. Just another two or three minutes and that'd be it for the day. 

"Not long now, baby," she said to Carmen. "Just another couple minutes." 

Carmen's buzz had worn off half an hour ago, and the more Picassa worked the more area was subjected to the needle's pain. Carmen stared up at Maria's pussy, closed her eyes and sang all the Gipsy Kings songs, cried softly, grasping the arms of the chair, being brave and trying not to move or flinch or show Picassa how much it hurt.

But Picassa knew. She could hear the sobs in the girl's voice every now and then, the moan, the groan, see the grimace, and admired her for trying so hard to be brave. This is a tough one, a feisty one, Picassa thought. This one is going to be somebody's keeper some day.

"Okay, baby. Ya estuvo." I'm done. "That's enough for today." Picassa put the needle gun down and sat back. She raised her arms over her head, rocked from side to side, stretched, working out the kinks in her back and neck.

"How's it look?" Carmen asked.

"Good. Very good. I think you'll be pleased."

"Can I see it?"

"In a few minutes. I want to let you rest for a few minutes, and I need to clean you up. There's not much bleeding, but sometimes these things weep a little plasma. How's the pain? Does it hurt much?"

"I don't know. It hurts some. How much is normal?"

"There is no normal," Picassa said. "Everybody's got a different tolerance for pain. There's no right or wrong, or muy macho or sissy. Whatever amount of pain you feel is about right. Later on, in a few days, it'll be different; the pain should go away. But right now you're entitled to feel whatever you want to feel."

"Okay. In that case it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch," Carmen said, half laughing and half crying, snot running from her nose and tears on her cheeks.

"I know, baby, I know," Picassa said. "Let me clean you up, and then I'll give you some of Picassa's Special Pain Medicine." 

She went into the bathroom and came back with the basin of warm water and fresh washcloth and towel. She gently bathed Carmen's belly, thighs, mons, pussy lips, the whole area, cleaning away the smeared surface ink, the bright greens, reds and yellows, and the black outlining, a little blood and a little seepage, using a scentless antibacterial soap. Carmen whimpered a little. Picassa gently patted the area dry.

When she was done she took the basin and towel to the bathroom, and returned to her stool. She surveyed her handiwork. On each side, the tattoo started at the hipbone in the form of a single thick, black vine that almost immediately split into two strands that ended at the top of Carmen's triangular bush. Immediately there began a line of colorful flowers at the end of the vine, a series of overlapping blooms, each one an unusual type. At the center of each blossom was a small green nub about half the size of a pencil eraser that looked like a clit. Each nub was surrounded by four bright yellow petals, looking like a kind of stubby old-time cartoon airplane propeller. At the center was a long, narrow stamen with a tiny bulb at the end. In reality the bulbs were supposed to be a light orange color, but after talking it over, Carmen and Picassa decided to make them bright scarlet. The blossoms overlapped each other, and stopped just below Carmen's clit hood. The flower was the "common rue," the species Ruta graveolens, sometimes called the herb-of-grace, the primary curative plant of the Mayans. Carmen had shown Picassa her notes and a printout she'd made of a photo of the rue from an encyclopedia. 

The rue had been mentioned in early Roman texts, especially those dealing with gynecology. It contained a chemical called pilocarpine, which was used to induce abortions in women and horses. Made into an ointment it had been used to treat gout, arthritis and rheumatism. The Maya used it as a psychological medicine, especially to treat broken hearts. Combined with other herbs like sage, rosemary, thyme, chamomile, linden flower, lavender, oregano, marigold and cedar, the collection of herbs was mixed into a gallon of water and boiled for ten minutes. When the broth was cooled, the herbs were removed and the liquid was used as the basis of a gentle bath that soothed feelings of rejection and sadness, and promoted a feeling of peace and healing. Bathe in it for twenty minutes; repeat three times a day. The same broth could be made into a tea, sometimes mixed with St. John's wort. If you burned incense made from rue and St. John's wort while drinking a glass of this tea at the place where the sad, depressed person had spent a lot of time with the former lover, it would soothe and ease the person's mind of its grief and longing.

"What were you going to give me for the pain?" Carmen asked.

"You know what endorphins are?" Picassa asked, removing her surgical gloves and tossing them into a trash can.

"No."

"A Mayan healer should know about them. They are all-natural, completely organic. Your brain produces them from different kinds of stimulus. Pain is one; your body has been making endorphins for the past two hours to try to damp down what you've been experiencing. I'm going to give you more, a booster dose."

"Okay," Carmen said, sniffling.

"Just relax, close your eyes," Picassa said. "The pain will begin to disappear very rapidly."

"Okay," Carmen said again.

Picassa looked at her handiwork. Even if she did say so herself, it was some of the best work she had ever done. The tracery of the leaves and vines was as delicate and sure as an Audubon lithograph. The coloring of the petals, the yellows and oranges and scarlets – it was as though Rembrandt's hand had guided Picassa in mixing and adjusting the pigments so they could be applied to Carmen's caramel skin and appear just the way Carmen would have wanted. It was a shame so few people would likely ever get to see such fine artistry. This was a pussy that belonged in an art gallery. It was a pussy that ought to hang in the Louvre.

Picassa leaned over until her mouth was just above Carmen's clit. She pursed her lips and blew the gentlest breeze she could over the clit, a zephyr. She heard Carmen draw a sharp intake of breath, and then moan, "Ohhh," as she suddenly understood what was about to happen.

Picassa blew another zephyr over Carmen's clit, then moved down, blowing softly up and down her pussy lips. Then she leaned in at the bottom of the cleft and delivered what had to be the world's softest butterfly kiss on her pussy lips. Carmen squealed a low, keening "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" sound that made Picassa laugh to herself. She conjured up some saliva in her mouth, making sure her tongue was good and wet, and began to flick Carmen's inner lips. Picassa reached in with her fingers and pulled Carmen's left inner lip out, drawing it into her mouth and sucking on it gently.

"Uuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Carmen said.

Picassa pulled out the other vaginal lip and gave it the same treatment as Carmen moaned and whimpered, a very different kind of whimper from the whimper of an hour ago. She bit her lip, arched her head back, grasped the arms of the chair and wondered if her head was going to explode. Her pussy had been a little wet at the start of the session two hours ago, when she'd been looking up at Maria's lovely belly and cunt. Then over the course of the tattoo application, her juices dried up and stopped flowing. Now her pussy began generating a stream of love cream, getting wetter and wetter not only from Picassa's talented tongue and saliva, but from her own pussy juices welling up. 

Picassa could tell, too. Carmen's pussy quivered and her thighs trembled, the wetness everywhere now, coating Picassa's mouth and chin and upper lip, even the tip of her nose as it bumped into Carmen's swelling clit. Picassa drank the juices in, lapping and probing, stiffening her tongue and driving it into Carmen's soft, wet, hungry cunt, fucking it and loving it with penetrations. Carmen arched her head back and tossed it from side to side. She wanted to squeeze her thighs shut, trapping that wonderful face, but the chair's stirrups prevented it. Carmen whispered, "Oh, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!"

Picassa had deliberately stayed away from Carmen's clit until now. Now she lapped it with her tongue, first one side then the other to determine which side was the more sensitive. With Carmen it turned out to be the right side, because that was the side that made her moan and curse, "Oh, God, oh shit, oh shit, oooooooooooooooo," as Picassa laved it and then sucked it into her mouth, the tip of her tongue teasing the bud under the hood. Picassa reached up with her left hand and with her thumb and index finger began to pull the clit hood back, exposing more of the glans itself to saliva and kiss. Carmen knew she was just seconds away from one of the most explosive cums she'd ever had.

Picassa now brought her right hand into play. She had long, thin, artist's fingers, like a concert pianist's fingers, and she extended her middle finger into the center of Carmen's liquid cleft as Carmen thrashed above her. Carmen's pussy was drenched, and drenching Picassa's face as well. Where other lesbians often resorted to thick dildos, strap-ons and vibrators to stretch their lovers' pussies to the maximum, Picassa had found a different way. She had learned to master the thinness of a single long finger. The effect was not to enlarge and stretch the cunt she was working on, but rather to make the cunt come to her, come to her finger, to squeeze and contract down upon it and trap it. And that's what Carmen's pussy was doing now, struggling to reduce itself, to embrace the lovely finger slowly pistoning in and out of the middle of her pussy. Blood had flowed into Carmen's labia majora, swelling them into plump folds over the clitoral legs underneath, just as her clit hood swelled, and inside, the Skene's gland, the famous G-spot, began to fill with the clear para-urethral liquid. The thickened, swollen walls gripped the lovely, wet scepter that ruled them.

In, out, in, out, Picassa's slim middle finger went as Carmen invoked the Holy Mother, the Holy Father, God, Jesus, sweet Jesus, fucking Jesus, saints, angels, fucking saints, fucking angels, dear God, holy Christ, damn, fuck, more, more, ohhh, sweet Jesus, and then, digit gloriously basted with Carmen fraiche, Picassa withdrew the long, thin, middle finger, lowered it, and began to anoint the pre-moistened, twitching ring of Carmen's tight little anus. Carmen howled. The pad of the slim middle finger pushed gently against the anal ring until it parted. Picassa pushed her finger in slowly, pulled it out slowly, pushed it in again as Carmen lost her mind. Picassa pushed her finger all the way in. The first intermediate knuckle of her middle finger, the largest knuckle, worked almost like an anal bead. It was lodged right there just inside the entrance to Carmen's wonderful ass, stuck just inside the surrendered, flexing, twitching clenching muscle ring. Picassa worked it slowly back and forth, just a half inch in, then a half inch out, the pucker clenching on the knuckle and following the movement in and out like a suction cup, much tighter than the pussy that had just lubed it.

Carmen cried out, "Fuuuuuuuaaahhhhhhhhhh," and came. Picassa kept her left hand on Carmen's clit, sliding the hood back and forth and jacking off the turgid, glistening glans. She kept her right middle finger pressing in and out of Carmen's bottom but pressing upward, searching to find the Skene's gland through the thin walls in the next chamber. Having found it she raised her head back away from Carmen's pussy so she could watch it orgasm. Picassa wondered if Carmen was a squirter, and was willing to bet that she was. If any woman was ever going to squirt, Carmen was going to do it now or never. Picassa marveled at the beauty of this perfect tender garden with its spray of flowers, its wonderful little topiary, and at the apex a water feature, a fountain that might just sprinkle those newly sprouted blossoms and vines, covering the mons with a mountain dew.

And sure enough, as Picassa watched from inches way, Carmen's beautiful panochota thrust upward and a small jet of clear fluid spouted out of the urethra, a tiny love geyser only a few inches high -- it was adorable! -- the liquid rain shower sprinkling Carmen's bouquet. It was so pretty and wonderful Picassa fell in love with it and plunged her mouth down upon it, drinking madly at Carmen's ejaculation, swallowing as fast as she could, slurping in juice, her face awash in shiny, slick pussy cum, chin, bruised mouth, cheeks. Carmen tasted delicious, as Picassa knew she would, sweet and salty and tangy. She'd been thinking about little else but the taste of Carmen's brine for the past twenty-four hours, and now here it was, spasming, flexing, twisting, leaking, oozing milky white twat foam, spurting tiny geysers into her mouth.

Carmen, for her part, had entered a place she'd never been before, an explosion inside her brain that made her nearly black out as waves of orgasm swept over her. Her first orgasm lasted well over half a minute, and then Carmen came down into a calmer place as Picassa continued to lick and suck her pussy and clit, and her finger continued to bum-fuck her ass. And then after only a minute or two she felt the second orgasm rising up from someplace deep inside her, and then she was off again, arching her back and screaming low, growling, her lovely face creased with seeming anguish, crying as she pumped her second cumming into Picassa's mouth. And then another delirious plateau for a minute, and then the third wave, the third cum that was so good she drizzled into Picassa's mouth again, and passed out.

***

When she came to, she opened her eyes and closed them again, not knowing where she was or even who she was. All she knew is that she'd never come like that before, never felt so good. She felt no pain from the tattooing; indeed, in a way she couldn't even feel her own arms and legs. She just felt -- exhausted. And wonderful. And high as a kite, but on what drug she didn't know. Well, endorphins, that was what Picassa had called them. Endorphins.

Hellllo, endorphins, Carmen thought. Wow. Just fucking wow. She turned her head to the side and saw Picassa standing at the sink in the bathroom, washing her face and hands. Picassa took a towel from a shelf overhead and dried her face. Then she walked over to the side of the chair and leaned over and gently kissed Carmen on the mouth, a sweet lover's kiss.

"Hi," Carmen said.

"Hi. How are you?"

"Uh, I don't know. Wonderful. Terrific. That was ... God, I can't describe it."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 02



Chapter 2  Sense and Sensibility and Nipple Confidence



Carmen unlocked her elbows, braced herself on her forearms, slipped her buttocks off the edge of the soundboard console, and began to post slowly up and down on the face between her thighs, riding the wet tongue, talking, laughing, loving, breathing, fighting, fucking, crying, drinking, riding, winning, losing, cheating, kissing, thinking, dreaming, the whole unheard litany bouncing off the soundproof walls for the fourth or fifth time. 

Question: If a tree falls in the forest while Shane McCutcheon is eating your pussy, is there anyone there to hear the moaning? Carmen lifted one leg up over Shane's shoulder, thrusting her hips forward to meet the mouth time and again, then lifting the other leg, warm velvet muscles trapping Shane's ears in soundproofed butterscotch thighmuffs, Shane kneeling on the floor and grasping the wonderful ass cheeks in her hands and pulling them forward as she licked inside Carmen's flowing pinkness, lapping the salsa bechamel caliente as fast as Carmen could simmer it, Shane tickling the pee hole, licking the liquid walls left and right, then rising up to encompass the entire clit and hood structure, sucking it in and lashing it, sensing the quiver in Carmen's bottom and drawing enthusiastic cum out from wherever it lived, licking elixir and pulling it sweetly into her mouth as Carmen's head shot back and she climaxed, Shane's face awash in juice, Carmen keening and crying, tears running down her cheeks, and then silent now and beyond cursing or begging, eyes clenched shut, long shuddering moments, the trembling stylus on the seismograph inside her clit sweeping arcs of Richter, rising, 6.7, 7.1, 7.3, 7.6 and holding, peaking, then dying away, dying, dying, "the little death," they called it, now the aftershocks and temblors, Carmen nearly unconscious as Shane drank deeply and supported this lovely girl's bottom, using her shoulders now to heft Carmen back up onto the console. Shane dropped her right hand to her own pants, plunged her hand down deep inside, slipped long fingers underneath her wet, purple Fruit of the Looms, found her clit, and in a few seconds brought herself off, her face pressed against Carmen's thighs, her breath coming fast and air-drying Carmen's tender slot. 

"Oh, Jesus," Carmen prayed, an amazing grace. She looked down, saw Shane still between her legs, out of breath and recovering from her own orgasm. She reached a hand out, hit a button, and made the music stop. She cradled Shane's head in her hands while she slipped down from the console, dropped to her knees and put her arms around Shane, feeling Shane's arms enfold her, too, embracing each other huddled on the floor, resting and letting their heartbeats return to something like normal. Carmen nuzzled her face into the hollow of Shane's neck, and kissed her throat. "I'd like to return the favor and do you," she whispered. 

"Thanks," Shane managed to whisper back, "but I came, too."

"I know," Carmen said, "but not like I did. And I didn't get to taste you. I want to go down on you, but we have to get dressed, people are going to be looking for us."

"Fuck 'em," Shane said.

Carmen giggled. "I don't want to fuck 'em, I want to fuck you, but we need these jobs. At least I do."

"Like I said, I like a girl with ambition," Shane said, and then found Carmen's mouth kissing hers.

"Tonight," Carmen said, post-kiss. "After work. We need to finish this. Do you have plans?"

"Uh, no, no plans. But I'll probably be hanging out at a club called Milk."

"Sure, I know it," Carmen said. "Okay. Great. Where'd you put my skirt and panties?" 

They found them and Carmen sat on the floor and slid her panties on and then shakily rose to her feet to pull her skirt on. Shane discovered she didn't have very much to do to re-assemble herself, and anyway she was enjoying the view immensely, watching Carmen's flower box disappear underneath her panties and then her skirt. Shane had seen one hell of a lot of pussy, but none finer looking than the one she had just munched. 

Carmen looked at her and giggled.

"What?" Shane asked.

Carmen put her hand softly to Shane's cheek and drew her forward for a brief kiss on the lips. "You have to wash your face," she said. "You have me all over your cheeks. C'mon, there's a ladies room right down the hall. I hope we can sneak in there before anyone sees us." 

She took Shane by the hand and pulled her from the room and down the corridor to the bathroom. There were four stalls in it and two sinks, and someone was in one of the stalls, so they couldn't talk. Shane and Carmen stood next to each other washing their faces and doing their hair in silence, which in Shane's case consisted of fifteen seconds of random fussing. Mostly they looked in the big mirror at each other. Shane's "just fucked look" looked like she'd just woken up from a nap. Carmen's "just fucked look" was mesmerizing. Her face glowed, she couldn't stop grinning, and her eyes sparkled. She looked at Shane in the mirror and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in her head was singing the Quiero, quiero song like it was Handel's Messiah. 

In the corridor outside the bathroom they looked each way to make sure they were alone, and Carmen stepped in to Shane and quickly kissed her on the lips again. "I gotta run, I got a lot of stuff to do. Can you find your way okay?"

Shane nodded. 

"Okay, bye, I'll see you tonight," Carmen said, and then she was gone, hurrying down the corridor. 

Shane had entered one of those periods where she became inarticulate because of all the noise in her head, all the confusion and feelings and desires and fears drowning them out. Her heart was still beating fast, though, and as she watched Carmen's lovely bottom disappear again around a corner, Shane knew she was in jeopardy with this girl. Really deep jeopardy. Alex, I'll take infatuated for $1,000.

***

Shane found her way down the corridors to the set where Arianna Huffington was still taping her discussion with somebody. Shane plunged her hands in her pants pockets and slouched against a wall, watching the taping and trying to look like she'd been there for the past hour. The woman with the clipboard Shane had talked to earlier was standing next to the director, and when the taping wrapped up she turned and saw Shane.

"Where were you? We were looking for you."

"I went to get something to eat," Shane said, truthfully.

"Well, you got lucky," Clipboard Woman said, while Shane thought, lady, you have no idea. "Arianna said her hair was fine and we didn't need you after all. But you have to learn to stick around for these kinds of things, because you'll never know when somebody will need some touching up."

"I'll remember next time," Shane said

"Good," the woman said. "Come on, walk with me to the HR department and we'll get your paycheck. So: what was the special in the commissary today?"

"I had the Mexican," Shane said.

"How was it?"

"Really good."

"I have to watch that spicy stuff, it repeats on me," the woman said.

"I know what you mean," Shane said, "but I usually don't have that problem."

***

Carmen had been hanging around the bar at Milk for nearly an hour, and still no Shane. She had danced a couple of times but without much enthusiasm, and chatted briefly with the DJ, whom she knew slightly. Carmen was a DJ herself, and had often bid on the same job against the woman up front spinning the discs. She wasn't bad, but Carmen was better, because, well, Carmen was Carmen, that's all. Not just the looks, not just the bod, not just the technical ability, throw in the enthusiasm, the bright, happy personality. No one could teach it, you either had it or you didn't. Carmen owned the franchise. She sat at the bar, ordered a Dos Equis, and nursed her longing.

Tonight Carmen was going to get some pussy. Tonight Carmen knew she was gonna get her turn, would find herself on Shane's bed, wherever Shane lived, kissing Shane's tummy and pulling Shane's jeans down to her ankles, and then spreading those long, trim legs and paying Shane back for the wonderful nooner. It was all Carmen could think about all afternoon, visualizing how the payback was gonna go, the slow kissing, the slow licking, the slow unbuttoning as Carmen began to rock Shane's world. And it wasn't just fucking; Carmen liked this one. A lot. Shane was kind of ... mysterious, in a cool, intriguing way. Didn't seem to talk much, but knew what she wanted. Carmen really dug Shane's androgyny look, wondered what that was all about, not her usual cup of tea, but somehow Shane had made it work, made herself feminine inside that dykey butch shell. Boi, that's what Shane was, a boi. Carmen had had a boi once or twice before, but this boi seemed different. This boi made Carmen's little heart go pitter-patter. Carmen got laid regularly, but she hadn't had any cardio in quite a while. Maybe it was time. Maybe this one was pitter-patter potential.

Then Carmen saw Shane across the room talking to some girl. Shane didn't seem especially interested in the girl, it looked like casual talk, some acquaintance, and after a few minutes Shane looked around and found Carmen at the bar across the room. When their eyes met Carmen's face lit up and she smiled that killer smile. Shane nodded back, and smiled too. Just then the girl talking to Shane moved in close and whispered something in Shane's ear, not the weather report, and Shane's attention shifted away from Carmen. Worse, Shane made no move to come over.

Confusion battled with distress battled with anger inside Carmen. What kind of mind-fuck game was this? What's she doing? Weren't we going to meet? Wasn't this going to be the Great Orgasm Party Part Two: Carmen Eats Shane? Why is she letting some scuzzy-ass teenager suck on her neck? 

Carmen took a sip of her Dos Equis and sat at the bar, simmering. Okay, enough of this shit. Have to play it cool, no big drama scene. But this has got to stop. She got up and made her way through the crowd to where Shane and the girl stood. Shane saw Carmen coming. She made no move to disengage from the girl, who was kissing her cheek.

"Hey," Carmen said.

"How ya doin'?" Shane replied.

Carmen felt off balance. She felt hurt. "Um, to tell you the truth, not ... not too good." She forced a sardonic laugh. "Yeah."

The girl kissing Shane ignored everything, and kissed Shane's cheek again. Shane made no response to the girl, but after a moment said to Carmen, "Look, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just tell me what's going on."

"I just wanted to have a good time tonight. I didn't think I'd see you."

Carmen tried to process that, because it didn't make a lot of sense. And the girl was all over Shane now. 

"Okay. But. Here I am. You don't think that you could've changed your plan a little bit?"

"I don't have a plan. That's the point," Shane said.

Carmen had no idea what all this was about, but she knew something was awfully wrong. It wasn't supposed to go this way. Not even close. Had she done something? Why had Shane had a change of heart? Carmen had been rejected before, but never in this way, and she didn't know how to deal with it. She knew tonight was over, though, and there was no sense standing here on the edge of the dance floor feeling your world slip away and being humiliated like this. Carmen raised her beer bottle to Shane in a brief goodbye salute, and walked away. 

Shane let the girl take her face, kiss her, slip her hand around Shane's waist. But she watched Carmen go. She felt relieved there was no big drama scene, but she also felt like shit. When Carmen had frowned, Shane could see the hurt on her face. It made Shane want to take Carmen in her arms and make the hurt go away. And Christ, that would have been dangerous. The hurt would have transferred from Carmen to Shane. Shane knew about hurt, and she didn't want any more of it. Shane shifted her mind into that place where she didn't have to think or feel. She let the girl kiss her and kiss her, and even drag Shane off to the bathroom, taking Shane into the end stall with her, pulling up her dress and putting Shane's fingers in her pussy, letting Shane finger-bang her until she came, never noticing that Shane simply didn't care.

* **

Carmen's mother Mercedes and Anna, Carmen's older sister, were watching television in the small living room of their house when Carmen came in and walked past them on her way to her room.

"You're home early," Mercedes said in Spanish.

"I'm tired, I don't feel good," Carmen said. "Goodnight." She went upstairs to the front bedroom, her room.

"Starting her period," Anna said. Mercedes nodded.

Carmen stripped down, put on an old T-shirt, and climbed into bed. She lay on her back, one hand lightly touching a nipple, the other cupping her mound, but there was no fire there. She turned on her side and wrapped her arms around a pillow, spooning herself into it, letting the pillow whisper words of comfort as she cried herself to sleep.

***

On Friday, Carmen had a major gig doing production assistant work on a Robert Morfitt music video for a Canadian indie girl group called The Organ, who had a good underground reputation as an interesting band. The Organ had no American record label and were struggling to break into the big time. The video was being filmed in a church that had been rented out for three days. The church was large and modern, but built in a faux Spanish mission style, with a high ceiling and white stucco walls. On the first day Carmen had helped the work crew while several church officials removed everything from the alter area, which was being used as the main stage for the band. The girls in the band arrived after lunch, and they spent the rest of the day setting up, doing sound checks, and going over the script with Morfitt and the other production people. During the breaks one of the guitar players had noticed Carmen and had struck up a flirtation with her. And who knows, something interesting might have come from it, except that the group's lead singer, Katie Sketch, looked and dressed a lot like Shane, and Carmen frequently had images and memories of Shane and Shane's boorish, rude, contrary behavior in her mind to distract her. Still, the guitarist kept trying, and Carmen didn't want to be rude herself. And what the hell, the girl was cute and interesting.

On the second day The Organ began filming the video of their song, Brother. The entire church was filled with video equipment, lights, sound, script people, technicians, the works. Carmen was in the thick of it, wearing a headset plugged into a walkie-talkie at her belt. Late in the morning just before lunch she was threading her way through the lights and camera set-ups near the back of the church when she suddenly came upon Shane leaning against a church pillar watching all the activity. She watched Carmen, admired the way the girl worked hard, talking on her headset, bright, cheery, crisp, authoritative. Carmen gave off the aura of someone who loved her job, and knew what she was doing. 

Somewhere a bullhorn blared out, "And cut. Back to first positions, please."

Startled, Carmen blurted out "Oh, God!" when she saw Shane right in front of her. "How long have you been here?" She laughed nervously. She had decided she'd probably never run into Shane again.

"Just a few minutes. I saw that sexy guitar player hitting on you."

"Yeah," Carmen nodded. Um...what was all this about? What was this crazy boi up to now? She leaned over to a pew and picked up a clipboard sitting there.

"Listen, I hope you don't mind, I called your house and your mom told me where you were," Shane said.

"Oh, no, no, I don't mind." Carmen said. She had to take the clipboard to the back of the set. "Come with me?" She walked down the side aisle toward the altar, Shane following and talking, "Yeah. Well, also, I wanted... to apologize. About the other night. I was an asshole."

Carmen turned and looked at Shane. Then she handed the clipboard to a sound man, and took Shane by the sleeve down a corridor to a small dressing room where the choir hung their robes and changed into them. Carmen's mind raced, trying to figure out how to play it.

"That's okay, you know, you don't want to get involved with anybody, and that's cool," she said without much conviction.

"I'm glad it's cool with you," Shane said, not quite picking up that it really wasn't cool at all. 

"It's totally cool," Carmen said.

Shane sensed the thing wasn't going like she'd planned. Something was slipping away. Carmen was saying one thing and meaning its opposite. There was noise buzzing in Shane's brain, partly because Carmen looked so edible, and Shane knew she'd fucked up majorly. Apologizing was never her strong suit, and oh, fuck, this wasn't going well at all.

"Well, uh. Um. It doesn't mean --"

Somewhere in the church music started blaring over the speakers and a voice yelled "Action!"

Shane had to raise her voice to be heard. "-- we can't fuck."

Carmen stared at Shane. What? What did she just say? How fucking romantic. Then Carmen had a flash of insight: This idiot girl simply didn't know how to do this kind of thing.

"You ... want to fuck me?"

Carmen looked into Shane's eyes and liked what she saw there, helplessness mixed with desire. A split second later Shane was kissing her, really kissing, her lips hungry and saying what inept words could not. Shane put her arms around Carmen as Carmen returned the kiss, the headset sliding off her head onto her shoulder, Shane's hands slipping down to grasp Carmen's ass as Carmen's lips slipped down to Shane's throat, licking.

Suddenly Carmen's walkie-talkie crackled to life as a voice on it asked, "Carmen?"

"Oh, fuck," Carmen breathed. She pulled away from Shane and struggled to put her headset back on.

"Ignore it," Shane murmured in her ear, kissing it and taking the earlobe gently between her teeth.

"What's your twenty?" came over the walkie-talkie.

"I, I can't," Carmen whispered, giggling with pleasure at Shane's attack.

"Carmen!" the voice in the headset insisted, raising his voice.

"Uh, yeah, go for Carmen," Carmen said into the mouthpiece as Shane bit her neck.

"I need a fresh battery, ASAP," the voice said urgently. "Carmen?"

"No, no, no, wait," Carmen whispered to Shane before triggering the walkie-talkie to speak. "Okay, yeah, right away," she told the voice.

Shane kissed her on the mouth, tongue invading, licking along Carmen's teeth. She pulled Carmen in to her groin, one hand sliding up Carmen's side to cup her breast just as Carmen broke away, panting.

"What are you doing later?" Shane asked.

Yes! Carmen, thought, then an instant later, No! "Oh, God, I have to go over to my grandmother's, I can't let her down." 

"No problem," Shane whispered, although Carmen could tell she didn't mean it. And Carmen really wanted to see Shane again; there was a lot of unfinished business. 

"Um... I could come over to your place late."

"No ... no, my roommate's are gonna be there," Shane said, "and I just moved in with her three days ago."

"Well, uh, what about tomorrow?"

"No, tomorrow I'm getting a lap dance."

"Huh?"

"No, I mean, I'm not getting it for me, I'm getting it for somebody else."

"Well, I could do a lap dance for you," Carmen said, leaning in to brush her lips along Shane's cheek. Shane laughed, her head filled with noise and the thought of Carmen, almost naked, dancing in front of her and removing her bra, undulating and swinging those hips. Shane wanted another go-round with those hips.

"Yeah, I'd like that. But it's for my friend. She just, uh, she got out of this relationship."

"Mmm," Carmen said, "yeah, those relationships, they can really fuck you up."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 02



Shane knew Carmen was saying something important to her, but she didn't have the words for it. "Yeah," was all she could say, knowing it wasn't the right answer. She fought to find something to say, the right thing to say, dammit, dammit, this wasn't going how she wanted. Fuck!

"Mmmm," Carmen said. She turned to go back to work, adjusting her headset and her clothes, turning once to look at Shane standing there, looking like a sad, whipped puppy.

***

Shane heard the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Fuck. "Jennnnny!" she called out, hoping to get the girl she shared the house with, Jenny Schecter, to answer the door, but there was no response. Shane had only just moved in a few days ago, and didn't know Jenny's schedule yet. Anyway, whoever was at the door was likely to be for Jenny anyway. Hardly anybody knew Shane had moved.

The doorbell buzzed again. A long buzz. A buzz that wasn't going to go away. Where the hell was Jenny? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shane crawled out of bed. She looked down to see if she had enough clothes on to answer the door, not that she really cared very much. Tighty whities, check. T-shirt, check. Her head hurt, a hangover. She felt like shit. She thought maybe she was hungry, but wasn't sure. "Coming!" she yelled at the door, but her voice didn't have any power in it. She navigated to the door, opened it three inches and peered out.

Carmen de la Pica Morales stood on the doorstep. She held two paper cups of coffee, or something that smelled coffee-like, anyway, and a small bag that looked like it might contain pastries and which had the name of a chain donut shop on it. She was wearing a pretty sun dress, white with large flowers all over it. She was smiling. She had a friendly, open, happy look. She smelled good, too. She looked good enough to eat. Shane's stomach growled.

"Good morning, sunshine," Carmen said. "You look like shit."

Shane backed away, pulling the door open as Carmen walked in. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

"Fuck," Shane said. 

"Hard night? I'll tell you, a lap dance sure takes the stuffing out of you." Carmen marched past her, going through the house to the dining area. She set the coffees and the bag down and turned to look at Shane.

"What day is it?" Shane asked, walking slowly to the table.

"Sunday. It's Sunday, sunshine. A beautiful, warm, glorious, wonderful Sunday morning in beautiful, warm, glorious, wonderful Southern California."

Shane couldn't help crack a smile, but she had to protest anyway. "Carmen, please don't do this."

"Do what, sunshine?"

"Be so fucking--"

"Cheerful?"

"Yes."

"Friendly?"

"Yes."

"Thoughtful?" she said, handing Shane one of the coffees.

"Yes." 

"Courteous?"

"Carmen--"

"Perky?"

"Fuck you, Carmen," Shane said, but said it laughing.

"Hung over, huh?

"Yeah."

"How was the lap dance?"

"Okay, I guess. Tina seemed to have a good time."

"Tina's your friend?"

"Yes."

"Did you get a lap dance, too?

"No."

"Good answer. Next question: Did you fuck anybody last night?"

"No."

"You're two for two. Did anybody fuck you?"

"No. Nobody fucked me, and I didn't fuck anybody. Can we cut this out now?"

"Sit down and drink your coffee," Carmen said, her tone softening as she sat down, too.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I got your address from the HR department at the studio. They said you were moving. Do you live alone here?"

"No, I have a roommate. A housemate. Jenny. I have no idea where she is. I guess she's out somewhere. Maybe at The Planet."

"Are you lovers?"

Shane sat up, indignant. "No, we're not lovers. I don't fuck my roommates. We just share the house. And she's my friend."

"I have to ask these questions, Shane, because quite frankly, you are just about the most inarticulate, speechless human being I've ever met. You fuck wonderfully, by the way, but I just thought I'd mention the communication thing in case you were unaware of it. But you've done very well so far, so you may open the bag."

"What's in it?"

"Donuts. A girl's got to keep up her strength."

"Can I have one?"

"That's why I brought them," Carmen said. She took one herself and bit into it. She looked at Shane while she chewed. 

Shane had her eyes closed, sipping the coffee, feeling herself slowly rise to human status. "I needed this. Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome," Carmen said. "I'm glad to see you are capable of human intercourse. By intercourse I mean talking, not delicious lesbian sex."

Shane grunted and ate her donut. When she was done she looked in the bag and saw there were two more. She gave one to Carmen and began to eat the other one.

"Why aren't you and Jenny lovers? Is she fat and ugly?"

"No. She's not fat and ugly at all. She's about your age. Cute. Like you, but in a different way. Black hair, like you. Blue eyes, like me. Cute, tight little bod."

"Is she a lesbian?"

"That's a good question. She seems to be, now. She didn't used to be. When she moved in here last year she had a boyfriend she later married. But yes, she's a lesbian now, I think."

"Were you the one who made her a lesbian? You turn her out?"

"Me? Fuck, no. I had nothing to do with it. Really. I swear. She got seduced by ... well, never mind. It wasn't me."

"Sounds complicated. So if she's now a lesbian, why aren't you fucking her?"

"I told you. She's my friend," Shane said, again.

"You don't fuck any of your friends?" Carmen asked.

Shane had no answer for that. Sometimes she did fuck her friends. It usually led to disasters, and Shane knew from experience it was usually a rotten idea. She had pretty much sworn off fucking friends. But there was always history to deal with, and Shane's history was problematic. Oh, yes. It was damn sure problematic.

"Why are you doing this?" Shane asked.

"Why? Well, I guess that's another good question. I've spent the last week asking myself that very question. It's because I like you. Which I know sounds stupid, because the word 'like' doesn't cover it. I'm attracted to you. I want to sleep with you. I want to make love to you. I cried myself to sleep a few nights ago over you, when you were such a rude, obnoxious asshole sucking tongue with that girl. You hurt my feelings. You ... well. I didn't know what the fuck was going on, what kind of mind games you were playing. I don't like mind games, and you seemed to be fucking me over, like first you wanted me, and then next thing you had some skank hanging all over you. The thing is, you don't seem at all like the mind-fucking, mind-games type. So can you tell me what that was all about the other night? 'Cause I really want to know. I never had anything like that happen before. So tell me, Shane, what was all that about?"

Shane felt like shit. "Carmen, I apologized. I said I was sorry. Sometimes ... sometimes I do stupid shit. That was one of those times."

"I kind of thought you liked me. That day in the sound booth ... ."

"I do like you," Shane said.

"Well, then?" Carmen asked.

Shane looked at her, spread her hands out, unable to find the words.

"Is that the problem? Is liking me a problem?"

Once again Shane was unable to put the words together. She just looked at Carmen.

"That's it, isn't it," Carmen whispered. "You felt something for me. Something different from what you feel when you're fucking some skanky girl. I knew it. I just knew it."

Shane couldn't say anything.

"Okay, I'm beginning to understand you a little better," Carmen said. She ate her donut and drank her coffee. Shane did the same. Shane had no idea what was going to happen next. She had no idea what to say. She felt funny in her chest, felt a thickening pressure, looked at Carmen sitting at the table and wanted her to never leave. She wanted this moment to last forever.

"What are you thinking?" Carmen asked.

"How beautiful you are," Shane blurted, without thinking.

It caught Carmen off guard. She frowned. "Goddammit, hurry up and finish your coffee," she said.

"Why?" 

"Because you stink. You're all smelly and stinky from last night. You smell like stale beer and cigarette smoke, and you need a shower."

"I know," Shane said. "I'll go take one now. Will you be here when I get back?"

"No," Carmen said, standing up and taking Shane by the hand. "I'm coming with you."

***

Carmen led her by the hand down the hall to the bathroom. She pushed Shane in ahead of her. As Shane stood facing the tub, Carmen stood behind her, reached and pulled Shane's T-shirt over her head. Then she knelt quickly and pulled Shane's jockeys down to her ankles, made her step out of them, and threw them in a corner. "Get in," she said, pushing Shane past the shower curtain and into the tub. Shane turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. Then she turned around and through the transparent curtain saw Carmen pulling the sun dress over her head and carefully hanging it on a hook behind the door. She reached behind her and unhooked her bra, and then dropped her bright red Hanes cotton underpants to the floor. She picked them up and put the bra and tighty scarlets on a shelf in the linen closet, and climbed into the tub beside Shane. Shane was standing under the shower head, letting the water cover her and wet her down. It was the first time Carmen saw Shane's body, and the first moment she saw Shane's chest.

"Oh, wow," Carmen sighed, putting her hands on Shane's breasts, cupping them and feeling the stiffening nipples getting harder and harder. Shane had small, firm breasts tipped by the most beautiful nipples and aureoles Carmen had ever seen. They sat high with a slight upward thrust, the aureoles a little smaller than quarters, and centered in them were perfect nubs the size of pencil erases. They were a nice light mocha color like powdered hot chocolate mix. They took Carmen's breath away as she held them, cupped them. "Oh, my," she said, not knowing she had spoken, as she put her head down and kissed one, taking it in her mouth as water ran down over it and over Carmen's face. Shane leaned back against the wall as Carmen followed under the shower spray, licking Shane's right breast and then her left, licking and sucking, gently biting, loving the nipples and sucking them one at a time, her hand cupping the unkissed tit and flicking its nipple, caressing it gently while her mouth made love to the other one. Shane closed her eyes as water flowed down upon her, and felt Carmen's sweet mouth work her chest. 

In fact, it could be said that Shane's nipples were legendary in Southern California. Shane's friends, Tina, Dana, Alice and Marina, once had a conversation about Shane and her fine nips.

"I don't get it," Dana asked one day during conversation at The Planet, the coffee bar and restaurant where the group hung out. "I mean, what does Shane have that I don't have?" 

"It has to do with her attitude," Tina said, because everyone knew Shane had some magnetic appeal to women who seemed to come out of the woodwork and go after Shane. It was uncanny, supernatural.

"I've got attitude!" said Dana, who was a top-class professional tennis player currently ranked number 12 in the world.

"It's because she's so withholding," said Marina, who owned The Planet. Marina was an expert in withholding, what with her sultry good looks and seductive but cold ice queen manner. She was the one who had seduced Jenny, introducing her to smoldering, steamy, clandestine, quasi-adulterous lesbian sex.

"No, it's because she's so confident," Tina said, who was confident herself.

"No, it's because she's so stupid, and stupid people are too dumb to be insecure," Dana said, meanly. At the time Dana was new to the group, and didn't know Shane very well. Like many people, she mistook Shane's inability with words and slowness to react as signs of lack of intelligence. 

Alice was shocked. "Dana! She's your friend!" Alice was a freelance journalist and along with Jenny was Shane's best friend. Alice had known Shane the longest, too. Like Tina, Alice considered herself to be bisexual, and both had had significant sexual relationships with men. So did Jenny, but Jenny didn't consider herself bisexual; she just didn't know what the fuck she was. 

"It's confidence, okay?" Tina said. "I'm telling you, it's because of her nipples." 

"What do you mean, it's because of her nipples?" Dana asked. 

"She has the best nipples in town and she knows it," Tina said. 

"Oh, my God." Alice said, suddenly realizing something. "You're so right. She has nipple confidence!" 

"Yeah, they're small and they're perfectly formed," Tina said. They'd all seen Shane's nipples, because Tina and her partner Bette had a swimming pool behind their house, and the women had sometimes skinny-dipped at night.

"I wonder if I could sell a story on L.A.'s best nipples," Alice asked out loud but mostly to herself.

Despite her vast sexual history, Shane had never had an orgasm just from breast play, but she'd heard of such a thing and had actually given such cums two or three times to other women. She wondered if Carmen was capable of giving her one that way. Carmen was really skilled. Really skilled.

After a few minutes of loving Shane's boobs under the shower cascade, Carmen pulled away.

"Where's your shampoo?" she asked. Shane opened her eyes, and reached for the bottle of shampoo kept in an alcove in the tub wall. Carmen poured a dollop into her hand and said, "Kneel down. Hold onto my hips." Shane knelt in the tub facing Carmen, felt Carmen's hands begin to lather her head, washing her hair gently. Shane had never been treated quite this well by any other woman before. She'd showered with girls often enough, usually after fucking, not before, and she'd fooled around and fucked in the shower. But she couldn't ever remember anyone lovingly washing her hair. As a hairdresser, it was almost always Shane doing the washing, and doing it in a professional, detached manner, in a beauty salon. 

Shane closed her eyes so shampoo wouldn't run into them, but then she brushed the suds away from her face so she could stare at Carmen's lunch box directly in front of her. Shane had munched it the other day, but hadn't paid a lot of attention, visually speaking. Now she had both time and opportunity to study it at her leisure. Carmen had a classic oyster-type pussy, the inner lips modestly frilled about three-quarters of the way down. It was noticeably several shades darker than Carmen's overall caramel skin color, as was the oval surrounding it, a quite common skin coloration phenomenon, in Shane's considerable experience. Outside of gynecologists, obstetricians, morgue attendants and porn industry film editors, Shane had seen just about as many types, colors and sizes of pussy as anyone in California. That being said, this was still something new in Shane's experience: studying a lovely pussy from several inches away, while her hair was being shampooed.

Carmen massaged Shane's scalp, washing it gently and lovingly, rocking Shane's head slightly, Shane squinting to watch the sight in front of her, Carmen's wet satin belly, her navel, her neatly trimmed black triangle of hair V-framed by the two gardens of tattoo blossoms, Carmen's miniature flower boxes, then just the hint of clit hood and tucked-away pussy lips. And then Shane had to clamp her eyes shut as Carmen worked the suds and rocked Shane's head. Shane became aware of Carmen's voice, singing softly, "There we go, now our hair is getting washed, now our hair is getting washed, now our hair is getting washed," some sort of child's sing-song crooning. Shane leaned forward, pushed her sudsy head against Carmen's belly, nuzzled her face in to kiss the muffy little hair pie. 

Carmen took the shower wand off its hook and proceeded to rinse Shane's hair. "There, all done," Carmen said, hanging the wand back up. "Now stand up. Plant your ass against the wall. Spread 'em." Shane the top, being bottomed. Little did she know.

Shane did as she was ordered, and stood patiently, legs apart, as Carmen squirted some soap from a dispenser into her hand and proceeded to wash Shane's body, taking each arm and washing it slowly and lovingly, washing Shane's shoulders, chest, armpits, delectable nipples, tummy. Carmen bent down and washed Shane's legs, working her way up to Shane's crotch but stopping just short of ground zero. Then she put a palm full of suds on Shane's mons, lathering the short, trimmed, soft pussy hair landing strip, foaming the runway where no airplane ever crashed, crooning, "Now we wash our wammy pie, now we wash our wammy pie, now we wash our wovewy twat." Shane started laughing at how Carmen sang the word "lamb," wammy, but Carmen ignored it. She slowly washed and shucked Shane's oyster, massaging the outer lips and rubbing them from side to side like the loose skin on the back of a puppy's neck. Shane's laughter turned to moans. Then Shane felt a soapy finger slowly being inserted into her pussy, and she closed her eyes. Soon there were two soapy fingers. "Aren't we a widdle wamb, aren't we a widdle wamb," Carmen sang, "and now we wash our cwit." Carmen forked two fingers of the hand that wasn't fucking Shane's pussy over Shane's clit, slowly washing and massaging the clit hood, Shane giggling and laughing at the song. 

"Oh, you bitch," Shane said, wondering if she could actually come while laughing. 

"Shhhhh," Carmen hissed, keeping a straight face, "Pwease! No talking while we're washing our cwitowis."

Shane guffawed, her belly shaking. 

"Hand me the shower wand," Carmen said. Shane did. Carmen turned it on Shane's pussy, winsing her bewwy, wegs, twat, cwitowis. "We need to make you sparkwey cwean and minty fwesh. Now, turn awound."

Shane turned around, braced her arms against the wall. Carmen pulled one of Shane's butt cheeks to the side, giving her access to spray the stream of water from the wand up and down Shane's crack. "Here, hang the wand back up." Carmen took the soap dispenser and poured out another puddle into her hand. She proceeded to wash Shane's back from the nape of her neck to the backs of her heels, leaving her butt and butt crack for last. "Okay, spwead 'em, cowgirl," Carmen ordered. Shane, always slow to react, was too slow to react this time, too, and got a smart slap on her ass. "Spwead 'em, I said, you wiwy wascal," Carmen said. Shane groaned, put her hands on her butt cheeks, and pulled them apart, her face turned to the side and hugging the wall. Carmen's hand soaped up and down Shane's upper thighs, over her bottom, up and down her slice. 

"I wonder if that wiwy wabbit is awound here somewhere," Carmen said. "Oh, wook! A wabbit hole!" Gently she placed the pad of one soapy fingertip on Shane's anal ring, circling it slowly and lubricating it with soap like the rim of a crystal goblet she wanted to make sing. "Shane? Are you hiding that wiwy wabbit in here?"

Shane, climbing to whole new stratospheres of speechlessness, closed her eyes and moaned.

The finger slowly circled, gently pushed as the ring softened and gave way. Carmen slowly pushed her soapy index finger in, crooning, "Come out, come out, you wittle wascal."

"Oh, fuck!" Shane whispered.

Carmen added a second finger, slowly and gently finger-fucking Shane's tender bottom with lots of soap suds. Then she reached around with her other hand and began caressing Shane's clit. Shane made a sound that came out, "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." She closed her eyes, hugged the wall, legs trembling, and felt it coming, the Big O, coming, coming, whups, arriving on Track Nine, Shane's thighs quivering, Shane thrusting against the shower wall, her nipples trying to put dents in the tile, dribbles and squirts of pussy juice running down her legs as she rocked through a shuddering cum. In the annals of anal, and despite the six- or seven- or nine hundred women Shane had had sex with, she'd never before been Elmer Fudded. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 02



Carmen let Shane recover, resting her face against Shane's bottom, and then only after a minute or two gently withdrawing her fingers from Shane's back door. Then she stood, took down the wand, and rinsed Shane's back, bottom and legs, making sure to get all the soap out of her ass. "Turn around, baby," Carmen said softly. Shane did, eyes closed, head back, lolling on her shoulders, mouth slack, still in the thrall of her pleasure. Carmen gently rinsed Shane's belly, pussy and legs. She hung the wand back up and turned the water off. She put her arms around Shane and kissed the side of her throat. "Come," she said gently, no longer commanding anything. 

Shane let Carmen lead her out of the shower. On the bath mat Carmen got a towel and dried Shane, patting her and then making her bend over so Carmen could briskly dry Shane's hair. Then Shane stood there while Carmen dried herself.

Carmen retrieved her clothes and took Shane's hand. "Come on, now we get to the good stuff."

"Huh?" Shane said, following, docile, as Carmen led her down the hall. If the good stuff was coming, what had just happened in the shower?

"Which bedroom is yours?" Carmen asked.

"This one," Shane said. They went in and Carmen closed the door. She backed Shane up to the bed until she sat down on it. Carmen bent over her, taking Shane's head in her hands and kissing her on the mouth, a long, slow, gentle kiss. Then she pushed Shane back onto the bed and climbed over her, straddling her and kissing her mouth and face and neck.

"What are you doing?" Shane managed to whisper.

"I'm going to do what I do best," Carmen said. "I'm going to go down on you. I love cunnilingus, it's my very favorite thing in the whole world. I'm going to eat your pussy, I'm going to eat and suck your pussy until you come. Everyone knows the second orgasm is better than the first. I still haven't ever tasted you, you know, and now I'm going to get my reward. I'm going to kiss and lick and suck you like you've never been kissed, licked or sucked before."

"Oh," Shane said, still dopey from the last cum. "Okay." She closed her eyes as she felt Carmen start kissing her way down Shane's front, slowly licking, slowly sucking those incredible, wonderful, Hollywood-legendary nipples. Lying flat on her back, Shane's breasts virtually disappeared; they were two swollen Hersey's kisses floating on gentle pools of melted marshmellow atop her rib cage, and Carmen loved them just as they were, feeling their swelling and fullness on her lips, sucking one, now the other, tenderly biting and pulling as no one had done before, because no one had taken the time to love them this way, they'd always been brief stopping places on the way to somewhere else. But Carmen was in no hurry, and Carmen loved her work. She loved Shane's nipples and could read Shane's sighs, moans, her ragged breathing, her own breasts pressed against Shane's thighs and occasionally flitting over her mound, her own swollen nipples teasing Shane's cunt. 

Then when Shane least expected it Carmen's lips drifted downward, caressing the rippling six-pack of Shane's stomach, lingering over her navel, dry lips kissing it then soft tongue rimming it, then gently probing it, a rehearsal, a foreshadowing, perhaps, of what such a tongue might do pressed against more yielding crevices less knotted and unpierceable but more succulent than this one.

Shane felt Carmen climb off her and off the bed to kneel on the floor, spreading Shane's legs to kiss the knees, then slowly the lips found their way up the trembles of Shane's thigh muscles, taking their time.

"Your skin, it's so smooth right here," Carmen murmured as her lips brushed lightly over a patch of firm thigh a few inches south of Heaven. Carmen slowly kissed the thighs and caressed them with her hands. Shane's pussy, only an hour ago sparkley clean and minty fresh, healthy pink and smelling faintly and wonderfully of soap, was now blood-darker, now flushed, now swollen, now wet, leaking fragrant Shane crème fraiche, the lovely familiar odor that intoxicated Carmen as she prepared to take the first sips of a fine summer ice wine she had worked so patiently to press.

With a sigh, Carmen brought her mouth forward, kissed Shane's pussy for the first time, a kiss that might have been almost chaste in some other location, but of course there is no way to kiss the pussy lips of one's lover chastely. And indeed, Shane, writhing and fists clenching bedsheets, had never been kissed on her pussy with such delicacy, such ... gentleness, before, not that she could ever remember, though truth be told Shane wasn't exactly racking her memories at this point, for she was barely even conscious, her mind in a new place, on a new plane. No girl, no woman had ever taken over an hour just to kiss her way down Shane's front, from collarbones to pussy. Shane's clit, basking in the open air under its thin, pink flesh pup tent, had never waited for three quarters of an hour simply to be touched. Like her pussy lips her clit was turgid, swollen and yearning, Shane slowly raising her hips and undulating, pressing upward hoping to find a ready mouth, a tongue searching for entry but meeting only zephyrs of Carmen's gentle breath. Carmen blew on the wetness trickling from the bottom of Shane's lips, dribbling over the fourchette to slide across her perineum and pool in the pucker of her twitching garage door.

"Jesus, Carmen," Shane begged, "please!" Shane was in no condition to keep score, but let the record show she had never in her life had to beg anyone to sup at her golden arches.

"Shhhhh, baby, shhhh. Soon. Very soon," Carmen said, kissing Shane's pussy again, and then beginning to lick up the juice at the center of Shane's crease.

"Oh, muthafuck," Shane moaned. Primed by her first orgasm in the shower, Shane's second climax came quickly, faster than either of them expected, a sneak attack that began with Shane grunting, "Umm, umm, ummmmm, ahhhhh," arched and thrusting onto Carmen's feeding tongue, sticky cream surging out and coating Carmen's lovely face and Carmen struggling to lick up and swallow as much as possible, loving the hot facial Shane was giving her as Shane's thighs twitched and quivered, Shane's buttocks sinking slowly back down onto the bed, Carmen backing off and resting her face against Shane's wet thigh, both of them panting and out of breath.

Shane's third orgasm came about forty-five minutes later. She was so woozy and cum-numbed from the second one that she never noticed when Carmen got up, left the room, and came back a minute later. The first time Shane had any mental awareness was when Carmen rubbed an ice cube on her clit. She screamed and flinched, sitting up.

"What the hell are you doing?" 

Carmen looked up from between Shane's legs, smiling. "Lay back down, sunshine. You were just so hot I thought you needed cooling down."

Reluctantly, Shane flopped back down and stared up at the ceiling as Carmen slowly ran the wet ice cube around the perimeter of Shane's pussy, Shane making little "oh, oh, oh, oh, oh" sounds. Carmen took the ice cube and put it into her own mouth, chilling her lips and tongue. She leaned forward and lowered her mouth to Shane's clit hood, covered it and sucked it in with cold, cold mouth. Shane shuddered and then felt Carmen's hand reach up and rub the ice cube over her left nipple. Shane groaned again. Then her right nipple got it, both nipples standing to rigid, frigid attention. Shane's breath came in ragged gasps as the cold mouth sucked all of her clit and clit hood. Then the ice cube that had iced down Shane's tits was inserted into her pussy, never to be seen again.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, shit," Shane whispered. "I am so gonna get you for this."

"Mmmm, promises, promises, baby," Carmen murmured as she whipped Shane's clit from side to side with her tongue. She sent two of her fingers inside Shane's pussy, looking for the marooned ice cube, then not having found it, added a third digital member to the search party. She flipped her hand so it was palm up and had better luck with her middle finger searching for Shane's G-spot, finding the swollen walnut right about where it was supposed to be about two inches in on the front wall at the top end of the engorged urethral sponge that surrounded the Skene's glands and the clitoral nerve, a slightly thickened, slightly rough spot right at the base of the pubic bone that Carmen gently massaged and then pressed. Shane began to whimper. She felt the urge to pee, and clenched her kegels, pushing, clutching Carmen's fingers as they slowly pistoned in and out. Again Shane arched her back, thrust her hips up off the bed, rolled slightly to her right, reached down to clutch Carmen's wrist, and came all over Carmen's hand. Carmen rolled with her, keeping her mouth sucking Shane's clit until Shane couldn't take it any longer, her sensitivity too much, and she pushed Carmen's head away. Carmen released the clit, backed off, and gently licked the new ice-cube-infused jism drooling out of Shane's pussy. Carmen wasn't sure, but she thought maybe she'd sucked Shane into unconsciousness. She got up, crawled up on the bed behind Shane, and snuggled up to her, putting an arm around Shane's waist, pushing her groin into Shane's bottom, kissing Shane's shoulder, and going to sleep with a big smile, another dose of girlcream on her lips and cheeks, so good for the complexion.

***

It was dark when Carmen woke up from her nap. She thought she heard someone in the house. Probably Shane's housemate, Carmen thought. Shane was still asleep, breathing softly. Carmen quietly got up, found her red underpants and put them on. She had no idea where her bra was, so she borrowed Shane's T-shirt and slipped that on over her head. Then she went in search of something to drink. She padded down the hall and went into the kitchen, found the refrigerator, and opened the door and looked in. Just then she heard footsteps come into the kitchen. Carmen turned. It was the roommate, Jenny. Cute, Carmen thought. And Shane was right: a nice, tight little bod. 

"Hi. I'm sorry," Jenny said, finding Carmen in her underwear.

"Oh, no, no, no, hey. That's okay. Let me ask you something. What says you care more, beer or soy milk?" 

"Soy milk," Jenny said. 

"But that's not very sexy, though, is it?" 

"No," Jenny said, laughing. 

"Nah. All right, well, that's what I thought," she said, taking a couple of bottles of Dos Equis from the refrigerator. "And there's more in the fridge if you want it, and I'm Carmen." She reached out and shook hands with Jenny. 

"I'm, uh, Jenny." 

"I know," Carmen said, laughing. She started to head back down the hall to Shane's room.

"Nice to meet you," Jenny said. 

Carmen turned at the hallway, almost flirtatiously. "Oh, uh ... sorry you had to meet me in my Supah Lovah costume." 

Jenny smiled. "No, it's ... it's nice." 

Carmen giggled. "Okay."

"I like it," Jenny said. Her nostrils flared as she unconsciously inhaled the sex pheromones radiating from Carmen. They made Jenny wet.

"Good night," Carmen smiled and went down the hall. 

When she entered the bedroom she found Shane sitting up on the edge of the bed getting dressed.

"Hey!" 

Shane turned and saw Carmen. "Hi." 

"You going somewhere?" 

"Um ... yeah, I was ... thinking of going out," Shane said. 

"Were you?" Carmen set the Dos Equis down on Shane's dresser and moved to stand in front of Shane.

"Uh, well, I, uh ... ," Shane stuttered. Carmen leaned down and kissed Shane on the mouth, a nice, soft kiss. 

"I think you should stay," she whispered.

"Really." 

"Yeah, I do," Carmen said, kissing her again. Then she gently pushed Shane back on the bed. "And I think you should play a game with me." 

"Oh yeah?" 

Carmen sat straddling Shane's legs on Shane's lap.

"Mm-hmm. This game is called 'Too Hot.' And here's how we play. We start kissing ... ." 

Carmen put her hands on Shane's face and kissed her again.

"And we can't stop kissing." They kissed, a little more hungry. 

"Mm," Shane said. 

"Mm-hmm," Carmen affirmed. Shane's hands dropped to Carmen's bottom, pulling her closer. Carmen reached down and took Shane's hands away. "But we also can't touch. No touching." They kissed again, Shane starting to laugh. "So, then, if you touch me, then you lose. And that means I can do whatever I want." 

"And ... what happens if you touch me?" Shane put her hands on Carmen's thighs. Carmen took Shane's wrists and held them up. 

"Then ... I lose. And you get to do whatever you want to me," she whispered in Shane's ear. Shane kissed her.

"Mmm," Carmen moaned. "So. Are you ready?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay. Hands off." Carmen leaned in to kiss Shane, her arms out and raised in a hands-off position. Then she put her hands behind her head, as though a policeman was going to search her. Shane put her hands out to the side, ready for crucifixion. They locked in a deep kiss that got hot fast, Carmen sucking Shane's lower lip into her mouth, Shane's tongue searching out, licking. Their arms waved slowly as they strained to keep from touching. After a minute, Shane couldn't help lowering her hands to Carmen's hips. "Mmph! Hmm-mm! Mmph!" Carmen protesting, unable to talk while Shane's tongue occupied her mouth. Carmen broke away from the kiss and grabbed Shane's wrists, because Shane had lost. "Wow! Lie down ... bitch!"

Shane laughed, lying back on the bed. "Oh, you're so awful."

Still straddling Shane, Carmen started to bend over her. Shane's hands came up to cup Carmen's breasts, but Carmen was faster, grabbing Shane's wrists and pinning them back down on the bed. Shane couldn't help giggling. She thought she could probably take Carmen easily if she'd wanted, but this was just too much fun being bullied. Besides, when Carmen bent low and put her face over Shane's, Shane could feel Carmen's lovely soft breasts on her own chest.

"Did I say you could touch me?" Carmen asked. 

"No." 

"No," Carmen repeated. "And why? 

"Because I lost?"

"That's right. And?"

Shane struggled, trying to touch Carmen. 

"What? I didn't hear you?" 

"Because you won," Shane whispered meekly. 

"That's right. I won. Loser."

Carmen leaned over and kissed Shane deeply. Then she started to get up. Shane started to follow but Carmen grabbed her arms and pushed her back onto the bed, Shane giggling.

"Stay!" Carmen said, raising a finger and shaking it at Shane as though she were admonishing a German Shepherd. "Stay!" 

Shane was laughing. "You're such a bitch."

Carmen stood by the bed and shucked off the T-shirt, then she dropped her red underpants to the floor. She climbed back on top of Shane, pinning Shane's wrists again. She leaned over slowly and brought one of her breasts to Shane's mouth, rubbing the nipple across Shane's lips.

"I won," Carmen said. "A deal's a deal. I get what I want." 

Shane licked and sucked each breast as it was given to her to suckle. As usual, Carmen took her time, moaning and crooning softly. Then she released Shane's wrists and climbed forward, bringing her knees up beside Shane's head and slowly lowering her pussy onto Shane's mouth.

"Time to eat," Carmen said. "I've got a nice, hot lamb pie for you. A girl's got to keep up her strength."

Carmen had brought her a delicious midnight snack, a flower box lunch complete with a fountain drink.

Shane ate.

***

They lay in bed under the sheets, naked, face to face. Carmen traced a finger slowly over Shane's face. "Tell me where you grew up. Tell me ... tell me where this" -- she put her hand over Shane's left breast, over her beating heart -- "tell me where this came from." 

Shane, slow and speechless as always, made no reply.

"Nothing? Not gonna talk? Okay. Um. How 'bout ... how 'bout a hamster? Did you ever have a hamster growing up? No? No ... okay, um ... ."

Shane smiled. This damn girl was burrowing her way into Shane's heart. She was full of surprises, full of tricks. And this girl liked all the cuddling and pillow talk that Shane seldom had to deal with. 

"Brothers and sisters. How many of those did you have?"

That one cut too close to the bone. Shane's face froze, but Carmen wasn't looking, missed it. 

"You know what? Let's start with mom and dad." Carmen laughed at herself. "Are they married or divorced? Do you write them, do you see them, do you ... love them? I mean, anything ...?"

But Shane couldn't tell this girl anything. That was against the rules. Shane didn't have many rules, but never letting anyone get this personal was one of them. Never tell your story, never let them tell you theirs. She tilted Carmen's head up and kissed her lips gently, then started to get out of bed.

"I'm gonna go out." 

Carmen had one of those moments that were starting to get too familiar, when she had no idea what the hell Shane was doing or thinking, but here was another one of those inexplicable mood changes. Had she done something? Had she said something? Why was Shane getting up and getting dressed? It was probably close to midnight. Who the hell goes out at midnight, after three world-class orgasms? The only thing Carmen knew to do was to play it cool. Shane sat on the edge of the bed with her naked back to Carmen. Carmen saw the tattoo she'd seen earlier in the shower, the silhouette of a violin on the small of Shane's back, right above the coccyx. It had the letter "M" in the center of it. She reached out with her fingers and traced the shape of it. She assumed the M stood for McCutcheon. But why a violin, of all things?

"Okay. Um. What about your tattoo. Why do you have that?"

Shane turned and looked at Carmen. Shane felt her throat choking up. Carmen looked at Shane's face, seeing something there. Pain? 

"I like it," Shane said. 

"Good. You like it. Great." Carmen sat up, frustrated, and started getting dressed as well. This was pointless. "You know what? Um. I guess, uh, I'm gonna be leaving. So ... ."

Shane didn't know what to say.

"I don't know, you know, if you have, like, house rules or something," Carmen said.

"No! I don't -- there are -- there are no house rules." 

"Right. Right."

"There's not," Shane said. 

"Okay!" Carmen said, even more frustrated. 

Shane struggled for an explanation. "I ... I don't like sleep-overs." She paused. That was lame. True, but lame. "I'm sorry. But I don't." 

"Okay," Carmen said, "you don't have to explain anything. It's your choice. 

Shane just stood there, speechless, helpless, noise roaring in her ears. 

"Well, get ready!" Carmen said. 

Shane put on a fresh shirt, and started to button it up.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 03



Chapter 3  Be a Man

Shane got out of the car in the middle of a block on Santa Monica Boulevard without looking back at the driver or acknowledging him in any way. She'd seen Clive loitering on the sidewalk in front of a record store, and she asked the driver to stop. He'd jammed on the brakes and as soon as the car had slowed enough Shane popped the door and was out. She sauntered over to a trash can, dropped into it a pair of cheap latex gloves and a condom containing a fresh load of jism, and walked over to Clive. She parked her ass against the building, one leg hooked up behind her, and asked him, "Got a cigarette?" Clive gave her one.

"How much you get?" Clive asked.

"Twenty," Shane said, lighting the cigarette. That was the going price for a hand job, sometimes twenty-five if the traffic would bear it. "Motherfucker started groping me, almost got to my crotch before I shut him down."

"How'd you do that?"

"Told him I'd mace him."

Clive grunted. 

In a sense, Shane and Clive were twins. They had both just turned nineteen. They were both effectively homeless. Shane and Clive both wore grungy clothes, but that was the grunge look -- indigent, drug-abusing street hustlers dressed pretty much the same as a lot of young people who shopped in upscale mall stores where jeans with holes in them sold for $200. Shane and Clive both had short, spikey hair, the only major difference being Shane was a natural brunette and Clive was a bleach blond. They were both thin and boney, neither one had tits, and neither had had anything like a square meal with a meat, a starch and a green vegetable in over a year. Both were pale and looked unhealthy. Both abused drugs on the occasions they could afford anything halfway decent; mostly they just smoked marijuana. They were smart enough to stay away from crack, because they'd seen what it did to some of their friends and anyway they couldn't afford it. In the upscale suburbs DIY meant "do-it-yourself" and power tools. In the world Shane and Clive lived in, it meant "dead in a year" and drug paraphernalia.

Shane and Clive earned their livings as faggot street hustlers servicing gay men who cruised Santa Monica Boulevard looking for something quick and a little different. They were both androgynous, what some people might called "gender confused," but the truth was neither one was confused at all. Both knew what genders they were, and had no doubts whatsoever about their orientations. They were both gay as the day is long, always were, always would be. The only significant difference between them was that Clive had a real dick while Shane packed a fake one. It was only other people who looked at them who might have gotten confused trying to figure out their gender, which was understandable. All the markers were ambiguous and neither one gave a rat's ass if they confounded other people. Too fucking bad.

When they'd first met six months ago, Clive was the only one who had a lump in his pants. They'd met in line at a shelter soup kitchen, a couple of runaways in a city of thousands upon thousands of such. They looked alike, and instead of taking offense at it or trying to mark their territories in some sort of macho pissing contest, Clive and Shane thought it was just kind of funny. Shane had gotten fired from a burger joint for stealing food for herself. Clive simply couldn't get hired to begin with. One cold, rainy night they'd decided to go to a shelter together. Like most homeless kids, they hated shelters: They were places to get robbed, beat up, abused, raped. Shelters, refuges of last resort, segregated clientèle into male and female dorms, which meant Shane and Clive would have to spend the night apart.

"Why don't you tell them you're a guy," Clive said, possibly the only really intelligent, creative idea he'd ever had. "Half the people we run into already think you're a guy anyhow. Might just as well tell the shelter people that, too. And that way we can stay together and watch out for each other."

So Shane became a man, and spent the night in the men's shelter, sleeping in the cot next to Clive. When they'd been asked to sign in, the man at the reception desk asked Shane her name.

"Tommi," Shane told him. "Tommi with an 'i' on the end."

The man was unimpressed. "Last name?"

"Hilfiger." 

The man wrote it down, and Shane looked at the log book. There she was, Tommy Hellfinger. She didn't bother to argue.

They were hanging out on the street at their wits' end one day when a car pulled to the curb and the driver leaned over to talk out the passenger window. He sized up the two of them, and decided blonds have more fun.

"Wanna go for a ride?" the driver asked Clive. Clive looked at Shane, who shrugged. Clive got in the car and rode away. When he got back an hour and a blowjob later, he had twenty-five bucks in his pocket and a bad taste in his mouth. They walked to a Bob's Big Boy and got burgers.

They talked it over. God knows there were enough fags working the street, they could blend in easily enough. They didn't know much about pimps, but they knew enough not to want one. A pimp would immediately discover Shane's gender, and would also decide what kind of sex Shane would or wouldn't offer. That simply wasn't an option.

"Clive," Shane said. "I'm not blowing anybody."

"You don't have to, Shane. I mean, Tommi. Just give 'em hand jobs."

"Ewww. I'm not sure it's much better."

Clive shrugged. "That's your call. But you get yourself some latex gloves, you slide a rubber on 'em, you jerk away for a couple of minutes while they lie back enjoying the sun and the smog, they cum, you get your money and a ride back, and that's it."

"Suppose they don't like the latex glove or the Trojans," Shane asked. 

"Fuck 'em," Clive said. "Don't get in the car. Tell 'em you're not catching AIDS for nobody. But, hell, Tommi, most of 'em won't care. They're all scared shitless of AIDS by now, too. But you'll see. All they want is a quick cum. Nobody wants dinner and a movie."

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

Clive just grinned and shrugged. They were suddenly self-employed.

Within a few weeks they were each doing three or four tricks a day. The money was coming in. As a rule, Clive made a little more per trick than Shane, since he'd do blowjobs and once in a while anal, while Shane only did handjobs. By the same token, though, Clive lacked Shane's work ethic; she was out there almost every day, seven days a week. Clive would do one or two tricks and then get lazy, wander off. 

By unspoken agreement they shared what they had. Shane kept all her worldly possessions in a duffel bag -- three changes of clothes -- while Clive kept his in two backpacks. Clive knew a guy named Bobby who ran a gas station and garage/towing service that had lockers and a small shower room in the back off the service bays. For a blowjob every now and then from Clive or a handjob from Shane he let them keep their stuff in one of the lockers, and they could shower once in a while in privacy, something not available in the shelters. Bobby wouldn't let them live there, but they could hang out, especially if the weather was bad. He had a small black-and-white TV with a clothes hanger antenna, and some nights when business was slow they sat around the office watching. Some nights a call would come in for Bobby to go out with the tow truck, and Clive would stay behind to mind the store while Shane went along just for the ride and some air. It also helped Shane learn the geography of the city, since she was a relatively recent arrival and didn't know her way around very well.

Most Friday and Saturday nights they went to clubs, sometimes to the same club if it catered to both sexes, and sometimes Shane went to a lesbian club while Clive went to a gay men's hangout. Once Shane went to one of Clive's places just to see what it was like, but so many gay guys started hitting on her that she began to get worried. 

"I'm getting out of here," Shane yelled into Clive's ear over the roar of the music. Clive, who had his hand inside the fly of a biker, nodded. Shane went to her club, and an hour later was out behind it in the alley happily fucking a legal secretary from Van Nuys up against a wall. 

At the end of their third week Shane ran into her first piece of trouble when a guy started coming after her crotch, thinking he was going to find a dick there he could suck on. Shane fought him off and managed to get out of the car before the john discovered his mistake. He called her the usual names and then drove off without paying her for the handjob he'd gotten. Shane had had to walk and hitchhike 30 blocks back to her corner. When she got back she told Clive what had happened.

"Fuck, Shane, you gotta be careful. And you know what? I think some people can tell you haven't got anything down there. I think you better start stuffing something in there, or better yet why don't you start packing? Get yourself a strap-on dong, so at least you got a bulge, and if somebody gets his hand down there he'll feel something, at least from the outside."

Shane said that sounded like a plan, so they went to a sex shop and looked over the merchandise. It was a small shop and carried mostly porn DVDs and magazines. They went to another, larger place and, after browsing and giggling for almost an hour under the watchful eyes of a very tall queen, Shane found a strap-on she liked. The dick came separate from the harness and wasn't very big compared to some of the ridiculous monsters on sale.

"Don't you want one of these?" Clive asked, pointing to a 10-incher. "You could be Long Dong Hellfinger, the Santa Monica Mauler. Faggots be lining up three deep to get you up their ass."

"Christ, no!" Shane said. "For one thing I'm not gonna fuck anybody, and I don't want to lug that goddam thing around in my pants all day. All I want is enough to get by, in case somebody cops a feel."

"You ladies finally make up your minds?" the queen asked when they went up to the register. "Going away to summer camp, I take it?"

"It's a present for my mom," Shane said, and the queen laughed. 

"Okay, gorgeous, whatever you say. You gals need some lube?"

"No, but thanks for asking," Shane said.

"Oooooh, gonna play dry, huh? You're gonna break some hearts, sugar."

It came to twenty-eight bucks with tax, and Shane only had twenty. Clive covered her for the rest.

"Is this to go, or do you want to eat it here?" the queen asked Clive.

"To go," Clive said seriously. He wasn't very quick. The queen rolled his/her eyes and put the strap-on in a bag and handed it to Shane. 

"Y'all come back when you've worn that one down to a pencil dick," the queen said. "Be happy to sell you an upgrade. We like repeat business 'round here, and be sure to tell all your friends Morganza said 'Hi.' We believe in word-of-mouth, if ya know what I mean."

"Morganza. Cool. I'll be sure to tell everyone," Shane said.

Shane told the truth when she said she never intended to fuck anybody with it, but one night a few weeks later in a bathroom stall in a club on Figeroa the girl drummer for a punk band couldn't get enough of Shane and had Shane sit on the toilet with Mr. Happy up in the air while the drummer dropped her jeans and straddled Shane in one quick, practiced motion. Lube wasn't a problem.

***

Two-thirds of Shane and Clive's clientèle were one-timers, but the other third soon became what Morganza had called repeat business. One of Shane's repeaters was a balding man in his forties who drove a new, silver Mercedes 450SL, usually with the top down. The guy, whose name was Harvey Platt, wore glasses and dressed very well, often wearing peach- or teal-colored shirts with a contrasting sweater over his shoulder, and nice linen slacks. He seemed quiet and friendly, but not so quiet that he gave Shane the creeps. Shane's radar was nearly as good as her gaydar, which bordered on supernatural, and if a john gave her the creeps she bailed. Harvey was okay, though, and was one of her favorite customers, unfailingly polite and a good tipper. He came around once a week or maybe every other week, and after he'd found Shane he never went with anyone else. When Shane worked on him, he just relaxed back in his car seat, looking away, his eyes distant, like he was somewhere else, with somebody else. Once she heard him whisper the name "Jack." She wasn't sure if it was a name or an instruction.

Harvey usually came around in the late morning, and his favorite location was one of the empty parking lots near the Hollywood Bowl, where he seemed to know his way around. On this particular morning, after he'd cum, Harvey fastidiously removed the condom, carefully put it into a plastic bag -- he wouldn't litter, unlike a lot of tricks -- and held it for Shane to drop her gloves into. He zipped himself up, and laid back in the seat, eyes closed. Shane was used to tricks wanting a little quiet time to enjoy the afterglow, and she sat patiently. But Harvey sure seemed to be taking his time.

"Mind if I smoke?" Shane finally asked.

"Huh? Oh. No, go ahead. Just don't get any ash inside." The top was down, so the smoke itself wasn't an issue.

"You want one?"

"No, thank you," Harvey said, eyes still closed. "I quit a few years ago. But thanks for offering."

Shane smoked her cigarette and wondered what Harvey's story was. He wasn't a bad looking guy. He was completely gay, of course, and unlike some tricks he seemed comfortable with it; he wasn't pretending to be straight. He dressed well. He had money. So why didn't he have a boyfriend? Why was he picking up street hustlers when he could have walked into any upscale gay joint in L.A. -- and there were only about a hundred of them, you could hardly ask for gayer places than L.A. and West Hollywood -- and met anybody he wanted, of any of a couple dozen varieties, bikers, body-builders, models, actors, fruitcups, tinkerbells, all across the spectrum from flaming to super-closeted. So what was he doing cruising a boi like Shane for? Shane looked over at him. He wasn't asleep, but his head was turned away slightly. He seemed to be in some sort of reverie. Some other hustler would have become impatient, cleared his throat, or otherwise done something to get Harvey to turn on the fucking ignition and drive him back to the boulevard. But Shane had the feeling Harvey needed his little time of solitude, and so she sat patiently. It's not like she had to punch the company clock.

Finally with a sigh Harvey seemed to come back to the present, and looked over at Shane.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," Shane said.

"I mean, thanks for just letting me ... sit for a while."

"Sure."

Harvey looked at Shane thoughtfully.

"I know it's none of my business, but when's the last time you ate?"

"Uh ... yesterday."

"You hungry?"

Shane shrugged. "I'll get something later."

Harvey started the car and they headed back. On the way, Harvey pulled into a parking spot in front of a Starbucks, and parked. "Come on, I'll buy you lunch," he said, getting out.

What the fuck, Shane thought. Harvey had already paid her twenty for the handjob, and a ten-dollar tip. She got out of the Mercedes and followed him inside. 

"Go head, anything you want," Harvey told her, pointing up at the menu. Harvey picked a pre-made sandwich out of the cold case, so Shane picked one, too. 

"Hi," Harvey said to the barista. "I'll have a venti cappuccino." He turned to Shane. "What would you like?"

Shane felt like an idiot. She didn't understand half the things on the menu.

"I've never been in a Starbucks before," she said.

"Ah, well, I see the problem," Harvey said. Even though there were people in line behind them, he refused to be rushed or intimidated. He patiently gave Shane a tutorial, explaining frappuccinos and cappuccinos and soy lattes, and the difference between a grande and a venti.

"I just want a cup of coffee," Shane said, also refusing to be intimidated. "Cream and sugar."

Harvey ordered a French-blend venti for her. When the coffees came they sat at a small table.

"My name's Harvey, by the way," he said, unwrapping his sandwich.

"Tommi," Shane said. "Tommi with an 'i.'"

"Tommi with an 'i.' Okay."

"Uh, thanks for lunch."

"My pleasure." Harvey hesitated. "Like I said before, I know it's none of my business, but you don't look like you eat regularly."

Shane shrugged. 

"You boys on the street, you have to be careful. I hope someone's told you that."

Shane nodded. In spite of herself, she felt herself being drawn into conversation with this guy. Who the fuck shoots the breeze with a john? She kept waiting for something bad to happen, or for him to say something hinky. But her radar, her spooky-shit warning system, was dead quiet.

"How's your coffee?" he asked. Shane shrugged. Harvey laughed. "It's lousy, isn't it? Burnt and bitter."

"Yeah," Shane said, smiling.

"That's why everybody orders all those fancy drinks with the foam and the flavors and all that crap. So they don't have to drink the regular coffee. You ask me, 7-11's coffee is a hundred times better."

"I know!" Shane laughed. "I like 7-11 coffee."

"Trouble is, this is Hollywood, and L.A.," Harvey said. "Image is everything. Most people in this town wouldn't get caught dead going into 7-11 for coffee."

"You in the movie business?" Shane asked.

"Me? No. I play the violin for the Southern Cal Pops Philharmonic. I'm what's called the principal second violin. You know anything about orchestras and classical music?"

Shane shook her head.

"Typically, the violin section is divided into two sections, called the first violin and the second violin. The first violin plays the melody, while the second violin usually plays the harmony. Each section of the orchestra has a person who is the leader, and he or she is called the principal. So you have a principal trombone, and a principal trumpet, and a so on. The person who leads the second violin is called the principal second violin -- that's me. The person who leads the first violin can be called the principal first violin, but he or she is more often called the concertmaster, and not only leads the whole violin section but the entire orchestra. In other words, the first violin is the assistant to the conductor. He's the number two person in the whole orchestra, like the deputy, or like the team captain out on the field." Shane barely knew anything about sports, so the team captain analogy meant very little.

"Sounds important," Shane said.

"It is." Harvey looked away and sighed. "I once wanted to be the first violin."

"Why don't you?"

Harvey shrugged. "Things change. Ambitions change." He paused, and Shane assumed he was done talking. He wasn't. He looked out the window, but Shane knew he wasn't seeing anything. "You can spend your whole life trying to achieve a goal. And then one day something happens, and you realize you should have been paying attention to something else. That your career isn't nearly as important as the people around you. That while you were so busy looking one way you should have been looking in a different direction."

Shane had no idea what the fuck Harvey was talking about, but she knew that at some level it made sense, at least to Harvey.

"Where you from, Tommi?" Harvey suddenly asked.

"Texas," Shane said. "'Round Austin."

"Texas, huh? You know anything about pastrami?"

Shane shook her head.

"Next time, we'll stop in a good deli. I'll teach you about pastrami and corned beef. And the different kinds of rye bread. And mustards. In Texas the only thing they do with brisket is barbecue it. But there are other, better things to do with brisket. I will teach you the miracle on earth that is the hot pastrami with Swiss and mustard on a proper Jewish rye. Also, what to do with the slaw. Or the sauerkraut, if you're having a Reuben. Tommi, there are nuances. Yes. And we Jews must be a lamp unto the goyim. Listen, Tommi. In this town, you must know the difference between a hot pastrami and a Reuben. This is a life skill. Hear me." 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 03



Shane nodded.

Harvey drained the last of his coffee. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here. There must be a 7-11 around here somewhere."

*** 

Over the next four months, Harvey took Tommi/Shane to lunch half a dozen times, and Shane had begun to actually look forward to their meetings. Shane discerned that in some unspoken way, Harvey was lonely, and simply wanted companionship. Why he had no companionship or no friendships in the rest of his life she didn't know. Maybe he just liked effeminate boys like Shane was pretending to be. Perhaps he saw himself in Shane -- or rather, in Tommi, maybe he was once himself an androgynous kid on the hustle. Unlike Shane, Harvey liked to talk, but like Shane he seldom spoke much about himself; mainly he liked to teach. He educated Shane in the mysterious ways of delicatessen, and they talked a lot about music of all kinds. In some ways it was like they were dating: Who's your favorite band? What's your favorite color? O. J. Simpson, guilty or innocent? Okay, never mind that one, Shane was vaguely aware of the case but didn't follow it. But Harvey was quite pleased when Shane/Tommi told him her favorite band was Led Zeppelin.

"Oh, really? Outstanding!" Harvey said. "But answer carefully. For the full set of Samsonite luggage and a chance to return next week, which song is the best Led Zep?"

"Oh, shit," Shane said contemptuously. "Kashmir. No question."

Harvey beamed. "One of the very few Zeps where they brought in outside musicians," he said. "A friend of mine was one of the violinists. Although they did a lot of the strings on the Mellotron."

One day as he dropped Shane off, Harvey said, "Wait a minute, Tommi." He opened the glove compartment as she stood at the curb. He pulled out a small packet and removed from it a business card. It had Harvey's name and phone number on it.

"Here," he said. "Keep this in your wallet. You ever get in trouble, need something, give me a call."

"Thanks, I will," Shane said.

One of Tommi's other regulars was an asshole named Eddie who had grabby hands. Eddie was about thirty years old and thought he was hot shit, but he wasn't. The first time he picked up Shane he'd agreed to the handjob but after Shane got in the car and they drove to an alley, Eddie said he wanted a blowjob, and would blow Shane in return. Shane said no politely but firmly and they bickered for a while. Finally after Shane threatened to beat feet Eddie relented and got his handjob, but he wasn't happy about it. He spent a lot of time telling Shane about all the famous Hollywood actors he'd sucked off. Shane didn't know who half of them were, or if any of them were even gay, but she knew a bullshitter when she heard one. 

Eddie came around two weeks later, and after Shane had made him promise to be good she realized when she got in the car he'd been drinking. That was by no means unusual among Shane's clients, but it often made her tricks mean or troublesome. Eddie went straight for Shane's crotch and had actually managed to get a hand on Shane's strap-on before she smacked his hand away and got out of the car as he lunged toward her. She slammed the door on him, almost clunking him on the head. She told him to go fuck himself and before he could come after her she was out of the alley and walking down the sidewalk. By the time he drove to the end of the alley and looked both ways, she had disappeared.

Then Shane made a mistake. Two days later she and Clive had smoked a couple of joints before leaving the garage, and were moderately stoned. Clive picked up a trick and got in a car and was whisked away. A few minutes later Shane saw a car coming slow down the block, the driver looking. She watched him go by and a minute or two later he came around the block again and stopped in front of Shane. What Shane didn't know was that the marijuana had dulled her creep radar, either that or this guy just didn't give off vibes. But he seemed reasonable and Shane made the deal with him and got in the car. They drove to an alley and just as the car came to a stop Eddie came from behind a Dumpster, yanked open the passenger door, and slugged Shane. She went right out cold.

Shane woke up in a crummy motel room. It was still daylight, and her head hurt like hell. She'd been stripped of her clothes, everything but the strap-on. She had a handcuff on her right wrist and a piece of rope tied to the other loop of the handcuff led behind the head of the bed and was tied off somewhere. The result was that Shane was on a tether about three feet long. She had a gag of some sort in her mouth. Eddie sat next to her on one side of the bed, and the driver of the car, whose name turned out to be Mike, sat on the other side. They were both naked, too. 

Eddie held a knife in front of Shane's face, making sure she saw it. 

"Didja have a nice little nap, there, Tommi?" Eddie asked. "Good, good. We want you well rested, because we're gonna have a little party, you and Mike and me. You wanna have a nice little party, Tommi?"

Shane glared at him but said nothing.

"Yeah, I felt your hard-on the other day, Tommi. Just for a second. And you know what? It didn't feel like a dick to me. And I said to myself, something ain't right here. I got an idea why our little Tommi won't let me suck his dick. Even when I asked nice and polite and offered to pay. So I said to Mike here, I think we got us a faggot imposter, here, Mike. So Mike, he says, well, we can't have that, now, can we? So we decided to find out, Tommi, whether or not you was a faggot imposter. What a ya think about that?"

Shane glared at him and said nothing.

"So anyway, here we are. And what do Mike and I discover? We discover you ain't got a dick after all, Tommi. All you got is some lezzie strap-on. And you seem so happy with it we're gonna let you keep it. Yep. We got no hard feelings. Of course, we are gonna fuck you. But we don't do pussy, so we're gonna leave your stinky little cunt alone."

Eddie put his knife under Shane's chin so she could feel the point of it. It broke the skin, and she felt a trickle of blood go down her throat.

"I'm gonna take this gag out of your mouth, Tommi, and when I do, you're not gonna yell. Do you understand? You're not gonna make a fucking sound. Do you understand what I'm sayin'? Nod your fucking head if you understand what I'm saying, you cunt."

Shane nodded her head.

"I'm gonna take this gag out and then you're gonna suck my cock, and you're gonna suck Mike's cock, and I'm gonna do your ass, and Mike's gonna do your ass, okay? We're gonna do you fore and aft, but like I said we're gonna leave your stinky pussy alone so you don't have to worry about gettin' in a family way. Wouldn't want to knock up a pretty little faggot like you. So while you're suckin' cock and and gettin' your fudge packed you're not gonna make a sound, at least not any sound that can be heard outside this room. Because if you do, Tom, I'mma gonna cut your throat and me and Mike will be outta here in ten seconds."

Eddie brought his face down to Shane's. "Do you understand me, you fucking cunt?"

Shane nodded.

"You wanna die, you just let me know," Eddie said. "You wanna die?"

Shane shook her head no.

Eddie reached behind Shane's head and undid the gag. Just as Shane was taking a breath of air Eddie slapped her hard, making her head ring.

"That was just for practice," Eddie said. "That was good; you didn't make a sound. Now, open your mouth."

***

They kept her all that day, all that night, and most of the next day until mid-afternoon. They took her mouth and they took her lubed and re-lubed ass, until they couldn't get hard anymore and the cum dripped out of her. Shane cried and moaned and whimpered, and they let her, but she never made any sound very loud. Eddie liked to hit her, and he did that a few times, too. After the first couple of rounds they needed to rest up. Eddie got dressed and Mike stayed with Shane while Eddie went out and got pizza and beer. When he got back Mike had Shane up on all fours and was drilling her ass again while she cried into a pillow. The left side of her face was bruised and turning black-and-blue. Her right wrist was bleeding from the chaffing of the handcuff. Her ass was bleeding, but Eddie and Mike didn't care. When they weren't fucking her they taunted her, making her fist her own plastic cock, pretending to jack off. Shane was crying and it was no fun so they let her stop. They let her have a slice of pizza and a beer, and they ate watching television. Mike laid down on the bed next to Shane and took a nap while Eddie watched television and drank beer. When Shane said she had to take a piss, Eddie brought a small trash bucket that had been in the room over to her and made her squat over it next to the bed while he watched her pee into it just for his own amusement. When Mike woke up he was hungry, so he got dressed and went out for fried chicken and more beer. When they were finished eating again Mike stuck his dick in Shane's mouth while Eddie fucked her ass. Then Eddie laid down on the bed and went to sleep while Mike watched TV and slept in the chair. Shane slept.

In the morning Eddie demanded a wake-up blowjob, cooing to Shane as he came in her mouth. Then he got dressed and woke up Mike, making sure Mike was awake while Eddie went out to get breakfast. Eddie got back with a bag of Egg McMuffins.

"I called Danny," he told Mike, who nodded.

Apparently Danny worked third shift and had just gotten off work. He arrived just after Shane had taken a morning piss in front of both Eddie and Mike. He was in his late twenties, too, and seemed unsurprised to find Shane there like that. He stuffed his dick in her mouth, came, sat on the bed recovering a few minutes, and then got ready again. Danny was bi, and had wanted to fuck Shane's pussy, but Eddie and Mike told him no, so he lubed then fucked her ass. Then he got dressed, thanked Mike and Eddie, and left. They watched TV, and Mike went out for food. They ate and then managed weak, dribbly cums in Shane's mouth. When they were done Eddie put his face in front of Shane and said, "See? This is what happens to bad little girls who wanna play faggot." Then he slapped her swollen face again so hard she passed out from the pain.

***

When Shane woke up they were gone, and her wrist had been freed from the handcuff and tether, which were also gone. Her wrist was chafed and bloody. The room was a mess, but who cared. Her head hurt, her face hurt where Eddie had punched her last. She knew she had been bleeding, and found caked blood under her nose. She didn't know what time it was, but the sun was still out. She staggered into the bathroom, put up the toilet lid, and puked. She vomited until she was dry, and then a few times more. She sat on the floor of the bathroom by the toilet and passed out again. This second time she awoke she got up and ran cold water in the sink, carefully patting it onto her swollen face, and drinking some from her cupped hands. She thought she might puke again, but didn't. Only then did she realize she was still naked, as she had been for two days now, except for her strap-on. The bastards had left it on her the whole time, as some kind of sick joke. You want to pretend to be a man, Tommi, well, go ahead, then. Be a man.

She found her jeans thrown into the far corner of the room, and her shirt was on the chair where it had been thrown. She found her underwear under the bed, but it had been ripped and torn or cut off of her, and was worthless and unwearable. She dropped them. There were a couple of pizza boxes, and some bags from fast food chains, and their associated trash. One trashcan was full of empty beer bottles, and the room smelled awful. The other trashcan had her piss in it. There were cigarette stubs in the ash tray, and burn stains on the edges of the furniture. Shane sat on the edge of the bed, her head throbbing. She thought about calling an ambulance, but decided not to. Police were out of the question, of course. She didn't know who to call. There was no way to get hold of Clive. This is why whores have pimps, Shane realized. So the pimps could beat them instead of the johns.

There was a phone on the nightstand by the bed, and Shane would have bet better than even money it didn't work, but she was wrong. It gave her a dial tone. The instructions on the front said to dial 9 for an outside line for local calls only, so she did. She called the "time" service and learned it was 4:22. She placed the receiver back and just sat, recovering, trying hard not to think, because even that hurt like hell.

Then suddenly she knew who to call. She found her wallet, which had been emptied of the few dollars she had in it, and got out Harvey's card. She called his home but got an answering machine. No help there. Where would he be about now? Would he have left yet? Maybe they'd all stopped rehearsal for the day and gone home; if so, she was fucked. Shane picked up the phone, dialed local information, asked for the phone number of the Hollywood Bowl. When she got it and dialed, she got a menu, the usual long spiel, tickets, reservations, driving directions, all the crap. And then at last a "stay on the line" message for a live operator. Shane closed her eyes and thanked God there was a human coming on the line.

"This is the operator, how may I help you?"

"I'm trying to contact one of the orchestra members, they're supposed to be there rehearsing. Have they left yet? Can I get a message to one of them?"

"Hold, please."

Shane held the phone with her shoulder, stood, tried to shimmy into her jeans as best she could. She got them up just as the operator came back. She didn't bother zipping up.

"Yes, they are still here. Who did you want to leave a message for?"

"A guy named Harvey. He's the second violinist, or something like that."

"You don't know his full name? If you don't know him I'm afraid I—"

"His last name is Platt," Shane said, reading it off his card. "I'm just the guy supposed to be waxing his car, okay? There's been a little problem getting it started, and I need to ask him what he wants me to do about it, call Triple A or what. So please tell him Tommi called, and I need some help here, and the number is--" she looked down at the phone where the number was handwritten on the corner of the instructions, and gave it to the operator. "Tell him to ask for extension 17, got it? It's really important. Thank you. It's really urgent that he call, 'kay?" 

"Yes, I've got the message," the operator said.

Shane hung up the phone and lay down on the bed. She curled up in the fetal position, hugging her shirt, and tried to block out everything in the world, including the agony in her head, the still burning pain in her rectum, where she thought she might be bleeding from, everything having to do with the last two days. Everything having to do with her entire life, come to that.

Harvey called about forty-five minutes later.

"Hello?" Shane whispered when she picked up the phone.

"Hello? Who am I calling? I was told to call this number because it had something to do with a problem with my car."

"Harvey?"

"Yes?"

"Harvey? This is Tommi. I ... I'm in trouble."

"Are you in jail?"

"No. I ... Harvey, they did things to me. Raped me."

There was a long pause.

"Harvey ... some guys...beat me up. They did other things. I'm in a motel somewhere. Harvey, I'm in pretty bad shape. I didn't know anybody else to call." Then she lost it. Harvey stayed on the line, listening to her sob. She fought to stop, to pull it together. It took a long time. Fortunately, Harvey was a patient man.

"Har--, Harvey?"

"I'm still here, Tommi."

"Can you...can you..."

"Tell me where you are." 

"I don't know," Shane said, almost losing it again. "They kidnapped me. I woke up here. I don't know where I am." And she lost it again. She heard Harvey trying to talk to her.

"Tommi? Tommi? Come on, now, Tommi, Don't worry, I'm coming, I'll find you. Just stay right where you are. This is a motel, right? I'll call this number back and get directions. You're in Room 17, is that right?"

"Yes, I guess so. Please don't tell them I'm here, I don't want them coming here, they'll throw me out or call the cops."

"I won't tell them. I understand. Look, I'll call the desk right now, and then I'll get there as soon as I can, okay? So you just hang tight, Tommi. Okay?"

"'Kay," Shane sobbed.

"Hang on, Tommi, I'm coming," Harvey said.

Shane hung up the phone and got back in the fetal position and cried until Harvey got there over an hour later. Fucking rush hour traffic was just miserable.

***

Shane didn't remember a lot after that. She drifted in and out. There was a knock on the door and she got up and peeked out, saw it was Harvey and let him in. When he came into the room she saw the look of revulsion on his face as he saw the trash, the beer bottles, the general destruction of the room, the stains on the filthy bed. It only took a glance to know what had happened, how bad it had been. Harvey was horrified at her face. Shane still hadn't put on her shirt, which she had clutched in front of her. Now she realized it and started to put it on, not hiding anything. Harvey's mouth fell open the second he realized she had small breasts. Then he saw the strap-on in her unzipped pants.

"You're ... "

"Uh, yeah. I am. I'm sorry. I lied. I misled you."

"Is that why they raped you?"

"Yes. They said they were going to teach me a lesson. Can we get out of here?"

"I guess I can't convince you to tell the police, to report this."

"No way in hell."

"That's what I thought. Your face is a mess, too. Looks like they beat the shit out of you. I think you need to go to the hospital."

"No! They'll report it, call the cops, get the rape squad there! I don't need all that shit, man." 

"Can you walk okay?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

Harvey's Mercedes was parked right out front. Shane got in the passenger side and slumped down in the seat with a groan.

"Want me to put the top up?" Harvey asked.

"I don't care," Shane said.

Harvey lived up in the hills in Topanga Canyon, and on the way Shane blacked out, slumping over into Harvey's shoulder. Harvey sensed she was unconscious, not just asleep, and decided that no matter what Shane wanted, he was going to get her seen by a doctor. He knew a good walk-in clinic with a doctor whom he knew personally; she often came to concerts at the Hollywood Bowl, and was a patron, which entitled her to attend private events such as cocktail parties and similar events. Harvey took Shane there. He got lucky and arrived just after 7 p. m., and caught the doctor in the parking lot just as she was about to leave.

"Harvey!" she said as he drove up, stopping behind her car and keeping her from backing out.

"Barbara, I'm sorry, but I've got an emergency. Can you look at this kid for me?"

Barbara Cranshaw came to the passenger door of the car and bent over, looking at Shane and lifting her eyelid. 

"Harvey, someone has beat the hell out of her."

"I know. And she was raped, or sodomized, too, probably a lot. She said she'd been kidnapped." 

"She needs to go to the emergency room," Barbara said. "This is serious. I think she's concussed. She needs a full examination, a rape kit, swabs, the police, the whole thing. Harvey, you already know all this." 

"Yes, but I don't think she'll go. She'll run away the first chance she gets."

Barbara looked at him. "Harvey, I know it's a rotten question, but please tell me you had nothing to do with this."

"No, of course not!" Harvey bristled. "But ... I know her. You can say she's a friend of mine, if you want. Can you help us, please?"

To her credit Barbara didn't take long to decide. "Can you carry her in?"




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 03



"I can if you help."

He came around and together they got Shane out of the car and standing, Shane waking somewhat, and they took her inside. They gentled her onto an examination table, and Barbara called in a nurse who still hadn't left for the day.

"Harvey, you better wait outside," Barbara said, as she and the nurse began to undress Shane. "We're going to be a while."

More than two hours later, Barbara Cranshaw came out to the waiting area, and found Harvey dozing in front of the TV. She sat down next to him as he woke up and sat up.

"How is she?"

Barbara shrugged. "Compared to what? I'd like to see her hospitalized somewhere overnight for observation, but like you said, she said she'd just run away if we tried that. Said she didn't want any chance of police finding out and getting involved."

Harvey nodded. "That's what she told me, too. So that's why I came here."

"Like I suspected, she has a mild concussion. Somebody slugged her pretty good. The whole left side of her face is going to be black and blue by tomorrow morning. Her left eye is almost swollen shut, although it isn't injured itself. She'd been slapped around. And of course she's been repeatedly sodomized, orally and anally. There was no vaginal penetration whatsoever. Which is kind of weird for a gangbang. She told me she'd been kidnapped by two men, and chained to a bed in a motel somewhere, and they had her a couple of times each. Then they called a friend, and he had a turn with her. Oral, anal, and sometimes both at the same time. I started taking swab samples for the rape kit, but I realized the futility of it. There was plenty of semen, in her and on her, but it was all cross-contaminated, and there's no way any lab could find a way to sequence it out to identify any one rapist, so what's the point? None of it can be used in court. 

"Her rectum was torn, and she needed some stitches. There's going to be a big risk of infection, and we're going to have to be careful for a few days. If you won't get her hospitalized, them I'm going to have to see her back here at least once a day for two or three days. I asked her where she lives, and she said she didn't know. Meaning, I guess, she lives on the street somewhere, or in some crack house, or wherever these kids go. I guess the good news is she isn't injecting anything. She doesn't have any tracks marks, and no scars of any."

"She can stay at my house," Harvey said. "I'll bring her back for the check-ups."

"Harvey," Barbara said. "You're gay. And wealthy. And you play the violin in the philharmonic. What the hell are you doing with a down-and-dirty street hooker? She's not even the right gender for you."

Harvey sighed. "It's a long story, Barbara, and not especially relevant. Let's just say she's a friend of mine, that's all. She needed my help, so I decided to give it to her."

"My god," Barbara said in mock astonishment. "A Good Samaritan! In fucking Los Angeles, California, of all places. Harvey, is this some sort of reclamation project? Does this have anything to do with Jack?"

Harvey shrugged. "Jack's dead," he said.

"That wasn't my question."

"Look, I picked her up a couple of times, just quick and casual, only I thought she was a guy. She pretended to be a guy, called herself Tommi, with an 'i' at the end of it."

"For Christ's sake, Harvey, she was wearing a strap-on."

"Yeah, but I didn't know that. He never got undressed, I never got undressed, I never even touched him. Her. It was just quick stuff, five, ten minutes, with condoms and rubber gloves, like you doctors wear."

"Latex. The gloves are latex."

"Whatever. And then sometimes we'd go get a latte, or I'd buy him, her, lunch, if she looked like she hadn't eaten in a few days, which she never had."

"Harvey, you picked up a cross-dressing street faggot and then took her to lunch at Starbucks? God. Men. You guys are so ... ." Barbara just shook her head. "Harvey, what about AIDS, what about diseases? You know how many STDs these kids carry?"

"I told you, she used condoms and gloves. There was never any skin-to-skin contact, no body fluids."

Barbara turned to him, put her hand on his shoulder. "Will you do me a favor? Will you get tested? Even if you don't think you need it? Harvey, this is Russian Roulette you're playing."

Harvey nodded. "I miss Jack," he said.

"I know, baby. I miss him, too. How long's it been? Two years?"

"Twenty-seven months."

"That's a sufficiently long time to grieve, Harvey. And I bet you haven't started dating again, have you? You should. There's a lot of men out there. You need somebody. This ... thing, this picking up street hustlers, it isn't sex, it isn't dating, it isn't love, and it isn't even companionship."

"Everybody needs a hobby," Harvey said.

"Very funny. Okay, I won't lecture you anymore. You already know everything I'm telling you. We've been friends a long time, and I just want to see you be happy, that's all."

"I know. I thank you for that."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"When's the next concert?"

"Two weeks."

"What are you playing?"

"Mussorgsky, Night on Bald Mountain. And Copland, Quiet City."

"I love those pieces."

"Me, too. Especially Copland. I'll get you tickets. You want four, like last time?"

"Could you get five? My sister's coming in from Ohio."

"Sure, no problem."

***

It was long after midnight when Dr. Cranshaw let Harvey take Shane home, because Barbara was worried about the concussion. Harvey got her into his car and drove home. Barbara had wrapped Shane's head in a bandage mainly to cover up her swollen eye. She was woozy and sleepy, and Harvey half-walked, half-carried her into the house, a modern single-story rancher behind a fence on the side of the hill with a terrific view over the city – on a clear day. Barbara and the nurse had cleaned up Shane somewhat, but she was still smelly and still had some remnants of her ordeal on her. Barbara told Harvey Shane could bath in the morning as long as she kept dry the bandage on her head and the one around her abraded wrist. Harvey decided not to wait, however, and took Shane into the big master bathroom. He ran the bath water and carefully undressed Shane, who was virtually motionless and uncaring. Shane was skinny, pale, boney, malnourished: Harvey couldn't help thinking she looked like a concentration camp survivor, which broke his Jewish heart. He helped her get into the tub, made sure she kept her bandaged wrist out of the water, and gently washed her. He opened the drain and as the water ran out he used the shower wand to carefully rinse her off as she stood holding on to the safety bar. Her nakedness bothered neither of them. From a sexual point of view, neither one would be remotely interested even under better circumstances. Harvey debated whether to put her into the guest bedroom, but decided instead that he'd better remain close by, just in case. He led her naked into the master bedroom and sat her on the edge of his big king-size bed. 

"Don't move," he said. He went into a big walk-in closet and came back out with a big T-shirt that said "SoCal Pops Philharmonic" on it. The T-shirt had belonged to Jack, who had been a tall man. Harvey gently slipped it over Shane's head and got her arms into the sleeves. When she stood, the T-shirt came to mid-thigh. Even so, he got a clean pair of his own boxers and put them on her, even though they were way too big. He got a safety pin and pinned the waist so they didn't slide off her skinny hips. Then he put her to bed, nice and fresh and clean, between crisp clean sheets. No one should have to go to bed covered in the filth she'd been covered with; it wasn't right. 

***

Harvey had a big pool with an infinity edge and a separate ground-level hot tub on the flagstone patio by his house; the infinity edge of the pool overlooked the city and disappeared into the mountain range behind the city. Harvey sat at a big table under the patio overhang, in the shade, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper when Shane appeared at the sliding glass doorway at quarter to ten the next morning. She was wearing a big terrycloth robe he'd left for her on the foot of the bed. Her face looked awful, the left side full of red and blue and black colors never meant to be there. She was swollen, too.

Harvey jumped up and guided her to a chair. "Don't go away," he said, hustling back into the house. He came back out with a coffee pot and a mug, and poured her a cup. "Cream and sugar. I remember."

"I can fix it," Shane croaked.

"Shut up," Harvey said. "Real sugar or artificial?"

"Sweet and Low, Splenda, whatever."

"See? That's how you answer a question," he said, fixing her coffee. "With an answer. Be right back."

Harvey returned in a few minutes with a tray, and on the tray was a plate full of food and a glass of orange juice.

"What's this? Shane asked.

"You don't know what that is? Really?" Harvey hung his head as if disgusted. "Shiksas," he said. "They don't have lox and bagels in Texas? That is a bagel. And not just an ordinary bagel. A top-of-the-line bagel, toasted, the only way. And soft, so you can chew. That's lox. You know what is lox? It's salmon. Fish. To die for. Novi lox, the best, from Fleishman's Deli. That's a slice of Vidalia onion. That's a slice of tomato. You Christian girls have heard of tomatoes, yes? And this is cream cheese. Philadelphia brand, the Neufchatel, what else? And these are capers."

"Of course, I should have guessed, you don't know from capers either. Never mind, just trust me. And I'm guessing you have no idea what to do with this extravaganza of deliciousness I have put in front of you. Well, watch, faygelah, and learn from the master." He picked up a table knife and loaded it with cream cheese. "First, the cream cheese. This is what's called a 'shmear.' A shmear is the life force of the universe. You know when Yoda is talking about 'May the force be with you'? Well, he's talking about a shmear of cream cheese. A shmear is what holds things together. It makes gravity work. Without a shmear a bagel might as well be...an inner tube. It is nothing. So: you need a shmear. Now, on top of the shmear go the capers. These go next because they tend to roll around like ball bearings and fall off if you put them somewhere else, so they need to go here. The shmear cements them in place. Think of it like God's Dent-u-Cream. Now the lox. I am told there are people on this earth who eat a bagel without a shmear and without the lox. For these people I have pity. You understand me? Pity. Next, the slice of onion. Not so long ago, when I was young, this was a slice of Bermuda onion, but Bermuda doesn't export onions anymore. So now we use either a slice of Vidalia or a slice of red onion, depending on your preference for sweet or tangy. Then the slice of tomato. Finally, the top of the bagel. There. Magnificent. Go ahead, pick it up, take a bite, don't hit your head when you fall over in ecstasy."

Harvey watched while Shane reluctantly picked up the now four-pound sandwich thing, eyed it, and then took a modest bite out of it. Then, before swallowing the first, a second bite. She chewed and looked at Harvey, who was beaming. Shane nodded her head in approval. Harvey held out his hands as if to say "See?" 

"Bliss," he said. "Jewish bliss. This is why Christians hate us. We have lox and bagels, and they don't. God made Jews so there would be someone to suffer in the world, and then He decided it wasn't such a good idea after all, and gave us lox and bagels to try to make amends. So it all comes out in the wash."

Shane discovered she was ravenous. Stretching her jaw to take a big bite hurt her face like hell, but it was worth it. Harvey went back to reading the newspaper. About halfway through the sandwich Shane said, "This is really good." Harvey grunted, but Shane could tell he was secretly pleased. 

When she was finished Harvey asked if she wanted more and she said no.

"Okay. I have to take you back to the doctor for a follow-up in an hour. Why don't you go over by the pool and lay down on a chaise lounge and try to get some sun? A little color would do you good."

Shane did as he suggested and walked over to the far side of the pool, laid down, curled up in the fetal position, and let the sun bake her. When she got up to get dressed forty-five minutes later, she found her jeans had been washed and neatly folded on the bed in the guest room. There was a clean, starched man's white dress shirt, too big, of course, but Shane always wore them that way. She picked up the jeans and slowly brought them to her nose. She sniffed. Fabric softener. He'd used fabric softener in the dryer. The jeans smelled wonderful.

***

When they got back from the clinic Harvey told Shane he had rehearsal he had to go to and that he'd be back around six. "Make yourself at home. Watch TV. There's movie DVDs, music, whatever. I'm sure you can figure out how the electronics work, you're still a teenager. There's books and magazines. Sleep, take a nap. Swim in the pool, just don't drown. Also the hot tub. Same thing: no drowning. Nobody will be here, so you can use your birthday suit, or not. I'll pick up some dinner on the way home. You like Chinese? I'll get something mild, the doc says to be careful about anything spicy until your tuchis is healed up. In the meantime, you need something, food, aspirin, look around, help yourself. No overdosing. I have two house rules: no overdosing and no drowning."

Shane nodded. Dr. Cranshaw had given her some oxy; it had gotten her through the night and the morning.

"Look, you be okay?"

Shane nodded.

"You're sure? I don't want anything bad to happen. Here's my cell phone, call if you need something. I may not answer right away, so leave a message." He wrote her a note with his cell number on it and left it on the kitchen counter.

It was after 7:30 when he returned, and it was apparent the delay was because he'd been shopping. He had to make two trips to bring in everything. Shane was lying on the big couch in the living room watching TV, and sat up when he came in. He put down a large paper bag of Chinese food on the coffee table in front of her and said, "Here, put this out on the kitchen table, get us some plates and stuff, while I put the rest of this away."

When Harvey came back they sat down to eat. Harvey watched her.

"Look, I know it hurts to eat, but you've got to keep your health up. Does it hurt very much?"

"It kind of throbs," Shane said. "I found some Tylenol. It helps, a little."

"Still got the headache?"

"A little."

They ate.

"I haven't said 'Thank you,' but thank you."

"You're welcome," he said.

"I'm not real good at saying things," Shane said.

"I've noticed."

"After dinner, if you could take me down to Santa Monica, I'll get out of your hair."

"What's in Santa Monica?"

"Uh, nothing. If you can drop me off ... ."

"You been living on the street? In a shelter? You got someplace to go?"

Shane didn't say anything. 

"Yeah, I didn't think so. So here's what I've been thinking. Number one, your face is a mess, and nobody but nobody is gonna pick you up for a handjob or a blowjob, so your career as a street fag is temporarily on hiatus. You got nowhere to go, and nobody to take you in, am I right?"

Shane said nothing. She didn't know what a hiatus was, but it didn't matter.

"Tommi?"

"Yes. That's right."

"So. You can stay here. The truth is, this is a big house and I'm the only one in it, and it gets lonely. I like having somebody around to talk to, even somebody who's as quiet as you are. I'll trade you room and board, and in a couple of days, when you feel better, you can start doing some chores and stuff. Do the shopping. Go to the dry cleaners for me. I'll teach you how to clean the pool, you can become my pool boy. Pool girl. Whatever. Clean house, vacuum. You know how to do that kind of simple stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then."

They ate.

"What about ... ."

"What about what?"

Shane made the up-and-down fist gesture for jerking off.

"Oh," Harvey said. "No. You don't have to worry. That's not part of the deal, Tommi. No offense, but you're a girl. When I thought you were a guy ... let me just say -- and I mean this in the kindest possible way -- a handjob from you has kind of lost its appeal. No offense meant. We cool with that?"

"Sure," Shane said.

"Good."

They ate.

"My name's not Tommi," Shane said. "It's Shane. Shane McCutcheon."

Harvey looked at her a minute, swallowing the food he was chewing. Then he put out his hand.

"Harvey Platt," he said. "Nice to meet you, Shane."

Shane shook his hand.

They ate.

"Why are you doing this?" Shane asked.

Harvey didn't respond right away. When he did, he said, "Because I can. You ever hear of a poet named Charles Bukowski?"

Shane shook her head no.

"Bukowski once wrote, 'You begin saving the world by saving one person at a time; all else is grandiose romanticism or politics.' You know what the Talmud is? It's a commentary on the Torah, the first five books of the Bible. One of the sections is called the Sanhedrin. In the Sanhedrin it says, 'Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.'"

They ate.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Shane said.

"Sure."

"How come you live alone? What I mean is, I saw some photographs in picture frames, in the bedroom and around the house. You and another man. And you seem to have clothes and stuff for two people, like there's someone else living here."

"That's Jack," Harvey said.

"What happened?" Shane said, knowing somehow that she was on dangerous emotional ground.

Harvey sat back and looked out the window for a while. 

"Jack was my partner. My life. We'd been together eleven years. Some good, some bad, like all relationships. But mostly good. I thought so, anyway, but I think maybe I wasn't paying attention. I was pretty self-absorbed in my career. And the orchestra was on the road a lot, playing in other cities. I've been in an orchestra my entire working life, and being on the road and traveling and performing, that's what I do, what we all do, in the orchestra. And so I wasn't always home a lot, you know? And Jack was an assistant principal of a private school, so his career tied him here, he could never go on the road or meet me in Chicago, or whatever. And he was kind of a moody guy, and he'd been depressed about life, and our relationship, and his career, and midlife crisis, and the whole package. So a little more than two years ago, I was on tour with the orchestra, we were playing the upper Midwest, Chicago, Minneapolis, Madison, Milwaukee. And while I was away there was some sort of incident at the school. I never found out what exactly it was, because nobody would talk about it much. But it was sexual, of course. Somebody had made some sort of accusation. Somebody touched somebody, or said somebody touched them. I have no idea, really. Nobody seems to know if there was any truth in it. But one night, it seems that Jack drove down to the beach, took off his clothes and piled them neatly on the beach, and went into the water, and swam out to sea. They found his body a couple days later, a few miles down the beach. I got a phone call in Chicago, and flew home. The police told me he'd left me a note. All it said was, 'I love you. I'm sorry.' That's it, nothing else. So half the people we knew thought he'd done it because he was guilty of something, and the other half think he did it because he was innocent, but knew it'd be his word against the boy, and the whole gay thing, and a big scandal, and I'd get my name dragged into it, and all of that, the big media circus. Even if he'd been as innocent as a lamb he knew his career and his life were over, trashed. So in the end he knew it didn't matter if he was innocent or guilty. So that was Jack, the other guy in the photographs."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 04



Chapter 4  Walk Like a Man 



"Hey, Shane, come on in and sit down," Carol Beringer said, looking up from a thick file on her desk. She moved the half-lens reading glasses that had been perched low on her nose to the top of her gray head. "Guess what's come back?" 

"My test scores," Shane said, closing the door and moving to slouch in the chair in front of Carol's desk. As always, Shane was the last patient of the day. 

Carol got up and went to a small refrigerator built into her credenza. "Want some water or juice or a soda?" 

"Water'd be good," Shane said. Carol got two bottles and gave one to Shane. 

"Thanks," Shane said. "So, exactly how psycho am I?" 

"Well, if that's the question, then I've got some bad news. You're not very psycho at all. Hardly any. In fact, all things considered, except for the perfectly understandable PTSD from the rape, and your childhood abandonment and commitment issues, which I don't want to minimize, you're otherwise in pretty good shape. And my theory about you seems to be correct. I think I know what you think is wrong with you, and I think I have an explanation for it." 

Shane grunted and took a drink from her bottle of water. 

"Shane, let me ask you this. How smart do you think you are?" 

"Not very." 

"In fact, I'll bet you think you aren't smart at all. Part of it, of course, is your school record, that you dropped out so early, in tenth grade, that your attendance was horrible even before that, and your grades weren't very good most of the time, going all the way back. Behavior problems. Teachers gave up on you, you had no support from your home life, because you had essentially no reasonable home life to begin with. You moved around quite a bit, foster home to foster home, so no continuity. You were always the new kid, plus you were always the poor kid, the raggedy kid, the sullen, quiet, uncommunicative kid everywhere you went. And then at some point, you also became the gay kid, the lesbian. Even if other people weren't aware of your orientation, you were. The outsider, the strange one, the one that's a little different. Right?" 

It was a rhetorical question and Shane didn't bother responding. Carol didn't bother to wait for an answer they both already knew. 

"As far as the education thing goes, that is simply what the old Westerns called 'book-learning,' which I'm sure you understand is not to be confused with 'smart.' So, yes, you are weak in education, all the accumulated stuff, a lot of it crap, that the average high school throws at you. Plus there's that noise in your head. Somebody asks you a question, you're slow to respond. You aren't very verbal, and it takes you a long time to process things, so you are slow to answer. You only just turned twenty years old, and for the past three-quarters of your life every message, every experience has taught you one single lesson about yourself: that you're stupid. You're slow. Maybe more politely, you just aren't all that bright. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Not the brightest light bulb in the chandelier." 

Shane felt awful, and just looked down at her hands. 

"Shane, look at me," Carol said. Shane looked up slowly. 

"Shane, all that I just said, you know what? None of it is true. It's bullshit, Shane. All of it, every single bit. Because you know what all these tests show? They show you're actually a pretty bright kid. Exceptionally bright, even. Know what your I.Q. is? The test says it's about 131. You know what my I.Q. is? I'm about 128. Shane, you're three points smarter than me, okay? Now, neither one of us is a genius and neither one of us is likely to get invited to join MENSA, but we're both pretty intelligent people. But all your life you've been taught to think you're a dummy, Shane, but you really aren't. And quite frankly, I have no idea how the hell I'm going to convince you otherwise, and get your head turned around and your self-esteem where it ought to be, but right now that's number one on my things-to-do list with you. You're not below average in any way, shape or form; in fact, you're above average in just about everything." 

Carol looked up. "You look a little bit stunned, Shane. But I suppose that's normal. Just hang in with me, kid; there's more." 

"You might remember that one of the tests you took was something called the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. Basically, it tries to measure what kind of personality you have, and puts it into one of sixteen general categories. It's based on the work of one of the early pioneers in the field of psychology, a man named Carl Jung, who worked the same time Freud did, and they knew each other. You've heard of Freud, right? Jung wrote a book on personality types in 1920, and that was pretty much the foundation of this branch of psychology. Jung said there are two kinds of psychological functions, perceiving functions, and judging functions. The two perceiving functions, the information-gathering functions, are sensing, which doesn't mean that you sense something is wrong, or you sense what mood someone is in. It just refers to actual sensory processes, like seeing, smelling, touch, taste, hearing, that kind of thing, the five senses, the data, the facts. The other one is intuition, those flashes of insight, the hunches that people get, usually without knowing where they come from. Your intuition function, as it happens, is incredibly high." 

"Now, the two judging functions are thinking and feeling. Thinking tends to be based on data, on observable facts, on information, tangible, concrete things, logic, reasoning. Feeling, on the other hand, has to do with emotions, with empathy for other people, thinking about how others must feel, sometimes about harmony and balance, and what other people might be needing. No surprise, at least, not to me, is you're really good at this, too. So I'm going to boil all this down real quickly. You have what the Myers-Briggs test calls an INFP personality type, which only about four percent of the population have." 

Carol scanned the report in front of her, her glasses perched low on her nose. "See if any of this describes anybody you know. Uh, let's see. Tends to avoid the limelight. Postpones decision-making. Uh, this could be interpreted as you can't make up your mind, or you can't think, but see, that would be the wrong conclusion. What it means it you just don't want to decide yet because you're still taking in information and perceptions, see? But other people might not know that, they just can't figure out why you don't have an opinion yet. When you go into a restaurant, I bet you're always the last one to decide what you want to eat, right?" 

Shane grinned and nodded. 

"Other people, they open the menu, scan a few items, make up their minds. Half of them probably knew what they were gonna have when they walked in the door. You, you want to read the entire menu first. Then you want to look around, see what other people are eating, see what looks good. You want to know what the waiter or waitress recommends. What's the special of the day? You have to think about what you might want and compare that to what the menu choices are. There's just sooooo much data to process, so many decisions to weigh carefully. So it takes you ten minutes to decide you want the cheeseburger platter, and everyone thinks you're so slow you should ride the special bus to school, right? But that's just wrong. You're not slow, you're just an exceptionally more thorough analyzer and processor than almost everybody else, that's all. Got it? Okay, what else do we have here. 

"Tendency toward a reserved posture. This doesn't mean you sit up straight, 'cause God knows you don't, but that's an age thing. It means you don't easily commit yourself to expressing a feeling. You still have the feeling, you just don't broadcast it to the whole world. You hold back. Uh, let's see...they are rarely found in executive decision-making jobs. That means you won't ever likely be in charge of General Motors, but that's okay, because these INFP types are also really good behind-the-scenes kind of people. Support people. Um. It says they often champion things like civil rights causes and the environment and that kind of thing." 

"Gay rights," Shane said. 

"Yes, exactly. That would be a good example. Um. Here. 'When they are not placed under stress, INFP types generally have a pleasant personality and demeanor, and are warm and sympathetic.' That's you, huh? And then it says when this person is under stress, he or she can become somewhat rigid and directive, and may think erratically. Kinda means you have a tendency to make bad decisions once in a while, when you're in a stressful situation. Here's another point ... I'm skimming here ... INFPs have a rich internal set of values and champion many civil rights issues." 

"I'll just read this. INFPs 'live primarily in a rich inner world of introverted feelings. Being inward-turning, their natural attraction is away from the world and toward essence and ideal. This introversion of dominant feeling, receiving its data from extroverted intuition, must be the source of the quixotic nature of these usually gentle beings. Feeling is caught in the approach-avoidance bind between concern both for people and animals, and a psycho-magnetic repulsion from the same.' Okay, that's a mouthful. Need me to explain any of it?" 

"I don't know what kwee-otic means." 

"It comes from the character of Don Quixote. Did you ever hear of the musical Man of La Mancha? Well, that was his name, Quixote. The word quixotic means rash and romantic, rushing off to fight windmills, kind of bold, chivalrous actions, where the hero does something big and brave to save the heroine but sacrificing and destroying himself in the process. The big, grand gesture, saving somebody by jumping in front of the train and pushing them out of the way, but dying nobly in their place." 

Carol could see Shane wasn't getting it. "Okay, never mind. It's not a big deal." She turned to another page of her notes and read for a moment. "Here's what the INFP initials mean. I is for introversion, which means you tend to be quiet and reserved. INFPs tend to prefer a circle of a few close friends, rather than a big, wide circle of casual, shallow acquaintances. You might only have a small circle of six or eight friends, but you will most likely be friends with them your entire life, and you will be very close to them, and them to you. Okay. The N stands for intuition, they had to use the N because the I was already take for introversion. You tend to prefer your hunches and your flashes of insight, the vibes you pick up, rather than any particular sensory thing. I'll bet your 'gaydar' is absolutely off the charts." She looked up to see Shane smiling to herself. "F is for feeling, in preference to thinking. In other words you give more weight to personal things rather than logic. You know your friend Clive? You like Clive because he's your friend, you don't care that he's a street hustler, or gay, or a drug user or whatever else somebody else might think of him. And because he's your friend you'll stand by him, right or wrong, come what may. Because that's just who you are, Shane, and frankly, it's a damn nice thing to be. Everyone in the world could use a Shane in their corner. Understand?" 

Shane nodded. 

"Personally, I think that's one of your best qualities, by the way," Carol said. "If somebody does something bad and starts losing their friends, you're going to be the very last one to let them go. Back to this stuff. P, that's perception, rather than judgment. INFPs aren't very judgmental, that's what I was just saying about Clive, you don't judge him, you just accept him the way he is. What else does it say...intensely loyal, and has deeply held ethics and values. Curious about the world around them, accepting and flexible except when their values are threatened. Well, that sure sounds like you, doesn't it? Ah, de da de da...can be difficult people to get to know. They take delight in unusual and odd things...they like conversation and talking, in your case, listening to others talking is probably the same thing. Do you enjoy just hanging out and listening to other people?" 

Shane nodded. 

" ... when in a sociable mood they can be charming and humorous, even playful; they are usually very pleasant to be around. Ah ... blah blah, oh, here ... they watch out for the emotional well-being of others, are good at consoling people in distress. Um ... they like harmony ... they can often sway the opinion of others by being tactful, and diplomatic, and because they can see both sides of an issue...well, this is you: INFPs often require large amounts of personal time alone to think and process thoughts and feelings. Not especially organized, but very meticulous about those things they value...ah, and a list of your fellow INFPs: Donna Reed, Mister Rogers, Neil Diamond, Princess Diana, and William Shakespeare." 

"That's me all right," Shane grinned. "William Fucking Shakespeare." 

Carol laughed. "Hey, you could do much, much worse. Just watch out for the Dark Lady." 

"Who?" 

"Oh. The Dark Lady, that was supposed to be Shakespeare's great love. People aren't sure who she was. He wrote a lot of the love sonnets to her. 'My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; 

Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; 

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.'" 

"Black wires? And what does it mean, her breasts are done?" 

"Dun, d-u-n, it means tan or a light brown. Maybe olive-skinned. Maybe she had a Mediterranean complexion." 

"Did he marry her?" 

"No. He already had a wife. It was all pretty complicated." 

"I guess so," Shane said. "But okay, you told me all the things that are right about me. So tell me what is wrong." 

"I've got a colleague up in San Francisco, Elaine Aron, who recently published a couple of papers and a book on what she calls the 'highly sensitive person,' the HSP. She says that maybe twenty percent of the population may fall into this category, so it's pretty common. There's other names for it, like 'hyperacuity,' 'hypervigilance'" -- she looked down at her paper -- "one called 'chronic cortical/cortisol arousal,' and somebody else calls it 'innate shyness.' Basically, the theory is these people appear to be shy, inhibited and somewhat introverted because they are in fact being bombarded by all sorts of input. In a nutshell, they sense and feel too much, a lot more than the rest of us do." Carol looked at her papers. "Let me read this: 'HSPs can be great employees—good with details, thoughtful and loyal, but they do tend to work best when conditions are quiet and calm. Because HSPs perform less well when being watched, they may be overlooked for a promotion.' When you're doing somebody's hair in your hairdressing class, does it bother you when one of the instructors is watching?" 

"A little." 

"You'd rather they go away, let you do your thing with the styling, and then they can come back and see it when you're done." 

Shane smiled. "Yeah." 

"What else does it say... 'HSPs are naturally cautious and reflective before committing. They also have good reason to fear being rejected for being "too sensitive" or overwhelmed by another's needs. Sensation seekers also fear commitment, for quite different reasons--the loss of variety, the fear of boredom.'" 

"Here, let me read you this: 'You are more aware than others of subtleties. This is mainly because your brain processes information and reflects on it more deeply. So even if you wear glasses, for example, you see more than others by noticing more. 

"'You are also more easily overwhelmed. If you notice everything, you are naturally going to be overstimulated when things are too intense, complex, chaotic, or novel for a long time. This trait is not a new discovery, but it has been misunderstood. Because HSPs prefer to look before entering new situations, they are often called "shy." But shyness is learned, not innate. In fact, thirty percent of HSPs are extroverts, although the trait is often mislabeled as introversion. It has also been called uninhibitedness, fearfulness, or neuroticism. Some HSPs behave in these ways, but it is not innate to do so and not the basic trait. 

"'Sensitivity is valued differently in different cultures. In cultures where it is not valued, HSPs tend to have low self-esteem. They are told "don't be so sensitive" so that they feel abnormal. ...Emotionally drained or exhausted when a friend becomes troubled ....Inability to express to my satisfaction to another person how I'm feeling. ...Wondering how other people could quote take everything in stride, unquote. ...Introspective.... Deeply reflective. ...Feelings that something is about to happen though no indicators. ... Feeling another person's energy....Very sensitive to electricity, energy, vibrations....Acute hearing.... Absorbing others moods, feelings, energy. ...Trouble with relating myself to others....Intensely troubled and sensitive to others suffering....Used alcohol or other inappropriate means to deaden the feelings....Spiritually wrestling almost since a small child....Feeling very different and wondering always what was the secret I was missing....HSP's have difficulty making a relationship to their healthy creative selves; they have often learned to pathologize their gifts of intuition and introspection, depth and empathy. Separated from self, it should be no surprise that they also often become alienated from their partners, but when they are in sync with themselves, they can be warm, compassionate, spontaneous and profoundly present in love relationships.'" 

Carol looked at Shane. "Did you catch that part about alcohol and, what did she call it? Other inappropriate means, that means drugs, usually, although it could also mean rampant promiscuity, among other things, being used to deaden feelings? That sound familiar in any way? We talked only a little bit about your abusing alcohol and drugs, and only a little about your sex life before the rape. But I suspect we'll get around to it, sooner or later. You know?" 

Shane just nodded and looked glum. 

"Honey, I'm not here to beat you up, okay? I'm here to help. I'm on your side. I know it isn't easy, but trust me, we'll get through this. You okay? You need a break?" 

Shane shook her head no. 

Carol nodded. "Back to HSPs, then. At any given time, the average person is receiving and processing the usual kinds of stuff, right? Sights and sounds, people talking, things going on around them, their own ideas, their own feelings, good or bad, whatever. HSPs take in all this stuff, they just get a lot more of it. In your case, you are incredibly intuitive and empathetic. So in addition to picking up on what a person is saying and doing, you also pick up a lot of vibes. You sense their emotions and feelings. You can almost tell what they are thinking. You are constantly analyzing all this incoming data, this huge stream of facts and ideas and feelings, and it is simply just a ton of work your brain is doing. It's because your nervous system is more sensitive to all these inputs that you are swamped with information-processing. And because you are taking in so much more information, it accounts for your intuition and your creativity – you have so much more to work with than other people, all these bits and pieces and tidbits other people don't pick up on. Body language. Mood. Facial expressions that are so subtle most people can't see them. What you and other people simply call 'vibes.' You pick up the vibes." 

"Here's an example. There's a knock on the door and a young woman enters. I immediately say, 'Hi, Mary, how are you?' And you sit there and go, uh, uh, uh, uh, hey. And people think you're slow. But what's really happening is that while I simply see Mary and note a few things about her, your mind is vacuuming in vast amounts of data about Mary: what clothes she's wearing, what shade of blue is that sweater? Where'd she get those earrings? Is she straight or gay? Or is she unsure or transitioning? What mood is she in? Why are her eyebrows furrowed? Is she frowning or worried, or does she always look that way? She's standing like she's shy and nervous; is something wrong? She's got a lot of freckles on her cheeks; I wonder how she feels about them. What's her relationship to Carol, how does she relate to Carol and how does Carol relate to her? What does she think of me when she sees me? I wonder if she's in a relationship with anybody. I wonder what she looks like naked. I wonder what it would be like to have sex with her. I wonder what her perfume is; I think I can smell it but I'm not sure. White Shoulders, maybe. She has a round face; that hairstyle doesn't suit her, she needs to cut it differently and maybe try parting it. Why is she holding her hands in front of her and twisting them? Nice legs; looks likes she tans a lot. She doesn't use nail polish, and she bites her nails. She's upset about something, but doesn't want to talk about it; she wants somebody to draw it out of her." 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 04



"See, while I take in a few simple facts and observations about Mary when she walks in the door in the blink of an eye, you take in a hundred of them, complicated ones at that. You're doing so much more work, so much more processing than I am. And so I have plenty of time to say hello while you're still working on all that stuff, and you just say uh, uh, uh and then you manage to say 'Hey,' or something equally inarticulate, because you haven't finished processing everything. So you're programmed simply to say 'Hey,' just to stall for time until you get around to actually responding. You follow?" 

Shane nodded. 

"So that's what I think is happening to you, Shane. What you interpret as the noise in your head really isn't noise, per se, because you admit you don't actually hear anything. But what you think you're hearing is simply your brain whirring and thinking and processing and analyzing and recording and taking in data, and having feelings and vibes and hunches and insights. It's the humming sound of the Shane brain doing its marvelous, extraordinary thing that so few of the rest of us can do nearly as well. And the price you pay for this hyperacuity, this hyper awareness, is that you're always a beat behind everybody else. It's not because you think slower than other people, it's because you think so much more. And it just takes you longer to get to the same place, to get back into real time. Am I making this clear?" 

Shane nodded. "I guess." 

Carol looked at Shane, sat back in her chair, took her glasses off. "Yeah, I know. It's a lot to take in, a lot to understand. And even then what do you do with it? All your life experiences tell you one thing, and then psychology comes along and tells you all the bad things you think about yourself are wrong." 

Shane didn't say anything, and just looked at the wall. 

"What?" Carol asked. 

"But I'm still fucked up, though. The rape. My mother. My father. The way I've been living." 

"You want to know if you're ever going to get better. If you're ever going to be happy instead of miserable." 

"Yes." 

"You want to know if the pain will ever go away." 

"Yes." 

"I don't know, Shane. No one knows. You're at a major transitional period in your life, you're in the process of entering adulthood. You're growing up. You've suffered a major life trauma, and you're still recovering from it. With Harvey's help, you're off the streets and you're getting some career training, you're about to start living as an adult in the world with a job, a career. You're entering this new world dragging a helluva lot of baggage and history with you, and I'm here to help you carry some of that. You're always going to be carrying it, that's a given. But maybe we can lighten the load a little. It's going to take time, and you're going to have to work at it. Basically, Shane, you've got to want to get better. That part I can't do for you. And I can't tell you what the future holds. I can't tell you if you're going to find success, or love, or contentment or happiness. All I can do is tell you that you are a good person, a nice person. Someone I'd be proud to know, and someone I'd want on my side, on my team, in my corner. Yes, you've been hurt, yes, you're a little fucked up, as you like to put it, but so what, we are all of us a little fucked up. But you're lucky: you've been given a fresh start. It's up to you to make something out of it." 

Carol glanced at the clock on the wall. "Same time next week. 'Kay, sweetie?" 

"'Kay," Shane said. 

*** 

Late one afternoon three weeks before Shane was scheduled to graduate from her eight-month hairdresser course, she came home from school to find two police cruisers at the house, one parked at the curb and one in the driveway. There were two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, coming down the walk toward the driveway. They'd obviously been to the front door, and Shane knew no one was home because Harvey's car wasn't parked in front of the garage. She parked her pickup next to the cruiser and got out. 

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked as the officers approached. 

"Good afternoon, Miss," the woman officer said. "Do you live here?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you related to a Mr. Harvey M. Platt?" 

"No, not exactly related. Why? What's happened?" 

"Are there any relatives living here?" 

"No," Shane said. "There's just Harvey and me." 

"Are you his girlfriend?" 

"No, I'm kind of the live-in help. Harvey and I are just friends. I guess he's my landlord. Please tell me what's happened. Is Harvey okay?" 

"Miss, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this. Mr. Platt was killed this afternoon in a car crash on the 101. A tractor-trailer coming the other way locked up its brakes, lost it and jack-knifed across the road. Mr. Platt never had a chance." 

Shane felt her knees going. The officer caught her and gently helped Shane sit down on the driveway. Shane looked up at the officer as her eyes filled with tears. "Harvey?" 

"I'm very sorry, Miss," the officer said. Her partner walked a few steps away and unclipped his radio mike from his shoulder epaulet, and spoke into it. In a moment, the squad car at the curb pulled away. 

Shane cried. The woman officer squatted down next to her and Shane turned to her, weeping, as the officer comforted her. Sobs wracked her body. The officer let Shane cry for a few minutes, and when she started to slow down the officer said, "When you're ready, we'd like to go inside and ask you some questions about Mr. Platt, for our reports and paperwork. Would that be okay?" 

Shane nodded, sniffling. The officer gave Shane another minute, and when she seemed ready helped Shane to her feet. Shane led them into the house and into the kitchen. 

"Please, sit down," Shane said. "I'm going to make some coffee. Would you like some?" 

"That'd be fine, Miss ...?" 

"McCutcheon. Shane McCutcheon. Please, sit down." Shane looked at her hands, which were trembling. 

The two officers sat at the large table and admired the house and the view while Shane went into the cabinets and got out the coffee supplies and made coffee. She didn't want any; it was simply something to do. And it was hospitality. Harvey had taught Shane all about good manners and hospitality, and how to treat people who come into your home. Gay, drug-abusing street prostitutes weren't too good about that sort of thing. Harvey had once joked that he was Pygmalion and that Shane was his Galatea. He'd then had to explain who they were, and how Goethe had changed Galatea's name to Elise, and that George Bernard Shaw had written a play about them, calling Pygmalion Professor Higgins and making Elise into Eliza Doolittle. Then he had to explain the musical and the movie My Fair Lady, which Shane was dimly aware of. The next day Harvey went to Blockbuster and rented the movie, and they'd watched it that night. They took turns identifying which actors were gay and which weren't. Shane got a crush on Audrey Hepburn. 

Shane confirmed that Harvey drove a silver Mercedes 450SL; she didn't know the year. She told the officers they'd had breakfast that morning before Shane left for work. She told them her hairdresser school had sent the students out to intern in beauty shops and salons, and she was working at a salon called John James. Harvey had some errands to run, was going to have lunch with somebody Shane didn't know, and then was going to rehearsal at the Hollywood Bowl. She told them he played second violin; it was evident in her voice that she was very proud of that fact. She explained to them that it was a pretty important position in the orchestra. 

They asked about next of kin, relatives, whether Harvey had an agent or a lawyer. He did. Shane went to the kitchen counter near the telephone and opened a drawer. She took out a large address book Harvey kept there. She found the name of Harvey's lawyer, a man named Bernie McFadden, who had been to the house a couple of times, and his agent, a woman named Vicki Saperstein, whom Shane had also met. The policewoman asked if she could use the phone to call them; Shane said sure, go ahead. Neither were in, so the officer left messages to call her station. 

"Is there someone we should call for you?" the woman officer asked. "Will you be okay here?" 

"I'm all right," Shane said. "I'll be fine." The officer could see Shane was trying hard to keep it together. She had doubts about leaving Shane this way. 

"How about this," the officer said. "My partner and I will stay for a little bit and have that cup of coffee, and you can call whoever you need to call, okay?" 

Shane nodded, and got cups and saucers and spoons and put them on the table, along with a container of half-and-half and a bowl of sugar and a container that held packets of artificial sweetener. She poured the coffee for the two officers and then absentmindedly left the pot sitting on the table while she went to stare out the window at the valley. The officer quietly got up and put the coffee pot back on the stove and turned the heat off. 

Shane went to the phone and dialed Carol Beringer's office. The receptionist said she was in with a patient and couldn't be disturbed. Shane asked the receptionist to tell Carol that Harvey had been killed in a car crash, and would she please call. Ten minutes later, she did. "Shane, I'm coming right over. I'll be right there," was the first thing she said. 

"Okay. I'll be here," Shane said. 

After Shane hung up the officer asked about next-of-kin. 

"I don't know," Shane said. "I know he had a lot of relatives, but they're all in New York somewhere. He didn't get along with them." 

"Why not?" 

Shane shrugged. "He was gay. They are very religious. Also very rich." Shane gestured at the house itself. "All this ... he once said he had a trust fund. This house didn't come from his salary with the orchestra. It was family money. And I guess there might have been hard feelings over it. He almost never talked about them." 

"He was gay, you say?" 

Shane nodded. 

"And you and he ...?" 

"No," Shane said firmly. "Never. It wasn't like that. Anyway, I'm gay, too, so ... ." The "never" part was factually incorrect, but in Shane's mind her handful of trysts with Harvey more than eight months earlier were completely erased. She was unaware she had told a lie. In her mind, "never" meant "never since the day he'd rescued me." Some things were just true, even when they weren't. 

"I'm sorry, I was just asking, that's all," the officer said. 

"I understand." 

"Would you mind looking through the address book for relatives?" 

Shane turned first to the P page. There were names, but no one named Platt. 

"Nothing," Shane said. 

"May I see the page?" 

Shane turned the book toward the officer. 

"Here they are," the officer said, "bet you a dollar." 

Shane looked: There were half a dozen people named Platinsky, all in area codes Shane didn't recognize. Three of them also had street addresses in New York or New Jersey. 

"Do you mind if I call some of these people?" 

"Help yourself," Shane said. 

The officer dialed. "Good evening, this is Officer Lauren Hancock of the Los Angeles Police Department. I'm trying to reach anyone who may be a relative of a man named Harvey Platt. Would that be you? ... Could I have your name, please? ... I'm afraid I have very bad news about your brother, Mr. Platinsky." 

For the next half hour Shane sat and listened as Officer Hancock broke the bad news to a series of Harvey's relatives on the East Coast, taking notes and writing details down in a small notebook. Several times she told whoever she was speaking to that Harvey had a tenant who was here at the house and who would look out for the place. One of them asked to speak to Shane. 

"Hello?" Shane said, in a voice barely above a whisper. 

"Who is this, please? I mean, what is your name?" 

"Shane. Shane McCutcheon." 

"You live there, with Harvey, is that right, Shane?" 

"Yes." 

"So you and he ... " 

"Oh, no, sir, no. For one thing, I'm a girl. And Harvey--" 

"Yes, we know all about Harvey. So. You are just a tenant, then, is that right? You rent a room or something?" 

"Well, sort of. I'm kind of, like, a live-in assistant. I run some errands, clean up around the place. Sometimes I cook. When I'm not going to school." 

"You're a student?" 

"Yes." 

"How old are you?" 

"Twenty. I go to hairdresser school. I graduate in three weeks. I'm going to be a hairdresser soon." 

"I see. Well. Good. The world needs hairdressers. Especially out there, I suppose." 

"I guess." 

"Ah, I'm trying to think. This was such a shock. We have to start making funeral arrangements. And we have to have the body flown back here for the funeral." 

"Um ... Harvey didn't want that." 

"Didn't want what?" 

"He once told me he wanted to be cremated, here, and his ashes scattered out here into the Pacific." 

"He told you that? When?" 

"One day. We were talking, and he said that's what he wanted. There was somebody he wanted to be close to, he said." 

"Harvey's Jewish," the man said. "We're Jewish, his family. Jews don't get cremated. We get buried in cemeteries. But never mind, that's not your worry, dear. Harvey's dead. We'll fly him back here." 

"I'm just telling you what Harvey said," Shane insisted. 

"I understand. Thank you. You've done your duty. I appreciate it. Listen, you live there, right? Would you continue to stay there and take care of the place, until we make arrangements, and then you can find a new place, okay?" 

"Okay," Shane said. 

"Good. Can I talk to the officer, please?" 

Shane handed the phone back to Officer Hancock. She said a few words, and hung up. 

"Asshole," Shane muttered. 

"What did he say?" 

"They want to fly Harvey's body back east for the funeral. Harvey wanted to be cremated here, and he wanted his ashes scattered in the Pacific. And he called me 'dear.'" 

Office Hancock smiled. "Well, yes, I get that a lot, too. But don't let it worry you, Shane. Besides, you've got to remember, these people are in shock now, they're starting to grieve. They say a lot of things they don't mean." 

There was a knock on the kitchen door. Instead of going to the front door, Carol Beringer had come around the house to the patio door, and when Shane let her in she immediately took Shane in her arms and hugged her tight, rocking her. There were tears in Carol's eyes. 

"I'm so, so sorry, Shane," she said. "I know you loved him. I loved him, too. He and I have been friends for many years. He was such a good man." 

When they broke out of the embrace Shane introduced Carol to the police officers, who now that they had made contact with the next of kin were ready to leave. Officer Hancock left Shane her business card, just in case, and said she didn't know if the police would have to get in contact again, but someone would let them know about the body, which was being held for autopsy, which was routine and required in all cases of accidental death. Officer Hancock said there would almost certainly be a lot of phone calls and questions regarding insurance questions about the traffic accident. 

Five minutes after they left, Harvey's lawyer, Bernie McFadden, arrived. Ten minutes later Vicki Saperstein arrived. Then Dr. Cranshaw, who'd been to the house a handful of times for cocktail parties and such. Shane made more coffee and served as hostess as they sat around the kitchen table talking. McFadden took the lead. Within minutes McFadden, Saperstein and Dr. Cranshaw were all on phones in three different rooms, making calls, notifying people. Saperstein called some of Harvey's colleagues and superiors with the orchestra, breaking the news. Barbara called the coroner's office and tried to learn when the body would be released. McFadden called a funeral home he knew and began making arrangements. And then throughout the rest of the night the house phone began to ring as word spread around town. The fatal crash was the lead story on the 10 o'clock news, as it had been during the dinner hour, but now that next-of-kin had been notified Harvey's name and his occupation as a violinist with the SoCal Pops were released and were part of the story. One of the stations had even sent a gofer out to the house to obtain a photograph of Harvey, which Shane had given after extracting a promise it would be returned. 

It was almost midnight when things died down and they met around the kitchen table again, exhausted. After he'd arrived McFadden had asked Shane to call for some take-out, and handed her his credit card. They'd all picked at dinner throughout the night, no one especially hungry, but people need to keep up their strength. 

"Okay, let's talk about the funeral," Saperstein said. "Gotta be Forest Lawn, right?" 

"Shane says the family wants to fly the body back to New York, hold the funeral there," McFadden said. 

"What!" Saperstein said, angry. "Are they nuts? Christ, the entire classical music community in this town's gonna be there. There's gonna be five hundred people! Maybe a thousand, I don't know. A goddamn lot. They're not gonna go to New York. You gotta talk to the family, have them come out here. This is ridiculous!" 

McFadden agreed and said he'd call them in the morning, discuss it with whoever. 

"There's another problem," Shane said quietly. She hadn't spoken in a hour, had just let things roll over her. 

"What's that?" 

"Harvey wanted to be cremated. He wanted his ashes scattered into the Pacific. No burial at Forest Lawn." 

Carol and Barbara looked at each other. "Jack," they said in unison. 

McFadden frowned. "He wants to be with Jack," he said. Saperstein nodded. 

"Well, that pretty much settles that," Saperstein said. "Bernie, did Harvey have a will? Would that request have been in it?" 

"Yeah, he had one. Our firm handled it for him, but I don't remember the details. Harvey was in a few months ago, in fact, but one of my assistants handled it. Some codicils and stuff. I handled Jack's affairs, too, when he died. I don't remember the details of Harvey's will, but first thing in the morning I'll pull the file and have a look. That was a good call about the ashes, Shane, thanks for bringing it up." 

"Is it going to be a problem with the family?" Carol asked. 

"Oh, shit, sure it is. But don't worry, I can handle it. If it's a clear provision of the will there's not too much they can say. And as it happens, I'm the executor of the estate. So they have to deal with me, not the other way around. I'll take care of it." 

Carol turned to Shane. "Come on, baby, you look all wrung out. Let's get you to bed. Barbara and I will clean up the kitchen, and I think I'll stay the night in the guest bedroom and I'll be here all day tomorrow to help Shane. There will be a ton of things to do." 

Shane let Carol lead her down the hall to her bedroom. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

*** 

The next day, a Thursday, the phone was a demented child, never stopping its craving for attention. Many calls were from friends and well-wishers who knew Harvey but not well enough to know he lived alone, or that Shane was a tenant. There were calls from the media, which Carol handled as a friend of the family; she never identified herself as Harvey's former therapist and grief counselor, which she was. Shane, too, simply identified herself as a friend of the family. McFadden or his office called a couple of times to relay information that he'd contacted the family and that they were coming out today and tomorrow. His assistants gave Carol and Shane updates on family travel and accommodation plans. There was a question about whether any family could or would or should stay at Harvey's house. Carol and Shane talked it over with McFadden and decided the answer was no. It was still Harvey's estate and Shane was its live-in caretaker. If relatives were let free in the house there would be no telling what valuable items might disappear before being inventoried. McFadden was able to feed Carol enough legal mumbo-jumbo about the sanctity of California estate law so that the house would remain unoccupied except by duly appointed representatives of the executor, and that would be Shane and Carol. McFadden had a young associate lawyer in his law firm named Mattie Shepherd, plus a couple of interns, and would send them out in a day or two to begin a formal inventory for the estate. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 04



No less than four real estate agents called, offering their services. Shane referred them to McFadden's office. The pool maintenance company called, as did the guy who cut the grass and managed the landscaping. On instructions from McFadden, they were told to continue all their regular services, as usual, and they would be paid by the estate until such time as the house was sold or otherwise disposed of, and a new owner took over. Three caterers called; Carol took down their phone numbers. 

Saperstein had advised them that since the family was coming, they had to go to a fabric store and get a bolt of black cloth, and to cover all the mirrors in Harvey's house, now a house of mourning, with the cloth, in accordance with Jewish custom. Harvey's religious relatives would be upset if this wasn't done. 

In the afternoon Carol made them a pot of tea and made Shane come sit down and drink a cup. 

"I ... um ... uh ... thank you for being here," Shane began, "I never could have handled all this by myself." 

"Yes, you probably could have, if it had been necessary. One of the things we learn in life is that we can all do more than we think we can, in a crisis. But you're welcome. I'm not here just for you, though; I'm here for Harvey, too. He was a dear, dear friend, and I would have been here for him even if you weren't." 

"You were his shrink when Jack died?" 

"Yes." 

"Can you tell me what happened?" 

"We're not supposed to talk about our patients, especially to other patients. But under the circumstances, I can tell you a few things. What did you want to know?" 

"I guess just what happened. With Harvey, I mean. I know about Jack." 

"Did Harvey tell you about how Jack died?" 

"Yes." 

Carol sipped her tea and thought for a while. 

"Well, to put it in layman's terms, Harvey was a mess. He had a great deal of guilt. We Jews are really good at guilt anyway, and Harvey was going for the gold medal. He felt he'd been neglecting Jack, which he had. He felt he spent a lot of time on his career, always traveling, and not enough on his relationship. Which was also true. They'd been together ten, twelve years, something like that, and after a while many relationships, straight or gay, start to get stale. Communication stops. You take each other for granted. Sometimes love dies, or it goes into hibernation. New people come along, there are distractions." 

"So that was one thing. Another was the question of exactly what Jack had done, or not done, and Harvey's reaction to it. We'll probably never know what really happened at Jack's school, whether Jack really did anything to that student or not. The only two people who really know are Jack and the kid, and the kid wouldn't recant. And then a few weeks after Jack committed suicide the kid took off and disappeared, ran away, and nobody's seen him since. So we're left with two ambiguous behaviors that can be interpreted any way you want. The kid is very problematic. Seems he was a troubled kid to begin with, a very real behavior problem. And spoiled, with rich, powerful parents. So did he run away because of guilt, because he told a lie that resulted in an innocent man's suicide? Let's just speculate that the kid was gay, trying somehow to come out of the closet, and he's the one who made the move on Jack, not the other way around. And Jack responded appropriately, and rejected the advance. So now the kid has outed himself, and has been rejected on top of it. Out of anger, he turns everything around, accuses Jack partly to reinforce the notion he's heterosexual, not homosexual -- and then when Jack's life and career are ruined and Jack commits suicide, the kid is totally messed up, and runs away from it all. As a scenario, it works. But take it the other way. Jack's relationship with Harvey has gone cold. Jack is angry, resentful, hurt. Maybe some of it is even his fault, although Harvey thinks he owns it all himself. And here's Jack counseling this troubled kid who's coming out of the closet, and one day one thing leads to another ... . Just one moment of weakness on Jack's part, one inappropriate touch. And this is where we come back to Harvey, because Harvey felt tremendous guilt because he didn't fully believe Jack. He told me he never said anything to Jack, but that he sometimes wondered himself if Jack did anything. And so when Jack commits suicide, Harvey wonders if his doubts, his lack of one-hundred-percent support, had anything to do with it. And we can never answer that unless and until we know if Jack was truly guilty, and we never will know that. The only good part about any of it was that Harvey realized pretty quickly what a terrible mental mess he was in, with no apparent way out, and came to me for help. Because, you see, there were some weeks there where Harvey was ready to take off his own clothes and swim out into the ocean after Jack." 

"Wow," Shane said softly. 

"Yeah." 

"Did you know Jack? Do you think he did it?" 

"Yes, I knew him fairly well. Did he do it? I have no idea. I've been in this business nearly forty years. All I know is that anybody can do anything, anybody is capable of just about anything. Most especially are they capable of small, momentary slips of judgment and behavior, especially if they are under stress. The problem is, sometimes these small, momentary lapses have tremendously large consequences, and sometimes they manage to stay small and momentary. One way or another, Jack and Harvey caught the bad breaks." 

Carol got up and reheated their tea in the microwave. 

"You liked living here with Harvey," Carol said when she sat back down. 

Shane blew on her tea to cool it, and nodded. "It's like ... something I never had in my whole life," she said. "I don't mean the pool and the hot tub, the big fancy house, the luxury, it was ... I don't know ... the ... the ... " 

"Having a home. Having another person in your life. In this case, a substitute for the father you never had. Safety. Security. Even some ... affection, if that's not too strong a word. Respect. I hope I don't have to tell you this, but Harvey liked you, a lot. As a person. He was quite proud of you. I think maybe the word 'love' might even be appropriate, in the father-daughter way." 

"I was his project," Shane said. 

"Yes, that's true, at first. That's how it started. Harvey had this idea of saving a person to make up for the person he felt he'd lost. But over time it turned into something a lot more than that." 

"Did you guys talk about me?" 

"Oh, sure. Not in a professional sense. But just as friends. You became my patient almost right away, so I was somewhat limited in the things I could tell him, due to patient confidentiality. Barbara Cranshaw had quite an interest in the pair of you, too. And since she was both your doctor as well as Harvey's doctor, she had just as many patient confidentiality issues as I did. So here were the three of us, all old, old friends, who were basically prevented from discussing the one thing we all had in common, which was you and your welfare. But it was also apparent that you seemed to be thriving here, and to a large degree so was Harvey, so after a while we weren't concerned anymore. You see, you were just as good for Harvey as he was good for you. You gave him his life back. You guys needed each other, him just as much as you." 

Shane sipped her tea. "He taught me so much," she said. "Stuff I'd never have learned in a million years." 

"Like what?" 

Shane shrugged. "Manners, sort of. Not the simple stuff, saying please and thank you. More like how to eat in a fancy restaurant. How to order from a menu, not be intimidated. I mean, what did I know about how to go into a four-star restaurant and order the haricot verts. The difference between a Reuben and a hot pastrami on rye. Lox and bagels. I am such a fucking expert on lox you wouldn't believe it. Novi lox. Scandanavian, gravlax. Wet brining. Dry brining, which is Scottish lox. Cold smoking. Salmon. Smoked salmon. Types of cream cheeses. Which bagels are good and which are not. Capers. You know what capers are, right? How would some kid out of a hippie slum in East Jesus, Texas, ever get to eat capers? How to order wine. I'm not even twenty-one, and I know about white wines and red wines and blush wines, and what goes with what, and when to forget about the rules and just drink whichever wine I want. Beers. The difference between beers, lagers, ales, stouts. Which beers are good and which ones are tiger piss. And music. My god. You know what he did? About the second week I started living here Harvey came up with this house rule. Every night he was home, while one or both of us was cooking dinner and eating, he'd put on a piece of music. It would be just one single piece, or maybe one entire album, but that was the rule, just one thing at a time. And he'd play it, and the rule was we wouldn't talk about it the first time, we'd just listen to it all the way through. And then he'd play it again, and this time we could talk. And he'd tell me who wrote it, and why it was important, and all this kind of stuff. The names of the various instruments I was hearing. The four kinds of instruments in the violin family, violin, viola, cello, also called a violoncello, and the double bass. The difference between an English horn and a French horn, or a bassoon and an oboe." 

"The very first night, he put on Clair de Lune, by Debussy. The next night it was Bolero, by Debussy's friend Ravel. And then after we played it and talked about, he gets out a DVD of a movie called 10, starring Dudley Moore and Bo Derek. And we watch it, and there's Boleroright in the middle of it. It was so cool! And then we listened to Night on Bald Mountain, Appalachian Spring, The Planets, Sabre Dance. One night he puts on The Sorcerer's Apprentice. And when it's over he puts in this old VHS, and it's this Disney cartoon starring Mickey Mouse, and Mickey is the sorcerer's apprentice, and there's all these magic broomsticks multiplying and going crazy. Then we listen to Peter and the Wolf, and then we watch the cartoon of that. Then the other songs from Fantasia. We must have watched cartoons with classical music for nearly two weeks. It was amazing. Peer Gynt Suite. Then we did what Harvey called the heavies. Beethoven, Bach, Mozart, Liszt, Chopin. The 1812 Overture, where they fire off the cannons at the end? Boom! Who would have thought cannons were musical instruments? But they were. How cool is that? When we listened to some Mozart we watched that movie Amadeus. How many street twinks on Santa Monica Boulevard know who Salieri was? I can tell you from experience, when I was turning tricks on the street Salieri just never came up in conversation." 

"So anyway, we listened to a lot of classical stuff. Then he starts on Broadway musicals. Oklahoma, South Pacific, West Side Story, My Fair Lady, that's the one about Harvey and me, Pygmalion and Galatea. A Little Night Music, Cabaret, The Music Man, Phantom of the Opera, Les Miserables, The Fantastiks. And after we listen to the cast albums we watch the movie versions. Remember the time you were telling me about Man of LaMancha? I asked him about it, and the next night that's what we listened to, and he told me all about Don Quixote and Sancho Panza and Dulcinea. We go through a lot of that stuff and next thing you know we're listening one night to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Then it's Joni Mitchell's Court and Sparkand Miles of Aislesalbums. Carol King's Tapestry. Meat Loaf's Bat Out of Hell. The Freewheelin' Bob Dylanand Blood on the Tracksand Desire. Pete Seeger. Arlo Guthrie. Woody Guthrie. Peter, Paul and Mary. Springsteen. Etta James. Willie Nelson. Patsy Cline. Chuck Berry. The Beach Boys' Pet Soundsalbum. The Eagles. Next thing I know, we're listening to Billie Holiday. Then Django Reinhardt. Ella Fitzgerald. Sinatra. Billie Strayhorn. Jack Teagarden. Louis Armstrong. Woody Herman, Glenn Miller, Eddie Duchin, Benny Goodman. And we watched the movies, The Eddie Duchin Story, with Tyrone Power? The Glenn Miller Story, Jimmy Stewart and June Allyson. The Benny Goodman Storywith Steve Allen. One night I come home from a bad day at school, and Harvey's in the kitchen making chimichangas, and pushes a button on the remote to the sound system and next thing you know I'm listening to Spike Jones. Great after a bad day. The next night you know what it is? Both versions of Just a Gigolo, first the David Lee Roth, which I already heard, everybody my age knows that version, and then the original with Louis Prima and Keely Smith, whom I never heard of. And you know who's version I like best?" 

Carol laughed. "Louie and Keely." 

"Right. And then he puts on a video of Sonny and Cher, and I look at Cher, and Harvey says, 'Okay, who is Cher modeling herself on?' and I say, 'She's doing Keely Smith!' I mean, Cher has this deadpan stare and everything. And Sonny is sort of doing Louie Prima. It was wonderful." 

"What an education," Carol said, "and you were being taught music at the foot of a master." 

"Yeah, he was teaching me all this stuff, that's true. But, like, it was more than that, too. It might have started out him teaching the dumb girl, but it changed into something else. Harvey wasn't just teaching me about all kinds of music. He was taking this trip through his record collection just as much for himself as me. He enjoyed it. After he got started, I was just sort of along for the ride. He wasn't just teaching me about music, he was teaching me about himself. He was telling me who he was." Shane looked up from her thoughts. "Does that make any sense?" 

Carol's mouth hung open. 

"What?" 

"Shane, sometimes you just knock my socks off." 

*** 

At quarter to five the doorbell rang, and Carol went to get it. She returned to the kitchen leading Harvey's brother, Marvin Platinsky, and Marvin's wife Rebecca, and their two teenage boys, a pair of surly, pimple-faced rich kids who took an instant dislike to Shane, and she to them. Introductions were made, condolences exchanged, and both Shane and Carol were working on building dislikes for Marvin and Rebecca when Bernie McFadden arrived in the nick of time. He'd called for a 5 p.m. team status update, and he'd brought with him his young associate, Mattie Shepherd, an attractive, reserved blond in her late twenties, who was wearing the classic woman killer lawyer pants suit. Shane instantly recognized Shepherd's cold, appraising, hired-gun eyes, and was instantly glad they were on the same team. She decided that the eyes were the only difference between Shepherd and McFadden; he'd been in the business long enough to keep the killer eyes shielded. It was something Shepherd would just have to learn how to do. The two arrivals began what McFadden later called "the Battle for Harvey's Soul." 

Within minutes, another Platinsky brother, Harold, and a sister, Leah, had arrived after dropping off their father at their hotel, the Beverly Wilshire. Also arriving were Vicki Saperstein and Dr. Cranshaw. Two minutes later the Platinsky lawyers arrived, two of them from New York who had traveled out with the family, and one they'd met at LAX by arrangement, so they'd have local California standing. McFadden quickly took the lead as host, making it clear that he was the man in charge here. He showed the family into the large, comfortable living room and suggested they make themselves all at home there, and consider it their headquarters while they were in L.A. McFadden and his team, he said, would hang out in the kitchen. He made this sound like a generous concession, a yielding of the high ground, and the Platinsky squad bought it eagerly. When McFadden came back into the kitchen with his group assembled around the kitchen table, he was smiling, and winked at Shane. Shane looked across at Mattie, who whispered to her, "The kitchen is where the work gets done. We have access to the phone, the food, the drinks, and the patio and pool. All they have are Harvey's big-screen TV and his record collection." Shane nodded, smiling. 

Shane and Carol brewed coffee, took people's coats, got people bottles of water and glasses of ice, showed them down the hall to the bathroom to freshen up, whatever the guests wanted and needed. They both noticed members of the Platinsky clan beginning to wander around the house, studying Harvey's books and artwork, his music stand where he practiced, his violin, his mementos, his photographs. Shane realized they were not only taking in a financial appraisal about what the estate was worth, but they were also learning about a man about whom they knew virtually nothing. 

McFadden, Shepherd, Saperstein and Dr. Cranshaw spent a lot of time in the living room, chatting with their company, while Shane and Carol worked busily in the kitchen, ferrying in plates and trays of hors d'oeuvres. The mood was relaxed and expansive, which was all part of McFadden's plan. By custom, religious Jews are not allowed to drink alcohol before a funeral, so no one took any wine or cocktails. And by prior arrangement, McFadden had made sure all the coffee, tea and soda being offered was decaffeinated. By 7:30 the company was growing sleepy, aided by their jet lag and the extra three-hour time difference on the East Coast. By 8 p.m. they were gone. 

"Well, Round One is over," McFadden said. 

"Who won?" Carol asked. 

"We did," Shepherd said. "And they best part is, I don't think they know it." 

"How so?" Carol asked. 

"We established control of the house, and control of the agenda. We were friendly and accommodating. We've got control of Harvey, so far anyway, and it'll be their job to take him away from us, not the other way around." 

*** 

It took three days for the Los Angeles coroner's office to get around to Harvey's autopsy, because it was a routine case and no foul play was suspected; therefore it had to wait for the various and sundry murders and other cases that demanded priority attention. McFadden had connections and could have pulled some strings, but he didn't bother. Instead, he and Saperstein used the time to work on the family. 

Late the next morning Marvin, Harold and Leah brought their father to the house in a caravan of limos and rented cars containing the lawyers and the rest of the entourage. The father's name was Solomon Platinsky. He was elderly and frail, but he was also alert and nobody's fool. He wore a black business suit, and in keeping with custom, he had torn the coat's collar all the way down to his heart, a large, obvious rend. His children all had tears and rends in their clothes, of about four to five inches in length. 

Mr. Platinsky wanted his youngest son buried "properly" in a Jewish funeral service, which he seemed to think could only be accomplished east of the Hudson River. 

Saperstein went to work. "With all due respect, Mr. Platinsky," she said, "this is Los Angeles, this is Hollywood. There are more Jews here than in Tel Aviv. You know this. You don't think we know Jewish law out here? You don't think we know how to bury Jews in this town? Believe me, we do." 

She gave Mr. Platinsky chapter and verse about Jews in Hollywood, went over all the temples and synagogues, all the cemeteries, all the delicatessens. Who had the best blintzes. The works. Saperstein could see the sons and the daughter were sold, and the old man was coming around. Why schlep a body back to New York? It's not like they cared much about Harvey the homosexual violinist. And the expense? Forget it. They'd work on the old man. Bury Harvey out west, say goodbye, go home. 

Next, Saperstein worked on what McFadden called "The Legend of Harvey Platt." Without coming anywhere near the fact that Harvey had been estranged from his family for years, Saperstein told them who Harvey was as a musician, and how important and respected he had been in the California classical music community. When she was done, Harvey was second only to Itzhak Perlman, and possibly had surpassed Jascha Heifitz. She told them he belonged in the legendary Forest Lawn cemetery alongside the other great celebrities -- all of them Jews -- in California. There was a very nice mausoleum where the urn containing Harvey's ashes could rest. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 05



Chapter 5 Ashes to Ashes 



Shane had only been home from school for a few minutes when the doorbell rang. When she opened the door she found an attractive woman in her late twenties with short blond hair standing there. 

"Yes?" Shane asked, trying to remember where she knew this woman from. The woman could see Shane was confused. 

"Hi, Shane. Looks like you might not remember me. I'm Officer Lauren Hancock. I was one of the two police officers who came by the other week to tell you about your friend Harvey." 

Everything snapped into place in Shane's mind. Yes, she remembered that horrible day. 

"Right, right! I'm so sorry, I didn't ... " 

"No, don't apologize, you had a terrible shock that day. You have no reason to remember me, and anyway, I was in uniform then." 

"Um ... yeah. Uh, is there a problem?" 

"Oh, no, this isn't official. I'm off duty, see?" 

Lauren was wearing stylish jeans, a blue button-down Oxford dress shirt, and an off-white linen blazer, with the sleeves pushed up, very Don Johnson/Miami Vice. She had a pair of sunglasses parked on top of her head. She held the blazer open to show she wasn't wearing a gun, and turned in a circle, laughing. 

"See, no gun, no badge." 

Shane grinned. "Okay. I'm not under arrest, then, I guess. But ...?" 

"Oh, yeah, the reason I came, ah, I was just, you know, I wanted to stop by, make sure you were okay, getting along all right ... " Lauren ran out of things to say and Shane saved her. 

"Uh, I see, sure. Do you want to come in?" Shane stood aside, and Lauren entered the living room. 

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything, any plans you had," Lauren said, taking the sunglasses off her head and chewing on the end of one of the arms. 

"No, no plans, I just got home myself." 

"Yeah, I saw. I mean, I saw you pull in a few minutes ago ... gee, I'm making a mess of this." 

Shane could see Lauren was embarrassed and nearly as tongue-tied as Shane herself often became. 

"You were waiting for me?" 

"Well, kind of. I mean, I drove past and didn't see your truck, so I thought maybe I'd wait ... ." 

"Is there something you wanted?" 

"Well, yes. That is, um ... could I, like, buy you a drink? You know, go have a beer. A glass of wine ... ." 

"You're asking me on a date?" Shane asked, with not a little incredulity in her voice. 

Lauren blushed deeply and looked down at the carpet. "Uh, hey. It's okay. Never mind. I'm sorry I intruded. I'll be going now." 

"No!" Shane said. "I mean, don't go. But there's this problem." 

Lauren looked at her. 

"I'm not twenty-one," Shane said. "And you're a cop. I'm sorry, I mean 'police officer.' In any case, I don't think it'd be a good idea if you bought me a drink." 

"Uh, no, I guess not," Lauren said, clearly disappointed and embarrassed. "I didn't know. How old you were, I mean. I thought ... ." 

"Officer Hancock?" 

"Yes?" 

"I drink coffee. You could buy me a cup of coffee. It would be legal." 

Lauren looked into Shane's eyes. She saw Shane smiling. 

"And it's almost dinner time," Shane said, "and I didn't have any lunch today, so I'm really starved. You want to grab some dinner somewhere?" 

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Let's go get some dinner." 

"Let me get my jacket." 

"Sure." 

Lauren stood in the living room trying to control her breathing and her pounding heart while Shane was gone. They got into Lauren's car, a Miata that had the top down. Lauren put the key in the ignition but didn't turn it. She leaned forward and put her forehead on the top of the steering wheel. 

"Shane, I ... um ... I'm not usually this crazy. I've been a cop six years, but in all that time I never asked out somebody I met through the job, see, so this is ... a bit unusual for me. And I, uh, I haven't ... that is, I have, but I don't ... I'm still pretty much in the closet. And I haven't asked anyone out on a date since ninth grade. I just simply don't know how to do it." 

"Officer ... I'm sorry, I forgot your first name." 

Lauren sat up and turned to Shane. "Lauren." 

"Lauren. Cool. That's a nice name. Lauren, please close your eyes." 

Lauren stared at Shane for a long minute. Shane waited patiently. Finally Lauren closed her eyes. When she did Shane leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. 

"Okay, you can open your eyes now." 

Lauren did. 

"Can I make a suggestion?" Shane asked. 

"Uh. Sure." 

"You can start breathing again. Take a breath. You did fine, and now all the hard part's over. So let's go have dinner. Let's don't worry about first time this or first time that, okay? Let's just go eat and talk and enjoy the evening and relax. And you can have a drink, 'cause I think maybe you need one pretty bad right now, and I'll have a Shirley Temple to keep you company. What do you think?" 

"I think that's a good idea, Shane. Where shall we go? Italian? Thai? Sushi? Tex-Mex? Burgers? What do you like?" 

"I like the first place we come to that has sit-down food and a liquor license," Shane said. 

Lauren laughed, said okay, lowered her sunglasses over her eyes, and drove them down out of Topanga Canyon toward the city. 

"You don't really drink Shirley Temples, do you?" Lauren asked. Shane could tell it had been driving her crazy. 

"Fuck, no," she said. "And I've got an ID says I'm twenty-one." 

Lauren smiled and stepped on the gas. 

*** 

It was after dark when they got back. 

"Ideally, I'd invite you in for coffee," Shane said as they pulled up at the end of the driveway, "but I've got an even better idea. Would you like to go for a swim?" 

"Uh. Isn't it a little chilly?" Lauren asked. 

"Heated pool. And even better, there's a heated hot tub. You like hot tubs?" 

"I love hot tubs. I don't remember the last time I was in one, but I'm fully prepared to love them." 

"Then, come on, let's go," Shane said, getting out of the car. 

"But I don't have ... " Lauren stopped. "I was just going to say something really dumb about a suit, wasn't I?" 

"I'll never tell. Come on, I'll race you." Shane ran ahead to the wrought iron fence that surrounded the pool and the back yard, opened the gate, and ran across the patio to the edge of the pool, shedding her shoes and shirt as she went. 

"Hey!" Lauren yelled, getting out of the car and running after Shane. It was dark, and when Lauren got to the gate, she didn't know where to go in the darkness. Then suddenly underwater lights around the edge of the pool came on, and Lauren saw Shane kneeling by the edge of the pool, adjusting some dials set into a panel at the edge of the pool. Shane was naked. She stood up, a sleek shadow backlit by the pool lights. Shane looked over her shoulder at Lauren, then turned away and dove cleanly into the pool. Lauren pulled off her blazer, shirt and jeans as fast as she could, and stood at the edge of the pool. Shane was already two-thirds the way across, facing her and treading water, and watching Lauren undress. Shane was smiling. The night air was indeed chilly, and Lauren felt her nipples stiffen as she shucked off her bra. She crossed her arms over her breasts shyly, and realized how silly this was. Lauren's experience with romance and sex was limited, and she sensed that Shane was a million miles ahead of her in experience. Slowly she dropped her hands to her sides, testing the idea that Shane could see her chest and deciding if she enjoyed being looked at or not. Lauren had nice tits, small but still larger than Shane's, but not by much. Lauren's nipples were pink and conical. Goosebumps swept her trim, athletic body. She looked at the pool, at Shane. Then she noticed the infinity edge of the pool, and beyond it the million sparkling lights of the city to the east. This was unlike anything she'd ever done before. 

Slowly she brought her hands to the edge of her panties, and pushed them down, wiggling her hips gently as they dropped and pooled at her ankles. She stood naked in the starlight before the City of Angles, naked for the entire city to see. Naked, her modest blond bush of pubic hair revealed before who knows how many million people. Naked, revealed for the slim young brunette who waited for her at the other end of the pool. Naked, the skin under her bra and panties creamy white while the rest of her was tanned, her tan lines making her all the more stunning, although she had no self-awareness of that fact. Naked, her clit tingling in the chill. Naked, her pussy suddenly moist and excited. Naked, moments away from the kind of experience she had only ever dreamed about, read about, masturbated about. Naked, letting Shane's eyes devour her, seeing Shane lick her lips in anticipation. 

Naked, Lauren leaned forward and dove into the pool. 

*** 

Shane waited for her at the far end. The water was warm, and Shane kept low to keep as much of her body submerged as possible, to keep warm. She had one hand on the edge of the pool where the infinity edge sat just below the water level. She saw Lauren's form underwater coming toward her, and realized Lauren was attempting to swim the length of the pool underwater. She watched as the rippled figure underwater approached and came to the surface just a few inches in front of her. Treading water, Lauren brushed the wet hair away from her face. Shane reached out and wrapped her arms around Lauren, kissing her deeply as they both sank beneath the surface. Lauren wrapped her arms around Shane, feeling their breasts tight against each other, swollen nipples against swollen nipples, as they sank slowly toward the bottom. Lauren felt Shane's leg between her own legs, and opened herself as Shane's leg came up, her smooth thigh slowly rubbing up against Lauren's cunt. They ran out of air, and Shane broke away, shooting to the surface. Lauren found her feet, planted them on the bottom, pushed off and rocketed upward toward the shadow above her. 

"Come on," Shane said, holding out a hand to her, "I want to show you something." She pulled Lauren over toward the edge of the pool, to the infinity edge. She pushed Lauren up to the wall. Lauren put her hands up and held onto the wall as Shane came around behind her, kissing her neck, pressing her small, hard girltits into Lauren's back, straddling her with her legs. 

"Look out at the city," Shane whispered, kissing Lauren's neck, nibbling beneath her ears, her hands coming around to cup Lauren's breasts. Shane's hands were filled with Lauren's breasts, small, soft, delicate mounds capped with quarter-sized pink caps that Shane kneaded with her palms, feeling their hardness. Lauren moaned, and one of Shane's hands slipped down Lauren's belly as Lauren looked out over the lights, her breathing coming faster, eyes half closed, unable to tell where a billion stars ended and a million man-made stars began. She closed her eyes as Shane's hand crept down into her bush, caressing her public hair softly, then stealing lower to where Lauren hoped desperately it would go. The hand left her bush and leapfrogged down to Lauren's thighs, caressing again and gently forcing the thighs apart. Lauren bowed her head forward as Shane kissed her exposed neck and while fingers crept over Lauren's pussy lips, caressing slowly as Lauren's breath came in gasps, fingers searching underwater to part sea lips, Lauren gasping as those lovely fingers penetrated, two of them, long, thin probes slow-fucking her, and then a third finger, the three middle fingers fucking and slow cork-screwing, and then the thumb arched upward, touching for the first time the clit hood, pushing it to the side, then flicking it back, the thumb now riding up and down on the hood, massaging the tender pearl underneath it. 

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Lauren groaned, "yesssssssssss," a hiss as her pussy devoured the fingers within, loving them, hugging them, the hard Shane nipples in her back, Shane's lips on her neck, her ears, Shane's left hand stroking her breasts and twisting her nipples oh so gently, then the feeling suddenly growing strong, starting from somewhere down deep inside near her ass, pussyfucking Shane's loving fingers slick with juice and pool water, and then she arched her head back as Shane sucked her neck, cumming on Shane's hand, pulsing, once, twice, three, four, giving Shane's fingers the pussy crush they craved, the rhythmic contractions, Lauren coming while the City of Angels watched and applauded silently, that other kind of standing O, the face of the pretty policewoman peeking over the edge of the pool on the side of a canyon grimacing and crying out, "oh, oh, oh," as she nearly passed out. Shane stopped fucking her, kissed her neck and ears, and only after a minute or two slowly withdrew her fingers from the submerged tender crevice. 

"Keep holding me," Lauren whispered as she turned in Shane's arms, facing her now and kissing her on the mouth as Shane held them at the side of the pool. "Thank you for that. Thank you. I never made love to anyone in a pool before. I ... I don't have too much experience." 

"I know," Shane said. "It's all right." 

"That was incredible. And you're younger than me, but you have so much more experience," Lauren said. "I feel like a total kid. And now I want you, I want you so much." She kissed Shane again, long and slow. "Tell me, show me what you want, teach me to make love to you the way you like. I'll do whatever you want." 

"There's no hurry," Shane said, "we have all night. Come on, follow me." 

"Where are we going?" 

"Hot tub," Shane said. 

*** 

The hot tub lay between the house and the pool, and was offset, sitting near the edge of the patio by the overlook. It had a wood plank surround, and Shane led Lauren by the hand down its steps and into its steamy warmth. The hot tub was warmer than the pool, and Shane led Lauren waist deep to the built-in underwater bench and said, "Sit down." Lauren sat, the water up to her neck, and watched Shane wade over to another set of controls, and in a moment the hot tub started foaming and burbling as the jets came on. There were no lights, at least none that Shane turned on. 

Shane took Lauren in her arms and kissed her, searching out her mouth, dueling with her tongue, stealing Lauren's breath out of her hot, slack mouth. Then she kissed Lauren's throat, her neck, her collarbones, and as Lauren floated on her back across Shane's lap she felt Shane lower her head and begin to kiss, lick and suck her nipples, drawing them into her mouth, and then releasing them, only to pluck at them with tiny, gentle bites and nips that made Lauren arch her back to feed her breasts into Shane's talented mouth. 

Lauren broke away, swiveled, knelt on the bottom of the hot tub between Shane's legs and leaned forward. "I want to do you, now," she said. Lauren fed on Shane's nipples with her eyes closed, sucking them into her mouth and torturing Shane's eraser nubs with her teeth and with her suction. Shane lay back with her neck on the edge of the hot tub, lazily wrapped her legs around Lauren, and let this lover have her fill of hot, succulent Shane-tit. Shane put her hand on the back of Lauren's neck, stroking her, caressing her wet hair, loving the shadowed sight of Lauren's face nursing at her breasts. 

Finally Shane gently lifted Lauren away from her chest, and said, "I'll bet you've never felt anything like this," and led Lauren to a section of the hot tub opposite two pairs of handles bolted into the deck. In this area the jets were strongest, and vented into the tub about eighteen inches from the bottom. 

"Grab hold of the handles," Shane said, "and stick your pussy in front of the jets." 

Lauren did as she was told, and knelt on the bottom of the hot tub, holding on to the handles and feeling an intense jet of water shooting at her pussy. Lauren had masturbated in the shower with a shower wand pulsing at her pussy, as indeed who hadn't, but this was better, stronger, more intense than anything she'd ever done in the shower by orders of magnitude. Next to her, Shane took the same position over another jet. 

"Oh, shit, oh my god," Lauren gasped. "Oh, Jesus!" She pushed her cunt forward, closer to the mouth of the jet, letting the stream pound against her clit, feeling her pussy lips open as her cunt became a vessel of turbulent water, her clit getting the hydro massage of its life. And then out of nowhere and with no warning her orgasm came, a series of spasms that rocked her body and as she grimaced and howled, hanging on to the handles with her eyes clenched shut and her teeth bared in a snarl of lust. She rocked, spasmed -- and to her wonderment came again, an aftershock, a temblor. Only at the far periphery of her awareness did she see that beside her Shane, too, was rocking and writhing in the grip of a powerful cum. Suddenly Lauren was jealous, and almost hurt, because she'd wanted so to bring Shane to climax herself. She let go the handles and drifted away, and let herself go into a numbed zombie-like state, kneeling in the middle of the warm tub. 

A moment later she felt Shane come to her, enfold her, kiss her. 

"Did you like that?" 

"God, yes," Lauren said, "but I wanted something else, too. Can we go in? I want to make love to you, on a bed. I want to lick you, I want to taste your pussy so bad. I want to fuck you with my tongue. Shane, will you let me go down on you?" 

"Yeah, I want you to, really. I just thought maybe you'd like --" 

"Oh, baby, I did," Lauren said, kissing Shane, "I did, so much! And yes, it was something I've never done before. But now I just want to lie on a bed beneath clean sheets with my tongue in your pussy. I just want to taste you. I've been imagining it ever since last week. Please, can we go in now?" 

*** 

They walked to the steps at the side of the hot tub, and Shane let Lauren climb out first, looking up at the sight of that wonderful, firm ass above her. Once they were out of the water the night air gave them goosebumps and chills as they ran laughing to collect their clothes. They ran to the kitchen door, and Lauren stood, teeth chattering, as Shane fumbled in her bundle of clothes looking for her door key. 

"P-p-p-please hurry," Lauren whispered. 

"I am," Shane said. "If I can't find my key, you may have to shoot the lock." 

"Okay," Lauren said, "but the department doesn't like when we do that unless we're in hot pursuit or desperate to perform cunnilingus." 

"Sounds redundant," Shane said, and just then her key turned in the lock and they were in. Shane led the way, running to her bedroom. She threw her clothes in a corner and stripped down the coverlet and thin blanket. She got towels from a linen closet in the bathroom, and they quickly toweled themselves. Shane jumped in bed, holding the sheet up for Lauren to join her. In a moment they were under the covers, arms around each other, kissing hungrily. They were warm in no time at all. 

"Want me to turn the light off?" Shane asked. 

"Hell, no," Lauren said. "I want to look at you, I want to see everything. It was dark enough in the pool I didn't get a good look at you." She pushed the covers down and straddled Shane. 

"My god," Lauren breathed, "your nipples are so beautiful!" She bent down, licking and sucking them into her mouth. Lying on her back, Shane's breasts practically disappeared, leaving only the pink-tan ovals floating on her rib cage as Lauren commuted slowly back and forth. Then Lauren sat up a little, looked Shane in the eyes, and said, "You have no idea how much I want this." And she wriggled down, kissing Shane's stomach, circling her tongue into Shane's navel, and then dropping down to the closely trimmed rectangle of Shane's landing strip. Shane heard Lauren inhale deeply, taking in the smell of Shane's chlorine-scented twat, and then Lauren dropped her head further down between Shane's spread legs, caressing the skin of Shane's muscled thighs with her face, with her own cheeks, just simply loving being here, sniffing and inhaling the scent of juice that waited between Shane's inner lips. Lauren kissed softly the compliant pads of Shane's outer pussy lips, the skin loose and pliable. Lauren licked and kissed, lapped at them, then brought her head back a little simply to stare at Shane's wet pussy, to take it in, to commit this close-up sight to memory. Lauren had never been so aroused, never wanted anything so much in her life as right now to plunge her tongue into this young woman's cunt. And then Shane did something that took Lauren's breathe away: she raised her hips up, bringing her pussy right to Lauren's mouth. "Do it," she heard Shane whisper, and then her tongue was between those wet blood-dark lips, lapping up cream that oozed out and coated her lips. She dipped her tongue again and again into Shane's cunt, running it up and down and side to side. And then two hands came down from somewhere north and pulled Shane's inner lips apart, spreading the batwings wide and giving Lauren new surfaces to slather with her tongue. In the center, the small deep hole, then above the little plateau with Shane's tiny pee hole, and then above it the dusky, loose hood of Shane's clit, swelling and growing more and more turgid with every pass of Lauren's mouth, Shane beginning to whimper, fluid coming from somewhere making the whole region slick and perfumed as Lauren licked and drank, Shane groaning and lifting her hips up, Shane starting to mutter and curse, "Fuck, fuck, don't stop, don't fucking stop." Lauren cocked her head to the side and took all of Shane's inner lips and clit into her mouth, sucking them in deeply, hot liquid welling up wanting to be swallowed, Shane thrusting her hips up into Lauren's mouth, thrashing her head from side to side, her hands on the back of Lauren's head as the first gush came, Shane crying out her low howl as though she were in pain, humping her orgasm into Lauren's hot mouth, oblivious of Lauren's efforts to swallow all the juice that coated her face and Shane's inner thighs. Shane humped, grunting, "unh, unh, unh," as she came, an orgasm that seemed to last a full minute. The orgasm was so mind-bendingly intense that Lauren herself almost came just from being in such proximity, her face locked between Shane's quivering thighs, feeling the rhythmic pulsations of Shane's pussy, her rippling stomach muscles. Shane's head was arched back, and she was more unconscious than not, three-quarters into some narcoleptic state. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 05



*** 

The next day at mid-morning, while Shane was with a customer at the John James salon. Bernie McFadden left her a message asking her to call him, because he had some business he needed to discuss with her, and if she was available, that evening would be good. Shane called him back at the lunch break and invited him to dinner, since Carol was already coming over. McFadden countered that he would take both of them out to dinner, since it was business and therefore a deductible business expense, a subject right up Shane's alley as a tax expert. Shane laughed and accepted. 

McFadden dropped by at six and took them down to Malibu for dinner at BeauRivage. 

"Okay, I've got some news," he told them over the Carpaccio Venezia. "I've been talking to the Platinskys and their lawyers for a few days, and they've finally authorized me to put Harvey's house up for sale. Shane, we talked about it briefly, and I know this doesn't come as a surprise. Still, it means that at some point you're going to have to move out when the new owner takes possession, whenever that will be." 

"I hardly have any stuff," Shane said. "I can be out in an hour, I guess. I'll start looking around." 

"Well, not so fast," McFadden said. "As you know, I'm the executor of Harvey's estate. And I've scheduled the reading of Harvey's will for this coming Friday. So theoretically I can't put the house on the market until after the will is read and the owners of it, whoever they may be, decide what they want to do. But of course I've read the will, and the Platinskys know that it reverts to them, and we're just anticipating what we know is going to happen. And since the will hasn't been formally read and then filed yet, I'm not technically allowed to tell you what's in it. For example, Shane, I'm not supposed to tell you that Harvey left you clear title to your pickup truck, paid off, free and clear. I'm also not supposed to tell you he also left you his Mercedes, but unfortunately that was destroyed in the crash." 

Shane's eyes filled with tears and she put her fork down on the table, and lowered her head. Carol reached over and rubbed her shoulder. 

"I'm also not supposed to tell you that Harvey also left you a trust fund of $100,000," McFadden said. "I'm appointed administrator of it, as part of my duties as executor of his estate, and his terms were that the money in the trust fund was to be held until such time as you come to me with a good and proper business plan for its use, such as to help you get started in some hairdressing business, something like that. If you don't ever do that, then when you turn thirty you inherit all the money in the trust fund, which will be the $100,000 plus whatever interest it has accrued between now and then, which will be ten years of interest." 

McFadden stopped and gave Shane time to absorb it -- and to stop crying. Carol had her arms around her, and it took her a few minutes. Finally she blew her nose and blotted her running eye shadow. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what to say." 

"Don't worry about it. Let me know when you're ready to hear some more." 

"Go ahead," she said. "What else?" 

"Well, here's the thing. I'm the executor, so I get to make most of the major decisions until such time as the estate is completely executed and dispersed. And that makes me in charge of what happens to Harvey's house and estate. You've still got two weeks left before you finish your hairdressing school, correct?" 

Shane nodded. 

"Well, then, perhaps you can help me solve a problem. I don't know how long it is going to take to sell Harvey's house. We have to wait until after the reading of the will before we can officially sign the listing papers with the real estate company I pick. Then the realtor has to list the house. That means it needs to be maintained and kept in spotless condition. There will be realtors and potential buyers visiting it over some period of time until there is an accepted and signed contract on the house. There's no way to tell how long that will be. The market is fairly good right now, but we really don't know if it'll take a month or two to sell it, or longer. Who knows, maybe it'll go in three days. Whatever. But even after there's a signed contract, which may be contingent on the sale of the purchaser's old house, Harvey's house remains in my custody until settlement, which could be a month or two or even longer after the contract is signed. As executor it is my duty to protect Harvey's major asset until such time as it is sold and turned over to the new owner, you follow? So what I need, Shane, is somebody to be the on-site caretaker of Harvey's house. Somebody who will be there as necessary to let in the appraiser and the listing realtor and anyone else they need to get the house ready for sale. I need someone to make sure the grass-cutting people come out to cut the grass, and the pool people come out to clean and maintain the pool. I need to make sure someone collects the mail. I need someone on scene to begin collecting things like Harvey's and Jack's clothing and donating it to Goodwill or the Salvation Army, or whomever. We may need to hold an auction to sell off Harvey's furniture and other possessions that the Platinskys don't want. His extensive records and CDs, and so forth." 

Shane nodded. "I can be out as soon as you want," she said. "Tonight, tomorrow ... " 

"No, Shane," McFadden said. "I don't want you to move out. I want to hire you to be the live-in caretaker. I want to hire you to be the contact person, and to be my on-scene representative. I need someone to sleep there every night, to make sure the place isn't vandalized, like a night watchman or a security guard. As executor, I am prepared to pay this caretaker person $100 a day to live in Harvey's house, and be my liaison, and to help with the disposal of Harvey's property and possessions in a way that Harvey himself would approve of. This salary will be paid by Harvey's estate, of course, and is a very legal and legitimate business expense incurred by the estate. I might add, since you've already been performing this duty since the day of Harvey's death, I am prepared to back-date this agreement and pay you $100 a day for every day you've already lived there and taken care of the house." 

Shane stared at him, not quite comprehending. Carol was smiling, and wanted to kiss McFadden. 

He reached into his suit coat pocket and brought out a check made out to Shane in the amount of $900. "Here's your back pay," he said. "So. Do you want the job, or not?" 

Shane started crying again. 

*** 

"Alice, it's Shane McCutcheon," Shane said when Alice answered her phone. 

"Hey, Shane, what's up? Did you see the article? Did you like it?" 

"Yes, it was great. I saw it this morning. I liked it very much. I think Harvey would have liked it, too." 

"That's nice of you to say so." 

"Remember our conversation? That I told you I'd explain the secret?" 

"Yeah, I remember. Is that why you called?" 

"Sort of. Are you doing anything Saturday morning?" 

"Mmmm, no, I don't think so. Nothing special. Why?" 

"Can you come by the house about 9 or 9:15?" 

"I guess. What's up? 

"I can't explain it, you'll just have to see it. I thought maybe you'd want to be there." 

"Be where?" 

"Uh, can you just trust me? But you have to promise me first you'll never tell anybody." 

"Oh, shit, here we go again," Alice said. "Okay, pinky swear, I'll never tell, whatever it is." 

"Cool. I'll see you Saturday morning, then?" 

"Okay. Nine a.m. What's the dress code?" 

"Um. Casual, I guess. Beachy casual. Whatever. You might get yoiur feet wet." 

*** 

On Saturday morning, Shane drove them down Topanga Canyon Road to the Pacific Coast Highway and then headed west, toward Malibu. Alice, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, sat in the passenger seat of Shane's pickup, holding a cardboard box in her lap. 

"When are you going to tell me what's in the box?" 

Shane sighed. "It's Harvey," she said. 

"Harvey? I don't understand." 

"It's Harvey's ashes. In an urn. We had him cremated." 

Alice looked at the box in her lap and tried to figure it all out. 

"But ... but ... ." 

"I know," Shane said. 

"But Forest Lawn ... who ... " 

"It was some guy who died of AIDS. He was an illegal immigrant, and had no money. His family had no money. His name was Hector Lopez. You were actually there at the cemetery when his family had that ceremony." 

"But earlier, all those hundreds of people. You were there, you were crying. They played Amazing Grace. Who was in that casket?" 

"Hector Lopez." 

"But everybody thought it was Harvey?" 

"That's right," Shane said. "But it was Hector Lopez." 

"I'll be a muthafucka," Alice murmured. "But why?" 

"Because Harvey wanted to be cremated and his ashes scattered in the Pacific. But his family, the people from New York, they wouldn't hear of it. They wanted to follow a bunch of religious rules that meant we had to ignore everything Harvey wanted." 

"So you switched bodies?" 

"Yes." 

"And they think they buried Harvey?" 

"Yes. But that was Harvey in the casket at the funeral home. So they got to pray over him there. We just split the difference after that. Half the funeral was the way they wanted it. Now, this morning, we're going to do the other half." 

"Oh. Okay. But we're not exactly dressed for a funeral." 

"This isn't a funeral. We're just going to scatter his ashes in the Pacific, like he wanted." 

"He must have felt pretty strongly about it." 

"He did." And then Shane told Alice about Jack. 

*** 

Shane parked the car at the edge of the beach when they got to Paradise Cove, the place where Jack had swum out to sea. Carol and Vicki Saperstein were already there, and McFadden and his wife arrived a minute later, along with Matty Shepherd and Barbara Cranshaw. Philip Hauser, the president of the SoCal Pops, was there with his wife, and there were nearly a dozen of Harvey's closest friends from the philharmonic, who were in on the secret. They waited until five after ten to make sure everyone had arrived, and then they all walked down to the water's edge. They all took off their shoes, and then they all held hands in a line as they walked into the water, which was calm and smooth. Shane carried the urn in her hands, with Carol and Alice on each side of her, holding her elbows. They only went out a few feet, the ocean lapping gently at their shins. 

"Goodbye, Harvey," Shane whispered. "I'll never forget what you did for me. I'll never forget ... you." She tipped the urn slightly and let some ash drop into the Pacific. She handed the urn to Carol, who said something in Hebrew and dropped a few more ashes into the water. The urn was passed down the line until it was empty. 

Harvey was back together again with Jack at last.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 06



Chapter 6 Smile, You're on Candid Camera



Shane had to circle the block and the two adjoining blocks to find a parking space. She and her housemate, Jenny Schecter, could hear the music and the crowd noise coming out of the club halfway down the block. There was a big banner hung on top of the neon sign that identified The Planet that said "Grand Opening – Under New Management." There were people milling about outside, smoking and drinking and having a good time. The windows of the place were lit by occasional flashes of lights of different colors, reflecting the light show that was accompanying the music inside. It was a happy place on a happy Saturday night. It was a far cry from the time a few months earlier when The Planet was mainly a coffee bar and restaurant that catered mostly to the West Hollywood neighborhood's lesbian crowd. The old Planet had been open at night, too, but it had a milder, more subdued atmosphere back then. Now the place was jumping. Before they went in Shane turned to look at Jenny.

"You going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," Jenny said. "But thanks for the morale check."

"You're sure?"

Jenny nodded. A year ago she had moved to West Hollywood from Ohio with her boyfriend, Tim, who had gotten a job as swim coach at California University. At this very club Jenny had met the woman who was then its owner, Marina Ferrer, been seduced by her and had an affair with her that cost Jenny her relationship with Tim. And as it happened in the small world of Gaytown, as some people called West Hollywood, Jenny and Tim had rented a house next to a lesbian couple, Bette Porter and Tina Kennard, who hung out a lot at The Planet along with Shane and some other people who had adopted Jenny and became her friends. When Tim had gone back to Ohio, Shane moved in with Jenny and became her housemate. Their neighbor Bette's half sister, Kit Porter, also a friend of the group, was now the new owner of The Planet. But there had been a lot of rough water over the dam for Jenny, a lot of it connected to The Planet and its previous owner, and that's what had Shane concerned.

"Yes, I'm good. Really. Let's go in," Jenny said. They edged their way through the crowd out front and went in through the big double doors. Inside, the place was packed, mostly but not entirely by young women. The music was hot and loud, and at the far end of the room on a raised dais a gorgeous woman DJ in a yellow top and a white Panama Jack pork pie hat was spinning records behind a table full of audio equipment. Red, blue and white lights played over the bandstand and the audience of swaying, dancing women and men. 

Shane saw Kit standing at the side of the room watching the crowd and smiling. They made their way around to her.

"Shane! You came!" Kit said, wrapping her arms around Shane in a big hug.

"Of course we came, what did you think?" Shane said, hugging her. "And congratulations, this is fabulous!" 

"Jenny!" Kit said, laughing and embracing her, too. Jenny laughed and hugged her back.

"Best of luck, Kit, you've done a great job!" Jenny told her.

"Where's the gang?" Shane shouted over the sound of the music.

"Oh, they're around, I just saw Bette and Tina a minute ago. Alice is here, and Dana. Hey, thanks for the recommendation on Carmen, she's terrific."

"I told you she'd be great," Shane yelled into Kit's ear. She turned and looked at the stage as Kit hurried off to greet somebody. Up on the dais, Carmen looked over just then and saw Shane and Jenny, and waved. Shane nodded back.

"Is that Carmen spinning?" Jenny asked, peering through the dark to see who Shane had nodded to.

"Yeah, I hooked her up with Kit. Carmen's a great DJ." 

"Aren't you gonna go say hi?" 

"I just did."

Jenny looked at Shane with a half-amused, half-contemptuous look.

"What?" 

Jenny sighed. "Shane, sometimes you just remind me of guys I used to date in high school." She wandered off. 

Shane went over to the bar and ordered two Dos Equis, one for her, one for Carmen. Just then the record ended, and Kit went up on stage as Carmen put down her headphones and walked offstage. Kit picked up a live mic and addressed the crowd as behind her five members of an indy rock band called Betty came on stage with their instruments.

"Ladies ... and a few gentlemen," Kit said, getting a few laughs, "tonight, well, this is a dream come true. I've always wanted to have a place where musicians could come and jam and get much love. So I want you to give it up for Betty!" 

The audience cheered and applauded. One of the band members, Alyson Palmer, took the mic from Kit.

"Give it up! Givin' it up for Kit Porter! Does she know how to throw a party or what?" Palmer yelled into the mic, and the band kicked into its song It Girl as the audience cheered and danced.

Carmen made her way through the crowd to the bar and got two bottles of Dos Equis, one for her and one for Shane, and went looking for her. Carmen had very mixed emotions at that moment. On the one hand, she was grateful to Shane for recommending her to Kit Porter, essentially sealing the deal and getting Carmen this gig. On the other hand, she was still upset about Shane's goddamn mind-fucking, how after an afternoon and evening of some great sex – no, make that great love-making, world-class love-making, baby – Shane had suddenly gone cold and uncommunicative, had gotten up, gotten dressed and gone out, leaving Carmen alone to find her way out and home without so much as a goodnight kiss. Shane had said she "didn't like sleepovers." By everything that was sane and holy, Carmen ought to just forget about Shane, she was some sort of demented, mood-swinging psycho bitch. She ought to just move on, find somebody else.

Except. Except ... shit. Carmen didn't know. Was she in love? This was crazy, nuts. What was the hold this boi/girl had on her? Why did the mere sight of Shane, with her unruly, shaggy hair, and her man's shirt and her pencil-thin geek necktie, and her lips and her boyish grin make Carmen's pulse race? Was there such a thing as love at first sight? Why did Carmen look at Shane and get this vibe of an underlying sadness? Why did Carmen know at some deeper level that Shane was some sort of injured creature, a bird with a broken wing, someone who aroused Carmen's pity, and her compassion? 

Carmen was the daughter of a Mayan medicine man; she had powers. Even if she had no other tools available to her, she could heal with her love. Perhaps she could make Shane whole. Maybe she could take away and dissolve whatever that hurt was that had been done to Shane. Maybe she could just make the bitch fucking talk to her, for crying out loud. Maybe. Because the words were still echoing in Carmen's head, Quiero, quiero, I want. Because, goddammit, Carmen wanted Shane. There had to be a way, that's all. Strong-hearted, bold daughters of Mayan medicine men don't quit. Ixchel, the jaguar goddess, didn't quit. Ixchel healed. Ixchel was wise, and had patience. Carmen would be wise and patient, too.

Up on stage, one of the guitarists, a tall, thin, flaming redhead named Elizabeth Ziff, who went by the name ezgirl, took off her guitar, grabbed a microphone, went to the edge of the bandstand and stepped down into the crowd, still singing. She glided through the crowd, which parted in front of her. She came to the bar, and there was Shane standing there, watching. Ezgirl slowly walked up to Shane, singing, and then the spotlight danced over them as ezgirl began to caress Shane as the crowd hooted and cheered them on. Shane blushed and was bashful -- but she did nothing to discourage ezgirl, who wrapped her arms around Shane and sang into Shane's ear, the crowd loving this display. Ezgirl nibbled on Shane's neck and then kissed her on the mouth, a lingering, sensuous kiss that the crowd cheered and applauded. That was when Carmen, threading her way through the crowd and still looking for Shane, saw what the crowd was cheering about. Carmen, watching, felt her anger and jealousy rising. She turned away and went over to the bar, where she found Jenny sitting on a stool and moodily watching the antics. Carmen held up her spare bottle of Dos Equis she'd gotten for Shane.

"Beer?"

Jenny took it and nodded. "Cheers," she said, and they clinked bottles in a toast, and drank.

The song ended, and ezgirl's sister, Amy Ziff, came to the front of the stage.

"Thank you," she said into the mic. "I have a confession to make. Kit Porter is my idol. And to be standing here on her stage after growing up, listening to her music, is -- it's like a dream come true. Kit? Kit Porter! Will you please come up here and sing with us?"

The crowd whistled and cheered, and, blushing, Kit went up on stage. In another, earlier life Kit had been a professional singer, had been quite famous in her day with a couple of Top 10 hits, until drugs and booze and success and craziness had set in, as it took so many other entertainers. But a lot of people remembered Kit Porter, and she still held all their affection, even this newer, younger audience that was only half Kit's age. Betty broke into a cover of Some Kind of Wonderful, with Kit singing with Alyson, Elizabeth, and Amy.

Carmen and Jenny sat at a table at the back of the room nursing their beers. They'd met briefly the other night at Jenny and Shane's house, in the kitchen. Carmen thought Jenny was cute, a tiny, porcelain kind of girl, and the polar opposite of Shane. Jenny was girly, and responsive, and could talk. She had a nice, tight little bod, and great blue eyes in spite of her brunette hair coloring. This is the kind of girl I ought to be dating, Carmen thought. Somebody sane.

Sitting at the bar, Jenny could tell Carmen was unhappy and pining over Shane, angry at Shane's shameless behavior with that singer. She felt sorry for Carmen, and wanted to cheer her up. And she thought, maybe ... 

"Would you like to get out of here?" Jenny asked.

Carmen turned and looked at Jenny. Goddamn Shane had kissed a woman. Well, maybe it was time to kiss somebody herself. Fuck Shane. Jenny was cute. Jenny was sexy. Jenny was available, and Jenny was asking. Carmen's mood lightened, and she laughed softly. 

"Yeah, I do," she said, looking into Jenny's eyes. "But, um, I'm actually still working. So, maybe we can do it some other time?" 

"Yeah, I would like that," Jenny whispered.

"Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmm," Jenny said.

Carmen leaned in to Jenny's face. Cute. Big liquid eyes. Desire in them. Carmen hesitated, then moved all the way in, Jenny coming to meet her, a kiss that was not just a kiss but also a promise.

Shane, standing a few feet away, finally found Carmen ... and then saw the kiss. She watched, full of conflicting emotions that made the noise level in her head increase to a roar. She felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach, a twinge under her ribs near her heart. Well, so much for that. Shane turned away with the two beers in her hand, filled with feelings she didn't recognize or know what to do with.

***

Alice, Tina and Dana were deep in discussion at their usual table at The Planet, which had returned to its usual late Sunday morning brunch/lunch cafe ambiance and customers, when Jenny and Shane came in. Alice looked up to acknowledge them. 

"Hey, guys!" she said as Jenny and Shane sat down. Alice returned to her conversation. "All right. Here's the hypothetical question. A fairy godmother comes to visit. She tells you she's gonna give you a penis. "

"Oh, my god," Dana laughed, throwing back her head and rolling her eyes. 

"You only get it for twenty-four hours, and then it disappears," Alice continued. "What do you do with that penis for twenty-four hours?" 

Shane had an immediate answer. "I would pee standing up on every bush I could find." 

"That's all you would do, you would just ... just pee?" Dana asked. 

Shane nodded confidently. "Mm-hmm. Yup." 

"You really wouldn't try to fuck a lot of girls?" Jenny asked. 

"I don't need a dick to do that," Shane said, and everybody laughed. Shane's reputation as a superb cockless cocksman was well established. Everyone knew Shane took scissoring and tribadism -- her specialty -- to whole new levels. 

Tina wanted clarification. "Okay. How big is my penis?" 

Alice thought about it. "Okay. Lean." 

Tina sat back in her chair, and Alice looked at Tina's crotch. Tina had nice hips, and was pregnant. Clearly, she would most likely be well-endowed by nature had she been a man.

"Okay. I see a really big cock down there," Alice said, making Tina laugh. "It's long, it's not too thick, it's not too dainty." Alice sounded almost wistful. She and Tina were both bisexuals -- or perhaps retired bisexuals, ex-bisexuals, if there was such a thing -- who had each enjoyed sucking and fucking just such cocks once upon a time.

Dana, on the other hand, never had. She screwed up her face in disgust. "Gross," she said.

"I, on the other hand, have a giant sausage!" Alice exclaimed triumphantly. Everybody laughed, and just then Kit came over with a tray of drinks. 

"I think that I probably have a really small penis," Jenny offered. 

"Girl, you need to work on your self-esteem," Kit said, passing out cups to Alice, Tina and Dana. 

"Oh, we're trying, Kit." Shane told her. 

"No, no, no," Jenny protested, "I kinda like men with small dicks, 'cause then they work really hard to try to please you, you know? Right?" 

"Jenny, I am beginning to think that you are definitely a lesbian," Tina laughed. 

"Carmen's certainly hoping so," Shane said.

"Carmen? What?" Dana asked. 

"What?" Alice asked at the same time, and equally befuddled as she turned to Jenny. "Wait, there's something going on between you and Carmen?" 

"No, no, no, it's nothing!" Jenny said. 

"Girls!" Kit said to the table, and then looked specifically at Jenny with approval and a wink. "Carmen is all that." 

"Kit!" Jenny protested again. 

Kit laughed.

***

Shane came out of her room to get a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. Jenny was sitting at the kitchen table hunched despondently over her laptop. She was a writer, or trying to be a writer, as Shane knew. She looked up. "Shane?" 

"I'm sorry, uh ... I didn't mean to interrupt your flow," Shane said, getting the water and coming over to the table. Jenny closed her laptop and sighed.

"I am so broke. If we don't find a third housemate, there is no way I'm gonna be able to come up with half the rent." 

"Me, too," Shane said.

"Good!" Jenny said, and they both laughed. 

"Good night," Shane said, walking back to her room. 

"Shane?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Are you okay with that thing that happened between Carmen and me? I mean, if we were to --" 

"Are you?" 

"I don't know," Jenny said. "I mean, we just ... " Jenny shrugged. "We just kissed. She hasn't called or anything." 

Shane thought about it. "You could call her," she said. 

"I can't do that." 

"Well, uh ... do you want me to invite her over?" 

"You would do that?" When Shane nodded, Jenny added, "Are you sure that you're okay with that?" 

"Consider it done," Shane said, smiling. "G'night." 

"G'night, Shane."

***

It wasn't billed as a "party," just a small, informal get-together, a little music, a little pot, drink a few beers, chill out on a Saturday night. Alice got there late, and when Jenny opened the door she found Alice on the doorstep with a six-pack of Dos Equis. They exchanged greetings and Jenny kissed Alice on the cheek. When Alice entered the living room she found Shane, Carmen and four or five other girls lounging around. Hellos were exchanged again.

"How was the, um ... how was the blind date?" Shane asked. 

" Fucking Tonya set me up with a guy," Alice complained, making a face. 

"Oh-ho, shit," said a girl who was sitting on the couch half in Shane's lap. "Was he cute?" 

"Yeah, he was totally cute. I don't know, I actually kinda liked him, believe it or not. I don't know." Alice held up the six-pack she still carried. "Um, beer, anyone?" 

Carmen had gravitated over to the stereo equipment in a wall unit and was looking through Jenny and Shane's collection of CDs. "You have the complete Bardot collection?" she exclaimed, referring to the recently defunct four-girl Australian rock group and not the French actress. 

"Um ... " Shane said. 

"This is excellent," Carmen added, impressed. 

"That's ... that's Jenny's," Shane said, waving a beer bottle in Jenny's direction. 

"I love Bardot," Carmen said. 

Jenny smiled shyly. "Me, too."

Carmen resumed looking through the CDs. She glanced up at Shane from time to time, noting each time who had their hands where, and who was licking who's ear. Carmen pretended not to care, but ... shit. Shit, shit, shit. Shane was practically tongue-fucking the girl's ear. Carmen felt her stomach drop.

***

They were playing Don't Call Me, I'll Call You, from Bardot's second album, Play It Like That. The ash trays were full and there were empty beer bottles on the coffee table. A couple of joints had made the rounds. The girl in Shane's lap was rambling on about somebody Carmen didn't know.

"Liz Van Assum and Gabby Devaux are, like, totally dressed in SM leather. And Gabby? She has a huge chain from her crotch that goes through her legs and is padlocked to Liz's crotch," the girl said. 

"Gabby Devaux's a freak," Alice said sourly, sitting on the floor and taking a swig of beer. 

Jenny was sitting in a chair by herself, her knees pulled up tight to her chest. She was looking at Carmen and smiling shyly. Carmen was restlessly prowling around the room, trying hard not to look at Shane or care about anything Shane was doing.

"I think Gabby freaked Alice pretty bad," Shane laughed. 

"Yeah," Alice confirmed. "I don't touch that shit anymore. I'm through with mind fucks."

Shane's girl turned her face to Shane, touched Shane's cheek, and stuck her tongue in Shane's mouth. 

Carmen cleared her throat and said, "I think that, um ... that I'm gonna be going now." She looked at Jenny who looked at Shane, who was busy French-kissing and ignoring everybody. 

"So. I'll see ya later," Carmen said, going to the door and leaving. 

"Bye ... " Alice said, pouring herself a shot of something and drinking it down.

Jenny looked down at her hands sadly.

Alice poured herself another shot.

***

Jenny and Shane sat on the couch. Opposite them on the edge of a chair sat a very cheerful woman who had come to be interviewed about being their new housemate. She was the seventh or eight unsatisfactory interview of the afternoon. Their house had a small building out back they called "the studio," and constituted a third bedroom. At one time it had been a garage. Of course, whoever slept in it still had to come into the house to use the bathroom and kitchen, and the living room, if they wanted.

"Linda's my real name, but I decided to go with 'Feef' because I think it's more memorable, don't you think?" 

Jenny and Shane stared at her. "Uh, Feef, what do you do when you're not being an extra in one of your movies?" Shane asked, glancing down at Feef's resume. 

"I signed up for a Berry Gannon sitcom technique workshop. Oh, I really wanna be a TV star! I just did a little horror movie and the director totally noticed me. At least, I think it was the director. He was wearing a baseball cap." 

Jenny and Shane stared at her. "Do ... do you have any other jobs?" Jenny finally asked. 

"I'm signed up with three different temp agencies that cater to the entertainment business. I just think I'm the perfect candidate to get discovered. I mean, just look at anyone who's on TV right now! Most of them started out temping." Feef sighed, then smiled. "I just read a whole article about it in Star." 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 06



They stared at Feef. Then Jenny turned to Shane. "Okay!" Jenny said brightly. 

"Yup!" Shane threw in quickly. 

"Well, I think we'll get back to you!" Jenny said, smiling politely and with an insincerity that sailed past Feef untouched. 

"I - I agree. Thank you, Feef." 

"Thanks," Jenny said. 

Shane got up and escorted Feef to the door. "Um, for, um ... for coming by!" 

Shane closed the door and sat back down. "All right." 

"Shit," Jenny muttered. 

"We gotta cut these interviews short, I mean, right before it gets ugly." 

"Mm-hmm, like in one second." 

"We need to think of a signal," Shane said.

"Um, why don't I pull my ear, like that?" Jenny gave herself the Carol Burnett earlobe signal. 

" Cool. If the person's not for you, pull your ear, and that means 'outta there.' And I'll do this – " she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "Okay?" 

"Yeah." 

Shane flopped back on the couch, exhausted. "Christ," she said. 

***

"It's a consortium of doctors. I set up the Quickbooks system for them, and I run their billing for them," Ewen said. He was a pleasant-looking young man of about thirty. He seemed neat and clean, and he dressed and spoke well. 

"And is that pretty much nine to five?" Jenny asked. 

"More like seven to eleven. It's pretty intense, 'cause, well, uh, patients don't wanna pay their doctor's bills."

"Mm-hmm. So, Ewan, if it's not too personal, do you have a girlfriend, a boyfriend?" Shane asked. 

"Well, I had a boyfriend, but, uh, we broke up about nine months ago. It was pretty mutual, but it was still kind of a rough time." He looked sad, and sighed. 

"Sorry." 

"I am starting to date again!" he said brightly. 

"Yay," Jenny said, giving him a little cheer. So far so good with this guy. "What kinda music do you like?" 

"Well, uh, mostly I listen to, uh, R&B and funk. Sly Stone, Chaka Khan, Prince." 

Jenny and Shane smiled at each other. 

"But I've got no problem wearing headphones if you're not into it." 

"No, no, Prince is excellent," Shane said quickly. "Especially The Revolution.'" 

"Yeah, with Wendy and Lisa?" Ewen said. 

"Yes!" 

"God, I love Wendy and Lisa," Jenny said. 

"That's his best shit, hands down," Ewen said, smiling broadly. Kismet. 

"Fuck it," Shane said to Jenny, "let's just show Ewan the studio room he'd have." 

"Yeah," Jenny agreed. Finally! A housemate!

"There's just one thing I wanna make sure you're okay with, it's just not really a big deal." 

"Lay it on us, Ewan." 

"Well, I just want you to know sometimes I'm gonna be naked." 

There was a pause while they considered this... development. "Uh, yeah. Yeah! I mean, when you're having a shower, or like, what, uh, getting changed," Jenny said, helpfully. 

"Yeah. LA in the summer is a killer; everyone sleeps naked," Shane said. 

"Yeah. Yeah, totally," Jenny said. 

"And sometimes, like, you know, like, hanging around the house, too," Ewen said. 

Jenny and Shane stared at him. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, you know, like doing day-to-day things, like, um, dusting, gardening, reading the paper, cooking breakfast ... " 

Jenny slowly tugged at her earlobe.

"Basically, I'm a nudist. It's a lifestyle thing," Ewen said. "But it's so natural, after a while you'll get used to it." 

"Do you really think that, Ewan?" 

"Oh yeah, sure, what's the big deal if I took my shoes off." He stood and kicked off his shoes, "...and my shirt." He took off his shirt. "That wouldn't be a big deal, right?" 

Shane rubbed her nose. Ewan unbuckled his belt. "So, what if I, uh, take it one more step further?" He dropped his drawers. "That's no big deal, right?" He reached to remove his underwear but Jenny and Shane held up their hands to stop him. 

"Oh, my God! No, Ewan!"

Too late.

***

"I recommend we set up a schedule for bathing, cooking, cleaning," the woman said. She was in her early thirties. Short, blond hair. Bland but pleasant face. No smile. Authoritative. Direct. "And I think it would be really, really bonding if once a week we each made a meal for the other two." 

Shane stared at her, wondering what planet she was from. 

"My specialties are string bean tuna fish casserole, and, uh, Sloppy Joe lasagna." She smiled at Shane and Jenny.

Jenny and Shane stared. Shane rubbed her nose. Jenny tugged her earlobe.

***

"Yeah, I've been with the company for about four years. They treat me well, so I don't see myself going anywhere," said the young woman Jenny was interviewing. 

"Good," Jenny said, pleased to hear it. "Would you be happy, in the studio, back there? Because Shane, my roommate, said that she would be willing to sleep in the main house." 

"Oh! I don't even mind the extra little bit of privacy," the woman said, happily. 

Just then Shane got home from a job and came through the back door. 

"Um, hey!" Jenny said to Shane. 

"Hi," Shane said, "Sorry I'm late." Shane threw her bag on the floor and sat on the couch next to Jenny. She patted Jenny on the knee affectionately, not even being aware of it.

"Shane, this is Sally."

"Hey, Sally." 

"Hi," Sally said. 

"And Sally said that she would be willing to sleep in the studio." 

The smile remained on Sally's face, but it iced up a little as she looked Shane over. Androgynous kind of haircut. Man's shirt. Thin man necktie. Man-looking kind of girl, actually. You know...not...

"Excellent," Shane said to Jenny. Turning to Sally she said, "So, um ... you're into the studio. Does that mean you discussed the kitchen and bathroom situation?" She turned to Jenny again, gesturing back and forth between Jenny and Sally. They weren't picking up on Sally, who was stone-faced. 

"Um, yes, I have," Jenny said. 

"And what about rent?" 

"Uh - I - I did need to ask a question," Sally said.

Jenny and Shane turned to her.

"Uh ... you two aren't ... um ... " 

Jenny and Shane suddenly caught on and laughed. 

"Uh!" Shane said, Jenny overlapping with "Oh, uh, no."

"No!" 

"No," Jenny said, smiling.

"No," Shane said. 

"No," Jenny said, shaking her head no. How silly.

"No," Shane said, putting her arm around Jenny. "No, we're friends. We're roommates." 

"Just friends," Sally said.

"Yeah." 

"Is there a problem?" Jenny asked. 

Sally reflexively touched the cross on her necklace. She hesitated, then pulled a pamphlet out of her purse. "My church ... we have a group called Exodus Ministry and--"

"Exodus Ministry," Jenny said, doubtfully. 

Shane stared at Sally. Shane knew what Sally was talking about. Jenny looked at Shane. 

"We can help get you out of the homosexual lifestyle. Jesus loves us all. He hates the sin, but he loves the sinner." 

It was Shane's turn to be stone-faced. "Thanks for coming by, Sally," she said, rising to her feet. 

"Bye, Sally," Jenny said, without feeling. 

Shane pointed to the door. "It's that way. I'll show it to you." 

Shane walked over and opened the door. Sally looked confused but picked up her purse and left.

Jenny and Shane just looked at each other. Shane looked angry; Jenny could see the tension in her jaw. Jenny just shook her head sadly. Just then there came a knock at the door. Shane went to answer it, assuming Sally had forgotten something. 

"Wait!" Jenny said, "I'm going to talk to her." 

"Okay," Shane agreed, thinking she had a few things to say herself if she ever managed to tamp down all the noise in her head and put some sentences together that didn't start off with fuck you. 

Shane opened the door and found a tall, good-looking guy on the porch with a video camera on his shoulder. He was filming Shane. 

"Afternoon, ladies. I'm Mark. I, uh, I called earlier. Who did I talk to on the phone?" 

Jenny rubbed her temples. What now? She felt a headache coming on. A tall, male headache. "That would be me." 

"Jenny. That's your name, right?" He kept filming as he entered the living room. Shane looked at him suspiciously. 

"Mark," he said, extending his hand to Jenny. Still filming, they shook. Jenny stared uncomfortably into the camera lens, frowning. 

"Hi, Mark." 

"Nice to meet you," he said. He worked the camera zoom, getting a close-up of Jenny's face.

"Wow. Amazing eyes," he said. 

"Thank you." 

Mark turned and walked to Shane, putting the camera in her face. 

"I'm Mark." 

"Yeah. You said that. I'm Shane. Do you mind, please?" Shane gently but firmly pushed the camera out of her face and closed the front door. Mark backed off but never stopped filming.

"Sorry, I know this thing is intrusive, but it's sorta my life's work. I'm chronicling, bear with me, guys." 

Jenny pulled on her earlobe like crazy. Shane's nose itched so bad she nearly rubbed it off. 

"Check this," Mark said, narrating into the camera's microphone. "Two dark-haired beauties with blue eyes. What are the odds of that?" He laughed. "So is that, like, how you guys decided to be roommates?" 

"I'm sorry, Mark. What is it that you're looking for?" Shane asked coolly.

"That ... is an excellent question. How do you mean, spiritually? Philosophically?" 

"No, as in a place to live," Jenny said. 

"Oh, whew," he laughed. "I can answer that question. Um ... " He turned the camera around and handed it to Shane. "Would you mind? Just hold the camera while I ... "

Shane took the camera and pointed it lop-sidedly at Mark, uninterested in helping him film his own video interview. Mark leaned over to get his face into the crooked shot. "Sorry," Shane said, straightening out the camera.

"Mark Wayland here," he narrated into the lens, "talking to Jenny and Shane, answering the question, 'What are you looking for in a place to live?' And hoping that my completely obnoxious, in-your-face video camera entrance doesn't totally prejudice them against considering me as their roommate." 

Jenny and Shane couldn't help but smile at each other. Jenny heaved a theatrical sigh. "Okay, Mark, sit down and we'll talk."

Shane found herself starting to get into this film thing. Still keeping the camera on Mark, she sat down on the sofa next to Jenny while Mark sat in the chair opposite them.

"So what is it you do with these videos, Mark?" Jenny asked.

"I make what are called 'direct-to-video' films," he said. "There's no intention to ever try to market them as first-run movies. For one thing, they aren't good enough, and for another, they appeal to very small niche markets."

"Direct-to-videos, huh?" 

"Yup," Mark said.

"What do you do on these videos?" 

"I write 'em, I shoot 'em, and I cut 'em," Mark said, smiling a little immodestly. "When I first took the gig I thought, uh, it'd only be part-time so I'd get my shit together, go back to film school, but ... didn't really work out." 

"What are some of the titles of the videos that you've made, Mark?" Jenny asked, as Shane kept on filming. She started to play with the zoom a little, getting the hang of some of the options the camera gave her. 

Mark's grin was a little shamefaced. "Bareknuckle Backyard Wrestling, Bloody Bar Brawls, Ass-Kicking Sisters, and my first was called World's Craziest Bachelor Parties. It was a pretty big seller, but not as big as, uh, Wild-Ass Catholic School Girls." 

Shane turned the camera on Jenny to get her less-than-enthusiastic reaction. Jenny's eyebrows were wrinkled. 

"Did you catch that one?" Mark asked, laughing, knowing full well they hadn't. 

Shane turned the camera off, laughing. "That's twisted, Mark. Um ... you know, Jenny and I will get back to you." She handed his camera back to him. 

"Okay. Look, I'm guessing both of you know what it's like to try to figure out how to be an artist." He pointed to the building out back. "Is that the studio?" 

"Yeah," Jenny and Shane said together.

"Because that is amazing. I could bring in my equipment and post all my shows right out of there. Look, I don't wanna do this. I wanna make documentaries, that's all I've ever wanted to do." 

"There's not a lot of call for that, is there?" Jenny asked sympathetically. 

"No. But, I mean, God - a truly great documentary film, there's ... it's not - it's - have you ever seen this movie called Grey Gardens?" 

"Oh my God," Jenny exclaimed, "that's, um, what is it. That's those two -- uh, the two insane women ... " 

"Yeah."

Mark and Jenny both began to explain the movie to Shane, who looked perplexed.

"They're like the mother and the daughter, right?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Mark nodded.

"Yeah, that's probably the most crazy--" 

"Best--" 

"Unbelievable--" 

"Best documentary ever," Mark said. 

"Best documentary I've ever seen," Jenny agreed. 

"Yes." 

"Yeah."

Mark turned to Shane. "You must see this movie. That is my inspiration. Imagine what that would be like to make something like that? That - that truly moved people. I ... " He stopped and sighed, acknowledging the futility of trying to meet a standard that high. 

"Do you really want to move people?" Jenny asked. She was thinking of her own writing, and her own ambitions with it. And here was a fellow artist with the same aspirations and dreams. 

"Yes. I really want to move people," he said quietly. 

"That's understandable," Shane chipped in, entering their world for the first time. Jenny looked at her. 

"Please don't judge me by what I do to get by. I mean ... I know it's weird." He laughed. "But my direct-to-video gig pays. I can give you first month's rent, last month's rent, security, and six months' rent up front, in cash." 

Jenny and Shane looked at each other. They had a housemate. 

***

Seven of them piled out of Shane's truck and Alice's car about 9 p.m. one evening a few days later. Only Alice and Dana had ever been here before, so Shane led them carefully along the driveway in the darkness to the entrance to Bette and Tina's backyard -- and their swimming pool. Alice and Dana had been at a club with Shane and a couple girls Shane knew when one of the girls complained about how hot and sweaty this dancing made her, and how she'd love to go for a swim to cool off. And before she knew it, Shane said she knew of a pool, just next door to her own place, and they were free to use it any time. And next thing she knew there were seven of them out on the sidewalk heading to the cars.

"Careful, don't trip," Shane said, leading the group down the driveway. "Bette said that we could swim here whenever we wanted. So ... let's fucking do it." She heard the sudden sound of a beer can pop-top popping, and heard Alice right behind her stop and take a swig. Shane opened the side gate and let them all pass by into the backyard. They began to undress, and in seconds there were seven naked women laughing and cavorting in the pool, lit by a few mood lights around its perimeter.

A few minutes after that, Jenny left her house to go to the store, and ran into Mark and some other guy, who'd just arrived in Mark's truck. "Hey, Jenny," Mark greeted her. 

"Hey, Mark." 

"This is my buddy, Gomey," Mark said, introducing them in the near-dark. 

"Hi," Gomey said, shaking hands with Jenny. 

"Hey," Jenny said. She had the impression of a guy in his late twenties, buzz cut haircut, sloppy T-shirt, slacker look, kind of plain looking, nothing special one way or the other.

They could hear girls laughing and splashing in Bette and Tina's pool, and through breaks in the shrubbery they could see the girls were naked. 

"Whew. That pool looks so fine, Jenny. Would it be cool if we joined you?" Gomey asked. 

"Um ... you should probably ask them," Jenny said. "I'm going to the store." 

Just then Shane saw them in the driveway and called out, "Hey Mark, come join us!" 

Gomey nodded happily and would have been naked in three seconds but for a look from Mark. Gomey frowned and headed off to the garage in a sulk. Jenny started to walk off down the drive way when Mark stopped her. 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

Jenny stopped and turned. "Yeah." 

Mark walked over and sat down on a bench alongside the house. Jenny sat next to him. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to Jenny. "Smoke?" 

"Yeah." 

Mark lit her cigarette and then his own. They listened to Shane and Alice and the others carry on and laugh, having a great time. 

"What?" Jenny prompted him. 

"Those girls ... they're all gay, right?" 

"Yeah," Jenny said. "They pretty much are." 

"What about you?" 

"What about me?" 

"Are you gay?" 

Jenny shrugged and blew out smoke. "No. I don't know. What do you think?" 

"If I saw you at a bar," Mark said, "I would assume you were straight." 

"Mm-hmm." 

"That doesn't really mean anything," Mark said gently. 

"No, it doesn't." 

"Never know, these days, do you?" 

"No, you don't. Except. You knew they were," Jenny said, motioning toward the pool. "Right?" 

"That's true," Mark nodded. 

"So what do you think it is?" 

"I don't know. I'd say it has something to do with their attitude. It's not that they're masculine, or anything, 'cause actually some of them are pretty feminine. You know? It's ... they have these ... haircuts." 

Jenny shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. Hopeless.

Mark tried to recover. "These very cool haircuts - don't get me wrong - it's not - more - it's obviously more than a haircut." 

Jenny laughed at him. Keep bailing, buddy. 

"But it's - no, it's true," he tried. "It's this ... something  ... that they exude that's ... I'm gonna try and put my finger on it." 

"Good," she laughed again. "Tell me when you do, Mark." 

"I will. I'll tell you when I do." 

Jenny chuckled in the dark. Mark glanced over at the girls in the pool. Jenny smacked his arm and pointed her finger in his face. 

"Don't look!" she said, mock seriously. But part of her wondered what would happen if Mark jumped naked into a pool of seven very confirmed lesbians. 

"Sorry," Mark said sheepishly, not knowing if he was in the doghouse or not. 

"That's naughty," Jenny teased him, getting up. "G'night." 

"G'night." He watched Jenny walk away and then glanced back over at the girls in the pool. Christ. Seven smokin' hot lesbos, naked. Seven hot, wet lesbians. Just think of the possibilities. Just think of the combinations. Just think of the ... oh, fuck. It wasn't gonna happen. 

Reluctantly Mark got up and went home to the studio. And Gomey. Seven hot, smokin', wet, naked, young, wet, pussy-lovin', California-type, suntanned, golden, carpet-munching, did he mention hot? steamy, probably horny lesbians. Did he mention naked? Dykes. Daughters of Bilitis. Sisters of Sappho. And who does he wind up with? Gomey, and a night of Madden 2005.

Fuck.

***

About eleven one of the girls mentioned that it was a school night, not that anybody was actually a student or a teacher, but they did have jobs and lives, some of them, and by 11:15 everyone had gone home. Shane threw on just her shirt, walked across the driveway, and went into her house. She took a shower to wash off the chlorine, put on a fresh pair of jockeys and a sleeveless T-shirt, and picked up a small bottle of Jose Cuervo she'd been drinking from earlier in her room. She normally kept it in the freezer in the kitchen, but now it was room temperature. Shane took a belt and walked into the kitchen to put it back in the freezer. She found Jenny sitting at the kitchen table, looking sad and wistful. 

"What are you doing still awake?" she asked. 

Jenny looked thoughtfully at Shane. 

"Shane? Will you do me a favor?"

"Sure. What?" 

"Will you cut my hair?" 

Shane thought about it for a moment. What was going on in Jenny's head now? "What kind of haircut do you want?" 

Jenny knew the answer. It was what Mark had been struggling in his own boorish way to define. A dyke haircut. A lesbian haircut. She knew on one level that it was silly, that there was really no such thing as a dyke style. But Jenny had been brooding on what Mark said about her looking "straight." Well, maybe he was right -- and if so, maybe it was time to do something about that. To climb off the fence. To leave the straight world behind. Time to join her sisters. To make a statement about who she was. No, about what she was. It was time to tell the world: Jenny Schecter was a lesbian.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 06



"Short," Jenny said. 

Shane looked at Jenny's face. She was calm, clear-eyed, sober. She was serious. She seemed determined.

"Okay," Shane said, sitting down and facing Jenny. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Jenny confirmed. "If you're not too tired." 

"I'm not too tired," Shane said. 

"'Kay." 

"Are you sure?" Shane asked. Shane knew Jenny was serious, but there's the question of due diligence. 

Jenny smiled. "Yeah. I just feel like I ... need to change." 

Shane studied her. "Okay," she said again. She got up and put her chair in the center of the room under the light, and gestured for Jenny to take a seat. Shane went over to the CD player, picked out a CD, and slid it into the machine. Iron and Wine's Naked As We Came began to play. Shane knelt down in front of Jenny, studying her face, planning her moves. What to cut, what to leave. What style. How to frame her face. Shane felt a deep sense of satisfaction. This was what she did, this was what she was good at, really good. And this particular haircut was freighted with meaning, not for Shane but for Jenny. It was a statement haircut, a life-defining haircut, not just some do for a charity ball or a movie scene. This was a haircut about Jenny. This was about who Jenny was, wanted to be. Would become.

"Okay," Jenny said. Shane understood Jenny was talking to herself. It was a statement of affirmation. 

"Okay," Shane said, communicating on the same elevated plane. She smiled, and it made Jenny smile, too. 

""Yeah!" Jenny laughed, exultant. 

"Okay!" Shane said, smiling and nodding. 

"Okay!" 

"Let's do it," Shane said. 

"Yeah!" 

Shane stood and picked up her clippers from the table. She walked behind Jenny and began to draw that long, beautiful black hair up into her strong, confident hands. Jenny closed her eyes, blinked back a tear, but it was too late. That one lone tear ran down her cheek. 

Shane began to cut. Another tear ran down Jenny's other cheek, but Shane looked down and saw her smiling. There would be no going back now ... and Jenny didn't want to. She had her best, best friend Shane here to finally welcome her into the world in which she finally belonged, a world she had struggled so hard to find, leaving behind a world in which she had lost so much, and had never really belonged.

***

Shane and Jenny walked down Santa Monica Boulevard on their way to a new clothing boutique Jenny wanted to visit. It was only ten in the morning, and the first day of the New Jenny, the Makeover Jenny, the Jenny with the short dyke haircut. And truth to tell, Jenny felt like a million bucks. She walked with confidence. She had a bounce in her step. 

A good-looking girl walking the other way smiled at Jenny, and then just after they passed, the woman turned to look back. Shane caught it all. She stepped in front of Jenny and spun around, walking backwards and grinning.

"What?" Jenny asked. 

"You just got cruised!" 

Jenny turned to look back at the girl who had just scoped her out. "Do you think she was looking at me?" 

"Oh yeah, in broad daylight, too." 

Jenny put her arm around Shane, who reciprocated. They kept walking. 

"I love my haircut," Jenny said, giving Shane a kiss on the cheek with a big "Mwah!" Shane grinned.

***

Carmen sat at the kitchen table sorting through a box of her CDs. She was putting together a selection list for Dana and Tonya's engagement party. Tonya was a woman Dana had been dating, and the sad truth was none of the Friends – Jenny's word for the group who met at The Planet -- liked her. Still, you have to support your friends, and sometimes your friends' choices.

Shane sat on the kitchen counter nearby. Carmen had something on her mind. "You know what, I really don't know. Is Jenny always so weird?" Carmen wondered. 

"She's not weird. She's great," Shane said. 

"Well, maybe she's one of those people that's, you know, just constantly in her head." 

"Carmen, she's a writer," Shane said. "She's supposed to be like that." 

Carmen pulled a CD from her stash and handed it to Shane. 

"Okay, so will you take a listen of this, please? And, uh, let me know if you think they'll be down for it. I mean, I really don't have that much of a sense of Dana and Tonya, so that would help." 

Carmen began to gather up her DJ gear while Shane examined the CD.

"You kissed her," Shane said. 

"What?" Carmen looked up from her sorting. Shane had gotten her attention. Where was this going?

"You kissed Jenny." 

"Oh, okay. Right. Yeah." 

"Right?" 

"Yeah, yeah, I did," Carmen admitted, "but, um ... it was just the circumstances, I mean ... I - I didn't think that you would mind about--" 

"And, no, and I - and I - hey, and I don't," Shane said, fully engaged in one of her periods of total inarticulateness, the noise roaring in her head, all those competing message, Carmen's lovely face, her body, hot as always, and the topic, how to not hurt this woman, how to not let her into your heart, how to keep her at arm's length, how not to let her know how very much a part of you wants her, how another part of you is trying to find a way to transfer her onto Jenny before this dull little heartache turns into a big fucking coronary. Reading all the clues of confused emotions flashing across Carmen's face. A face she wanted to kiss, knowing full well it was the worst thing she could do, because this girl could give you that coronary in a heartbeat, which was probably an oxymoron. 

"Okay. Good," Carmen laughed weakly. "Thank God." 

"You should um ... you know, you should give her a chance." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah," Shane said, sensing the presence of thin ice. 

"You know what?" Carmen asked, getting up from the table with her gear. 

"What? What is it, sexy?" Would flirting help? She had no idea. Conflicting signals. Fuck. Noise. 

Carmen leaned close to Shane, coming close to her ear. Was she going to ...?

"Don't try to hook me up," Carmen whispered. "Bye." She left the room. 

Shane looked after her, wondering just what the hell that was all about, and whether it worked, or had she somehow stepped in it. Fuck. This was why she hated relationships. So confusing, so painful.

***

Jenny was finishing her yogurt and fruit. Shane sat down with a bowl of Raisin Bran and milk when Mark came into the kitchen and started cooking up a couple of fried eggs for breakfast. He was aware that the girls had been talking about something, and he wasn't sure if they'd stopped talking because he'd come into the room, or if it was simply some sort of unrelated pause. On the one hand, neither woman was especially talkative, which was one of the nicer things about them (as members of the opposite sex), Mark thought. On the other hand, they would talk about ANYTHING, and they were never shy in front of him, not up to now. But then Jenny asked Shane a question, and Mark knew the pause had no special significance.

"I don't know. I can't tell. Do you really think Carmen is into me?" Jenny asked. "Honestly? Okay, when you went out with her, like ... was she just kind of, like ... you know ... I don't know ... reticent?" 

They had Mark's full attention now.

"Wait a minute," he said to Shane. "You went out with this girl? The girl you--" 

"Fuck you, Mark," Shane said without looking up from her Raisin Bran. 

Mark laughed and turned to Jenny. "And now you're going out with the same girl."

"I am definitely not going out with her," Jenny said. Mark knew that was bullshit.

"And that's cool? You guys - is that common, you guys just, uh, share chicks and shit?" Lesbians never ceased to amaze Mark. What wonderful, odd creatures they were. 

"We don't share," Shane said, annoyed. "I don't date Carmen anymore." Go right ahead, heart, bleed a little more.

"Oh, right, right, of course," Mark laughed. "You have your two-fuck limit, right?" 

Shane just looked at Jenny.

"Shane, how do you even convince a girl to go home with you?" Mark asked, turning to face them and truly interested in the answer, because this cut to the very heart of the thing he didn't get about Shane: her phenomenal ability to collect pussy. "Doesn't your reputation precede you by this point?" 

"How do you?" Shane shot back at him. 

Mark thought it over. "I don't know. I, uh, make a lot of eye contact, laugh at all their jokes. Oh, and what signs and seals the deal is I tell a tragic childhood story."

"Oh, Mark, you're so full of shit," Shane scoffed, shaking her head sadly at him.

"You know it's true," he protested

Now Jenny was getting annoyed at him.

"Look, from what I know, the most important thing is to listen," Shane said, having swallowed the bait. "You get them talking, and you start hearing about their life, and then you figure out what they want."

"Yeah, it's true, chicks do like to talk a lot."

Shane ignored him. She was deep into The Rules and couldn't stop. "But, you do not talk too much," she instructed. "That's the thing. Talking too much can kill it. You don't tell your life story, and you don't let them tell theirs."

"You should just show Jenny what Carmen is like, Shane," Mark said. "Think about it. I mean, you know this girl. You've dated her, right? What a time-saver it would be for poor Jenny just to have a little three-way. Don't you think, Jenny?" 

Shane sighed. So that's where this shithead was going with this. "Hate to tell you this, Mark, but I don't fuck my roommates."

Jenny smirked at that. One for Shane.

"Damn!" Mark said, trying to keep it light and hoping to minimize any damage.

Shane got up, put her cereal bowl in the sink and went to her room to get ready for work. 

***

The late afternoon sun filtered through the kitchen window. Some days you just need to take the edge off, and Shane was having one of those days. The present untenable situation had begun a week earlier, when Shane had gone to one of the big studios to do the hair of some day players working on a movie called Shanghai Boulevard, a flick about a World War II war bride whose boyfriend was a bomber pilot who hadn't come back from Jimmy Doolittle's raid over Tokyo, and was lost somewhere in China. The female lead was being played by the notoriously difficult Alyssa Neros, who one particular morning was having a hissy fit that stopped production. Shane had been doing the hair of the woman playing Alyssa's sister, and had witnessed the tirade. Although it was none of Shane's business, she decided to go over to where Alyssa was sulking, and next thing she knew she had calmly talked Alyssa down off her snit. The producer of the film, the equally notorious and mercurial Veronica Bloom, had seen and overheard Shane's conversation with Alyssa, and had recognized Shane's extraordinary talent for people skills. Until that morning, Shane had no more idea of who Veronica Bloom was than she'd known who Arianna Huffington was, but before Shane knew what was happening, she'd become Veronica's "personal assistant," whipping boy, punching bag, mentee, hired gun, hairdressing crisis negotiator and empathy consultant. The salary was obscene, and was the only reason Shane even put up with all the horseshit that came with the job.

Today's crisis had been Priscilla Nabochenko, a hooker who'd been pimped out by a Russian mobster who'd made the mistake of using Priscilla's three-year-old daughter to keep Priscilla in line and earning her paycheck on her knees. Single-handedly, Priscilla had gone up against the mob, gotten her daughter back, and gotten out of Minsk alive, an unheard-of feat. The trade-off was her face, which had been horribly scarred by a razor-wielding gangster moments before Priscilla had disemboweled him with a kitchen knife. Her incredible true story had been picked up by a Paris stringer for the New York Times, and now, six months later, Priscilla and her daughter and a retinue of agents and lawyers were in Hollywood flogging the rights to her life story. It had come down finally to a duel between Jerry Bruckheimer's group and Veronica Bloom and her team. 

In her own way, Veronica was good at her job—very good, even. But what came with it was her loud, obnoxious, irritating, prima dona behavior, the vulgarity and coarseness, the yelling and screaming, the tantrums, the mood swings, the violent capriciousness, the calculated insensitivity (for Veronica Bloom was actually far from insensitive; she had radar like a bat), the childishness that could whipsaw into viperishness in a New York second. She made good decisions—she just made them with all the stürm und drang of a Wagnerian Brunhilde. She knew one of her flaws was trust, her authenticity (or lack of it), and so in her negotiations with Priscilla Nabochenko she had gone to the bullpen and brought in her top reliever and closer, Shane McCutcheon, who was as authentic, honest, trustworthy, naïve, innocent, and no-bullshit as existed in all of Hollywood (Veronica was that good).

Tensions and voices had been running high, with Veronica's toady, Aaron, yelling and almost loosing it, he was so angry at Priscilla. But Priscilla had backed down the Russian mob, and wasn't going to be bulldozed by some ass-kissing lickspittle like Aaron. Veronica sensed the moment was right, kicked Aaron out of the room, and left Priscilla alone with Shane, who'd been a fly on the wall all afternoon.

Priscilla glared at Veronica's broad back as she walked out of the door of Priscilla's apartment. She sighed finally, sat back on her couch, and regarded Shane for a minute.

"You want some fruit juice or something?" Priscilla asked in a heavy Russian accent. 

"Oh, no. No, I'm okay. Thank you," Shane said. She looked around the small apartment, wondering what to do. Priscilla studied Shane, trying to determine if this was an opponent, if she was dangerous, and if so what to do about her. It was why Priscilla had been able to best the Russian mob.

"So what do you do for a living? Are you like a producer or something?" 

Shane chuckled. "Fuck, no. Um, I'm a hair stylist. And I guess I'm Veronica's assistant, too." 

Priscilla nodded, "Really." 

"Yeah." 

"Hair stylist," Priscilla said. 

Shane nodded. "Yep." 

Priscilla looked down at her hands, casting her mind back to some earlier time. "That's something I always wanted to do," she said, wistfully. 

"You could do it," Shane said. 

Priscilla smiled a little, and shrugged. 

"You know, I, uh ... I used to do what you did, kind of," Shane said. 

"Really?" Priscilla said, some doubt apparent in her face.

"Yeah," Shane said, "I used to do tricks, down around Santa Monica Boulevard. And uh, there was this guy, this john, who was ... you know, he was ... , but uh, he was okay. He sent me to hairdressing school." 

Priscilla thought that might be one of the strangest stories she'd ever heard, but from the way Shane had told it, Priscilla knew it to be true. There they were, two ex-whores. And redemption. And rebirth. In Hollywood, where everyone was a prostitute of one kind or another. Where people sold their souls even more often than they peddled and pandered their bodies. Who would fucking believe it? But Priscilla did.

She looked at Shane for a long time. Then she gestured toward the door Veronica had exited. "She okay?" she asked Shane.

Shane sat back and sighed. "Yes and no. She's a pain in the ass from here to next Sunday. But she makes reasonably good movies. She'll keep her word, as much as she has to. I mean, if you sell your story to her, you'll get paid. As long as she needs you, she'll treat you well enough, if you treat her the same way. You'll never be best friends, and when the deal's over, you'll probably never see her again. But I don't want to be the one to tell you what to do. I'm only a fucking hairdresser."

"What about this other guy, Jerry Bruckheimer?"

"I have no idea who that is."

"No? Really? He's a bigshot producer. He did CSI. Pirates of the Caribbean. Coyote Ugly. Flashdance."

"I don't think I ever watched CSI," Shane said. "I liked those movies, though. All I know is I'd fuck Keira Knightley, Piper Perabo or Jennifer Beals in a heartbeat. But I never heard of Jerry Bruckheimer before today."

"You don't like Johnny Depp?"

"I love him, but as an actor. I just don't fuck guys."

"I would fuck him, I think," Priscilla said thoughtfully. "You know what girl actor I'd fuck? Alyssa Neros. She's really hot."

Shane told Priscilla that Veronica was doing a picture with Alyssa right now, and she was sure Veronica would be more than happy to introduce her to Alyssa. But Shane didn't have the heart to tell Priscilla she'd fucked Alyssa Neros two days ago, in her trailer on the back lot of Shanghai Boulevard. She was only so-so.

***

Shane sat at the kitchen table and spread out the rolling paper, opened a small jar, and carefully emptied out the correct amount of marijuana onto the paper. She put the lid back on the jar and began to roll the joint when Carmen came into the kitchen. She had been hanging around Jenny's room all afternoon, and seemed to have made herself at home in the house.

Carmen went to the refrigerator, opened the door, and looked pensively at the selection: a couple of Mountain Dews, a jug of orange juice, a bottle of Jose Cuervo about three-quarters empty, a bottle of Jack, a bottle of pinot grigio, and a bottle of Dos Equis. Jackpot! Carmen reached for the beer happily. Then she saw the problem.

"Oh, last one," she said to Shane. "Do you want this?" 

"No, it's all yours," Shane said, licking the edge of the doobie.

"Thank you," Carmen said.

"You're so very welcome," Shane replied, flicking her Bic and igniting the end of the joint and pulling into her lungs the first cloud of analgesic. Carmen did virtually the same thing, twisting off the top of the Dos Equis and tilting back a big, cold swallow. Boy, that tasted good.

"Mmm. Mmm. Mmm."

"Good?" Shane asked. 

Carmen moaned her answer, taunting. "Mmmm."

Shane put the joint in the ashtray and stood up, going to stand face to face to Carmen.

"You're such a tease," she grinned "Well then, keep going. I know thirst, it's so intense!" She suddenly lunged for the bottle playfully, bumping it, but Carmen was faster, pulling it back in the nick of time, but the effort caused a shotglass amount to shoot up the neck of the bottle and onto Carmen's wonderfully sculpted chest. 

"Oh, you shit," Carmen giggled at Shane.

Shane leaned in very close to Carmen and sniffed her neck with a deep inhalation. "Whoo! God, you stink!" she said, jumping back as if in disgust. 

"Oh, God, really?" Carmen asked, as if she truly believed Shane. 

"Yeah."

"Well, take this!" Carmen laughed, her thumb over the top of the beer bottle, shaking it up to generate a foam explosion and spraying beer all over Shane.

"Aw, shit!" Shane yelled, lurching away and out of range. Wet T-shirt fight!

Carmen laughed, her face lighting up in a way that burned inside Shane's heart. "Oh, now you are, too. Now you're gonna stink!" Carmen said, shaking the bottle and spraying Shane again as she cowered by the kitchen counter. 

"I can't believe you just did that!" Shane said. 

Carmen frowned, playing sad. "No, I didn't mean to, of course. I dunno--"

Shane lunged at her, grasping the beer bottle, laughing and managing to wrest it away, and dumping it over a laughing Carmen's head, and splattering beer all over.

"Hi," Jenny said, walking into the kitchen and the middle of the giggling beer brawl.

"Hey!" Shane said, releasing Carmen and standing upright. Carmen straightened up, too, but had a look of guilt on her face like she'd been caught, well, caught kissing Shane. She hadn't ... but God knows, that's where this thing had been heading. Another three seconds...




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 07



Chapter 7 The Silence of the Lamb, and Then the Lamb Won't Shut Up



Jenny Schecter had a sex crush on Carmen Morales, it was that simple.

Not that anything was ever very simple inside Jenny Schecter's head. The crush wasn't very romantic, it was mostly sexual. From the moment Jenny had seen Carmen's perfect butt – clothed in those SupahLovah fire-engine-red jockies and bending over in her refrigerator looking for something to drink after a day and half a night of sex, – she was attracted to Carmen. In fact, Jenny's desire for Carmen was much the same as Shane's had been just two weeks earlier in Arianna Huffington's dressing room, but this was even worse. In Arianna's dressing room, Carmen had not reeked of pheromones, hormones and two women's post-orgasmic fluids she'd not yet had a chance to shower off. But in the kitchen that night the reptile part of Jenny's brain had picked up Carmen's scent, and her nostrils had flared like a chihuahua in rut.

Jenny found Carmen not only exotic and attractive, but also sexy in a way that her first lesbian lover, Marina Ferrer, was not. Oh, Marina was exotic and sexy, all right, in that smokey, smoldering, cold-eyed way. Carmen's sexiness was the open, sensuous kind, lots of curves and what-you-see-is-what-you-get. Marina smoldered; Carmen laughed. Marina seldom smiled; Carmen's smile was as infectious as pinkeye in a day care center. Marina was dark drama; Carmen was rom-com. Marina had hard, cold, squinty eyes; Carmen had wonderful, deep, warm lamps, and when they shined on you, you felt yourself smile back. Marina was a mind-fucker, a sexual chess player, and in her own way a predator. There were no games about Carmen, no bullshit, no attitude. 

Jenny had just broken up a few days earlier with a woman named Robin who had been nothing but head case. Jenny wasn't especially looking for anybody to be with, but if she would have been, it would be somebody open and friendly, casual and low maintenance. Somebody like Carmen, for instance. The question of Carmen's availability wasn't at issue. Jenny knew Shane's habits by now. If Shane had slept with Carmen last week, then that was last week's news; Shane never kept a lover for more than a day or two. So, by definition, Carmen was clearly available. 

And God knows, Carmen was sexy. After Carmen had gone back to Shane's room, Jenny had rushed to her own room and masturbated furiously, imaging herself kissing Carmen and pulling those red jockies down, burying her face in what she'd imagined Carmen's bush looked like. After Jenny came onto the fingers she'd pushed tightly into her warm, wet slot, she fell asleep curled around her pillow, dreaming of being held by Carmen, and seeing that lovely face between her thighs.

If Jenny had starred in a Disney movie, she'd have been the one who had a cartoon devil on one shoulder and a cartoon angel on the other. But this was the real world, and what Jenny had weren't happy woodland cartoon characters, they were just demons, artifacts from Something Very Bad That Had Happened to Her when she was little. Unlike Shane, Jennie had never received any help, any counseling or therapy, and so the demons lived within her still, often submerged, often deep in the underbrush of her psyche, but never gone.

Jenny was smart, cute, and out-going, and had these big blue eyes, which even as a child had been her most successful feature. She had made friends easily enough in school; it was keeping them that had been the problem. Granted, there were few things more vicious, cruel and mean in the world than a 9-year-old girl, and Jenny had been only an aspiring welterweight in that ring. After the Very Bad Thing That Had Happened, though, her promising career as a princess evaporated. Understandably, she withdrew from the field of battle, kept to herself, nursed and festered her wounds in private, as best she could. She became the class weirdo, the Strange One. Par tattletale, part suck-up, she always turned her homework in on time, and got straight A's not because she wanted to be a goody-goody, but instead to piss everyone off. Even the other odd girls, the wallflowers and the homely ones, didn't like her. Given that, young Jennie had nowhere to go for human warmth except toward the boys. The enemy, perpetrators of the Very Bad Thing. In college she was buying the popularity she could earn no other way with blowjobs and handjobs, and used her straight-A scholastics for cover. Still, she was nobody's punch and nobody's slut, and she wouldn't fuck just anybody. She honed her manipulative skills to work her way up the social ladder. She sucked her freshman English professor's cock and wrote a class-assigned short story about it. He was terrified and outraged when he read it, but when he calmed down he decided to give her an "A" for the class because he was frankly afraid of her and what else she might do. Fortunately, she met Tim that semester, and so his dilemma resolved itself.

***

When Jenny answered the doorbell she found Carmen standing on the doorstep, smiling brightly.

"Hi! Good morning! I was supposed to work today, I had a production assistant gig, but they canceled at the last minute. So I ran home, changed, and thought if you weren't doing anything, we could go do something together, go window shopping or looking in antique stores, or whatever. I called, but you didn't answer your phone."

Jenny, still dressed in her bedtime undies, huddled behind the door and made a severe frowning face at Carmen, pointing to her mouth.

"What? Are you sick? Do you have laryngitis or something? Can't you talk?"

Jenny shook her head frantically, no, gestured for Carmen to come in, and ran to get her notebook and pen. Carmen came in and closed the front door, and found Jenny at the dining room table, scribbling a message in her notebook. Then she handed the notebook to Carmen.

"Not allowed speak. Writing class assignment from 3B. Can't talk 24 hour. Sorry. Yes love go shop but not best day?" 

Carmen read it out loud, then asked, "What's 3B?"

Jenny grabbed the notebook back and scribbled, "Writing class professor. Charlotte Birch. Butch Bitch Birch. Call her 3B. Homework: write story -- day of silence."

Carmen read. "Okay, I see. So you can't speak all day, huh? Well, do you still wanna go do something? Remember the other night, we talked about getting together, so this can be, like, our first date. And I talk enough for both of us."

Jenny mimed an exaggerated frown.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun. We can invent our own sign language and everything. And you need something to write about, you can't sit home alone for 24 hours. Go, put some clothes on. There's these two really cool vintage clothing shops in Venice I thought we'd check out. And Surfing Cowboys has its annual Hippie Folk Funk Art Show going on."

Jenny laughed, quickly hugged Carmen, and ran off to her room to get changed.

As Mr. Rogers once said, it was a beautiful day in the neighborhood, and they rode to Venice in Carmen's Jeep with the top rolled back and the side curtains off. They went to one of the vintage stores first, and Carmen found a small 1920s-era chain-mail purse she liked, but not too much else. They decided to hit the Surfing Cowboys shop next for a change of pace. As advertised, the art show was funky and hippie and folky and fun. About quarter to twelve Carmen started to think about lunch, and asked Jenny if she was hungry. Jenny made the Italian hand gesture, palm down, wagging side to side, mezza mezza, maybe a little. 

"I know a great place I've always wanted to try for lunch," Carmen said, "called La Playa Venice, but I think we'll need reservations." She got out her cellphone, got the number from information, and punched it in.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could fit two people for lunch today? I know it's really short notice, but I thought maybe you might have a cancel--." She paused, listening. "Are you sure you don't have anything? This is Carmen Morales, I'm a production assistant at Showtime, the cable network? I'm trying to make a reservation on behalf of two of our actors. Maybe you've heard of them? Mia Kirschner and Sarah Shahi? They were shooting this morning and just got out, and asked me to see if you had anyth--yes, I'll hold."

Jenny made a horrified face and scribbled something in her notebook, and held it up for Carmen to read. "We don't look like them!!!"

Carmen shrugged, giggling. "One-thirty? Yes, that'll be great, thank you, I'll tell them. Oh, one more thing, you know how celebrities are, I'm sure. They'd prefer not to be recognized, you know, no special treatment or anything, just a small table out of the way would be fine ... yes. Thank you. What was your name? Paolo? Well, thank you very much, Paolo. They'll see you at one-thirty."

Jenny could hardly stop laughing. She scribbled in her book, "Ur shameless!!!"

They killed time at Surfing Cowboys until a little after one, then jumped in Carmen's Jeep. La Playa Venice was only a mile away up Abbot Kinney Boulevard, then over Main Street to the intersection at Navy Street. While Carmen gave a valet her keys and got her parking stub, Jenny scribbled in her book, "This looks expensive! I don't think I can afford this!"

"Don't worry," Carmen said. "This is my treat, right? I asked you out on a date, so let your date pay for the meal. Anyway, how about we split something, that way we can go crazy on dessert. What do you say?"

Jenny smiled and leaned to give Carmen a peck on the cheek. 

"Are you Paolo? Miss Morales called in a reservation for us, I think," Carmen told the maitre'd. "Kirschner, party of two?"

"Ah, yes, right this way, please," Paolo said, leading them to a small table in the front window, where everyone in Southern California could see two famous, gorgeous actors eating lunch.

The girls were already half giddy, and it didn't help when Carmen ordered each of them a raspberry mojito. They decided to split the Sushi Omakase platter for their lunch, which was fabulous, and then Carmen browsed the dessert menu. 

"Oh, my God, Jen. Here it is. How about we split one of these?" Carmen turned to the waiter. "We'll have two coffees and we'll split one order of the macademia nut ice cream profiteroles with Hawaiian chocolate fudge, two spoons," Carmen said. Jenny covered her face with her hands, shaking her head as though in agony.

"Great choice," the waiter said, laughing. "Be right back."

Jenny put her hand to her forehead as though she were suffering. When the dessert arrived she looked at the three puff pastries filled with the ice cream and drowning in hot fudge.

"This will be death by chocolate," she wrote in her notebook.

"I know," Carmen said. "The EMTs are going to be pumping insulin into us out on the sidewalk in half an hour."

Hunched over almost head to head, they leaned over and slowly savored their way through the dish, one or the other of them groaning or moaning, eyes closed.

Carmen dredged up some hot fudge onto her spoon and held it up to Jenny's face, weaving it slowly back and forth in front of her.

"Can you imagine" Carmen whispered, "if I spread this hot fudge all over your nipples and pussy, and then slowly, slowwwwwwwleeeeeeee licked it all off?"

Jenny closed her eyes and mimed a crying face.

"And then I take a spoonful," Carmen whispered, "and I drizzle a trail, from my mouth, down my chin, down my neck, between my boobs down to my bellybutton. And I fill my bellybutton, and then I drizzle the trail down past my little flower box – you've never seen my flower box, have you? – down past my flower box, and I put one or two spoonfuls inside my tunnel of love, and then I lie there while you kissed me, and then you'd lick me all the way down to my bellybutton, and you'd suck this hot pool of luscious hot fudge sauce out of my bellybutton, and then ... ."

Jenny, whose eyes had been clenched shut in delirium, waited for Carmen to say what came next, and when nothing came she opened her eyes. Carmen's mischievous, smiling face was right there, flirting and playing with her. Jenny mimed grabbing Carmen by the throat and throttling her, silently speaking the words, "What? What? What?"

"... And then, after you licked ... and sucked ... and kissed ... all that fudge out of my navel, your tongue ... slowly ... resumes its journey southward ... licking ... the trail of delicious ... sensual ... warm ... hot fudge ... down to my Garden of Eden ... licking ... my pubes ... my thighs, smeared with delicious chocolate ... Oh, my! Look at the time! Gotta run!" 

Carmen sat bolt upright, and Jenny, mock crying in frustration, dropped her head to bang it on the table as Carmen laughed. The waiter came over and discreetly sat the check on the table. "Any time you ladies are ready," he said. He had no idea what they were laughing about, but assumed it was the sugar rush talking. He'd seen it all before.

More as a matter of conscience than anything else, they knew they had to walk it off, so arm in arm they strolled to the second vintage clothing store.

While they had waited for the waiter to come back with the credit card paperwork, Jenny had scribbled a note: "Whats flower box?"

"Oh, right," Carmen said. "You've never seen my tattoo. Well, it goes around my waist and some of it's in a very girly place, and I don't let just anybody see it. I'm not gonna tell you where it is, but I'll tell you this much. 'Box' is a big clue.'" Jenny covered her mouth, laughing, her eyes wide. Then she pointed to the word "flower" she'd written in her notebook.

"Oh, you bet there's flowers," Carmen whispered, leaning close. "Let me know anytime you want to stop and smell the roses, even though they aren't roses." Jenny laughed and blushed and bobbed her head up and down, yes, she wanted to smell those roses. 

Jenny couldn't believe how horny she felt, or how badly she wanted to have sex with Carmen. Seeing Carmen in her SupahLovah red jockies, even though they weren't what anyone would have typically thought of as "sexy," had nevertheless triggered Jenny's libido more than anything she could remember, more, even, than the notion of having sex with Marina. 

Their walk helped them digest lunch. "I'm never gonna eat again as long as I live," Carmen said. Jenny nodded her head in agreement.

They made their way back to Jenny's house through a golden afternoon rush hour. Carmen pulled into the driveway, and got out to walk Jenny to the door.

"So when does your silence assignment end?" Carmen asked. "I had a really great time with you, but ... I think I wanna do it again when you are a little bit more verbal."

Jenny stopped at the door and faced Carmen. 

"Is that cool with you? Doing it again?" Carmen asked. 

Jenny hung her head. Gently, Carmen put her hand under Jenny's chin, lifter her face and kissed her on the lips, gently but romantically. When Carmen pulled away, Jenny's eyes were still closed. Carmen smiled and put her hand on Jenny's cheek. Jenny opened her eyes, and smiled.

"Okay," Carmen whispered.

*** 

Shane could hear the tantrum even in the corridor as she walked down the hall to the suite where Veronica Bloom had her office. She opened the door and entered the suite from which the divine Ms. Bloom regularly exploded. Veronica was in her office off the big reception area, the door open, waving a script in her hand and yelling into the phone as four of her toadies sat and waited her out.

"Fucking fuck, fuck, fuck! He gave me his fucking useless word!" Veronica yelled into the phone at somebody. 

Aaron, toady-in-chief, saw Shane come in and went out into the reception area to intercept her.

"Marty just dropped out of the project," he explained to Shane. Marty was Marty Kaufman, the director. Veronica was talking to his agent, somebody named Richard. Shane nodded, not really knowing or caring. She was only vaguely aware that Marty used to be Veronica's husband, once upon a time, poor bastard.

"The air hostess is producing it?" Veronica yelled. "Jesus!" She flung the script at a vase of flowers on her desk. One of the toadies scrambled to start picking them up. 

Shane could hardly believe what she was seeing and hearing. She looked at Aaron, who shrugged.

"Let me give you some advice," Veronica hissed into the phone. "No. You listen to me, Richard. If you want to keep Marty as a client, you will pull him off this deal now, because a year from now he is gonna fire your sorry ass for blowing off Veronica Bloom in favor of the air hostess who's sucking his cock!" 

"The air hostess is Marty's new wife," Aaron whispered to Shane. "The project is going to fall apart without Marty. She's taking it especially hard because they used to be married, you know." 

"No, Richard, you and your client--" Veronica held the phone in front of her mouth – "better get a fucking grip!" She threw the phone at one of her assistants, bouncing it off his chest. She sat down at her desk, took a Tootsie Roll Pop from a bowl of candies on her desk, savagely tore off the wrapper, popped the lollipop in her mouth. Oral gratification – sooo good. She sighed.

Aaron walked back into Veronica's office, Shane trailing along reluctantly. Shane went and sat in the corner on a couch, out of the line of fire. 

"Uh, maybe we should go to Night," Aaron said to Veronica. "He's apparently looking to do a period drama, and you know--" 

"You want me to go from Marty to M. Night-fucking-Shyamalan? Where were you educated?" Her voice rose an octave and a dozen decibels. "Do you even know the difference between War and Peace and a Marvel fucking comic book? Get out! Unless you have something to say, get out! You're all fucking useless! Just leave me alone!" 

All the toadies fled, including Aaron. Shane stood and began to shuffle toward the door, still a little shocked at what she'd seen. She hadn't even had her morning coffee yet, and she was in the middle of Apocalypse Now. 

"Not you!" Veronica snapped. Shane turned to see that she was the one being addressed. "You stay."

Shane had no idea what to do next. She asked quietly, "Can I get you something?" Like maybe a revolver. 

Veronica calmed down. She looked depressed. In the space of three seconds she went from raging diva to pouting child. 

"Why do people always let you down?" she asked, a quiver in her voice. Shane thought Veronica might just cry, if such a thing was possible. "No matter how much you have done for them. Don't you find that to be true?" 

"That's why I try not to need anything from anyone," Shane said softly. She sat down in one of the chairs in front of Veronica's desk. 

Veronica stared at Shane, obviously moved. "I want you to teach me how to do that." She stood up. "Let's go out. Let's go make ourselves feel better."

Shane followed Veronica out to the elevator bank, down to the lobby, and out of the office building, where Veronica's Maybach was parked right out front in a spot reserved for her with a small plaque that said "The Queen Bitch." Veronica drove off the studio lot and six blocks down to a ritzy spa and beauty salon. An hour later Veronica was lying on a treatment table wearing only a robe and with a towel around her hair. Shane sat in a robe nearby, having had a massage and a session in the eucalyptus sauna. A pretty Asian technician hovered over Veronica's face, peeling away dead skin stuck to some kind of pea-green mudpack covering most of Veronica's face. Shane was completely grossed out, not only watching but being forced to watch. Did this woman have no boundaries? Shane knew the answer.

"So, why shouldn't I become a lesbian?" Veronica asked. The Asian technician pretended not to hear. 

"Uhh. Because women are intense," Shane said. "They're a lot of work that can suck you dry." 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 07



She cringed as a big patch came off Veronica's cheek.

"You sure you don't want to try this, Shane? The results are amazing." 

"Thanks, but no," Shane said. 

"What you don't know about me is that I like intensity," Veronica said. She grunted as the next piece of mud came off, apparently painfully. "When things aren't intense I get bored. And when I am bored I want to kill myself." 

The spa tech slowly peeled off more dead skin. Veronica banged her fists against her stomach, trying to ignore the pain. "Motherfucker!" she hissed. She sighed, inhaled deeply. "You know what, Shane? You have potential. You stick with me, kid, and I'm going to help you realize it." 

The spa technician pulled off another piece. Veronica grunted. Shane winced, pulling at her own hair, deeply grossed out. "Oh, fuck ... " 

A really long piece came off. "Grrrrrrrrrrrryeah!" Veronica yelped. Shane cringed. 

That night in Veronica's house, Shane stood in the kitchen making a cocktail for Veronica, who was upstairs somewhere yelling into the phone. 

"You're a lying scumbag, and I'm never getting married again --" 

"Fuck," Shane whispered to herself. Here we go again. 

"-- so I can collect alimony till the day you fucking die! You listen to me --" 

Shane took the drink down the hall, through the foyer with its magnificent marble staircase, and up the stairs to Veronica's bedroom, where the yelling was coming from. 

"-- you piece of shit. Don't you come crawling back to me the next time you need something produced, because I'm going to tell you to shove it up your ass!" There was a pause. "Fuck you, Marty! Fuck you!"

She slammed the phone down and sat down on the edge of her bed. Shane handed her the drink, a triple vodka martini, four olives. It was Veronica's second one of the evening, not counting the ones she'd had at dinner at Spago. Shane had never eaten there before, and doubted that after the ruckus Veronica had raised, she'd ever in her life be allowed to return there again, absent a blond wig, sunglasses and plastic surgery. Still, Wolfgang seemed to put up with Veronica, and took the veal back into the kitchen, even though there was nothing wrong with it. 

Two martinis and a long dreary monologue on the general shittiness of ex-husbands later, Shane got up from her chair and walked into the bathroom in search of something for her blazing headache. The noise level in her brain was up around jet aircraft levels. She rummaged through the medicine cabinet and its dozens and dozens of pill bottles. 

"That son of a bitch Marty, ruining my movie," Veronica grumbled in the next room, her speech slurred.

Shane swallowed a couple of pills, and chased them with water. Then she found a bottle of something that looked interesting, and put it in her back pocket. 

Veronica sat up in the bed in her pajamas, holding her head and groaning. Her face had red splotches, the result of her spa skin peel. "Never gonna forgive him," she mumbled.

Shane walked over to her and handed her some pills and a glass of water. "Here you go. These should make you feel better in a little while," she said. 

"Why don't you take one?" Veronica asked. 

"No. I'm not into Xanax. But you had some Oxy in there. Would you mind?" 

"Go ahead, take whatever you want," Veronica mumbled. "Take the whole bottle, I can get more."

"Really? All right," Shane said, going back to the bathroom to round up more goodies. 

"When you come back, get into bed with me," Veronica slurred after her. "We'll get fucked up and watch Funny Girl. Barbra Streisand movies have always been my tonic when I feel like shit." 

Shane returned to the bedroom. "Look, um ... thanks, but I think I'm gonna go." 

"No, you're not," Veronica said. 

"Yes, I am. My friends need me tonight," Shane said. 

" No, they don't—" 

"Yes, they do," Shane said quietly but firmly. "Look, I can stay here until you –" 

"I'm fucking paying you!" Veronica yelled. "You will stay here until I tell you you can go!" 

Well, that did it. "Fuck that," Shane said, turned on her heel and walked out of the bedroom. 

"You will do what I tell you to do!" Veronica yelled, scrambling out of bed. "You will fucking watch a movie with me if I tell you to!" 

Shane jogged down the grand staircase.

"You'll tickle my back if I tell you to tickle my back! You'll fuck me if I tell you to fuck me!" Shane heard come from somewhere at the top of the stairs. "Come back here!" 

But Shane was already gone.

***

Under the heading of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, Alice had managed to do just that. From Day One, nobody had quite understood what it was Dana Fairbanks saw in Tonya Gaskins, a media relations exec the Friends had all met when Dana had invited them to attend the ceremony giving Dana the prestigious Human Rights Campaign Award. Tonya had latched onto Dana, and before anyone knew what happened, they'd become a couple. That was bad enough, but then, as far as Alice was concerned, it got worse. Much, much worse. Dana and Tonya were engaged to be married. At the last second, Alice declared her long-standing love for Dana, the wedding was called off, wicked Tonya was never seen or heard from again, and Alice and Dana were prepared to live happily ever after ... just as soon as they revealed their relationship, to the world, that is. No one knew. No one, that is, except Shane, who with her spooky intuition had somehow divined that Alice and Dana had done the deed, rubbed uglies. Oh, yes. But Shane could keep a secret. It was just Dana and Alice who couldn't. Thus, word got out, and the Friends had decided to surprise Alice and Dana with a little celebration at The Planet on Saturday night.

It was to this party Shane had alluded when she told Veronica Bloom her friends "needed" her. They didn't, in fact, technically "need" Shane ... but on the other hand, there was no way Shane was going to miss putting in an appearance. And what the hell, there was just no fucking way she was going to fuck fucking Veronica Bloom. Shane walked two blocks from Veronica's house, found a street corner with signposts that identified the streets, and called a cab, which picked her up twenty minutes later and dropped her off at The Planet.

Carmen was the DJ for the evening, of course, as she was every Friday and Saturday night, and was up on the dais spinning CDs. She had Grandadbob's Mmmnn playing, and Jenny was up on the dais with her, ostensibly learning the ins and outs of the DJ biz. But in fact, Jenny and Carmen were just doing the flirtation dance with each other, in front of a hundred or so people who were dancing and having a good time and paying minimal attention to the two hot chicks up on the low stage with all the CDs and sound gear.

"These guys, I heard them at the Troubadour and they're fucking amazing," Carmen said to Jenny, talking about Grandadbob, her voice raised a bit to be heard over the music. 

"They're fucking amazing?" Jenny replied, teasing and flirting. 

Carmen smiled at her. "Yes. They are. Fucking. Amazing." 

"You know what I think's fucking amazing?" Jenny asked. 

"No." 

Jenny pointed out to the audience. "Watching all those people on the dance floor, and then you can feel them getting really, really hot." 

"Mmm. I like that, too," Carmen said, looking Jenny in the eyes. "Yeah. They get hot and sweaty, and ... I love it 'cause you can just feel the crowd and ... "

They turned to each other at the same time, their faces just inches apart. Carmen looked at Jenny's mouth, her nice lips, which looked soft and kissable. Because, face it, Jenny was attractive, cute, gamin, sexy. "And you just feel their energy," she whispered. 

Jenny looked like she was going to kiss her, but seemed to remember where they were. She turned away to the sound board. "How do you know which buttons are which?" she asked, both of them knowing Jenny didn't give a damn which button was which. But it gave Carmen the opportunity to come up behind Jenny, wrap her arms around her so she could show Jenny what controlled what. Carmen began to explain the switches and dials, using it as an excuse to rub against Jenny's arms, her own breasts softly pressed into Jenny's back. 

"CD player two, which corresponds with the sliding button, channel two," Carmen murmured in Jenny's ear, as if it mattered. Jenny turned and looked at Carmen. 

"Should we do it?" she asked. 

"You want to?" 

"I do," Jenny said. They both knew they were talking on two different levels, only one of which had to do with audio equipment.

"Okay," Carmen said. She rubbed her hand down Jenny's arm, guided her hand to the switchboard to a slider, the one that faded out one song and brought up another. Carmen nuzzled Jenny's neck as she guided Jenny's hand over the slide, bringing up the new song. She kissed Jenny's temple. 

Shane stood in the middle of The Planet, looking up at the dais and seeing Carmen, seeing the flirting, watching Carmen's hands on Jenny's arms. Shane felt a flight of buzzards take off inside her stomach, big ones, big fucking condors. The noise roared in her ears, and it had nothing to do with whatever Carmen's CD player was blaring out through The Planet's sound system. Carmen just looked so damn ... desirable. Hot. Sexy. Fuckable. She was wearing one of her DJ outfits, the booty shorts, the spangley top with the bare shoulders. Her lustrous black hair shimmered and bobbed as she moved her head. The big brown eyes, liquid pools so deep you could ...

Fuck. Liquid pools? Shane felt liquid pools, all right. The thing was, she wasn't supposed to. Almost every time she looked at Carmen, the noise got louder in her head, and she felt these pangs in her chest, up on her rib cage, across her sternum. It was like bad indigestion or a heart attack or something, a physical pain from shoulder to shoulder. What the fuck was that all about? How come just looking at Carmen could make your stomach flip-flop and your ribcage hurt? The word "heartache" was supposed to be metaphorical, wasn't it? So why did her chest ache?

Just then Carmen looked up, out onto the dance floor, saw Shane standing there. Saw the hurt look on Shane's face. Made eye contact. Shane had seen the kiss, hadn't she? Carmen's face lost its happy smile, showed pain. Pain and guilt. Jenny was nice, but it wasn't Jenny's neck Carmen had most wanted to nuzzle. It was somebody else. She watched Shane swallow hard, turn, walk away, start walking toward the door. Shit, shit, shit!

Shane ran into Alice and Dana just outside the door, just coming into the big party. 

"Whoa, Shane. Where you going?" Alice asked. 

"Look, um ... I gotta go but everyone's inside, so go for it. Go for it." 

Shane left, Alice and Dana looking at her retreating back and wondering what the hell that was all about. They were in their own little world, though, so they took each other by the hand and went inside. 

"Ready?" Alice asked. She and Dana took deep breaths, clasped hands, and walked out onto the dance floor. Suddenly a spotlight fell on them, and Carmen cut the music and picked up her microphone. "All right, everyone! If I can have your attention, please, there is a happy new couple in the house," she announced. "Give it up for ... ALICE AND DANAAAAA!" 

Everyone in The Planet clapped and cheered as Alice and Dana stood in the spotlight, grinning and blushing like ten-year-olds. Alice saw Bette, Tina and Jenny at the side of the room, all smiling and applauding. 

Carmen's voice came over the PA system. "Alice and Dana, this one's for you." The song, Where Do I Begin, the theme song from the movie Love Story, began to play, Shirley Bassey laying it all out from the great Away Team mix. 

"Aww! They're so cute together!" somebody in the crowd said. 

"Thanks, Carmen," Dana called out, to some laughter around the room. She led Alice out to the middle of the dance floor, both of them blushing. "Congratulations!" someone shouted out, and another woman said, "They're so gorgeous together!" Alice grinned and blushed even deeper as Dana puts her arms around her. They began to slow dance, and few moments later the music picked up a beat. After a minute, the spotlight went off, and they finished the dance surrounded by other swaying, dancing women in the anonymity of welcome darkness. At the end of the song, in a dark corner out of sight of most of the crowd, they shared a tender kiss.

***

Carmen's DJ gig ended at 1 a.m., and Jenny stuck around, helping pack up her stuff and put away all the DJ equipment for the night. Carmen gave her a ride home, and when they got there, Jenny invited her in for a glass of wine.

"Let me go change," Jenny said, leaving Carmen in the kitchen with a bottle of pinot noir and two glasses. There was a bowl of strawberries on the counter, too. Carmen took one, hulled it, and ate it. Jenny returned, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a skimpy T-shirt. She poured herself a glass of wine as Carmen hulled another strawberry and put it in her mouth. But she didn't eat it; she kept it between her lips. She backed against the counter as Jenny came toward her. Jenny came in close, kissed her, kissed the strawberry out of Carmen's mouth and into her own. Carmen hopped up backwards onto the counter, pulling Jenny up with her, kissing her madly as Jenny settled into Carmen's lap, knocking the bowl of strawberries into the sink. Neither one cared. The kiss was long and intense.

Shane came down the hall from her room and walked into the kitchen, followed by a pair of blond twins wearing only the skimpiest of underwear. Shane, who was dressed, stopped cold, surprised. "Uh, hi," she said.

Jenny and Carmen broke the kiss awkwardly. Jenny didn't seem to mind too much, but Carmen felt as guilty as a shoplifter, and looked it.

"Um," Jenny said, hopping down off the counter.

The twins couldn't have cared less about who was necking on the kitchen counter. "Hey, what about beer, do you have any beer?" one of them asked Shane. 

Shane opened the refrigerator door, and looked in. "No." 

"Maybe we should get some pizza," the other twin said. 

Shane pulled out a bottle of vodka from the freezer. "No. Fuck the food. No way. How's this?" she asked, brandishing the vodka. 

"Yeah," the first twin said. 

"Okay," Shane said. The roaring in her ears had suddenly started when she'd come into the kitchen and seen Carmen kissing Jenny like that. "Goodnight," she said to them, adding, "Come on," to the twins. She led them back down the hall to her room.

"What was that?" Jenny whispered to Carmen when Shane and the twins were safely out of earshot. 

"I don't really think I wanna know. You know?" Carmen said. The mood had been demolished, and Carmen knew it. All it took was for Shane to walk into a room to make Carmen remember the feelings she'd been trying so hard to submerge all these weeks. 

"Maybe we should call it a night," she said to Jenny. "Let's just take a breather. And we can ... visit it again, in ... the cool ... clear light of day." 

Jenny looked at Carmen. She knew what was going on. Everybody knew what was going on in Carmen's head. Everyone knew who Carmen was attracted to. She slowly walked over and stood in front of Carmen. She reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Carmen's ear. "I understand," she said. She kissed Carmen on the cheek and went down the hall to her room. Carmen, weary, feeling guilty and confused, let herself out and drove home.

***

Shane sat in a chair by her dresser, smoking a cigarette. On her bed one of the twins was already naked, having her tits licked and sucked by her sister. Twins like these two were hard to find. Really hard to find. Shane had only ever fucked twins one time before in her life. This could have been -- and should have been -- a landmark evening. Nympho lesbo incest-loving teen twins, only 19 years old. Christ. This was like Halley's Comet, something that would only come around in the average lesbian's life once every eighty-six years. And all Shane could think about was the roaring noise in her head. That, and Carmen. 

The naked one looked up at Shane, just sitting there like she was paralyzed or something. "C'mon! Play with us!" she begged Shane.

Shane didn't answer. She leaned forward, opened the top drawer of her dresser, removed a small vile, tapped out a pair of lines of Veronica Bloom's crushed oxy. She took out a small straw, leaned over one of the lines, inhaled. 

"C'mon! Play with us, Shawn!" the naked one said again. Her sister's head was buried in her pussy. 

Shane leaned back in her chair. "It's Shane," she said.

"Shane, come here!" the naked one begged. 

"No," Shane said quietly, closing her eyes. She waited for the buzz, waited for the noise to calm down. Waited for the thoughts about Carmen to go away. Oxy was a painkiller, right? Maybe it could take away this other kind of pain.

***

Jenny slept in late. When she woke, she walked down the hall to the bathroom, peed, washed her hands, splashed water on her face, and returned to her room. She was putting some lotion on her legs when there was a quiet knock on the door.

"Come in," Jenny said, expecting Mark. It was still way too early for Shane to be up, most especially if Shane had been up all night ménage-a-trois-ing the twins. But it wasn't Mark, it was Carmen, who stood in the doorway looking hangdog and apologetic. "Hey," Jenny said, surprised.

"Would you say that this is the cool, clear light of day?" Carmen asked. 

"Do you want to come in?" Jenny asked. 

Carmen closed the door and sat on the corner of Jenny's bed. "Um ... I've been trying to figure this out," she began. 

"Mm-hmm?" 

"I don't know why ... I left last night," Carmen said. "I really wish I hadn't." 

"I think because you like Shane," Jenny said quietly. 

"I'm not someone who falls for fucked-up, unavailable people," Carmen said, as much to herself as to anyone else in the room. But she had done exactly that, fallen hard for a fucked-up, unavailable woman.

"I don't think that we really have a choice in the people that we fall for, Carmen," Jenny said, rubbing lotion on her shins. 

She might have added, "Look at me and Marina," but it wasn't necessary. Carmen looked so unhappy and so sorry that it made tears well up in Jenny's eyes. She tried to blink them away, but through them saw Carmen start to slowly unbutton her shirt and drop it to the floor. Then Carmen unbuttoned the top of her jeans. She reached out and put her hands under Jenny's armpits, lifted her and threw her gently back on the bed. Carmen crawled up on top of her on her hands and knees, straddling Jenny's hips. Jenny raised one hand, ran her nails slowly and gently down one of Carmen's arms. Carmen responded the same way, then, running the nails of her right hand down Jenny's left arm. Jenny put her fingers on Carmen's belly, ran her nails down, got to the jeans, ran her nails slowly down the zipper of Carmen's fly. Carmen reached and put her fingers on the base of Jenny's throat, and ran her nails downward slowly over the bra part of Jenny's pajama shift.

Suddenly, Jenny slapped Carmen's arm, hard. It was foreplay, but it was also anger. Anger at being rejected. Anger at being left alone last night. Anger that she wasn't the object of Carmen's love, anger that Shane was. Anger that Shane was hopeless, a lost cause, and would never reciprocate. Anger that Jenny was so sexually attracted to Carmen, though she wasn't in love with her. Anger that she was horny.

Carmen reacted to the slap with stunned silence. She looked down at Jenny below her. Then she slapped Jenny back, just as hard. Jenny showed no reaction; she just slapped Carmen's arm again, harder. Carmen slapped her back, harder. Jenny moved to strike her again, but Carmen pinned both her wrists over her head. Jenny struggled, but Carmen was a little bigger and a lot stronger. A tear ran down Jenny's cheek. Carmen just looked at her. After a moment, Jenny felt the strength go out of Carmen's grip as Carmen lowered herself down on Jenny's chest. Jenny could have pulled her hands loose, but she didn't try. Carmen just laid there with her head next to Jenny's.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 07



Carmen lifted herself up and straddled Jenny again. Slowly she lowered her lips to Jenny's, kissed her slowly. When the kiss ended, Jenny looked up into Carmen's large, dark eyes. "Are you going to seduce me?" she asked.

"Yes," Carmen said.

"Please, don't," Jenny whispered. "I've never had sex with a woman before."

It took Carmen a moment to catch on. Jesus, writers. "Too bad," she said. 

"Are you going to have your way with me? Are you going to force me to participate in your perverted Sapphic lust? Will you make me perform nasty lesbian acts?"

"You can count on it," Carmen said.

"Are you going to push down the top of my jumper, exposing my breasts to your gaze?"

"Yes, I am," Carmen said, doing just that.

"I suppose now you're going to kiss my breasts, even against my will, because I am helpless to resist. I suppose you are going to kiss them, and take my nipples into your mouth, hungrily sucking and even nipping them with your teeth."

Carmen leaned down, kissed Jenny's left breast, licked the nipple, circled it with her tongue, feeling it harden. She sucked it into her mouth, took the tip between her teeth, gently tugging it upward.

"Oh, please don't ravish me," Jenny said, "I've never done this before. I'm not like that! Oh, please, don't kiss my other breast and suck it and bite it until it gets hard in your mouth."

Which is what Carmen proceeded to do.

"Don't unclasp your bra," Jenny begged. "I don't want to see the swell of your beautiful breasts, I don't want you to press them against mine, I don't want you to come over me and sway back and forth, dangling them over my mouth and making me suckle them. I've nev--" Her monologue was stopped the moment Carmen lowered one of her nipples into Jenny's mouth. Jenny licked it, sucked it, kissed it, nipped at it with her teeth, loved it with her lips and tongue.

"I suppose now you are going to strip me naked," Jenny said. "I've never been naked with another woman like this before. Please don't degrade me and humiliate me by looking at my private girl parts!"

Private girl parts? Well, okay, whatever, Carmen thought, pulling Jenny's jumper down over her belly, down over her pussy, down her legs. Jenny lay naked on her back up on her elbows, legs slightly spread, watching as Carmen stood by the bed pulling off her own jeans and panties. She stared at Carmen's wonderful tattoo, the vines caressing her hips and running down to each side of the crease at her groin, the vines turning into clusters of flowers lining each side of her mons, with the small triangle of close-cropped pubic hair. So here was the famous flower box, at last. Jenny gasped, having truly never seen anything quite so exotic before in her life. She couldn't help herself; she reached her hand out, and touched the soft fleece of Carmen's tiny, triangular pelt.

"Are you going to force me to perform perverted sexual practices on you?" she asked as Carmen climbed back on the bed to straddle her again. Again Carmen took Jenny's wrists and pinned them above her head, but this time gently and with no force behind it.

"Are you going to force me to do awful, dirty, perverted things to your vagina?" Jenny asked. Carmen had to struggle not to laugh.

"Yes," she said. "I am."

"Are you going to force me to perform cunnilingus?"

"Oh, yes. There will be cunnilingus, believe me."

"You're going to force me to become a muff-diver, aren't you?" 

Carmen lost it, hooting. "Yes, you're going to be diving into some muff pretty soon."

"Are you going to force me to munch your carpet?"

"Well, I don't have much carpet," Carmen said. "I've barely even got a throw rug the size of a Triscuit. But yes, you're going to munch it. You're going to eat my pussy. And I'm going to eat yours."

"You are? Oh, please, no! I've never had a woman's hot, wet tongue licking and sucking and penetrating my delicate, pink, womanly parts."

"No? Never even had a finger in there before?"


"Just my own," Jenny said, "and of course my ex-husband Tim's cock."

"Ah, so you're not a virgin, then," Carmen said. "Thank goodness I won't have to pierce your hymen."

"No, I lost that on my wedding night," Jenny said. "I'm a confirmed heterosexual woman. All I've ever done is played with myself, and of course fucked my husband's long, hard cock, taken it in my mouth and sucked it until it spurted its hot love juices down my throat, then been turned over on my belly so he could put his hard intruder into my bottom hole."

Carmen laughed again. "Okay, now you really are grossing me out," she said. "Did you really like sucking his cock?"

"Yes, I really did," Jenny said. "You never sucked off a guy?"

Carmen shook her head no.

"It's really not so bad, not nearly like you probably think it is, if the guy is gentle, and nobody's forcing you to do it. If I'm on top, I can control it, decide how much to take in. It can be quite ... erotic. And enjoyable. There was a sense of power, of me being in control of the situation. And also of doing something, I guess 'loving' is the word. And Tim was gentle, he was a considerate lover, he never forced me to do anything I didn't want. So I liked doing it for him. It was like a present. A gift. And after a few minutes, you know, I really wanted him to come. And the taste really isn't bad at all. I mean, it's different from the taste of a pussy, but not a whole lot different. With some women, you get almost as much cum juice as when a guy shoots."

"I'll have to take your word for it," Carmen said. 

"Okay," Jenny said. She reached her head up and kissed Carmen on the mouth, her tongue slipping into Carmen's mouth, searching and exploring.

"But now it's different with you," Jenny said when they broke apart. "Now I'm being forced to have vile, perverted lesbian sex against my will. And you forcing me to talk about sucking Tim has caused my sweet, innocent pussy to start getting moist and wet, which I bet you are going to take advantage of."

"Yes, I am," Carmen said. "Take it to the bank."

"I bet that now that you've kissed and sucked my small, hard nipples, you are going to kiss and lick your way down my stomach, across my tummy, and force me to spread my legs wide apart so you can have your way with my tender, pink, innocent but increasingly wet vagina."

"You know, I hadn't really thought of that, but it's a darn good idea," Carmen said. "Thanks for the suggestion."

Now it was Jenny's turn to break character and laugh. Her tummy was shaking up and down as Carmen's lips kissed circles around her tiny navel, and then fucked her navel with her tongue. Carmen had long since left Jenny's arms unpinned, but Jenny hadn't moved them. 

"Oh, please don't, please don't go any further," Jenny moaned. "You've tied my hands to the headboard and I'm helpless."

Carmen scooched further down the bed so her face was now over Jenny's pussy. She gently pushed Jenny's legs apart and looked down at the beautiful, wet patch. Jenny's bush was dark and thick, but trimmed. At its bottom was her clit hood, pink and small and delectable; the clit itself hidden inside. Jenny's labia, which were small and modest. Carmen thought her pussy as beautiful and delicate as any she'd seen. It was moist and glistening, and its fragrance was pleasantly musky and intoxicating. Carmen hovered just an inch above it and inhaled deeply.

"Oh, God," Jenny moaned. Then she fell back into character. "No! Please don't! You forced my thighs apart against my will" – Carmen had done no such thing – "and now I think you are going to do awful, perverted things to my innocent womanly parts with your mouth, your lips and your tongue."

Carmen softly blew on Jenny's clit. "Mmmmmmmmmmnnnnnnnnnn," Jenny moaned. "Oh, you bitch."

Carmen laughed, and blew again, tracing down the tiny, wet pussy lips. "Oh, Jesus," Jenny muttered, arching her back.

And then it finally happened. Carmen leaned in, and gently licked upward from the bottom of Jenny's pussy, just the tip of her tongue, savoring the flavor and the sound of Jenny's clenched moan. Carmen licked and kissed, slowly and gently, the outer lips with their light fur, and then began to lick deeper, inserting her tongue between Jenny's butterfly wings. "OH, FUCK!" Jenny said. "You're licking and kissing my pussy! Oh, please stop! Please, don't fuck my young, sweet pussy with your tongue! No one's ever done this to me before! Oh, stop, please stop! I can't stand it!"

Carmen grinned, and never stopped licking, kissing, probing. She reached up with gentle fingers and spread Jenny's pussy apart, and lapped at her pee hole, which was becoming harder than it sounds, since Jenny had begun to writhe and twist and hump her twat into Carmen's caresses. If Marina had been a wonderful splitlicker, Carmen was even better by an order of magnitude. Marina had blown Jenny's mind; Carmen was going down on her soul, her being.

Carmen brought her hand up, put her index finger into Jenny's pussy, and began a gentle thrusting. Carmen's kisses were light, so light Jenny sometimes didn't even know she was being kissed. "Oh, my God," she whispered as her pussy released a trickle of its juices over the slow-thrusting finger and onto the tongue that lapped them up. And just when Jenny thought it couldn't possibly get any better, Carmen gently brought her mouth down over Jenny's clit hood, and probed the tip of her tongue against the naked, exposed love bead itself. Jenny, more speechless now than she had been on their speechless date, humped upward, her back off the bed, arched into a bridge, clutched the back of Carmen's head, and orgasmed gush after gush onto Carmen's face. Tears streamed down her own face, and she tried to roll onto her side, her legs and thighs trapping Carmen, who held on and never let Jenny's clit escape from its trap between her lips. She felt the quivering thigh muscles go into spasm, felt Jenny's pussy go slack, felt her legs twitch, and then Jenny sank back down on the bed, closer to unconscious than not.

Carmen gave her a few moments, and then slowly withdrew her middle finger from the wet sheath that held it. Gently, she got up on her knees and one arm, and straddled Jenny. She brought up the hand that had been fucking her and brought the wet finger to Jenny's lips. "Have you ever tasted yourself?" she asked quietly.

"Wha--? Huh? Uh, no." 

"Here," Carmen said and gently put her middle finger, still drenched with Jenny cum, into Jenny's mouth so she could suck it. Jenny did, slowly and sensuously, savoring a taste that was both vaguely familiar but also ... not.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "I never tasted myself before."

Carmen grinned. "You're delicious, you know."

Jenny smiled shyly, her eyes bright. "I am, aren't I? Wow! I had no idea!"

Carmen laughed, and laid down on her side, pulling Jenny into an embrace. Jenny snuggled, happy to be held, her face against Carmen's breasts. Carmen knew Jenny's pussy would be tender, but she cupped it with a hand, just to keep it warm and tuned up. She was by no means done with this pussy, and this girl. 

"I never came that good before," Jenny whispered.

"Really? Well, good."

"I mean it," Jenny said. "I've had some very good orgasms, but that one ... I'm not just saying this. I really have never come that good before. You're incredible."

"Well, thank you. And there's more where that came from."

"I'm not sure I could stand another one like that."

"Oh, you don't think so, huh? Well, let's just see." Carmen rolled onto her back, pulling Jenny with her, and then put her hands on Jenny's ass, pushing her forward, so that before she quite knew what was happening, Jenny's knees were next to Carmen's head and she found herself seated on Carmen's mouth. "Grab onto the headboard," Carmen managed to say, before commencing to lick at the pussy over her face.

"Oh, my God," Jenny murmured again. The licking was slow and methodical, up each outer lip, then each inner lip, but staying well away from the still tender clit ... for now, anyway.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 08



Chapter 8 Beating Yourself Up

Jenny was nestled snug and warm in Carmen's arms on Monday morning. Her bare butt was tucked into Carmen's lap and Carmen's breasts pushed gently into her shoulder blades. The backs of her thighs were nestled against the fronts of Carmen's. The soft, quiet, whisper-snores of Carmen's breathing lightly brushed the back of her neck. The wet spots on the bed had dried, yet again, although the sheets were definitely going to have to go into the wash before nightfall. It had been almost exactly twenty-four hours since their first love-making, and twenty-two hours since their second. On Sunday afternoon Carmen had to DJ a bar mitzvah, and she didn't get to Jenny's house until almost 10 p.m., shortly after which their third love-making took place. The fourth and most recent had taken place about 5 a.m., when Jenny awoke to find Carmen crouched between her legs. Before long they were in a languid sixty-nine, after which they both fell asleep when Carmen reversed herself and pulled a limp, satiated Jenny into her arms again for a short nap that actually lasted three hours. Something made Jenny wake up, and with one open eye she glanced at the clock/radio.

Jenny suddenly realized what day it was and what time it was. "Oh my God, I've got class!" she shrieked. Her shout scared the shit out of Carmen, who sat bolt upright in Jenny's bed, the sheet falling down off her naked body. She saw Jenny naked and hoping about on one leg trying to put on her panties.

"I forgot to set the alarm last night," Jenny moaned. "I've got my writing class in thirty-five minutes! I gotta run!" She scrambled for the rest of her clothes, while Carmen climbed out of bed and began to dress with less urgency. Now that they were awake they could hear rock music blaring from somewhere in the house. Carmen cocked her head, listened, identified it as the song Apology, by Nasty On, from the Fistful of Rock 'n' Roll anthology, volume 12. Somebody had it cranked way up. She fastened herself into her bra, couldn't find her panties, climbed into a pair of sweatpants, and threw on her top. Somewhere in the house the telephone started ringing.

So much for the possibility of some good, leisurely morning sex, one of Carmen's specialties.

Jenny hurried down the hall to the living room, where she found Shane, rumpled, still dressed, but asleep on the couch with her hand over her face. The phone was ringing and Apology was blaring from the stereo. Jenny balanced on one foot then the other, struggling to put her shoes on. "Fuck, fuck, I'm so late for school! Fuck!" Then she picked up the phone. "Hello?" She covered her other ear so she could hear. She shouted, "Yeah, hang on a sec! Shane! It's for you!"

Carmen came into the living room, assessed the situation, and went over to the stereo and turned it off. 

"It's Veronica Bloom!" Jenny shouted at Shane, who might actually have been dead, based upon the total lack of movement on the couch. Finally her hand moved, and she squinted up at Jenny. 

She yawned, rolled over, and muttered, "Tell her she can kiss my ass." She appeared to go back to sleep. 

"Um! She's not around right now," Jenny said into the phone. "Can I take a message?! ... Okay! Bye!" Jenny hung up the phone and began looking for her school notebook. "Shane! She would like you to please call her back!" To Carmen she said a fast "Good-bye!" and blew her a kiss. Carmen waved as Jenny ran out the door. She stood, leaning against the door frame, regarding the corpse on the couch.

"She can kiss --" Shane mumbled again. 

"-- your ass," Carmen finished for her. She leaned against the door jamb leading into the kitchen, her arms folded across her chest. Carmen's face was that of a traffic cop who'd just stopped you for doing eighty in a thirty-five school zone. 

Shane looked up at Carmen. Carmen rolled her eyes. Shane's head was throbbing, and her mouth was dry and tasted like the inside of a rabbit hutch. And she knew something bad was coming.

"You wanna know something?" Carmen finally asked. 

Here it comes, Shane thought. She rolled onto her back, sat up, put her head in her hands, tried to ignore the cascading roar of noise, the Niagara Falls of sound pounding inside her head. 

"You've been getting away with this shit for far too long," Carmen said. "I don't know what that poor, ass-kissing woman did to piss you off. You know, maybe you guys were walking down the street one day and she smiled at you too sweetly by accident! Okay, but maybe -- maybe she bought you a gift to let you know that you're kinda special to her!" 

Then Carmen started to cry.

Shane looked up, startled. What the fuck was Carmen talking about? She started off talking about Veronica Bloom, right? Then, the crying. WTF?

"Or just maybe ... maybe she really liked you," Carmen said, making no effort to hide or even stop the tears running down her face. "I think that... that's something ... that you just don't know how to handle right now," Carmen nodded, affirming to herself, "...and, uh ... " she wiped away some tears, "...and I also think that ... that we sweet... simple folk..." she smiled, " ... will not go around kissing your ass forever." 

Shane was stunned. Carmen looked at her for a long minute, her face so perfect, so beautiful...but so sad and so hurt. Then she went back down the hall to Jenny's room and slammed the door closed. Shane laid back down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"Fucking fuck me," was all she could say.

***

Late that afternoon Mark was sitting at his computer console in his studio office/bedroom behind the house editing a tape when his cell phone rang. He paused the tape, which showed Shane bare-ass naked on her bed, humping some chick named Courtney a couple nights ago, and answered the call.

"Hello? Hey, Shane!! How you doing? I didn't recognize your number. Um ... you know, I think Jenny just left. But um ... " he rose and looked out the window, and saw that Jenny's car was gone. "Yeah, no, she's not back... Is everything all right? You sound kinda spacey... Hol - hold on, slow down, slow down. I can't hear you. Say it again? ... I - um - listen, it's - that's totally normal. Just, just... be cool. Tell me exactly where you are, okay?" He picked up a pen and jotted something down. "Uh-huh. Yeah, of course, but - but where, specifically? ... On Venice. On Washington. Okay... on the Washington side. So... the phone booth right by the alley. Okay. I want you to just sit down, right there, and I'm gonna be there in like twenty minutes, all right? And just, just be cool, and um ... just, just don't move from there, okay?" 

Still holding the phone to his ear, he reached for his jacket lying on a chair near the door and struggled to put one arm in a sleeve. "Um, you're not drinking too much water, are you? 'Cause I heard this thing about this guy who was, uh, at the Burning Man Festival --" he grabbed his car keys off the computer table – "OD'ing on X, and, uh, he wound up drinking all this water - you know what, just - I'm gonna be there in, like, twenty minutes. Just - don't drink a lot of water."

Mark thrust his cell into his pocket and ran out the door. 

Traffic was heavy and the afternoon rush hour had begun. What might have taken fifteen minutes at 2 p.m. took him twenty-five in rush hour to get to the block in Venice Beach Shane claimed to be calling from. He circled the block twice, looking for Shane or a parking spot, whichever came first, and got lucky on the second circuit, turning a corner just as an SUV up ahead was pulling out of a metered spot. Mark waited for the SUV to clear and head down the street, pulled up, and then paralleled back into the opening. He jumped out of the car, ignored the meter, and looked up and down the street. He saw the phone booth by the alley -- empty. Fuck it! Where was she? Shane could have wandered off anywhere; she could even have been arrested or something.

"No more, you fucking crazy bitch!" Mark heard some guy yell behind him, across the street and down the block. He turned and saw two men come out of a club, dragging a struggling and pugnacious Shane between them. Shane tried to kick one of the guys but missed as he dodged out of the way, still grasping her arm and trying to subdue her, or at least keep from getting attacked.

"Fuck you, Mel!" Shane yelled at one of them as Mark jumped between two cars, ran into the street, dodged traffic, and ran to where Shane and the two men were fighting. 

"Get out of here, you little freak!" the man called Mel shouted at Shane, releasing her arm and pushing her away. 

"Fucking lay off!" Shane yelled at him, charging him and trying to land a punch, but she was intercepted by the other guy. 

"Little freak!" Mel hissed at her as she tried to kick him in the nuts. "She don't look like no fucking girl!" 

"Eat shit!" she yelled at him. The guy restraining her spun her around and punched her in the face, and Shane went down hard. A second later, Mark slammed into the guy, knocking him right off his feet. When Mel went after Shane Mark yelled, "Get off, man!" but Mel ignored him, and a second later found himself in a headlock, his head under Mark's arm and Mark's free fist delivering a couple of body blows that took the wind out of Mel's sails. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. Mark turned to see Shane and the other guy going at it, the guy dragging Shane to her feet in order to punch her out again. He had his arm back, cocked to deliver the punch when Mark came up behind him, and sent the guy into some kind of flip with some cool-shit Jackie Chan ninja move. The guy hit the ground, tried to stand and charge, and got another cool-shit Jackie Chan leg kick to the chest that sent him backwards into Mel. Mark stood, Shane behind him on her knees. He watched the two men, who slowly stood up, panting and bleeding. He could take both of them; they knew it, and he knew it.

"Fuck you! Fucking cunt!" Mel said to Shane. 

Mel started to go toward her and around Mark, but the other guy held him back. "No more," he said to Mel and Mark both. 

"Fuck you, Mel!" Shane yelled from behind Mark. She attempted to come past him to go after the two guys again, but Mark held his arm out and kept her behind him. She had nothing left, though, and dropped to her knees, her head down.

"Fuck off!" Mel yelled at her. 

"All right, all right! C'mon," Mark said, trying to settle everyone down and keep them apart. 

The other guy dragged Mel down the street into the open door of a store a couple doors down.

"Piece of shit!" Shane murmured on her hands and knees, spitting blood onto the sidewalk. 

Mark turned and helped Shane to her feet. She spit more blood on the sidewalk, and doubled over in pain. Mark wrapped his arm around her waist, and draped one of her arms over his neck. She groaned. One eye was already starting to swell shut, and she had blood coming from her nose and the corner of her mouth; it was smeared all over one side of her face and all over her chin. 

"You're all right now," Mark said quietly. 

"Ugh," Shane said, closing her one good eye and letting her head slump down. 

"All right, you're okay. I got you now," Mark said. He helped her cross the street and gently put her into his car. 

***

Just about the time Mark was scraping Shane up off the sidewalk Carmen found a parking spot a block and a half from The Planet. She and Jenny jumped out of Carmen's Jeep, Carmen fed the meter, and they began walking to the coffee house.

Jenny had been telling Carmen all about the assignment Charlotte Birch had given her, to become actor Burr Connor's ghostwriter and literary amanuensis, dogsbody, confidant, and insofar as was possible, his conscience (someone had to do it).

"Charlotte is pushing me," Jenny said. "And I'm really freaked out because she's intimating there's some kind of mysterious challenge in all of this for me." 

"Okay, well, can I tell you what I think about Charlotte? I think--" 

"What?" 

"You have a crush on her." 

Jenny stopped walking, and Carmen turned to look at her. "No, I don't." 

"I think you do and I think it's totally okay," Carmen said, "and I think that you are allowed to have a crush on your teacher. And you know what? I think you should go for it. Totally go for it." 

"Fuck you," Jenny said. 

"What?" Carmen said, her grin finally betraying the fact that she was pulling Jenny's leg. "You want me to be jealous?" 

Jenny nodded, and stuck out her lower lip in a pout. Carmen knew enough was enough. She came forward and slowly kissed her on the lips. "Well," she whispered, "if you think about fucking her, I will kill you."

Jenny smiled and kissed Carmen in return.

They went in and found Alice and Dana at the table where all the Friends usually gathered. Not surprisingly, Alice was her usual manic self.

"Hey, guys! Dana, Dana, can I please tell them? Pretty please?"

Dana rolled her eyes and blushed. "Oh, sure, go ahead," she said, smiling.

"What's up?" Jenny asked.

"Lemme ask you guys first, check your calendars and datebooks. What are you guys doing on the 16th to the 20th of next month?"

Jenny and Carmen looked at each other. "I dunno. I've got class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday," Jenny said.

Carmen looked in her PDA. "I've got a gig on Saturday the 22nd," she said. "I won't know if I have any production assistant work until much closer to that date. Why? What's up?"

"What's up is our friend, here, the incomparable tennis phee-nom Miss Dana Fairbanks, here, has been invited to be a special guest speaker and panelist by Olivia Cruise Lines. They're having a special cruise for women --"

"For lesbians, actually, Alice," Dana corrected.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Anyway, there's gonna be a cruise for all these dykes, and Dana's gonna be on this lifestyle leadership panel along with Phoebe Sparkle and some other celebrity lesbos --"

"It's called Lesbian Dynamics, Love, and Friendship," Dana shoehorned into the conversation.

"Who is Phoebe Sparkle?" Jenny asked.

"Who is ...? Jesus, Jenny, where have you been all these years?" Alice asked.

"Skokie, Illinois," Jenny said. "Living the life of a straight, sheltered, suburban, middle-class Jewish girl."

"Okay, sorry I asked," Alice said. "Anyway, Phoebe Sparkle is the fab lez sex educator and writer. She has this sex column in Lickety Split magazine, and she goes around the country giving lectures on female masturbation techniques and 10 Tips for Better Cunnilingus, and stuff like that. She's fucking famous and totally off the wall. I love her madly," Alice said. "I wanna be just like her when I grow up."

"Okay, I know who she is," Carmen said. "And Phoebe's bi, not lez. She does guys as well as girls. And congratulations, Dana. What's this got to do with us?"

"Well, here's the thing--" Dana began, but Alice cut her off like a New York cab driver.

"You guys get to come along!"

"What?"

"Yes! Here's the deal. Because Dana is getting all this super VIP treatment as a guest speaker on this cruise, Olivia is giving her not one, but TWO free staterooms. The extra stateroom has three berths in it, so three people get to come along, all expenses paid. Besides, me, of course, but I'm staying in Dana's stateroom, naturally. So we thought we'd invite you two guys and Shane, since you are the Three Musketeers and all."

"Three Musketeers?" Jenny asked.

"Well, yeah, you know what I mean," Alice said.

"Dana, it's very nice of you to invite us along," Jenny said. "I accept. Carmen, what do you say? I don't see how we can turn down a free vacation, a cruise on a boat full of dykes, and presentations by the fab Dana Fairbanks, do you?"

"I'm definitely in," Carmen said.

"What about Shane?" Alice asked. "Where is she?"

"I don't know, it's not my turn to watch her," Jenny said. 

Carmen shrugged. "I don't know where she is either. But I don't see why she wouldn't want to come along. I mean, she's known you guys forever, and you know how she roots for Dana when she's playing in tournaments. And an entire ship full of lesbian pussy ... wow, no way is Shane not gonna jump at an opportunity like that!"

Everyone laughed.

***

When Shane woke up she was still dirty and grungy and still wearing the clothes she'd been wearing late yesterday afternoon when Mel and Lenny had beat the crap out her. She'd been drunk and more than slightly stoned on oxy and X, and had been belligerent, obnoxious and argumentative, anything to drown out the noise in her head and the pain that had been building day by day in her chest, in her heart. She sat on the side of her bed, slowly stood, dropped her jeans to the floor, gingerly pulled her T-shirt over her head. There was blood on the front of it. She tossed it toward her trash can, missed, didn't give a shit. She opened a drawer in her dresser, grabbed a pair of clean jockies, and staggered down the hall to the bathroom. She dropped her dirty jockies, climbed into the bathtub, turned on the shower, let it beat down upon her. She adjusted the temperature, found one that was tolerable, and let herself sink down into the tub. She let the water rain down upon her, and did something she hadn't done since recovering from her rape nine years earlier. She had herself a good cry. No, it was more than that. Like nine years ago, Shane was wracked by deep, powerful sobs whose depths knew no bounds. Her very soul hurt, and it had nothing to do with the beating.

***

Shane spent two days self-confined to her room. She told Jenny through the door that she had some bug, the flu, and Jenny and Carmen even went so far as to make Shane a tray of toast, chicken noodle soup, some cheese and a glass of ginger ale. Carmen took it into Shane's room and sat it on the dresser while Shane huddled under her bed covers, all but invisible and pretending to be sick. Shane mumbled "Thanks" from under the covers. Carmen stood and regarded her thoughtfully and with real concern.

"Do you think you might need to go to the doctor?" Carmen asked. "I'd be happy to drive you."

"No," Shane mumbled. "But thanks."

"Okay." But Carmen still didn't leave. "I'm really worried about you, Shane. This isn't like you. You're usually healthy as a horse."

"I'll be fine," Shane said. "I just need to rest."

"Okay. Well, you let us know if you need anything, 'kay?"

There was no response, and Carmen finally left. And then Shane just felt all the worse for lying and deceiving. Among all the other feelings she also didn't know how to deal with.

On the third morning she got up, took a shower, and got dressed, all without running into Jenny. She put on a pair of sunglasses, walked out the back door and was headed toward her truck when Mark happened to come out of his studio, headed for the house. "Shane! Hey," he called. 

Shane knew she was caught. She stopped and turned. "Hey." 

"You're alive," Mark said. "I haven't seen you around. How've you been?" 

Shane nodded.

"How's, uh ... ." He point toward her eye behind the sunglasses. A bit of purple bruise was still visible below it, what people called a "mouse."

"Oh, it's uh ... it's better, thank you." Shane turned to walk away.

"I've been worried about you," Mark said. 

Shane turned, kept walking backwards toward her truck. "Thanks." 

Mark was undeterred. "Um. So where you off to?" 

"Work." 

"Hair job, or Veronica Bloom job?" 

"Hair job. It's a day call," Shane said, opening her truck door. 

"Um. Well, have a good one."

"You, too," Shane said as she got in. Mark nodded as she started the engine and backed out of the driveway. He watched her go, then went into the house.

***

That evening was a Friday night. Carmen and Jenny had agreed to get some Chinese take-out and watch Burr Connor flicks. Jenny hadn't gotten home yet, so Carmen made herself at home as she often did. She walked down the hall to use the bathroom when Shane started to come out of her room. The moment she saw Carmen coming down the hall she went back into her room and closed the door, but she knew it was too late.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 08



When Carmen knocked on her door a moment later Shane knew she was busted and there was nothing she could do about it. She stepped away from the door, walked to the other side of her room and looked out the window, putting on her sunglasses as she passed by her dresser. Not unexpectedly, the door opened, and Carmen tentatively stuck her head in.

"Um. I - I - I just saw you out there, and it - I dunno, it looked like you were hiding." 

"I'm not hiding," Shane said. The noise roaring in her head was unbearable, 747s revving up for take-off.

"I don't believe you," Carmen said, softly. Shane stiffened. She turned and walked to her dresser grabbing her car keys as she went. She attempted to walk around Carmen, but Carmen snatched the car keys from her hand and tossed them on the bed. Shane stared at her. Carmen couldn't see Shane's eyes and angrily reached up to snatch away the sunglasses. Shane jerked her head away, but Carmen was faster. She yanked the sunglasses off and Shane twisted away so Carmen couldn't see her face. But again it was too late. Carmen spun her around.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Sh --" She reached up to touch Shane's face, but Shane grabbed her wrist and stopped her

"Shane, who did this?" she whispered. "Who did this to you?" 

"It doesn't matter," Shane growled.

"No, tell me! I will fucking kill them!" Carmen said, her voice and anger rising. "Who did this to you?" 

"You did it," Shane whispered. 

Carmen was stunned. She stared uncomprehending at Shane, while she tried to figure out what Shane was talking about. 

"What?" Carmen's face dissolved into a look of anger. After a moment, she said, "Fuck you." She turned and headed to the door. Shane came after her and just as Carmen had the door open Shane grabbed Carmen with one hand and slammed the door shut with the other. 

"Wait," Shane begged, her tone changed. "Wait, wait. Look, I'm sorry. That was a fucked-up thing to say. "

Shane released Carmen's arm and looked at the floor, ashamed. She couldn't think, couldn't process. Her chest hurt. 

Carmen regarded her. The famed Latina hot temper faded just as quickly as it had come, and anyway, this was Shane, the Shane for whom Carmen would forgive just about anything. 

"Well, maybe you meant something by it. Maybe we should just talk and see what happ --" 

"No. No. No," said Shane, twisted in the far reaches of her own inarticulateness. "Can we ... can we just forget what I said? Let's go back to being friends." 

Carmen took a long minute to answer. "Is that what you want?" 

"Really a lot." 

They looked at each other. Finally Shane moved, reaching to open the door. As she did she stepped close to Carmen. Their faces were only inches apart. Shane wanted to kiss her so bad. She never wanted anything more in her whole life than to kiss this fantastic girl who made her hurt so much. And she couldn't do it. After a moment, Carmen knew it, too, and turned and walked out the door and down the hall to go wait for Jenny.

***

"We're done for," the first cowboy said. He was wearing a long, white duster, and when he pushed his Stetson back on his forehead, you could see through the dust and grime on his face that he was not very scared about the fact that they were done for. Couldn't care less, in fact. He looked an awful lot like Burr Connor. 

"We'd be clear of Barker's Pass by now if you hadn't brought that uppity preacher's daughter," the second cowboy said, full of a reproach that was more banter than anything else. He looked quite a lot like the actor Rod Sebring.

"Popcorn," Carmen whispered, never taking her eyes off the television. Without removing her eyes, Jenny handed the big metal pot of popcorn over to Carmen to take a handful.

"Who you callin' uppity, sidewinder?" the girl asked. She was young, early twenties, and wearing some sort of cloak. She was looking at the second cowboy with contempt while the first cowboy just chuckled at her. This one was ornery as a polecat, all right.

Mark came in the back door, crossed the kitchen, and came into the living room and plopped down on the couch in the open spot next to Carmen.

"Hey, ladies," he said, staring at the movie. 

"Oh, hello. It's Mark," Jenny said, glued to the TV. 

"Excuse me. Is that how you greet your roommate? What are we watching?" 

"We're watching a Burr Connor film festival," Jenny said. 

The first cowboy grabbed the ornery polecat, spun her around, and kissed her deeply on the lips. At first she seemed to resist, ever so slightly. Then not at all.

"Yes, Miss Jenny over here is going to ghostwrite his memoirs," Carmen said. 

"I'm just gonna be his stenographer," Jenny corrected Carmen. 

"No way!" Mark exclaimed. "Do you know that I had a Burr Connor action figure as a child?" 

"You did?" Jenny asked. 

"I did, and I made him beat up my G.I. Joe action figure on a daily basis. Can I have some popcorn?" 

Carmen passed him the pot.

"Are you serious? You actually thought this guy, Burr Connor, was tougher than G.I. Joe?" Jenny asked. 

"Oh, pfft. Look at him. Way tougher," Mark said.

On the TV the first cowboy was standing on top of a bluff, looking tough. 

"This is sentimental claptrap," Jenny muttered. 

"How could you possibly call these macho men sentimental?" Mark asked. 

"Um, because it's a pretext for telling stories about, like, the purity of male friendship and devotion. I mean, Mark, okay, look at all these films. They're all fucking the same." 

"Chick flicks are all the same," Mark countered lamely. 

"Okay, okay, you know what?" Carmen said, tired of being in the middle of this. "You cannot tell that theory to Burr Connor. No." She turned to Jenny and pursed her lips. "Kiss. Now." 

She took Jenny's face in her hands and gave her a deep, thorough, tongue-involved kiss.

"Thelma and Louise," Mark said, stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth. 

Carmen ended her kiss with Jenny with a big "Mwah!" sound. She grabbed the popcorn away from Mark. "No more," she said.

"Where's Shane, by the way?" Mark asked. 

"Um, I -- I think she, uh, went out," Carmen answered, not actually sure where Shane was. 

"Where?" 

"I dunno." 

"To a club?" 

Jenny giggled. "We don't know, Mark." Everyone laughed.

"Yeah," Carmen said, suddenly looking distracted as Jenny turned to her and stroked her hair. "We don't know where the polecat went."

***

Shane waited until the very last parishioner had come out of the confessional booth. It was after nine, and the priest was more than ready to call it a day. He was a younger man in his mid-thirties. He had started to open the door to his booth when he heard someone go into the adjoining booth and pull the door closed. He sighed and sat back down and settled in. There was always one last confession. He was already aware he was missing the first half of the Boston College game, but it couldn't be helped. He became aware that the person in the confessional was crying quietly.

"Take your time," he said softly. "There's a box of tissues there, if you need them." He heard the parishioner -- he was now pretty sure it was a woman -- sniffle and pull herself together.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been ... sixteen years ... since my last confession," Shane said. 

The priest sighed silently. Sixteen years. "And what brought you here tonight?" 

"Everyone ... wants something from me, and ... I don't feel like I have anything left to give," Shane said. Her voice broke at the end, and she sobbed out the last few words. 

The priest waited patiently, then asked, "What have you been giving up until now?" 

"Sex. That's mainly what people want. Actually, I ... I don't even know at this point. I don't - I don't - I don't know." 

He heard her sniffle again, and knew she was crying. Yes, this one was in a lot of pain.

"Do you feel you have to have sex with everyone who wants it?" 

"In church I didn't. I used to, uh, live in a church shelter, so ... " 

"When was that?" 

"I guess I was 10," Shane said. "And I ran away from my foster family because someone told me my real mom was back in Austin. And she used to go to that shelter when she was trying to get clean." 

"Your mother was a drug addict? 

"Yeah," Shane said. She found the tissues and blew her nose. The priest waited. 

"Have you ever considered joining a church group?" 

"No. No. No, no, I don't like groups," Shane said adamantly. "The thing I ... I like about confession is ... you don't have to see the other person's face. And you don't have to see how -- how hurt they are when they realize that you can't be that thing they want you to be." 

"You might find that there are people who don't want anything from you," the priest said. He heard the woman make a sarcastic noise. "They just want to know you," he persisted. 

"Yeah, I haven't met anyone like that. Anyway, there's nothing to know." And she realized those were lies, and she was lying not to the priest but to herself. This was a bad idea, coming here. It was a bad idea driven by desperation. Silently she opened the door to the confessional, and walked out. 

"My friend, would you just consider it?" the priest asked, knowing she might not hear him, but he had to try. He heard her footsteps fading away. And then he realized she had been right: Whatever she was, she wasn't the thing he had wanted her to be.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 09



Chapter 9 Water Sports



Carmen woke when she heard somebody moving around in the house, probably Shane or Mark in the kitchen, she thought. It was a week later, a week after she'd first made love to Jenny, and the third night that week she'd slept over in Jenny's bed. She opened her eyes and saw Jenny's face a few inches from her own. They were both lying on their sides facing each other, both naked, both only half covered by the bed's top sheet. She studied Jenny's face for a moment, until Jenny opened her eyes.

"Hey," Jenny said.

"Hey," Carmen said. "Were you asleep?"

"No. Just resting. What were you doing?"

"Looking at you."

"Oh? Why?"

"'Cause you're cute, sleeping."

Jenny blushed, leaned forward, gave Carmen a quick peck on the lips.

"It's Sunday morning," Jenny said.

"I know."

"We don't have to go anywhere."

"Nope."

"We can sleep late."

"Yep."

"We can have morning sex."

"Yep."

"Noon sex, lunchtime sex."

"Yep."

"Afternoon sex."

"Uh-huh. Afternoon delight. Skyrockets in flight."

"Evening sex."

"60 Minutes sex with Morley Safer and Andy Rooney."

"Speaking of old people, I forgot to ask you how your gig went last night."

"That's because the minute I got here you assaulted me sexually, and forced me to perform lewd and lascivious acts of a perverted, Sapphic nature."

"I was horny," Jenny said.

"No kidding? But thank you for asking about my gig. It went very well."

"You like doing those Oldies Night gigs, don't you."

"I do," Carmen said. "I like old people and senior citizens. And I like the music, very romantic. And the money's good, and the gigs are always over by ten o'clock, 'cause none of them can stay awake after that and I get to come home much earlier than usual, and spend the rest of the night tongue-fucking hot, sexy, horny Jewish girls from the Midwest. Also, I get to wear my hot booty shorts and turn on all the men, who flirt with me shamelessly, which I enjoy because they know and I know that absolutely nothing is gonna happen for real, unlike regular gigs where every guy who hits on me actually entertains the hope in his tiny little pea brain that perhaps he might succeed and get into my shorts and I'll suck his cock under the turntable console. Which of course ain't gonna happen. So, yeah, I kinda like playing with the old guys. They have fun and I have fun, nobody's feelings are hurt, and everybody goes home happy."

"Do any of the women ever hit on you?"

"No, not really. Once in a while I get a stare or an appraising look, and we make eye contact, and she knows that I know what she's thinking."

"So what do you do?" 

"I just give her a nod or an enigmatic smile, like, yeah, once upon a time, maybe we'd have done it. You know, validating her gaydar. But usually if any woman hits on me, it's going to be one of the staff people, the nurses and so on. They're more my age. Some younger, even."

"And did you ever ...?"

Carmen tapped Jenny lightly on the nose. "Now, you don't want me to kiss and tell, do you?"

"God, yes!" Jenny said, and Carmen laughed. 

"Well, what happens at Happy Valley Nursing Home stays at Happy Valley Nursing Home," Carmen said. 

Jenny stuck out her lower lip for a moment, pretending to sulk, then asked, "What did you tell your mom about where you were spending the night last night?"

"I told her the truth, I always do," Carmen said. "I'm spending the night at a friend's house. Sometimes I say at a girlfriend's house. And she believes me, because I'm actually telling the God's honest truth. And that's as far as the conversation ever goes. She could grill me for twenty minutes, and every answer I'd give would be true. Who's the friend? Oh, Jenny, Jenny Schecter. She's this really cool writer I met, she's working on becoming a novelist. She's the friend of a friend. Remember I told you about my friend Shane, the hairdresser, like cousin Evi? Well, Jenny is Shane's housemate. Um. she's from Illinois or someplace like that. Brunette, short, five-foot nothing, smaller than me, even. Cute. Funny. A little moody, a little dark and mysterious. See? I could talk for an hour about you, and my mother would never once ask the key question, and I would never volunteer it."

"Doesn't she ever ask you about guys?"

"Oh, sure, she has, but not so much the last few years. First, I'm the baby of the family, and in her eyes there is no man who is good enough for me anyway. Second, the legend has grown up that I'm just really picky and discriminating, and looking for Mr. Right, and he just hasn't come along yet. And once in a while we'll be watching a movie or something, and I'll say something like, 'Wow, that Josh Hartnett is reallllly hot!' Which is actually what I really think and once I really did say it. Because he is. But it doesn't mean I want to sleep with him, I just think he's a hunk. But I can think somebody is hot, whether it's a man or a woman, and it doesn't mean I wanna fuck 'em. So, the result is, my mom thinks I have this crush on Josh Hartnett. You ever see him in that movie, the one about the girl who got murdered back right after World War Two?"

"No, I missed that one," Jenny said. "Who else was in it?"

"Aaron Eckhart, and Scarlett Johansson was the love interest," Carmen said. 

"God, I'd so do Scarlett Johansson," Jenny said. 

"Oh, me, too," Carmen said. "I forget who played the dead girl, but she was cute. She had a real quick, kinky lesbian sex scene, but it was only on screen for like, 10 seconds or something."

"So your mom thinks you're straight?"

"Yeah, I think so. She's never said anything to make me think she suspects otherwise. I think she's in denial about it -- she doesn't want to know. Latinas like my mom really don't like lesbians, much more so than the gringo community. Homophobia is strong in both the religion and the culture, it's a double whammy. Being a Latina lesbiana is a real no-no for people like my mom."

"Nobody else in your family knows?"

"My sisters Patricia and Anna do. They've known it for years. Almost from the beginning, really, when I was having this really torrid affair with my best friend, who lived across the street."

"She was your first?"

"Yeah, she was. Tell me about your first. I heard it was a woman named Marina, who used to own The Planet until a few months ago, until she sold it to Kit."

"That's right, you weren't around when all that stuff went down," Jenny said. "My gawd, what a drama! It was awful. Yeah, Marina seduced me, all right, but she did it just to be cruel, to play with me, like a cat toying with a mouse. And that's kind of what I was, this odd little country mouse who came to Hollywood, and one day she met me at Bette's house and then saw me at The Planet and decided I would be her next little plaything for a while. You never met her, so let me describe her. She was this Italian countess or princess or duchess or something, but didn't look Italian. She had these terrific high cheekbones and this sultry look, with sleepy bedroom eyes that could look right into you. I mean, she was really something else."

"But you had a boyfriend, right? And I thought you were married?"

"I was, but it's a long story. No, I wasn't married to Tim when he and I moved out here; that came later. And we came here because he got a job at California University; they hired him to be coach of the swimming team. I just came along for the ride."

"And you were straight? You had sex with him and all?"

"Oh, yeah, we fucked, we sucked, we did all the stuff all the other straight people did. I thought about girls, once in a while, you know, just in general, wondering about what it must be like, but nothing really ... urgent, you know? Not until the day Marina looked at me, and shit, next thing I know I'm getting all wet and trembling, and I don't even know why or how or what. And one day at The Planet I go into the bathroom and she follows me in and next thing I know she's kissing me, and it's all I can think about, and inside a week I'm meeting her in the bathroom and she's finger-fucking me while Tim's sitting at a table eating a veggie burger. So then one day Tim's got a swim meet out-of-town, and he leaves the house to go catch the team bus, and two minutes later the doorbell rings and it's Marina, she'd been sitting outside waiting for him to leave, and three minutes after that I'm sitting on the edge of the couch out in my studio in the garage, in my bra and half slip, and she's kneeling on the floor between my legs giving me the most incredible head I've ever had in my life, until you, that is, and I'm wetter than I've ever been, and she's fucking me with two fingers while she's sucking my clit, and I'm about four seconds away from a five-star orgasm, when the door opens and there's Tim standing there."

"Oh, shit, no!" Carmen said.

"Yes. He forgot his fucking whistle, and came back to the house to get it. So I look up and see him standing there with his mouth open, and then Marina straightens up and turns her head to look at him, and of course, she's got my pussy juice all over her face, and she just stares at him, and he looks at her. She just turns around again and slowly walks out the door."

"Wow! So then what happened?"

"Oh, shit, what didn't happen. Let's see, Marina leaves, Tim and I talk and argue, I'm apologetic and feeling guilty as hell, even though I can hardly walk. We got to The Planet and I tell Marina it's over, that I don't love her and it will never happen again. And to prove I love Tim I run away with him to Lake Tahoe and we get married that very night. Can you believe it? Less than twelve hours after Marina Ferrar gives me the best head I've ever had I'm standing in some tacky wedding chapel motel in Nevada being married to Tim by by a JP and his wife. And then after that it got weird."

They both laughed.

"Oh," Jenny said, "it was all so fucked up. I'm so fucked up. Marina was so fucked up. And poor Tim. He was the only one who wasn't fucked up, poor guy, and he didn't know what to do, and his whole life turned to shit right in front of him, and he didn't understand any of it, and there was nothing he could do about it." 

"So what about Marina?"

"Well, first, what happened was some of the most intense sex imaginable. And then I start learning the truth about her. Which is she's got this serious girlfriend named Francesca, who is this big shot fashion designer who stays and works in Europe six or seven months a year, and then comes back to Los Angeles for a few months. And while she's away, Marina and Francesca have this understanding where they can freely fuck anybody they want to, as much as they want to. But when Francesca comes back home, they suddenly get all semi-monogamous, but it turns out they are really into dominance games, and Francesca is the butch and she makes Marina her bitch, and there's all this fem/dom stuff. It was kind of the way that Marina dominated me and controlled me and played with me, that's what Francesca did with her. And I began to see it was all pretty sick, and they were just playing these perverted head games with each other, and I was just this mousy little mouse these two cats toyed with."

"Boy, that's a horrible way to get your first introduction to lesbianism," Carmen said.

"Yeah, it was. But you know what? It got even weirder still. Turns out Marina was married. Yes, to a guy, some Italian count who was like, fifteen or twenty years older than her. And after I finally broke it off with Marina, she has this big mental breakdown thing with Francesca, and tries to commit suicide, and they shipped her off back to Italy to some psychiatric clinic somewhere. And that's how The Planet came to be for sale. Kit bought it from Marina's husband, the Count of Monte Cristo, or whoever he was, of all people."

"Jesus, that's the weirdest thing I ever heard," Carmen said. "Were you in love with her?"

"Shit, I don't know. Yes. No. Who the hell knows. I mean, yes, I would have crawled over broken glass for her, just to get my mouth on her, or to get her hands and mouth on me. God, the things she did to me. And taught me to do to her ... and Francesca, too. But love? I guess maybe I have no idea if anybody loved anybody."

"Didn't Tim love you?"

"Yes, he did. I have to give him that."

"Did you love him?"

Jenny sighed. "That's such a hard question. I guess it shouldn't be so hard, but it is. Yes, I think I loved him. I know I should have, there was no reason not to. We were together for four years. I don't know, maybe I loved him, but just not enough. It was like ... he loved me, and that was good enough, so I kind of ... just went with the flow. Does that make any sense?"

"No-ooo," Carmen said, but in a way that made them both laugh. 

"I know, I'm so fucked up," Jenny said. "That's why I wish I was like you."

"Me? You're kidding? Why would you want to be like me?"

"Because you're so ... open, and free, and you know who you are, and you don't have any demons. You're sweet, and caring. You always tell the truth, and you don't play any games, you never mind-fuck anybody. I wish I could be like that."

"You have demons?"

"I do," Jenny said. "I have demons. You have no idea. My demons have demons of their own."

"Is that why you write?"

"I write because I have to. I don't have any choice. But yes, my demons show up in my work."

"Would you let me read something of yours some time?"

"Do you really want to?"

"Aren't I the open, honest type? Would I have asked if I didn't mean it?"

"Okay," Jenny laughed. "I'm convinced." She brought her hand up to Carmen's face, caressed her cheek. 

"So what do you want to do today?" Carmen asked as she kissed Jenny's palm.

"I don't know, but I can tell you this: I'm not doing anything until I take a shower. I'm covered in dried pussy juice from last night. Pussy juice and saliva. I think you're the first person who's ever licked that much of me before. And you ... there was one time you came, you were like, I don't know how to describe it--"

"Squirting? Yeah, I'm a squirter, sometimes. I'm usually really wet anyway, but once in a while, in the middle of a really good cum, I just lose it, and I squirt a little bit. You've never heard of female ejaculation?"

"Yeah, sorta. I just didn't know if it was true or not. You're only the fourth women I've ever had sex with, so I don't have this real broad experience, like Shane does."

"I'm only your fourth? There was Marina--"

"Yes, she was first. Then Francesca, we did some menage a trois stuff, the three of us. Very kinky and not a little bit dark and sick. Then for a little while I was seeing a woman named Robin, but that kind of went bust. And then you. So you're my first squirter, although Marina was really wet, too."

"Well, you're going to get wet again, because we're going to go jump in the shower," Carmen said, sitting up briskly, and pulling Jenny by the hand to do the same.

"Okay, you can go first," Jenny said.

"No, we're both going," Carmen said. "Remember? Save water, shower with a friend." She pulled Jenny halfway out of bed.

"Aren't you going to put something on?" Jenny asked. "Have you forgotten you're naked?"

"No, not at all. But it's only a few feet down the hall. No windows. What's the worst that could happen? We run into Shane, who wouldn't care and who has seen more naked pussy than a retired gynecologist, or we run into Mark, and that'd be worthwhile giving him a thrill show."

Jenny laughed, but allowed herself to be pulled naked down the hall to the bathroom. Carmen released her and climbed into the tub, and began adjusting the water temperature at the spigot as Jenny climbed in and pulled the shower curtain all the way across. When Carmen liked the temperature, she pulled the diverter knob up, and spray began shooting out of the shower head wand. She sprayed Jenny's head to get her hair wet, and then sprayed her own, and then took some shampoo and began to wash Jenny's hair. Jenny returned the favor, and after a rinse stood still while Carmen playfully but efficiently washed Jenny's body, toying with her butt checks, pussy, and small, firm boobs. Then she wrapped her arms around Jenny's soapy, sudsy body and they had a long, languid kiss, Carmen slowly undulating her body against Jenny's to get as much soap on herself as she could. After they broke the kiss, Carmen handed Jenny the bar of soap and said, "Do me, now," and stood with her hands raised above her head as Jenny soaped her down front and back, having as much fun as when Carmen had soaped her up. When she was done they embraced and kissed again. At the end of the kiss Jenny started to squirm and said, "I've got to pee. The running water is making me need to pee."

"Oh, go ahead," Carmen said. "I pee in the shower all the time."

"You do? Gross!" 

"No, it isn't gross, it's fun. A lot of people pee in the shower. There's even some people who pee together in the shower."

"Have you?"

"Sure! C'mon, try it. Stand over here, and pee toward the drain."

"I can't do that! Especially not with you watching! Ewwww."

Carmen laughed. "Try it, maybe you'll like it. It's fun."

Jenny did a jiggle dance. "Please, just let me rinse off so I can go pee! I really gotta go!"

Carmen handed Jenny the shower wand, and was rinsed off. Then she took the wand and rinsed off Jenny. "Well, now I have to pee, too," she said, but Jenny was already climbing through the shower curtain.

"Okay, I'm going to be done in a sec," Jenny said, hurrying to the toilet, lifting the lid and sitting down. Carmen was right behind her. She faced Jenny and straddled her legs, and sat down on the edge of the seat, facing her, their pussies almost touching. "What are you doing?" Jenny asked. 

"I want you to spread your legs," Carmen said. Jenny's eyes went wide in surprise, but she did. She felt Carmen's fingers come down between them and separate the outer lips of her pussy. And a second later she felt Carmen begin to pee, her stream hitting Jenny's clitoris dead on. "Do you feel that? Go ahead, let it go," Carmen whispered. 

Jenny couldn't hold it any longer. "Uh, God," she said, closing her eyes and releasing her bladder, letting her stream go. It hit Carmen's pussy and Carmen laughed, a happy, sexy chuckle. She felt Jenny's hot stream merge with her own, their pussies only an inch apart. 

***

In the hallway, Mark was pacing up and down when Shane came out of her room. Mark was doing the tight-knee wiggle dance that indicated he had to go.

"These girls are taking fucking forever," he said as Shane walked by. She stopped.

"You okay?" 

"I am dyyying," Mark said, biting his lip. 

Shane knocked on the bathroom door. "Hey guys, come on, let Mark in. He has to go." 

When there was no response, Shane knocked heavily on the door and said, "C'mon, guys, his back teeth are floating. Be nice." 

Whatever inhibitions Jenny might have had were gone. She kissed Carmen, shuddered, shivered, felt the pleasure of releasing her urine. She was vaguely aware of Shane in the hallway, but couldn't focus on it. And there was no way she could stop in mid-pee. Her hands cupped Carmen's wonderful breasts.

Suddenly the bathroom door opened, and Shane was standing there, a look of surprise and shock on her face. She never expected to see them both sitting on the toilet, face-to-face, much less ... much less ... . It took her a moment to realize the sound she heard was the two women's pee hitting the water in the toilet bowl. Jenny's mouth was open in a kind of ecstatic horror, caught in the act. Carmen had turned halfway around, still peeing, and looked at Shane without embarrassment, not at what she was doing and not at getting caught.

Then just as suddenly as the door had opened, Shane lurched back into the hallway, pulling the door shut after her. She stood a moment, recovering. She turned to Mark, standing there jiggling.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 09



"Use the bushes," Shane said.

Mark turned and fled down the hall and out the back door.

***

Mark sat on a chair in the middle of the kitchen, where the light was best. Shane circled around him with her scissors and a comb, putting the final touches on his haircut. He had a barber cape around his shoulders and snugged tightly around his neck. He held a mirror in his hand that Shane had given him, and he looked as his new haircut in it.

"I don't know, babe. I think it looks a little dyke-ish," he said. 

"Welcome to the club," Shane said, still processing how to take that remark. 

Mark chuckled. "I'm joking," he said. "I like it a lot. So, what the fuck do you think that bitch Veronica Whatshername wanted from you?" 

"Oh, I don't know. She's a fucking freak." She danced slowly behind Mark, combing at the hair behind his ear, and snipping at something she'd missed. 

"Damn, you know, I was just about to ask you to hook it up." 

"You were going to ask me to call Veronica Bloom?" Shane asked, mystified. 

"I had a minute of thinking if she, uh, saw my project, she might be into it," he said. 

"Mark, why didn't you say something?" 

"No, it was just a fleeting thought. Don't worry about it." 

"Do you have any other leads?" 

"Uh, no." 

"Well, look, maybe I ... maybe I'll get another job with a studio head or ... maybe I actually will have a next job." 

"Yeah, you and me both," Mark said. 

There was a knock at the back door, which opened, and Carmen stuck her head in. 

"Hey," Mark and Shane both said, nearly simultaneously.

"Hi," Carmen said, coming into the kitchen. 

"Jenny's not home," Shane said. 

"Yeah, I know," Carmen said.

"So, uh ...?" Shane mumbled. 

"Oh, um, I just wanted to talk to you about some stuff." Carmen said quietly.

Mark looked in the mirror, pretending to mess with his hair, but watched Carmen, who stood behind him leaning against the kitchen counter. 

"You're cutting hair," Carmen said. 

"Yes, I am." 

"You know what?" Mark said, standing up and removing the barber cape. "I have got a ton of work I need to be doing right now. I'll clean this up when I --"

"No, no, I have it," Shane said. "I got it."

"Okay," Mark said, heading for the back door. "Hey," he said to Carmen. 

"Hey," Carmen said. 

"Thank you," he said to Shane as he went out. 

"Yep," Shane said. She put the kitchen chair back where it belonged, got a broom and dust pan out of the pantry, and began to sweep up. There was noise roaring in her head. The last time she'd seen Carmen, she was sitting backward and naked on the toilet two days ago and peeing on Jenny. And it had pretty much been two days of torment since then, two days not so much thinking about Carmen and Jenny doing water sports, but just two days thinking about Carmen, period. Carmen wet, Carmen dry, Carmen naked, Carmen dressed. Actually, more Carmen dressed than one might suppose, because Carmen dressed was, well, there was no one quite like Carmen in Shane's experience. No one who made her heart beat fast, made her breath quicken. Made her chest hurt. Nobody who, whether dressed in Saturday grunge household chores clothes or Saturday night clubbing gear wore her clothes so well. In fact, if anything, Carmen looked her very best in her most casual clothes, raggedy cut-off jeans, a sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. Even her fucking Farmer John bib dungarees. How could anyone look so damn ... hot ... in Farmer Johns? It was inexplicable.

And the way she did her hair. It had a sheen, and a smell, faint strawberry. Never mind the hair, it was the way Carmen herself smelled. A trace of vanilla. A little something else ... sandlewood? And the way her hair bounced when she had it up in a ponytail with a scrunchie. Or when it was down, framing her face. It kind of laid alongside her cheeks, and you wanted to brush it back and, and ...

Fuck. You wanted to kiss her. Because of the hair, and the smell, and the eyes, the big brown eyes, because you could just drown in those eyes, how they looked at you. The mouth, lips parted just a little, that expectant smile, the smile of a woman who truly had no freaking idea how gorgeous she was, and what effect she had on Shane, whose pulse raced just thinking about her.

And thinking about Carmen with Jenny. Which was really conflicting, because Shane liked Jenny, was Jenny's friend, and if there were any two people Shane wanted to see happy it would be Carmen and Jenny, only ... not together. Which made Shane feel guilty to not want them together. Because every time she saw Carmen and Jenny, or even just thought about them together, making love, no, not even making love, just the two of them being together in each other's company, even that was painful, because Shane wanted to be the one in Carmen's company, and fuck, it was all so complicated. And worst of all Shane didn't know what to do. It was like a sickness. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she had no fucking idea what to do with any of it.

Miles behind in her processing, all Shane could think to say was, "What's up?" 

"I've been thinking about this all day," Carmen said. "Actually for a couple days. Actually, longer than that, even." She took a deep breath. She'd rehearsed this, so it was time to fire away. "Shane, it's ... I feel like there's something going on with you, and I would like to know what it is." 

Shane leaned against the counter, the broom still in her hands. The noise in her head was like Niagara Falls, a thundering torrent, a flood. "Look, I just ... Aw, fuck, you know, it's -- it's hard for me ... to have you and Jenny in my face all the time." 

Carmen was floored. It was just about the last thing she'd expected. "You're having a hard time with it?" 

"You know, I'm happy for you guys. Looks like you two are having a blast together and... that's a very good thing." She turned to look at Carmen, but couldn't quite bring herself to do it. She was having those chest pains again, the ones she didn't understand, the ones that felt like longing, the ones that constricted her throat muscles, made it hard to talk. Shane bowed her head, looked at the floor. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this bad, this ... sorry for herself. And this other thing, she didn't even know what the fuck it was.

"Then why would it be so hard for you?" Carmen persisted. She stepped closer to Shane, who wouldn't look up. Please, don't come closer, don't touch me, Shane thought, because if you do I'll come apart. I'll break.

"Shane, I want you to look at me." 

Shane raised her head, glanced to the side, but still couldn't look at this woman who made her hurt so much. She sniffled, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She thought maybe her eyes were getting wet. Allergies, or something. She felt her ears burning. Why would her sternum feel like the world's worst indigestion, why would her ears burn? She couldn't even hear her own thinking inside her head.

"I know how hard you work to distance yourself from everyone else on this planet, and I am sure that deep down, you've got some great reasons why, but it's not working for you anymore," Carmen said.

"It's working fine," Shane said, knowing full well how much it wasn't. 

"No, it's not," Carmen said. "It's not, because of this." She picked up Shane's hand and put it over her own heart, and covered Shane's hand with her own. Shane could feel Carmen's heartbeat under her warm, soft breast, the breast she'd loved kissing so much that time a few months ago. The one she still thought about kissing sometimes at night. Okay, most nights. 

Then Carmen put her other hand on Shane's chest, over Shane's heart. "Okay?" she whispered. "Because of this right here. Do you feel this? Most people don't have this, Shane. This is rare. This kind of thing just doesn't happen, and I feel this because I see it and I know it," Carmen said. 

Shane sniffled, closed her eyes, hoping the pain would stop, but knew it wouldn't. She opened her eyes, and looked at Carmen for the first time. Looked into those big, warm, brown eyes, wet with tears, just like her own. 

"So what?" was all Shane could ask. But it wasn't just asking, it was almost like pleading. 

"That's right," Carmen said, nodding briskly. "That's right. So what? So what if nothing ever comes out of this? So what if you'll never act on it. You are so convinced that having a relationship with somebody is going to kill you." 

"Because it will," Shane whispered. 

Carmen nodded again. "And that's why I'm with Jenny. It works because she and I are both biding our time, waiting for the real deal to come along." 

Shane was surprised she'd said that. Shocked. "Yeah? You don't think you and Jenny are the real deal?" 

"No," Carmen said. "Jenny wouldn't know what the real deal was if it bit her in the ass. She is so ... lost in her own darkness. I think she likes it in there. But do you know what's fucked up, Shane? What's fucked up is that you ... and I ... know what the real deal is. We saw it the first time we laid eyes on each other."

Shane closed her eyes. She sniffled again. She brought her hand away from Carmen's heart, and brushed the corner of her own eyes, but missed the tear that rolled down her cheek. She found herself nodding, yes, some sort of affirmation, but of what? God, she wanted to kiss this woman. And if she did, she knew all would be lost. It would be the end of ... something. The end of her, maybe.

"You're not living your life, Shane," Carmen whispered. "And if you don't take any risks, then you might as well be dead." 

Shane stood paralyzed. 

"You know that Eagles song, Desperado? Well, that's you, Shane. Every time I play that song when I DJ and somebody asks for it, I think of you. How you better come to your senses. Shane, it's like they wrote that song just for you. You better let somebody love you, before it's too late. Once upon a time, I hoped that would be me you'd let be the one to love you. I really did. But... it didn't happen. And I just don't know why. You wouldn't let me be the one, and I was so ready, believe me I was. And you knew it, you still know it. And so that's why I'm with Jenny. She's fun, she's easy for me to be with. And I'm sorry it's painful for you. You're the one who pushed us together. So tell me, why does Jenny and me being together bother you? Do you even know? Because I know you can't even bring yourself to say the words. And that's fucked up, Shane, it really is. And I don't know what will happen, Jenny and me. I'm gonna try and make it work, Shane. You know why? Because I need to love somebody, and I need them to love me. And, I don't know, maybe she can do what you can't, love me like I want to be loved. And ... and, if that's painful for you to watch, then I'm sorry, I really am. But I just need to let somebody try to love me, Shane, and maybe she can do that. And maybe I can love her the way I'd rather love you."

She leaned forward, kissed Shane chastely on the cheek.

"I've said my piece. Good night," she said, and went out the back door, tears running down her face. Shane watched her go.

***

Jenny knocked on the door of the studio in the back yard, but there was no answer.

"Hey, Mark, I need those Burr Connor DVDs back," she called out, but there was still no answer. Maybe he's asleep, she thought. She knocked harder on the door, and it swung inward a little bit. It hadn't been latched tight. She gently pushed it a few more inches open. 

"Hello? Mark?" Nothing. She gingerly pushed the door all the way open and went in. She needed to review those Burr Connor flicks again, because she was now back on the job of interviewing him and helping him write his book, thanks to Charlotte Birch. And now she needed those movies, and couldn't wait. And Mark wasn't home, so what the hell.

She went in and looked around. Unmade bed, but hell, Mark was a guy, so what did she expect. The place was still a helluva lot better than Animal House, after all. Mark might be a guy, but he wasn't a total pig. He even had his moments.

She wandered over to his computer desk and after a minute found the stack of Burr Connor DVDs she'd borrowed from him a few days earlier. When she picked up the tapes she accidentally brushed Mark's computer mouse, and moving it woke up the computer out of sleep mode. And there on the screen was a picture of Shane and Jenny, sitting on their couch the day they'd interviewed him. Across their chests was the title of the movie, A Compendium of Lesbianism, Volume I.

"Oh, shit," Jenny mumbled to herself, feeling the anger rise. She grasped the mouse, and saw the menu bar across the bottom of the screen that started and stopped the movie. She clicked on the "Play" button.

There was some sort of brisk violin music in the background, and then a collage of women's faces, herself, Shane, Carmen, Dana, Alice, some of the girls who been at the apartment she didn't know, including some sort of brown-shirted delivery girl handing a bouquet of flowers to Shane. Then the montage cut away to a view of Mark himself, addressing the camera.

[Cut to Mark's video of himself, interspersed with video he's taken over time of Jenny, Shane, Carmen, and others.] 

"Hi. I'm Mark Wayland, and I live in a house with two lesbians." 

[A title card appeared: "Wayland Pictures"] 

[Cut to: Jenny and Shane sitting on the couch in front of the TV, playfully touching and giggling.] 

[Cut to: Jenny, talking to the camera.]

"My name is Jenny Schecter." 

[A title card appears with the single word, "presents"] 

[Cut to Shane, introducing herself to Mark at that first interview, when he was filming her.] 

"I'm Shane." 

[Cut to a video Mark made of himself in the house, walking around the house and filming the rooms.] 

Mark's voiceover: "And this ... is gonna be a document of my journey." 

[Cut to one night, Shane, Jenny and Carmen putting their arms around each other, smiling and smoking a joint.] 

[Cut to Mark, sitting in his garage studio, talking to the camera.] 

"Initial observations and theories." 

[Cut to Jenny sitting on the couch next to Shane.] 

"And what makes you think that lesbians don't fuck?" 

Shane: "Where do you live, Mark? It's entirely possible."

[Cut to Dana and Alice sitting at the kitchen table.] 

"I'm Dana... Fairbanks."

[Cut to another shot of Dana, different time and place.] 

"I thought it would totally ruin my career, but it didn't. People thanked me." 

[Cut to Mark in the studio.] 

"These girls talk about everything." 

[Cut to Carmen sitting at the kitchen table.] 

"My name is Carmen de la Pica Morales."

[Cut to her again.] 

"I was 16 back then, and I fell madly in love with Lucia Torres. She was Pablo Fuentes' girlfriend." 

[Cut.] 

"You just - you didn't fuck with Pablo's girl. But I did." 

[Camera holds on Carmen's proud smile before cutting to Dana and Alice.] 

"This is Alice P - uh - Pie -" 

Alice: "Pieszecki." 

[Cut.] 

Alice: "I don't miss it. No. There's ways and things." 

[Dana smiles and drops her head in embarrassment.] 

[Cut to Mark in the studio.] 

"Now, I don't know if that's strictly a lesbian thing, or - or what, but man, these girls are all up in one another's business." 

[Cut to Jenny from when she was talking to Bette about Tina.] 

"This is so much more complicated than that." 

[Cut to Jenny sitting on Shane's lap. They laugh at each other about something.] 

[The video freezes on that shot.] 

Jenny was furious. "That motherfucker," she said. She stood up angrily, and in so doing knocked over a stack of tapes next to the monitor. Several fell to the floor, and she stooped to pick them up and put them back. The title on one tape caught her eye. It was labeled "SHANE/CARMEN LOVE CONFESSION." She turned it over in her hand. Just an ordinary black tape, just like any other. 

Decisively she sat down at Mark's desk, studied the array of boxes and players and equipment. She found one that looked like a tape player, ejected the tape she'd just watched, and put the new cassette into it. Mark's computer went into automatic "Play" mode. In a moment she was watching Shane and Carmen talking in the kitchen.

"Actually, longer than that, even," Carmen was saying. "Shane, it's ... I feel like there's something going on with you, and I would like to know what it is." 

"Look, I just ... Aw, fuck, you know, it's - it's hard for me ... to have you and Jenny in my face all the time," Shane had replied.

Jenny sat transfixed. She realized there was no way Mark was in the room filming this. This had to be coming from a hidden camera. They didn't know they were being filmed.

"It's not, because of this," Carmen was saying. Jenny watched as Carmen took Shane's hand, placed it over her heart. Placed her own hand over Shane's heart. "Okay? Do you feel this? Most people don't have this. This is rare."

Oh. My. God.

"That's right. So what? So what if nothing ever comes out of this? So what if you'll never act on it? You are so convinced that having a relationship with somebody is going to kill you." 

"Because it will." Jenny could barely hear Shane's whisper. 

"And that's why I'm with Jenny. It works because she and I are both biding our time, waiting for the real deal to come along." 

The real deal. No, Jenny had to admit, this wasn't the real deal, this thing with Carmen. It was fun. The sex was great. But ... no. Carmen was right. Still, it hurt to hear it.

"Jenny wouldn't know what the real deal was if it bit her in the ass. She is so ... lost in her own darkness. I think she likes it in there. But do you know what's fucked up, Shane? What's fucked up is that you ... and I ... know what the real deal is. We saw it the first time we laid eyes on each other."

Jenny felt a hollowness in her chest. And at the same time she recognized something she'd always known: That Carmen and Shane loved each other, and that Shane simply couldn't admit it to herself, couldn't deal with it.

"Once upon a time, I hoped that would be me. I really did. But ... it didn't happen. And I just don't know why. You wouldn't let me be the one, and I was so ready, believe me I was. And you knew it, you still know it. And so that's why I'm with Jenny. She's fun, she's easy for me to be with. And I'm sorry it's painful for you. You're the one who pushed us together. So tell me, why does Jenny and me being together bother you? Do you even know?"

Jenny felt her throat constrict, and a tear ran down her face. Jenny knew the answer. 

"I don't know what will happen, Jenny and me. I'm gonna try and make it work, Shane. You know why? Because I need to love somebody, and I need them to love me. And, I don't know, maybe she can do what you can't, love me like I want to be loved. And ... and, if that's painful for you to watch, then I'm sorry, I really am. But I just need to let somebody try to love me, Shane, and maybe she can do that. And maybe I can love her the way I'd rather love you."

After a moment, the tape went blank. Jenny wiped away tears. Then pushed the rewind button and replayed the tape. She played it three more times. Then she pushed the "Eject" button, put the tape on top of the Burr Connor videos, and left the studio with them, closing the door quietly behind her.

***

The young woman -- a film major from Arizona named Vanessa -- turned over, buried her face in Mark's back, and draped an arm over him. He lay on his back, blissfully asleep until that moment, and woke up only very briefly. He went back to sleep almost right away, with only a faint, faint message buzzing at the back of his consciousness that something was wrong. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 09



Gradually, he drifted back out of sleep, vaguely aware that somewhere a woman was talking. No, not a woman. A girl.

For some reason he turned his head and opened one eye. He looked toward his computer desk, where the talking seemed to be coming from. His one eye vaguely captured the fact that Jenny's face was on his computer monitor, and she was talking to the camera, wherever it was.

"My name is Mary. And I'm fourteen years old, and I'm a virgin. My pussy's never been touched by a big cock before." That was what Jenny said into the camera, in the voice of a much younger girl.

It simply didn't register, and Mark rolled toward Vanessa and went back to sleep.

For about four seconds.

He woke up, one hundred percent alert.

What?

He flipped over and looked at the computer monitor.

"...and I want you to fuck me. Here's my pussy. I want you," Jenny said, speaking directly to the camera.

Mark sat bolt upright. How could she be speaking at and looking into the camera when she wasn't supposed to know there was a camera in her room?

" ... to take your big cock, and I want you to shove it up my ass. A boy has never seen my tits before." 

Mark flew out of bed and ran to the computer. He turned off the monitor and turned down the speaker volume before it woke Vanessa. On second thought, he turned the computer off entirely. He glanced around, saw that Vanessa was still sleeping soundly. Quickly he grabbed his pants and climbed into them, commando. He found his shoes and slipped into them and quietly but quickly left the studio and ran into the house, and down the hall to Jenny's door. 

***

Clad only in a pair of black panties, Jenny stood in front of her dresser mirror with a marker in her hand. She wrote on her own chest, "Is this what you want?"

Mark knocked urgently on her door. "Jenny?"

"Come in," she said calmly. She turned toward the door and puts her hands on her hips. The door opened cautiously, and Mark began speaking before he got far around the door.

"Jenny, you have no idea what's --" He stopped when he saw her topless, with those words printed on her chest. "No, this is not what I want," he said, closing the door behind him. "Jenny, you have the wrong idea about this, please." 

Jenny ignored him. She put the marker down on her dresser and began to get dressed. Mark saw that his video camera was sitting on the edge of the dresser, and that's what Jenny had been talking into.

"Is that my camera?" 

"Yeah," Jenny said, "and I'm gonna use it now." 

Mark saw the Shane/Carmen Love Confession video sitting on the dresser. "And that's my tape of Shane and Carmen." 

"I don't really think that's your tape," Jenny said, pulling on a pair of pants. 

"Look. I know what you think of me right now. I know that I don't have a very good track record with things I've made but I wanna make a documentary --" 

"You have violated us," Jenny said quietly. "You are violating us." 

"I know," Mark said. Jenny's utter calm had him totally spooked. By rights this woman should be screaming at him. She should be hysterical. Instead, she sounded like that Whatshername chick, the one in The Exorcist. Linda Blair. 

"You have crossed every line of trust," Jenny said. "And don't you dare tell me this is for the sake of art." 

"Please. Watch my documentary. You know me. You'll understand. It's not what you think it is. I know that I crossed the line. I know that I went too far with this." 

Now that she was dressed Jenny picked up the video camera and started to film Mark as he pleaded his case.

"Look, when I moved here, this was just something I did, you know, but, you have to know --" 

"Do you have any sisters?" 

Mark was caught off guard with the question. "Yes, I have two younger sisters." 

"Okay. I want you to ask them a question." Jenny put the camera back down on her dresser. "And the most important thing is that you really listen to their answer. I want you to ask your sisters about the very first time that they were intruded upon by some man, or a boy." 

"What makes you think my sisters have been intruded upon? 

For the very first time Jenny showed a little bit of emotion, a little anger. "Because there isn't a single girl or woman in this world that hasn't been intruded upon and sometimes it's relatively benign, and sometimes it's so fucking painful." 

Mark had nothing. He looked at the floor. 

"But you. Have no idea. What this feels like." 

Mark swallowed. He truly did look sorry. Jenny was inclined to believe she was making points, but wasn't about to let him off the hook. Oh, no.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I had already begun taking down the cameras and I will finish taking down the rest of them today. I'm gonna go tell Shane now what I've done, and you guys can --"

"No," Jenny said sharply. 

" -- you don't ever have to speak to me again, I'm gonna pack my shit --" 

"I said no." 

"- and I'll move out --" 

"You're not gonna talk to Carmen. And you're not gonna talk to Shane. You're not gonna wreck their vacation, which starts tomorrow. They are going on that cruise with Dana and Alice, and you're not going to put a damper on it, or upset them, or give them any reason to cancel. Quite simply, you're not gonna fuck with their lives anymore. And I'm gonna decide when you can take those rapey cameras down." 

Mark stared at the floor and nodded. 

"Now get the fuck out of my room," she said in that same quiet, cold voice that scared the shit out of him. He half expected her head to do a 360 on her neck. After a moment he realized they were done. Without looking at her he turned and left her room. 

***

An hour later Jenny sat cross-legged on her bed, with Mark's video camera pointed at her. She was surrounded by old books, old notebooks, and dozens of very old black-and-white photos of her family back in the Old Country before World War II. Jenny put down a photo she was looking at, and looked into the camera.

"Hi, mom," she began. "As you can see, I have all our family pictures here and I'm videotaping this because I have a couple of questions for you about Zayde," the Yiddish word for one's grandfather. 

She picked up one of the old photos of an old man in a long, white beard. An older woman stood at his side. Jenny rubbed her thumb over the picture of the old man. 

"I would like to know if Zayde lost his mind when he began to transcribe the Torah by hand, or did that cause him to lose his mind. Do you remember the day they took him away? And then I wanted to ask you questions about Grandma." 

She picked up another old photo, this one of a middle-aged man and woman with an infant between them. She held it up for the camera, then looked at it. "Or Grandma, if you're watching this, I wanted to ask you questions about your experience in Auschwitz. I wanted to know if, when you arrived in Auschwitz, did they separate you from your daughter?" Jenny's voice broke with emotion and she had to gather herself for a moment before she could proceed. "And I wanted to know if you remember the name of the Unterscharfuhrer who took your arm and branded you with that tattoo. Do you remember his eyes? Do you remember if he used a steel plate for the number --" 

There was a knock at her bedroom door, but she continued, "-- or did he use a needle?"

She looked sadly at the photo in her hands. Her bedroom door opened and Carmen came in.

"I'm - I'm really sorry to interrupt. I heard you talking, making a tape or something. I just... wanted to say hello to you, but you know what, I can come back at another time if, um --" 

Jenny never moved, and didn't even turn around to face Carmen. "No, it's okay," she said quietly. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. I'm just working on a project about my family." 

"Wow." Carmen said, noting all the books and photos. She found an open corner of the bed and sat down. Jenny smiled and handed her a large photograph. 

"This is my family." 

"Oh, my goodness." 

Jenny pointed to the camera, which was still running. "And I'm making a tape for my mom. Mom, say hi to my friend Carmen." 

Carmen smiled, looked into the camera and made a little wave. "Oh, um, hello, Mrs. Schecter." She giggled. 

Jenny handed Carmen another photograph. "And that is my mom." 

"She's beautiful," Carmen said.

Jenny nodded, but her smile seemed to fade.

Carmen thought it might be a good idea to change the subject. "Um, have you packed for our cruise?" 

"No." 

"Do you want me to help you start or something?" 

"No. I totally forgot. I've just been so engrossed in this project. And I'm really into it, so I've decided I'm not gonna go on the trip." She made a faint sniffling sound. 

Carmen wiped away the tear that rolled down Jenny's cheek. Jenny looks at her photos. 

"I want you to go away with Shane," Jenny said.

"What?" Carmen asked, more alarmed than surprised. 

"Yep." 

"With Shane? Wha --" 

"Because I think you guys will have a blast together," Jenny said, wiping her nose and blotting her eyes with her hand. 

"Jenny, absolutely not! You are not going to pull out of this!" 

"You know --" 

"No excuses!" Carmen cut her off. "No. You're coming." 

"This is not an excuse," Jenny said. "When Burr Connor fired me last week, he just - the best thing that came out of that experience was, he was like, you gotta tell the truth about your life, and you have to be truthful about your work, and that's all I wanna do is just tell the fucking truth and I --" 

"All right, all right, all right, okay, okay, fine, fine," Carmen said, getting upset herself. "Well, here's a truth. I would like to go with my girlfriend on that cruise. So, you know --" 

Jenny looked at Carmen for the first time. "Who's that? Who's your girlfriend?" 

"It's you," Carmen said firmly. She and Jenny both heard someone come into the house from the back yard.

"Please, just tell me the truth." 

Shane came down the hall and stuck her head in Jenny's doorway.

"Hey, Shane, c'mere," Jenny said, her mood suddenly changing and lightening up. 

Shane came into the room and leaned against a bureau. Her antennae were furiously gathering data, and she knew she'd interrupted some sort of conversation, some ... moment, and it didn't seem to be a happy one. The noise level in her head started climbing. Jenny: Had been crying. Was trying to make it seem happy. Lot of stuff on the bed. Camera. Camera red light on. Carmen: Nervous. Not embarrassed, exactly, but caught in the middle of something. Not romance, not anything like that. Had they been talking at all about Carmen's conversation from the other night? Carmen looking delectable, as always. Her face tight and concerned. God, she looked so kissable when she was worried or concerned about something. Made Shane want to comfort her. Lot of stuff to process. Data coming in. Body language. Inflections. Noise.

Carmen turned to her. "Okay, um, I have something to tell you. This one right here" -- she pointed to Jenny -- "she doesn't want to go on the cruise." 

"What?" 

"Not going," Jenny said quietly. 

"You're going on that cruise," Shane said. She very seldom used any sort of command voice, but this was a close as it got. It was a statement of authority. 

"I'm not going." 

"Yes, you are." 

"No I'm not. I don't want to. You know why? I'm actually working on something that's important to me and I just don't want to fuck around anymore and I want to be serious about my work." 

A great deal of the noise in Shane's head died down, now that she had a grasp on what was going on. Without knowing it, her brain shifted into one of the things it did best, because it was instinctive: people handling. 

"Okay," Shane said, shrugging and changing her attitude entirely to one of casual acceptance. "If you're not going, I'm not going." 

"What?" Carmen exclaimed.

Shane moved to head for the door.

"Uh!" Jenny said. 

"Wait a minute! No! Come back!" Carmen called. 

"Come back here!" Jenny echoed.

Shane had reached to door and was halfway into the hall when she stopped and turned around. Slowly she came back into the doorway, and leaned against the door jamb. 

"If you don't go," Carmen began, talking to Shane, "and you don't go," talking to Jenny, "then I'm not gonna go, and I wanted to go! And - and - and - I guess Dana and Alice are gonna have to be pissed because no one's gonna go!" 

"Oh, my God!" Jenny said, burying her face in her arms. 

"I'm not gonna go!" Carmen repeated in her own command voice. 

Jenny knew when to give up. "I'm gonna go! I'm gonna go!" she laughed. 

Shane stepped forward and gave Jenny a high-five. 

"We're gonna be a fucking threesome, man!" she laughed.

Carmen smiled and joined in the rejoicing, but in the back of her mind there was hesitation over this threesome business. She hoped the term was just a figure of speech.

***

Shane had almost completed packing for the cruise and was on the verge of getting undressed and going to bed earlier than her usual night-owl bedtime because of the early pickup tomorrow morning when there came a knock on her door.

"Come in," she called out, and the door opened. Mark stuck his head in tentatively. Shane continued packing, and Mark cleared his throat. Shane turned around, expecting Jenny. She twitched in surprise when she saw who it was.

"Hey."

"Hey," Mark said.

"Hmph. You scared me."

"How's the packing coming along?"

Shane knew he didn't come to ask her how her packing was going. "What's up with you?"

Mark hesitated, then launched into what was obviously a prepared speech. "You're liable to hear shit about me while you're gone, and since I won't be there to defend myself, I just ... I don't want you to think I'm a total asshole." 

"What'd you do?"

"Can't tell you. I'm sorry. I promise you you'll find out eventually, though." 

"You're being really intense and cryptic right now."

Mark shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's my style -- really intense and cryptic. It's how I get all the ladies."

Shane smiled, and returned to her packing. 

"Yeah. Shane ... I just want you to know that ... that I'm your friend."

Shane turned back to him again, surprised and trying to figure out what the hell he was saying. There was a lot of information coming in, body language, tone of voice, his appearance, his eyes, which tended to avoid her. 

Finally she figured out something to say. "I'm your friend, too."

Mark nodded, smiled faintly. He made a casual hand gesture, sort of thanks, or good night or who knows what. 

"'Night," he said, adding at the last moment, "Bon voyage."

"Thanks," Shane said. "'Night."

She stared at the door after he'd left, wondering what that was all about. 



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 10



Chapter 10 Water and Sports



Say this about the Olivia organization: It knows how to treat its people. Because Dana was a guest speaker on an Olivia-booked cruise as well as being a nationally known celebrity, she got the VIP treatment. 

This began with a stretch limo that arrived to take Dana and her four guests to LAX, where they would fly to Miami, then take a feeder to Key West, where another limo would take them from the airport to the dock. There they would board the Royal Duchess Lines' MS Duchess of Utrecht, which Olivia had chartered for this particular cruise. Olivia was a lesbian-owned, -operated and -oriented travel, vacation, resort and cruise company that itself owned no ships, but instead chartered them from the main cruise companies as needed, and then organized its lesbian-themed cruises and did the booking. 

Sometimes the Olivia cruises were made aboard the larger cruise ships that carried as many as 3,000 passengers. The Royal Duchess Line didn't try to compete with the giant cruise lines that built ever larger and larger ships carrying 2,000, 2,500, even upwards of 3,000 passengers in what were essentially floating Disney Worlds merged with floating Chuck E. Cheeses. Instead, Royal Duchess concentrated on slightly smaller ships carrying 900 to 1,500 passengers. There were no rock-climbing walls, miniature golf courses, waterfalls, or skeet-shooting ranges aboard Royal Duchess ships. Instead, the cruise line delivered a very high crew-to-passenger ratio featuring extensive high-quality service, and you always knew you were on a ship, not an amusement park with big anchors. The line featured high-quality shows and entertainment, but not of the glitzy, high-glam Las Vegas-type shows some cruise lines tried to implement. The Royal Duchess Lines' philosophy was that it built ships for people who liked to travel on ships, and if you preferred a Las Vegas milieu or a Disney environment and didn't want to dress for dinner, you didn't need to have that experience a few hundred miles out to sea or while traveling at 20 knots past an Alaskan glacier or a Caribbean paradise. Royal Duchess was class, and expected you to dress for dinner.

The girls had until 4 p.m. to board the Duchess of Utrecht in Key West, so the limo picked up Dana and Alice at Dana's place at 5 a.m., and then swung by Jenny and Shane's house to pick them up along with Carmen, who'd driven over and parked her Jeep there. Flying eastward, they were going to lose three hours, and had to catch a feeder flight to Key West to be aboard the ship by 4 p.m. Florida time. They were at LAX by 6 and the place was already jammed with passengers, and the people who came to the airport to pick them up or see them off. At the moment the limo pulled up at the departures area, the girls were deep into a philosophical discussion. 

"Do you think that Captain Stubing got more women, or the doctor?" Alice asked.

Carmen was quick on the draw as she climbed out of the limo. "No, the captain did not get more women --" 

"He gets so many!" Alice protested as she walked to the rear of the limo to get her suitcase from the trunk. They all had relatively small, compact luggage with rollers designed to fit into the overhead compartment aboard the plane. Well, four of them did. "And then there's Julie."

"Captain Stubing and Julie were not having an affair," Carmen insisted. "Okay? Did you ever watch the show? Captain Stubing was married!" 

"Right. But supposedly somebody was a big homo," Alice said, singing the last two words.

"What?!" Carmen didn't believe it, and had never heard such a rumor. "No way. Gavin McLeod and Bernie Kopell were both married a couple of times, and they both had kids. There's nothing to it. But did you know Gavin McLeod's father was an Ojibway Indian?"

"No shit?" Alice asked. "Wow."

Carmen's command of TV, movies and of course music was enormous, and she was a devastating Trivial Pursuit player.

"Who cares?" Shane asked, irritated with the entire discussion from Word One. And in any event she'd never seen so much as a single episode of The Love Boat, and barely knew who Captain Stubing was. The show debuted on television three months before Shane was born in 1977, and three years before Carmen's birth. Bouncing around in an unstable world, Shane hadn't gotten much chance to watch TV reruns, and pop TV was one of the many gaps in her education.

"Why do we say it like being a homo is, like, some dirty secret?" Jenny picked up.

"Thank you, exactly," Carmen said to Jenny as the porter put their bags on the sidewalk. Dana got her bag and thanked and tipped the porter.

"You guys, this is fantastic, we're all carrying on," Alice said as they started to head into the terminal.

"What? No, no! No. I'm checking! I'm checking," Dana yelped. Alice gave Dana a funny, irritated look as they went inside. Shane and Carmen went first in the check-in line, with Jenny following right behind them. Dana and Alice brought up the rear, bickering.

"I don't know why you're being like this, your bag will totally fit in the overhead compartment," Alice said.

"No, it's too heavy," Dana said. 

"No, it's not. Do you want me to take it, 'cause I'll switch with you," Alice said. It didn't occur to her to ask why a professional tennis player wasn't strong enough to lift her bag into the overhead.

"No! I don't! Just--" Dana's bag flipped over as she rolled it. She stopped and turned it back over. "Look, I just don't wanna put it through security, okay?"

"Why?" Alice asked

"I don't - I just don't!"

"Okay, fine, you're gonna hold everyone else up, because no one else is checking anything," Alice grumbled. She abandoned the argument and stepped up to the check-in counter. Dana hurried after her, finally abandoning the idea of checking her bag.

"Alice! Al! Al!" Dana's bag flipped over again as she tugged it. "Goddammit! Alice ..." 

Carmen and Jenny grabbed their bags off the conveyor as they came out of the x-ray machine. Behind them, Shane hesitated before walking through the upright metal detector. 

"Step through please, ma'am. C'mon," the Transportation Security Administration officer monitoring the walk-through said. Shane stepped through it and the detector beeped.

"Hold it there," the TSA officer said. "Okay, go over to the side, please." Shane rolled her eyes but complied as another TSA officer stepped up and began to wave a wand around her body. She was an olive-skinned woman about 40 with short black hair, and her name tag identified her as Faye.

"Dana, nobody cares about medication," Alice hissed. They put their bags on the conveyor. She pushed Dana ahead of her and through the walk-through metal detector, which stayed silent. She turned and watched just as her bag slid into the big X-ray box.

"Put your arms up," Faye said to Dana as she walked through the metal detector, which again had nothing to say.

"Thank you," the officer said. Dana turned to retrieve her bag and saw that the luggage conveyor had stopped. The TSA officer looking at the screen had a perplexed look on his face.

"Faye, come here," he said. 

Faye appeared to be in charge of this inspection station. She walked over behind the conveyor to look at the X-ray monitor. The entire line had come to a halt as more and more passengers began to pay attention to the hold-up in front of them.

"I think we got something here," the X-ray examiner murmured to Faye, who leaned forward to see what was on the screen. The X-ray monitor showed objects in lurid shades of red, green and blue. And buried deep inside Dana's bag was something long and tubular, perhaps like a gun, and at one end of it at right angles was a rounded shape, perhaps suggesting the trigger guard or handle of a gun, though not a typical one.

"What is it? Some kind of a weapon?" the officer asked Faye. Faye studied it, perplexed.

"I'll have to open it up," she said. The X-ray guy started the conveyor and when the bag emerged a large black TSA officer took it and swung it onto a side table. "Ladies? Step over here, please," he said to Dana and Alice. 

"Who belongs to this bag?" Faye asked.

Dana raised her hand, and glared at Alice. This was all Alice's fault.

"Open it, please." Faye stepped aside and let Dana come forward to the table to unzip the bag. Faye and the large officer faced Alice and Dana across the table.

"That's fine, step back, please," Faye ordered as soon as the bag was unzipped. Dana stepped back and stood next to Alice. Nearby, Jenny, Shane and Carmen stood with their roll-ons, waiting and watching, mystified. The regular conveyor line was working again and passengers were being passed through, but all of them were watching the drama at the inspection table.

The black inspector flipped open Dana's bag and began taking out items and putting them on the table: a few small bottles of prescription pills, soap, smaller containers of bath products, nothing over 3 ounces, clothes ... 

... leather handcuffs. Then he pulled the suspicious object out of the bag. It was long and tubular, all right, but unexpectedly the business end terminated in a knob, not a gun barrel. At the other end it was connected to a leather device and a series of straps. 

"What ... the ... hell ... is ... ."

Dana hid her face in her hands. 

He held up the strap-on and dildo in plain sight of everyone. Carmen and Jenny gasped. Shane closed her eyes, whispering, "No, no, no ... ." Suddenly Alice realized what she'd done. This was her fault, because she overrode Dana's desire to check the bag. And now she had to try to get Dana off the hook.

"Just -- it --" Alice babbled. She stepped forward, grabbed the strap-on and held it to her own crotch, demonstrating its position. The gasp from the onlookers was so audible the man watching the X-ray machine even turned around to take a look.

"'Kay?" Alice asked, as though it was all a silly mistake, no big deal, just your basic Caribbean cruise accessory, a 9-inch pink-colored Royal Fusilier, complete with a modest set of hairless testicles.

Faye looked at Alice a moment, then smiled.

"Great," Alice said, putting the strap-on down on the table. Dana stood paralyzed and six shades of purple.

The black TSA inspector reached into the suitcase and pulled out a chain with small clamps on the end.

"Yeah," Alice said, "nipple clamps." She turned and mumbled to Dana under her breath, "When did you get those?" Dana shrugged, speechless. "Baby!" Alice said, and she and Dana suddenly started to giggle.

Faye took the nipple clamps from her associate and held them up. "You can't take these on the plane, ladies. You know better than that." She put the chain and clamps in her pants pocket. Dana looked sad. Faye said, "You can go ahead and pack this back up now."

"Great," Alice said, and she stepped up to help Dana throw all her stuff back into the suitcase. Carmen, Jenny and Shane stood down the corridor, amazed and giggling themselves.

"Oh, my god," Jenny said. She leaned over to whisper to Shane and Carmen, "I know I'm relatively new to this lesbian business, but can somebody explain to me how you hijack an airplane using a pair of nipple clamps?" Shane and Carmen both grinned and shrugged.

"Have fun," Faye said, winking at Alice knowingly.

"Yeah! Good, thanks!" Alice said, leading Dana and her suitcase off down the corridor toward the waiting airplane. 

***

"Can you believe this? We're actually on a cruise, Jenny!" Carmen said as she collected her Duchess of Utrecht, ship ID badge at the entry port gangplank reception station. "It's going to be fun!" Carmen was always the happiest of people, and her enthusiasm for the cruise was infectious, as was her enthusiasm for most everything.

Jenny grinned as she and Shane waited for their badges, which came out of the lamination machine a moment after Carmen's. Dana and Alice came right behind. The group entered the ship and walked down a passageway that led to the center of the ship, an atrium three decks tall, in the middle of which was a giant, modernistic sculpture of a sea horse made of blocks of glass. Shane took one look at it and hated it. Off to the side there was a greeting area where a number of passengers had collected. To one side there was a table set up in front of a large banner that read, "Welcome, OWLs." In front of the banner and behind the table stood five older women who were handing out brochures and greeting passengers.

"Ladies, welcome to OWLs," a spokeswoman for the group announced. "It stands for 'older, wiser lesbians.' We talk about how spirituality and sexuality are combined, and our definition of 'orgasm' is that it is the kiss of God that brings ecstasy to consciousness." 

Jenny and Shane smiled at each other as they passed the OWLs. "Gimme some of them God kisses," Jenny murmured and Shane grinned, nodding.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "Love that consciousness ecstasy thing." 

Just then a young passenger started exclaiming, "Dana! Dana Fairbanks!" and in a moment a flock of young women had surrounded Dana, waving notepads and pens and clamoring for autographs. "Oh, over here, over here, let me have your autograph," one said. 

"All right," Dana said, enjoying the attention and happily signing everything they handed to her. 

Alice notice two ship's officers standing nearby to welcome passengers aboard. They both wore dazzling white uniforms with shoulder epaulets that described their ranks. Alice didn't understand or care about rank. That they happened to be pursers was lost on her; they could have been admirals for all she knew or cared.

"Hi. How are you? I'm Alice. Nice to meet you," she said, shaking hands. 

"Nice to meet you," they said, and Alice gently pulled one of them aside. 

"Can I ask you a question?" Alice asked, whispering. 

"Yes, sure," the officer said. 

Alice whispered in his ear. The officer broke into a muted smile. 

"Sure," he said. "That can be arranged." 

"Yeah? We'll talk?" Alice asked, reading and memorizing his name badge.

The officer nodded. 

"Okay. Excellent," Alice said.

While Alice waited for Dana to finish with the autograph hunters, Carmen, Jenny and Shane went off to find their stateroom, MS-634. It was on the starboard side of the Mediterranean Deck about three-quarters the way aft, near the elevator bank located furthest aft. The Mediterranean Deck was the first deck that mainly held staterooms, almost all of them smaller two-and three-person rooms. The deck had two corridors running fore and aft, like the aisles on a passenger jet. On the outboard sides, each stateroom had one porthole, while the inboard staterooms had none. The next deck up was the Caribbean Deck, which featured larger and more deluxe staterooms and a few suites, and the outboard staterooms on that deck had small verandas accessible through sliding glass doors. 

Carmen led Jenny and Shane down their corridor, and placed her electronic key card in the lock to open the door to MS-634. She stepped into the stateroom, looked around, and sighed. Jenny and Shane came in behind her. 

"I thought we were supposed to have a suite," Carmen said. There was nothing "wrong" with the stateroom; it was nice and clean and neat ... and small. Or at least, smaller than expected. There was a large double bed, and opposite a small sofa that made into a bed. There was a credenza with a flat-screen television on it, a modest closet, and a door that led to a nice but compact bathroom with a nice but compact shower stall. Carmen and Jenny could technically both fit into the shower at the same time, but they were spoiled, showering together and playing their water sports in the full-size tub at home. 

Jenny looked around. "Well, I have an idea," she said. "Why don't we all sleep together, and Carmen, you can sleep in the middle." 

Shane and Carmen both turned to look at Jenny, then both looked away without saying anything.

"I'm going to go explore," Jenny said brightly, and turned and left the stateroom.

"Even for Jenny, she's acting weird," Shane said.

Carmen nodded. "Let's go find Alice and Dana," she said.

***

Alice led the way down the only corridor on the Isle of Capri Deck. This was a smaller deck four levels higher than the Mediterranean Deck and it housed the ritziest and most exclusive suites and deluxe staterooms. Alice put her key card in the slot and opened the door.

"Fuck!" she gasped. 

"Oh, my god. This is sweet!" Dana said, entering the stateroom and gazing around, dazzled.

Alice spotted a bouquet of fresh roses on the table, with a small card. "Aww," she said, and picked up the card and began to read. "Welcome aboard, Dana Fairbanks and friends. We hope you enjoy your time with us. From Olivia Cruise. P.S., Thank you, Alice, for talking up our cruise on your show." 

"That was nice!" Dana said. 

"Yeah, I made that last part up," she said, putting the card down and looking around. The suite really was magnificent. The door they'd come through opened up into a large and comfortable sitting area that had two opposing sofas, two chairs, a 50-inch, wide-screen TV, and a coffee table. The room was irregularly shaped, and curved sinuously into what became the master bedroom. This featured a bed large enough to sleep Madonna, J-Lo and both their bands, side by side, so it seemed. To the outboard side, the entire wall was glass, with a sliding glass door leading out onto a balcony that overlooked the ship's lifeboats. The balcony was large enough to include four large deck chairs and two small tables, and with room to spare. There were two separate closets, one on each side of the giant bed, which faced yet another 50-inch TV. Off to the side was a door leading to a bathroom that took Alice's breath away. It was glitzy and gold and featured marble and granite everywhere, and a shower stall that could comfortably fit three people; it even had a seat large enough for two to sit side-by-side under a multitude of sprays.

Porters had already brought their suitcases to the stateroom, and Alice and Dana were unpacking when Shane and Carmen knocked on their door. When Dana let them in, they were stunned by how nice -- and large -- Dana's stateroom was. 

"I gotta get me one of these Olivia gigs," Carmen said, unabashedly snooping in all the nooks and crannies of the suite. 

"C'mon, let's go up on deck and watch the ship leave," Alice said. "Then we can go watch Dana's first appearance. She's one of the panelists in a presentation on the St. Tropez Deck at 6:30. Phoebe Sparkle is gonna talk about relationships. That ought to be really hot. Then we can have dinner. We're all in the 8 p.m. seating."

***

They met up with Jenny at the entrance to the panel discussion, which was held in a roped-off area on the open St. Tropez Deck near the ship's large outdoor swimming pool. There was a table at one end with chairs and microphones for the four panelists, one of whom was Dana, and for the panel moderator. Dana was nervous and Alice squeezed her hand as she left the group to take her place at the table next to the legendary Phoebe Sparkle, sexologist, author, speaker, sex magazine columnist, Internet phenomenon, internationally known bisexual, and TV and radio personality. Although the cruise featured two dozen celebrities from academia, politics, Hollywood, the Broadway stage, music, art, literature and sports, there was no doubt Phoebe Sparkle wore the crown of top celebrity aboard. A trim, handsome woman with auburn hair and a crooked smile in her late thirties, Phoebe at rest or in repose gave little hint to her true character; she almost looked like she could be chairwoman of the local PTA. But the moment she opened her mouth, it was like the demon from The Exorcist had taken over her personality, because within seconds something outrageous, highly sexual, and quite probably profane, was going to escape. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 10



Phoebe Sparkle, nee Myra Driscoll Pankhurst, had launched her career as a university-trained academic who had degrees in sexology and women's studies. She had written a typically turgid doctoral dissertation at age 24 on the subject of deviant sexual practices and the psychology of sadomasochism, and one day shortly before she was scheduled to present her defense of it and then receive her doctorate, she had what she later called an "epiphany." "Fuck it," she claims she said to herself, and sat down to re-write her dissertation using the pen name Phoebe Sparkle. The "dissertation" became a publishing sensation under the title Doms, Butches and Bitches With Whips. DB&BWW made it to number eight on the New York Times bestseller list. 

In a seeming heartbeat, she found herself writing a monthly sex column for Playgirl magazine, published articles in three or four gay/lesbian magazines and newspapers, and appeared on a dozen talk shows on radio and cable television. One now-famous evening she told Howard Stern that she ate pussy better than he did, and challenged him to a cunnilingus smackdown to see who was the top carpet-muncher. Howard reluctantly had to turn her down, in part because his wife said no fucking way are you eating somebody else's pussy, and she's not eating mine, so forget it. Of course, every word of the controversy made it on the air, to everyone's delight and great ratings. Phoebe Sparkle was on her way to becoming a household name -- in some households, anyway -- as well as a frequent guest on Stern's show. Howard couldn't get enough of her, and she ate up the publicity. It's all about the niche marketing.

Her next book was another bestseller, Getting to Know Your Pussy: A Woman's Guide to How Her Cooter Works. This was soon followed by The Life and Times of My Clit, a sexual autobiography of the appendage she had named Pink Floyd and in which she disclosed what became her signature issue, what she called her "polyamory," the practice of having not only an open relationship, but multiple relationships with both sexes, with her significant partner(s)'s knowledge and approval. In short, she fucked anything and everything she wanted to, whenever and wherever she wanted to, even though she had had something approximating a six-year common law marriage to a man that overlapped by two years a fairly steady relationship with a lesbian, all the while seducing and sleeping with whoever came along who struck her fancy. 

In another heartbeat, she found herself producing a line of video how-to sex tapes on a variety of topics from cunnilingus and fellatio to anal sex to BDSM, as well as videos oriented to lesbians, gay men and straight couples. She starred in several of the videos as the narrator and presenter, but was also seen in a few segments as participant. In one famous tape she faced the camera and talked to it from a position between the legs of an otherwise unseen woman. She discussed lesbian sexual hygiene and stopped her lecture occasionally to bow her head and lick the pussy and clit of the unseen woman. At the end of the tape, Phoebe summarized her discussion, bid the viewer goodbye until next time, and lowered her head to bring the woman to orgasm, the woman's hips twitching and arching upward, the camera seeing only the top half of Phoebe's face buried in a hairy muff at climax. 

Her how-to video on using a strap-on was titled Bend Over, Bitch, and Phoebe steadfastly refused to tell anyone what the gender was of the person she was ostensibly reaming. The cover art of her video on proper and improper sexual advances, behaviors and attitudes in the workplace, Let's Do Munch, showed Phoebe in an executive boardroom reclining on the conference table on her side, pantyless and with her skirt hiked up to her waist, while a nattily dressed man in a business suit and tie knelt on the floor with his face between her legs. Behind her, men and women in business attire appeared to be conducting a meeting while at the far end of the conference table a man in a business suit was giving a PowerPoint presentation, all of them ignoring Phoebe and her power-luncher.

Sappho's Nectar was a collection of 80 first-person-narrated, first-lesbian-experience stories Phoebe had collected. Some were only a few paragraphs long but others ran to several pages and might have appeared in Penthouse Letters columns. Phoebe had organized them into categories and themes such as teen-seduced-by-teacher/counselor/coach; innocent-teen-discovers-lesbianism-with-equally-innocent-teen-BFF; twenty-something-jilted-by-man-turns-to-friend-for-comfort; sexually-experienced-woman-has-menage-and-switches-teams; teen-seduced-by-friend's-mom/older-next-door-neighbor; the zipless-fuck variant of woman-seduced-by-nameless-stranger-in-bar/train/airplane/cruise ship/vacation-resort; two-colleagues-work-late-on-Friday-night; woman-has-flat-tire-on-lonely-road-and-is-rescued-by-butch-biker-chick or butch-state-trooper; my-college-roommate; and so on. What was surprising was that Phoebe took the stories and the women who wrote them seriously, and had provided considerable commentary and analysis that was respectful, thoughtful, and intelligent without being academically stuffy or condescending. 

Sappho's Nectar became a sensation and once the format was proved successful, Phoebe turned out a series: Sappho's Nectar II, about coming-out stories; Sappho's Nectar III, about long-term lesbian relationships, commitment ceremonies and marriage; More Sappho's Nectar, a round-up selected from the flood of new stories that had come in due to the fame of I, II and III; and Son of Sappho's Nectar, a collection of stories about gay men and their first-time experiences. 

Sappho's Nectar IV covered female bisexuality, which pissed off not a few women in the superdyke community who disapproved of bisexuality, a battle that had been raging in the LGBT community since the 1980s. But it was Sappho's Nectar V that really rocked the little man in the boat. This volume bravely took on the uglier extreme fringes of the lesbian community itself, dealing with the range of behavior from light bondage and S&M to heavy-duty dom/submissive relationships. Phoebe herself had no problem with anything consensual, but she openly speculated about humiliation, physical violence and abusive relationships approaching torture. She noted the double standard that if a woman was handcuffed, ball-gagged, spanked or whipped with a riding crop to the point of bruising and/or bleeding, pissed on and then brutally anally fucked, all this abuse perpetrated by a man, consensually or not, there would be howls of outrage and condemnation. However, if the same acts were performed consensually by one lesbian to another, it seemed to be acceptable and not thought to be demeaning, humiliating or abusive. She noted that there was a coterie of lesbians who treated their conquests every bit as badly as many men did, objectifying them as sex objects, physically and psychologically abusing them, and casting them aside as callously as any man in a trailer park porn flick. The message was that hetero abuse was horrible and criminal but that homo abuse was okay. No, Phoebe Sparkle said; it wasn't. And Phoebe had said what no one else had ever dared to say: That a certain proportion of people in the gay and lesbian communities were some pretty sick, twisted, angry, self-hating people. She wondered whether it wasn't possible to foster a kinder, gentler, more loving gay community, one hopefully free (or at least freer) of the bitchiness, cattiness and self-loathing she was seeing among the sisterhood and many of the brothers. 

The Other Valley of the Dolls dealt with women in the porn industry in the San Fernando Valley just outside of L.A., dubbed "Porn Valley" and "San Pornando Valley," and how the women were often abused and exploited, whether hetero or lesbian or bi. Phoebe had no objection to a little mild recreational drug use, but she pointed out that many porn actresses were not only high or stoned when they performed, but that drugs were used not to enhance their work on camera but simply as a means of controlling them off-screen. A good handful of them had died very young, of drug overdoses or similar durg-or-alcohol-related incidents. There were suicides, and several murders inside the profession. Phoebe pointed fingers and named names.

She was gorgeous, she was sexy, she was glamorous, she was outrageous, she called it like she saw it, and she'd done it all. She was Phoebe Sparkle. 

Over the course of the six-day cruise, Olivia had scheduled 34 different lectures, seminars, presentations and panel discussions, to say nothing of various mixers, luncheons, dances, hospitality events, and a silent auction. Of the 34 events Phoebe Sparkle was the main feature either as sole lecturer or as one of the panelists in nine events (Dana was the main speaker in two events and a panelist in three others). On a personal level, Phoebe was most proud of her two-hour presentation, "Polyamory, Polyfidelity and Polygamy: An Introduction and Discussion," and two adjunct lectures, "Polyamory in the Kerista and Oneida Communities," and "Polyamory, Polyfidelity and Group Marriage in the Works of Robert A. Heinlein and Robert Rimmer." These were normally rigorously academic [read: boring] topics, but it was Phoebe's talent and genius to make them accessible to the average lesbian-or-polyamorite-in-the-street.

The kick-off presentation began a little more than an hour after the ship had left the pier, and was held on the open St. Tropez Deck near the ship's swimming pool. A roped-off area held about 90 folding chairs facing a dais with a table with chairs for the four panelists, two of whom were Phoebe and Dana, and the panel moderator. The first three rows were reserved seats, and Dana had gotten four in the third row for Alice, Carmen, Shane and Jenny. The moderator started off with a general welcome aboard speech, so thrilled to have you all here, blah blah blah, got a lot of activities and events lined up for you, please have fun, practice safe sex, and if you don't need to practice because you've got it down pat, that's great, too. (Polite titters.) My job this afternoon's really easy because our four celebrity panelists don't need any introduction. You all know the Founding Mother of the Feminist Movement, Silvia Blackman! (Applause and cheers.) Hollywood's hottest lesbian movie star, she's smokin', she's going commando, and she's a 38-D cup! Glory Abernathy! (Applause, cheers, and several hoots.) Fresh out of the closet and on her way to Wimbledon, let's give it up for tennis sensation Dana Fairbanks! (Applause, cheers, and whistles from Alice, Shane and Carmen, and an abortive whistle from Jenny, who tried but couldn't.) And of course a lady who REALLY needs no introduction, the Queen of Fab, Phoebe Sparkle!! (Applause, raucous cheers, appreciative and friendly catcalls.)

The four presentations were quick canned speeches, and there was a lot of friendly banter back and forth, since Silvia, Glory and Phoebe all knew each other from dozens of previous speeches, seminars and public occasions, and they were all quick to warmly welcome the newbie, Dana, into the ranks of Sapphic uber-celebrity. After a few minutes the moderator opened it up to questions from the audience, which is what everybody wanted most of all: a chance to interact with their heroines. The first volley of questions came thick and fast: What was Phoebe's next book about? (I haven't decided, but don't be surprised if it has sex in it. Laughter and applause.) Who did Glory think was the hottest lesbian actress -- beside herself, of course -- and which straight actress rang her chimes? (Angelina Jolie, to both questions! Much laughter and applause.) Who were Dana's inspirations? (Oh, boy, there are so many! Billie Jean, Martina, Chrissy ... .)

The moderator: "Yes, the woman in the back."

A demure schoolteacher-looking woman in her late 30s: "Miss Sparkle, do you think it's possible to be in a committed relationship and still carry on a polyamorous lifestyle?"

Phoebe: "It's certainly possible. The most important thing is to know that jealousy will rear its head."

Jenny looked at Shane and smiled. Shane grinned weakly, wondering what Jenny was thinking now.

Phoebe: "You have to agree with your primary loved one to be honest about your feelings, and you have to make rules."

Moderator: "Woman in yellow?"

A sexy young woman in a yellow sun dress: "Dana Fairbanks ... will you marry me?"

The crowd laughed and applauded as Dana flushed red and buried her face in her arms before looking up again. "Sure! No, I'm sorry. (Laughs) Uh, thank you, actually, very much, but I'm in one of those, um ... committed relationships, and we're not poly ... amorphic, or whatever it is." (Laughter.)

"Well, that also works, but I'm guessing that Dana and her partner know how to spice things up," Phoebe said. The crowd whooped, applauded, and called out as Alice playfully raised her hand and saluted Dana from the audience as Carmen, Jenny and Shane laughed and applauded her.

Moderator: "All right, we have time for one more question before the 8 p.m. dinner seating. Right there." She pointed at Jenny, who was waving frantically.

"Miss Sparkle," Jenny asked, "what is your advice on three-ways?"

The crowd laughed, hooted and cheered -- everybody except Carmen and Shane, who looked at each other frowning. Shane was the first to look away, but they both had the same thought, and it bothered them equally: Just what the hell was with Jenny's new preoccupation with threesomes? Jenny, oblivious, responded to the crowd's cheers, shouting "Yay!" and waving her fist in the air.

"Well, I think they're great," Phoebe told the audience. "I'm a big, big fan of group sex. The only thing is that all parties have to be signed on for the same agenda."

Still standing, Jenny nodded that she understood the point.

"So that's the end of our panel for today," the moderator said. "I want to thank you all for being here. It's been a pleasure."

*** 

After dinner they gravitated to the main ballroom, where a giant mixer was just getting underway. At one end of the room was a stage with a large set-up for a pair of DJs, who were playing a lot of current music, and they were pretty good, Carmen thought, observing them with a professional eye. Almost unconsciously, she took in the stage, looked at the equipment, the positioning, the lighting, the sound board, all of it completely familiar to her by way of her production assistant work or her DJ experience. "I could put this whole thing together," she thought to herself. "And I could DJ this crowd. Piece of cake."

At that moment Jenny found Carmen and dragged her by the hand into a nearby crowd of women who included Alice, Dana and Shane, and began dancing with her. After a couple of songs it became obvious that nobody was really dancing with anybody else specifically, it was four or five hundred women all dancing with whoever was in front of them that particular moment. A fair number were checking each other out, some were beginning to neck, and at the sides of the ballroom at the bars women were drinking, flirting, and checking out the action – and each other. 

Carmen, dancing with two blonds, saw Jenny dancing nearby with Shane, saw Shane smiling and laughing and then twirling Jenny around, in a completely non-sexual, casual way: just a couple of pals enjoying the scene. The song ended and a slow dance began, and Carmen found herself in Jenny's arms, swaying slowly to Sade's No Ordinary Love. Jenny looked deeply into Carmen's eyes, smiled, and leaned in to a slow, warm kiss that Carmen closed her eyes for and returned. Jenny reached out, still lip-locked with Carmen, and pulled Shane into the embrace. Shane came willingly, but only because she didn't understand what was happening, and she'd had a couple of drinks. But before she knew it she was mere inches away from Jenny and Carmen, and then there was no Jenny, only Carmen, and she was kissing Carmen. Carmen dreamily opened her eyes and saw that she was kissing ... not Jenny but Shane. And then Shane leaned forward again, eyes closed, and kissed her again, kissed the mouth she had dreamed about kissing for months, another long, lingering kiss that had Carmen's full participation. After a long moment, this kiss, too, came to an end as Carmen finally opened her eyes to see if the dream was real. And it was: There was Shane looking at her, mouth slack and hungry and wanting Carmen's lips, and Carmen looking at Shane, her pulse rising as she stared at Shane's lovely, androgynous, anguished face, the face Carmen dreamed about kissing and might just now have been kissed by, but she almost wasn't sure. Shane wanted it, and Carmen, holding her breath, wanted it so badly, how many months had she wanted this moment, and yet it was all wrong, and then Shane suddenly seemed to come to her senses. The sound was roaring in her ears, a deafening cascade, Shane couldn't remember it ever being this loud, and her feelings so intense, so conflicted, that involuntarily she took a step backward, as though she'd been slapped. She had been kissing Carmen. How had that happened? She backed up another step, lost in a maelstrom of confused feelings that overwhelmed her. She turned and walked through the crowd, somehow found a door out to the deck, walked to the rail, clutched it, and held on for dear life. She had been kissing Carmen.

***

Carmen stood in a kind of shock, staring at Shane's back as she disappeared through the crowd. She saw Jenny staring at her joyfully, laughing and clapping her hands. Carmen understood Jenny was gloating over the situation she'd just created, her success -- if you want to call it that -- in finally bringing Shane and Carmen together. But on some other level, Carmen didn't quite understand what had just happened, or why. All she knew was that she had been kissing Shane.

"I ... I ... uh. I'm going to bed," she said to Jenny, and turned away, threading through the crowd. Jenny, still exulting, turned away and began dancing with an older woman who had been eying her for a while.

***

Shane lifted her head up from her arms, which were folded on top of the ship's rail. She fished a cigarette out of the pack in her pocket, lit it, and slouched back down on the rail. She looked out over the ocean in the moonlight. The noise in her head had settled down to a low roar. Her heart had stopped pounding so fast.

It wasn't only that she had kissed Carmen. It certainly wasn't that she had been manipulated into it, although of course she had been. It was that she had wanted to kiss Carmen, had wanted to kiss her for months now. She thought about it, almost quite literally, day and night. She had wanted to kiss Carmen from the first moment she'd laid eyes on her, in that studio dressing room. And had kissed her, a little while later. Not only kissed her but made love to her. And then ... and then ... .

It was so vague that Shane didn't even have a word for it, this ... this ... thing ... that happened in her head, this tendency to suddenly veer off course and fuck up, to behave shitty to somebody she liked, to drive them away. It was like ... sabotage or something. It wasn't even twelve hours after she'd first laid eyes on Carmen --to say nothing of going down on her in the sound room -- that Shane panicked and had become a total asshole, doing everything she could to push Carmen away. And it might have worked except ... she got weak, and went and found Carmen at the church location shoot, because the truth was, Shane didn't want to let her go ... .





Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 10



It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to hurt.

***

Carmen lay on the far side of the double bed, on her side with her back to the door. She apparently was asleep when Jenny came into the stateroom after midnight. Jenny undressed quietly, using the light from the bathroom as a night light. She slipped into the bed on the other side, and soon went to sleep. Shane came in two hours later, a little drunk, and stared at the two bodies in the bed. Jenny had left the bathroom light on and the door slightly ajar, so there was a bit of light. Theoretically there might have been room for Shane in the middle of the bed, but there were a lot more considerations than just elbow room. She opened the door to the closet where all their suitcases were stored, and found a spare blanket and pillow on the top shelf. She spread the blanket on the couch opposite the foot of the bed, slipped off her shirt and pants, laid down on the blanket and wrapped herself in it, and soon drifted into a troubled sleep. 

In the morning Carmen was the first one up. She tip-toed quietly past Shane to get to the bathroom to take a shower. When she came out she found Jenny sitting up on the side of the bed waiting her turn, and they agreed in whispers to go to find Alice and Dana and go to breakfast. There wasn't going to be any fucking, not with Shane in the stateroom. Jenny was naked when she came out of the bathroom, and Carmen watched her put on a peasant blouse and a long, flowing Gypsy skirt, with no underwear. Jenny often went commando around the house, but Carmen hadn't known her to dress this way in public. It was just one more sign of Jenny acting strangely. Carmen didn't say anything, and they quietly left the stateroom to go to breakfast.

After they ate they had forty-five minutes to kill before their first seminar, so they decided to visit the silent auction to see what was being offered. The auction was set up along a corridor near the spa and swimming pool area, a high-traffic area chosen to draw the maximum amount of bidding. The auction featured items varying from autographed copies of The Well of Loneliness and The Feminine Mystique to lobby posters of the movies Reform School Girl ("A Shocking True Story of Delinquent Girls!") and Bound; posters such as Negative Image of Woman in Underwear Looking Out Bedroom Window, Rear View, by Ilona Wellmann, and the famous, iconic The Kiss by Tanya Chaiken; Catherine De Souza's In Bed, Ronda Matte's High Street Honeys; a refrigerator magnet with the message "Yes, we're lesbians; no, you can't watch" on it; reproductions of two 19th century Gustave Courbet oil paintings, Le Sommeil, showing two naked women in bed, and the rather incredible nude study, The Origin of the World, which showed a naked woman from the breasts to the thighs only, but featuring a very hairy pubic area. When Carmen first saw it she gasped, since it reminded her of the photo of Maria on Picassa's ceiling, only the pubic bush in that photo had been closely trimmed. 

"Oh, I gotta bid on this," Carmen said, "but I know I'm gonna get way out-bid on it." The bidding opened at $25 on the reprint, and the had already gone to $40. Carmen bid $45, the next allowable increment, but knew before the bidding closed the Courbet would probably go for a couple hundred bucks. The money went to a worthy lesbian charity, but even so ... .

***

Dana and Alice decided to skip the second afternoon session and spend quality time out by the swimming pool, taking in some sun, mingling with hundreds of other women on the St. Tropez Deck, and not coincidentally finding a steward with a tray of fruity drinks with little paper umbrellas in them. The music on the St. Tropez Deck was pleasantly loud. There were women all over the place in T-shirts, shorts, bathuing suits, bikinis, sun dresses, whatever, and the smell of cocoa butter was nearly overwhelming. Dana and Alice were themselves wearing swim suits with cover-ups over top, and Dana hide under a huge floppy hat and behind a pair of sunglasses. Alice saw a steward with a tray of drinks and grabbed Dana's arm.

"Oh, I want one of those," she said. Just then Dana's disguise broke down as a handful of fans recognized her.

"Dana Fairbanks? Oh, my God. Thank you for being here," one of her fans gushed, stepping in front of Alice and effectively pushing her aside. "Oh, thank you for coming out, and thank you for living your life." 

"Oh, my God," another woman said, "I saw you almost beat Capriati in 2002. I drive a Subaru because of you."

Alice regarded the mob scene with a mixture of amusement, pride in Dana, and just a bit of irritation. With a sigh she turned away and suddenly found herself staring at Phoebe Sparkle just a few feet away, signing autographs. Alice went over to her. 

"Phoebe? Sparkle? Hi. Hi. Hi. I'm Alice Pieszecki. I do a radio show in LA, The Chart. I'm sure you've heard of it." 

Phoebe smiled and shook Alice's hand awkwardly because of the autograph book she still held. Phoebe went back to signing the book while Alice plunged ahead. 

"Um, is it true, for research purposes, that you sleep with a different woman every night?" 

Phoebe and her fans laughed, and Phoebe regarded Alice humorously. "Well, I like to have as much sex as possible, whenever, wherever, but if I come across someone really amazing ... I don't know ..." she said.

"And who's going to be next?" an older woman in the group blurted out. 

Phoebe laughed again. "You know, I don't know. I'm open to a new discovery." 

At that moment Shane walked up to Alice. "Hi, have you seen Jenny?" she asked, not aware who Alice had been talking to. 

"No," Alice replied, "but look! I'm talking to Phoebe Sparkle!" 

Shane looked at the attractive woman for the first time, realizing who she was. "Hi," Shane said. 

"Hello," Phoebe said, unabashedly taking Shane's measure, looking at her from head to toes and back again. She took off her sunglasses and smiled at Shane.

"Hello, Phoebe Sparkle," Shane said, and returned to Alice. "You haven't seen Jenny?" 

Phoebe 's antennae perked up as her glance took in Shane. Lean, androgynous, kind of a little bit of attitude. Offbeat style, the semi-grunge clothes, the spiky don't-give-a-fuck hair. And she apparently wasn't star-struck or an autograph-seeker, which Phoebe was actually grateful for. She broke in and asked Shane, "Um, can I buy you a drink?" 

Shane looked at her. Tingles. "Uh ... okay," she said. 

"Great," Phoebe grinned, taking Shane's elbow and heading off to find a bar.

"Thanks, Shane," Alice muttered as her interviewee waltzed off.

"She offered ... " Shane tried to protest to Alice, but she was pulled out of range and disappeared into a wall of women clustered around a bar.

"Mm-hmm." Alice sighed. That fucking Shane and her magical appeal. If Alice had been chatting with Mother Theresa, the conversation would have ended with Shane and Mother Theresa walking off to do some jello shooters. Well, shit. Okay, where the hell's Dana? She wandered off in search of her girlfriend.

***

Not far off, Jenny was dancing in a crowd of women, swaying slowly and languidly in the hot summer sun and the ocean breezes. Carmen approached the edge of the crowd and scanned the faces. She saw Jenny at the far side of the pool, dancing and swaying, and removed her sunglasses, furrowing her brow. Jenny danced, unaware of Carmen or anyone else. 

Jenny was only wearing the thin cotton peasant top and the long flowing skirt she'd put on that morning, but even so she decided to get wet. She walked to the steps of the pool, watched by several dozen women sitting along the edge with their feet in the water. They cheered Jenny on as it became apparent what she was going to do. In response to their cheers, Jenny impulsively raised her skirt all the way up and flashed her naked pussy at the line of women, who hooted, laughed, cheered and applauded as Jenny walked down the steps into the water, her skirt billowing up around her waist. 

Carmen, watching from the other side of the pool, shook her head. Jenny was just getting crazier and crazier. It wasn't so much the behavior itself -- it was that the behavior ... just wasn't Jenny. Carmen thought she sometimes simply didn't recognize the person inside Jenny's body. It was a person who seemed to be coming apart at the seams.

She put on her sunglasses and walked away.

***

Between Phoebe and Dana's combined VIP status, it was no trouble at all getting them an invitation to dine at the Captain's table. Phoebe was chatting with the Captain while Shane, Carmen and Jenny waited for Alice and Dana to arrive. There were a few other guests at the table, too, and only Dana and Alice were late, but not unfashionably so. 

Phoebe and the Captain were discussing how relaxed many of the passengers seemed to be.

"Most of the women on this cruise? They don't have that kind of freedom when they're back home," Phoebe said. "This is the only place where many of them feel completely free to express themselves." 

The Captain murmured something like "Mm-hmm," and looked up to see Dana and Alice approaching. The Captain was amused to see that Dana was still wearing her Captain Stubing outfit, and that Alice was still dressed as Julie. He was even more amused to see that Dana was shielding her crotch with her own and Alice's hands. Phoebe grinned and Shane covered her eyes momentarily. Carmen and Jenny looked at each other and grinned. Dana was packing.

"Oh! Hi!" Dana said, arriving at her spot at the table. 

"Hi!" Alice said. 

The Captain stood up and leaned over to shake their hands. "Hello, good evening, nice to see you," he said as two stewards came up and helped seat Dana and Alice at their places. 

"See, these girls are completely in their power, free to go wherever their libido takes them," Phoebe said quietly to the Captain. 

Under the table, Alice put her hand in Dana's crotch and grabbed the strap-on, which seemed to be where her libido took her. Dana quickly covered Alice's hand with a dinner napkin.

"You know, for me, it's just business, and as long as the guests are happy, I'm happy," the Captain said. "Everyone, please begin." 

Down the table a few places, Carmen and Jenny picked up their salad forks and dove into to their salads. Carmen leaned to Jenny slightly and pitched her voice low so only Jenny could hear.

"You want to tell me what's going on with you?" 

"Nothing," Jenny said. 

"Nothing?" 

"No." 

"Okay," Carmen said, but not buying it. "Well, it just ... it seems like you want a three-way with Shane." 

Jenny went on eating calmly as though they'd been discussing the weather. "You seemed like you were very attracted to her, and I just thought it would, I don't know ... it would be interesting. It just came into my head." 

Carmen thought about it for a minute. "Are you jealous?" 

"No, I'm not--" 

"Is that what this is all about?" 

"No, I'm not jealous." 

"Just tell me if that's what this is all about," Carmen persisted.

"No, I'm not jealous. I just thought ... we have to explore our options." She looked up at another table nearby, where an attractive but butch older woman dressed in a full tuxedo had been watching Jenny. "There," Jenny said to Carmen, indicating the butch, who smiled. 

Jenny smiled back. 

"Is that what you want?" Carmen asked quietly. 

"She's beautiful," Jenny said. 

Carmen wasn't buying it at all, but she was already tired of the bullshit. She didn't like headgames, and didn't like Jenny's dissembling. She was simply getting nowhere. Well, fuck it, Carmen thought to herself. "The salad's great," she said, changing the subject.

That evening after dinner they all went to the second show in the ship's theater, where Shawn Colvin, the special guest performer aboard the cruise, sang and played her acoustic guitar. The theater doubled as an auditorium during the day, and served a variety of purposes depending on what was needed. On this occasion it was darkly lit and had an intimate, bistro-like atmosphere that suited Colvin and her performance. Toward the back there was a raised tier of small tables and booths, kind of like a balcony. Phoebe and Shane sat together at one very small, candle-lit table, and next to them sat Carmen and Jenny with their own little table and candle, and then Dana and Alice at a third table. They placed drink orders before the show started, and sipped wine or cocktails. 

Every now and then Phoebe would lean close to whisper something to Shane, who might nod and smile, or Shane would say something to Phoebe. They gave every appearance of being a couple, of being lovers, and the more they did, the more it ate away at Carmen's heart. She knew she had no rights in the matter, had nothing whatsoever to say about it, and had no claim on anyone, least of all Shane. In fact, she was already part of a couple herself, such as it was: she and Jenny. She clasped Jenny's hand, and tried the increasingly difficult task of being Jenny's girlfriend, Jenny's lover.

"Sunny came home with a list of names," Colvin sang.

"She didn't believe in transcendence.

"It's time for a few small repairs." 

"Sunny came home with a vengeance. 

"She says days go by, I don't know why 

"I'm walking on a wire. I close my eyes 

And fly out of my mind, into the fire." 

"And Sunny came home ... Sunny came home ... Sunny came home," Colvin sang, ending the song and the concert to long, sustained applause from the audience. 

"Let's get out of here," Carmen heard Shane whisper to Phoebe and like two ghosts they were gone out the door of the theater. Carmen looked after them, feeling a terrible hollowness in her chest. She knew that tonight Shane wasn't going to have any trouble finding a place to sleep, and cabin MS-634 wasn't going to be it.

***

Phoebe Sparkle unlocked the door to her suite on the Isle of Capri Deck just aft of the Neptune Lounge with her electronic key card. The stateroom was just down the hall from Dana's suite, which Shane had visited the day before. Phoebe's was even larger and even more luxurious, as befitted the queen VIP on this cruise, but Shane was oblivious to the luxury and splendor. When they got to the bedroom Shane tossed Phoebe down on the bed and crawled on top of her.

Phoebe laughed. "You trying to top me?" 

"What, you think you're going to top me?" Shane grinned down at her.

They looked at each other for a moment, smiling but also assessing what the power dynamic was going to be here. Then, without warning, Phoebe started to yawn and couldn't stiffle it. They both thought about it for a moment, Shane knowing she was as exhausted as Phoebe. She yawned, too. What they hell-- they laughed. 

"Ah, shit," Shane said. "Look, I have a favor to ask of you." 

"Yeah?" 

"Things are a little, um ... uh, they're a little, uh ... different ... in my room ... ." 

"Mm-hmm?" 

"And I see that you have a couch." 

"Yes," Phoebe said slowly, trying to figure out what Shane was asking.

"Well, would you mind?" 

"You want to crash on my couch?" 

Shane nodded. 

"As in, sleep, just sleep?" 

"No ... to sleep, entirely." 

Phoebe grinned. "You know what? That sounds fantastic to me. I am completely exhausted." 

"Okay, good." 

Phoebe giggled, relieved. Shane smiles down at her and climbed off her. "Thank you so much. You have no idea," she said. 

"No, thank you," Phoebe countered. "Hey, um ... just do me one favor. Don't tell anybody." 

Shane, already heading toward the couch and pulling her shirt over her head, understood immediately. "No. I swear. I won't say anything. "

"Excellent," Phoebe grinned.

"You were great, fantastic," Shane laughed. "I came three times."

"That thing you did with your tongue, it was amazing," Phoebe said, getting undressed. 

"Thank you," Shane smiled. 

"Oh, thank you," Phoebe said, going to a closet and tossing Shane a blanket and a pillow from her own bed.

"Sleep well," Shane said, lying down on the sofa with a deep sigh. 

"You, too," Phoebe said, crawling between the sheets of her own bed.

They were both asleep in seconds.

***

Jenny lay on her side, her right arm propping up her head. The cabin was dark except for the night light from the crack in the bathroom door. She looked at the silhouette of Carmen's back and shoulders, and listened to her deep breathing as she slept. Her feelings were mixed, sad and confused. Carmen had tried, Jenny had to give her credit for that. She played a good game, but in the end they both knew who commanded Carmen's heart, and always had. Jenny had no regrets. 

She reviewed in her mind, as she had dozens of times in the past week, the video she had watched, the Shane/Carmen Love Confession, as Mark had labeled it. She held no animosity toward Shane or Carmen over it, because Carmen spoke the truth, a truth Jenny had always known, even from the very start of her affair with Carmen. It was quite simple: Carmen loved Shane, and that was all there was to it. Jenny had known it all along, even if Shane and Carmen were in denial about it one way or another. 

The other things Carmen had said, they were also true: Jenny really was trapped deep inside some dark place, along with her demons, and it was true, as Carmen suggested, that Jenny seemed to like it there. It was true she and Carmen were both waiting for "the real thing" to come along. They both knew the real thing for Carmen was Shane. Nobody knew what "the real thing" was for Jenny, but that was hardly Carmen's fault.

And God knows, until the real thing, whatever it was, came along, Jenny could not have asked for a better lover, a better teacher, a better fuck buddy than Carmen had been. Warm, gentle, kind, patient, tolerant, funny, stable, non-judgmental, sexy, spontaneous, intuitive, creative ... on paper the woman was a fucking saint. As a sex partner and lover, it was the same story. Carmen had taught Jenny so much: how to sixty-nine, light water sports, rimming, the best cunnilingus imaginable, all about strap-ons, dildos, vibrators, lubes. Best of all, she had learned from Carmen the wonderful technique Picassa had taught Carmen: The Slow, Well-Lubed, Single-Finger Bum Fuck Mustache Ride. Jenny had discovered that her very favorite sex position was straddling Carmen's lovely face, lowering her pussy onto Carmen's hungry mouth and coming in it while Carmen's talented index finger slowly pistoned in an out of her taught bottom crinkle. It was as though she was riding the face of a large jungle cat with its wide, wet tongue held flat and languidly lapping her cunt. God, it was good.

She had learned things and done things with Carmen she'd never done before. The excitement of peeing in the shower, and peeing on each other while sitting on the pot that time Shane had walked in on them. No one, not even Marina, had ever eaten her out as wonderfully as Carmen had. Chocolate syrup on her nipples and pussy. An ice cube inside her hot, hot twat. 

The role-playing was Jenny's idea, not Carmen's, but Carmen played along so well, with Jenny often pretending to be tied up while Carmen "forced" her will on her. Jenny claiming to be an innocent virgin, or to be a complete stranger whom Carmen was seducing in a variety of settings, an airline bathroom, on a camping trip in the middle of a forest. The Naive Cheerleader and the Slutty Soccer Mom. Strangers on a Train. The Sorority Pledge and the Rush Chairwoman. They had made love many places, in the back seat of Carmen's Jeep, on the beach at night, in Bette and Tina's pool, in toilet stalls at The Planet, the Roxy, Girl Bar and once in the women's restroom at a Bob's Big Boy. Whenever Carmen entered Shane and Carmen's home, she never knew who or what was waiting for her in Jenny's bedroom.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 11



Chapter 11: Busted

Dana insisted that the limo take Carmen, Jenny and Shane back to Jenny and Shane's house before it dropped them off. The girls thanked Dana profusely for a great vacation cruise, and then went inside. They found Mark standing on a stepladder in a corner of the living room, taking down one of his spy cameras, only they didn't know that's what it was.

"Hey," Shane said to Mark, setting her suitcase down by the couch.

"Hey," Mark replied with a sheepish grin. He climbed down off the stepladder as Carmen came in the door. 

"Um, I'm just gonna get my keys," she said. 

"What are you doing?" Jenny asked Mark. 

Shane walked to the dining room table where she saw a handful of small objects that looked like industrial cameras and a pile of video tapes. 

"What are those?" Shane asked, pointing to the cameras. 

"They're cameras," Mark said. 

"What are all the tapes?" Carmen asked. 

"There's something that I need to show you, and, um ... and then, after that, I don't know," Mark said.

Jenny walked into the dining room and looked at the pile of tapes. 

"You'll probably want me out of here," Mark said. "It's going to take me a day or two to get my stuff, but ---" 

"What's going on, Mark?" Shane asked sharply, which was unusual for her.

"I just finished taking down the last of the cameras. I pretty much had them all over the house. Um. Jenny saw ... a tape I'd made of the two of you--" He spoke to Shane and glanced at Carmen.

Jenny looked up at him, anger on her face. 

Carmen began to understand. She put a hand on her forehead and stared at the floor, thinking about what might have been on those tapes. "Oh, shit," she murmured. How many times and places had she and Jenny fucked in the kitchen, dining room, living room? And then the conversation with Shane ... . Double oh shit.

Shane stared at the tapes and cameras in disbelief. 

"--but she didn't want to tell you because she didn't want to ruin your vacation," he said lamely, trying to defend Jenny with the indefensible. 

Jenny looked over the tapes briefly until she found the one she wanted. She took it to Carmen, who took it but couldn't look Jenny in the eye. Jenny walked down the hall to her room. 

Carmen read the tape label. It said "SHANE/CARMEN LOVE CONFESSION." Carmen looked at Mark. She walked up to him and smashed the tape into his chest, then walked off to find Jenny. 

Shane stood still, fighting the roaring noise in her head. She stared at the tapes and cameras, still processing the ten thousand implications and pieces of data streaming in from her past, her present and her future. Mark hung his head, and set down the love confession tape Carmen had slammed into his chest. 

***

Carmen entered Jenny's room without knocking. She couldn't read Jenny's expression, but it seemed to contain elements of anger and hurt. She glared at Carmen and then glanced away.

"Jenny, wait a minute," Carmen pleaded. "Listen to me. If you ... if you heard this tape, this conversation, then you know exactly what I said, and I said that it is fun and easy to be with you, that I want to make it work with you." 

Jenny suddenly seemed to relent. "It's okay ... that we're not meant to be together. And I know that the only reason why you're with me is because you wanted to be near Shane." 

"That is bullshit, Jenny," Carmen said forcefully, but it had no effect. For once, it was Carmen who was deluding only herself. It was Jenny, for once, who saw things clearly. She walked up to Carmen with a sad smile, took Carmen's hands and clasped them to her own chest.

"Shane is my best friend. And I don't wanna fuck it up. Okay?"

"I ... what ... what does that mean?"

"It means that she loves you and you love her, and the two of you need to be together. And it means that if she's my best friend, then I want her happiness to come before anything else. That's why I want her to have you. I know you tried your very best, and I thank you for that. But I know where your hearts lie, even if you and Shane don't."

***

Shane sorted through the pile of tapes, picking up one here and there and reading the labels. Some of the labels read "CARMEN ON THE PHONE," "SHANE WITH FLOWER GIRL," "SHANE LATE EVENING," and "CARMEN COOKING," but most of the tapes seemed to be of Shane and only a few were of Jenny or Carmen. The more tapes she examined, the angrier she got.

She heard someone coming down the hall and turned to see Carmen, who stopped and stared at Shane, anger and pain in her eyes. Then Carmen turned away, picked up her suitcase, and left the house without looking back. Shane watched her go, feeling her heart sink even further. She turned back to the table full of tapes and saw Mark still standing in his corner, looking guilty. Shane picked up one of the tiny cameras and looked at it, then looked at Mark. He stared back with a pleading look. The heartbroken expression on Shane's face crushed him, and when he saw a tear run down her cheek and heard her sniffle, he nearly lost it himself.

She came over to him slowly, and he'd never seen anyone so sad, so hurt. He started to blink back his own tears, missing Shane's sudden movement as she cocked her right arm, and he finally saw the fist coming at him, too, too late. Shane clocked him one on the side of the chin, and he staggered and reeled. Shane turned, threw the tiny camera against the far wall, and bent over, sobbing. She collapsed onto the floor, crying her heart out.

***

Carmen's sweet face was on the TV monitor Shane had set up in her room, hooked to one of Mark's tape players.

"Hi. Me right here." Carmen cleared her throat. "I ... would make out with --" 

Shane hit the fast-forward button. 

Carmen again. "-- They can sometimes be a little sexy--"

Fast-forward. Shane watched her own face. "They're not scary, they're just stupid."

Carmen: "That's right, and stupid, Shane --"

Shane hit fast-forward. She saw her own face again as Mark's voice-over said, "Let me ask you this question, 'What are you looking for in a woman?' and Shane's response, "What are you looking for?"

***

It was a bad week for tears. 

Jenny sat at the dining room table, cutting photos of herself out of old family photos as tears streamed down her face. She took one of the cut-out photos of her younger self and set it on a terrifying pencil rendering she'd drawn of a clown with its jaws open wide. The clown had huge, pointed teeth surrounding an opening slot in the paper where the mouth was. Jenny pushed the photo of her younger self through the opening so that it disappeared into the horror clown's gullet. 

Jenny took a cut-out photo of two middle-aged Jews in Orthodox clothing, a man and woman, and put them in another pencil rendering of another horrific scene. This was a carnival at night, with a Ferris wheel looming in the distance. There was a large tent in the foreground. The tent was lit inside; there was a long table set with food. Jenny put the couple in the tent, by the table. She began to whisper the Sabbath blessing for the wine, in Hebrew. 

"Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu Melech ha'olam. Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu Melech ha'olam." (Blessed are you, oh Lord our God, King of the universe.) 

Jenny pushed a photo of herself into the open center of a crayoned drawing of a black body of water, ripples fanning out from the middle. The young Jenny sank from sight, drowned in a metaphorical Milton Bradley darkness.

"... Eloheinu ha'olam ... "

Jenny rocked back and forth, lost in the moment, in some black interior space inside herself. 

" ... Borei pri hagafen." (... who creates the fruit of the vine.) 

"Jen?" Shane stood in the dining room doorway. 

Jenny stopped, looked up, wiped her tears away and smiled. "Hi."

Shane leaned against the doorway, watching her, looking worried. "What are you doing?" 

Jenny looked at the table and started gathering the photos and drawings. 

"Um ... I just keep on having ... these nightmares, and ... I'm just trying to work it all out." 

"Well, can we talk for a second?" 

"Yeah." Jenny looked at Shane. 

"This is my home, Jenny. And, I don't know, it's for the first time, I ... I actually have a room of my own. That's a huge thing for me. And I'm sorry, I am, I am sorry about what you saw on that tape. But I like living with you. I love it. I think we have a great time." 

Jenny smiled. 

"All right? It's just -- I don't, I just don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose our friendship. It means too much to me." 

"Yeah," Jenny agreed quietly, nodding. 

They stared at each other a few moments. 

"What are you going to do about Carmen?" 

Shane looked at the floor, and shook her head. 

"Nothing." 

"I think the two of you should be together." 

"What about you? 

"I think, uh ... I think that it was a very important step for me, and now ... I'm on to other things," Jenny said. 

"Is that why you've been pushing me and Carmen together?" 

"No. That was because you're great together." 

"I want to show you something," Shane said, waiting for Jenny to get up and follow her down the hall to her room. 

Jenny saw that Shane had set up a monitor and one of Mark's tape decks to play a tape. They sat side-by-side on the edge of the bed and watched.

"I'm looking for a good time," Shane said on the tape.

"Come on. Really?" That was Mark's off-camera voice-over. 

"Yeah. Why do you ask as if I'm not?"

"Because I want you to be truthful."

"I am," Shane said. 

"'Kay," Mark said. The tape showed Shane poking the camera lens with a spoon. The scene changed to black-and-white mode, and showed Shane lying on her bed, holding a lit match, stoned. She pinched the flame between her fingers, snuffing it out. She scrunches up her face as smoke rises from her fingertips. 

"What are you looking for?" Shane asks on the tape. The scene cut to an overhead view of Shane and a woman making out on the bed, Shane on the bottom, face up, staring blankly at the ceiling as the girl on top of her kisses her repeatedly, sinking down lower and lower until she's off-camera.

"Mark here, answering the question, 'What are you looking for in a woman?"' came the voice-over. "A little love. Happiness."

"And a little Al Green," Shane's voice-over says. 

Mark's voiceover chuckles. "Most definitely a little Al Green. No, really." 

"What?" 

"What are you looking for?"

The tape ended. Jenny took Shane's hand in hers and kissed it. 

"You're not scary," Jenny said. 

Shane looked down at the floor. 

"And Carmen is not going to get herself involved with something that she can't handle, okay?" 

She made Shane face her. Shane looked at her and finally nodded. Shane pulled Jenny to her in a loving but sad embrace. 

***

An hour later they were in the kitchen. The sun had set, and the open backdoor let in a cool breeze that carried the sound of crickets chirping. They were chopping vegetables for a dinner salad. There was a silence between them, but a comfortable one.

"You want to come to the Gay Pride parade with me tomorrow?" Shane asked. 

"Yeah, sure," Jenny said. 

"There's a party at The Planet afterwards." 

Just then Mark came to the back door and knocked on the frame. "May I come in?" 

Shane and Jenny turned around, not at all happy to see him. 

"Sorry," Mark said, coming in but staying just beside the door. "I was just wondering if it would be all right if I just stayed here tonight and left first thing in the morning. I've almost got all the stuff in my car, but I just don't want to leave my car full of shit while I unpack at night." 

"Yeah, someone might steal your cameras," Jenny said, not even looking at him.

"I know that you hate me." 

Jenny looked away at the word "hate" as if it was inadequate to describe her feelings. Shane just stared at him. 

"And while I would love to ask for your forgiveness ... I probably wouldn't forgive myself, so ... I don't know if you can ... relate to this, but it's like this ... terrible thing that I was doing ... suddenly became the best, truest thing that I had ever done." 

"What?" Jenny asked, incredulous. 

Shane frowned. 

"I'll get the rest of my boxes. Sorry." He opened the door and went out. Shane made up her mind and went after him. "Hey," she called after him. "You can stay tonight." 

Jenny scrunched up her face. 

"Thank you," Mark called from the darkness. 

Shane went back to cutting vegetables. Jenny just looked at her. 

***

After dinner, Shane lay down on her bed and watched the SHANE/CARMEN LOVE CONFESSION tape. She was barely two minutes into it before she was crying, as she knew she would. This wasn't How I Spent My Summer Vacation. 

"I know how hard you work to distance yourself from everyone else on this planet, and I am sure that deep down, you've got some great reasons why, but it's not working for you anymore." 

"It's working fine," Shane watched herself say.

"No, it's not. It's not, because of this." She watched Carmen take her hand and put it over her heart. She remembered even now exactly how it felt, that flutter under her fingertips. 

"Okay? Because of this right here. Do you feel this? Most people don't have this, Shane. This is rare. This kind of thing just doesn't happen, and I feel this because I see it and I know it." 

"So what?" Shane had said, dismissively. But not even Shane believed herself as she watched the tape.

"That's right. That's right. So what? So what if nothing ever comes out of this? So what if you'll never act on it. You are so convinced that having a relationship with somebody is going to kill you." 

"Because it will," Shane had whispered. Shane buried her face in her hands, rocking herself on the bed.

."...But do you know what's fucked up, Shane? What's fucked up is that you ... and I ... know what the real deal is. We saw it the first time we laid eyes on each other."

Shane gathered herself together, just a little bit.

"You're not living your life, Shane. And if you don't take any risks, then you might as well be dead."

And then Shane lost it again.

"...Because I need to love somebody, and I need them to love me. And, I don't know, maybe she can do what you can't, love me like I want to be loved. And ... and, if that's painful for you to watch, then I'm sorry, I really am. But I just need to let somebody try to love me, Shane, and maybe she can do that. And maybe I can love her the way I wanted to love you."

Shane re-wound the tape and then played it again, three more times.

***

Shane was pouring a cup of coffee when Jenny walked into the kitchen the next morning.

"Morning." 

"You want one?" Shane asked. 

"Sure." 

While Shane got another cup and poured her coffee, Jenny looked out the window at the garage/studio. Somewhere in the neighborhood, she heard a Saturday lawn mower doing its thing. 

"He's not there," Shane said. 

"Did he leave?" 

"I don't know." 

They heard a car pull into their driveway. Shane handed Jenny her cup of coffee. 

"Thank you." 

They heard a car door slam and a moment later Mark came up to the back door of the house. 

"We should get to the parade early," Shane said. 

Jenny sat at the kitchen table with her notebook and pen. "Yeah? Is it going to be really big?" 

Mark knocked at the back door. 

"Probably." 

Shane walked to the back door and opened it. Mark stood there, carrying a tray full of breakfast pastries. 

"Hey," he said. 

"Hey," Shane said, noncommittally. 

"I brought coffee, and, uh ... those little organic scone things you guys like." He smiled. "I'm fucking lost, man. Can you just take this, please?" He handed the tray to Shane, who took it reluctantly. He lowered his voice. "Um ... can I talk to Jenny?" 

"You've got to ask her, not me." She didn't bother to lower her voice. 

"Now?" 

Shane turned and took the tray of scones to the kitchen counter, and went to her room. Mark came in and saw Jenny sitting at the table. 

"Could I talk to you?"

"Yeah," Jenny said, not looking up from whatever she was drawing. 

Mark sat down at the table. "I wish so much that there was something I could do." 

"No, I don't think there's anything that you can do. I think you did it," Jenny said, still not looking up. 

"When I moved in here, I was the type of guy who was capable of doing shit like this, but I am not that guy anymore. I know that I've said it before, but you and Shane have made me a better man." 

"Oh, fuck off, Mark," Jenny flared, now giving him her full attention. "It's not my job to make you a better man, and I don't give a shit if I've made you a better man. It's not a fucking woman's job to be consumed and invaded and spat out so that some fucking man can evolve." She said the word "evolve" like it was a bitter medicine. 

"That's not what I meant." 

"What the fuck are you talking about, then, Mark? You give me one reason why you think that I should forgive you." 

"Because, Jenny, I made a big, big mistake. But from that, I have learned how difficult it is to be a woman." 

Jenny hissed, "Oh, pleeeeease." She stood suddenly, slapping her notebook down on the table, and marched off into the living room. Mark followed her. 

"Wait, Jenny! Hey!" 

Jenny stopped and turned. She stared at him, watching in disbelief as he peeled his sweater up off over his head. 

"Hey. Look at this," he said, taking off his T-shirt and unzipping and dropping his pants. He pulled his boxers down to his ankles. 

"What are you doing?" Jenny asked. 

He kicked his clothes off and stood, completely naked. 

"Is this what you want?" 

"No!" Jenny said, and threw her drawing pen at him. He flinched when it hit him, not from pain but just surprise. 

"What I want is for you to write 'fuck me' on your chest," she said. 

Mark's hands dropped to cover his crotch. He stared at the floor. 

"Write it! Do it!" Jenny shouted at him. "And then I want you to walk out that door, and I want you to walk down the street, and anybody that wants to fuck you, say, 'Sure, sure, no problem.' And when they do, you have to say, 'Thank you very, very much,' and make sure that you have a smile on your face, and then, you stupid fucking coward, you're going to know what it feels like to be a woman!" 

Jenny spun around and stalked off to her bedroom and slammed the door. Mark stood, naked and stunned, then started to put his clothes back on. Shane came out of her room to see what the shouting was all about and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Mark fumbling to pull his boxers up. He saw her, embarrassment and humiliation flooding into his face. "Shane, I'm just--" he tried to say, but Shane just rolled her eyes in disgust and retreated back down the hall to her room.

***

The Gay Pride parade was a success, as it had been in previous years, and each year it grew bigger and better. One consequence, though, was the the better the day was, the more tired and exhausted and worn out the participants were that night ... not that it stopped anyone from partying their brains out. Gay Pride Night was the biggest event of the year at The Planet, and Kit and Carmen had worked closely together for weeks, planning, organizing, decorating. It was exactly the kind of thing Carmen excelled at, and Kit was grateful to have someone so good and so competent as her deputy. As her confidence in Carmen grew, she herself was able to step back and concentrate on the day-to-day operations of The Planet while Carmen took more and more responsibility for Pride Night itself. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 11



Carmen hired two DJs to handle the early shifts from 2 p.m. to 6 and from 6 p.m. to 10, when the partying started to get hot and heavy. She herself took the shift from 10 until God knew when, not only because she wanted it, but so did Kit and half of West Hollywood. The Planet on Gay Pride Night without La Pica spinning the tunes, emceeing, and flaunting her gold lame booty shorts, spangle top and one of her trademark porkpie hats just wouldn't be right.

Helena, Tina and Shane arrived around 10:30, and threaded there way through the crowd, hoping to find an open table or at least a few extra chairs. The volume was incredible, and they'd never seen the placed so packed. It was solid wall-to-wall dancing and partying, mostly women but a significant number of gay men as well, including several in full, flaming drag, and a couple of topless trannies showing their chest scars where they'd been topped. Passing near the dais, Tina, heavily pregnant, managed to cut her way through the crowd by calling out, "Lady with a baby." She was determined to make her way up to say hello to Carmen, who leaned over and blew air kisses at her. Helena, too, had tried to get close, but couldn't make it. She managed a wave from ten feet away, and Carmen grinned and waved back in a big, exaggerated gesture that made Helena laugh. Shane hung back, but made brief eye contact with Carmen, and nodded imperceptibly.

Carmen came around the table and jumped down onto the floor next to Tina.

"Hey!" Tina said, leaning carefully forward to give Carmen a hug. 

"Hey, hey! Happy Pride! Oh, my God, you are huge!" Carmen shouted, trying to be heard over the din as she patted Tina's belly. "Oh, my God. You are so pregnant. Wow."

"Hey," Shane said, coming forward. 

"Hey!" Carmen said. She shoved her hands in her pockets nervously as Shane, Tina and Helena headed off to find a place to sit Tina down for a while. Carmen climbed back up on the dais, feeling a little strange at seeing Shane. She looked around the room but had lost sight of the trio, but she saw Jenny on the far side of the room, on the outside but looking in through the glass on the door. They made eye contact for an uncomfortable moment, then Jenny looked down and away. The tune came to an end and Carmen put on her party DJ face to announce a new record. 

***

A woman in her late 50s saw Jenny through the glass in the door. She walked up to and tapped on the window, getting Jenny's attention, and then walked around the door. Jenny saw she had a drink in her hand, and she appeared to be moderately buzzed.

"Hi," Jenny said.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" the woman asked. Her speech was slurred. 

"I'm celebrating Gay Pride, I guess. I don't know," Jenny said. 

"You mean ... gay shame. That's what it really is," the woman said. 

"Why?" 

"'Cause ... most of us have more shame than pride." She took a sip of her drink. 

"I think that you might be right," Jenny said quietly.

"Do you want to dance?" 

Jenny looked at the woman and smiled sadly. "No," she said kindly. 

"What's the matter? Am I too old or too suburban or something?" 

"No. You're perfect," Jenny said, smiling and meaning it. 

"Do you want to kiss me?" 

Jenny smiled at her, took her face in her hands, and gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Happy Pride," she said, and walked away. The woman, sadder and lonelier than ever, watched her go. 

***

The party finally seemed to be winding down, and Carmen had been up on the dais for nearly two hours without a break. She took the last swallow from the Dos Equis she'd been nursing and decided her bladder had had enough punishment. When the song she'd been playing, Amanda McBroom's The Rose," came to its beautiful end, she put on Jane Siberry's Love Is Everything, the K.D. Lang version on her new Hymns of the 49th Parallel CD, and jumped off the stage and headed for the lady's room. Halfway across the dance floor she found Shane standing in front of her.

Maybe it was to learn how to love 

Maybe it was to learn how to leave 

Maybe it was for the games we played 

Maybe it was to learn how to choose 

Maybe it was to learn how to lose 

Maybe it was for the love we made 

Carmen looked at Shane, wondering what was going on in that complicated girl's head now.

Shane hesitated, lowered her gaze, struggling for the words, even though she'd rehearsed them a hundred times. But she really managed to catch Carmen by surprise.

"I never had a hamster," she began, "but I had a dog, and her name was Remy. I ... I ... have a brother, but ... I never met him, because we ... never grew up together. And my mom put me in foster care when I was nine ... but I still love her very much." 

Carmen's eyes filled with tears. She knew how much this effort had cost Shane, and how difficult it was, despite the seeming simplicity. Nothing came easy for Shane, this kind of thing least of all. 

Carmen gently cupped Shane's face in her hands, leaned forward so they were forehead to forehead, and whispered, "Thank you." Then she giggled, "I'm sorry, I gotta pee so bad," and she hurried away into the crowd.

Maybe it was to learn how to fight 

Maybe it was for the lesson in pride 

Maybe it was the cowboys' ways 

Maybe it was to learn not to lie 

Maybe it was to learn how to cry 

Maybe it was for the love we made 

***

On the following Wednesday Carmen got an e-mail from Jenny, inviting her to meet at a bar whose name Carmen didn't know, at an address she was unfamiliar with, at 9 p.m. the next night. "Pleeze pleeze pleeze," Jenny's e-mail concluded. "You'll see something you never thought you'd see! Promise promise!"

Carmen was suspicious to begin with, but she became even more suspicious when she drove past the place a few minutes before 9 on Thursday night, looking for a parking spot. A flashing neon banner said "GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS." 

"Oh, shit," she muttered, and found a spot around the corner. She knew standing outside it was going to be trouble. But Jenny had called her and specifically invited her -- no, "begged" would be a better word. "Pleaded." And Carmen couldn't say no.

The bar was packed, and it took Carmen about 30 seconds to realize the clientele were about ninety percent men, and not just men but burly biker-type men, working class men, and a proportion of men wearing country-and-western cowboy clothes, the kind Carmen thought of as "Hollywood faux rodeo." Worse, it was a straight bar, not a gay man in sight. The centerpiece of the room was a stage where a woman was stripping off a white leather fringed halter as heavy metal pounded out over the speakers. The woman appeared to have forgotten to wear an undergarment under her halter, but seemed unconcerned about her costume malfunction. Men crowded around the stage, howling and cheering over the music as the woman revealed her breasts. Carmen looked around and saw Shane standing toward the side of the room. She threaded her way through the crowd toward her. 

"Jesus Christ," Carmen said, half yelling, when she got to Shane. 

"Hey!" Shane yelled back over the noise. 

"Nice place!" Carmen yelled. 

"Oh, yeah. Did Jenny invite you?" 

"Yeah, she did. Have you seen her?" 

"No," Shane said. 

"This just doesn't feel right. I'm going to go look for her. God, why would she want to come to this hellhole?" 

The woman on stage stripped and writhed as she danced. Some of the men pounded the stage, grunting and shouting at her. Shane watched the stage without interest and then suddenly heard Carmen shouting angrily at someone. She walked over, and discovered Carmen face-to-face with some redneck asshole.

"What do you mean, 'Cool your jets, honey'?" Carmen yelled at him, getting in his face. "Don't fucking touch me! Get your fucking hands off of me!" 

"Whoa, honey, honey, cool your jets," the redneck said again, actually backing up and raising his hands defensively. Carmen wasn't having any.

"What the fuck is your problem, man? Why do you have to fucking touch me, huh?" 

"Hey, hey, whoa, baby, whoa," he said. 

"What?! Why do you have to fucking put your hands on me?" 

Shane got to Carmen just as a bouncer came over and separated the guy from Carmen. Shane put her hands on Carmen's shoulders and walked her away from the scene, laughing. 

"Asshole!" Carmen said, glaring back into the crowd and ignoring Shane. 

Carmen was still totally pissed. Shane wondered exactly where the guy had put his hands, but wasn't about to ask. Instead she asked, "Are you all right?" 

"Yes," Carmen fumed. 

Another guy bumped into Carmen accidentally and she shoved back at him a little. "Goddammit!" she cursed, and Shane wondered if the pair of them were going to get out of there alive tonight. 

Shane was grinning, though, at Carmen's feistiness. Not for nothing was this terrific woman raised in the barrio. If it came to a brawl, Shane was taking Carmen and the points. Shane leaned close to Carmen's ear, shouting over the music. "Do you want to go out sometime?" 

"What?" For the first time Carmen turned and focused her attention on Shane. 

Shane bent in to Carmen's ear again. "Do you want to go out with me sometime?" 

Carmen stared at her, dumbstruck. "Are you ... asking me out on a date?"

Shane felt a little stupid. She'd been working on this very moment for a week, ever since her conversation with Phoebe Sparkle. "Well ... yeah. I am." Because let's face it, it wasn't every day a lesbian asked another lesbian out on a date in the middle of a redneck biker titty bar. In fact, in the entire history of Western Civilization ...

"Oh."

"Is that okay? To ask you for a date?"

Perhaps one day far in the future Carmen would sit in her rocking chair with a couple of her devoted grandchildren hovering at her knee and begging, "Granny Carmen! Granny Carmen! Tell us again about the time Granny Shane asked you out on your first date in the middle of a redneck biker titty bar!"

"Tell us again, Granny Carmen," the youngest one, Shanalina, would plead, "and tell us again about how you kicked that guy in the balls after he goosed you and asked you if you wanted a mustache ride!"

"Uh ... yeah. Yeah, sure. That's great," she told Shane, finally detaching her mind from the asshole and the argument she'd been embroiled in, and focusing on Shane. "Yes, I accept. I'd love to go out on a date with you. When? What time?"

"Saturday night? I'll pick you up at 7:30."

"Uh ... yeah, okay, sure," Carmen said. "Seven-thirty."

***

The girl on the stage finished her number to loud applause and cheering, picked up her clothes and departed stage left. The MC came out quickly, a mic in his hand.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "please welcome a special new dancer. Give it up for ... Miss Yeshiva Girl!" 

The crowds cheered and those next to it beat on the edge of the stage, howling. They really didn't give a damn who came out, or what her name was, and not a single one of them knew what the word "yeshiva" meant, and wouldn't in a hundred more years. Another heavy metal number began to play. The men waited expectantly, and after a long pause, just as a few of them were beginning to wonder if there was a problem backstage, a single high-heel shoe came flying out.

The background noise in the room began to drop. In a moment it was dead quiet. Shane, like everyone in the place, had her eyes riveted on the stage. Just then Dana came up to her.

"Hey!" she whispered.

"Hey!" Shane whispered back. 

"I feel like I'm in hell. What is this place?" 

"It's Jenny," Shane said. "That's her, up there."

The spotlight moved from the center of the empty stage to the side curtain, where the flying shoe had come from. The crowd started to murmur, and there were a few boos, because no stripper had come out.

Dana looked around. "Where's Alice?" 

"She went to look for you," Shane said.

From the side of the stage a piece of clothing came flying out, a blouse. The crowd cheered. Then, without warning, Jenny stepped out on stage, casually. She was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, certainly just about the last kind of costume anyone expected to see up there on stage. She looked out over the audience cooly, without interest. A few men began to howl and cheer, and one shouted out, "C'mon! Hurry it up! Take it off!"

A cheesy bump-and-grind soundtrack began to play. Carmen and Alice materialized next to Shane and Dana. Together they watched with a mixture of fascination laced with horror. 

Jenny slowly walked out to center stage as though the room was empty. She turned and stared at the men close to the edge of the stage, without much interest. She looked ... bored.

"What the fuck is she doing?" Shane whispered.

The crowd was starting to turn hostile, with some jeering. Jenny looked around the room, unconcerned. Then, in a low voice, she slowly began to sing, a prayerlike Hebrew song almost no one could hear. She reached down and slowly peeled off her T-shirt in a manner that was as casual and sexless as possible. The men began to cheer.

Jenny held her T-shirt out and dropped it on the stage. She looked around, and then reached behind herself, releasing the hooks of her lacy black bra. In a heartbeat she was naked from the waist up, her small breasts white in the spotlight, her nipples pink and loose, not erect at all. She tossed her bra out into the audience, and the men cheered again, and called out to her for more. She acted like she hadn't heard a thing they said, and probably she didn't.

She sang a few words of Hebrew quietly, not really trying to keep a tune. Her hands went to the gripper on her jeans, and she unsnapped it, then dropped her hand to her side. The audience was mesmerized by the slight hint of skin disclosed by the gap at her fly. Then Jenny's hands went to her waist, and slowly pushed the jeans down her legs below her knees. Unaided, her jeans collapsed around her ankles, and Jenny stepped out of them carelessly. She kicked them to the edge of the stage, where a man grabbed them and thrust the crotch to his noise, sniffing, as his friends laughed and pounded him on the back. Jenny ignored him.

She stood now in nothing put a pair of frilly black panties and sheer black stockings that came to mid-thigh. The men were going crazy, yelling, howling, hooting, calling out.

At the back of the hall, Carmen put her hand over her eyes, and couldn't watch. "My God," she said. "She's lost her fucking mind." Dana couldn't watch, either, and turned away, heading for the door. Alice followed her out. Shane watched, frowning. She shook her head, no. Please, no.

On the stage, Jenny made eye contact with a man by the edge of the stage. They stared at each other for a moment, and then Jenny smiled faintly, and looked down at herself, at her belly and her panties. She tucked a finger inside the tops at each hip, and slowly began to inch them down as the noise level in the bar rose exponentially. In a second, the top of her bush began to show, the dark hair trimmed but matted down. She pushed her panties down further inch by inch looking down at what she was revealing. Now her pubic region was fully exposed, the panties just below her pussy lips, which were discretely tucked away and virtually invisible. The men in the room exploded in cheers and catcalls. Jenny looked up, and then suddenly thrust her arms in the air, smiling: TA-DAAAH! You want cunt, you muthafuckers, you got cunt. Here it is. Brunette snatch-o-rama. Twat. Gash. Slice. Pubes. Take a good look, Charlie, it's all you're ever gonna see. Sorry I didn't shave it for ya, boys.

The audience loved it. There was no question that in all the thousands of man-hours they'd spent staring at stripper pussy, they'd never seen an act like this before. The complete absence of faked sexuality was at once both less sexual and more sexual than anything they'd ever seen. 

Jenny let them have another minute of ... whatever ecstasy it was they were experiencing. Then she lowered her arms and slowly pulled her panties back up. Show's over, assholes. The men protested, shouting "No!" but to no avail. Jenny walked to the edge of the stage and took her jeans back from the man who held them, still sniffing the crotch. Her lip curled in revulsion as she grabbed them away from him, and he let her do it, such was her power over these men at this moment. In some perverse sort of way no one there understood, Jenny had turned degradation and humiliation around. She turned and walked off the stage, not looking back.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 12



Chapter 12 Date Night

There was a low wall surrounding the building, with some modest shrubbery and plants in the space between the wall and the building itself. Perhaps someone thought it would give it class, perhaps back in the day when it was a proper restaurant. Shane sat on the wall down from the entrance, over which the neon light still flashed "Girls Girls Girls," although at 2:30 in the morning traffic on the boulevard was pretty scarce. Shane could hear music still faintly emanating from the strip club, and somewhere down the street a car alarm suddenly went off, and a minute later stopped. Shane smoked a cigarette and thought about nothing more complicated than the night air. 

Jenny came out of the club and was pleased to find Shane sitting on the wall down at the corner. "Hey," she said.

"Hey, lady," Shane responded.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Came to see you." Shane got up and handed her lit cigarette to Jenny to finish. They walked down the sidewalk toward the bus stop, where there was a concrete bench. 

"What did you think?" 

"You were good," Shane said, being polite. 

"No I wasn't, I sucked." Jenny took a drag and gave the cigarette back to Shane. "Here. It doesn't matter if I'm good. Nobody in there cares." 

They stopped at the bus stop sign. 

"Why are you doing this?" Shane asked, after a moment. 

"Because, when I'm in there, it's my fucking choice when I take off my top and I wanna show my breasts. And it's my fucking choice when I take off my pants and I show my pussy, and then I stop when I wanna stop and it makes me feel good because I'm in charge, and it helps me remember all this childhood shit that happened to me. You know, like, I have to. It's important. Do you remember what happened to you as a child that makes you not wanna -" 

"Jenny, what - what - what do you mean --" 

"No, seriously, no, no, no, just hear me out," Jenny overrode Shane. "Do you remember the shit that happened to you as a child that makes you not wanna trust people as an adult?" 

"Yeah, I probably do," said Shane, whose memory on that score was just fine. 

"Well, then, you're fucking lucky." 

"I don't know how that makes me so lucky." 

"You're lucky because you can get on with your fucking life and you're not dogged down by these horrible, oppressive childhood memories, and you know, you stand a chance of being a normal, productive person," Jenny said. 

Shane thought that over for a while. "Well, do you know what happened to you?" 

Jenny stared down the empty street, then shook her head, more to herself than Shane.

"I don't know. I remember things, and then, like, I think, 'Is this true? Did this stuff really happen, or am I making it up?' Because, you know, the older I get, things - the memory sort of becomes a little blurry, and then, it's like, I can't ... ." Jenny stopped, and shook her head again, as if to clear it. "I don't know, but ... you just don't know the truth anymore." 

"Right. I get that. But you don't have to do it with that." Shane gestured toward the strip club. 

"I know." 

"So what is this?" Shane asked. 

"I know I don't have to do this." 

"Just know that ... I'm just saying that you don't have to -- you know, you have me, you have other people, you don't have to do this alone. Go through whatever you're going through, alone." 

"I know. No, I know, I know. I'm not alone, but I want to ... do this. Work something out." 

"Just be careful," Shane said. 

Jenny stared at Shane, and after a moment smiled and looked away.

"All right," Shane said, not sure if she'd accomplished anything or not. 

And then Jenny put a hand on Shane's shoulder to indicate everything was okay. 

"Let's go home," Shane said. 

"No, I'm gonna take the bus," she said, pointing at the bus stop sign. It meant she wanted to be alone, and Shane respected that, even if she didn't think it was the best idea. She started to walk away, and turned, walking backwards so she could she Jenny, sitting on the bus stop bench. 

"Promise you're gonna be safe? I'm gonna see you at home?" 

Jenny nodded, and watched Shane walk reluctantly away.

***

In the morning they learned that Bette and Kit's father had died the night before. It had been expected; Bette and Kit had brought him to Bette's home several weeks earlier. With the help of two hospice workers plus all their friends from The Planet they had done what they could to ease Melvin Porter through his final days. Kit and Bette took turns reading to the old man even as he slept and slipped into his last coma. There wasn't much for the Friends to do, but they visited from time to time, bringing food for Kit or Bette, not that they would eat much. Shane and Mark ran a few errands for them from time to time, going to the supermarket or the pharmacy for whatever was needed. One morning when she had no production work, Carmen came over and sat with Bette for several hours, not talking much, just ... being there. Alice and Helena stopped in a couple of times, just to offer a hug and ask if there was anything they could do, but of course there wasn't.

The Friends knew very little about Melvin until these, his final days, since Bette and Kit had never talked about him. From bits and pieces they'd acquired over the past few weeks of his illness and days of his life, they had learned a few things about him: That he had been stubborn, ornery and difficult; that he had disapproved of Bette's lesbianism in general and in very particular of Tina. Almost until the last he had only ever referred to her as "Miss Kinnard," and had never treated her as he should have, as a defacto daughter. They learned that, in his own highly dysfunctional way, he loved his two daughters, and they, in their own dysfunctional ways, loved him back, no matter what, in that way that fathers and daughters must, no matter how much the relationship had deteriorated.

Late on the Sunday morning before he died, a stunning revelation had come to Alice as she and some of the the Friends sat in The Planet sipping their lattes and picking at brunch. They had been talking about Melvin, and how difficult it had been for Bette and Kit to cope with his terminal cancer, taking care of him in Bette's house-turned-hospice.

"Look at us," Alice said, gesturing around the table as the revelation swept over her. "We're all fatherless. Every one of us. None of us has a relationship with the one and only man who could possibly have a relationship with us. Since we're all lesbians, that can only be our fathers. And we don't even have that."

She gestured at herself. "I haven't seen my dad in fifteen years, and we have no relationship. Helena, you hardly even know who your father is, and you have no relationship with him. Shane, same with you. Carmen, your dad died before you were born, and you had a stepfather for a while when you were growing up, but he died years ago. Shane, Carmen and Helena all grew up fatherless, and I might as well have. Tina, your father's alive and you send him a Christmas card and a birthday card, and that's the sum total of your relationship. Jenny, you aren't close to your birth father, and you basically hate your step-father. Dana, you have a relationship with your dad, still, but you're hardly close buddies, and since you've come out it's gotten a lot cooler. And Bette and Kit weren't close to Melvin, until very recently, and I'm not even sure 'close' describes what it is when a parent is dying right in front of you."

"Metaphorically, we're all orphans, almost, except Carmen and a little bit of Dana," Jenny said. "Maybe that's why we're so close with each other here. In the absence of our birth parents, we've formed our own extended family of sisters out of our friends and lovers. It sounds like a cliché, but it's literally true in our case: All we really have in this world is each other."

"I'm the odd one out," Carmen said. "I still live at home, with my mother and my Abuela, that's what we call my grandmother. And I'm still close with my sisters and my cousins and my Aunt Begonia. There's my Uncle Mike, and my brother Carlos."

Alice nodded. 

"I think I'm envious of that," Shane said. "I miss never having had much of a family, and sometimes I think I would like being part of one. Do the rest of you guys feel that way?"

"Well, I have my two children," Helena said, "but I don't have custody, and I miss them terribly sometimes. But I guess I'm just not too maternal, or whatever it is. I'm not a nest-builder, not like ... well, like Bette and Tina had been until they broke up. I suppose out of all of us, except maybe for Carmen, they were the two people most into having a family."

Shane looked around the table. "I suppose, though, that in one way we're all pretty lucky. None of us here has ever lost a parent, had a mother or father who died, at least while we were alive. But Bette and Kit lost their mother years ago, and now they are losing their dad."

"I lost my step-father, when I was thirteen," Carmen said.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Shane said. "I didn't know that."

"So I'm still the odd girl out," Carmen said, but smiling.

"No, Carmen. Shane lost somebody, once, too," Alice said.

Carmen turned to Shane. "Did you? I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Shane blew it off, patting Carmen on the arm, and assuming that no one but Alice knew the story of Harvey, which was a silly assumption given Alice's predilection for story-telling. But everyone at the table except Carmen pretended not to know about Shane's background, and Jenny quickly turned the conversation away to something else.

At the funeral on the Saturday a week later they all learned one last major thing about Melvin Porter: that he had been much more widely known and widely respected and even admired by many more people than they'd ever known or expected. And if Bette or Kit had known that, they'd never given any hint of it over the years.

Hundreds of people came to the funeral and the burial service, politicians local, state and national; civil rights leaders from all over the region, with telegrams of condolence and bouquets of flowers from as far away as Washington, D.C., and New York; a couple of "elder statesmen" in the black Hollywood community, actors and actresses who'd led the forefront of black entertainment and film-making in the 1960s and 1970s; and not all the mourners were black. Among the most prominent people who came to the funeral was Gloria Steinem, who Bette and Kit greeted and hugged and briefly cried with as old, dear friends.

"Did you know they knew Gloria Steinem?" Jenny whispered to Alice, who knew everything. 

"No, I had no idea," Alice whispered back. "But anything is possible. Bette's a real big shot in the art world, and Kit used to be a prominent singer once upon a time, so I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that they know some major movers and shakers."

As it turned out, not only was Gloria Steinem one of the mourners, but she also gave one of the eulogies, during which it became apparent that she had known Melvin well, had worked with him quite a lot over the years, and truly loved and admired him. After the services, Bette and Kit hosted a modest reception back at the house, intended for their closest friends and those closest to Melvin. Not surprisingly, Gloria was one of the latter. Shortly after they had all arrived at Bette's house, some of the Friends found themselves sitting at a table with Gloria and a couple of members of the band Betty, whom they all knew by now.

"Look, Gloria, I've been begging you for fifteen years to sleep with me, and it's because I care about you and I love you. I don't want you to miss out, and I know, I know not every feminist is a lesbian," one of the Betty members said. 

"Yeah, you're right, 'cause I haven't slept with a woman and I am definitely a feminist," Kit said, laughing. 

"Ditto for me," another Betty member said. 

"But, you know, we're in a country where people think all feminists are lesbians, right?" Gloria said. 

"And they think that all feminists are man-haters, so, naturally, they're lesbians, right?" Dana put in. 

"It's really bananas," Gloria said, "because, in my experience, it's the women who live with men who hate men." Everyone laughed. "The lesbians can kind of take it or leave it alone. They're friends with men, right?" 

"Another big misconception is that if you're a lesbian, you're automatically a feminist, whereas a lot of gay women that I know are absolutely not feminists, right?" Jenny said, gesturing at Shane. 

"Yeah," Alice said. 

"That's for sure," Carmen added. 

Jenny smiled at Carmen and then Carmen stared at Shane, whose head swiveled back and forth between the two of them. "Wha - I like women!" Shane said, as everyone laughed again. 

"Okay," Gloria said, "but you have to admit that that's what guys say. 'I love women.'" 

"Well, yeah," Shane conceded.

"All right," Alice jumped in, "can I just say, speaking as someone who sometimes likes the you-know-what --" 

"'You-know-what' means ... sex with men, right?" Gloria laughed. 

"Yeah, I didn't want to offend you, but ... I like the penis," Alice said. Everybody but Jenny laughed. 

"No, no, no. You don't offend me. I like sex with men, too," Gloria said. "Let's just say that I'm predisposed. I bet a lot of you are predisposed, right?" She looked around the table expectantly. 

Carmen threw both her hands in the air, laughing. "Predisposed! Right here!" 

Dana grinned but Alice didn't.

Shane backed up Carmen, nodding. "A hundred percent," she said, referring to herself. 

"As far back as I can remember, yeah, me, too," Dana said thoughtfully. 

"Not me," Alice said. "I follow the heart, not the anatomy." Dana rubbed her shoulder.

"It's always so complicated, isn't it?" Jenny asked. "Some people have a choice, and some people don't about this thing, right?" 

Shane nodded, "Mmm-mm." 

"Right," Gloria said. 

"You know what?" Carmen said, raising up her glass in a toast. "To choice." 

"Right. To choice." Everyone raised their glasses and clinked them in the toast. 

"Cheers," Shane said, and the others echoed it. 

"And to Melvin," Jenny said, adding another toast.

"Yes. To Melvin," Gloria said, and the others agreed, "To Melvin."

"Ladies," Gloria said, "it was lovely meeting you all, although I wish it had been in different circumstances. I've got to run, because I'm giving a speech tonight and I've got to go back to my hotel to get ready."

Everyone said goodbye, and Shane jumped up and said, "I'll walk you to the door." When they were out of earshot of the Friends, Shane told Gloria, "We're all coming to your speech tonight. I'm bringing Carmen, who you met back there. She's a huge, huge fan of yours. It's ... uh ... it's a date. My first date with her. My first date ... with anybody, actually."

"Oh, terrific," Gloria said. " I'm honored to be a part of your special occasion. I'll look for you guys. Make sure you bring her up and say hello."

"I will," Shane said. "Thanks."

"And afterward," Gloria said, raising her eyebrows suggestively, "I hope you get to first base!"

Shane blushed and lowered her head awkwardly.

Gloria laughed. "Looks like I hit a nerve. See you tonight."

***

Shane had no sooner pulled up in front of Carmen's house than Carmen ran down the front steps and jumped into Shane's pickup. This had unwittingly ruined the first of a series of moves Shane had carefully thought out, which was to run around and open Carmen's door for her, as a man would do on a formal date with a woman.

"Hi! All set! Where we going?" Carmen asked, happy and bubbly.

But Shane was still processing her thwarted move, and was still rebooting. "Uh, er. Uh, hey. Wow. Um. You look great. Uh ... well, you'll see where we're going when we get there," she managed.

"Okay, great," Carmen said. "You know I like surprises."

They were well out Wiltshire Boulevard and a few blocks from Western when Carmen said, "Bet I know where we're going."

"Hope you aren't disappointed," Shane said.

"Oh, heavens, no!" Carmen said. "We're going to the Wiltern, right? To hear Gloria Steinem again, and Heart is playing, along with Betty and Kinnie Starr. I wanted to go see Kinnie on the Scrappy Bitch Tour last year with Oh Susanna and Veda Hille up in Canada but I couldn't find a hole in my schedule. So this is really great!" She was so happy she turned and grasped Shane's face and gave her a big kiss on the cheek, which almost caused Shane to veer into oncoming traffic. "And I get to hear Gloria, twice in one day, yet. Wow."

Shane pulled into a parking garage next to the theater, and drove up the ramps to the open top deck. They were early, which you have to be to get a good spot at the Wiltern.

"I just love this place," Carmen said. "This might be my very favorite venue in the whole city. But I haven't been here since they renovated it last year, so I'm dying to see what they did."

The Wiltern was a large art deco movie theater built in 1931, and over the years converted into a music hall. It was in some ways a small, intimate place, where the audience --if they got there early -- could get to within just a few feet of the stage and the performers. When packed to the gills, it could hold more than two thousand people on the various levels and in the balconies. The marquee over the front of the building announced that tonight was a benefit for Steinem's Ms. Foundation, and listed the performers, the group Heart, the group Betty, who'd been to Melvin's funeral that afternoon, and Starr.

"Yeah, this should be cool," Shane said as the pickup entered the top deck and she cruised to a good parking spot. 

"Awesome," Carmen said. "Thanks for inviting me. "

Just as Carmen was about to open her door Shane grabbed her arm and said, "Hold on." She jumped out her side, walked around the front of the truck, and came to Carmen's door. She opened it with a modest flourish. 

"What's this?" Carmen asked, grinning and laughing.

Shane smiled nervously and shrugged. She looked like a shit-scared kid on a first date. Which, pretty much, she was. 

"Okay, thank you," Carmen said as Shane handed her out of the pickup. 

"Is it okay?" Shane asked anxiously. Carmen was about to close her own door but Shane jumped in. "No, no. I've got it." She closed Carmen's door for her. 

"Oh. Wow." Carmen whispered, impressed. "Sure. I - I don't know. I'm just not used to being treated like such a girl, I guess."

"Oh, what are you talking about, 'treated like a girl?'" Shane frowned, skittish and afraid of every move she'd carefully planned.

"Oh, okay." 

"No, I thought I'd treat you ... ." 

Carmen smiled. "Okay, right. I get the difference." She put her hand out and touched Shane's cheek to tell her it was okay.

"Are we ready?" Shane asked. 

"Yeah!" Carmen replied. Shane held out her hand, but then quickly changed it to offer her elbow instead. Carmen wasn't quite sure how to respond, and she just pushed Shane on the shoulder, but it was okay, they were playing with each other now, some of the old chemistry back. They went in.

***

They got a good table up close to the stage, and over the next few minutes most of the other Friends showed up, including both an exceedingly pregnant Tina and Kit with her son David, whom they'd only ever met for the first time the day before, when he'd flown in for Melvin's funeral. They all got drinks from the bar -- just ginger ale for Tina and for Kit -- and had just settled in to chat while waiting for the rest of the crowd to arrive when Tina predictably had to go to the bathroom. Bette went with her, and a few minutes later Carmen decided she needed to go, too. When she got to the ladies room she found Bette helping Tina, who was standing shakily near the wash basins in a small pool of water on the floor.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 12



"My God, are you all right?" Carmen asked.

"She's fine," Bette said, "but her water just broke. Would you do me a favor and tell everybody we had to leave?"

"Sure, I'll tell them, but let me help you first."

"Okay, take her other arm and we'll get her out to the street."

Carmen and Bette between them got Tina to the sidewalk, and Carmen stayed with Tina while Bette ran to get their car. Carmen helped Tina get in and watched them speed away. Then she went back inside the Wiltern and trotted down the aisle to find Kit.

"Kit, Kit, Kit. Hi," 

"Hey," Kit said. "What's up, girl?" 

"Okay, um, Bette wanted me to tell you that she and Tina had to leave, and that everything is going to be okay." 

"What happened?" 

"Tina's water broke!" 

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God. Come on, we've got to go," Kit said, turning to David. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," David said. "Mom, mom, mom, sit down. They've probably got hours to go." 

"Yeah," Carmen chimed in. "Plus she said that she wants you to stay, and she wants you to enjoy the concert, and that she's going to call you as soon as she can. Okay?" 

"Okay," Kit said, grinning. 

"Oh, congratulations!" Carmen remembered to add. "You're gonna be an aunt! How great is that!" Carmen hugged Kit and gave her a kiss on the head, and Kit laughed excitedly. 

Just then the house lights went down, and Carmen hurried to find her seat next to Shane. The MC came out on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to a special evening of music and performance to benefit the Ms. Foundation for Women," he said. "Please welcome this evening's host, Gloria Steinem!" 

The crowd stood and cheered. Steinem came out from the wings and stood behind the podium. She smiled and waved at a few people, and laughed, acknowledging the crowd and the applause. She cleared her throat and waited for the crowd to quiet down. Then she began.

"Remember when Emma Goldman said, 'If there's no dancing at the revolution, I'm not coming?'" The audience chuckled and nodded. "Well, tonight we have both. Thanks to Betty, thanks to Kinnie Starr, thanks to Heart, we have the music, and thanks to all of you, we have the revolution." The audience broke into cheers at that. "And we are going to need it, because there is a guy in the White House --" here the audience booed -- "who represents all those religious extremists that people came to this country to escape." 

Someone in the back of the room hooted a "Whoo!" sound. 

"But that's because there's a backlash against all the great social justice movements, and if we hadn't had a frontlash, we wouldn't now be having a backlash," she said, and waited for the cheering to die down. "So we're just going to keep going and do it more and better. We're going to not only vote, but reform the way we vote." Cheering. "We're going to contribute not only when we're asked, but every time we pay our bills. We're not only going to change women to fit the world, but change the world to fit women." Much cheering. "And we are going to become the change we want to see in the world. So, first tonight, then the world!" 

The crowd cheered and applauded as Steinem applauded them back as she left the stage. Kinnie Starr came on stage and after the applause that greeted her began to recite her poem Buttons. 

She's got a mother, a daughter, and a lover. You tell me why she should now save cover. Yeah, she's got a mother, a daughter, and a lover. Boy on the street's got his eyes pinned onto me.

Shane and Carmen sat together, watching. Shane leaned over and whispered into Carmen's ear, "Do you think you might want to come over after this? For a little while?" 

Carmen didn't know how to answer. She moved slightly, which happened to be away from Shane, who was confused by the movement and the silence. After a moment, she pulled back and resumed watching the stage, thinking something had gone wrong somewhere, somehow.

Shape, sizes, handprints, shoe fits the shapes, Sizes, handprints, shoe fits and off with the underwear,

Kinnie recited. Carmen leaned over to Shane and whispered in her ear. "For a little bit," she said, still watching the performance. Shane nodded, and slowly broke into a grin.

***

For reasons neither of them quite understood the vibe between them had changed after the concert. As they walked out to Shane's pickup on the top deck of the parking garage, Carmen said, "That was really terrific. Thanks for inviting me."

"You're very welcome," Shane said. "Heart was really fantastic."

"I know."

Shane opened Carmen's door for her, and waited to close it after she was in. It was awkward for both of them. Shane wondered, is this the time I should kiss her? How do I do this? This shit is complicated.

Carmen leaned over and unlocked Shane's driver-side door. She'd read once in a magazine that's how you know whether a girl is a keeper or not.

Shane got in, and they talked desultorily about the show on the way back to Jenny and Shane's house.

"Any word from Bette about Tina?" Shane asked.

"No, nothing yet. But it's only been a few hours since her water broke. She might not have even started labor yet. The first birth usually has a long labor."

Shane grunted. She actually knew very little about labor and childbirth, having never been closely exposed to the process before. Carmen, on the other hand, had cousins with children, and seemed to know a great deal about pregnancies and childbirth. A lot of it had to do with the tattoo around her waist, and the jaguar heads just above her wonderful ass. Carmen had said the jaguar represented a fertility and health goddess named Ixchel, or something like that.

Should I kiss her? Carmen asked herself. Or should I wait for her to kiss me? What's the drill here? How girlie-girl does she want me to be? She's opening doors for me. What am I supposed to do? How does she want me to act? Are we going to do it? Does she want to make love to me? She's so damned tentative and scared and clumsy tonight, and I don't know where the confident, laid-back Shane went. Why is this so fucking difficult? In the sound room that day she was all over me. Now it's like I'm some fragile porcelain doll she doesn't want to break. If we were in some crowded dyke bar she'd just hustle me into the last stall of the john and fuck my brains out. Now it's like we're Ken and fucking Barbie. Sex is easy. It's dating that's hard.

When they got to the house they stood in the kitchen awkwardly while Shane got a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator and searched for the wine-bottle opener. She found it and opened the bottle, thinking, this is a fucking disaster. I have no idea what to do. There's a reason I don't go out on dates: I have no fucking idea what I'm doing. I fuck women, I don't date them. Now I know why. And she looks so good, and I'm almost certain she's not on her period, and I just want to throw her on the floor and suck the front of her panties, but I know that's absolutely the wrong fucking move. Shit, shit, shit.

"This should probably breathe," Shane said, handing Carmen a glass of red wine and feeling like a complete, total idiot. She set the wine bottle down and looked nervously at Carmen, looking for all the world like a beaten hound dog. 

Carmen sipped the wine tentatively, and made up her mind. This was a charade. She had no idea what was in Shane's head, which was odd because usually she could read her every mood, every expression on Shane's face. "I'm gonna go," Carmen said, putting her glass down on the table. "Okay, bye." 

Carmen turned away abruptly and headed for the back door. She had completely forgotten Shane had picked her up at her house, but she didn't care. She'd fucking walk home. 

But Shane gently grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"No," Shane whispered. 

Nothing happened, and then Shane turned Carmen around. "I don't want you to go." 

Carmen looked at Shane's tortured, pain-filled face. Shane began to lean in toward her. Was she going to finally fucking kiss her like she fucking should have done ten minutes ago? Yes!

No. Shane seemed to hesitate at the last second, and pulled Carmen into a hug instead.

Fuck! Goddammit shit fuck fuck fucking fuck. Carmen realized that Shane simply didn't know how to do this.

"I miss the way you smell," Shane whispered. It was pitiful, but Carmen knew it was the very best Shane could do, and that she meant it, every lame, pallid word. Weak and pathetic as it was, it filled Carmen's heart, and she breathed out happily. She smiled, and a tear ran down her cheek. 

Shane pulled back, and Carmen thought Shane was finally going to kiss her. But no -- once more, Shane pulled her into a hug. Carmen started to cry. Shane pulled away, surprised Carmen was crying. She leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, then on her lovely neck. Shane inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with Carmen smell. Carmen gasped. 

They stared at each other for a moment. Then Shane wiped Carmen's tear away and leaned in for a kiss. Carmen hesitated, but let Shane kiss her. It started out tentative, a half-assed, awkward, sixth-grader's kiss. How the hell could a lesbian who'd fucked nearly a thousand women not know how to kiss somebody? Sweet Jesus! But Shane persisted, her lips still tentative on Carmen's, but the longer they stayed there the warmer the kiss got. And next thing Carmen knew, it had turned into a proper kiss. She didn't know what had happened; she didn't care. But now her own mouth was locked on Shane's, and there was passion. There was heat, and more heat coming. There was softness, and wetness, and a little hint of tongue.

Now there was hunger, and want. It was like whatever logjam had been causing Shane's tentativeness and hesitation had suddenly given way and now the river was free to flow madly. Whatever noise had filled Shane's brain had quieted down dramatically, for once Shane became engaged in sexual behavior all the sounds disappeared and there was only the gentle rustle of the breezes. Meanwhile, inside Carmen's head her old, familiar theme song began to play: Quiero, quiero ...

Slowly Shane backed Carmen up against the refrigerator, her hands fluttering around Carmen's waist and back and sides, not knowing where to land and never settling, but it didn't matter because the kiss stopped and resumed and stopped and resumed, her mouth on Carmen's, her lips seeking Carmen's. Sometimes she kissed her cheek, or slipped down her neck or went back to her ears, and sometimes the kissing remained mouth-to-mouth with no need of resuscitation. 

Carmen had no real awareness of the refrigerator magnets underneath her shoulders and back; all she knew was she was deliriously happy. None too gently she pushed off from the refrigerator, coming at Shane with her breasts and hips and thighs and hands, Shane backpeddling slowly until they crossed the small space between the refrigerator and kitchen table, Shane feeling the table nudge her ass but her attention never wavering from the woman she was kissing. Somehow they continued, Shane walking backwards around the kitchen table, not sure if she was pulling Carmen along with her or whether Carmen was steering her, or whether either woman had any idea where they were going or why, which was the truth of it. All Shane knew was she remembered how wonderfully this girl kissed, how hungry she got, and how warm, and the sweetness of her taste and the wonderful hard softness of her body as Shane clasped her again and again, walking backward until they collided with a wall and somehow turned to Carmen's right, past the kitchen table and into the hallway where Carmen backed Shane up against a framed art poster hanging there, their fingers locked together and rising up over their heads as Carmen pinned Shane to the wall, kissing, kissing. And somehow they came away from the wall and the poster and turned, this time to Carmen's left, backing Shane down the hall, kissing, kissing, kissing, until they came to the entrance of Shane's room and the choreography switched as they spun, Shane now leading and Carmen walking backward through the doorway. For a second they came apart, staring amazed at each other, Carmen's eyes wide with wonder and want and glistening, and Shane thought she'd never seen any woman looking so beautiful and so desirable. 

She pushed Carmen back onto the bed, but it was a push that had no force because Carmen went backward onto the bed so willingly Shane stood looking down at her, but then somehow she was transported, now she was on the bed straddling Carmen and leaning down to kiss that wonderful mouth again, to kiss and lick, and inhale. A second later, still kissing, she became aware of Carmen's hands at her waist, reaching to unbutton Shane's jeans, fumbling with the zipper, and then Carmen's hands struggling to push her jeans down over the rise of her ass but not working because Shane was pressing down on her, lying between Carmen's spread legs, Carmen's strong thighs grasping Shane's hips. Shane abruptly came to her knees and grasped the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head. She wore no bra, of course, and there they were, the finest set of nips in all of California. Carmen reached up and pulled Shane's shoulders down so Shane once again straddled her, but this time above her so Carmen could take Shane's left nipple into her mouth and love at it with her tongue, kissing, licking, sucking hungrily, and then the other one. 

Her hands meanwhile continued pushing Shane's jeans down her legs, bunching them up at her knees but Carmen's hands slipping down Shane's back and going right underneath her panties to cup the naked cheeks of her ass, kneading the flexing, hunching muscles and pushing the panties down, too, Shane being topped from the bottom up. She pulled up again onto her knees and grabbed for Carmen's crotch, unsnapping the button and pulling her pants apart as Carmen arched her bottom off the bed to let them slip down. Shane backed off the bed and stood, kicking off her shoes quickly and stepping out of her jeans and panties until she was naked. Carmen sat up and pulled her top over her head as Shane pulled her shoes off and then pulled off Carmen's jeans and panties and threw them behind her. Carmen would have removed her black brassiere except that Shane had climbed back on the bed so quickly and was on top of her now, pressing her down, resuming the torrid kisses on her mouth, but this time with Carmen's legs spread wide and Shane between them, undulating, starting to fuck her, slowly, fucking Carmen, Shane's wet pussy on Carmen's, clit to clit, fucking easily and confidently, luxuriating in the feel of Carmen's hot skin under her, still kissing that mouth, that neck, those shoulders, the lovely ridge of collarbone starting to grow moist with sweat, a sheen coming to coat Carmen's luscious copper skin, one of Carmen's firm, cut arms around her and pulling her in, the other arm bent and her hand cupping Shane's tit, the thumb loving the hard jellybean nipple laminated between them, Shane rocking slowly, feeding her wet swollen clitoral hood between Carmen's wetter labia, feeling the rise of Carmen's hips as they welcomed that which they had desired for so long. Carmen's splayed thighs humping up and then the legs crossing behind Shane, sliding up the backs of Shane's thighs until they locked behind Shane's ass, pulling the cheeks in and down, locking Shane and her thrusting pussy in place and never letting her go, not until this feral, tribadical pussy rubbed her clitoris to its rapidly approaching climax, for Carmen, often langorous in sex, was hotter than she had ever remembered, because this was Shane fucking her finally, tribbing her, Shane whom she'd longed for all those nights, hugging her pillow while her vibrator buzzed inside her cunt where Shane's fingers or tongue ought to have been, the memory of the taste of Shane's modest pussy structure and pink clitoral hood in her memory, climaxing on her lonely bed. 

Carmen's breathing switched from deeply rhythmic to small irregular gasps and grunts and cries as Shane tribbed her, humped and pumped her, thrust into her, Shane's left hand disengaging Carmen's right leg and lifting that leg straight up into the air, widening the lovely crescent harbor of Carmen's cunt and thighs and giving Shane an even better anchorage as she drove her clit against Carmen's, their crotches soaked and welling with love slick, engorged parallel labial mounds welded together but still sliding, Shane feeling the rasp of her own breath. Her upper half pulled away from Carmen as Shane went up on her elbows to give herself better purchase, no longer able to kiss that wonderful face but instead burying her head in Carmen's neck, her shoulders hunchbacked as she felt the familiar tingle begin to generate from somewhere deep in her ass, and below her Carmen's cries coming quicker and turning into moans as she came to understand Carmen was almost there, almost there, almost there, Christ! yes! grunting, giving Carmen what she wanted as Carmen lost it all, coming, the liquors of her climax gushing out against Shane's soaked nethers, Carmen coming crying crushing climaxing with every thrust because Shane was now nearly there too her clit on fire as it sensed the twitches and shivers and pulses from the adjacent clit throb, two clits embraced two shiny ocean pearls nestled abed in the sweet chlorine-perfumed ejaculate of oyster smell and para-urethra spurt and pussy brine, twat foam and thrashing beaver spume, Carmen's coming only half a minute ahead of Shane, two faces twisted into masks of lovely loving horror, grunting, twenty seconds, thirty seconds, a minute, waves of endorphins like schools of dolphins fucking their dolphin brains out, crashing surf on the beach, release release release subsiding Carmen slowly opening her eyes and wondering why Shane was no longer kissing her but seeing Shane's slack face above hers, looking down at her, Carmen wondering please Jesus will I ever get to do this again? and then the answer coming like another orgasm, Shane looking at her with awe, and then the words, as Shane had no control over what came next out of her well-kissed mouth, the whispered pirate treasure words, "I love you."



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 13



Chapter 13 Broken

They made love again the next morning, or at least Carmen did. Shane, the night owl and the late sleeper, slept through most of the foreplay, but woke up just in time for her climax.

Shane's bedroom window had been open all night, and about quarter to five Carmen woke to the sound of rain falling on the plants outside the window. A card-carrying Romantic, Carmen loved rain. She stretched, listened to the rain a minute, and smiled at the memory of last night. Carefully she sat up and put her legs down on the floor, not wanting to wake Shane. She had not yet learned how unlikely that was; she did not yet know Shane slept so deeply and soundly.

Carmen sat on the edge of the bed and realized she was still wearing her bra, but no panties. She laughed to herself: Shane had gotten to second base, third base, and home, but had missed first base entirely. Well, this one had all the earmarks of a double-header.

She thought about whether she should put on her panties, or just remove her bra. Taking off her bra won out, in part because she could scratch that spot under the bra strap that always itched. Naked, she padded down the hall to the bathroom, peed without turning on the light, and returned to bed. She tucked in behind Shane, pulling Shane's bony hips and ass cheeks into her nicely padded thighs, listened to the rain for about seven seconds, and went back to sleep.

She woke again a little after eight, noticing the rain had stopped but listening to the sound of water dripping off the roof and the wet sounds of the street when a car went by. She stretched luxuriously again. She was still lying on her side facing Shane, who was now lying on her back and breathing deeply, her mouth slack and slightly open. Carmen's left hand rested on Shane's belly, the edge of her little finger just lightly touching the top of Shane's sparse pubic hair, a well-trimmed landing strip an inch wide.

Carmen had napped for a few hours with Shane the afternoon and evening that Shane had been Elmer Fudded and later became the pathetic loser of the No-Touching Game. That was also the night Shane said she didn't like sleep-overs. Carmen herself hadn't had all that many sleep-overs, though she had no objection to them. But in the seven years she had been sexually active, she'd always lived at home, even when she went to college, and the opportunities to spend an entire night with a lover her mother didn't suspect had been few and far between. In the seven years Carmen had only had a dozen or so lovers and affairs. She had never been a U-Haul lesbian dying to move in with someone at the first opportunity. She was still only twenty-five years old and still comfortable living at home; it wasn't failure to launch, just failure to munch much. Besides, Carmen had an incredible work ethic, holding down a full-time day job doing production assistant work, and doing DJ gigs two nights and many weekends. The fact was, she simply didn't have a lot of free time for romance. She frequented singles bars quite often -- but almost always on the clock, as a working DJ. She rarely had the time or energy to spend her free evenings cruising the very lesbian hangouts she often worked in. Anyway, she tended to have better luck at bar mitzvahs, weddings and senior citizen facilities. 

All that being said, Carmen wondered if she still hadn't spent more nights sleeping -- in the sense of actually falling asleep -- with a lover than Shane had despite her many more conquests. On occasions when Carmen had spent the night in Jenny's bed, Shane had dragged her butt home at 3 o'clock, 4 o'clock, even once at 6 o'clock in the morning. Whatever else might have happened those nights, Carmen seriously doubted they had been romantic, candle-lit evenings with Shane and a lover staring deeply into one another's eyes. Shane might have fucked nearly a thousand women, according to what Jenny had once said Alice had told her, but it was easy to doubt Shane had spent any quality sack time with any of them. In a way, she probably didn't even know how. This was what Carmen's brother the school administrator called "a teachable moment": that good things -- really good things -- happen to wildly promiscuous playa-lezzies who let their warm, sensuous, loving, spectacularly good-at-cunnilingus Latina girlfriends spend the night. 

Again, Carmen got up quietly, again padded naked down the hall to the bathroom, and this time took a shower to cleanse and prep her golden surfaces to receive new rounds of fresh pelvic moisturizer. When she got back to Shane's room, damp and glowing in the morning light, Shane was in an ideal position, still on her back, one leg straight and the other bent at the knee, leaving Carmen a wide-open field, so to speak, for her intended endearments. She knelt on the floor by the side of the bed and began delivering whisper-like kisses to Shane's calves, knees, thighs. Shane snored gently through it all, a slight smile on her face as her dreams took a warmish turn. Soon Carmen was lying on her stomach on the lower part of the bed, nuzzling and kissing the hollows of Shane's adductor longus muscles. 

Of all the muscle groups in the human body, Carmen loved the adductor group best, and of the four adductors in the thigh, the longus was teacher's pet. Place your face upon your lover's naked thigh and you are face-to-face with the adductor group. Push your lover's legs apart and bend the knees up into the frog-kick position, splayed and inner sides turned up. One muscle will pop out at you. It begins at the edge of the labia majora and runs east-west, a tendon-like silken rope that extends a few inches before widening into a major thigh muscle. On each side of it, one north and one south, lie two warm, hollow swales, two happy depressions. If the pussy was the apex of the mon veneris, the Mount of Venus, then Carmen decided the adductor longus was the hipbone-to-hipbone Ridgeline of Ixchel, who was its goddess.

Reverently Carmen bent low and brushed her lips across Shane's right adductor, working from the center outward. She bent lower, kissed the northern valley above it then the southern dale below. She inhaled deeply, drinking in the beloved Shane smell, a little musky and sweat-crusted from last night, but still a good smell, not unpleasant. As she worshipped, her right hand slipped down beneath Shane's left knee, gently applying pressure to move that leg up into the full frog. Shane did not wake but only turned her head, sighed, and perhaps seemed to smile in her dreams. Shane was so slim and boyish that her adductor ridgeline was as prominent as any Carmen had ever seen. This was not all that many, and of them Shane was her first boi, her only boi, the boi who had stolen her heart. 

Carmen finished tongue-washing Shane's outer labia and slowly worked her way up the inner lips. Shane's pussy was the classic minimalist type, neither an oyster nor a clam, with thin lips well tucked away, riding under a handsome clit hood, a pink pup-tent-like cannoli that was perhaps a little longer than many, but not disproportionate. Like her nipples, her twat was about as pretty as they come, no pun intended. When the inner lips were gently pulled out, as Carmen was doing now, they revealed a lovely pink vestibule that was insanely lickable, and a nice, plump sponge housing the urethra nestling right above the smooth, dark entrance to her womb. Up above, a nicely pronounced clitoral glans peeked out from under its hood, glistening and hungry to be alphabet-tongued and slowly sucked to an oblivion of endorphin-washed insensibility. How such a lovely, moist, bubble-gum-tinted cleft so deliciously imbued with color, texture, flavor, plasticity, moisture and its own distinctive personality could be termed something so ugly and dismissive as a "gash" Carmen had no clue. "Gash" had no resemblance to the delicate pink-red genitalia Carmen loved so much, and when she spread wide those inner lips she stared down into an open abyss that she did not fear in the least. Neither monsters nor trolls lived in that cave, just a trio of spots known to a select handful of experts and aficionados of the inner pussy, of which Carmen had taught herself to become one.

The first that Carmen knew that Shane had woken up was when Shane moaned, "Oh, Jesus, that's so good."

Carmen was laving Shane's vestibule and the inside of her right inner lip, softly sucking it into her mouth and then probing the pee hole with her tongue, and delivering an occasional Australian kiss to the deep, wet hole below. When she heard Shane's moan she kept licking, sucking and tonguing, enjoying the flow of moisture coming out of Shane's cunt. Carmen's lips, chin, cheeks and the tip of her nose were anointed with Shanemilk, and after Carmen inserted two fingers into the hot pocket a thin line of warm pussy foam began to build up atop the inner lips, gently swallowed by Carmen as she mouth-vacuumed Shane's love seepage. She heard Shane's breath start to grow ragged, and then Shane groaned and grunted, telling Carmen she was getting close. She never altered her tempo, but she brought her hands up and gently inserted them under Shane's bottom, loving the feel of those firm, lean, muscular cheeks in her palms. Gently she began to lift, and Shane instantly brought her feet down so she could arch her back. With her ass now levitated six inches off the bed and her head twisting from side to side, Shane felt one of Carmen's hands leave her bottom and then felt three fingers slip deeply into her pussy, palm up. Carmen's mouth was locked around Shane's clit hood and her tongue was whipping it from side to side, pushing the hood backward and upward, exposing the super-sensitive pink pearl underneath. As Carmen's middle finger found Shane's G-spot and began to stroke it firmly, Shane felt the urge to pee, but held it. Her hands became fists clenching the sheet as her back bridged up, Carmen's face following and never letting go. Shane growled, "Eeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk," and came, gushing all over Carmen's fingers, her sauce dripping out around Carmen's slow-twisting hand. Shane sucked in a huge draft of air, then gritted her teeth, grunting, feeling the series of spasms as her come lasted, surges that went on for more than half a minute, Shane thrusting upward, her hips jerking and the adductors of her inner thighs trembling and quivering like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. 

Shane just couldn't help it; she dropped her ass to the bed and rolled halfway onto her right side, Carmen's face drifting away. Shane's left hand came down and quickly grasped Carmen's wrist, holding the hand in place and keeping the three fingers in her pussy: The message, as Carmen understood, was "Don't move." Shane rocked herself slowly on those fingers as Carmen, also on her side now, leaned in and gently kissed the engorged outer lips, licking up the juice and letting Shane dictate the course of her descent back into the world. 

Finally, after nearly two minutes, Shane whispered, "Oh, God."

Carmen giggled, proud of herself. "Hey, sunshine," she whispered.

"Come here," Shane huffed, breathless. Carmen understood this to mean she should scoot up the bed so she was face to face with Shane, and she complied. When she got up there she kissed Shane on the lips.

"Please," Shane said, still having difficulty talking between deep gasps for air, "please hold me."

Carmen pulled Shane into her arms, her own heart suddenly swelling with emotion. This was Shane asking to be held, something Carmen had never expected to hear.

"Car," Shane gasped, "Car, I ... I never ... that was--"

"Sshhhhhhhhh, baby," Carmen cooed. "It's all right."

"I love you so much," Shane said, again shocking Carmen's heart and bringing a rush of tears to her eyes. 

"Oh, baby, I love you so much, too," she said, rocking Shane in her arms. Shane buried her head in Carmen's neck and couldn't help succumb to the chemicals soaking her brain. In a few seconds she slipped back into unconsciousness, snoring softly as Carmen rocked her, smiling.

Carmen let her sleep for ten minutes, then whispered in her ear, "Hey, baby, time to get up."

Shane's eyes opened and she smiled, and slowly put herself into a long stretch. "Hey," she said.

"Hey," Carmen said, kissing her chastely on the lips. "Guess what? You're all stinky again. I swear, I just don't know how you get so sweaty and smelly all the time."

"Yeah, right," Shane said. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll go take a shower, but no sex in there, okay? Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I'm all fucked out."

"Well, I'm not surprised," Carmen said, "after all those things you yelled last night. It's a miracle the cops didn't come. I hope we didn't wake Jenny."

"What things? I don't remember yelling anything."

"Oh? You don't remember screaming at the top of your lungs, 'Oh, fuck me deeper, deeper, my magnificent Latina femme goddess, make me your groveling gringo butch love slave and sex bitch'? You don't remember that?"

Shane giggled. "No, that part seems to have slipped my mind."

"Retrograde amnesia," Carmen said. "I must have given you a fuck concussion. Sorry."

"Yeah, well, watch that shit in the future, okay?" Shane said. "And if you made me beg to be your groveling gringo ... what was it?"

"Groveling gringo butch love slave and sex bitch."

"Yeah, that. If I said all that, you gave me a helluva lot more than just a concussion."

"Mmmmmm," Carmen said, heading out the door toward the bathroom and stopping in the doorway to wiggle her naked bum at Shane. "Okay, if you insist, no sex in the shower. Eat your heart out."

Shane laughed, and followed her down the hall, enjoying the hell out of the view. 

*** 

Just after they got back to Shane's room they heard Jenny's door open and heard her go down the hall. "Hey, Jen," Shane called out, and Carmen echoed, "Hey, lady!" but there was no answer. They heard the bathroom door shut.

They dressed leisurely, stopping to kiss once or twice. "I'd fuck you again," Shane murmured, nuzzling Carmen's ear, "but if I don't get something to eat I'm going to pass out."

"Me, too," Carmen said. "I'm starved. Being a molten Latina sex goddess takes it out of you."

Shane grinned and was heading out the door to the kitchen when her cell phone rang.

"Hey, Alice ... what? ... Uh, no, I didn't get your message, I was in the shower, and ... and ... I - I don't know, I'm speechless, I can't believe it." 

Carmen came out of the bedroom hopping on one foot as she put her shoe on the other.

"Yeah, no, we're - we're - we're leaving now," Shane said into the phone. "We'll be there in, like, 20 minutes, so don't go anywhere, okay? All right, tell Bette and Tina we'll be there soon. All right. All right, see you there. Bye." 

Shane ended the call and turned to Carmen. "Tina just had her baby, a girl. Mother and daughter doing fine."

"Oh, wow!" Carmen said. "That's great! I can't wait to see her."

"Me, too. Let's go." She stopped to knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, Jen! C'mon! Get dressed! We gotta go to the hospital!"

"I'll go get the car started while you hustle her along," Carmen said, heading for the back door.

"Yeah, good," Shane said. Just then she thought she heard something inside the bathroom that sounded like a sob. 

"Hey, Jenny?" Shane called. 

There was no answer. 

Worried, Shane opened the bathroom door. 

"Jen?" 

She froze in the doorway. Jenny sat on the bathroom floor with her back to the tub. She wore only a pair of black panties. There was blood all over her naked thighs. A lot of blood. Jenny wouldn't look up at her. She was crying softly.

"Jenny!" Shane dropped to her knees, appalled at the blood. On the top of Jenny's left thigh were more than a dozen long cuts, some up and down, some crosswise. She saw that Jenny held a bare razor blade in her right hand, and had just sliced another dozen or more slashes on top of her right thigh.

Cutter.

Shane reached out gently but firmly and tried to take the razor blade from Jenny's hand, but Jenny wouldn't let her.

"Let it go," Shane said quietly, and Jenny seemed to hear her. She relaxed her hand and let Shane take the blade away. Shane put it on the sink and reached for a towel hanging from the towel bar. She made a large pad out of it and gently put it on top of Jenny's left thigh. 

"It's all right, Jenny. Honey ... Jenny," she said. Jenny still wouldn't look at her; she just closed her eyes and started to sob. Shane wrapped an arm around her and held her. "All right. It's going to be all right."

Jenny cried harder, and turned her head into Shane's shoulder. 

"We're going to get you help. We'll get you help, okay?" 

Jenny finally nodded, then pulled back from the embrace, sniffling. 

"I need help ... don't I?" she asked, looking into Shane's worried face. She laughed a little. "I'm really fucked up." 

"We'll get you help," Shane said. Jenny nodded and sniffled. "All right?"

Jenny nodded. "Okay," she said. She pulled the towel off her left leg and gasped at the sight of all the blood and the cuts. 

"No, don't look at it," Shane said, pushing down on the towel again. "I think we'll leave it to stop the bleeding." 

Jenny leaned forward and puts her face in her hands, starting to sob again. Shane petted her hair. 

"Oh, fuck," Jenny said between sobs. "Oh, fuck."

"Want to hear some good news?" Shane asked. 

Jenny laughed a little, realizing the total absurdity of the situation. "What?" 

"Tina had her baby." 

"She did?" 

"Mm-hmm," Shane said, wrapping her arm around Jenny's shoulder again. 

"No." 

"Mm-hmm." 

Jenny laughed and cried at the same time, and wiped a trail of snot away from her nose on the back of her bloody hand.

"Are you serious?" 

Shane nodded. "She had a little baby girl." 

"Oh, my God. Is she okay?" 

"They're both fine." 

"That's beautiful," Jenny said, laughing and crying and sniffling again. "That's great. Oh, my God, I'm so ... Oh ... come here." She pulled Shane into an embrace. 

"Hey, guys!" Carmen shouted, coming in the kitchen door from the driveway. "What's taking so long? Jenny, c'mon, let's go!" She came down the hall and stood in the bathroom doorway. She saw all the blood and gasped. "JENNY! What happened? Oh, my God!" Carmen dropped to her knees. She saw the towel folded on Jenny's left thigh and saw the cuts on her right thigh. She stood and got another towel and folded it to make a similar pad for Jenny's right leg.

"Jenny had a little accident," Shane said calmly, "but it's going to be all right. We're going to get her some help."

"Yes, that's right," Jenny said, almost spooky calm. "I need some help, Carmen."

"Okay, baby, okay," Carmen said softly. "Yes, we'll get you some help. Don't worry. You're going to be fine."

This was Carmen's element, more so than Shane's. Carmen was the healer; Carmen was the acolyte of Ixchel, who had dominion over women's health, including mental health. Carmen never hesitated, and knew exactly what to do. She rose, got a washcloth, wet it, and began to clean up Jenny's legs. "Yes," she whispered, "Shane's right. We're going to take care of you now, and get you some help, just like she said. Just let me clean you up a little bit while we stop this bleeding. Shane, would you get me some paper towels, and that tube of Neosporin in the medicine cabinet? And then would you bring us Jenny's blouse or something? She must be cold and we want her to be nice and warm, right, Jen? And then I'll need some adhesive tape or something."

While Shane went to get the things Carmen had asked for, Carmen gently washed the blood from Jenny's thighs, blotting up the blood with the forever-ruined towels. The cuts were still bleeding and Carmen said, "We have to put a little pressure on these, honey. You hold that one" -- she placed Jenny's hands on the left thigh towel -- "and I'll hold this one." She pressed down on Jenny's right thigh.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 13



Shane came back.

"We're putting a little pressure on the cuts to stop the bleeding," Carmen said. "It may take a few minutes."

"Okay," Shane said.

"Shane?" Jenny asked.

"Yes, Jen?"

"Am I going to be okay?"

"Yes," Shane said, "yes, you are."

"Okay, that's good," Jenny said. "Because I think I really fucked up."

***

Carmen taped paper towels to the fronts of Jenny's thighs because some of the cuts were still weeping, and then got her dressed in a blouse and a skirt and helped her put on a pair of tennies while Shane packed a bag with three changes of clothes from Jenny's closet and a few bathroom items like toothbrush, shampoo and deodorant, at Carmen's suggestion. Carmen had thought hard about calling for the rescue squad and an ambulance, but decided Jenny would only be traumatized further by all the embarrassment and attention, and also that she seemed calm enough to go by car. Carmen decided that since they were going to the hospital to visit Tina and the baby anyway, that it made sense to just drive Jenny there and take her to the ER after the visit to the maternity ward. She didn't think Jenny would do anything destructive any further, and that she was both scared and motivated to see Tina's baby. Shane got Jenny up and gingerly walking slowly, hoping not to disturb the makeshift bandages or get the cuts bleeding again. Shane put Jenny in the front passenger seat of Carmen's Jeep and then went around and climbed in the back before Carmen climbed into the driver's seat. It only took a few minutes to get to the hospital, and Carmen drove them to the ER door. She parked at the entrance and hopped out, and went in and came back out with a wheelchair she'd commandeered. Shane, meanwhile had helped Jenny get out, and when Carmen emerged with the wheelchair helped Jenny get into it.

Shane looked at Carmen questioningly.

"Take her up to maternity, not into the ER," Carmen said. "If anybody stops you, tell them Jenny's water broke." That made Jenny smile. "I'm gonna go park the car. I'll meet you guys up in maternity," Carmen said, hurrying back to her Jeep and jumping in before anybody chased her from the emergency zone where the ambulances arrived.

A few minutes later Carmen found them in the maternity ward waiting area, along with Kit and her son David, Alice and Dana.

"They're still getting the baby ready," Kit said. "Bette's in there with her."

A floor nurse came up to them. "You're the group who want to visit Tina Kennard, is that right?" 

"Yes, that's us," Alice said, taking charge.

"Follow me, please," the nurse said.

"Sugar, what happened to you?" Kit asked, suddenly realizing Shane was pushing Jenny in a wheelchair.

"I had a little accident," Jenny said. "But I'm going to be okay."

Kit and Alice looked at Jenny funny, realizing something wasn't quite right, but they said nothing. It was just like Jenny to steal the attention away from somebody else.

The nurse led them to a room and held the door open for them all to enter. At the last second Jenny stood up from the wheelchair and walked in under her own steam. They found Bette holding a tiny baby in her arms, completely wrapped except for the tiny little brown face.

"They kept us outside until visiting hours," Kit began right away, and then she saw her new niece. "Oh ... my goodness," she breathed. 

"Where's Tina?" Shane asked. 

"She's still in recovery," Bette said. 

"Is she okay?" Jenny asked. 

"Yeah, she's going to be fine. I'm just waiting for them to bring her down here so she can see her baby. She hasn't even met her baby yet." Bette slowly stood up with the baby. "This is Angelica," she said, introducing her to all her friends. "She's only about one hour old." Angelica, her eyes closed, said nothing. 

"Hi, Angelica," Kit whispered, her own eyes filling with happy tears as Bette handed the baby to her. 

"Oh ... oh," Kit gasped. "Oh, hi, sweetie. Oh ... mm." She bent and gently kissed Angelica's forehead. Dana couldn't help but reach out to touch the baby's face. 

"Oh, my goodness," Kit said. "You want to hold her?" 

Angelica cooed softly as Kit handed her to Dana. Dana held her and grinned, then handed her to Alice. 

"Thank you," Alice said and then spoke to Angelica. "Hi there." Then Alice seemed uncharacteristically speechless. "'Kay," she said, handing her next to Carmen. 

"Aw, so cute," Carmen said, bending to kiss Angelica on the forehead. She turned and handed the baby to Jenny, who was crying silently. 

"Hi, little one. You are so beautiful." She looked up and beamed at Bette. Angelica began to fuss as Jenny handed the baby to Shane. 

"You have tiny feet," Shane said, as one of the baby's feet came free from the blanket. She handed the baby back to Kit. Bette wiped tears from her face as she watched her new daughter make the rounds.

"Oh, Angelica," Kit murmured. "Oh, sweetie, you are going to have a very, very interesting life, you know that? Because we are some very, very interesting people." As everyone smiled or laughed Kit put Angelica back into Bette's arms. 

"This is your family," Bette told the baby, who just then decided to cry. "Shh. Shh, shh, shh, it's all right," she said. 

***

Shane and Carmen wheeled Jenny down to the ER department, Carmen taking charge when they got there.

"My friend had an accident, and we need her to see a doctor as soon as possible," she said to the admissions clerk. Carmen had Jenny's purse and gave the clerk Jenny's driver's license for ID. 

"Does she have medical insurance?" the clerk asked, bored.

"Gee, I don't know. See, we're her friends, and all, but we don't know her very well. We only work together down at the Rocking Horse Playhouse? We're, like, dancers, see, and we just work off of tips and stuff. We don't get bennies." Carmen smiled broadly at the clerk.

"Well, can't she come up here to the window and answer a few questions?"

"No, see that's the thing. She stopped talking. She won't say a word, and we don't know what happened to her." Carmen leaned in close to the clerk. "See, we think maybe she tried to commit suicide," she whispered. "She cut herself really bad, and we can't leave her alone until she sees somebody." Carmen made a throat-cutting motion with her index finger. The clerk stared at her a moment.

"Uh. Okay. Sure. Um, well, we'll need to figure out something about the insurance."

"Oh, I'm sure her daddy'll pay for it," Carmen said. "He's really rich. He owns, like, twenty car dealerships. We called him but they said he's out playing golf with George Clooney or something. But I'm sure he'll be here in a while. And I know he'll be really pissed if she doesn't see somebody."

The woman was suspicious, and regarded Carmen with a skeptical look. But there were protocols and procedures. Finally she said, "All right, we'll deal with that later." She turned to her computer monitor and typed in some information, and after a few minutes handed Carmen a plastic strip. "Here, put this on her wrist. Somebody will come call her name as soon as they can."

They waited an hour in the waiting room, watching a football game none of them cared the slightest about. Carmen told Shane and Jenny what she'd told the admissions woman, and they laughed. But they also made sure Jenny never talked whenever the admissions lady might see her. Finally a nurse came and got them and took them into the ER and into a cubicle. 

"Which one's the patient?" she asked. Jenny raised her hand meekly.

"Okay, we'll get you some assistance getting out of the wheelchair and up onto the table."

"Oh, I can do that," Jenny said, standing up. The nurse looked at her, wondering what the game was. But Jenny moved slowly and Shane and Carmen jumped up and helped her move to the table and get up on it. Then Carmen pushed the wheelchair out into the ER common area. It was a Sunday afternoon in football season, and the ER wasn't very busy.

The nurse handed Jenny a hospital gown and said, "Here, put this on. Somebody will be right with you." She left, pulling the curtain across the entrance.

About ten minutes later the curtain was pulled back and young woman doctor came in. She was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, and had straight black hair parted in the middle of her forehead that hung to her shoulders. Shane decided the woman was attractive enough, but it was simply the wrong hair style for her. She wore surgical scrubs under a white lab coat, and her name tag identified her as Dr. Miranda Foster. She wore a stethoscope across the back of her neck and over her shoulders and had a pocket protector in her lab coat breast pocket full of pens and things. "Jenny Schecter?" she asked, reading the name off the chart in her hands. "I'm Dr. Foster. What's the problem today?"

"I had an accident," Jenny said quietly.

"What kind of accident?"

Jenny pulled the bottom hem of her hospital gown up to expose her knees and thighs. Dr. Foster turned and pulled the curtain closed behind her to give them some privacy. She looked at the folded makeshift paper towel bandages held to Jenny's legs by masking tape, and looked at Carmen's and Shane's worried faces. She pulled a pair of surgical gloves from a dispenser mounted on the wall and put them on.

"Can I look under these?" She lifted a corner and saw the cuts. "I think I should take these off," Dr. Foster said. "Is that all right?" 

Jenny nodded. 

Working carefully, Dr. Foster pulled a pair of scissors from her lab coat pocket and began to carefully cut away the tape holding the paper towels in place. Blood had soaked through them in a couple of places. Dr. Foster turned and stuck her head out of the room. "Maggie, I need a bottle of saline, please," they heard her call.

"Coming," came a reply. A few seconds later a nurse brought in a plastic bottle of saline solution. 

"This may sting a little bit," Dr. Foster said, squirting some solution onto the paper towels, "but I don't want to pull these off and pull off a clot or a scab underneath."

"It's okay," Jenny said.

Dr. Foster worked carefully and methodically to remove the paper towels. "How long ago did this happen?" she asked.

Carmen glanced at a clock on the wall. "Maybe ... three hours."

Dr. Foster peeled away the paper towels from each leg and threw them in a medical waste container. She looked at the cuts, several of which had begun to bleed a little in spite of the care she'd taken. Dr. Foster had worked on cutters before. She knew without having to ask what it was she was looking at.

"I think I need some help," Jenny said. "I mean, more than the bandages."

Dr. Foster looked up, and looked in Jenny's eyes. Then she looked from Shane to Carmen and then back to Jenny. Shane and Carmen looked sad and unhappy and very worried, Dr. Foster realized.

"Well, your friends have brought you to the right place," she said. "We'll get you that help."

"Okay," Jenny said. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"I'm sorry to cause you all this trouble."

"It's what I'm here for," Dr. Foster said. "Let me ask you, has anything like this ever happened before?"

"No," Jenny said.

"Okay," Dr. Foster said. "Do you mind if I look at your arms?"

"Sure," Jenny said. She held her arms out and Dr. Foster took them and turned them this way and that, making sure there were no other cutter scars anywhere. 

"Okay, good, good," she said. She went to a cabinet and got out a supply of bandages, gauze, tape and antiseptic. She cleaned Jenny's thighs carefully and then applied the antiseptic, and began bandaging the cuts. She talked while she worked.

"Here's what's going to happen," she said. "When I'm done bandaging you up, I'm going to have another doctor come and talk to you, okay? I'm not sure who's on duty today, but it'll be somebody from the psychological evaluation team. I know a few of them; they're good people. They are going to come talk to you about what happened."

"That's good," Jenny said. "That's good."

"Yes. And I think what they'll do is they'll probably want to keep you here for a little while, a few days, for observation."

"Yes," Jenny said. "That's a psych evaluation, right?"

"Yes, that's right," Dr. Foster said. "So you know about them?"

"Yes. I've never had one. But I think I ought to. I think I need some help."

"Well, you'll get it here, I'm sure." Dr. Foster finished her work. "I'll be right back," she said, and went to make the call to the psych department. She came right back.

"Okay, somebody will be here soon."

"Thank you," Jenny said. "Do you specialize in the emergency room?"

"Um, yes and no," Dr. Foster said. "I'm a third-year, and I'm doing a rotation here in the ER. But my eventual specialty is going to be surgery, and especially transplants. I've applied for a fellowship to a hospital in Pittsburgh that does a lot of transplants. Hearts and kidneys and that kind of thing."

"I hope that all goes really well for you," Jenny said.

"Introduce me to your friends."

"This is Shane McCutcheon," Jenny said, gesturing toward Shane.

"Nice to meet you, Shane," Dr. Foster said. 

"Nice to meet you, too."

"I'm Carmen Morales," Carmen said.

"Hello. Nice to meet you," Dr. Foster said. "Thank you for bringing her in. We'll take good care of her."

Shane and Carmen sat with Jenny in the cubicle for half an hour, until a doctor named Stenowski came down from the psych ward to get Jenny. He was a short, round, tired-looking man in his early fifties. He wore glasses and had a kind face and a pleasant manner. 

When he arrived he brought a chair with him and pulled it into the cubicle, and pulled the curtain across. He shook hands with all three women and then sat down in his chair. "If you don't mind, I need to speak to Jenny alone for a few minutes."

"Could you guys come with me for a minute?" Dr. Foster asked Shane and Carmen. They walked down the corridor a short way.

"Do you guys know what happened to her? Why she cut herself like that?"

Carmen and Shane looked at each other.

"Kinda," Carmen said. "But it's been building for a long time. I feel terrible, because I think I should have seen it coming. She's had a rough two years, and there's a lot of stuff in her background that's been coming out. Bad stuff that happened to her in her childhood. And ... well, a couple of rocky relationships. A quick marriage and divorce, then an abusive relationship ... and then another relationship that didn't work out."

"I see. Well, can you guys stick around a little while and fill in any background Dr. Stenowski might need?"

Shane and Carmen looked at each other, then said, "Sure" simultaneously.

***

"So, Jenny," Dr. Stenowski said. "Been a pretty tough day, huh?"

That broke the ice. Jenny nodded, smiling shyly. "I think I need some help."

"Yes, that's what I understand. Well, tell you what. How about we go up to my area and talk about things, okay? And with your permission, I think we ought to admit you for a few days."

"Okay."

"I don't know if you know, but California law says we need to keep you for a minimum of seventy-two hours, under what they call a 5150 ruling. During that time, we do an evaluation, and then after 72 hours we talk about what to do next. Fairly often we offer the patient the opportunity to commit themselves voluntarily for additional, longer treatment, and I'll be frank with you, that's what I think we may do with you. I'm not sure we can resolve everything with you in just seventy-two hours."

"No, I don't think so either," Jenny said.

"Okay, good," Dr. Stenowski said. "Well, if you're ready, we'll take you upstairs. There will be some paperwork to fill out, and your friends can come, at least for the first few minutes, so we can get some contact information. Then they'll say goodbye. They won't be able to visit or see you for seventy-two hours, but after that we'll see what happens, 'kay?"

An hour later Shane and Carmen drove home feeling depressed and very, very sad.

***

Shane and Carmen each got a telephone call on the morning of the third day, asking them if they could come to a meeting at the hospital with Jenny and Dr. Stenowski. Shane had a call-out to a studio but thought she could get somebody to cover for her and said she'd be there. Carmen was running around like a madwoman trying to organize a rock band's CD cover photo shoot for a photographer who hadn't shown up yet, but said, yes, she'd be there at 3 p.m. What the hell, she thought to herself. If these people can't get their shit together and get their freaking picture taken in the next five hours, they can all go to hell, and I'm outta here.

Carmen swung by Shane and Jenny's house and picked up Shane, and at five minutes to three they were being admitted to the psych ward at the hospital, which had a medium-security locked-ward set-up. After showing their driver IDs they were eventually escorted to a small waiting area, where after only a minute or two Dr. Stenowski came and got them and escorted them to his office amid pro forma thanks for coming and apologies for the security hoo-hah. His office was much larger than they'd expected, in part because half of it was devoted to a circle of eight or ten chairs where group sessions were held. Overall the room was dark with minimal lightning. There were bookshelves all over the place, crammed with books and journals in a not very orderly manner; Dr. Stenowski appeared not to have many anal-retentive issues and wasn't a control freak. His desk was mildly messy, and he had both two comfortable chairs next to it as well as a couch, so he retained all his options on dealing with patients. He offered Shane and Carmen the couch and said he'd be back in just a sec with Jenny.

A minute later Jenny came running in and ran to Shane and Carmen, who stood and wrapped her in an embrace. Dr. Stenowski came in behind her, smiling broadly at them, and closed the door.

Jenny looked tired and her hair, while washed, wasn't combed very neatly. She wore a track suit Shane had brought during her admission.

"Oh, it's so good to see you!" Jenny said, holding them both. The three of them swayed gently for a few minutes and Dr. Stenowski let them go until they were ready.

Jenny was a little teary, and Dr. Stenowski smiled and handed her a box of tissues. She took one and dabbed her eyes, and sat in one of the chairs as though she'd been in it before. She folded her feet up beneath her, and grinned at Shane and Carmen.

"Okay, wow. That was nice," Dr. Stenowski said. "I think she misses you guys," he said. Everyone laughed. "So. Here we are. A lot has been happening over the past couple of days, and Jenny and I felt we should bring you up to date, because we're going to ask you for a little bit of help."

"Absolutely," Shane said immediately. "Anything she needs." Jenny beamed at her.

"We've been in touch with Jenny's mother and her stepfather," Dr. Stenowski said. "There's been a couple of conference calls, and so forth, and what it comes down to is this. Jenny's going to need some long-term institutionalized care, and she's agreed to commit herself voluntarily. She has very little money and no health insurance, and curiously enough the state of Illinois still thinks she's a resident of Illinois, because she's still registered to vote there and still has an Illinois driver's license and the state still thinks she still lives at her parents' house there. Her parents have a few connections and a friend of theirs from synagogue works in a sanitarium there, and made some calls and we can get Jenny admitted there early next week. So she's going to fly back to Chicago on Monday and go to Skokie and voluntarily admit herself for treatment."

Shane and Jenny looked a bit shocked when they realized what this meant.

"It's for the best, guys," she said. "I really need this."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 13



"I know," Shane said. "It's just ..."

"I know. I'll miss you guys, too. But it seems to be the only way. I've been, like, coming apart at the seams for a couple months now, maybe more, I dunno. But ... I understand now that I've been having a mental breakdown, and I need some time and some help putting myself back together. And as much as I really don't want to go back home, I'm going to have to do it."

"Sure, Jen, okay, anything you need. We understand," Carmen said. "What is it you need from us?"

Jenny glanced at Dr. Stenowski, who responded. "When Jenny flies back to Chicago, we'd all feel more comfortable if someone went with her. Jenny's mom is unable to fly out here and get her, and Jenny would just as soon not have her step-father come, whether he wants to or not, which apparently he's not exactly, um, enthusiastic about—"

"We don't get along," Jenny said, referring to her stepfather. "I've told you guys a little bit about Warren, and what a pain-in-the-ass he is."

"Yes. Well, at any rate, what Jenny and I wanted to ask you was if there was any possibility one or the other of you would be willing to escort her to Chicago?"

"What he's saying is they won't let me loose without a responsible adult to make sure I don't slit my wrists," Jenny said, making a joke of it.

Shane and Carmen looked at each other for a split second, then turned back to Jenny and Dr. Stenowski.

"Absolutely," Shane said again. "I'm there!"

"Road trip!" Carmen said,"Whoo-hoo!"

"You don't both have to go," Dr. Stenowski tried to put in, but Jenny jumped up and ran to the couch and hugged them both.

"Oh, I love you guys so much!"

"You couldn't keep us from not going," Shane said, struggling for air amid Jenny's strangle hold on both of them.

***

When they got to the airport, Carmen dropped off Shane and Jenny and their three suitcases at the departures area and went to park the car in long-term parking. "I'll see you guys inside in a few minutes," she said, as Shane and Jenny handed over their luggage to a porter.

They went inside the terminal and found an unoccupied bench as they waited for Carmen.

"Shane?" Jenny asked quietly.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I'm scared." 

"I know. But it'll be all right." Shane put her arm around her and pulled her in.

"I'm not scared because of me or what's going to happen when we get to Skokie. But I'm scared I'll never see you and Carmen and all the guys again. Alice and Tina and Bette. Dana. Kit. Little Angelica. She's so sweet."

"Sure you will," Shane said, although she had no reason to believe it.

Jenny sniffled and Shane rocked her gently.

"Shane?"

"Yes?"

"Remember the other night, when we were talking about all the bad stuff that happened to us when we were kids? There's something I never told you. I never told anybody out here."

"What's that, Jen?"

"When ... when I was ten, I was raped." She felt Shane stiffen. It was a minute before she resumed rocking Jenny.

"I'm so sorry, Jen," she said. She turned her head and kissed Jenny's hair. "I'm so sorry."

"There were four boys, in the woods, out behind my house. There was this rinky-dink traveling circus and carnival midway thing in a vacant lot on the other side of the woods. It wasn't really much of a forest or anything, really just a large patch of trees, like an unofficial park. There were trails, and all the kids walked through it all the time. All the houses on our street backed onto it, and nobody ever thought it was dangerous or anything. Down a few houses there were some Hasidic Jews, and they had built a sukkah, that's a kind of a Jewish gazebo or shelter they build for the Sukkoth holiday, on the edge of it, and lots of nights they were out there in the sukkah dancing and praying, like they do."

"Uh huh," Shane said. She remembered all of Jenny's drawings about demonic circus clowns, and the horrific imagery in some of Jenny's short stories. The parts about terror and degradation and humiliation. About torture, about pain. About isolation and helplessness and invasion.

"It was a Friday night, Shabbas, near the end of September. We had gotten back from synagogue, and I wanted to go to the circus with my friends, but I wasn't allowed because we had to go to synagogue because it was Shabbas and because of the holiday. But when we got back I snuck out to go to the circus where I was supposed to meet my friends. I was walking through the woods when these four boys jumped me. It ... it ..."

"Ssssssh, you don't have to tell me if it hurts too much."

"Okay. One reason it hurts is that it was kind of all my fault. I disobeyed my parents."

"Jen, when something like that happens, it's never your fault, even if you did something you shouldn't have that somehow led to it. Believe me, I'm an expert on this particular question."

"How so?"

"I never told you something. I was raped, too, when I was nineteen. Two guys kidnapped me. Well, three guys. It started out two and then they called this other asshole."

Jenny sniffled. "I sorta knew that. That's why I wanted to tell you what happened to me."

"How did you know?"

"I put it together, from a couple things Alice said. She didn't say too much, she just hinted about it. She knew you back then, apparently, and there was something about some man who saved you or rescued you in some way, and then he died, and there was a funeral, which is when Alice first met you. That's all I really knew, except that something really bad had happened to you. And like me, you never talk about it, so I never brought it up before. But sometimes when there's conversation about something, and the word 'rape' comes up you get this funny look on your face, in your eyes, and I knew it meant something to you that was personal, not, you know, academic or whatever."

"Yeah, that's about it, I guess," Shane said.

"See, what I wanted to say is ... I have this friendship with you, you're my best friend, but it's always been more than that. You're like my big sister, too, but even more. You were the first person who really befriended me, and all through all that shit that happened with Tim and Marina and all, you were never judgmental. You always accepted me just the way I am, warts and all. It's like you and I ... we have this special bond, because of what happened to us. We're both ... a little broken ... I guess is the way to put it. Only I'm a little more broken than you. Or maybe you were this broken, too, once, when you were nineteen."

Shane rocked her and kissed her hair again. "Yeah, I was," she said. "I was pretty fucked up."

"But you got better."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"And you had help."

"Yes. A lot of it. I didn't realize quite how much at the time, but I realize it now."

"I never got help," Jenny said. "Nobody did anything, back then. Nobody helped me."

"This time it's different. We're gonna get you taken care of, okay? This time it's gonna be better. It'll be hard, but you'll get through it. And this time you got all of us, to help. Me and Carm, Tina, Bette, Kit. Alice and Dana and Helena."

"Except I'll be in Illinois and you all will be out here."

"We'll write, e-mail you. We'll come see you, come visit you and make sure everything's going okay, all right? That's a promise. And whenever you get out of the hospital or whatever, you can come back out here. We'll be your motivation to come back. I'll always have a place for you, okay? You'll always have a place to stay with me, no matter what, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay," Shane affirmed. "You and me, kid. It'll always be you and me."

"Good. That's good," Jenny nodded. "I hope everything works out with you and Carmen. She really loves you. She always loved you, right from the first. Everybody knew it, except you and her. You two were the only ones didn't know."

"Guess we were pretty dumb, then, huh?" Shane said, laughing.

Jenny started to laugh, too. "Yeah, pretty dumb. Pretty dumb. God, she's so beautiful, though."

"Yes, she is."

"Sometimes she takes my breath away. And she's so fun. And God, can she fuck. She taught me so many things. You have to promise me, you have to swear, that you'll take care of her and keep her, make her happy. Don't fuck it up with her. I mean it, Shane."

"Okay," Shane said.

"I mean it. Say it. Say 'I promise. I promise not to be an asshole and fuck it up with Carmen."

Shane laughed. "Okay, I promise."

"Say the rest of it."

"Oh, Christ. Okay. I promise not to be an asshole and fuck it up with Carmen. Happy now?"

"Very. Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Are you going to keep the house? You need a new roommate."

"I've been thinking about what to do. I haven't decided. I'm so going to miss you."

"You need to ask Carmen to move in with you."

"You think so?"

"Fuck, Shane!" Jenny said. "Yes! Jesus. Didn't we just have this talk two seconds ago? Didn't you just promise --"

"Yeah, yeah. I was just ... you know, I have to think things out."

Jenny shook her head in exasperation. "Shane. Ask her."

"But ..."

"Shane, just do it. That's all I've got to say. Just fucking ask her."

"Okay."

They didn't say anything more until Carmen came into the terminal and found them, and they all went to check in at the ticket counter. They both grinned at her, and Carmen knew something had been said. She thought about asking what's going on, but something told her to just let it go.

***

Jenny's mother, Sandy Ziskin, met them at O'Hare. She was waiting for them patiently on the outside of the security zone at the end of the concourse. Carmen's first impression of her was of a woman who, though still attractive -- had once been very good-looking but who was now ... Carmen searched for the words ... worn down. Careworn, maybe. He dark hair was streaked with gray and was pulled back in a careless ponytail. She wore comfortable clothes that looked like they were headed to or just come from the second-hand store, and she had a sweater draped over her shoulders. Shane could see that Jenny had acquired her mother's looks, but she, too, thought there was just something about Sandy that she couldn't quite explain. At some deeper level Shane couldn't put her finger on, she felt sorry for Sandy, somehow. 

When Jenny saw her they hurried together and hugged, while Carmen and Shane stood to the side, smiling and getting out of the way of the general stream of passengers. Curiously, Jenny and her mother never exchanged a single word until they finally broke apart and Jenny said, "Mom, these are my friends Shane McCutcheon and Carmen Morales. Shane's my housemate, I've told you about her. And Carmen is my friend, too. These are my two best friends."

Sandy shook both their hands and seemed friendly enough, if a bit ... distant. Perhaps she felt embarrassed because of the circumstances of Jenny committing herself to a mental hospital, Carmen thought. But somehow Carmen and Shane both knew right from the first moment that Jenny and her mother had one of those relationships where neither one spoke much to the other. Carmen even wondered to herself for a moment whether they even liked each other, or merely tolerated each other. Carmen understood mothers and mother love very well, and Shane, having had almost no experience with one, and none in the past 18 years, understood it hardly at all. But each in her own way, and coming from opposite ends of the spectrum, recognized that this was not a very good, warm relationship.

They walked slowly to the baggage claim area, and waited mostly in silence for the bags to arrive. Jenny had stayed in the hospital in the psych unit until Shane and Carmen had come to pick her up this morning. In the meantime they had gathered together all of Jenny's luggage plus two suitcases of their own, and packed into them as much of Jenny's possessions as they could, because no one knew how long Jenny would be gone, or indeed if she was ever coming back. The plan was they would drop off all the luggage at Jenny's mom's house in Skokie, unwind and freshen up a bit and wait until Jenny's stepfather, Warren, got home from work. Then they would all go out to dinner somewhere, and then take Jenny to the sanitarium, where she had to check in by 8 p.m. Carmen and Shane would spend the night staying in Jenny's old room at the Ziskins, and then fly back to LA in the morning.

Dinner didn't improve anyone's mood. They went to a Bonefish Grill on Skokie Boulevard at Gross Point Road, which turned out to be not far from the psychiatric hospital Jenny was going to. Warren Ziskin was a tall, graying man and even more distant than his wife had been. His relationship to Jenny was entirely formal, and neither Shane nor Carmen could detect any trace of affection between them; at best, they seemed to tolerate each other, with Jenny's mother caught between them. It was Sandy who tried her best to make the meal seem as tolerable as possible under the circumstances.

"So, as I understand it, Shane, you're a hairdresser for lot of movie studios, and you do movie stars, is that right? And Carmen, you work backstage, Jenny says. That's so exciting! You guys must see celebrities and movie actors all the time!"

Carmen and Shane looked at each other quickly to see whose job it was to respond first. Carmen knew it would take Shane three minutes to frame an answer, so she jumped in. More than anyone at the table she felt sympathy for Sandy and her predicament, and wanted to help Sandy make the evening as pleasant as possible under the circumstances.

"Yes, I'm a production assistant," she said, "and I also do a lot of DJing on nights and weekends. I do get to see some celebrities from time to time, but mostly with the kind of work I do I mostly deal with producers and directors and set designers and stuff, the sound techs and the lighting people and all -- all those backstage craft people whose names you see in the credits. And a lot of what I do has to do with talk shows and the Sunday political talking heads shows, like Arianna Huffington, and so on. With the actual actors and stuff, mainly I just say, 'Here's your latte, Governor Schwartzenegger,' or 'Two minutes, Senator Boxer.' But I can put in a 10-hour day and never run into a single celebrity. I've worked jobs for a week on a set before a single famous person ever showed up to film a shot. It's a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff. Shane, at least, gets to actually work on celebrities' hair styles, and talk to them."

"That must be fascinating, Shane!"

"Well, it sounds a lot more glamorous than it is. Even when it's somebody famous, it's just some woman in a housecoat who's in a grumpy mood. She comes in, sits down in the chair, and somebody else comes in and tells me what kind of hairdo she's supposed to have. So I do her hair while she sits and reads a magazine, or goes to sleep, or yaks on the phone. You know, it's not like Natalie Portman and I sit there and have long conversations or anything. And, anyway, I'm sure Carmen will agree with me, half the people we deal with are crazies and maniacs."

"You've heard of Veronica Bloom? The bigshot movie producer? Shane worked for Veronica for a couple weeks. Total, complete, raving lunatic," Carmen said. Shane grinned and rolled her eyes. "And Jenny was working with a big star for a little while. Jenny, did you tell your folks about that?"

"Jenny! You never said! Who were you working for?"

"Oh, mom, it was nothing, it didn't work out. I was taking a writing class, and my teacher got me this audition to be a ghostwriter for Bull Connor."

"Bull Connor? The cowboy? Oh, my god! Really? That's terrific!"

"Yeah, but it didn't work out. I met him, and all, and we had a couple meetings, but it wasn't a good fit. And I don't want to spend my life ghostwriting some bullshit about some phony head case actor."

"He's a head case?" Warren asked, coming out of his silence. "How so?"

The very last thing Jenny wanted to do was discuss Bull Connor's sexuality and his not coming out of the closet, much less her being fired for being a lesbian. "Oh, you know, the usual Hollywood stuff. Massive ego, full of himself. Hitting on all the women. I mean, who needs that?"

The food came and they ate for a while in silence.

"Do you hear from Tim?" Sandy asked, knowing she was on thin ice.

Shane and Carmen studiously ate their dinners. They had no idea how much Jenny had told her folks. They seemed to know about Tim Haspel, and they seemed to know Jenny had broken up with him. They didn't know if Jenny had told them she'd been married to him, briefly, and was waiting for the final divorce papers to come through. Did they know Jenny was a lesbian? Did they know about the affair with Marina? Did they know Shane and Carmen were also lesbians? Did they know Carmen had been Jenny's lover?

Carmen wondered if Jenny's folks had some idea about them all being lesbians, and perhaps that accounted for the great discomfort Sandy and Warren seemed to have. Maybe it was simply the mental health thing, the stigma that attaches to having someone close to having to go into a psychiatric hospital. Presumably they knew the precipitating event had been Jenny's cutting episode. They'd talked with Dr. Stenoski, surely. Did they know that in the larger picture Jenny was suffering a nervous breakdown?

As she ate, Carmen began developing a fantasy of looking Warren Ziskin right in the eye as he ate his calamari and telling him, by the way, for the past few months I've been munching your step-daughter's carpet, but now I'm doing the other one here, the boy/girl one. In her head she started making a list: All the Things We Can't Talk About Around the Dinner Table.

Jenny's mental health Politics Religion Current events Jenny's failed marriage Jennie's friendships with and membership in a pod of West Hollywood lesbians Jenny's writing Jenny's childhood Jenny's sexual orientation Jenny's brief stint earning her rent money by stripping in a biker titty bar Shane's family/childhood/relationships Carmen's relationship with Shane

"No, mom, I haven't heard from Tim in a while," Jenny said.

Carmen had a brainstorm.

"Mr. and Mrs. Ziskin, do you guys follow professional tennis? Because there's one celebrity Jenny and Shane and I all know pretty well you may have heard of. It's Dana Fairbanks, the tennis player? She hangs out with this whole bunch of friends. She's ranked number, I think, what? -- thirteenth? -- in the world--" She turned to Shane.

"Number 11, last I saw about two weeks ago," Shane said.

"Right. Number eleven. She's been coming up fast, and we all think she's going right to the top soon," Carmen said.

"Really? Jen, you never mentioned her," Sandy said.

Jenny shrugged. "Well, I guess in a way we don't think of her as a celebrity, exactly, she's just one of our friends."

Warren spooned coleslaw into his mouth. "Never heard of her," he said. "But then, I don't follow tennis."

"Warren's a football fan," Jenny told Shane and Carmen.

"Cool," Carmen said. Of the three, Carmen knew the most about football by far -- she knew the name of the Chicago team was the Bears, she knew who Mike Ditka was, and Gayle Sayers because she was a movie buff and loved "Brian's Song" with James Caan. And to herself she thought they'd finally stumbled across something Warren and Shane probably had in common: Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders they'd both like to fuck. 

"You follow football?" Warren asked.

Shane shook their head no. Carmen nodded her head yes, but Warren missed it.

"Baseball?"

No.

"Hockey?"

No.

"NASCAR?"

"What's NASCAR?" Shane asked Carmen.

"Cars, auto racing," Warren said.

"Oh, right, right," Shane said, trying hard to be helpful. "No, we don't follow auto racing much."

"What are you interested in?" Warren asked, trying but failing to keep an attitude out of his voice.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 13



"Music," Carmen answered right away. "We go to a lot of clubs and concerts. And of course, I'm a DJ, so I stay current on everything in the music field. Shane does, too, right, Shane?"

Shane nodded.

"Carmen's really wonderful," Jenny put in, thinking maybe they'd found something to talk about. "You should see her up there on the stage when she's spinning. She's just fabulous. And you know what? She does bar mitzvahs and bas mitzvahs, and a ton of Jewish weddings and stuff. And she does a lot of senior citizens centers when they have dances and all."

Carmen bobbed her, happily. "Yes, I do. I think I've DJ'ed, oh, gotta be twenty-five, thirty bar and bas mitzvahs. They're really popular out in LA And I don't know how many Jewish weddings. I could probably make a comfortable living doing nothing but Jewish weddings out there."

"She could," Jenny said. "And with her complexion, she could pass easily for Middle Eastern. She could be Italian, she could be Sephardic, she could be a kibbutznik, she could be a Persian princess, anything, you name it, Carmen could be whatever the customer wants or fantasizes." 

"What is your heritage, dear?" Sandy asked.

"American," Carmen answered. "Born and bred. No Green Card or anything."

"No, I didn't mean that," Sandy said, coloring slightly. "I meant ... you're Hispanic, is that right? Your name is Morales. Isn't that Hispanic?"

Oh, shit, Shane thought. Please, Carmen, please keep it cool, she prayed.

But Carmen behaved herself. "Yes," she said. "My parents were Mexican. My mom is from Vera Cruz, and my father was a Maya from the Yucatan."

"A Mayan? How very interesting!"

"Uh, huh," Carmen said. "He was a Maya medicine man, he studied a lot about the Mayan culture and history and folklore, and he studied a lot about Mayan medicine and pharmacology, which is a very large and extensive field."

No, no, no, no, Shane and Jenny both prayed silently but simultaneously, please God don't let Carmen stand up and show them her tattoo, even though both of them had licked and kissed every last inch of it, flower box and all. Especially the flower box. Please don't tell them you have a tattoo of a rue on you woo-woo.

"And what about you, Shane? Where did you grow up?"

Now it was Carmen and Jenny's turn to cross their fingers.

"I was born and raised around Austin, Texas," Shane said. "And then, you know, I came out to LA Nothing special. Went to hairdressing school. That's about it."

"Well," Sandy said,"and I know I speak for Warren about this, too, but we're certainly glad Jenny has two such fine and devoted friends as you two."

As Sandy spoke Carmen had one of those moments of pure intuition: She knew that Sandy and Warren Ziskin had no clue about anything concerning their daughter's life. The last time they knew, Jenny had been a heterosexual involved with Tim Haspel, and had broken up with him. Everything after that was a total blank to them. Didn't know their daughter was a lesbian, didn't know she'd had an affair with Carmen, had no suspicion that Carmen and Shane were also lesbians, and lovers. As far as Sandy and Warren knew, Shane and Carmen were just a couple of gal pals, nothing more. 

How could they not know? Easy, Carmen thought. Just like my mom doesn't know. Moms don't know, and they don't want to know. I've been a practicing lesbian for seven years AND living at home most of that time, and my mom still doesn't know. If they have suspicions, ideas, they simply choose to not know. It's all about denial.

After dinner they drove Jenny to the psychiatric hospital. Warren dropped them at the entrance, and then drove off to find a parking spot. Jenny had with her a small travel bag with the few possessions the hospital said she could bring. Nothing sharp, of course; and no belts, nothing with shoe laces. In the lobby there was a woman sitting at the reception desk who had been expecting them. They waited until Warren arrived, making small talk so small it was almost invisible. Finally Jenny stood up from the couch where she'd been sitting between Shane and Carmen.

"Okay, guys, I guess this is it," she said. Carmen and Shane stood, too, and Jenny went and hugged Carmen. "I love you guys so much," she said. She turned and hugged Shane. "The bestest, bestest roommate I ever had," she said. She was sniffling, tears running down her cheeks; Shane and Carmen were weepy, too. Warren stood uncomfortably watching, and Sandy had tears in her eyes. Finally Jenny broke the embrace and went to hug her mom. 

"I love you, dear," Sandy said.

"I love you too, mom," Jenny said.

"I'll come in a few days, after you get situated, and bring you whatever else you need."

"'Kay, thanks, mom," Jenny said.

She went over to Warren and gave him the least affectionate hug Shane and Carmen had ever seen one human give another, a completely pro forma social requirement. "Bye, Warren," she said.

"Good luck, kid," Warren said.

Jenny sniffled, and turned to the receptionist. "I'm ready now," she said. The receptionist smiled, turned and unlocked a door at the end of the room. She held it open as Jenny walked to it with her bag. She turned in the door and gave everyone a little wave. "Bye," she whispered, so quietly no one could actually hear the sound.

Shane and Carmen thought it was the most heartbreaking thing they'd ever experienced in their lives.

Back at the Ziskin house Sandy did her best to try to make Shane and Carmen feel at home, but of course it was an impossible task. It was still early, and they all sat in the TV room, not talking and watching an episode of Law and Order. When it was over Sandy stood and said, "Well, I think I'm going to bed. Is there anything you girls need? No? Well, I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

"I think I'm going to turn in myself," Carmen said. "Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Ziskin."

"Yeah, me too," Shane said. "G'night." 

They all went down the hall, leaving Warren in the TV room. Sandy turned right and went into her bedroom and Shane and Carmen went down the hall further and turned into Jenny's old room, which Sandy had showed them to earlier. Shane closed the door behind them, and laid down on the bed, and sighed.

"God," she said. 

Carmen went around to her side of the bed and laid down next to Shane. "I know. I don't know which that was, the saddest thing I've ever seen, or the strangest." She pitched her voice low, almost to a whisper, because they didn't want the Ziskins to hear them, and had no idea how good the soundproofing was. "I hope they can help her. At the hospital, I mean." 

They were so depressed they got undressed and went to bed exactly like what the Ziskins believed they were: just two friends of their daughter. Their goodnight kiss was perfunctory, and they made no attempt at lovemaking. The closest they came was when Carmen turned on her side and backed her butt into Shane's hip, and Shane spooned her with her arm draped over her hip. But sleep didn't come easily, not in a strange bed, in someone else's house, in a city they'd never been to before, in a home where there had been so little love, and so much hidden and unspoken.

In the morning Warren went to work before they got up, and Sandy, in a housecoat and fuzzy slippers, made them coffee and gave them orange juice and Cheerios for breakfast. After they'd eaten, Shane and Carmen had gone to their room to pack their few overnight things. Shane went to the window, parted the curtains, and looked out. The window overlooked the back yard, and beyond that a bunch of trees, not a forest, by any means, but still -- some sort of undergrowth, isolated, with paths. It was just large enough that something could happen back there, something bad, and that a young girl walking alone at night might experience a life-altering horror back there, and no one would know, or hear her muffled screams.

"You girls ready?" Sandy asked, coming to the doorway. They loaded their two large but nearly empty suitcases into the trunk of Sandy's car, having left most of the contents at Jenny's house and stacked into her bedroom closet and dresser drawers. They drove down the long block, turned left, and drove down another block. At the far end there was a large tract of land, and upon it the city had built an elementary school. It didn't look "brand new," to Shane, but neither did it look too old.

"When did they build this school?" Shane asked Sandy.

"The school? Oh, six or seven years ago, I guess. Jenny didn't go there, if that's what you mean. Her old elementary school is eight or ten blocks the other direction. No, that lot was just a big empty field when Jenny was growing up. Sometimes the circus would come to town and set up there. It was more like a carnival and midway. Not very classy, you know? Not like Barnum and Bailey and Ringling Brothers."

Shane stared out the window at the school, and the forest behind it. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she shivered.

"What's the matter?" Carmen asked.

Shane just shook her head.

***

Carmen had the window seat, and when they were airborne she slipped her hand under Shane's arm and laid her head down on Shane's shoulder disconsolately. 

"Do you think we had anything to do with it?" Carmen asked quietly. It had been on her mind since the moment they'd found Jenny in the bathroom having her meltdown.

"What do you mean?"

"Us. Or even just me. Whether my having an affair with Jenny, and then her knowing it was you that I loved and wanted ... did that contribute to her breakdown? Was it Mark and those damned cameras and all the taping, the invasion of our privacy? The betrayal? Was it her loosing that ghostwriting job with Bull Connor, or that whole sick thing with Marina and Francesca, or the breakup with Tim ... any of it, all of it."

"No," Shane said at last. "No, we didn't do it. None of those things helped her, but they didn't cause it. Jenny had her demons, that's all. She brought them with her when she came to California."

"I remember you and I once talked about how strange she was, and you said she was a writer, and writers are supposed to be that way."

"Well, I meant, they live inside their heads. Jenny always did, anyway. Why, do you think it was something we did? Do you feel guilty about something?"

"Yes and no. No, I don't think we caused her breakdown. I just have this overwhelming feeling that somehow we should have seen it coming," Carmen said. "There were just so many warning signs and the things she did, especially right at the end, deliberately subjecting herself to that humiliation and self-loathing when she stripped at that horrible club. Knowing about Mark's taping us and keeping it a secret for over a week, while we were on vacation. Her pushing you and me together the way she did. And we read all her stories, all those demonic images and ideas. We should have known. Maybe, at some level, we did know, and did nothing about it to help her."

"What, do you think you have some super powers or something? That you could have saved her?"

Yes, Carmen thought to herself. I do have super powers. I have Ixchel. I am the daughter of a Maya medicine man. I am a healer. But I wasn't focused on healing Jenny, I was focused on healing you.

"We knew something was wrong. I mean, deeply wrong. And we didn't do anything."

"What could we have done? What would you have done any differently?"

"I don't know."

"Me, neither," Carmen said. "But suppose one of us had said, 'Jen, we think you need to see a shrink. We're worried that you are deeply weird and sick inside.' Is that what you think we should have told her?"

"No."

"And if we had, what then? She had very little money. She could barely cover the rent. She was stripping in a titty bar to pay for her food and shelter. How was she gonna pay a hundred bucks an hour a couple of times a week for some kind of therapy?"

"I know."

"And after what we've seen of her family in the last twenty-four hours, do you think if we'd suggested she move back home to get some help from her folks ... do you think that would have been a good idea? Would she have listened?" Carmen asked.

"No, and no."

"Well, then."

"Look, I love Jen as much as anyone, as a friend, and she's been my roommate longer than anyone else has ever been. I'd do anything in the world for her, if it was in my power."

"I know you would."

"There's something you don't know about. Remember at the airport when you went to park your car and Jen and I went inside, and when you found us we had been talking about something?"

"Yes. I could tell you'd been deep into something. But when I got there you stopped, and I decided to leave it alone."

"Well, what we were talking about was something that had happened to Jenny when she was little."

"Oh, you mean when she was raped?"

"You knew? How did you know? She told me she'd never told anyone out here about it."

I knew because Ixchel had told me, that we had talked about it. But Ixchel wasn't focused on Jenny any more than I was. She wasn't Jenny's protector, she was mine, and like me Ixchel was focused on you. 

But Carmen couldn't say any of that to Shane.

"I pretty much guessed," she said, which in any case was also true. "I got the idea from all those horrible clown images and the dancing Hasidic men, and the carnival stuff, all those grotesques. You could tell something had happened to her, and she was working it all out in her stories. So what did she say?

"When she was nine or ten, there was this carnival that came to town."

"The one Sandy mentioned?"

"Yes. That's the carnival Jenny was always writing about. It used to be where that school is now. One night when Jenny was walking through those woods behind the school, some boys jumped her and raped her."

"Oh, shit," was all Carmen could say. 

"Yeah, oh, shit is right. Anyway, the way Jenny told it to me, nobody did anything about it. She never got any counseling or therapy or anything. No police investigation, the guys were never identified or caught. I guess her parents knew about it, but you see how they are, and how they treat her. I don't think they were any help. Everything was buried and ignored, like it never happened. At any rate, I think that was probably how a lot of Jenny's problems got started." 

"I just wish ... " Carmen started, then let it trail off.

"Just wish what?"

"I don't know. I just wish she had said something. I wish she had been able to talk about it to me."

Shane shrugged, put her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes. "Some things are just really hard to talk about," she said.

***

They were quiet on the rest of the plane ride back to LA, each of them thinking about Jenny and wondering what would become of her. Months and months of therapy, that much seemed certain, maybe even years, it was hard to tell about these sorts of things. Neither said much more about Jenny's parents, especially her mother, because nothing much seemed to be needed to say. They both understood right from the moment of first meeting all they needed to know about Jenny's upbringing, and the environment she'd come from. In many ways, her winding up in LA indicated Jenny had traveled just as far not in distance but in space and time and psychology as both Shane and Carmen had done. Like them, it was now apparent Jenny had traveled a long and hard road, and the road had been bumpier than anyone knew.

Because of the time difference between Chicago and LA, it was only 11 a.m. when they walked down the corridor from the plane to the terminal at LAX, pulling their carry-on luggage behind them. They were tired and depressed. As they walked past a restaurant with a bar, Shane reached her hand to Carmen's arm and said, "C'mon, this way. I need a beer."

"It's a little early for me," Carmen said.

"I know. But I want to talk to you about something."

So they went into the restaurant, sat at the bar, and ordered two Dos Equis. 

Carmen sat quietly and patiently until the beers came, letting Shane work on it, whatever it was. The beers came, and they each took a swallow. Looking down at her hands wrapped around the beer bottle, Shane said, "I've been thinking."

"I know," Carmen said quietly.

"Huh? What? Er, how do you know?"

Carmen smiled. "How do I know you've been thinking? You've been thinking about whatever this is you want to say for four days now."

"Well, I guess I'm just slow," Shane said.

"You're not slow. You're just ... thorough."

That rocked Shane a little bit. "Who told you that?"

"Alice. She told me that's how you are, that people who don't know you well think you're slow, but she says that's not true. She says you're extremely thorough in how you think things out, and that you take in and process more information than all the rest of us, so it just takes you longer."

"Fucking Alice," Shane muttered.

"Don't be mad at her. She was doing me a favor ... and you, too, for that matter, explaining to me how your mind works. She said you'd once seen a therapist of some sort, who figured out how your brain works. Alice thought it would help us both and that I needed to know."

"She said too much."

"No, she didn't. Shane, don't be mad at her. What she said was important for me to know. And Alice realized she had gone to the limit of what she could say, because I was curious and asked what had happened to you that you'd seen a therapist, and Alice said she had already said enough, and that maybe some day you might tell me about it, but that it wasn't her place to do so. And then she said that the really important thing to understand about you is that you were really, really thorough in how you worked things out in your head, and that it took a lot of time. She said it would be a bad mistake to think it was because you were stupid or something, or indifferent, or didn't care. She said you required lots of time and lots of patience, that's all, but you were worth every moment of it."

Like now, for instance. Shane took another swallow from her beer and processed everything, ignoring the roaring noise in her head. Carmen sat quietly, and after a minute said. "I'm sorry I broke your train of thought. What is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I ... I've never done this before," Shane said. "I'm not ... "

"It's okay, Shane," Carmen said. "Just let it come out, any way you want. I'll put the pieces together. I'm not going anywhere, and we've both got all day."

Shane nodded. "I need a roommate," she said, "now that Jenny won't be back. And I don't want to put an ad on the Internet or anything. I don't want to go through that whole interview thing. And I don't want to move."

Carmen waited.

"So I was thinking ... would you want to move in? You know, you could have Jen--"

"Yes. Okay. I will."

"-ny's room ... Huh?"

"Yes. I accept your offer. I want to move in. I'd love to move in. I've been waiting for four days for you to ask me." 

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because it needed to be your idea. It's your house now, and it needed to be you who invited me, not me forcing myself on you, or it seemed like I was a U-Haul lesbian who couldn't wait to set up housekeeping with you. So it needed to be you who made the suggestion, because you wanted it, and not because I suggested it and you didn't want to hurt my feelings by saying no or saying you wanted to think about it."

"So you knew I would ask you? You knew four days ago?"

"No. I didn't know, not even close. But yes, I wanted to, four days ago. And even before that. What you can say is that four days ago I hoped you'd ask me to."

"I see."

"Because there's this other thing."

"What other thing?"

"This other thing that you said the other night, that you love me. And then there's this thing, that I love you. I have loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you, and have loved you every day ever since. That other thing." Carmen raised her beer to her lips and tilted her head back slightly, swallowing but still looking at Shane over the bottle.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 13



"I do love you," Shane whispered.

"I know."

"I've never said that to anyone before."

"I know that, too. And I know it's hard for you to say, really hard. And I appreciate it, more than you can ever know. But I know, too, how confusing all this is. You've never been in love, and you're struggling to learn how. And as many roommates as you've had over the years, and the places you've lived, you never lived with a person you loved, and you don't know how to do that, either. But that puts you and me in the same boat. I've mostly always lived at home. I've never lived with a lover, so I'll be learning how to do it, just like you. Shane, if we live together, it's not going to be just as roommates, or housemates. We'll have to learn how to live with each other as a couple, as two lovers." She paused. "If that's what it is you want."

Shane looked out the big window, watching a jetliner taxi up to the concourse.

"The shrink once told me to make a list of pro's and con's, so that's one of the things I've been doing, in my head. A list of the good reasons for you moving in, and a list of the bad reasons."

"You aren't normally a list-maker."

"I know."

"I am."

"I know."

"List-making drives you crazy."

"I know." They laughed.

"Okay, so tell me what all the bad reasons were."

"Well, that's part of the problem. I tried and tried, and I could only come up with one bad reason. I thought maybe there should be more, but there weren't. So I thought maybe I was missing something, or doing something wrong."

"Stop beating around the bush, and just tell me."

"It wasn't about you, it was about me."

"Shane, I'm going to hit you with this beer bottle."

"The bad reason was ... I'm scared."

"Scared?"

Shane swiveled a 360-degree turn on her barstool. Carmen let her work on it.

"I'm scared to death. I'm scared it won't work out. I'm scared I'll say or do something stupid. I'm scared I'll hurt you. I'm scared ... to tell you things about me. About my life. I'm scared about love. I worry ... sometimes I think love will kill me if I fall in love with somebody."

"You think that if I find out who the real Shane McCutcheon is, I won't love her anymore? That I'll stop loving her?"

Shane shrugged.

"You're worried I'll find out that deep down you're some bad, unworthy person who is undeserving of my love?"

"Something like that, I guess."

Carmen took a sip of her beer."Okay, I get that. And I have an answer. Here it is: Why not let me worry about how worthy or unworthy you are. How about letting me be the judge, instead of you deciding it for me?"

Shane looked out the window.

"Does that seem fair? Letting me decide?"

Shane looked down, then nodded.

"Because, hey, maybe you are some worthless horndog, piece-of-shit, cowardly, good-for-nothing, rat-fucking, lying, cheating, two-faced, mean, horrible, screaming, puppy-kicking, baby-strangling--" Carmen said, smiling until Shane blanched and looked up, and started laughing, too.

"Jeez, Carmen, okay, I get it."

"--but even if you are all those things, which by the way you're not," Carmen continued, leaning her forehead against Shane's, "but even if you were unworthy, it's still my decision whether I want to love you anyway. The only part you get to decide is if you love me. Whether I love you is basically out of your hands. Right? We on the same page about that?"

"Okay," Shane said.

"Because while we're discussing your many shortcomings, let's add in that you are a truly good-hearted person, you are wonderfully loyal to your friends, whom you love unreservedly, like you love Jenny and Alice and Kit and Bette and Tina and Dana and Helena, and you would do anything in the world for them, and you know that. And you like babies and puppies and kittens, and you are a world-class kisser, and you fuck wonderfully, and you are fun and easy to be around, and you aren't some neurotic crazy bitch, you aren't a nag, you aren't violent, you aren't a drug addict, you aren't an alcoholic, you don't rob banks and liquor stores, you're a good, careful driver, I love your clothes and your fashion sense, and your hair and your mouth and your tits, and sometimes just looking at you, you make my pussy wet, and you don't have any obnoxious relatives and you shower regularly and brush your teeth and don't eat crackers in bed and I've never heard you fart in public. Okay? So let's let the question of your fitness to be the love of my life be up to me. Okay? And anyway, whether you like it or not, that question has already been decided, and there's nothing I can do about it. Or you either."

Shane had her eyes closed. "God, I so don't deserve you," she whispered.

"I know you don't," Carmen said, smiling, "but you got me anyway. Sometimes you catch a break, and Ixchel smiles down upon you."

"Who is Ixchel?"

"Never mind. It's not on the mid-term. Let's get out of here before I owe another day on the parking fee. I want to take you home and get out of these sticky clothes and take a shower. And since I've already fucked you in the shower and in your room, I want to fuck you in the kitchen, and in the living room, and on the dining room table, and in Jenny's old room, and in the attic and in the basement, in the studio out back, and who knows, maybe on the back porch and in Bette and Tina's pool."

"The house doesn't have a basement," Shane said.

"It doesn't?"

"No."

"Well, fuck. Then I guess the deal's off."

"Like hell," Shane said.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 14



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 14: The Traveling Wilburys

When Carmen dropped Shane off at her house, Shane asked, "Do you want to come in for a while?"

"Thanks but no thanks. I think I just want to go home and take a shower and talk to my mom. I have to tell her I'm moving out and moving in with you."

"Will that be a problem?"

"No, I don't think so. My mom's pretty cool. But we'll see."

It was much easier than Carmen had expected.

"Hey, honey, how was your trip?" her mom, Mercedes, asked when Carmen came into the kitchen in her big fluffy terrycloth robe after her shower. Mercedes was at the sink preparing dinner. She was a large, affable woman, having the capacity for infinite love and infinite solicitude -- and implacable anger and fierceness in defense of her family, most especially her beloved children. She was not a person to cross, but if she loved you, she loved you forever. These were traits among many others she shared with her daughter, including the capacity for hard work, single-mindedness, a big heart, compassion, and a sense of fun. 

Carmen loved her mother and had always gotten along well with her, even during the notoriously difficult teen years, which in Carmen's case weren't difficult at all. It helped that Carmen had been an angelic child, an "A" student, pleasant, cooperative, fun, hard-working, affectionate. It also helped a great deal that from about the age of 12 onward, there was one aspect of Carmen's life that she kept secret from her mother. This meant she spent her teen years largely free of boys, which was also a major factor in her peaceful adolescence. Perhaps it was because she was intelligent and perceptive that Carmen somehow understood that her own sexuality and sexual orientation were not something she wished to discuss with her mother. What would be the point: It was hardly negotiable. She understood intuitively that she was "different" from the other girls, but she also sensed this wasn't something she could discuss with Mercedes. In any event, Mercedes' views on homosexuality were well known, as was Mercedes' opinion that the proper role for a woman in life was to get married to a man -- a nice man, if possible -- and have children and grandchildren. 

Either that, or become a nun -- that was okay, too. Mercedes didn't like whores and hookers, sluts, girls who were "easy," girls who went from man to man to man, women who cheated on their husbands, women who ran off with married men, women who used curse words in public, women who showed off too much skin and too much cleavage, women who used curse words in private, and of course lesbians, most especially those dykey ones with the short hair, the unshaved arms and legs, and the flannel shirts and boots. And yes, living in Los Angeles and near Hollywood, Mercedes recognized that she lived in the middle of thousands and thousands of such unacceptable women, as she saw it. At least in the barrio, in the Hispanic and Latino culture, there weren't too many of the bad kind, except for the ones who went out with the boys from the gangs. Mercedes didn't worry too much about Carmen, but she had once worried about Carmen being influenced by her best friend, Lucia Torres, who lived across the street. Mercedes liked Lucia well enough when she was little, perhaps on behalf of Carmen and especially before puberty, but the fact was, Lucia was a little wild, so they said. Mercedes knew she was dating a boy from one of the gangs named Pablo Fuentes. When people said Lucia was "dating" Pablo, everyone knew that meant something else. After Lucia ran away, Carmen spent a lot of time at the church, and that was a good thing; she was almost certainly praying for her friend, and maybe she had even been thinking about becoming a nun. Mercedes had always said out loud that one day Carmen would make a good nun. Mercedes had never heard of the word "libido."

"Did your friend get into the hospital okay?" Mercedes asked when Carmen came into the kitchen.

"Yes, Mom, she's fine, thanks. We got her in okay. It was pretty sad, though."

"Yes, poor little thing. I hope she be okay."

"Me, too. What can I do to help with dinner?"

"You can get out the vegetables and everything to make a salad, and cut them up."

"Sure."

"And what about your other friend who shared Jenny's house. What was her name? Chawn?"

"Shane. She's fine."

"Chane. She going to be looking for a roommate now? You should think about moving in with her."

Carmen froze, then thought to herself, wow, some days you just get lucky. "Well, mom, I wanted to talk to you about that. Would you be okay with me moving out?"

"Am I hokay? Oh, yes. I will miss you, my baby of the family, but you are twenty-five years old, you know. Time for you to leave the nest and go out into the world. I have been expecting it for several years now. You are such a big girl now -- no, I know! I know! I should have said such a woman! and you work so hard, two jobs. But you also need to start looking around more seriously at the young men, you know. Start thinking about getting married." She winked at Carmen. "Start thinking about babies."

"Well, I don't know about that, Mom. I don't think I'm quite ready for marriage and babies."

"Eh, we'll see. One day you find the right man and two minutes later, wedding bells! That's what always happens."

Carmen laughed. "Okay, Mom. Wedding bells. Right."

"I so want to see you in your beautiful white wedding dress and mantilla. You will be so pretty!"

"I wanted to talk to you about that. See, for my wedding I was thinking about going all Goth, wearing this kind of black tube top and a black leather miniskirt--"

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Nooo!" Mercedes cried out, turning away from the sink. "Carmencita!"

But Carmen was laughing. She went to her mother and hugged her. "Mom! I was teasing you!" She kissed her on the cheek. "Oh, I sooooo got you!"

"Oh, Carmen," Mercedes said, holding her hand over her heart. 

"I got you, I got you," Carmen chanted in a playful sing-song voice as she chopped up the salad lettuce. "I got you, I got you."

***

It should and could have been a simple move, but it took nearly three weeks from start to finish. First, Shane and Carmen had agreed that although they would sleep together every night, Shane would basically maintain her own room, and Carmen would have Jenny's old room. At night, they would sleep together in one room or the other, and it didn't matter to them which room it was. Carmen suggested that since she was the one with the most fluid dynamics, most nights it probably ought to be her room, since she put a special plastic liner over her mattress underneath the sheets. When they slept in Shane's bed, they'd just have to remember to put a couple of towels down first, if they thought things were going to get aquatic.

The first issue was that Jenny's room was pink, and as girly a girl as Carmen was, pink was just a little further than she could go. She talked to the landlord and got permission to repaint the room, at her own expense and labor. Even with Carmen's prodigious work ethic, it still took almost a week to prep the bedroom for painting. Carmen went over almost every evening after work, and after eating dinner with Shane if Shane was home and hungry, she worked on the room ... until she and Shane got a little frisky. There were two nights during which Carmen got exactly four minutes worth of work done, and on those evenings Shane was less than helpful, being the chief cause of the distraction. It's tough to put painter's tape around molding and trim when a horny lesbian has her face in your bush.

Still, by the weekend the room was ready for painting. Carmen arrived at ten after eight Saturday morning and let herself in, knowing Shane was still asleep and would be for several more hours. She went into her new bedroom-to-be, which was completely taped. Plastic drop cloths covered the floor and the major furniture, which was pushed toward the center of the room. Carmen opened up the brand new gallon of eggshell white paint, poured some into a paint tray, and was ready to go. But before she started painting she stripped down almost naked, wearing only a pair of very old flip-flops. She put a translucent plastic shower cap over her luxurious hair, and put on a pair of clear plastic safety glasses in case paint splattered toward her eyes. Dressed for the occasion, she began painting the room. First, using a wide paint brush and a three-step kitchen stepladder she cut in the corners all the way around the ceiling. Then using a roller attached to a broom handle, she rollered the ceiling. She didn't worry about the occasional drops of paint that got on her, since she was naked and the paint was latex and would wash off. When the ceiling was done, she cleaned out the paint tray and roller in the bathroom and switched to a can of light beige to use on the walls. 

***

Tina checked her watch and saw that it was time for Angelica's mid-morning bottle. Beside her on the living room couch Bette was reading an art magazine. As Tina walked toward the kitchen to prepare the bottle, she glanced out the dining room window at Shane and Carmen's house across the driveway. What was unusual was that the curtains and blinds that had normally hung in Jenny's bedroom window were gone, and Tina could see right into the bedroom.

"Bette, come here a minute," Tina called out.

"Something wrong?" Bette asked, suddenly concerned for the baby's well-being.

"No, it's nothing. Just come here for a second."

Bette put down her magazine and walked to the dining room window. "Oh, wow," she said.

Across the way, Tina and Bette could see into Jenny's old bedroom, where a naked Carmen, with her back to them, could be seen roller-painting the far wall of the bedroom. Silently -- and not a little mesmerized -- they stood at the window and admired Carmen's body.

"Can you believe Shane is tapping that?" Tina asked.

"I know," Bette said. "I give it one month, tops. But in the course of that one month I think Shane is going to get all she can handle of some of the finest pussy in all of California."

"I know. And look at those tattoos on her ass. I hope she turns around. Shane told Alice that Carmen has these two lines of some kind of Mayan flower tattooed next to her pubes, it's the front termination of those vine things around her waist."

"Oh, Carmen, please turn around," Bette pleaded, "pretty please, pretty please."

But it was the nature of the work that Carmen didn't have to turn around, and soon she passed out of their view as she moved to the next wall. 

"Damn," Tina said. "She's doing the front wall."

"Yes, but sooner or later she's got to come around to this wall facing us," Bette said. "Go feed Angelica. I'll stay here and keep watch, and when she comes back into view I'll call you."

As it happened, it took almost forty minutes before Carmen got around to the wall with the window overlooking the driveway in it.

"Here she comes!" Bette hissed, and Tina came over with Angelica in her arms. At first all they could see was Carmen's right elbow, and then her right arm as she worked the roller up and down the wall. 

And then there she was. 

And the fucking goddamn window sill was too high; all they could see was Carmen naked from the bellybutton up except for her shower cap and safety goggles. Her bush was below the line of sight. Her breasts bobbed and moved on her chest as she worked, and it took Bette's breath away anyway, pussy view or no. 

Suddenly Carmen realized she was being watched, and looked across at Bette and Tina's house. She saw Bette and Tina looking out the window at her. Bette and Tina immediately mimed applause, clapping their hands and laughing. Carmen laughed too, realizing she'd been putting on one terrific show, and did a mock bow from the waist. Tina held Angelica up facing Carmen and with her hand made Angelica wave a tiny hello. Carmen laughed again, and blew the baby a kiss. Then she went back to work as though nothing had happened.

"Oh, sweetie," Bette breathed, "show us your carpet."

"Think she's a baldy?" Tina asked.

"Mmmm. No. I bet she's got the most beautiful Persian carpet you ever saw."

"Bushy?"

"No, trimmed. Maybe a landing strip, maybe something else. But whatever shape it is, I bet it is some fine carpet munching."

The recollection of Carmen's naked body haunted Tina and Bette all the rest of that weekend. Bette couldn't remember the last time she'd been so horny, though the vision of Carmen's garden of earthy delight still eluded her.

***

Most of the Friends were already gathered around "their" table for Sunday morning brunch at The Planet when Carmen came in and sat down with a groan.

"What's the matter, babe?" asked Tina, who was sitting next to her.

"Oh, nothing, just a little cramping. I just started my period last night, that's all, and I'm bleeding like crazy."

"Oh, you bleed a lot?" Dana asked. "That's a shame."

"Yeah," Carmen sighed. "I bleed like a stuck pig. I'm a real Juicyfruit."

Everyone laughed except Dana, who asked, "A what?" 

"A Juicyfruit. When I have my period, I bleed a lot. When I exercise, I sweat a lot. When I get turned on, I get really wet, and when I cum, not only do I cum a lot, but I even squirt once in a while. So yeah, I seem to have this thing with copious bodily fluids. And I'm a certified, 100-percent lesbian, so that makes me a total fruit. So that's me, a Juicyfruit."

"You're a squirter? Wow, I'm so jealous," Alice said. "That's, like, lesbian nirvana. Who else is a squirter? Anybody?" 

Helena blushed. "Um, I've been known to, er...well, yes, a little bit, sometimes."

Everyone looked at her in awe, and everyone around the table had the same silent thought at the same time: Helena and Carmen making love and having a simultaneous squirt. Even Helena and Carmen pondered it. Definitely something to put on the bucket list, and maybe sell tickets to. The temperature in the room seemed to rise about fifteen degrees.

Alice looked at Dana, and Dana made an angry face at her. Dana had once confessed sheepishly to Alice and Shane that she'd squirted when making love to Tanya Gaskins, and didn't know what it was. Alice had had to explain it to her. Clearly Dana didn't want to discuss it with the group, which in any case was still preoccupied with fantasizing about Carmen and Helena ejaculating love geysers on each other. 

"Where's Shane?" Bette asked, to change the subject and get everyone back in the room.

"Sleeping late, as usual," Carmen said.

"Rough night last night?" Alice asked, cattily raising her eyebrows, "or just her turn to mop up the bedroom?"

Everyone laughed. 

"No, she actually had an emergency call from one of the studios late yesterday afternoon," Carmen said. "Somebody was shooting something that had to be done over the weekend because they couldn't use some location during the week, and it had to be shot at night, and one of the hairdressers was already out of town or something, so Shane had to run out and do the job. And of course, the money was insane and she couldn't turn it down. Union rules and rates, weekend pay, overtime pay, nighttime pay, emergency call-out pay. She got like a thousand bucks or something unreal like that just for a few hours work, but it was like, eight p.m. to midnight, or something. I don't think she came to bed until three or four in the morning, you know how it takes her so long to wind down anyway. So between my period and me going to bed early, and Shane not coming home until late, there was no squirting going on last night, I can tell you that for sure."

"Well, I'm just so glad to see you two guys working out so well together," Bette said, "especially since you are such different types. That's why they say, 'Opposites attract,' I guess."

"I don't think they're all that different," Alice said. "Shane and Carmen have some amazing similarities."

"How so?" Carmen asked, as perplexed as the rest of the group.

"Well, first off, you're both Capricorns," Alice said, "and you know what Zodiac sign Capricorns are most attracted to? Other Capricorns. So it's written in the Zodiac you and Shane would go for each other."

"And Jenny was on the cusp of being a Capricorn," Carmen said. "Maybe that explains my thing with her. I knew there must be a reason. Okay, what else, Alice?"

"Well, you were both raised Catholic, but neither one of you still practices or goes to church, except for a wedding or a funeral or something. In fact, it's not just that you don't practice, you both have some sort of active grudge against the church. Third, neither of you knew your biological fathers. You were both effectively fatherless. That's very significant and ironic," Alice said.

"How so?" Carmen asked.

"Well, the most obvious but ironic thing is that for two fatherless girls, you both have major, significant tattoos devoted to absentee but important father figures. Both tattoos were put on after your father figures had died, and both father figures died in traffic accidents. You know lezzies have all kinds of tats, but very few of them are devoted to Dear Old Dad. I mean, how unusual is that?"

"Shane has a tat about her father? He's dead?" Carmen asked. "Which one? I know all her tats...oh, wait! The one she won't talk about, the violin with the letter M in the small of her back! Is that about her father?"

"No, I didn't say 'father,'" Alice said. "I said, 'father figure.' I don't think Shane knows anything at all about her biological father, even whether he's alive or not. But she once had this father figure in her life, the man who rescued and saved her, and helped turn her into the person she is today."

"I don't know anything about any of this," Carmen whispered, enthralled.

"Me neither," said Tina, and Bette shook her head no, too.

"None of you do," Alice said. "This was all back before you guys knew her, or me, before our little gang here ever got together."

"Well, what happened, girlfriend?" Kit said. "Don't keep us all in suspense! Dish it, girl!"

"Nnnnn, I don't know," Alice said. "I think I may already have said too much. You know how private Shane is about her past. She hates to talk about where she came from and all the stuff that happened to her."

"Doesn't the M stand for McCutcheon?" Tina asked. She had seen the tattoo often enough, whenever Shane had gone swimming in Bette and Tina's pool. "I always assumed it did."

"No, it doesn't," Alice said. "Not even close."

"Oh, wow, I'm blown away," Carmen said. "I once asked her about it, and she clammed up immediately, wouldn't tell me anything. Only that she liked it. Did she tell you about it?"

"Not exactly," Alice said, sorry that she'd ever opened her mouth, but knowing it was too late now. "But I was there when she got it. I even rode with her to the tattoo parlor and watched her get it put on. I know what it means."

"What?" about four of the group asked together, almost shouting.

Alice hesitated. "I don't think I should say anything more, and I'm sorry I even said this much. It's Shane's story, and I don't think I should be the one to tell it."

There was silence for a moment, and it was actually Carmen who put an end to it. "No, you're right, Alice. I know Shane won't talk about it, so that's how she wants it. You don't have to tell us."

"Thanks, Carm," Alice said. "I feel bad I even brought it up."

"Maybe she'll tell me some day," Carmen said.

"I hope so," Alice said. "Maybe she will. She should tell you, but that's not my call."

"What about you, sugar?" Kit asked Carmen. "Your ink is in honor of your daddy, too. That right?"

"Yes, pretty much. He was a Maya medicine man, and he died before I was born, in a motorcycle accident. My mother used to talk about him all the time when I was little, and she loved him very much."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 14



"He was a medicine man? Really?" Tina asked.

"Well, yes and no," Carmen said. "Not as an occupation. He worked in construction, in Cancun, when they were first building the hotels and turning it into a major resort, back in the 1970s. He was from a little village in the interior just on the outskirts of a town called Valladolid, and he was always interested in studying his Mayan culture and religion, and so on, and even took some classes at the university in Merida, my mother says. His parents were both very involved in it, as well, and his father was also a medicine man. But it's not like what you're probably thinking, like American Indian medicine men, holding powwows and stuff like that. A medicine man is more like a shaman. The Maya civilization had a very strong history of beliefs and practices in healing arts, especially using herbs and plants. They had this huge pharmacopeia that had something like 1,500 medicines in it. It was like a blend of science and religion both. They believed in 'balance,' too, like the Chinese yin and yang, and in trying to achieve a spiritual balance. There was a lot of psychology and spiritualism in it, as well, and that's what my father studied. My mother said he knew hundreds of plants, and could go out into the jungle and bring back things, and make up medicines that really worked. He would give them out to people in the village. When the big building boom started in Cancun, it was a godsend to everybody in the Yucatan, which was dirt-poor up until that time, really impoverished, and then all of a sudden these thousands and thousands of construction jobs opened up, and every able-bodied man and woman who could went to Cancun and they all began building what it is today. When they started in 1970, Isla Cancún was just a coconut plantation with only three caretaker residents, and there was a fishing village nearby called Puerto Juarez that had 117 people. So 120 people in 1970 were living were there are now in 2005 half a million people. They even know the exact date the boom started: January 23, 1970.

"At any rate, my father was one of those workers, and that's how he met my mother. She was from Veracruz, up the coast. She was from a middle-class family but like thousands of other girls, when all kinds of service jobs opened up in the hotels, she went to Cancun, too, and that's how she met my father. Next thing you know, she and my father got married and they're living in this tiny apartment outside Cancun City, and Patricia was born, and then Anna. My mother says I was conceived on Isla Mujeres, the Island of Women, right off the coast of Cancun, on a vacation weekend they took. 

"So, my father drove to work on a motorcycle, because that was cheaper than a car, and one day coming home from work in a really bad rainstorm somebody hit him and he was killed when his bike went off the road into the jungle. They didn't even find him until two days later, my mother said. She was five months pregnant with me. Without a husband and his income she had to move back home to Veracruz, and pretty soon her entire family and a few other relatives like my abuela were able to emigrate legally to the Los Angeles area. So we lived in the barrio and I was actually born right here in LA. I'm a pure-bred California gal, through and through."

"How did you come to get the tattoo?" Alice asked. "There must have been something that precipitated it."

"There was," Carmen said, "but I guess like Shane I don't like to talk about it too much. But I'll give you a real short version of it. I was raised Catholic, of course, like you said. I mean, what else would a Mexican-American be, you know? And when I was 19 I had this steamy affair with...someone who was Catholic, and very devout. And ... well, we broke up and Catholicism had a lot to do with it, and I was really pissed at the Catholic Church in general, and so because I was really mad and upset I started really getting into studying the Maya religion and culture, sort of a whole big 'Fuck you!' to the Vatican and the bishops and all that. Plus I was already in favor of using birth control, and a woman's right to chose, and so on, so I was in a lot of ways a pretty bad Catholic anyhow from a political and theological point of view, and that's before you even consider my being a total lesbian. So, yeah, I guess it was partly an act of rebellion and defiance against the Catholic Church, and the rule about not having any graven images of other gods. So, yeah, the tattoo in part honors my father and the Mayan goddess of medicine and women, childbirth, and healing. Her name is Ixchel, and she's that Jaguar head I have just above my butt. My father had a tattoo of Ixchel just like it, so my mother says, so I thought I'd honor the family tradition and get a tat of Ixchel. Two of them, actually, because I wanted that symmetrical thing, representing the duality, the women and childbirth thing on the one hand, and the medicine and healing on the other. The two faces of Ixchel, and her twin roles within Mayan culture."

"Never mind the fucking jaguar," Alice said. "Tell us about the steamy affair! What happened to the other girl, did she run off and join a convent?"

Carmen blushed. "No, not exactly. She was already a nun," she whispered.

"What! No way! Get out of town!" There were gasps all around the table. Kit covered her mouth in shock, and Bette shook her head, smiling.

"Shut! Up! You bagged A NUN?" Alice blurted out so loudly that around The Planet half a dozen heads turned to stare at the group. "How cool is THAT? Now I really AM jealous! Being Polish I was raised Catholic, too," she said, "and I always wanted to fuck a nun. I think it's the only kind of woman I've never fucked. I've sooo got to try it some—OW!" This last cry came as Dana whacked Alice hard on the arm. 

"Baby!" Alice apologized, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." But it was way too late, and Alice knew she had to just stop digging herself into a hole.

Carmen was grateful, because it took the attention away from her and her story line, as the Friends swung into a hearty discussion of all the Dream Fucks in their lives, imaginations or hopes. The list was impressive: Princess Di, Jackie Kennedy, Joan of Arc, Martha Washington. Bette wanted to do Frida Kahlo, no surprise there, and Tina wanted Greta Garbo, which immediately caused Alice to repeat the story, possibly apocryphal, about Garbo being introduced to lesbianism by Marlene Dietrich. Alice said Garbo was so shy and withdrawn because her genitalia were abnormally large, and that Dietrich had humiliated her over this fact. Carmen wanted to go down on either Emily Dickinson or Shakira, and Kit, who was still ostensibly straight, nevertheless said that if she was going to do a fantasy woman, then she wanted to fuck Josephine Baker, who had always been one of her idols. Dana wanted to do Anna Kournikova, whom she actually knew and had been beaten by, which made Alice jealous and gave Dana revenge over Alice saying she wanted to fuck a nun. Finally it was Helena's turn. She thought it over carefully and said she still hadn't decided, but it was between Helen Mirren, Kristin Scott-Thomas, Julie Christie and Fanny Hill. Oh, and Keira Knightley.

***

On the way out, Carmen and Bette happened to be the last two at the cash register paying their tabs.

"I'm sorry that Alice made such a fuss about you and the nun," Bette said. "I could tell from your face that relationship meant a lot to you."

Carmen smiled and shrugged, and finally nodded. "Yes, it did."

"Were you in love with her?"

Carmen shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. I never quite figured that out."

"First time?"

"Not first sexual relationship, no. But first time really being ... infatuated, or whatever I was, I guess. If it wasn't love it was something pretty close," Carmen said. "It was never, ever going to work out, but of course there was no way I could see that, even though it should have been obvious."

"Yeah, those can be really tough, those first ones," Bette said. "But I really meant what I said. I'm glad you and Shane are together. I guess you know this by now, but in a lot of important ways you're her first, and she's got so much to learn. She's been sexually active for ten or fifteen years, and she probably knows everything in the world there is to know about fucking, but she doesn't know the first thing about loving somebody. I don't think she's ever been in love before, not since I've known her, and I know for sure she's never had a true relationship with anyone. She's got a lot to learn and it's going to be tough. She's the queen of one-night stands, but she knows as much about real, adult love as a twelve-year-old. You're going to have to be the one to teach her. Her other paradox is that although she's tough as nails emotionally, in many ways she's also probably the most fragile, vulnerable person I've ever known. She's got a hard shell and she's all mush inside. Strange, huh? She's a bundle of contradictions. But I just hope you to stick in there with her. I think you'll be very good for her, and I hope she'll be good for you."

"Well, thank you, Bette. I don't know quite what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Bette said, "but if you ever feel like talking, or you need a sounding board, or somebody to vent to, I'm only right next door."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," Carmen said. 

"Here's your change, Miss Porter," the cashier said, as Bette turned away to put her money in her purse.

***

The toughest part of the move wasn't Carmen's room, whether the old one or the new, but the studio in back of Shane's house. Mark had moved out, and before he left Carmen made him turn over every single tape he ever made while he lived there. In front of him and Shane, she put all the tapes into a 55-gallon trash can in the back yard and set them on fire, in violation of every open-burning ordinance on the city's books. The plastic was smokey as it melted and burned, but as far as Carmen was concerned it was worth doing, even when they heard fire engine sirens heading their way and they quickly doused the fire with a fire extinguisher they kept on the back deck next to the barbecue grill. When a fire truck arrived on the scene, Mark was sitting in a chair on Shane's back porch reading a book, Carmen was on her knees gardening along the back walk, and Shane was in the driveway lifting weights. All three agreed that they, too, had smelled something burning, but said they didn't know where it had been coming from. The firemen walked around the neighborhood, then left.

With Mark gone Carmen decided the inside of the studio could use repainting as well. She had agreed to pay a disproportionate share of the rent because she wanted the extra space to store all her music and DJ equipment as well as a place to work, and Carmen was making good money and could afford it. Shane was also getting paid better than she ever had in her life, so she increased her own share of the rent slightly to take a little burden from Carmen; it was the price she was willing to pay for not having a third roommate. Anyway neither Carmen nor Shane wanted a third roommate, especially one who might come into the house to use the kitchen, living room or bathroom while Shane and Carmen were loudly and joyously making love pretty much all over the place at all hours of the day or night, whenever they were both home. Like newlyweds, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and their frequency of sex reached supernatural levels almost unheard of in either the heterosexual or homosexual communities. They went through Chapstick like locusts.

Shane helped Carmen paint the studio, although this time Carmen took the trouble to tape newspaper over the windows because Tina and Bette weren't the only people in the neighborhood who might be able to look in. Even an inept and ancient handyman could have painted the studio in a day, but it took Shane and Carmen together more than two days to get the job done, due to various work stoppages for cunnilingus, tribadic yoga (a new form they invented, and which replaced chants of "Ommmm" with "Cummmmmm"), paint fights (Carmen had brought home from a movie studio prop room two working paint ball guns, and they acted out liberally re-interpreted scenes from the movie TThe Naked Gun in ways Hollywood never intended). They took naps, and painted body art on each other. Carmen made Shane turn and face away while she dipped her finger in the Sherman-Williams and painted the words "Tradesman's Entrance" on Shane's lower back, with an arrow pointing downward to her ass slice. Shane thought it might be interesting to see what Carmen's flower boxes would look like if she very carefully painted the flowers white. She also painted a single narrow band down Carmen's clitoral hood. And indeed the effect was quite interesting, though she later found out that licking dried latex paint was not pleasant. "Worst idea I ever had," Shane confessed, laughing, as Carmen tried to scrub it off without climaxing.

***

Shane had said she didn't like sleepovers, and that was true at the time she said it. She didn't especially enjoy waking up in somebody else's house or apartment, on used sheets with a wet spot, in a darkened bedroom she didn't know her way around, next to a woman whose last name she may or may not have known (and on at least four occasions, the first name, either). It was better to wake up in her own bed in her own room, but there was still the issue of the person beside her, figuring out how to deal with her, and wanting her to leave as soon as possible. Shane was not a morning person, and the thought of being civil to a naked stranger was more than she could handle.

But she discovered that a sleepover with Carmen was different. It was different slipping between nice, clean, fresh, sweet-smelling sheets in Carmen's clean, neat, fragrant and often candle-lit bedroom. It was different embracing a woman fresh out of the shower, her body clean and smelling of a citrus body wash, her hair smelling wonderfully of scents far different from cigarette smoke and Jagermeister. It was nice kissing someone who had just brushed her teeth and who tasted of Pepsodent. It was nice knowing she could wake up in the middle of the night and walk down the hall to go to the bathroom, and return to bed without running into a stranger, even a stranger she had fucked a few hours ago. She learned how pleasant it was to crawl back between the sheets and spoon herself against Carmen's bottom, wrap her arm about Carmen's waist, kiss her shoulder blade, and go back to sleep. Because it was damned nice sleeping in the same bed with this woman, contrary to nearly every other sexual or romantic experience she'd ever had in her life. 

Of sexual experiences in Shane's life there had been many (Carmen was No. 963 according to the count on Alice's chart); of romantic experiences there had been none. For the first time in her twenty-nine years, Shane had said the L-word to a woman. "I love you." The words had slipped out of her mouth, almost as if by accident, and it was true she had said it at the conclusion of a wonderful session of love-making, when her defenses were down and her brain still loaded with endorphins. For more than a decade she had had a thousand orgasms without having those magic words slip off her tongue. It was unpremeditated, spontaneous, unplanned ... but that was the point. It was almost as if Shane herself had been unaware of her feelings, and that during the sex she had let her own guard down so much that for once the bare naked truth had managed to slip out of her mouth. "I love you." 

For a moment she herself could hardly believe she had said it ... and yet she did. It scared the shit out of her ... but it felt good, too. It was a moment laced with contradiction. It represented everything Shane was opposed to, on principle, on an intellectual level. And yet it also represented everything she had been feeling about Carmen, quite literally from the very first moment she'd set eyes on her. It was impossible to reconcile how a woman who didn't believe in love had discovered love-at-first-sight. It was what had tormented her all those months when she'd pushed Carmen into Jenny's arms, and then had to stand by and watch the woman she felt such strong feelings for having fun -- and having sex -- with her best friend and housemate. 

The worst part of it had been trying to figure out what all those feelings were. Shane was in her own way almost as unfamiliar with love and its symptoms and manifestations as your average 13-year-old. She'd had feelings she didn't know what do with, feelings she didn't know how to process, feelings that had no names and no synonyms. A person as inarticulate as Shane ought to be used to feeling speechless. But she wasn't. Even a 13-year-old knew what a "crush" felt like. All she had known was that every time she looked at Carmen, or thought about her, or listened to someone say Carmen's name, her chest ached and her spirit soared, then crashed. She came to realize that she had loved Carmen from the beginning, but simply didn't know what love was, didn't recognize it, and had never had to deal with it before. It was an obscure disease she'd never heard of from some outlying third-world country she'd never been to, and now it had infected her, and there was no vaccine, no cure. She prayed it didn't kill her, because that was what love virus usually did.

***

On the third night after Carmen had permanently moved in they had gotten frisky immediately after dinner, and had made love on the kitchen floor in the middle of washing the dishes. Like newlyweds, they fucked around the clock, in every room in the house, until they had nearly exhausted themselves. After they'd made love they showered together, and were uncharacteristically ready for bed before 10:30. And the nice thing about making love on the kitchen floor was that the bed sheets were fresh and clean, not soaked with Carmen's love juices. Carmen was already in bed, feeling sleepy and lazy and good, and was waiting for Shane to finish brushing her teeth. Shane came into the bedroom wearing only a long but sleeveless T-shirt and her tighty-whities, which she dropped. She turned off the light but left the candles burning, and climbed into bed next to Carmen. She rolled onto her side facing her, her head propped up on her elbow. Carmen rolled toward her and lay on her side, too, looking at Shane. In the candlelight her eyes glistened, and she raised her hand softly to Shane's cheek. 

Shane took Carmen's hand and brought it to her mouth and kissed her palm, then her fingertips, then placed it back on her cheek. The candlelight put Shane's face in shadow, but Carmen could see Shane was thinking about something. As was often the case, no words came out. Sometimes a little bump helped, if it was gentle.

"I wish I could read your mind," she whispered. "I wish I knew what you were thinking."

Shane sighed. "I was thinking ... how happy I am. How lucky. How ... I never imagined this could happen to me. That I'd fall in love. I know ... I don't talk much, I don't say things. Say things like other people do, like how they say, 'I love you' all the time." She brought Carmen's palm to her lips and kissed it again. "I know I don't say it, but ... I do love you. I'm just sorry I'm not, you know, I don't know how ... ."

"Shhhhh," Carmen hushed her. "I know it's difficult for you. I don't mind. I know that you do love me, because I can see it in your face, in your eyes. So I can wait for the words, however long it takes. I'm not in any hurry."

"You asked what I was thinking. I was remembering that time before we went on Dana's cruise, when we were in the kitchen, and you put your hand over my heart, and my hand over your heart. And you said this thing we had, you said how we had it from the first moment we ever saw each other. And I was thinking it was true, and you were right. And that I fell in love with you that day, but ... I didn't know what to do with it. It scared me. And then ... I fucked it up. All those months when I pushed you away because I was scared ... I hurt you, and I made you unhappy ... and I made myself miserable, too. And then ... and then I think if I hadn't been so stupid and so fucked up, we could have been together, you and me, months ago."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 14



Carmen leaned forward and kissed Shane softly on the lips. "All that doesn't matter now. What's important is we're together. And that you love me, and you realize it and can say it, and if it scared you, you managed to overcome that fear."

"I know ... but I think about how many times it could have gone wrong, how we might never have gotten back together. I think about the stupid stuff I did, and I think about the fact that it was you who kept faith in me. Even though you had that thing with Jenny, it was because I pushed you into it ... and I could have lost you to her."

"No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't have lost me, because I knew who I loved all along. And I even said how I was just marking time with her. I loved Jenny as a friend, just like you loved her like a friend, and we still love her that way, and that's fine. But I was never romantically in love with her, or she with me, and in your own heart I know you know that."

Shane nodded. "I do. I know that. And the thing I wanted to say ... ."

"What? You can tell me."

"I wanted to say ... thank you. Thank you for keeping the faith, for keeping it so we could find each other. Thank you ... for saving me ... from myself." Her voice choked. "Thank you for saving my life." 

Carmen's eyes were full of tears that ran down her cheeks. She pulled Shane into an embrace tighter than anything either woman had ever felt. She rocked Shane and cried, and Shane cried too. They kissed, and kissed away each other's tears.

"I love you so much, Shane," Carmen whispered, holding her.

"I love you, too," Shane whispered back. "But ... "

"But what?"

"But sometimes ... I worry that I don't know how. Don't know how to love you."

"Don't worry, my love," Carmen said. "We'll figure it out."

In the corner of the bedroom, deep in the shadows, the female jaguar Ixchel lay on her side on the floor, blinked her eyes and sighed contentedly. She laid her head down, waiting until she heard the gentle snores coming from the bed, and went to sleep herself.

***

The pace of Shane and Carmen's sex life would likely have continued, but over the next month the real world and life itself intervened. First, one of the studios called Shane and asked her if she was available for a four- or five-day assignment with a film crew out in Bakersfield.

"You can't turn it down," Carmen urged her. "Go, go!"

When Shane came home she brought with her the flu, which had swept through the film production crew so fiercely that they'd had to shut down production for two days, extending Shane's contract and time away from home. She was feverish and achy when she walked through the door, and immediately confined herself to bed. Carmen was a wonderful nurse -- no one could have been more tender -- but at Shane's insistence Carmen was kept at arm's remove, in an effort to keep the flu away from her. Shane asked her to sleep in her own room, and there was no hugging, no kissing, and of course no sex. Carmen made soup and kept Shane hydrated and supplied with tissues, books, magazines, Tylenol, crackers, ginger snaps, whatever it took, but never came closer than two feet from the infected body. On Day Four Shane was feeling much better, but Carmen had a weekend DJ gig in Las Vegas, and then started her period on the drive home Sunday afternoon. By the time she got to West Hollywood she was grumpy and cramping and had a sizeable headache from the drive, staring for hours into the sun's glare and inhaling exhaust fumes during a back-up near Glendora. She walked in the door, wrapped her arms around Shane and gave her a kiss -- and went to bed early with a heating pad. The next day she, too, came down with the flu, and missed three days of work. Since Shane had just had it herself, she didn't have to quarantine herself away from Carmen ... but neither did Carmen want to make love, naturally enough. On Thursday, virus-free, they both got home from work at a reasonable hour, had a quick dinner, and then fucked their brains out all evening. On Friday Tina and Bette had an event, and asked Carmen to babysit Angelica for them, which she was happy to do. Shane came over, too, and kept her company. They watched TV together and made out on the couch, but between checking on Angelica, feeding her, changing her, and also being in someone else's house it just wasn't the same, and they were too tired to do anything when Tina and Bette came home after midnight.

On Saturday morning Carmen was off to a DJ gig in San Diego. When she got back early Sunday afternoon she came home to find a note from Shane saying the girls had all gone off to one of Dana's tennis matches, and wouldn't be back until late. Carmen had an early call-out on Monday for a production assistant assignment that turned out to involve four 14-hour days on Santa Monica pier. When she came home each night she was sun-burnt and exhausted, and she did her best to make love to Shane. On the third night she actually fell asleep during a sixty-nine when she was on the bottom, and Shane carefully got up, crept quietly to the bathroom, and brought herself off under the shower before creeping quietly back to bed and going to sleep beside the oblivious, naked dish in her bed. Carmen was embarrassed and apologetic in the morning as they hurried dressed to run off to jobs in opposite ends of the city.

After a month of it, Carmen had had enough, and Shane was hornier than she could ever remember being. 

"This is nuts," Carmen e-mailed Shane from her laptop in a motel room in Las Vegas, where she had a DJ event that evening. "We hardly see each other and we live in the same house, in the same room. I love you so much and I miss you like crazy. I miss making love to you and going down on you. I am so hungry for your pussy I can't stand it. We have to do something!!! How about we make a pact to coordinate our schedules, so that we both have every other weekend off. From Friday at 5 p.m. to late Sunday night or Monday morning will be OUR TIME TOGETHER. No DJ gigs, no hairdresser assignments in Bakersfield, no babysitting Angelica (much as we love her), no ANYTHING -- except you and me. We're both working so hard and we're making good money, we can afford the time off. So how about this: every other weekend will be strictly Shane-and-Carmen Time. We'll take weekend trips, go to the beach, go to the mountains, make love in the forest in clear mountain streams, we'll build a bonfire on the beach somewhere and fuck like rabbits in the dunes. We'll go to Purple Roof bed-and-breakfasts and make slow, quiet love in old antique canopy beds and go shopping in the afternoons and then have high tea. ANYTHING!! We just have to get away and make time for OURSELVES!! Yes? You agree?? Please Please?"

Shane e-mailed her back an hour later: "Will thr b sex? Lots sex? Because if i dont get some hot mommaloving soon im going go mad!!"

Carmen laughed when she read it. "Yes, there will be hot momma sex. I promise you we will fuck continuously from Friday evening to Sunday night. How's that? That's 48 hours of continual orgasm. Okay? We'll be so cummed out that we'll have to drag ourselves to work Monday morning. We'll need special vitamin diets and we'll both be bow-legged. But yes, my love, my heart, my soul, there will be sex. Cross my heart. Cross my boobs. Cross my empty, aching twat. There will be sex. Tell your clit to get ready."

Two weekends later they packed overnight bags and left the house by 5 p.m. on Friday evening in Carmen's Jeep. They had a romantic, candlelit dinner two hours north of LA in a cozy seafood restaurant overlooking the Pacific. They drank white wine and stared at each other hungrily across the table as the waiter brought them blackened mako, grilled asparagus and shoestring french-fried sweet potatoes. Shane could hardly wait to finish, but Carmen made them linger over coffee, dessert wine, and a shared chocolate mousse. They arrived at the Victorian bed-and-breakfast Carmen had found on the Purple Roofs website that highlighted gay-friendly accommodations. She had made a reservation for 9:30, and by 10 p.m. they were naked in a huge canopy bed on the third floor in a cozy room that had actually been featured in a travel magazine. Fortunately the bed was well-built and made no noise, although they did their best to test its durability. After two orgasms each they were asleep in each other's arms by midnight.

On Saturday morning, they went down to the small dining room just barely in time to catch a leisurely breakfast, and were on the road by 10:30, heading north up the coast highway with no agenda and no plans. They stopped whenever or wherever they felt like it, and drove along the coast, stopping once to walk along a secluded beach in the shallow ocean water with their pants legs rolled up. They held hands and kissed, and walked, and looked at the ocean, and at each other. Late in the afternoon they turned around and headed south, stopped for dinner, and drank more wine by candlelight. Carmen had the broiled scallops, and Shane ordered a house specialty chicken pot pie that was everything it was advertised to be. They skipped dessert but had coffee and after-dinner cordials. 

Carmen had decreed that during these weekend trips they start learning what they liked to eat and drink, and so on their weekend trips they schooled themselves on Frangelica, Drambuie, the Galianos, red Dubonnet, amoretto, brandy, cognac, and Irish coffee. They discovered they didn't care for port or sherry, but almost by accident discovered how much they liked a cheese plate for dessert instead of something sweet. They visited wineries and vineyards, and one Sunday afternoon in a very upscale cheese shop they were given an extensive tutorial about the virtues of aged Stilton, which Carmen discovered she loved. 

"Ohmigod, Shane, taste this," Carmen exulted, holding up a small cracker upon which the shop owner had spread some really excellent blue cheese. "Just let it sit in your mouth and let the flavors come out." She fed Shane the cracker and watched her face as Shane closed her eyes and savored it. 

"Oh, that's really incredible," Shane said. "I had no idea."

"We have to take some of this home with us," Carmen said.

On the next getaway weekend they went east, to the edge of the dessert, stayed in a rustic lodge and ate barbecue and Tex-Mex all weekend. There was a microbrewery in the lodge restaurant, and they sampled types of beers they'd never had any reason to try before. Just as they had learned about cordials and cheese and wines they learned about beer and ale and stout, and also some barbecue lore. Carmen had thought that her Mexican heritage brought with it a genetic knowledge of hot peppers, but she was humbled to learn many new things about Southwest cooking, and she couldn't wait to get home and show her mother all the new things she had learned. 

Two weekends later they cruised to Catalina Island, where they rode a zip line and took a submarine ride.

"I can't believe I'm standing here," Shane murmured as they stood in line waiting to board the submarine.

Carmen was alarmed. "Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Shane said. "We're just such ... tourists."

"Oh," Carmen said. "Um ... is that bad?"

"No, no, don't get me wrong. It's just I've lived in LA for what, ten or eleven years, but there's just so many places I've never been, like here, Catalina. I've never in my whole life stayed in a bed-and-breakfast and slept in a canopy bed until a month ago."

Carmen felt relieved, but only slightly. She reached out and turned Shane's head so she could look in her eyes. "You've got to tell me, Shane, are you happy doing all these things? Do you enjoy these trips? I know I've been the vacation planner for these things, but honey, I'm doing it for us. If you're not happy doing these things you need to tell me."

"No, that's the thing, Car. I am happy. I really love these trips. But see, that's the surprising thing. I just never expected that I would. I always thought, you know, being a tourist was ... I don't know ... ."

"Uncool."

Shane shrugged. "Well. Yeah, I guess."

"And un-lesbian, too. That is, if your orientation is the bar scene, and going clubbing every weekend and getting drunk and fucking some girl in a bathroom stall and waking up in a strange bed the next morning."

Shane shrugged.

"But see," Carmen continued, "what we're doing is what couples do. You and I are a couple now, and when you're a couple you start to do things as a couple that you wouldn't ever do as a single person, alone. If you didn't have someone in your life, would you ever decide to hop in the car, drive two hundred miles, stay by yourself, alone, in a bed-and-breakfast, and go to a wine tasting? By herself and all alone, Shane McCutcheon would never do that in a thousand years, and you know what? Neither would Carmen Morales. But together, as a couple, that's something we might enjoy doing together. And if we discover we don't especially like that one activity, we don't ever have to do it again. But there are simply some things in life you just can't really do properly by yourself. What's the point of having a dinner in a cozy, out-of-the-way restaurant with candles and wine and the whole deal if you're by yourself? It's not about the glass of wine. It's about holding up the glass of wine and seeing the light glint off of it, and you hear the sound of the surf nearby, and you gaze across the table into the eyes of the person you love, the person who makes your heart beat fast, who makes you feel happier than you've ever felt before, or even thought you could ever feel. That's what the candlelight and the wine and the ocean and the walks on the beach in the moonlight are about. They're about learning how to be lovers, how to be a couple."

***

Carmen worked diligently and creatively to keep their relationship ... interesting.

For instance, the first Tuesday of every month became Peach Cobbler Night.

The first one occurred spontaneously and serendipitously, after Carmen overheard Shane and Lara talking at The Planet one day about baking and making special desserts, and Shane saying that her all-time favorite dessert was Peach Cobbler a la mode.

"I've got a special treat for you for dessert," Carmen said to Shane as they finished up dinner one Tuesday evening.

"Cool," Shane said, standing up to take her dirty dishes into the kitchen for clean-up. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise. You'll see. After we do the dinner dishes go into the living room and read a book or watch TV or something, and when it's ready I'll call you. It's gonna take a little while."

"Okay," Shane said, not showing much interest. Ordinarily this might have irritated Carmen, but not tonight. Tonight Shane was going to pay dearly for her cool, casual, laid-back calmness. Oh, yes, she was.

After the dinner dishes were washed and put away Carmen pushed Shane into the living room saying, "Now, don't peak and ruin the surprise. Remember, I'll call you."

Shane grumbled with good humor, but she went and was soon immersed in an episode of Bones, idly speculating who she'd rather do first, Emily Deschanel, Michaela Conlin, or Tamara Taylor. Shane loved all three, but Tamara won as she usually did in Shane's mind. The woman had incredible eyes. On the other hand, Michaela's character on the show was bisexual, and had had an off-again on-again affair with an old girlfriend before eventually marrying the Jack Hodgins character. Not only was Michaela edible, so was the ex-girlfriend.

Speaking of edible, Carmen, meanwhile, got out three small bowls. In the first she put two tablespoons of brown sugar, the kind partly mixed with Splenda to save calories. She added to it a teaspoon of powdered cinnamon and a teaspoon of large-size sugar crystals, the kind used to line the rim of a glass, for texture and crunch. These three elements she mixed thoroughly with a spoon. 

In the second bowl she placed a large peach she'd removed from the refrigerator crisper, and cut it in half, removing the pit. She sliced each half into four large slices, giving herself eight slices in the bowl along with their natural juice, which gathered in the bottom of the bowl. The third bowl remained empty for the time being. Carmen banged around the kitchen for another minute or two, just for sound effects and diversion, and then noisily opened and closed the oven door. She turned the oven timer to 30 minutes, but never actually turned the oven on.

"Don't open the oven or you'll ruin it," Carmen shouted into the living room.

"'Kay," Shane replied. 

Carmen took the bowl of peach slices and the bowl of brown crunch into her bedroom and put them on the dresser. Then she took off all her clothes and padded down the hall to the bathroom, where she took a quick shower using a peach-scented shampoo for her hair and a peach-scented body wash for all the delicious rest of her. You want peach, you're gonna get peach, Carmen smiled to herself as she dried off. After she dried her hair she pulled it back into a high ponytail and wrapped a scrungie around it.

Back in her room, Carmen got two fresh, clean, oversize beach towels out and laid them on her bed cross-wise, with a foot of overlap. Things were going to get messy, and she was taking no chances. She picked up a bottle of top-quality Mexican vanilla extract from her vanity, and put a drop on her fingertip, and then painted the hood of her clit with the vanilla, as she very often did. She wet her finger again with another drop and painted the inner folds of her pussy. She put the top back on the bottle of vanilla, changed her mind, and painted a small drop between her breasts and behind her ears.

Just then she heard the "bing" on the oven timer in the kitchen. Good timing. Naked, she walked down the hall to the kitchen, made a little noise with the oven door, and then removed from the freezer a pint of vanilla Haagen Daz ice cream. She took a melon-baller tool and carved out a perfect ball of ice cream a little smaller than a golf ball, and put it in the third bowl. She put the ice cream back in the freezer, left the melon-baller in the sink for later use, and took the bowl to her room.

Carmen set the ice cream down on her dresser and picked up a butane lighter, going around lighting half a dozen candles artfully and romantically scattered around. Several were scented to smell like apple pie and cinnamon. She turned off the overhead room light and picked up the bowl of peaches. She dipped her index finger into the bottom of the bowl, wetting it with peach juice. Then she painted her left nipple with the juice, re-dipped her finger, and painted her right nipple. She set the peaches down on her nightstand and picked up the small bowl of crunch. She held it out in front of her and bent at the waist, lowering her now-sticky nipple into the brown sugar/cinnamon/crystal mix, very pleased with herself that the color of the crunch was very close to the natural cinnamon color of her aureoles. After she did the left nipple she did the right one, and then looked in her vanity mirror. Her tits looked fabulous and so edible-looking it made her light-headed. 

She put the bowl of the remaining crunchy stuff on the vanity and took the bowl of ice cream with her to bed. She sat in the middle of the bed Indian-fashion with the ice cream next to her. She reached over to the nightstand and retrieved the bowl of peach slices. Slowly and carefully she inserted four slices into her pussy, one after the other, and left the other four peach slices in the bowl for later. She dipped her fingers in the peach juice and painted her mons with the juice, dabbing it into her closely trimmed bush, and then on the outer lips of her pussy. She put the bowl of peaches on the nightstand and picked up the bowl of ice cream. Careful not to spill it, she lay back on the bed with her legs out straight, on top of the two beach towels. With her fingers she carefully picked up the slippery golf ball of ice cream and set it down in her navel, and then she reached out and put the empty bowl next to the bowl of peaches. The ice cream had already begun to melt, and its coldness made her shudder. She picked up the bowl of crunch and sprinkled some on her mons and on the ice cream golf ball. Gently she pushed a finger down on her tummy just below her bellybutton, so the melted ice cream ran south toward her pussy and into her bush, rather than sideways onto the bed.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 15



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 15 Come Back Shane, Mother Wants You

On the alternate weekends that they were in town and at home, Shane and Carmen attended the Sunday morning brunch services at The Planet, the one time during the week when all the Friends gathered together in fellowship to share gossip, catch up with each other, commiserate, trade fashion advice, news and tips, comfort each other (as necessary), and discuss sex, life, love and women in all their many forms and ramifications. When Carmen had been with Jenny she had attended these church services and became acquainted with the liturgy and all the celebrants at the table. Now that she lived with Shane as her partner and lover, she was a fully vested member of the choir. She not only loved each and every member of the group as they loved her in return, she fit in extraordinarily well. She was kind, polite, well-spoken, funny, playful, smart, compassionate, plain-speaking. She had no pretense about her, never played mind games, and was never bitchy or catty. She was cheerful, enthusiastic, exuberant, supportive. She was wonderful company, a good talker and a better listener. No one doubted she was the best thing that had ever happened to Shane. She was a Boy Scout with a vagina. 

Without actually comparing notes and without having any appreciation of Carmen's sexual skills, tastes and abilities, both Tina and Alice came independently to the same conclusion, that Carmen was the single-most-perfect lesbian ever created. Be that as it may, in the beginning nobody in the group -- except Shane, who never considered the question -- thought Carmen would last a month, and when she was gone they knew they'd miss her. Amazingly, she had already lasted three months with Shane, with no signs of trouble on the horizon. Alice had Ripley's Believe-It-or-Not on speed-dial.

"Hey, guys, there you are!" Alice greeted the happy couple as they walked into The Planet late one Sunday morning. Alice, Dana, Tina and Bette were already seated around "their" table, the one Kit kept reserved for them no matter what. 

Kit came over and insisted on giving them hugs. "My sugah sugahs," she said happily. "Okay, everybody's here now around my table, Mama's happy all her precious daughters are here! Sunday services can now begin! Please turn to page 147 in your menus and we'll all sing the opening appetizer."

"So how was Santa Barbara?" Tina asked, knowing that's where Shane and Carmen had spent the previous weekend. 

"It was great," Carmen said. "We stayed at this terrific bed-and-breakfast." She described their romantic weekend being tourists and visiting antique stores and vintage clothing shops. Shane sat back in her chair. Her eyes were half-closed (for she was not fully awake yet, it only being 11 a.m.), and she basked in the company of those she loved, listening to Carmen tell her tale.

"I'm so jealous of your getaway trips," Tina said. "Santa Barbara. Catalina, San Diego, uh ... ."

"Hearst Castle," Shane said. "Big Bear Lake."

"I'm telling you, you guys are like the Traveling Wilburys," Alice said. 

"Well, we have so much fun on these trips," Carmen said. "You guys should come with us."

"We would, if we could get away," Tina said. "And now we've got Angelica. I'm not sure what kind of romantic weekend it'd be, two couples and a baby. It'd cramp your style."

"I'm stuck here, in training and then going off on tournaments," Dana said. 

"I know," Alice said, mournfully. "But hey, tell us," -- she lowered her voice conspiratorially -- "how many times do you guys have hot monkey sex on these romantic weekend trips? How many orgasms?"

Carmen and Shane looked at each other for a moment, and Shane shrugged. "You talking about vaginal, or just clitoral?"

Everyone laughed.

"But to answer your question, Alice," Shane continued, "I'd say 'Not very often.' We're usually too busy sight-seeing and stuff. What would you say, Car? Once in the morning, before breakfast. One after, if the weather's bad."

"One right after lunch," Carmen picked up with a straight face. "Then a long nap. Another one again right before cocktails. That one's usually in the shower before we dress for dinner. Then, what? Twice after dinner."

"Sounds right," Shane said. 

"One in the surf, and once up on the beach, naked, in the moonlight."

"One in the shower back in our room, washing the sand off."

"Plus the goodnight fuck."

"Oh, right, absolutely. The goodnight fuck. That's always one of the best."

Alice shook her head as Dana leaned forward and deliberately banged her head on the edge of the table half a dozen times, and everybody laughed.

"So," Tina said. "Sounds like you guys are slowing down, then, am I right? Because at the beginning, there, you were going at it hot-and-heavy."

"Oh, I'll say," Bette added. "We had to call the cops on them three times that first week after Carmen moved in. There were screams coming from next door all night long. I thought it was the Tate-LaBianca Murders all over again. It sounded like Charles Manson was slaughtering somebody over there." Everyone laughed, including Shane and Carmen, who actually blushed.

"One night I said to Tina, 'Listen, what's that sound?' It's 11:30 at night. It sounded like waves pounding on the rocks during a storm. We go to the kitchen and look out the back window at the pool, and there's these massive two-foot, three-foot waves lapping out of our pool all over the deck. It's these two, fucking in our pool. Out of the darkness I hear Carmen yell, 'Surf's up!' and then this one" -- she gestured with her thumb at Shane -- "this one yells out, 'Thar she blows!' It was like Jaws was back there bumfucking Shamu."

Everyone was laughing so hard Kit came out of the kitchen to see what she'd missed.

"Bette," Shane said when she could talk, "if you thought you saw a whale's spout back there, I can promise you that was no whale spout!"

Everyone howled, and Carmen turned to Shane and wacked her on the arm. "Shane!" she said, "I can't help it if you make me squirt!"

Laughing and fanning herself with a menu, Kit went back into the kitchen murmuring, "Oh, my, oh my, oh my."

***

Later, when things had settled down and their sandwiches and salads had arrived, Tina said, "Shane, I've been meaning to tell you. The film school at the California University is having a film festival in a couple of weeks. The theme is on classic western movies, and they're going to be showing Shane." 

"I'm sure Shane has seen it a hundred times, until she's sick of it," Dana said.

"Actually, I never have seen it," Shane said, sipping her soda. "Didn't want to."

Carmen's head snapped around and her jaw dropped. "Really? Shane, are you kidding me? You've never seen Shane? That's incredible. That movie is probably your namesake. I never knew you'd never seen it!"

"Nope. Never have."

"Shane, we have got to go! That's what we'll do for our getaway, we'll go to the film festival at Cal U. Shane, that's like one of the best cowboy flicks of all time. I can't believe you never saw it. I know you've heard that line, right? 'Come back, Shane, come back! Mother wants you.'"

"Yeah, sure, I've heard it all my life. And I don't especially like it. That's why I never saw the movie."

"Okay, I can get that," Carmen said. "But still, you've got to see this movie, and I'm going to take you. Shane, it's one of my all-time favorite movies, and I have this special connection to it. There's this little boy in it named Joey, played by Brandon De Wilde. He's the one who is shouting at Shane to come back. And he's was so cute and so precious and he was only nine years old when they filmed it, and he got a nomination for Best Supporting Actor for this part."

Shane was laughing. "All right, Carmen, all right! Jesus. What's your special connection?"

Carmen turned somber. "Brandon De Wilde died when he was only thirty years old. He was in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado, driving his motorcycle at three in the afternoon, in a rainstorm. They were installing a new guard rail around a curve, and the installation truck was stopped in the road. Going around the curve in the rainstorm Brandon hit the guard rail, and then hit the tractor trailer truck. He was trapped in the wreckage for a couple hours before they could get him out. He died that night in the hospital. At the time of the accident he was on his way to that hospital to visit his wife. They'd only been married for three months."

Nobody said anything.

"My dad also died in a motorcycle accident, on his way to the hospital to visit my mom," Carmen continued. "He was coming home from work, in a rainstorm, on the outskirts of Cancun. His bike went off the road and into the jungle, and they didn't find him for two days. Like Brandon De Wilde, my dad was thirty years old when he died."

"Brandon's father," Carmen said, trying hard to control her voice, "was also an actor, but mostly he was a stage manager, on Broadway. His name was Frederick De Wilde, and he was stage manager for a lot of famous plays and musicals you'd all have heard of. Bus Stop. A Man for All Seasons. Come Blow Your Horn. I guess you could say he did a lot of production assistant work, kinda like I do. At any rate, Brandon's father died in 1980. So did my father, also in 1980, a few months before I was born."

Carmen sniffled, and dried her eyes with a paper napkin.

"Okay," Shane said quietly, rubbing her hand on Carmen's back. "I'll go see your movie."

***

The film festival was being held from Friday evening to Sunday afternoon in the Peggy Peabody Auditorium at Cal U. and was administered by the university's film school, which had chosen westerns as the theme for the festival that year, having done drama, comedy and science-fiction film festivals the previous years. One aspect of the festival was that it encouraged the audience to come dressed in costume appropriate to that year's theme, so Carmen used her movie studio connections to borrow ten-gallon Stetson hats and fringed, traditional cowboy shirts for Shane and herself. Shane thought it was a little corny, but went along with it for Carmen's sake. During the week before the festival Carmen went online on her laptop and did some research on the movie Shane, just for her own curiosity. Every now and then she'd tell Shane some factoid about the movie.

"Did you ever watch The Waltons TV show when you were a kid?" she asked Shane one evening. "Everybody says goodnight to everybody else, 'Good night, John-Boy,' all that."

"Yeah, I guess I saw some," Shane said. "Why?"

"Remember Grandma Walton? She was played by Ellen Corby, who was a famous character actress. Well, in Shane she plays Mrs. Torrey, the wife of Elisha Cook, Jr."

"Who?"

"Elisha Cook, Jr. He was the gunsel Wilmer in The Maltese Falcon," Carmen said. "Remember? We watched it one night, with Jenny and Mark. He was the young punk following Bogart around and wanting to kill him. Bogie took his guns away from him and humiliated him."

"Okay, I remember him, I think."

"He has kind of an historic role in the movie," Carmen said.

"What's that?"

"Well, Shane is one of the very first movies to use hidden wires to pull on an actor when the actor gets shot. When he gets hit, they yank on the wire and the jerk pulls him backward or forward, and it looks like he was really shot. The director, George Stevens, had seen combat in World War II, and he knew what it really looked like when somebody got shot. He also knew what real, authentic gunfire sounded like, and Shane is one of the very first movies where they really tried hard to get the sound of gunfire right. In a lot of earlier movies it just sounds like somebody's cap gun. In Shane they got it right."

"Wow, I'm really amazed you know all this stuff," Shane said. "I mean, I realize you're a production assistant and you already know a lot about the behind-the-scenes stuff, but you really are amazing."

Carmen blushed. "That's why nobody will ever play me in Trivial Pursuit."

"I know you know a tremendous amount about songs and music and record history," Shane said, "but you also know about television and movies."

Carmen shrugged. "I just like studying those things."

Shane remembered the evenings she had spent being tutored by Harvey in all things musical, but she didn't say anything. She still had never talked about Harvey to Carmen, or about any of the other things that happened to her back then. Never tell your story, never let them tell you theirs.

***

The festival screened The Searchers on Friday night as the lead-off presentation. Before the movie started there was a brief panel discussion of film experts who talked about it but in a way that didn't spoil the movie for anyone who hadn't seen it yet. As it turned out Shane was the only person in the entire theater who hadn't seen it, but no one but Carmen knew that.

In the morning the festival showed McCabe and Mrs. Miller, a famous film directed by Robert Altman, a director Carmen idolized and once had lunch with on the set of a Richard Gere movie. Shane was the first of two films to be shown in the afternoon right after the lunch break. Shane and Carmen were sitting on the aisle halfway back, and were joined by Alice, Tina and Bette, all wearing cowboy shirts and jeans.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," said Sheila Murray, the woman who was the main festival coordinator and mistress of ceremonies. "I hope you all had a good lunch, but not so good that you fall asleep in the middle of our next film, but I don't think you will. Before we show it, though, I have an unfortunate announcement. As you know if you've read your festival programs, we had scheduled Mr. Barry Williamson, who is a film historian and expert commentator on Shane, to be here today to give you all a brief talk before the movie, and then to do a question-and-answer session afterward. Well, I just got a call from Barry during lunch. His car broke down on the way here, and he's stuck on the 405 waiting for a tow truck to come get him. So unfortunately, he'll either be here very late or not at all, so we're just going to show the movie without any expert introduction and commentary, that is, unless there's any other Shane experts in the theater--"

Shane's hand shot up. "I know an expert on this movie," she called out to the woman on stage. "She's right here." She held her arm up but gestured toward Carmen, sitting next to her.

"Shannnne," Carmen hissed to her. "Nooooo!"

"Aw, come on, Carm, you know this stuff inside out," Shane whispered. She was actually quite proud of Carmen's knowledge. "Do it. You'll be great."

From the stage Sheila Murray said, "Really? Miss, would you like to come up here and be our expert commentator? We'd all be really honored if you would."

"Come on, Carmen," Alice said, and Tina urged her on, too.

"Go, Carmen. You'll be great," she said.

Reluctantly Carmen got up and walked to the side of the auditorium to the steps leading up to the stage. Carmen was wearing a red, fringed cowboy shirt with white piping, cowboy boots, and her Stetson hat pushed back on her head. She looked adorable. She went to the podium on the side of the stage where Sheila Murray waited for her as the audience applauded politely.

"Hi, I'm Sheila Murray," she said, shaking Carmen's hand. 

"Carmen Morales," Carmen said, smiling warmly and shaking her hand.

"Here, let me adjust this for you." Sheila sat her hand-held mic down and adjusted the fixed microphone attached to the podium. She lowered the microphone down. Whoever the speaker was, he was a tall man, and Carmen was only 5' 3", and was almost hidden by the podium.

"I've got a better idea," Sheila said. "Here, you take the hand mic and stand to the side here where people can see you, and I'll use the podium mic." They switched places. "Now, just in case the audience didn't hear you, your name is?"

"Carmen de la Pica Morales."

"Great, thanks for coming up, Carmen, we really appreciate it. Where are you from?"

"Right here in LA. Born and bred. I'm a true, blue Angelino."

Sheila and the audience chuckled. "And what do you do for a living? Are you a film historian?"

"Oh, no, I'm just a movie buff, that's all. I actually have two careers. By day I'm a freelance contract production assistant. I hire on to do production work on movies, TV shows, and I do work on a lot of song videos productions."

"And would we know any of your work?"

"Oh, absolutely," Carmen said. "Do any of you guys ever watch Arianna Huffington's politics talk show? You know how she always has a paper cup full of coffee, and all the panelists have paper cups of coffee? Well, Arianna's is actually a soy latte. So who do you think fetched all those soy lattes and double frappachinos and black coffees and put them on that table?" Carmen pointed proudly at herself. The audience laughed and applauded, and Carmen took a theatrical bow. 

"So you're Arianna's barista?" Sheila said, and Carmen curtsied again, which made everybody laugh. "I always wondered. Okay, what else have you done?"

"I did most of the production stuff on the latest Fisherspooner video called Odyssey. I've worked for Robert Morfitt a couple of times, there's an Indie group called The Organ, I did their video on their song called Brother, which we filmed in a church. Let's see, I've been a script girl a couple of times, I've done continuity, I've done sound boards. I worked with Robert Altman on a Richard Gere movie. I think I'm a member of, like, four different trade unions."

"You're beautiful enough to be on the other side of the camera," Sheila Murray said. "Have you done any acting? I can't believe no one in this town hasn't discovered you by now."

Carmen blushed again. "No, I like to stay behind the camera."

"You said you had two careers. What's the other one?"

"I'm a DJ. I do weddings, bar mitzvahs and bas mitvahs, quincineras, oldies nights, senior citizens events, parties, receptions, conventions, dances, you name it, DJ La Pica is your gal. I DJ at Little Temple every Friday and I do MRX every other Wednesday. I've got a standing gig at this really great place calledThe Planet. And I'm on the Internet at LaPica dot com, if you ever want to check my schedule or book me for an event."

Sheila laughed and the audience applauded, while Shane, Alice, Tina and Bette did the Arsenio woot, woot call.

"Nice shameless plug, Carmen. And it sounds like you brought your own cheering section," Sheila Murray said. Everyone laughed, Shane hooted again, and Carmen waved at her, laughing.

"Okay," Sheila Murray said, "let's talk about this afternoon's film, Shane. I take it you're a fan?"

"Yes, I am. I'm a big fan of westerns in general, and a very big fan of this one, in part, I suppose because I feel I have a special connection to it. A few years ago the American Film Institute put out a list of the one hundred best movies of all time, and they ranked Shane as number sixty-nine, and then in another list they ranked the character Shane himself as the 16th best movie hero, and among cowboy heroes only Gary Cooper in High Noon was above him, so Shane was the second-favorite cowboy hero of all time. And they ranked the famous line, "Come back, Shane," as the number 49th best quote in all of film. They haven't done a list yet for just the best all-time westerns, but if they did, I think Shane would certainly be in the top five, maybe as high as number three."

"What would you rank ahead of it?"

"I don't think there's any question that The Searchers would be the number one best western of all time, and High Noon would be number two. If it was me, I'd rank Shane as third best, but right about here the competition gets really tight. You could make arguments for Stagecoach, Butch Cassidy, Unforgiven, McCabe and Mrs. Miller. Red River. The Magnificent Seven. I just love the John Ford Cavalry Trilogy, so I'd want them ranked right close to the top, too. I think it would be really, really hard to rank that whole group. I'd just call it a nine-way tie for fourth place."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 15



The audience laughed and some applauded.

"Okay, then," Sheila said. "What can you tell us about Shane?"

"Um. Here we go. It was filmed in 1951 but not released until 1953, because the director, George Stevens, took so long to edit it; he wanted to do a really good job. And Stevens was also the movie's producer as well, so he didn't have some studio boss breathing down his neck. The studio was Paramount, and when it was being made the studio thought it was just another 'B' movie, nothing special. But it cost three million dollars, which was a lot of money back then, and a lot of the reason was because of all the special things George Stevens made them do, which I'll get to in a minute. But anyway, the studio was getting worried about the costs, and they even thought about selling it to Howard Hughes just to get rid of it. And Hughes was really, really interested in it because he'd seen a rough cut. But because Hughes was so suddenly interested Paramount reconsidered and thought, hmm, if Hughes likes it so much maybe we better keep it after all, and so they did."

"One of the major reasons Paramount didn't have great expectations for it was the casting. Originally Stevens wanted Montgomery Clift to play the role of Shane, and Clift was really, really hot. He'd just done Red River two years earlier. Stevens also wanted William Holden to play the part of Joe Starrett, and he wanted Katherine Hepburn to play Marian, Joe Starrett's wife."

"Oh, wow," Sheila Murray said.

"Yeah, I know. So anyway, they checked and neither Montgomery Clift nor William Holden were available, and Hepburn was iffy or not available, and so the film almost died right there. But Stevens loved the book and the script and he had great faith in it, so he went back to the studio and he asks, okay, who else is available? And they go over this list of contract players who were available, and Stevens reads the list and he goes, okay, him and him and her and him and her. He picked Alan Ladd and Van Heflin and Jean Arthur, and a couple other supporting people; he casts all the major leads in, like, fifteen minutes, off of a menu. I mean, it was amazing."

"That's incredible," Sheila said.

"I know. Today it takes a team of lawyers six months to put a cast together. And even more incredible is that Jean Arthur was 50 years old and Alan Ladd was only 38, and Van Heflin was 41. Jean had a long and very good film career, but she was known mostly for comedies and light roles. She started out in silent movies, and she had this funny, high, squeaky voice, which didn't matter in silent films but once talkies came around her voice kinda determined that she'd do comedy stuff, not serious parts. So picking a 50-year-old comedian with a squeaky voice to be the serious love interest of a 38-year-old gunslinger was either pretty weird, or pretty risky, or maybe sheer genius, or maybe all of them. But anyway, that's what Stevens did. 

"The plot takes place in Wyoming, and is loosely based on the Johnson County War, which took place in 1892, so if you wonder about what year this is supposed to be, think somewhere in the range of 1888 to 1892. The Johnson County War was between a lot of small homesteaders versus a handful of big ranchers. The winter of 1887-88 was really bad, which caused a drought and a lack of grazing land. The big ranchers were headquartered in Cheyenne, and many were members of the Cheyenne Social Club, which, yes, was not only the name of a movie but really existed. Anyway, the big ranchers needed more land and water, and they started taking it away from the small homesteaders. Eventually the ranchers hired a bunch of gunslingers and killers from Texas to come in and run off the small farmers and homesteaders, and finally there was a big gun battle, which was the Johnson County War itself. 

"I want to talk about Michael Cimino's epic movie Heaven's Gate for a minute.. That was all about the Johnson County War. So that's what's going on here: One of the major ranchers brings in a hired gunfighter to chase off some essentially peaceable and peace-loving small-time homesteaders. When it came out in 1980, the year I was born, critics panned Heaven's Gate, and it's notorious for being considered a disaster movie that killed its studio, United Artists. But there's a small handful of people who think Heaven's Gate has within it a potentially great movie dying to get out. And what you may not know is that right now, as this festival is going on, there's a director named Steven Soderbergh out there who is re-cutting Heaven's Gate into a much shorter version. I haven't seen it, but the shop talk I hear around town is that this version isn't going to be any better and might even be worse than the original. We'll just have to see. Now, if I had my druthers, what I would really like to see is Cimino do a major new director's cut, incorporating what he's learned from all the criticism and from his experience afterward. It's my hunch that a new Cimino director's cut might just elevate Heaven's Gate from an epic flop into the Top Ten or Top Dozen westerns of all time. 

"But here's the point about Heaven's Gate. Among other things, it's all about space. The wide open western spaces of Wyoming and Montana. Somebody once said space is the theme of all of American history. I don't know, that's way above my pay grade. But if you ever see a re-run of Heaven's Gate on TV, think about Cimino's use of those vast western spaces, that Big Sky. And today, when you watch Shane, you'll see Cimino was trying to do exactly what George Stevens did brilliantly and successfully almost thirty years earlier.

"I'd like to talk about the character actors, if I may, because this movie has some incredible people."

"Sure, go for it," Sheila said. "This is exactly the kind of stuff we wanted to hear."

"I happen to really love character actors, and in this movie you're gonna see a whole bunch of them, many of whom you already know from their later work. I guess the first one would be Jack Palance, the bad guy, Jack Wilson. You all know who he is, and I'm sure you remember him doing that one-handed push-up when he won the Oscar for City Slickers a dozen years ago. That was his third nomination for Best Supporting Actor, and one of his earlier nominations that he didn't win was for Shane." 

"Next, I'm sure you've all seen the TV show The Waltons. Everybody remember Grandma Walton, Ellen Corby? Well, here she's Mrs. Torrey, the wife of one of the homesteaders, a former Confederate soldier named Stonewall Torrey. And he's played by Elisha Cook, Jr., one of the great, great Hollywood villains and character actors. You all know him as the young gunsel in The Maltese Falcon, who gave Humphrey Bogart a hard time, or maybe the other way around. And he was in a ton of other stuff you all know. And he has a pretty historic part in this movie. I guess most of you have seen Shane before, so you know Jack Wilson shoots down Torrey in the street. Well, when they filmed it, they hooked Elisha Cook up to some hidden wires, and when he gets shot they yanked on the wires, so it looks like he got hit. Nowadays Hollywood special effects and stunt people do this all the time, and it's very routine, it's how you get that jerk effect. But this was the very first movie to use this technique. George Stevens had served in World War II, and he'd seen firsthand what it really looks like when somebody gets shot. You know how we all laugh like crazy now when we see an old movie, and somebody gets shot, and he either slowly crumples to the ground, or he even falls forward. Well, this was the first time this new hyper-realistic technique was used, and it was very effective and even shocking back in 1953 when people saw it. And the other thing Stevens did is he took extra pains to make sure the gunfire sounded real and authentic, because he had heard a lot of it in the war, and he knew that all the earlier movies made it sound like cap guns and toys, and not real gunfire. And this was so memorable that Warren Beatty used these techniques when he made Bonnie and Clyde, and he directly credits George Stevens and the sound of the gunfire in Shane."

"So these are just two of the things that Stevens did that made the film so much better, but also drove the cost up. And while I'm talking about money and special effects, this was the very first movie ever made for wide-screen panorama. I just mentioned space and the huge, open skies. Stevens knew he was going to have these vast western landscapes with these tremendous, wide vistas. They filmed it in several places, like San Bernadino and Chatsworth, and here in Hollywood at Paramount, but the main part they filmed out on the high plains in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and that's the Grand Teton massif you see in the distance in the opening scene. So Stevens wanted to capture that vast, panoramic open space, that sky, those mountains, and he knew he needed an extra wide screen, a stretched-out canvas, so to speak, to capture that. And of course he succeeded beyond anyone's imagination. Here's how he did it. He knew the standard Hollywood camera aperture rectangle was the usual 1.37:1 ratio, just a little shorter than the Golden Rectangle. So Paramount made a special arrangement with Radio City Music Hall in New York for the film's premiere. They built a new screen that was 50 feet wide and 30 feet tall, instead of the standard size, 34 feet 3 inches by 25 feet, and it was flat, not curved like some movie screens. That 50 by 30 is a ratio of 1.66 to 1, 'kay? Just a wee skosh longer than the Golden Rectangle. I know this is all technical stuff and I hope I'm not boring you with this--"

"No, no," Sheila Murray said. "This is a film festival. We're all film nerds and junkies, so this is what we want. I'm just amazed you know all this stuff off the top of your head. You're amazing! Please, continue!"

"Okay, thanks. So, anyway, they made this special wide screen, and they had to create and change the camera projectors in the movie theaters to handle it, so the camera aperture for Shane was increased to an aspect ratio of 1.66:1. And it was such a fabulous success that Paramount said it was going to do all its movies from now on in this new format, although a year later they increased it to 1.85:1, which became the standard. But this era was the birth of the wide screen and Panavision, Cinerama, Cinamascope, Todd-A.O., Thrillarama, all of which began at this time, early to mid 1950s. Part of the reason was to try to do something really spectacular to compete with television, which was just coming out big time. So the studios wanted something a TV screen couldn't do, which was go waaaay wide, change the aspect ratio. They did The Robe in Cinemascope in 1953, White Christmas with Bing Crosby in VistaVision in 1954, the musicals Oklahoma in Todd A.O. and Carousel in Cinemascope 55, both in 1955. Meanwhile, the television industry didn't adjust to this format until 'letterboxing' was started in the mid-1980s."

"And as many of you on the technical side may already know, Shane won the Academy Award for Best Cinematography. Nowadays we're all very used to seeing breathtaking cinematography and these incredible landscapes and visuals, and we take a lot of it for granted. But this movie was the great granddaddy of that, and when it was shown back in 1953 it just knocked everybody's socks off."

"Okay, let me get back to the character actors. Anybody remember Jane Hathaway from The Beverly Hillbillies, played by Nancy Kulp? She's in this, but only for a few seconds and it's easy to miss her. Another famous face I know you'll all remember is Edgar Buchanan, who was also in Beverly Hillbillies and he was Uncle Joe Carson in Petticoat Junction. And he was in a gazillion other movies and TV shows just about forever. I just love Edgar Buchanan. He started out life as a dentist and oral surgeon before World War II, and he got started in movies when he was 36 years old. Once on a movie set another actor had a bad toothache that threatened to halt production, so right in the middle of shooting Edgar pulled the guy's tooth for him, and production resumed."

"The next actor is one I know everyone recognizes and loves, the great Ben Johnson. He's only got a small part here, but it's an influential one. He plays one of the hired gunslingers who has a fistfight with Shane in the saloon. But then he has an attack of conscience and decides to quit working for the bad guys, and he comes to see Shane to apologize and tell him he's riding out of town. Well, we see this idea in movies more and more often. Remember in Tombstone with Kurt Russell as Wyatt Earp, there's a curly-headed member of the Cowboys named McMasters, and in the opening scene where the Cowboys gun down all those Mexicans --and on behalf of the Mexican-American community I'd like to thank Hollywood once again for slaughtering us like sheep --" the audience laughed -- "anyway, McMasters has an attack of conscience and quits the Cowboys and comes to tell Wyatt Earp he's quit, and in fact he joins Earp when he wipes out Powers Booth at the ambush at the river."

"Ben Johnson started out life as a real honest-to-God cowboy and ranch hand, and was hired by Howard Hughes to wrangle some horses to be used in filming The Outlaw. Hughes then cast him in that movie, and Johnson spent some years as a movie horse wrangler and stunt man. He came to the attention of John Ford, who hired him as a stunt man and stunt double for Henry Fonda in Fort Apache. One day there was a real runaway wagon, and Johnson, who was sitting on a horse, galloped after it and stopped it before anyone got hurt. Ford was grateful and told Ben he was gonna reward him for his courage. So Ben's thinking, hey, that's cool, maybe my reward will be another stunt job or something. So Ford calls him to come to his office and pick up his reward, and when he does Ford hands him an envelope. And Johnson starts reading what's in it and he discovers it's a seven-year contract at $5,000 a week. So Johnson couldn't believe it, but he stops reading it and picks up a pen and signs it before Ford can change his mind. So that's how Ben Johnson became a solid member of what they later called the John Ford Stock Company, along with Ward Bond, Harry Carey Jr., John Wayne, Victor McLaglan, Jimmy Stewart, Maureen O'Hara, Ken Curtis, who was Festus on Gunsmoke, Chill Wills, Andy Devine, John Qualen, Vera Miles, oh, just a whole bunch of them."

"Ben is also the only actor in all of Hollywood history who played a character named Travis in three consecutive movies," Carmen said, and everyone laughed. She knew she held the entire auditorium spellbound. "He was Travis Tyree twice, in two of the three Cavalry Trilogy movies, and he was Travis Blue in Rio Grande. You probably know he won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for The Last Picture Show. Peter Bogdanovich wanted him pretty bad for that part but Ben didn't want to do it because the script had him saying a lot of F-words, and there was nudity in it, if you remember, ahem, and Ben didn't approve of all that, that so he turned it down. Bogdanovich had to go to John Ford to get Ford to talk Ben into taking the part, so Ben worked out a deal whereby Bogdanovich agreed to cut all the F-bombs out of Ben's dialog. So Ben reluctantly agreed ... and the result was an Oscar. And not only that, from a story-telling point of view it made sense. There are lots of people who don't like profanity and refuse to use certain words, and Ben was one of them. But here's the point: The character Ben played was clearly one of those people who don't cuss. It was better story-telling to remove all those swear words from Ben's dialog. Ben knew his character wouldn't drop F-bombs, and Bogdanovich had the good sense to see it."

"Okay, I know I'm taking a lot of time on character actors, but here's the one I'm saving for last, because this actor has a special meaning for me, personally. You all know there's a little boy in the movie, Joey, played by Brandon De Wilde. Joey's the one who says that now classic line that's number 49 on the AFI memorable quotes list. Most of you probably know Brandon De Wilde died young, but you probably forgot a lot of the details, if you ever knew them. But here they are. He died when he was thirty years old, in the outskirts of Denver, Colorado. He was driving his motorcycle to go to the hospital to visit his wife, whom he'd married only three months earlier. It was a rainy afternoon, a little after 3 o'clock, and going around a bend he hit a guardrail, and then ran into the tractor-trailer truck that was installing the guardrails there. Brandon was trapped in the wreckage for some time in the rain and he died that night in the hospital. He had a broken back, broken neck, and broken leg. Well, my father also died in a motorcycle accident, also when he was also thirty years old, also in a rainstorm, also in the mid or late afternoon, on the outskirts of Cancun, Mexico. My mother was five months pregnant with me at the time. We don't know exactly when my father died, since his motorcycle went off the road and into the jungle, in the rain, and they didn't find him for two days."

The auditorium was totally quiet. 

"So that's my connection to Brandon De Wilde, the nearly exact circumstances and similarities between his death and my dad's death," Carmen concluded, with a small catch in her voice. There was a hush in the theater, and then a rush of applause that caught Carmen by surprise. She blushed, and patted her wet eyes, and struggled to find her voice. When the clapping died down, she continued.

"I'm so sorry to lay all that on you, and I never meant this to be such a downer."

"Oh, sweetheart, don't apologize," Sheila Murray said. "That was lovely. And I'm sure it was a moment that none of us will ever forget. So thank you."

"Okay," Carmen said, fanning her face, "and anyway, Brandon De Wilde is really, really adorable in this movie. The technique of telling an essentially adult story through the eyes of a child goes way back, and Shane is by no means the first book or movie to do it. Think of classics like Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, uh, Treasure Island, the list could go on quite a ways. The all-time best courtroom drama on film, and also a great book, is To Kill a Mockingbird. And that's also told from the point of view of a child, narrating a very adult plot about interracial rape. There's a great book and movie I love called A High Wind in Jamaica, same thing, an adult story told from the point of view of Emily, one of the children caught in a very adult world. So when you're watching this movie, think about what it would be like if this same story was told without Joey, and without seeing the character of Shane through Joey's eyes. We see Shane the way Joey does. Remember, Joey is the very first person to see Shane come riding across the valley in that incredible opening scene, and also the very last person to see him ride away into the sunset. So the movie Shane just wouldn't be the same story without Joey, just as To Kill a Mockingbird wouldn't be the same if it wasn't told through Jem's eyes."

"Just a few last things you might want to know, about problems they had filming it. First off, Alan Ladd had trouble handling guns. There's the famous scene where he's doing target practice and showing Joey how to shoot. Well, what you'll never see on the screen is the fact that Alan Ladd had so much trouble with the guns that it took them 116 takes to get it right." The audience laughed.

"Last story. Despite all the westerns he's been in, Jack Palance had a problem with horses. He wasn't a great rider. So there's his first entrance scene when he comes galloping into town on his horse. And Jack just couldn't do it right, and it looked funny or weird, and George Stevens hated it. They tried it over and over, and Palance couldn't get the gallop right. So finally Stevens says, screw it, Jack, just ride in slowly. So Palance comes riding into town slowly, just sauntering in, and it is so menacing it just works beautifully. It's the all-time great slow, slow, bad guy entrance, the personification of evil. Evil doesn't come galloping into town out of breath. Evil slinks in slowly, like a snake. You've all seen it a thousand times since 1953, but this was the first, and all because Jack Palance wasn't a very good horseman. And here's the significance. You probably know that another other great western, Cat Ballou, is a major parody of Shane. Lee Marvin as Tim Strawn dresses like Wilson was dressed in Shane, only exaggerated. And when's the first time we see Kid Shaleen? How does the gunslinger come riding into town? He's not only coming into town slowly, like Wilson did, he's so slow he's actually dead stopped, asleep, and his horse is asleep, leaning against the side of a building. Well, that all comes from Jack Palance's entrance scene in Shane. And ask yourselves this: how many times in his career does Clint Eastwood come slowly, slowly sauntering into town? And how many times does he gallop in?"




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 15



"Very last point. Grafton, the owner of the general store, has a dog. Wilson is so evil that every time he enters the store or stands up, what you see is this poor dog getting up, head down, tail between its legs, leaving the room. It's a small thing, but look for it. Even the barroom dog hates Wilson. It'll make you laugh. Okay, that's all I have. Thank you all for listening." 

The audience applauded, and Shane, Alice, Tina and Bette stood up, giving Carmen a standing ovation. In a moment, the rest of the audience joined them on their feet.

***

That night as they got ready for bed, Shane said, "You know, babe, you were really amazing today. We were all impressed as hell about how great you were, and you know who was more impressed than anybody? Tina. She probably knows more about the movie business than any of the rest of us, since she's so deeply involved in it, but she said you knew stuff even she didn't know."

Carmen had showered and was laying on her back on the big double bed. She was wearing only a sleeveless T-shirt, as was Shane. Carmen never wore bottoms, because she didn't like anything on her legs. Shane usually wore tops and bottoms to bed, but the jockeys always came off so fast and so often she soon dispensed with them at night, and bottomless became their usual nighttime sleepwear. Carmen had one knee bent and the other leg crossed over it and swaying idly.

"Thanks," Carmen said. "Tina's really sweet. But I know and she knows that she knows tons more than I do about movies and movie-making. She's been in the business longer than I have."

"Well, maybe," Shane said. "But you have these great public speaking skills. You can stand up in front of an auditorium with 500 people in it and talk for an hour. I couldn't even get up on stage like that, much less talk."

"Well, you have other skills," Carmen said sexily, "and I'm hoping you'll give me a hands-on demonstration of what they are right now."

Shane grinned at her. "Let me brush my teeth first," she said, and left the room to go to the bathroom. Carmen watched her bare butt go through the door and down the hallway.

"Shane," she called out, using the voice of Brandon De Wilde. "Come back, Shane! Mother wants you!" She heard Shane growl down the hall; Shane still didn't like that line much. Carmen chuckled.

"Come back, Shane! Mother wants some pussy! She wants you, Shane! And Pa, he wants to watch. And I want to kiss and lick and eat your cunt, too! Come back, Shane, come back." Down the hall she could hear Shane brushing her teeth and laughing with a mouthful of toothpaste foam.

"Come back, Shane! Mother wants you to fingerfuck her cunny! And she wants you to make her squirt. Come back, Shane! Come back! Mother says you have the best-tasting twat in the whole valley. She sucked all the other homesteader wives' pussies, and she says yours is by far the freshest, tastiest, most peach-flavored--"

No one would ever know how Carmen intended to end that sentence, for at that moment Shane came flying into the bedroom, laughing, and jumped on the bed, straddling Carmen and pulling her arms up over her head and pinning her down. Carmen shrieked and squealed until her mouth was silenced by Shane's kisses, by her tongue, her hunger. Carmen spread her legs wide, letting Shane come between them until they were vulva to vulva.

"You are soooo going to get it," Shane whispered, looking down into the dark, glistening pools of Carmen's eyes.

"Oh, I'm really countin' on it, tall, lean, mysterious stranger. Ever since I seen you come ridin' inter the valley, I says to myself, now there's a buckaroo can really buck my roo."

Shane laughed. "I am so gonna buck your roo."

"Talk's cheap, cowpoke. Stop jawin' and lemme see what you got."

That night Carmen was rode hard and put away wet. Twice. 

***

The following Sunday morning they had brunch with the Friends at The Planet. When Shane and Carmen came in there were only three people at the table: Dana and her girlfriend Lara, the chef, and baby Angelica, who was being bounced on Lara's knee.

"Hey, guys," Carmen said. "Where is everybody?" She leaned over and kissed Angelica and stuck her face into her neck, making chomping, eating sounds. The baby laughed and gurgled and held her arms out to Carmen, whom she loved without reservation. Carmen had babysat Angelica more than anyone else since she was born four months ago, and there was a special bond between them. When Carmen sat down Lara handed Angelica to her, and Carmen stood her on her knee and flirted and played with her as Shane leaned in and kissed the baby's cheek.

"Bette and Tina just got here a minute ago. Tina had to go to the bathroom and Bette's making a phone call. They'll be back in a minute."

Carmen turned Angelica around and made her wave at Dana by holding her arm. "Say hello to Dana, Angelica," Carmen said.

Dana held up her arms to receive Angelica. "My turn," she said, giving the baby some snuggle love. "Oh, yeah! Woohoo!"

"How'd it go with your folks?" Shane asked Dana.

Dana sighed. On the previous Thursday she had told them she was a lesbian and that Lara was more than just a casual friend. It was a moment that had been building for months, and which the group had talked about almost endlessly. Carmen, too, had not come out to her mother, and it was something she and Dana talked about privately as well as with the Friends.

"I wouldn't say my parents are happy about it, necessarily, I would just say that they've ... they've accepted it, sort of in their own way," Dana said. 

"Yeah, they don't try and fix you up with guys anymore, so that's good," Lara said. 

Dana nodded. "That's good. You making any progress, Carmen? You and Shane have been together for a while now." 

Carmen was spreading cream cheese on a bagel. "The whole, uh, coming-out-to-your-parents-in-a-Mexican-family, that stuff? Mm-mmm, there's something about it. It doesn't really play." 

"No," Shane put in with a hint of reproach. "So you just stay in the closet." 

"No, sweetheart," Carmen said. 

Shane smiled but stuck to her guns. "Yes." 

"You don't just stay in the closet," Carmen said. "There are certain things that are understood, and it is understood that we do not talk about those things. Like, I have this Uncle Papi. He borrowed his sister's prom dress one year, and uh, what he did with that prom dress, we don't know. And guess what? We don't ask." 

Bette and Tina returned to the table. They were in the middle of a conversation of their own. "I found it disconcerting, that's all," Tina said to Bette as she sat down. 

"Why? What's wrong with 'clit'?" Bette asked. That got everyone's attention. 

"It's a little graphic," Tina said. "I prefer that our therapist use a more neutral language." 

"So 'clit' made you uncomfortable?" 

"A little, yeah." 

"What about 'cunt,'" Bette asked. "Do you have a problem with 'cunt'?" She turned to Angelica and made a funny face at her. "Hey, Boo Boo!" 

Dana held Angelica up and said, "Look who it is!" Angelica gurgled and laughed and responded to one of her two mommies and holding her arms out, much as she had done for Carmen. 

"It's not my favorite word," Tina said, still on topic. 

"Mama," Dana said, handing Angelica to a smiling Bette. 

"Hi!" Bette said, giving the baby a big wet snuggle kiss. 

"Actually, I like 'pussy,'" Tina said, selecting a croissant from a plate on the table. 

"Oh. Hear! Hear! I love pussy," Carmen laughed, making a joke and turning to Shane. But Shane leaned forward and pointed to Angelica with a frown. 

"Excuse me," she said. 

"Hmm?" Carmen said, not getting the problem, if there was one. 

"Shane, it's not as though she can really understand what we're talking about," Tina put in, defending Carmen. 

"You don't know that," Shane said. 

Dana was a little mystified. "What are you -- what are you talking about?" 

"Well, Tina has a problem with the word 'clit,'" Bette explained, "which I find somewhat troubling, and she's also not too fond of 'cunt.'" She looked at Tina, who glared back at her. No one at the table but Lara was sure if they were still talking about word choices or maybe something else entirely. 

Lara picked up the theme, oblivious to the mood. "Oh, my god, I love the word 'cunt,'" she said. "I get totally hot." 

"No! You do?" Dana asked, surprised. 

"Yeah! Don't you?" 

Dana shrugged. "I--" she started to say, but Bette rescued her. 

"Well, what words do you use?" she asked Dana. 

Dana opened her mouth to respond, but stopped, then tried again, but came up empty.

"'Pussy' works for me," Shane said. 

"Mm-hmm," Carmen agreed. "'Beaver' is also fun sometimes and I like 'twat.'" 

Everyone laughed. 

Carmen turned to Shane, laughing and leaning in almost to kiss her. "Actually, I really like 'twat'! You know that." 

Shane laughed and wrinkled her nose back at Carmen, grinning, "I know," she said suggestively. 

"Aww, babe!" Carmen said, giving Shane a peck on the lips as everyone laughed. 

"See, I just grew up in a world of euphemisms," Tina said, "like 'down there,' 'nether regions,' 'private parts,' 'naughty bits'... 'Uh oh, don't touch your no-no!'" 

Dana laughed. "I was the same way. 'Private parts,' 'lady parts,' 'it.'" 

Alice came into The Planet and approached the table behind Dana and Lara. Everybody else saw her before Dana did. They knew that Alice was in love with Dana, had been for a while, and was having a hard time dealing with Dana's relationship with Lara. In fact, it had made Alice about as nuts as they'd ever seen her. Alice surprised Dana when she came up behind her and jumped right into the conversation. "Then who came up with 'peeper'?" 

Dana turned and looked at Alice and laughed. 

Alice grinned back. "Peeper! Peeper, peeper, peeper," she said manically. It was like Alice couldn't stop, and it embarrassed the group. 

"Mama T," Bette said to Tina, hoping to divert attention by handing Angelica to her, "why don't you feed her for a while, I think she's hungry." 

"She's fine," Tina said, confused about what Bette was trying to do. But she took Angelica anyway and kissed her.

Alice still thought the topic was hilarious, and knelt down by Dana. "Peeper, peeper, peeper! 'Touch my peeper, Al. Nobody touches my peeper like you do.'" 

Dana and Lara were getting annoyed, but Alice grinned. Bette frowned at Alice's behavior. She knew Alice was upset, but she was also out of control and loosing it. 

"Oh, look what happens to my peeper when it touches your peeper. It's a wet peeper!" Alice said, unable to stop. It was like a disease. 

"Alice," Shane said, trying to calm Alice down or warn her off. But it was too late. 

Dana stood up, pulling on Lara's arm. "We're gonna go," she said, clearly irritated and embarrassed. 

"It's a wet, wet peeper," Alice said, with a sad, sick smile on her face. 

Dana and Lara got their sweaters and purses and started to leave. "You win, Al," Dana said, both mad and sad. 

Alice stood and watched them go, smiling. "Peeper," she said, smiling brightly. When Dana and Lara were gone, Alice's face fell, she hung her head and sighed, knowing she had misbehaved but was unable to stop herself.

Tina held up Angelica and said, "Oh, baby, say hello to Auntie Alice." 

Bette broke in. "Mama T, can you just put her - really, just put her --"

"Say hello!" Tina told Angelica, ignoring Bette. "Say hello! Say hello!" 

Bette frowned but said nothing. Alice slumped down into a seat dejectedly and crossed her arms in front of her on the table. 

"So, what are you on now?" she asked Alice quietly. 

"I'm on methylphenidate," she said, referring to the generic name for Ritalin, the drug often used to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. "Possible side effects" -- she coughed-- "include Tourette's." She sighed, hoping that perhaps the drug would excuse her behavior. 

Bette looked at her, worried.

"It's okay," Tina said softly. "We're all a little stressed out right now." 

Carmen nodded. "Totally." Shane nodded, too. 

"Yeah, Tina and I, we have our first home visit with the adoption social worker today." 

"Oh, good luck." I hope it goes well," Carmen said.

"Ah, I've got a major event coming up, too," Shane said. "I'm going to meet Carmen's mother."

"Oh, great!" Tina said. 

"And have dinner with her entire family," Shane added. 

"And?" Carmen turned to her and prompted her to keep speaking. 

"And I've agreed for Carmen's sake I'm gonna act straight." 

Bette laughed. 

Carmen did too, and held out her hands. "Who wins?" she asked, rhetorically. 

"You win," Tina said, nodding.

"Yeah, you win," Bette added. 



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 16



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 16 She Feeds Herself

On those occasions when Shane had to work late and wouldn't be home for dinner, Carmen sometimes went over to her mother's house in east LA to say hello, catch up with members of her family, and receive a booster shot of her mother's home cooking. 

"Hey, mom," Carmen said, walking into the kitchen and giving her mother a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She saw that her mother was making a Yucatan chicken recipe with a brown sauce that was one of Carmen's favorites. "Mmmmmmm! Got enough to feed an extra hungry mouth?"

The question was rhetorical, because there was never a time in the history of the Morales household when there wasn't enough food or room at the table for an extra place. And the question was doubly absurd when the supplicant was Carmen, the apple, the peach, the tangerine of her mother's eye.

"Is there enough?" Mercedes responded. "No, I am sorry, my baby. We are so poor we only have a few scraps for ourselves. There is no extra food to feed you, so you'll just have to go down the street to Taco Bell."

Carmen stuck out her lower lip, pretending to sulk, and batted her eyelashes. "No supper for your youngest daughter, your sweet, precious, baby girl? No Yucatan chicken for little Carmencita?"

"Taco Bell," Mercedes repeated firmly. "Maybe they are having a special. Two chalupas for the price of one."

Carmen laughed. "What can I do to help?"

"Set the table, please, while I try to find a small bone or something in here you can have."

Carmen laughed again and began setting the table.

"Where is Chane tonight?" Mercedes asked.

"She's on a movie set somewhere down on the beach," Carmen said. "They need to catch the sunset or something, and Shane called and said she has to stay late just in case somebody's hair needs a touch-up. Shane said it was breezy down there, so she'll be working all night until they get the shot."

"Some night you should bring her over for dinner," Mercedes said. "I met Jenny those times you brought her over. I would like to meet Chane. Ever since you grew up and graduated from college I don't meet any of your friends too often."

"I know, mom," Carmen said. "I'll mention it to Shane, but she works pretty hard, too, like I do. It's tough coordinating our schedules. But I'll see what I can do."

***

Carmen was in bed and in that twilight zone just before sleep when she heard Shane come in. 

"Hey," Shane whispered as she leaned over Carmen and gently kissed her on the mouth.

"Hey," Carmen murmured. "What time is it?"

"A little after ten."

"Did they get their shot?"

"Yeah, finally. We were about three seconds away from total sun below the horizon when they got the take right."

"Mmmm. Good for them. You hungry? Did you eat? My mom made me bring some leftovers home for you. It's her specialty, Yucatan chicken."

"I spent most of the night hanging around near the craft table, grazing," Shane said.

"Mmmmm. Then come to bed, before I fall asleep."

"I will, but I gotta jump in the shower. Be right back."

Carmen dozed, and woke when she felt a naked, moist, tooth-pastey-smelling Shane climb under the sheets and spoon herself against Carmen's bare bottom. It was arguable that there was no finer place to be in all of the Northern Hemisphere than to be spooned against Carmen de la Pica Morales's bare bottom.

"How was your day?" Shane asked, kissing Carmen's shoulder blade.

"Good. They finished shooting the video early. I got home by four and went over to mom's for dinner."

"So you said. I'll eat the chicken for breakfast."

"Mom wants you to come over for dinner. She wants to meet you."

Shane grunted.

"What's that mean?"

"It means I'm too tired to think about it. When does she have to know?"

"No special time. It's an open invitation. We can stop over almost any time."

"You don't have to call ahead of time so she can make extra?"

But she got no answer, just the sound of Carmen gently snoring, a rustling zephyr sound Shane had come to love. She was asleep herself in just seconds.

***

In the morning it was one of those rare days when they were both working at the same movie studio, which in this case happened to be the Universal lot. They decided to carpool, and stopped by The Planet on the way to pick up their morning caffeine.

"Did you give any more thought to coming over to my mom's for dinner?" Carmen asked as they walked to The Planet's front door.

"Yeah, but I just feel funny about it."

They entered The Planet and got in line. "Baby, it is so not a big deal. My mother is used to us bringing people over for dinner all the time."

"I understand," Shane said, her arm over Carmen's shoulder, "but I'm not used to it, so you have to give me a moment, okay?"

"Hook me up, Janie," Carmen said to the barista, who handed them cups of coffee. 

"Well, what is it that you are not used to," Carmen asked, "because we go over to people's houses for dinner a lot, and you're fine with that."

"I know I can. I'm just not used to this whole family thing, and especially my girlfriend's family, and, well, even more so, considering they don't know I'm her girlfriend."

"I meant to ask you something about that. Do you think ... can you ... I mean ..."

"You want me to pretend I'm straight and we're not together," said Shane.

"Well, yeah. Baby, would that be a problem?"

Shane shrugged. "Someday you're going to have to tell them," Shane said, blowing on her coffee to cool it before taking a sip. "Someday" -- she sipped -- "someday they're gonna find out."

Carmen let out a sigh. "I know. My sisters already know, they're fine with it, but it's not them I'm worried about. The first time you and mom and my family all meet, that's sure as hell not the right time for me to tell them. For one thing, my mother would hate you forever, and I don't want that. I just have to find some way to tell her, and I'm just not ready."

Shane shrugged. "That's cool."

"Really? Is it? Shane?" Carmen turned Shane's head around so she could look into Shane's eyes. "I'm so sorry to ask you to do this. But ... you know how much I love you. It's just that I'm not the one who's ready."

"It's okay," Shane said. 

"Really?"

"Really."

"I love you so much."

"That's a good thing," Shane said. "Because I love you, too. Come on, let's get to work before we get fired."

***

However, their schedules were such that it took more than a week to make it happen. It looked like the first day both Carmen and Shane would both be available was the Tuesday of the next week. Over the weekend Carmen called her mom and told her that Tuesday was looking pretty good for bringing Shane over, barring anything unforeseen. Mercedes understood that both women worked jobs that sometimes broke schedules, and she was already quite used to that in Carmen's case.

"That will be fine," Mercedes said. "I always make plenty. If she can come, she can come. If not, we try again another time."

"Great, mom," Carmen said. "I love you. See on Tuesday."

As the day approached, Shane's window of opportunity remained stubbornly open, but her resolve started to slip, as Carmen had suspected it might. She was beginning to learn that Shane didn't handle some kinds of pressure very well, and this was one of those times.

Just to make sure, Carmen swung by Shane's job site that afternoon to pick her up and make sure she got home in time to shower and change. Shane was conscious that she was being "handled" by Carmen, and in some circumstances such handling would have irritated Shane and perhaps even increased her resistance. In time, it might even have generated outright rebellion. But this was Carmen she was dealing with, and Carmen was no fool. She was learning every day how to read Shane's moods and feelings, and she often talked to Ixchel about tactical questions.

"She'll be okay," Ixchel assured her. "This is just a big deal for her, that's all. It's bigger than you realize."

"But why?"

"Because despite the deception, this is still the quintessential act of a relationship. She's being taken home to meet the Significant Other's parents. Just the one parent, since your father is deceased. But it's not just the parents, she's being introduced to your whole family for the first time. This is always a major event in someone's life, and in the life of the relationship. The fact that you're both going to hide that relationship is irrelevant. And remember, we're talking about a person who has never been in love before, and never been in a long-term relationship before. It's like she's 17 years old."

"But my mother will love her."

"You and I know that, but Shane doesn't. You can say it a thousand times, but she still doesn't know it. We both know about her self-esteem issues. In your mind, Shane is a sweet, lovable, iconoclastic, warm, caring, slightly damaged free spirit. In Shane's mind she's an andro dyke former chickenhawk prostitute drug abuser who finger-fucked total strangers in lesbian fern bar bathrooms, and who is now finger-fucking you. Shane is worried about how deeply your mother will be able to see under the surface to discover the real Shane."

"But that isn't the real Shane!" Carmen objected.

"Maybe not now, no. But once, yes. And anyway, it isn't your opinion of who Shane is that counts. It's Shane's notion of who she is that's the guiding factor here. To put it simply, Shane is just worried sick that your mother won't like her."

"And nothing I can say--"

"--will do any good," Ixchel finished her sentence for her. "And there's one other thing."

"What's that?" Carmen asked, half dreading to hear the answer.

'Not only has Shane never been introduced to a lover's or girlfriend's family, she has never had a proper family of her own," the jaguar goddess said. "She has almost no experience with families of any kind. She doesn't understand how family dynamics work. She doesn't know how to relate to people in a kinship setting. She's never had siblings, never squabbled with brothers or sisters, never had aunts and uncles and grandparents, or even cousins and nieces and nephews. These are all just theoretical relationships, as far as she's concerned. She's read about them, and knows such relationships exist. But she's never experienced them before. The only 'family' she's ever had is the group of Friends who hang out at The Planet. That being said, deep down inside she desperately wants and needs a family. This collides with her deepest fear, which is that yet again, she will be rejected or abandoned by yet another family. So she doesn't want to risk her affections, her heart, being broken like it was when she was 10 years old, or when Harvey died. She's going to carry that fear with her until the day she dies. It's her fear of a relationship writ large."

***

They climbed into Carmen's Jeep and Carmen started the engine. Shane sat looking forward, almost in a daze.

"Hey," Carmen said. She reached her hand over and put it on Shane's hand on top of her knee. "It's going to be okay."

Shane nodded, but she didn't mean it. "I want them to like me," she whispered. "And to do that I have to lie. I have to pretend. Both of us. We have to deceive them." 

Carmen pulled Shane's hand up to her mouth and kissed it, and held it to her cheek. 

"I've been deceiving my mom about who I am for thirteen years," Carmen said, "and do you know why it works? It's because she doesn't want to know. She can't conceive of the possibility that her daughter is a lesbian. It wouldn't cross her mind in a thousand years. So it won't cross her mind that you are, either. So in a way you really don't have to pretend. I can say it and you won't believe it, but all you have to do is relax and be yourself."

Shane said nothing.

"Shane?"

Shane turned to look at her and nodded. She wanted to smoke a joint so bad. 

Carmen smiled. "No," she said.

"No what?"

"No, you can't smoke a joint. My mom may be deaf, dumb and blind, but her sense of smell is terrific. So no, you can't."

Shane finally smiled. 

***

On the way over, Shane suddenly had questions. "So who does know about us?"

Carmen didn't take her eyes off the road. They'd been over this, but Carmen knew Shane's mind had been elsewhere. Anyway, Shane wasn't looking for information, she was looking for reassurance. She wanted to know who was safe, and who wasn't. She wanted to know if she had any allies in the family.

"Patty and Anna know," Carmen said.

"Which one is which, again?"

"Patty's the oldest. Anna's the middle. I'm the baby."

"Patty's the married one."

"Yes. And my cousin Evi knows, but I don't know if she'll be here tonight or not."

As they entered the barrio and Carmen's old neighborhood, Carmen began to point out familiar landmarks from her youth: The supermarket her family usually shopped at, a hardware store owned by a friend's parents, the movie theater Carmen had usually gone to. There were some vacant lots, too, and in the golden sunset the oversize murals beautifully painted on the sides of some of the buildings seemed to glow. Many of them had religious themes, with crosses, crucified Jesuses, angels, cherubs, Hispanic-looking women in peasant blouses, and Hispanic-looking men with black hair, black eyes and mustaches. There were paintings of deserts with seguro cactus, of lizards, of priests, of Spanish missions. Although there was death in some of the murals, the effect was quite the opposite: Most seemed full of life. To Shane, who had never been in this part of town before, it was like she had entered another world. 

"That's where I got my tattoo," Carmen said quietly as they passed a row of shops. "That head shop, there. Only it wasn't a head shop. Back then it was Picassa's tattoo parlor."

"What happened to it?" Shane asked.

"Picassa got busted a year or two ago. I don't know if it was her fault or if she was really guilty of anything. But the two people she lived with, a brother and sister, were artists, painters and photographers, but they also ran some marijuana out of Mexico. They got caught, and I guess Picassa went down with them because they all lived in the same apartment. It was above the tattoo parlor."

Shane sensed that there was a lot more to the story than Carmen was saying.

"Was Picassa someone important to you?"

"Yes," Carmen said. "For a little while. When I was getting my tat done, we had an affair. Well, not an affair exactly. But yes, I slept with her a few times. I slept with both her and her roommate Maria, a couple of times."

"I never knew you'd had a threesome," Shane said.

Carmen glanced over at her, then turned her eyes back to the street. "That's because we don't talk about the past. Remember your motto? 'Never tell your story, never let them tell you theirs.'"

Most any other person would have been able to respond, but this was Shane, who took so long to take in and process and sort out and examine and turn over and ruminate and collect, that by the time she was done the question at hand had died five minutes ago. 

Carmen, fortunately, knew this. She could see Shane trying to work all that out. She knew Shane couldn't even begin to put the words together to express what was in her heart: That not telling your story, and not letting them tell you theirs, was how she kept people at arm's length. It was how she kept from falling in love. It was how she kept from being hurt. And finally, that she was now past all that, because now she was involved. Now she had let her defenses slip, and she had fallen in love. And so the motto had become an artifact of an earlier age, a time, a place, and a Shane who no longer existed. 

Carmen saved her. "That's the church I went to," she said, pointing as they passed. "Mom and the rest of my family stopped going there when they changed priests, but after a while they went back."

"Why did you stop?" Shane asked.

Carmen glanced at her again, and let a long minute go by. "I have some history there," she said.

Despite her inarticulateness, Shane's radar was fully functioning. She could tell there was a lot more to that statement than just "some history." But once again she didn't know what to say, and by the time she'd figured something out they had pulled onto the street where Carmen where her mother lived.

It was a well-maintained street in a nice-looking neighborhood. The homes were modest two-story buildings with well-maintained yards, some fenced, some not. Carmen pulled up her Jeep in front of a pleasant-looking house painted a pastel blue, with white shutters and trim. The small front yard had a white fence around it. Shane stared at the house as Carmen turned the car off.

"I don't know about this," she said.

"Why? What's wrong?" Carmen asked. She had been mentally prepared for Shane to get cold feet at the last minute. It was what Shane did. 

"It's too soon." 

"No," Carmen said firmly. "I'm telling you. You're gonna be fine, okay? Just -- they don't think like that, all right? So all you have to do is be yourself. They are going to fucking love you." 

Carmen got out of the Jeep and closed the door, though not any harder than usual. But the sound of it jerked Shane out of her funk. Carmen walked around to Shane's door and would have opened it, if necessary, but Shane opened it herself to keep Carmen from having to baby her. She stood on the sidewalk tucking in her shirt, which was fine, and smoothing her clothes nervously.

"Okay?" she asked Carmen, afraid she had done something crazy like left her fly unzipped. 

"Yes," Carmen said, knowing what Shane was looking for was reassurance. Her tone was kind and soft. "You look beautiful." 

Shane wasn't used to anyone ever calling her "beautiful" before, and it stunned her again. She looked to see if Carmen was being sarcastic or taunting. But she wasn't. 

"Okay," Carmen said, reassuring her again, and looking her in the eyes. "Breathe."

Shane started breathing again, and sucked it up, taking her courage from Carmen, because she had none of her own. 

***

And then time sped up and they were in the house, Shane in the whirlwind of introductions, meeting Mercedes, who wrapped her in a big hug before turning her loose on Carmen's Aunt Begonia, and her grandmother, who was called Abuela, not a name but a title, and the sisters, Patty and Anna, and Patty's husband Carlos. Everything was a blur to Shane, but she was bathed in acceptance and warmth and all the minutiae of family life and preparations for dinner. 

There was a long table in the dining room all set out with plates and glasses and silverware. Carmen immediately plunged into the dinner preparations, conducting simultaneous conversations with Patty and Mercedes. Shane found a corner of the kitchen out of the way and watched Mercedes ladling out bowls of soup to family members, who took them into the dining room. Carmen handed Shane an empty soup bowl and pushed her toward Mercedes to have her bowl filled. 

"Chane!" Mercedes said happily. "For you!"

"That's fine," Shane said after only one ladle, but Mercedes was determined to give her more, to fill up the bowl to the brim. 

"C'mon, eat more, you so skinny!" Mercedes said, getting her way as she always did. 

"No, no," Shane tried to protest, but it was hopeless and she knew it. 

"She's so skinny, don't you feed her?" Mercedes asked Carmen, ladling a second scoop of soup into Shane's bowl. 

"No, mommy, I don't feed her," Carmen said, laughing. "She feeds herself." 

To Mercedes' left Patty finished assembling a full plate of food, enchiladas, refried beans and rice, and a chimichanga. Mercedes handed it to Carmen. 

"Here," Carmen said as she passed it to Shane, who now stood holding a hot bowl of soup in one hand and a full plate of food in the other. Fortunately, Anna came and took them from her and carried the plate and bowl into the dining room. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 16



"Such a pretty girl, too," Mercedes said, still working and serving up food with masterful precision. 

Anna came back into the kitchen and took a casserole dish Patty handed her. 

"Don't you think she's pretty?" Mercedes asked Anna, gesturing with her ladle toward Shane. 

"Yes, mom, she's very pretty," Anna said dutifully, looking at Shane and slyly winking to her as she took the casserole into the dining room. 

"Thank you," Shane said quietly, blushing. 

"Chane! Carmen says that you're a hairdresser?" Mercedes said, half statement and half question. 

"I am," Shane said, grateful for something she could actually answer. 

Mercedes studied Shane thoughtfully. "Uh ... who does your hair?" 

Shane's hair was exactly the way it nearly always was, which is to say, shaggy, disorganized, semi-combed, and a little wild. It was the typical Shane look, the typical everyday Shane hair-do. She saw Carmen glance at her mother with a frown.

"Oh, I do," Shane said, uncertainly. 

It was Anna's turn to save her. "It's the look, mama." 

Patty's husband Carlos walked into the kitchen.

"Yeah. It's the bomb," he said. 

"Do you know cousin Evi?" Mercedes asked. 

"No, I don't believe I do," Shane said. 

"Mom, this is the first time she's met anyone in our family," Carmen said. 

"Evi's an assistant hairdresser," Anna told Shane. "She works downtown at Jose's Hair Experience." 

"That's - that's very cool," Shane said. 

"Your family, Chane, they live in Los Angeles? You see them all the time?" 

"¿Por que le preguntas tant,o mami, please?" Carmen asked Mercedes. (Why are you asking her so many questions?) 

"Carmen--" Mercedes tried to answer.

"Please, mom, c'mon!" Carmen said. But Shane could tell that Mercedes was just curious and being friendly and maternal, and she decided she didn't mind talking. Mercedes had a way about her of putting Shane at ease. And Mercedes had finished her work and came to her and pushed her into the dining room.

"Uh, actually, I'm from Austin, Texas. And I think my family are still there." 

As they sat down Mercedes looked at Shane, not quite understanding. "You think? Uh, you don't know where your family is?" 

"I - I just haven't seen them in a while," Shane said. Those members of the family who weren't already seated at the table came in and sat down.

"¿Begonia, qu estan diciendo?" Abuela asked her other daughter. (Begonia, what are they talking about?) 

"Um, dice que no ha visto a su familia en mucho tiempo," Begonia told her. (She says that she hasn't seen her family in a very long time.) 

Shane looked at them curiously, aware they were talking about her, but she found she wasn't uncomfortable about it. Carmen, however, looked stressed. 

"Carmen?" Mercedes asked. 

"Hm?" 

"I don't understand. Her family ... " 

"Uh, oh, well, um, she grew up in foster care since she was nine," Carmen said. "And she's never met her father--" 

Mercedes's eyes widened in shock as she realized Shane's situation.

"--and, uh, she hardly knew her mother, either," Carmen continued, "so--" 

But if Mercedes was anything, she was maternal to the very depth of her soul. Here was a poor motherless, fatherless orphan. Carmen had never known her father, either, and Patty and Anna were very young when he'd died. Could Mercedes's heart do anything but melt? "Ay, pobrecita!" she cried, grasping the situation. Oh, poor girl! She went to Shane and crushed her to her wide, soft, warm and comfortable bosom. Almost smothered, Shane still had one eye available to see Carmen and Patty rolling their eyes at each other.

"We're your family now," Mercedes said, rocking poor Shane. "Okay? Okay? Tu familia." Your family. 

And the most amazing thing of all was Shane's reaction. She adored it. Like mother, like daughter: Mercedes cut through every layer of emotional defense Shane had ever built up in her life. It was as though the stone walls that Shane had built around her own heart all these years had dissolved like a sand castle in the surf, leaving Shane naked and vulnerable to unconditional affection, this other, second kind of love. Shane hadn't experienced maternal love in so long it was as though it had never existed, just like she had never truly experienced romantic love before she'd met Carmen. Mother and daughter were both in their own ways ravaging Shane's emotional defenses, sparking new emotions that were beyond her previous experience. And as she loved the one new kind of love Carmen was teaching her, so she craved this other kind that Mercedes was teaching her, too.

"Thank you!" Shane muttered, smothered in Mercedes' breast. 

When she caught sight of Carmen, she saw a tremendous smile both of happiness and I-told-you-so satisfaction on her face.

"Gracias, thank you," Shane said, joyfully blushing.

***

At one point during dinner, which was filled with much talk and laughter and familial love, Shane looked up to find Patty staring at her thoughtfully. She could read Patty's mind, and a silent, secret conversation began.

Patty: So you're the woman my sister's fallen in love with. You're the one she's sleeping with.

Shane: Yes. 

Patty decided she liked Shane, so she nodded and then winked at her. Shane grinned, understanding she'd won some sort of seal of approval.

Carmen noticed them communicating with their looks and glances, and looked puzzled.

Carmen raised an eyebrow: Okay, what are you two guys talking about now?

Patty looked around to make sure no one else was watching, and then taunted her sister. She stuck her tongue out and licked her lips, indicating eating something delicious. It was also intended to signify something sexual and dirty, and Carmen had to look away blushing. But Patty understood the reply: Yes, I eat her pussy.

Shane caught their exchange, but didn't understand what they were signaling. She looked at Carmen questioningly. Carmen, also glancing around to make sure no one was looking, casually flicked a finger at Shane then herself, then pointed her right index finger into the circle of her left thumb and index finger, the universal sign for fucking. It made Patty laugh, which she covered by immediately switching to a cough.

"Patty, are you okay?" Mercedes asked with concern as Patty's husband patted her on the back.

"Yes, mama, something just went down, you know, the wrong way," Patty said. Carmen had to clench her jaws to keep from laughing, and Shane just tried desperately to concentrate on her food.

"Chane, be sure to save some room," Mercedes said. "I made my special dessert for you!"

Shane groaned and tried to protest; Mercedes had already forced twice as much food on her as she normally ate. "Gee, I don't know," she tried, but Mercedes would have none of it.

"You will love it, Chane," Mercedes said. "It is so good!" She stood and took her plate into the kitchen, where she also went to get the dessert plates and the flan.

Shane looked at Carmen helplessly, with a sad, regretful look in her eyes. And Carmen knew exactly what Shane was thinking: She was already bloated and sleepy with too much food in her stomach, and now she was going to be forced to eat dessert, too. And the worse thing was, when they got home, tonight was supposed to be Cherry Cobbler Night. But there was no way, just no way.

***

After dinner Shane helped clear the dining room table and insisted on helping to dry and put away the dishes, silverware and pans. This endeared her even more to Mercedes, of course, but it was no calculated stunt on Shane's part: This was how she was, and living with Carmen had caused some of Carmen's incredible work ethic and sense of cleanliness and order to rub off on Shane. But mostly she just wanted to be close to Mercedes, to bask in her affection.

When everything was put away, Mercedes commanded Shane to follow her upstairs, Carmen trailing in their wake with amused but puzzled expression on her face. Mercedes led them to Carmen's old bedroom at the front of the house overlooking the street. Carmen knew that since she'd moved out this was turned into a guest bedroom and storage area.

"Mom, what are we doing in here?" Carmen asked as Mercedes turned on the bedroom overhead light. 

"Marisela's quinceañera is next Friday. Chane has to come," Mercedes said going to the walk-in closet and searching for something. 

"Mother, no, please," Carmen objected.

"Si!" came Mercedes muffled voice from the closet. 

"Wha - what's a quincera?" Shane asked. 

"A quinceañera. It's like a ... uh ... sweet 15," Carmen said. 

"Ohh." 

From the closet came Mercedes' voice: "En Mexico es una tradicion muy importante. And I have something for you."

"It's this religious ceremony," Carmen explained. "It starts in church, and then it becomes a huge party with gowns, and a tiara, and bouquets, and the whole thing. It's like halfway between a prom and a debutante's coming-out and a confirmation. A Latina bat mitzvah. I've actually DJ-ed a bunch of them." 

"Cuando era su edad, era flaco como usted. Believe it or not," Mercedes said. 

"She says she used to be skinny, just like you," Carmen translated. "¿Cuándo eras delgada, mamita? I don't remember that!" (When were you thin, mom?)

"¿Donde está el vestido que usé para la quinceañera de mi hermana Begonia?" Mercedes asked, still rummaging madly through the closet. (Where is the dress I wore to my sister Begonia's quinceañera?) 

Carmen held Shane's face in her hands and looked into her eyes. They were seconds away from kissing when Mercedes shot back out of the closet holding up a long, white dress. Shane and Carmen jumped apart without Mercedes noticing.

"Ah! Aqui esta! How pretty!" Mercedes said, holding it up.

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Shane said, admiring the laced-covered dress. And it really was beautiful. 

Mercedes went to Shane and held the gown up against her. Shane held it against herself while Mercedes fiddled with it, tugging it this way and that and adjusting it to see if it would fit Shane.

"Eh, no, " Shane mumbled when she at last understood she was being fitted. Carmen just laughed. 

"You know, I think that it would look a lot better on Carmen," she tried. 

"Oh, no, no, no," Carmen and her mother both protested simultaneously. 

"No," Mercedes continued. "Carmen is like this--" she made a curvy hourglass shape with her hands -- "you like that." She made a vertical shape, indicating Shane's flat-chested skinniness. Mercedes shook her head with sadness. "Como yo esta era." (Like how I was.) Mercedes kept fiddling and estimating while Shane stood with a blank face, staring at Carmen, who held a hand over her mouth to mask the grinning.

"Well, maybe not so skinny. You have a boyfriend, Chane?" Mercedes asked. 

This time it was Shane who had to smile. "Not yet," she said, quite truthfully. 

"Oh, you will. Put it on," Mercedes commanded. "I go get my sewing kit." 

Oh, shit, Shane thought, but it was way too late. Mercedes was out of the room, closing the door behind her so Shane could change. 

"My mother loves you!" Carmen said, coming close and laughing. 

"I know she does. And I love her--" she said. 

"Oh, my gosh!" Carmen delighted. 

"--but please don't make me do this. Don't make me wear this--" 

"Oh, please, you have to put it on. Oh, babe," Carmen kissed Shane on the mouth and began unbuttoning Shane's shirt. As always, Shane wore no bra. 

"What are ... you ... doing ... she's gonna ... come in," Shane mumbled while still awkwardly maintaining the kiss. 

Carmen was not to be denied. She pulled Shane's shirt halfway off, and Shane, topless, her nipples stiff, kissed her back. But fear of discovery took over and she began to push Carmen away before things got out of hand. "Don't, don't, don't," she pleaded. 

"Hey, it's okay," Carmen said as she pulled Shane's shirt completely away. She tried to put her arms around Shane, who struggled away. 

"But you feel so good," Carmen protested, still kissing until she finally gave in to it -- and then it was Carmen who suddenly pulled away, picking up the gown and holding it to Shane's chest. 

"Aw, Carmen, don't make me do this," she begged, but Carmen held the dress up to slip it over Shane's head. 

"Put your hands in. It's okay. Please, for me. C'mon." 

Shane let Carmen slip the dress on over her head, and when her own head emerged through the neck of the dress she was met by more Carmen kissing. Suddenly they heard the floor in the hall creak and jumped apart just as Mercedes walked in on them.

Carmen stared guiltily at the floor, and Shane looked shocked at being caught red-handed. 

"Oh, my goodness!" Mercedes exclaimed holding her hand to her mouth.

Shane 's mind was in her usual turmoil, a million thoughts racing madly as she fought to come up with some explanation. She had only just met Mercedes and now was about to be thrown out onto the street on her ear and told never to come back, evil perverted slut.

But that's not what happened.

"Oh! That is so pretty! Oh!" Mercedes gushed. She had missed the kissing and had only seen how beautiful Shane looked in her old dress. 

"Oh! Yeah," Shane sighed, massively relieved. The roaring in her ears died down quickly, and in a corner of the room Ixchel the jaguar goddess rolled onto her back, paws in the air, laughing in a way that only Carmen could hear. 

Mercedes began fussing with the dress all over again, even happier than before to see how well it fit. Shane glanced over at Carmen, who seemed shaken that they'd nearly been caught.

"Oh, look at that. Oh," Mercedes marveled, oblivious.

"You know, but this is so generous of you, I -- I kinda feel bad taking it away from you."

Carmen reached out to touch the dress, but stopped herself and took a deep breath. 

"Ah, don't be ridiculous. You are familia now, remember?" Mercedes said. She spun Shane around and zipped up the back of the dress. "There!" She looked at Carmen for the first time, for confirmation. 

"Yes, si," Carmen nodded. 

Shane looked down at herself in the dress. "That's something else. Thank you." 

"Mm-hmm!" Mercedes said, admiring the Cinderella she had just created.

*** 

When they got home, Shane dragged Carmen to stand in front of the refrigerator. Shane opened the freezer, and they both stared at the quart of Haagen Daz vanilla ice cream.

"I hope you don't mind," Shane said, nuzzling Carmen's neck, "but this is as close to the cherry cobbler as I can handle."

"Me, too," Carmen said. She shut the freezer door. "Let's go to bed."

Shane finished brushing her teeth and climbed in beside Carmen, snuggled into their spoon position.

"Thank you," Shane said quietly, kissing Carmen's neck and burying her nose in Carmen's hair.

"You're welcome," Carmen murmured. "But what for?"

"For today. For everything today and tonight, at your mom's. For making me go. For everything, just in general." She left unsaid, "For giving me the family I never had."

"Oh," Carmen said, smiling. "You're welcome."

***

Five of the friends plus Angelica met for brunch at The Planet, and the homily at this Sunday morning's service was nomenclature of the vagina.

"I have a friend in England, and her daughter calls it 'front bottom,'" Tina said, buttering a slice of toast. 

"'Front bottom'? Mm, that's twisted," Shane said, sipping her latte. 

"I had a girlfriend once -- yes, remember when I had a girlfriend?-- " Alice began, helping herself to a spoonful of self-pity that made Carmen roll her eyes toward Tina and Bette "-- she called it her 'pretty, pink pearl.' P-P-P." 

"Not to be confused with 'hairy pee-pee," Carmen said and everyone laughed. 

"You know what's really lovely?" Bette asked as she bounced and dandled Anjelica on her knee. "'Yoni.' It's Sanskrit."

"Ewww," Alice said, "No, no. I like a non-Sanskrit trashy thing like 'tongue-trap.'"

"Yeah," Shane affirmed. 

"Or 'bald man in a boat,'" Carmen said. 

"'Breakfast of champions,'" Shane contributed, her thumbs held up. Everyone laughed. 

"'Munchbox,'" Tina said. 

"'Wee-wee,'" Bette said into Angelica's ear.

"'Ha ha,'" Carmen offered, and Alice suggested "'Hoo hoo.'" 

"'Mimi.'" 

Shane: "Fuckhole." 

Carmen was laughing so hard Kit walked over to their table, looking uncomfortable. 

"What else?" Shane asked the group. 

"'Calcunta!'" Alice said. 

Everyone howled except Kit, who sat down with a sour expression on her face. 

"Hey, Kit," Carmen said, welcoming her. 

But Bette and Alice looked at Kit with concern. "What's wrong?" Alice asked, and Bette added, "What's going on?" 

"I just found out, I've got menopause," Kit said quietly. 

Bette and Alice give each other "uh-oh" looks. 

"Oh, Kit. Aw," Carmen said, sympathetically, rubbing Kit's shoulder.

"No, it's okay. No more periods," Tina tried putting a brighter spin on it. 

"Yeah, you don't have to take Carrie to the prom anymore," Alice said. Shane chuckled. 

"No more mood swings. Eventually," Bette added.

"No more Tampons or pads," Tina said. 

"No more Midol or Excedrin or Tylenol or any of that stuff," said Carmen, the Juicyfruit who'd tried them all. 

"Yeah. But once the monkey goes south, that's the end of it," Kit said sadly. 

"No, Kit, that's not true," Bette told her half-sister. "There are a lot of menopausal women who are very sexually active." 

"Yeah, that's true. You can still get it on," said Shane, who had shagged several of them. 

"And you are still gonna be doing the hanky-panky 'til the cows come home. Okay?" Carmen patted Kit on the arm with affection. 

"Yeah. Get yourself a little hot beef injection tonight and feel better," Alice suggested. 

"Shit," Carmen groaned. 

"You can dip the chip," Bette said. 

"Bang the box," Tina laughed. 

"Sweep out your chimney," Carmen said. 

"Ah, you can stretch that leather," Shane offered. 

"Bump the uglies!" Tina said. 

"Dip and dive," Carmen said. 

"Shake the sheets," Bette put in. 

"Oh, crack the nut!" Alice said. 

"Get some skank on the hang-low," Bette said with enthusiasm and a growl. Everyone reacted with groans or moans.

"Ride the baloney pony," Alice said. 

"All right!" Kit objected, finally getting into it herself. "Give that dog a bone!" 

"There ya go!" Carmen said, grinning. 

"Shuck the oyster, baby!" Tina said. 

"Okay, um, um, put some beef in yo' taco!" Carmen joined in as everyone else laughed. 

"Ride that beef bus to Tuna Town," Shane said as everyone groaned. 

Carmen leaned over and gave Shane a peck on the lips. "That was so sexy," she said sarcastically. "I'm glad you said that." It made Shane laugh and kiss her back.

"I got one," Kit said. "The lips between the hips."

"Furry monkey," Shane said.

"Smurf crease," Carmen said.

"Bearded oyster," Bette said. 

"Bikini biscuit," Alice said.

Carmen's turn."Cooter?" 

"And, uh, cherry pie," Shane said. 

"Cat flaps," Alice said, which made Tina laugh. 

"Cha-cha," Shane said. 

"Hairy goblet," Carmen said. "Mmm, that's hot." 

"The Grand Canyon," Tina said. 

"Oh, here's another one," Kit said. "Fish taco."

"Oh, I got a good one," Shane said. "Cream collector." 

"Goodie bag?" Carmen asked. 

"Wait, how 'bout this one," Kit said. "Box of assorted creams." 

"Uh, honey pot," Shane said. 

"Dugout," Alice said. 

"Love mitten?" Carmen asked. 

"Mermaid's purse," Shane said, thinking maybe she'd read that somewhere. She hadn't, but it was the name of an egg case of a skate or ray, and they'd seen some on their Traveling Wilbury beach walks. Carmen had explained to Shane what they were.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 16



"Skeeky, skeezy," Alice, said, riffing on the variations of the sounds. 

"Oh, I got one, I got one, uh. The pink velvet sausage wallet," Shane said. "That's attractive." 

"Nonny?" Carmen offered. She didn't want to explain it was a contraction of a corruption, poonani, of an African word, punani, from Botswana, that had crept into American slang, and which may also have crept into Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, wherein "Hey, nonny-nonny" may have been one of the Bard's dirty jokes. In any case it still meant pussy. Carmen knew how to say "cunt" in a dozen languages, dialects and slang, but was too modest to flaunt her Trivial Pursuit skills.

"Ham wallet?" Alice asked. 

"Coochie!" Tina suddenly remembered. 

"Sweet spot," Bette said. 

"Power slot?" Shane asked. 

"Fu-fu valve," Kit giggled at her own silliness. "I know, fu-fu valve, who would say 'fu-fu valve?'" 

"Pork shutters," Bette said. 

"Bermuda triangle," Kit said. 

Tina laughed and offered, "Grab hole."

"Squeegee?" Alice was still trapped in the same phonics neighborhood. 

"Vertical smile," said Carmen, who could make a pussy do that. 

"The vessel tube?" Shane put out, lamely. 

Carmen: "Monkey's chin." 

"Chewbacca!" Alice exulted as everyone laughed.

"What about panty hamster?" Shane asked. 

"Roast beef sandwich," Bette said. 

"Uh, camel toe," Kit volunteered. "Oh, that's so generic. Okay, gang, this has been fun, but I got to get back to the kitchen."

"We've got to get going, too," Tina said, starting to get Angelica ready to go.

""We've got to go to the supermarket," Carmen said to Bette and Tina. "Do you guys need anything while we're there?"

"Could you pick up some juice boxes for Angelica?" Bette asked.

"For our god-daughter, anything," Shane said, bending over to kiss Angelica.

***

As she and Carmen stood in line with their shopping cart, Shane watched the customer in front of them. It was a young woman with a small child seated facing her in the shopping cart's child seat. The little girl was hugging a stuffed animal, a brown fuzzy rabbit with big, floppy ears. 

Shane started laughing quietly to herself.

"What?" Carmen asked.

Shane giggled. "Uh. Nothing." She shook her head no, but still smiled 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," Carmen murmured. "My mother is now sharing my personal stories with you. That's great." 

Shane just laughed, and began making funny faces at the little girl in the cart in front of them, making her laugh, too. Carmen hoped that this would be the end of the discussion, but it was not to be. It wasn't Shane who kept it up; it turned out to be Alice.

That afternoon they made plans to go see the new Piper Perabo flick, Imagine Me & You, at the Grove Stadium 14. Kit had agreed to babysit Angelica so both Tina and Bette could go, and of course Alice was dying to see it. And because The Planet closed early (most of the regular customers tended to stay home on Sunday nights to watch a popular lesbian drama on cable TV), and because they didn't want to spend much more time away from Angelica, Bette and Tina invited everyone back to their house for coffee and movie critique. 

There had been very little buzz about the movie in the general Hollywood media since it was a small indie film made in England, but in the lesbian world of West Hollywood, any new dykodrama or lez rom-com was greeted with hopeful anticipation and dismissed afterward with characteristic bitchiness and cattiness. The truth was, it was impossible to do a movie or TV show about lesbians or that merely included a lesbian or two without pissing off some major segment of the lesbian community. Too glam, not glam enough. Too butch, not butch enough. Too sympathetic to bi gals; too harsh to bi gals. Why was the dyke always the murderer? What, no trannies? Where were the transgenders? Not every tranny wants to cut off her girl parts. It's pandering to us. It's not paying us enough attention. Does this flannel shirt make me look fat?

The truth was, there was no way a lesbian movie would get approval, because lesbian movies were Rorschach tests in which reviewers projected their own neuroses, kinks, quirks, obsessions, prejudices, biases, peccadilloes and innermost desires and fears on what were usually mildly pleasant, mildly racy boy-meets-girl chick flicks where both the boy and the girl were played by girls. So it was with the Friends and Imagine Me & You. Bette thought the film was derivative and simplistic, the plot unbelievable, the clothes pedestrian and predictable. Tina thought it was well produced and wondered what it grossed on its opening week. Alice wanted to know which actresses were really straight and which bi or lesbian; she had heard rumors about both Perabo and Lena Headley. Carmen thought the movie was cute and romantic and fun, and had good production values and soundtrack, and she adored Piper, but insisted her earlier lesbian movie, Lost and Delirious was better, and very much underrated. Shane wanted to trib Lena Headley.

"Okay, guys, enough chit-chat," Alice said as they all settled in the living room with their coffees, teas, beers, wines and smoothies. "This editor I know called me Friday afternoon with a freelance assignment. They're doing this multi-part series on women's sexuality and stuff, and she assigned me one of the pieces, so I need to poll everybody I know on a couple of questions." She pulled a notebook and a sheaf of papers from her purse.

There were a couple of audible groans around the room, because they'd all been through this before with Alice and her insta-polls.

"What's this one about?" Tina asked, submitting to the inevitable with a deep sigh.

"A couple things, but what they all have in common is ... uh ... showers and water sports."

"Oh, Lord help us," Bette murmured. Carmen just closed her eyes and waited. Shane glanced at Carmen, then looked out a window.

"Now, now, play nice, please," Alice begged. "I gotta do this. It's for my job. It's how I pay my rent. C'mon, guys."

Shane held her Dos Equis to her forehead, feeling the cold and rolling the bottle sidewise across her brow. "What's the first question?"

"The first one's not too bad," Alice said. "'Do you pee in the shower? Answers are Very Often, Sometimes, Rarely, or Never, and then I'll need some quotes and commentary. Anybody want to go first?"

Nobody said anything.

"Guys?" Alice urged them.

"Oh, fuck," Carmen said. "All right. Let's get this over with. I'll go first. Very often. All the time, in fact."

"No shit?" Alice asked. She turned quickly to Shane. "Does she really?"

"West Hollywood celebrity hairdresser Shane McCutcheon declined to answer on the advice of her attorney," Shane said.

"Way to go, Carmen!" Kit said. "You go, girl!"

"I do!" Carmen said, and everyone laughed.

"C'mon, let's get serious," Alice pleaded again. "Would you elaborate?"

Carmen took a sip of her white wine and shrugged. "I like doing it in the shower. It feels good, and it's fast and efficient, since I'm in the shower anyway. It saves water, it's good for the environment, especially in Southern California, where there's such a water shortage. I think everyone ought to pee in the shower. It'd save millions of gallons of water. 'Save a flush a day,' that's my motto."

"Very green, Carmen. Thank you. Shane, how about you? Do you pee in the shower, too?"

"Alice, you don't want to know all the places I've peed," Shane said with a straight face, and everyone laughed. 

" Quote. 'You don't want to know all the places I've peed,' unquote, said Hollywood celebrity hairdresser Shane McCutcheon," Alice mouthed as she actually wrote down the quote. "C'mon, Shane, I need more. Did your relationship with Carmen cause you to increase your shower-pissing behavior, or is that something you always did? Also, please elaborate on other places you've peed."

"Alice, for Christ's sake, don't put in there that Shane and I have a relationship," Carmen said. "My mother would freak if she ever saw it. I don't mind you quoting me, but don't 'out' me."

"Okay, got it, noted," Alice said. "Sorry. Shane, where have you peed that our reading audience would be interested in learning about?"

Shane laughed and blushed, but played the game. "Okay, let's see. Alleys. Back yards. On a few occasions, the front yard. Not my front yard, other peoples, where there's trees and bushes and cover. Hiking trails. The beach, behind a sand dune. In the ocean, of course, everyone does that. Um ... in cars, into a bottle. Probably, oh, fifteen or twenty men's rooms, men's locker rooms. No, I'm not gonna tell you what I was doing there. Jail, again no explanation. Uh, I once pissed into a trash can in an unoccupied office where I was waiting for hours and the regular bathroom was out of order."

"I'll word this one carefully. Have you ever peed recreationally on another person?"

"Yes."

"Often?"

"Just a few times."

"Was it fun?"

"Yes, actually, it was."

Relentlessly and methodically, Alice managed to pull publishable comments from the group on an assortment of allied subjects: Do you pee in the shower standing or squatting? Can you/have you ever peed standing up and outdoors? (Not surprisingly, Carmen was once again the champ, and she volunteered that she had taught Jenny how to pee that way, too.) 

As they were leaving, Tina leaned into Alice to whisper in her ear. "I'm telling you again, Carmen is the most perfect lesbian there ever was. She's monogamous, she squirts, and even when she tinkles on her lovers, she's doing it to save the environment."

"She can squirt and tinkle on my environment any time she wants," Alice murmured back.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 17



Chapter 17: Force of Habit

Bette, Tina, baby Angelica, Kit, and Shane sat around their table at The Planet on Saturday morning. Carmen, feeling frisky and mischievous, sat in Shane's lap and leaned over to kiss her from time to time as they flirted shamelessly and openly with each other.

Kit had always been charmed by them as a couple. "You two are so hot together," she said. Carmen laughed and Shane grinned.

"Someone's getting a little something something," Bette teased suggestively, arching her eyebrows.

Shane blushed, because last night had been the re-scheduled Cherry Cobbler Night, and she wanted to change the subject. "So, what's up with the slot machine, Kit?" she asked, gesturing toward an authentic-looking slot machine Kit had set up at the side of the room. Shane knew Kit was busy planning a major fund-raising event the following Saturday night at The Planet, to be called "Vulva Las Vegas." It was to be The Planet's first ever casino night, and all the proceeds were to go to a charity called AIDS Project Los Angeles. Kit had asked Carmen to be the DJ for the event, which she was willing to do gratis, and she was really psyched for it. Kit was too; she had just got off the phone talking to a guy named Billie Blaikie, who she had just hired to help with the event planning and organization, with the possibility of something more. He'd been the one who found the slot machine.

"Yeah, well if you know Billie Blaikie, he doesn't do anything small," Kit explained to Shane. "You guys are coming, right? It wouldn't be Vegas night without you!"

Carmen sat up suddenly, her attention captured by what Kit had just said. "Wait a minute, are you talking about The. Billie. Blaikie? Billy Blaikie! Dude, he is like the best party promoter in town!" Carmen had crossed paths with Billy a couple of times in her professional DJing. He was gay and a sometime transvestite, although it wasn't clear if his drag act was just that, an act, or if it was real. Billie was a born showman, though, and perhaps it didn't matter.

"Kit was thinking about hiring him as her new manager," Bette said. "This event is kind of a tryout for him. An audition."

"Oh, my gosh!" Carmen exclaimed raising her coffee cup up to toast Kit. "Congratulations, lady!" Kit laughed and clinked her cup to Carmen's.

"Yeah, it's great, if he can just keep it in his pants long enough to close out the bar," Bette said. They laughed, because they knew of Billie's other, less reputable reputation. Whether he was wearing men's clothes or women's, Billie had a problem keeping his dick contained in the workplace.

"Oh, I'm sorry, but before we forget," Shane said to Bette, suddenly remembering, "we can't make it to your baby birthday party next Sunday" -- she was interrupted as Carmen dabbed something off her face -- "We have a kin-sin ..."

"Oh, that's right," Carmen finished her sentence. "The quinceañera."

"Yeah, the quinceañera."

"Oh, don't worry about it, it's just really an excuse to have a baby play group and birthday celebration," Tina said.

"Wait, I don't get it," Bette said. "What's a kince..."

"Quinceañera," Carmen said.

"Quinceañera," Bette said, getting it now.

"It's a big birthday party to celebrate a girl turning fifteen," Carmen explained, "and it's my cousin's birthday, so..."

"So it's kind of like a Latino bat mitzvah mixed with a Sweet Sixteen," Bette laughed.

Carmen laughed, too, and nodded. "With tamales."

Just then Alice and Helena came into The Planet and walked over to the table, with Helena hanging back. Each of them had brought to the table their own storm clouds, and the gang knew it. Alice was still having troubles adjusting to Dana's new relationship with her old flame, Lara, the gourmet chef. And a few weeks earlier Helena had used some of her vast Peabody family fortune to buy Shaolin Studios, where Tina worked. The fact that Tina had had an affair with Helena the previous year still rankled Bette, who treated Helena as she would a dangerous snake. Everyone struggled to maintain a civil facade, but it wasn't easy.

"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Alice asked, breezily, hoping to keep things light.

"We're having a party tomorrow for Angelica's sixth-month anniversary," Tina said. "You wanna come?"

"I would love to come to that six-month-old birthday party," Alice answered happily. And then she had to add, "I'd love to bring Helena."

Helena drew in her breath in surprise. "Alice!"

"I think it's time," Alice said defiantly. "I think she should be there."

"Well, they are good friends..." Carmen helpfully tried to offer, meaning Tina and Helena.

"Yep. They're always hanging out," Shane put in.

"Well, then Helena," Bette relented icily, "if you really don't have anything else to do, then it'd be fine ... if you came to the birthday party."

"Thank you," Helena said sincerely. "That's really sweet of you, but you really don't hav--" and she stopped as she realized Bette had turned and walked away.

Tina got up from the table, embarrassed, looked at Alice and Helena, and walked away shaking her head.

***

Carmen usually took longer getting dressed than Shane did, by an order of magnitude, being more girlie and taking more time with the hair, the makeup, and the general pleasure of dressing. Shane just threw on whatever it was she was wearing that day. Nevertheless, Carmen was dressed and ready for the quinceañera by 12:15 Sunday afternoon. They were going to meet her mother and sisters at the beauty parlor where cousin Evi worked, to have their hair done. The appointment was for 1 p.m., and everyone was supposed to be at the church hall by 3 p.m. Most of the Morales clan had been to mass that morning, which was a traditional part of the quinceañera, but Carmen was able to beg off that part of it. Everyone in the clan knew by now that Carmen had some sort of grievance with the church, and they were resigned to it, whatever it might have been about.

Carmen had chosen a beautiful, summery sundress in light colors with large flower patterns on it. She wore heels and light make-up, and looked gorgeous, as she usually did. She lay on the couch in the living room, gazing at the ceiling, one high heel dangling idly from the leg she had crossed over the other. She knew Shane was apprehensive, to put it mildly, and she was sympathetic about Shane's dawdling -- up to a point. "Shane?" she called out. "Shane, come out."

She heard Shane come slowly down the hall and into the dining room. Carmen saw Shane's head peer around the corner cautiously. Carmen laughed at the hang-dog, whipped-puppy expression on Shane's face.

"Come on out, let me see," Carmen said.

Shane stood in the doorway, wearing the white dress Mercedes had forced her to wear. Poor Shane. She looked so unhappy. It really was a nice dress, but Shane just wasn't a dress-wearing kind of girl. Carmen looked down and saw that on her feet Shane wore a pair of white gym socks and a pair of hightop black sneakers. She didn't want to laugh, but there was no choice. She covered her mouth and hooted.

"Oh, my God, you look like you're five!" 

Shane hung her head and pouted. "I feel like a piñata," she said.

"You're too small to be a piñata," Carmen couldn't help but tease, "but how about the top of a tranny wedding cake?" 

"You're not helping me," Shane said, feeling put upon and sulking.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, baby," Carmen said, getting up and going to Shane to hug her. "That wasn't funny, was it? Let me see. Well, it's okay," she said, holding Shane at arm's length while she checked out the dress. But Shane was still sulky and her lower lip stuck out like an unhappy child's.

"Aw, come here, come here," Carmen said when she saw the unsmiley face, her tone softening and now motherly. She kissed Shane's neck and nibbled on her ear. "Does this help you at all? Hmm?"

"No," Shane said, refusing to be comforted.

"No?" Carmen asked. She kissed Shane some more, on the top of her shoulder, on her neck, nibbling and softly kissing until she finally got a reluctant "Mm-mm" sound out of her. Carmen put her mouth up close to Shane ear, kissed it gently, and then whispered into it, "Quiero lamberte hasta que te vengas en mi boca mil veces." 

"What does that mean?" Shane asked, still pouting, but melting by the minute.

"I want to lick you until you come in my mouth a thousand times." 

"Uhhhhhhh," Shane said, her knees getting weak. Carmen continued kissing her, her hands passing over Shane's breasts to her hips and then slowly pulling up Shane's skirt to bare her legs and her underwear. Carmen was surprised to see Shane was wearing her most butchy dark jockies instead of panties one would have expected under such a dress. She laughed again. What was she going to do with this hopeless, helpless tomboi?

"What's with these?"

Shane pushed her hands away and fluffed down her dress huffily.

Carmen stepped back, regarding the hightops. "What are we gonna do about the shoes?"

"Wha?"

"You can't wear those shoes," Carmen said firmly. "You have to change them."

"No!"

"Yes! Stay here! I'm gonna get you a pair of cha-cha heels."

***

Mercedes was sitting in the front hairdressing chair in the beauty parlor when Shane and Carmen arrived. Waiting their turns were Aunt Begonia and Patty. Evi, although dressed for the quinceañera, worked on Anna's hair.

"Oh, my God! Chane!" Mercedes exclaimed when she saw them come in. "You look so bonita! Look, everybody!"

"Hello, everyone," Carmen said cheerfully to her family.

"This is Carmen's friend, Chane," Mercedes said, introducing Shane, although almost everyone there had met her before at Mercedes' house. "She's wearing my dress."

"Where is Marciela?" Begonia asked. "Shouldn't she be here getting ready with the rest of us?"

"Probably outside smoking cigarettes like you did for your quinceañera," Mercedes said cattily to her sister as the hairdresser doing her hair whisked away the cape and let Mercedes up. "Okay, it's Chane's turn now," Mercedes said, pulling Shane toward the chair. "Come on, Chane."

"Oh, mom, no, it's okay..." Carmen tried to intervene, knowing Shane had already been pushed to the maximum.

"No, um, I..." Shane tried to protest, but as usual her words were far behind events.

"Such a pretty face!" the hairdresser said, pushing Shane into the chair and putting the cape around her. "I'll make sure you look pretty." 

Carmen laughed. "It's okay, it's okay," she comforted Shane.

"Shane, you hair's a little uneven," the hairdresser said. "You want me to cut it straight?" 

"No!" Shane burst out vehemently, but immediately softened her tone. "I mean, no ... um, thank you, I think ..."

"Okay, okay. I have another idea," the hairdresser said.

Begonia sat filing her nails and reminiscing. "Carmen, did you know that before her quinceañera your mama was in Ricardo Lopez's car making out with him until the church was filled?"

"Mamita! You never told me that story!" Carmen exclaimed, laughing.

"That's because it wasn't true, mita," Mercedes huffed.

From her chair at the side of the room Abuela muttered to Carmen, "Era verdad." (It's true.)

From her chair Shane asked, "Was Carmen good during her kin-cin ..."

"Quinceañera," Carmen said.

"She was an angel, always!" Begonia said, fondly and smiling at Carmen, who beamed.

"Oh, Carmen was the nuns' favorite," Mercedes said proudly. "Isn't that true, Carmencita?" 

***

"Carmen? Could I speak to you a moment?"

Carmen was sitting in a pew toward the rear of the church, waiting her turn for confession with Father Eduardo. It was a Saturday afternoon in early August, and the church was only moderately busy. Most parishioners had come and gone by now, which was why eighteen-year-old Carmen liked to come later, rather than earlier. 

She looked up into the bright, smiling face of pretty Sister Rosario, a nun in her thirties who was one of Carmen's very favorite teachers, and of course the feeling was mutual. It was true: All the nuns throughout the parish and Father Eduardo, too, loved Carmen, and why not? She was smart, funny, warm, giving, open, friendly, charming, pretty, cooperative, playful, mischievous, thoughtful, the list went on longer than the Boy Scout oath. And even better, unlike many teens Carmen had no cattiness about her, nor any smart-ass attitude, no sass nor teen sulkiness and moodiness, no sullen defiance. With Carmen what you saw was what you got, and what you got was always very nice. Even the "bad" girls who hated the goody-two-shoes couldn't help but make an exception for Carmen.

"I hope I didn't interrupt a meditation," Sister Rosario said.

"Oh, no, Sister. I was just waiting my turn." There was no way Carmen could tell Sister Rosario what she was really meditating about: She was mourning the loss of her friend -- her lover -- Lucia Torres. Lucia wasn't dead, though she might as well have been. She had simply run off with that dickhead gangster Pablo Fuentes, her longtime boyfriend, who had gotten in trouble somehow and was wanted by the police. So one evening six weeks ago Pablo had to flee Los Angeles, and had talked Lucia into going with him on the run. Lucia had time only to scribble a quick goodbye note to Carmen, and like that she was gone, on the run somewhere with an admittedly handsome, sexy, muy macho asshole with shit for brains and who had no idea his own tall, passionate, sexy girlfriend was a flaming bisexual who clicked Carmen's castanets every chance she could whenever Pablo was busy with his asshole gang friends. It was a grieving process Carmen had had to hide from everyone, most of all her family and her friends at the church such as teachers like Sister Rosario.

"Do you want to go somewhere to talk?" Carmen asked.

"Oh, no, we can talk right here," Sister Rosario said. "Scoot over." Carmen slid down the pew, Sister Rosario sat down and they turned to each other to talk.

"I have good news," Sister Rosario said. "News that I hope might affect you, too."

Carmen raised her eyebrows, curious.

"A week ago, Father Eduardo tasked me with starting up a fall program for the youth and teen program," the nun said, "and we decided we want to kick off the program with a back-to-school dance in the parish hall on the Labor Day weekend Saturday night, right before the older teens head back to college, and the high school kids start their classes. And then, throughout the fall, we'll have a dance every second or third week, and a Halloween dance, and a Thanksgiving weekend dance, and so on."

"Cool," Carmen said, smiling, "that's a great idea. But what has that got to do with good news for me?"

"Well, first, I have a little bit of budget to work with," Sister Rosario said, "for decorations, advertising, refreshments and things like that. And I managed to get Father Eduardo to cut loose with some money to hire a disk jockey to run the music part of the dance. It's not much, just an honorarium, really, but it's better than nothing. And I know you're going to start your freshman year at the community college in a few weeks, and I know you're working very hard waitressing to make money for school. So here's what I thought. I want you to be the DJ for these dances. I'm sure you know all the music the kids listen to, and I know you have the good sense to weed out the music we'd find offensive, with the foul language. And not only that, you have the charm and the presence to be the DJ hostess. You know all the kids, and they know you, too, so it's not like we'd have some stranger there DJing. Father Eduardo would only allow me $100 per dance for the DJ, but I guess it's better than nothing. And who knows, maybe it'll be fun and start you on a whole new career path."

"Oh, Sister! I'd love to," Carmen gushed. "It'll be so fun!"

Sister Rosario didn't bother telling Carmen how hard it was to get Father Eduardo to get off the dime and give her some budget; he seemed to think one could organize a series of dances for no money whatsoever. Nevertheless, Father Eduardo was a strong supporter of youth programs, perhaps because his primary joy in life was sucking the penises of 12-year-old choirboys. Sister Rosario had been in his parish for several years, though, and knew by now how to play him. She held her trump card to last, finally telling him that the person she wanted to pay to be the DJ was their very own parish angel, Carmen de la Pica Morales. With that, Father Eduardo's heart melted, and he smiled, nodding his head. Yes, he agreed, sweet little Carmen would be ideal. Such a lovely girl, easily one of the friendliest, prettiest girls who ever came through the parish. And when Sister Rosario told him about Carmen starting college in the fall and needing tuition money, he caved completely. 

Over the next three weeks, Carmen worked very closely with Sister Rosario, spending every free moment at the church parish hall. Carmen waitressed in the late afternoons and evenings, so had the mornings and early afternoons free. She and Sister Rosario made up a formidable two-woman task force, sweating over every detail of the decorations, the layout of the hall, recruiting mothers, fathers and kids to help out on the refreshments committee, the clean-up committee, the chaperon team, and so on. There was a small office in the basement of the church hall next to the storage area where all the folding chairs and tables and other equipment was stored when not in use. Sister Rosario and Carmen made the tiny basement office their headquarters. Sister Rosario was impressed with Carmen's work ethic, her determination and perseverance. Sister Rosario knew a little about modern music, but nothing like what Carmen knew, and she quickly stepped aside, letting Carmen handle all the music selection and acquisition, rounding up the CD players and storage racks for the disks and special effects strobe lights for her DJ table. Carmen's Aunt Begonia's second husband, Miguel -- Uncle Mike -- worked downtown at one of the movie studios as a lighting engineer, and he was able to teach Carmen everything she needed to know. 

Carmen proposed that to maximize turnout they give away door prizes and awards, as many as they could round up. That there was no extra money wasn't even a momentary bump in the road; they'd go around to all the neighborhood businesses in the parish, cadging donations for prizes, a free pizza, dinner for two at the restaurant where Carmen worked, CDs, T-shirts. There would be some gag gifts, and some really nice gifts. The local businessmen were hit up by the church all the time anyway, so they were more than used to this kind of benign extortion. If there was a businessman in the entire barrio who could say "no" to either Sister Rosario in her nun's habit and wimple, or to sweet, pretty Carmen who stuck out her lower lip and batted her eyelashes, well, that businessman simply wasn't human. 

Labor Day weekend came, and the dance was a huge success. Attendance was even better than they had anticipated, and all thanks to Carmen, who had gone around the neighborhood talking to everyone she knew, pleading, begging, cajoling kids to come to the dance. She flirted, flounced, smiled, wheedled, got all her family and friends to be recruiters as well. And although Carmen was unaware of it, a good many of the kids who might otherwise have stayed away came to the dance simply because of its star attraction: Carmen, who billed herself as DJ La Pica. And up on the raised dais La Pica turned out to be a sensation, charming, funny, sexy in a church-acceptable way, making a few minor mistakes but laughing at them and turning them into happy moments. They played the last song at 11 p.m. and then the sextons turned off the spotlights and stage lights they'd set up, and brought up the house lights. Carmen was exhausted but floating on a cloud: Sister Rosario gave her a big hug and sent her home, promising that Carmen could forget about the clean-up detail. Carmen had already done more than enough. Carmen was the heroine of the parish.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 17



Over the next few weeks Sister Rosario and Carmen worked on setting up the next dance, but they had laid such good groundwork the workload was much lighter than the initial start-up. Even so, Carmen spent all her free time at the church and the parish hall. The more she and Sister Rosario worked with each other, the more they liked and admired each other. No, that wasn't quite right: They adored each other. That was the only word for it. Carmen realized that she had a crush on Sister Rosario, but understood it to be a teacher crush, like many schoolgirls had. Carmen herself had once had a crush on her eighth grade math teacher, and knew what such a crush felt like. Even so, she asked herself more than once if her attraction to Sister Rosario might have had a sexual basis, but thought the answer was probably no. Carmen simply couldn't imagine what Sister Rosario looked like naked; she'd only ever seen her in her long nun's habit and the wimple that covered everything but her face. Yes, no question her face was beautiful, paler than Carmen, but still Latina. Sister Rosario had once told Carmen she was born and raised in Miami, and her parents had come from Cuba. Carmen assumed Sister Rosario had dark hair, but she really didn't know. Sister Rosario seemed to have a trim figure; at least, it was possible to tell she wasn't overweight. But it was even difficult to tell if she had large breasts or not. There was a mild bulge in her habit where breasts would be, but it was simply too hard to get a decent approximation. Carmen had lain in bed one night trying to masturbate thinking of Sister Rosario, but simply couldn't do it. The sexual image just wouldn't materialize because there was too much church in the way. She finally switched to thinking about going down on tall, lean, delicious Lucia, and brought herself off in a few minutes.

One afternoon Carmen came home from her college classes in the early afternoon, changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and went to the parish hall. She looked for Sister Rosario, but couldn't find her anywhere. She wandered around the hall for a bit, and then finally wandered through the empty kitchen and out the back door that led to the alley behind the building. There was a small landing and a flight of five steps that led down to the alley. To the right was a small loading dock, and to the left were a pair of large trash dumpsters. On the other side of the alley were the backs of a series of shops and stores. Carmen knew the alley well; kids often used it as a shortcut on their way home from places around the neighborhood. Carmen and Lucia had used it many times, day and night. Carmen looked around and sat down on the steps, and thought about the nights in the alley.

She missed Lucia, it was that simple. She missed the intimacy, she missed the sex. She missed the loving. She missed the thrill of their forbidden, secret relationship, the danger. She missed kissing Lucia, her wet mouth, and being kissed by those lips. She missed Lucia's hands on her breasts, her fingers stroking her thighs. She missed the things Lucia had taught her to do. God, how she missed them.

"Hey, why so blue?" a voice asked. It was Sister Rosario, coming out the back door. "They told me you were looking for me, and I've been looking all over for you."

"I was just sitting here, just hanging out, I guess," Carmen said.

"Well, I'll hang out with you," Sister Rosario said, coming to sit on the steps next to her. "Anything wrong? You look sad."

Carmen shrugged. "No, I'm fine. I was just thinking about Lucia, that's all."

"Have you heard anything since she and Pablo ran away?"

"No, nothing." 

Sister Rosario leaned forward and looked down the alley both ways. "Shh. Don't tell anybody," she whispered to Carmen. She reached into a pocket in her habit and brought out a pack of cigarettes. She took one and lit it, blowing out the smoke. "I'd offer you one, but I know you don't smoke."

"How do you know that? I might, you know." 

Sister Rosario laughed. "No, I don't think so, not our Carmen, our parish angel."

"Puh-leeze," Carmen said. "Sometimes I get tired of that 'Carmen is so perfect, Carmen is such a goody-two-shoes' bullshit."

Sister Rosario ignored the profanity, knowing Carmen was trying too hard to sound bad-ass. She smiled. "It can be hard trying to be perfect. Believe me, I know. It's in my job description."

"Oh, yeah," Carmen said. "Yes, I guess nuns do know."

"Yes," Sister Rosario said, "but we all have our secrets and our vices. Even nuns. Even our perfect angel Carmen."

Carmen looked at her.

"Shall I tell you a story?" Sister Rosario asked, seeming to change the subject entirely. "One night I saw someone, a teenager who looked like Lucia. It was right here in this alley. It was a dark night, though, and I couldn't be sure."

Carmen sat transfixed.

"You probably know we nuns share rooms in the convent hall. My roommate is Sister Honoria, you know her."

Carmen nodded slowly. Sister Honoria was about sixty years old, and led the choir. 

"Sister Honoria has been a nun a long time," Sister Rosario said, "and she is very, very devout. She's also a light sleeper. So one night back in June, a few weeks after you graduated, I couldn't sleep, and I wanted a cigarette. But I couldn't very well turn on the light and read a book, or anything. So I did what I often do, I got my cigarettes and snuck out of the convent and came over here to the parish hall, and went down to our basement office and did a little work for a while. And then when I couldn't stand it any longer, I came upstairs and back here to have my secret, forbidden cigarette. So I was sitting out here in my nightshirt, barefoot, even, enjoying the night air and looking up at the stars. I finished my cigarette and was just sitting here quietly. It was such a lovely, quiet night."

Carmen couldn't tear her eyes away from Sister Rosario's face.

"And then, in the quiet of the night, I heard people coming down the alley. I could hear them talking and laughing. They were coming home from somewhere and taking the shortcut. I could tell it was two girls, two young women. It was dark, of course, but there was a light on over the back door of the mercado over there." She pointed to the rear of a local market and convenience store down the block a short way. "I could see them briefly, as they passed through the circle of light, but they were far enough away I couldn't see who they were. But there was a taller girl who looked kind of like Lucia, or maybe not, I don't know. I couldn't see who the other girl was, the shorter girl. And I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could tell whatever it was, they were happy. And then you know what happened?"

Carmen couldn't respond. She sat paralyzed.

"They two girls stopped walking, right over there." Sister Rosario pointed to a spot in the alley over by the far end of the dumpsters. "They stopped, and they had their arms around each other. And then they started kissing. They were very ... ardent. They looked like they had done this before. And then they went over between those two dumpsters, almost back to the wall over there." She pointed to a spot behind the dumpsters that could be seen only by someone sitting on the steps where they were, but not by anyone walking down the alley itself.

"They thought they'd found a private place," Sister Rosario said. "They were kissing madly, very passionately. As I say, it was dark, but with a little bit of light from the mercado I could see them in silhouette. And I'd been sitting here for quite a while, so my eyes were adjusted to the dark. So anyway, these two girls were kissing and running their hands all over each other, caressing. The taller girl leaned back against the wall of the parish hall, with the other girl in front of her."

"The taller girl seemed to be pulling her blouse out of her pants, and then unbuttoning her shirt, and the other girl helped. And then the taller girl pushed down her brassiere. She cupped her breasts in her own hands, and offered them to the shorter girl. I couldn't see very well at all, but the smaller girl lowered her head and might have been kissing and licking the breasts the taller girl offered her. All I could see was her head against the taller girl's chest. The shorter girl nursed on those breasts for a few minutes, and I could hear them moaning and sighing."

"And then they got even more passionate," Sister Rosario said. "The taller girl said something, and gently pushed the shorter girl down to her knees in front of her. The shorter girl knelt there and undid the taller girl's belt, and unzipped her jeans and pulled them down to her knees. As I say, all I could see were their silhouettes. The tall girl put her hand on the back of the shorter girl's head, and brought the girl's face toward her vagina. And the shorter girl didn't seem to mind this at all; she didn't object, or try to fight it. I suspect that the tall girl wasn't wearing any panties. I sat here perfectly quiet, and watched while the shorter girl performed cunnilingus on the tall girl. Carmen, do you know what the word cunnilingus means?"

Carmen slowly shook her head no.

"It means oral sex on a woman," Sister Rosario said. "It comes from the Latin. Cunnus means vulva, and lingere means to lick. Lingere is where we get the word 'lingual' from, referring to the tongue. And from that we get linguist, one who speaks languages. Isn't that funny? Speaking a foreign language has the same root word as licking a woman's pussy and clitoris. I know you must know what a clitoris is, my dear, but do you know where the word comes from?"

Carmen could barely whisper, "No."

"It doesn't come from Latin, but from ancient Greek, kleitoris, and it quite literally means 'the man with the key' or 'the gatekeeper.' Isn't that the strangest thing you ever heard? 'The man with the key.' Well, of course it had to be a man who made up that word. Why couldn't it be 'woman with the key'? Or 'the key to a woman'? I think 'gatekeeper' makes a little more sense, since the clitoris sits at the top of the vulva, guarding the entrance."

"Anyway, back to my story. The girl who was kneeling seemed to be performing oral sex on the standing girl. I'm sure you know it as 'giving head,' 'going down,' and 'eating pussy,' terms like that. Well, the tall girl seemed to be enjoying it quite a lot, and the kneeling girl was very good, because the other girl was moaning and whimpering and thrusting her hips out with her back against the wall. I thought the standing girl was about to experience an orgasm, but just then the kneeling girl pulled her head away. The standing girl cried out, but the kneeling girl just pulled the other girl's jeans all the way down and made her step out of them. Then she made the taller girl turn around and face the wall with her arms braced against it, with her bottom stuck out. And then the kneeling girl put her face back into the other girl's vagina from behind. I suspect she was licking and sucking on her vagina, and then the angle changed a little, and I think she started performing anilingus. Do you know that word, Carmen?"

Carmen had flushed deep red. Her heart was pounding, and she was scared to death. 

"No? The 'ani' part comes from anus, which is the same word in Latin and English. It's where we get the word 'anal.' And then we have 'lingus' again, licking. Anyway, the shorter girl performed anilingus and cunnilingus on the tall girl until she had her orgasm. And it must have been a very good one, because she was thrashing and moaning and squealing, trying to be quiet and not wake up the neighborhood. Finally the shorter girl stopped as the taller girl almost collapsed. They both sat there on the ground, holding each other until the tall girl recovered. Then she made the short girl stand up, remove her pants and then straddle her face. The short girl braced her hands against the wall and placed her vagina over the other girl's mouth, and the other girl returned the pleasure of cunnilingus. The shorter girl must have been very aroused, because she came very quickly, thrusting her vagina onto the taller girl's mouth. She, too, moaned and squealed, and cried out during her orgasm."

Carmen sat, scared and mortified, and wouldn't look at Sister Rosario. Tears ran down each cheek. Sister Rosario put her hand out and touched Carmen's face, turning her to look at her. Sister Rosario leaned forward and kissed the tears. "Don't be embarrassed," Sister Rosario whispered. "It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I was so envious, of both of you."

Carmen looked at Sister Rosario's smiling face, astonished.

Sister Rosario stood up, and took Carmen by the hand, pulling her up, too. "Come with me," she said. "I have something to show you." She led Carmen through the back door, through the kitchen and down the stairwell to the basement and to their small office headquarters. Inside the small room Sister Rosario stood by her desk while Carmen stood in front of her meekly. "Please, close the door and lock it," Sister Rosario said. Carmen turned and closed the office door, and turned the latch to lock it. Her hands were shaking, her legs trembling. When she turned around, she gasped.

Sister Rosario had removed her wimple, and stood bareheaded, shaking her head and running her hands through her hair. Her black hair was close-cropped, almost like the actress Jean Seberg as Joan of Arc, and it framed her face beautifully. In fact, Sister Rosario was gorgeous. Her face was beautiful anyway, but now that Carmen could see all of her face and head it took her breath away. Sister Rosario smiled faintly. "Please, come here," she said softly. Carmen went to her and was received into her arms as Sister Rosario kissed her on the mouth, a deep, long, hungry kiss that left Carmen weak and panting. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that," Sister Rosario whispered into Carmen's ear, nuzzling her earlobe, licking it, sticking her tongue in Carmen's ear, tugging on the earlobe, putting a row of gentle kisses along Carmen's neck. 

"I know how much you must miss Lucia," she whispered. "You were lovers, weren't you?"

Carmen nodded, tears running down her face. 

"Have you made love to anyone since Lucia left?"

Carmen shook her head.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Sister Rosario murmured. "Was she your first?"

Carmen nodded.

"So then she was the only lover you've ever had." 

Carmen was crying quietly. Sister Rosario comforted her and rocked her in her arms. "Poor thing. You loved Lucia, and she loved you, but she was bisexual and also loved Pablo, too, didn't she? That must have been very hard for you, to share a lover like that. And I bet you've never had sex with a boy, have you?"

Carmen shook her head.

"No, of course not. And I bet you never will, either."

Sister Rosario released Carmen and stepped back. She reached down for the bottom of her habit and pulled it up, pulling it over head, folding it carefully and putting it on top of a filing cabinet. She stood in a plain, formless slip, almost sheer. Carmen could see for the first time the general size and shape of Sister Rosario's breasts, not quite as big as her own, high on her chest, with brown aureoles the size of half dollars. Sister Rosario had hard eraser-sized nubbins, which were erect and poking out the front of the slip. Sister Rosario reached across with her right hand and lowered the left strap down her shoulder, and her left breast came free. She cupped it with her left hand, holding it out.

"Come," she said, "I know how you must want this."

Carmen stepped forward, lowered her face as Sister Rosario put her right hand behind her head, pulling her to her breast.

"Ah, that feels so good. Kiss it, my love. Suck it, nurse it." 

Carmen sucked the hot brown nipple into her mouth, running her tongue over it, loving the feel of the small bumps, the tiny wrinkles, and the stiff, erect cylinder at its center. It tasted wonderful, clean, smelt faintly of a soap. Carmen licked it, sucked it, bit the nub with her teeth gently, then kissed the surrounding flesh as Sister Rosario held it out for her, a love offering.

"I saw Lucia push you to your knees in front of her," Sister Rosario said. "Kneel for me, my darling."

Carmen sank to her knees, mesmerized, as Sister Rosario pulled her slip up over her head and sat down in her office chair by her desk. Sister Rosario wore only a pair of plain black stockings that came to the middle of her thighs. She wore no underwear. Her pubic hair was black and luxurious, trimmed slightly, but much thicker than Carmen's own well-trimmed bush. She spread her legs wide.

"Come," she said to Carmen. "Come and have what you've been missing for so long."

She slid forward on the office chair's rollers, coming up to Carmen and catching her between her knees. Carmen bent forward, laying her cheek on Sister Rosario's thigh above the stocking top. The skin was warm and smooth, like velvet. She inhaled deeply, smelling Sister Rosario's arousal. She kissed the thigh, feeling the flex of the muscle under the skin. 

"Mmmmmmm," Sister Rosario groaned. "I want you to lick my vagina, just like you licked Lucia's. Only don't call it a vagina. That's such a formal, stilted word. You know what word I like, Carmen? Twat. I want you to lick and kiss and suck and make love to my twat. My pussy. Would you do that for me?" But Carmen, with her usual enthusiasm and cooperation, had already begun, licking the brown, engorged labia surrounding the wet hole at the center. Carmen rubbed her nose in Sister Rosario's thick cunt hair, nuzzled the clitoris but refrained from licking it too soon, as Lucia had trained her to do, lapped at Sister Rosario's juices as they flowed from her hot, hungry twat.

"That's it, dear," Sister Rosario crooned, "Lick my twat. Drink it. My twat loves what you're doing, you do it so well. My twat. 'Twat' sounds almost French, don't you think? Twa. Like toi, you. Toi lick my twa. Suck my twa. Carmen, please tongue-fuck my twat, lingere my cunny with your sweet lingus, dear, that's it, that's the way. Oh, my precious, you are so good! Oh!" Sister Rosario threw her head back, savoring Carmen's tongue as it licked and probed the depths of the womanly cunt before her face. 

Carmen drank her juices, licked, swallowed, lapped. At first she couldn't believe what she was doing, going down on a nun, performing this, her favorite act, on one of the very last women on earth she ever expected to do this to. She knew it should have felt so wrong, so sinful, so forbidden, but it didn't. It felt like the best thing on earth, the thing she wanted more than anything else. Perhaps even more than she had desired Lucia's pussy, she now desired this one. Thoughts of sin, of the forbidden, of the wrong, faded from her mind as she thrust her lingus deeper and deeper into Sister Rosario's hot, furry cunnus.

Sister Rosario looked down at the wonderful sight of Carmen's lovely face buried so deeply in her pussy. This young girl was so good, so talented. She knew how to do everything, there was nothing Sister Rosario could teach her about eating twat.

"Oh, Car!" Sister Rosario panted, "Oh! Don't stop ... I'm so close, don't, oh, Lord, ah ... ah ... ah ... " and Sister Rosario came, releasing a gush of her fluid into Carmen's mouth, Carmen's lips, chin, cheeks already slick with pussy juice. Sister Rosario's thighs twitched and grasped Carmen's head tightly, her eyes clamped shut in orgasm, her mouth a twisted sob of pleasure, Carmen swallowing. "Oh, God, yes, don't stop, honey, keep licking me, keep licking me, suck my clit," and she went into a second round, twitching and trembling, the muscles of the inside of her thighs spasming against Carmen's ears. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 17



Carmen knelt with her cheek on Sister Rosario's thigh, panting and resting, her mouth only inches from the wet pussy she loved. She saw Sister Rosario's clit, the man with the key, a lovely dark tan color, a little pink/red round ball bearing peering out from under the darker hood, and Carmen realized she had hardly even licked or sucked it. Sister Rosario had come just from tongue-fucking alone. Carmen wondered if Sister Rosario had any more comes inside her. She bet she did.

Carmen leaned forward slightly, giving the gatekeeper a gentle kiss. The gatekeeper, drowsing at his post, twitched and woke up, and up above Carmen heard Sister Rosario draw a sharp breath. She kissed the gatekeeper again, gently sucking him/her. Carmen probed the clitoris with her tongue, sucking more of it into her mouth, and Sister Rosario responded, "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Carmen sucked the clit hood, taking as much into her mouth as she could, rocking her head slowly from side to side as Sister Rosario moaned, bringing her hands up to her temples and holding her head like it was about to explode, which it was. Carmen licked the tiny clit itself, as Lucia had taught her, being very careful and gentle with it as Sister Rosario rocked into a third orgasm, gushing more liquid onto Carmen's chin, and then a minute later a fourth sharp quake.

"Oh, stop, I can't take any more," Sister Rosario cried out, bringing her hand down to cover her own pussy. Carmen stopped and looked up at Sister Rosario's happy, smiling, exhausted face.

"Darling, I can't take any more," Sister Rosario said. "But that was the most amazing ... give me a minute, and I'll do you. I want to do you so bad. Take off your clothes, my love."

Carmen stood, stepped back, kicked off her sneakers, pulled her T-Shirt over her head. She reached behind and unsnapped her bra. She dropped her shorts and her panties, and stood naked before Sister Rosario, who was awestruck.

"You are just so beautiful," she whispered. "So beautiful." She rose up out of the chair unsteadily, and held out her arms. Carmen came forward into the embrace, into the kiss. Sister Rosario could taste her own juices all over Carmen's face, on her lips, in her mouth. It was wonderful.

***

Sister Rosario sat on the floor with her back to the office door. Carmen lay on the floor perpendicular to her, her head in Sister Rosario's lap. Sister Rosario idly reach down and stroked Carmen's hair, playing with wisps of it, running her fingers over Carmen's lips, her cheeks. Sister Rosario had made love to Carmen, kissing, licking and sucking the girl's wonderful nipples. Then she gently bent Carmen backwards on the desk, spreading her legs wide with her feet perched on the edge of the desk. Sister Rosario sat in her rolling swivel chair and pulled herself to the desk to feast upon Carmen's hips, thighs, pussy. She kissed Carmen's legs, whispered love words onto her thighs and sealed the words with tender kisses, ran a finger slowly up the crease between the wet pussy lips as Carmen gasped and trembled. She inserted her finger into Carmen, fucking her gently and slowly, and then adding a second finger, then a third. She leaned over and put her mouth on the twat she had wanted for months. She sucked the gatekeeper into her mouth as she finger-banged the liquid slit beneath it, Carmen whimpering and keening. She bent lower, gently spread Carmen's buttocks, and licked the tight brown star clenched there twitching until it relented, growing loose and allowing the tongue to begin to penetrate. A wet finger was removed from Carmen's pussy and Carmen felt it spreading her fluids around the life ring of her rosebud until it was as slick as her cunt. The finger gently entered her tender bottom, working its way slowly and carefully ever inward, Carmen gasping and raising her buttocks up off the desk. Sister Rosario's lips returned to the gatekeeper, sucking him in, and with two fingers in her loosened ass and two new, different fingers in her tight pussy, the Gatekeeper let loose, Carmen spraying two orgasms into Sister Rosario's mouth. 

"I'm glad you never told Father Eduardo in confession that you were a lesbian," Sister Rosario said as they recovered afterward. 

"I'm glad, too," Carmen said, "but how did you know?"

"Because Father Eduardo thinks the world of you, and it was because you were going to be the DJ that he gave me the budget I wanted. He'd have never done that or let you be the DJ if he'd known."

"I've heard he doesn't like homosexuality of any kind," Carmen said.

"Well, he says he doesn't, but it's more complicated than that. Anyway, you must continue to never confess anything about it to him," Sister Rosario said. 

"Can I confess to you?" Carmen asked, smiling. 

Sister Rosario laughed and brought Carmen's hand to her face, kissing Carmen's fingers. "Yes, my love, you may confess to me. What is it you wish to confess?"

"I want to confess how much I love you, how much I loved making you come."

"I confess how much I loved it," Sister Rosario said, "and how much I love you, too."

"Will we do this again?" 

"Oh, yes, I hope so, very much," Sister Rosario said. "But of course we have to be careful, for both our sakes. We're fortunate that we have the youth program that lets us work together so much, without people becoming suspicious. Neither of us can afford any rumors about us."

"I know," Carmen said. "Did you know there is a rumor about Father Eduardo?"

"Yes, I know," Sister Rosario said. "It's all over the parish."

"Is it true?"

"Oh, I really don't know, my love. I know he is being investigated by the archdiocese, and I know there have been complaints. I haven't ever seen him do anything improper, but that doesn't mean anything. I don't see him all that much."

"How do you know he's being investigated?"

Sister Rosario smiled. "I have my sources." She didn't want to tell Carmen that she'd heard it from Beverly Sirota, the secretary in the parish office, who had accidentally opened and read a piece of correspondence she was never supposed to see. Sister Rosario especially didn't want to tell Carmen that at the moment Beverly told her this, Beverly had a long, tapered, well-lubricated candle in her ass and was deliciously cow-girling Sister Rosario's strap-on. Beverly, a widow in her early forties, had been having a casual affair with Sister Rosario over the past several years. They met secretly once every two or three months, when one or the other of them got so horny she couldn't stand it anymore. It was Beverly who actually owned the strap-on, and loved to be fucked by it by Sister Rosario. 

"You know what else I confess?" Carmen asked. "I confess I wish we could find a way to spend the night together. I want to make love, and then fall asleep in your arms. I want to wake up in your arms. And then while you are still sleeping I want to wake you with my tongue between your legs."

"Oh, my, what a confession! Carmen, you are so sweet. I'd love to spend the night with you, but I don't know how we'd ever manage to work out such a possibility."

"Would you think about it?"

Sister Rosario laughed. "Yes, dear, I'll think about it."

Carmen and Sister Rosario continued their affair for several months, meeting clandestinely in the basement office two or three times a week to make love. Carmen went to a sporting goods store and bought a sleeping bag that she brought to the office so they could lie on the floor in some comfort. One day Sister Rosario borrowed the strap-on from Beverly Sirota, and showed it to Carmen, who had heard about them but never seen one. Sister Rosario put it on and sat in her chair with Carmen kneeling between her legs. She taught Carmen how to lick it and suck it, the first time Carmen had ever had anything dick-like in her mouth. At first Carmen was leery of the strap-on, having no wish to suck something that approximated a man's cock, even if this one wasn't very large at all, and wasn't one of the anatomically accurate types. But Sister Rosario told her it was different from a real cock, and not unpleasant. Carmen relented, and gave it a try. Soon she found herself avidly licking and kissing the strap-on, taking it deeply into her mouth. She liked being in control of it, and liked the fact that its base rested on Sister Rosario's clit, and that Sister Rosario could come if Carmen manipulated the cock with her mouth and hands in just the right way. Carmen liked it the very first time Sister Rosario fucked her with it, feeling it slide slowly and deeply into her well-licked pussy, the first time she'd been penetrated by anything other than fingers or tongues. And she would never forget the day more than a week after the Christmas and New Year' holidays, January 10th, her 19th birthday, when Sister Rosario had bent her gently over the desk, lubed up the strap-on and pushed it ever so slowly and carefully into Carmen's perfect, mouth-watering, puckered, twitching bottom. Carmen moaned, whimpered, keened, crooned, panted, gasped, cried out, and had two orgasms back to back, drenching the desktop in pussy juice. Even now, seven years later, Carmen still considered this bumfuck to have been so gentle and tender that it was the gold standard of anal insertions, against which she measured all other anal play. 

An hour later, she herself wore the strap-on, kneeling on the floor on top of the sleeping bag, gently inserting it into Sister Rosario's ass as she knelt on all fours, thrusting her hips back to greet like an old friend the very rubber cock Beverly had butt-fucked her with a dozen times before. 

One afternoon after making love Carmen and Sister Rosario were lying on the sleeping bag side by side, enjoying the afterglow. Sister Rosario was lying on her stomach, her arm and one leg over Carmen. Carmen lay on her back, idly stroking the arm across her chest.

"Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure," Sister Rosario said. "Anything."

"Which came first, you becoming a nun, or knowing you were a lesbian?"

"Ah," Sister Rosario said. "Yes. I suppose that would be the interesting question about me. Well, the story of my life, then. Yes, I knew I was a lesbian from a young age. I had my first lover when I was 18. It was my aunt. She was a dancer in one of the clubs in Miami. She was very ... sexual. She liked men and women both. There was a swim party at somebody's apartment, and several of us changed into our bathing suits in a bedroom. My aunt got undressed and put on a bikini. She saw me looking at her as she undressed. She could tell from the way I looked at her what I was thinking. I was ... almost hypnotized. She understood instantly. There were two other women changing, and my aunt stalled until they left the room. Then she locked the door. And then she took off her bikini top. And she taught me how to make love to a woman."

"That continued a few times, and finally my aunt put a stop to it when she found a new boyfriend. I wasn't in love, though, so it wasn't that difficult. But I knew what I was, for the first time." 

"I began to hang around with a crowd of tough girls in high school who were widely rumored to be dykes, and soon I became one of them. We were a pretty rough, unruly bunch. Some petty crime, some drugs, some parties. There were five of us. And one of the things we liked to do was find and seduce straight girls, take them back to the apartment one of the girls had, and force the straight chick to perform sex on us, and all of us on her. Some seemed to like it, but I'd guest most didn't, but we didn't care. It was all about the power, the force, making girls eat us out and submit to whatever cruel things we wanted to do. Once we even got a gay boy, and made him eat us and we blew him. I suppose the worst we did was one time we got two sisters, two college girls, and made them do each other and us. They were crying, and it was pretty awful, so much so that another girl and I had enough, and quit the gang. I was feeling pretty low and depressed and guilty, and one day went into a church and talked to a priest. I knew that I was out of control, that I was a hardcore lesbian, and I had guilt feelings over that, as well as over all my other behavior, all the truly awful things I had done and participated in. My own family had pretty much disowned me, the delinquent dyke girl gangster, the incorrigible one. And they were right. Up to that point I was incorrigible and ignored everything they'd said to me. I was alcoholic, I abused drugs. I was vicious and violent. I had lots of sex, but it wasn't love by any definition. It was just fucking women who were defenseless. It was mean and cruel. And somehow deep in my soul I knew I was on some downward path, toward some bottomless pit, a kind of hell on earth. And I didn't want to go there, but didn't know how to stop."

"So this priest, he got me into a program, and over a year or so I began to get cleaned up and straightened up. Mainly I worked on my alcoholism and drug use, and sort of kept quiet about the whole dyke thing. And I became more interested in the spiritual questions. One day a nun talked to me about becoming a nun myself. She didn't know I was a lesbian, and I didn't tell her, in part because I thought maybe if I became a nun, I would finally get control over my own sexuality, my sexual urges and desires. By marrying Jesus, I would shun my lesbianism, and it wouldn't be any different from a straight woman or man giving up their sex lives and taking vows of chastity, celibacy and abstinence. What difference would it make what kind of sex it was I was being celibate from? So I became a novice and did all the things you have to do, all the studying and prayer, all the cleansing." 

"And for a long time it seemed to be working, there were long periods when I almost never thought about sex at all. But I kept waiting for 'it,' for my desires to go away completely. Maybe you could say I was expecting to become completely sexless, to have no desires at all. But, as any priest or nun will tell you, that almost never happens. So it was always there in the back of my mind, like a banked fire burning very low."

"Then one time in 1994, a few years after I was accepted into the order, a group of us nuns were on an overnight bus trip in Oregon going to a retreat in Mount Hood National Forest for a week. I'll never forget that night. We were cruising down Route 22 east of Salem. It was just after sundown. The nuns were mostly sleeping or reading. There was a young nun in the seat behind me who had a guitar, and she was singing this soulful folk song. I turned to sit sideways so I could watch her as she played and sang. On the other side of the aisle just behind her were two other young nuns, Sister Toni and Sister Agatha. I knew them both, of course. Sister Toni had been reading a book, and had fallen asleep with it in her lap. She was in the aisle seat, and Sister Agatha was in the window seat. I saw Sister Agatha surreptitiously push down the dust jacket of Sister Toni's book, which turned out to be about lesbian nuns. Then Sister Agatha began to work her hand up under Sister Toni's habit, caressing her leg. I pretended to be asleep, but squinted my eyes so it looked like they were closed. And it was dark in the bus, but not too dark. I watched as Sister Agatha worked her hand up Sister Toni's leg, and she started slowly masturbating Sister Toni, I guess while she also masturbated herself. All I could really see were their two faces, and after a few minutes they both reached orgasm, right there in the middle of a bus load of sleeping nuns.

"That's almost like the time you watched Lucia and me in the alley," Carmen said.

"I know. I seem to have this talent for being in the right place at the right time when two hot women make love to each other. Just lucky, I guess."

"Anyway, I happened to be the person in charge of making room assignments when we got to the retreat house, which was this big old lodge way back in the woods. Some of the rooms had two beds, some three, some four. I had already made out the room assignments, but before we got to the lodge I changed them around, so that Sister Toni, Sister Agatha and I all shared a three-bed room up on the top floor, in a kind of attic room. I told people that we three were the youngest, healthiest nuns, which was true, and were therefore the most able to climb all those stairs up to the top floor, and that the older nuns should have the lower rooms. We had nuns in their sixties and seventies."

"So, anyway, there we were, three lesbians up in the attic all by ourselves. One of the three bunks was in a kind of alcove apart from the other two beds, and I suggested I take that one, and they quickly agreed. And here's the thing. All the years of work I had put in trying to forget my orientation, trying to ignore my urges and desires, my feelings, all that disappeared from the moment I saw Sister Agatha masturbate Sister Toni. It was as if I was back in Miami, screwing anybody who wore a skirt. It was like I had just taken some psychotropic drug filled with lust. I was on fire, I was horny like I hadn't been horny in years. I wanted it so bad, Carmen, you have no idea."

"On the first night, we were all exhausted, and nothing happened, not that I know of, because I fell asleep right away, and I think they did, too. Same thing on the second night. On the third night I got into bed, pretending to be very tired, and let them believe I was asleep. A little while later I heard one of them getting out of her bunk. They were very, very quiet, but I could tell something was going on. If I really had been asleep I'd never have heard it or woken up. Very carefully I sat up and peered around the edge of the alcove. All I could see was Sister Toni sitting on the side of her bunk, with her back to me. I couldn't see Sister Agatha at all, because she was kneeling between Sister Toni's legs, giving her head. All I could hear was heavy breathing, but I watched, masturbating myself, and after a few minutes Sister Toni stiffened and arched her back and had an orgasm. I slowly ducked back out of sight and lay back down and in seconds I had one myself."

"The next night the same thing, only this time it was Sister Agatha's turn. She was sitting in the same place Sister Toni had been, with her back to me. I had quietly removed my night shirt, and was naked as I waited for them to start. I saw them begin, with Sister Toni on her knees between their beds giving head to Sister Agatha. Very quietly I got out of bed, and in the darkness I walked down toward them, naked. They were both too occupied in what they were doing to hear me or see me until I was standing right there by the foot of their bed, watching, and even then they didn't know I was there. So I said, 'Sisters, can I have some of that, too?' I scared them to death, of course. Sister Toni jumped back, and Sister Agatha cried out. Before they could react any further, I had dropped to my knees and buried my face in Sister Agatha's pussy. I licked her for a few minutes, then I straightened up. Sister Toni was kneeling there, watching. I turned to her, put my arms around her, and kissed her. My mouth was covered with Sister Agatha's juices, as hers was, and we tongued each other's mouths, licking up Sister Agatha's juice. When we broke apart, I said, 'It's your turn again,' and pushed her down gently into Sister Agatha's twat. 'And now you don't have to be so quiet.' So while Sister Toni went down on her, I kissed and sucked Sister Agatha's breasts until she came. As soon as she did, I pulled Sister Toni up and made her lie down on the other bed, and I climbed on top of her in the sixty-nine position, and we did each other. After a few minutes Sister Agatha came over and helped, rubbing our breasts and pussies. We had quite a little orgy there, the three of us, bringing each other off two or three times before we all went back to sleep." 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 18



Chapter 18 Paybacks Are Hell. Sometimes.

Aunt Begonia and Uncle Mike had rented a hall for Marciela's quinceañera, and Carmen had joined the Morales clan the night before to decorate the room and set up for her cousin's fifteenth birthday celebration. The theme colors were white with silver highlights.

"The quinceañera signifies a girl becoming a woman," Carmen told Shane one evening several weeks before the event. "But different Latin American countries have slightly different traditions regarding the quinceañera. In Argentina they have the fifteen candles. The quinceañera girl gives out a candle to each of the fifteen people she considers to have been the most influential ones in her life. But nobody else does that. No matter the country, the event is almost always very formal, and the girl always wears a very fancy formal dresses. In Venezuela it is multicolored and usually pastels. In Nicaragua it is always pink. It used to be pink, too, in Mexico, but has kind of changed over to white, sort of like a wedding dress or the Nortamericano idea of what a princess would wear."

"Since in Latin American countries most people are Catholic, the day usually starts with a mass of thanksgiving in church. Aunt Begonia and Marciela talked it over, and they decided not to have one."

"Why not?" Shane asked.

"That's a long story," Carmen said. "The short version is that six years ago there was a big scandal at our church. They came and removed our priest, Father Eduardo, because apparently he had been molesting choirboys. And they also sent away all the nuns who had been at the parish, nobody is quite sure why, except that they all were there when Father Eduardo was. Anyway, it was a clean sweep--"

"Was your nun one of them?" Shane asked.

Carmen flushed. "Who told you about that?"

Shane shrugged. "One of the group, it doesn't matter who. They told me you admitted you'd had an affair with a nun. Now I'm really sorry I slept late. I miss all the good stuff." She was laughing, and Carmen could tell she wasn't upset about it.

"Well, it's true. I did. I was eighteen, just starting college. She was like my mentor, and she's the one who got me started DJing. And then they sent her away, and it kind of broke my heart."

"Were you in love with her?"

Carmen shrugged. "I don't know. That's an awfully hard question, you know? And I've asked myself that, over the years. Yes, I had feelings for her. I certainly had a major crush on her, no doubt about that. I mean, it was like a teacher crush that just went totally over the top. I told her I loved her, so maybe I did, yes. I never really understood where the lines were between a crush, an infatuation and a love affair. "

"You never mentioned it before. Is that why you never go to church, and don't like the church?"

Carmen nodded. "Yes, that's why. And I never told you about it because, you know, we don't talk about our histories. Remember your mantra? 'Never tell them your story, and never let them tell you theirs'?" 

Shane grinned ruefully. "Yeah, well, that was before I got involved with someone. I may have to revisit that mantra a little bit to find out about you and the nun. But anyway, tell me more about quinceañeras."

"Well, in addition to the girl's dress there are some other common elements. In most countries the girl is escorted into the party by her father, and then there are a series of dances, usually waltzes. In some countries she dances with family members and close friends. In others she dances with a select group of people, and very often these dances are choreographed and practiced in advance; it's not like the bride at a wedding just dancing or waltzing with her father or father or whoever. In the Domincan Republic the dances can be anything, not just waltzes. Merengues, salsa, modern, whatever. Whenever I get hired to do a quinceañera I have to ask which Latino culture the family comes from and which variation they want to use. It can get a little confusing, and I have to do my homework on each one."

"For instance, another common element is where the music comes from. The family hires at least one band, and sometimes two or three. The music almost never comes from records or CDs; it has to be a live performing band. Often there is a DJ, who is really more like a master of ceremonies, and in our family we've known for years that I was gonna be the DJ for Marciela, there's just no way in hell that wasn't gonna happen. So I'm the DJ for Marciela, of course, but I'm not gonna spin records and CDs, I'm just going to be the MC, introduce people and events, and so forth, and kinda run things. I've actually been paid to do some quinceañeras, but of course I'm doing this one for free because it's my cousin."

"So anyway, for Marciela we're having have three bands. One of them is just a local garage band, some of Marciela's friends and schoolmates, they're fourteen, fifteen years old, and they're probably not very good, but nobody cares. Those kids would be just brokenhearted and hurt if they couldn't play, so they're gonna do a couple songs. And then there's the band from Marciela's school, and they're probably not much better than the garage band kids. It'd be, like, a neighborhood feud if they didn't play. They do all the local quinceañeras for all the girls in their school, it's a local tradition, these guys have got to play no matter what. And then finally Uncle Mike hired a real band to do the serious playing after the kiddie bands have done their thing. They're like the bands that do weddings and funerals and bar mitzvahs and everything, you know, five or six pieces, and they can do everything in the songbook, from the Mexican Hat Dance to the Electric Slide to the Macarena to the Bunny Hop."

"According to Mexican tradition, the quinceañera is the first time the birthday girl wears make-up, but of course nowadays you can't find a nine-year-old who hasn't worn make-up, let alone a teenager, even a young one. But that's the theory. Another is the ritual of the shoes. The girl comes to the party wearing flattie shoes, and during the ceremony her father gives her a pair of high heels to put on, her first pair, to symbolize her turning into an adult. So we're gonna do that part of the ceremony, but of course Marciela has worn heels lots of times before. So that's a kind of pretend thing, like pretending the blushing bride wears white because she's a virgin. You know, nowadays go find me a virgin on her wedding day. But society pretends."

"The Mexican ceremony is different from some of the others, because in our tradition the quinceañera girl is escorted not by her father but by an honor guard of young men. They are called chamberlanes , it's the Spanish word for chamberlains. A chamberlain is a household official, but no one has them anymore, so it's really more like a band of groomsmen at a wedding. So these boys -- Marciela has six of them -- will escort her in. There is a formal toast, and then she dances a waltz with each of them in turn, very formal and stylized. They've been practicing for months. One is her boyfriend, one's her brother, one's a cousin, and three are family friends. One is Anna's husband Carlos, my brother, you met him."

"So after that introductory dancing is done, then she dances with family members and close friends, like at a wedding. After that it becomes a birthday party, with food and drinking for the adults, and birthday presents for the girl, and she opens them, and all that. It's usually pretty fun, and you'll have a good time. Oh, and there's one more thing. In the Mexican version we Maya descendents have inserted our own special part of the tradition. It's called  La Ultima Muñeca, the Ritual of the Last Doll. It symbolizes the very last childhood toy she will ever receive, now that she's about to turn into an adult. A long time ago I told Aunt Begonia I wanted to be the one to give Marciela her Ultima Muñeca, and she agreed. So what we did, Aunt Begonia and me, is that Aunt Begonia has kept me informed about what kind of dress Marciela is going to wear. And I got her to give me a pattern of it, and I took it to this wardrobe shop at one of the studios, and I've had them dress up a doll in exactly the same pattern of dress as Marciela's going to wear. And I just know it will blow her mind when I give it to her."

"That's really cool," Shane said. "You really get into all that stuff, don't you? Fancy dresses and all that."

"Yeah, I do," Carmen said. "I have to confess it, as lesbians go I'm pretty girly. I'm an unabashed dolly dyke, a lipstick lesbian down to my roots. All my life I've wanted to get married wearing this gorgeous wedding dress. I think I wanted that wedding and that wedding dress long before I even knew I was a lesbian. And after I did discover it, it didn't matter -- I still had this fantasy of walking down the aisle in this gorgeous white wedding dress, with the lace mantilla, and the fact that I'd be marrying a woman instead of man was almost secondary. In my fantasy I never even thought about who my spouse would be, whether she'd be wearing a white dress, too, or a tuxedo, or hell, it could have been a leather dyke in a spiked collar." She laughed, and Shane laughed, too. "I mean, it's all about ME, you know? Just me in that gorgeous white dress. Every girl's entitled to her dream, even us pervo dyke- and boi-loving lipstick lesbians."

***

Despite her discomfort wearing Mercedes' dress, and her utterly non-Shane hairdo, Shane enjoyed herself at the quinceañera much more than she thought she would. Of course she loved watching her Carmen up there on the tiny stage being the mistress of ceremonies. She loved watching Carmen work. Carmen was bubbly and happy and charming, funny, relaxed, warm, and of course she was among family and friends she loved and who all loved her. Shane was moved to consider just how damned lucky she was to have such a person in her life, to have such a person in love with her.

Shane felt comfortable and at home right away among the Morales clan, some of whom she'd already met at Mercedes' house. Many knew who she was -- Carmen's best friend and roommate -- and were happy to meet her face-to-face. And not one of them knew or suspected that Shane was a lesbian, much less that Carmen was, too, or that they were lovers. It wasn't so much that this community was homophobic as it was that they were all simply in a kind of denial. They lived in a hetero world where everyone was straight, even when there might have been a little bit of evidence here and there to the contrary. 

Mercedes led Shane around, introducing her to relatives and neighbors as if Shane were her own long-lost daughter. This was what it felt like to have family, to be part of a family, to be surrounded by affection and acceptance and unconditional love (unconditional, at least, as long as no one knew the truth). A few of the people Shane met spoke no English whatsoever, yet even they accepted this gringa not as an outsider but more or less as one of their own. Shane ate it up, every spoonful. 

Shane, who admittedly wasn't political in these matters, felt at ease in a world where no one cared about her orientation and sexuality. It meant that she didn't have to think about it, either; she could just relax and be herself, and these people accepted her as they thought she was. Sure, Shane was a little on the tomboy side, but maybe some earrings, a little girly hairdo, some girlier clothes, and she'd be sure to find herself a nice boy to marry pretty soon. Anyway, tomboys weren't especially rare in Americanized Latino culture, and there were plenty of "tough" girls in the barrio, enough to dilute the stereotypes of Hispanic femininity.

This was certainly Mercedes' view. She had personally told half the room that Shane was wearing Mercedes' own quinceañera dress from way back when, and didn't she look gorgeous? And every time Mercedes said it, Shane blushed and did an "aw, shucks" kick, but deep in her women's heart she was no less immune than any other. To be called "gorgeous" and "beautiful" and "muy bonita" turned her head as much as it would the straightest woman ever born.

***

"Chane! Chane! There's somebody I want you to meet," Mercedes said, coming across the crowded dance floor at full speed. Shane saw she was dragging some poor young man behind her like a captured purse-snatcher. "This is Luis." She presented the young man to Shane proudly.

"Hello," Luis said quietly and politely. He knew, just as Shane knew, that they were both prisoners of Mercedes' iron will, and both would do whatever it was Mercedes had in mind for them.

"Hello," Shane said, putting out her hand and shaking hands with Luis.

"Go on, dance! Dance!" Mercedes exhorted, pushing them together and out into the middle of the dance floor. Reluctantly they danced slowly, Luis keeping a formal distance of several inches away from Shane's chest. Shane thought at first that matchmaker Mercedes was trying to fix her up with Luis, but he so obviously had something on his mind that Shane picked up the vibe.

"What's up, Luis?" she asked him kindly.

Poor Luis's face crumbled and he looked so sad. "I love her," he confessed.

"Who's that?"

"I love Carmen," Luis said, the poor lovesick puppy. "I love her since I was a little boy. She only see me as a friend. Maybe you can talk to her for me. Mercedes says you're her best friend. You could tell her I love her, and I'll be good to her."

Now Shane understood what Mercedes had been up to. Get Shane to broker the match between her friend Carmen and poor Luis, whom Mercedes knew loved her and would make a good husband for her. Well, given certain pre-conditions.

"Uh, Luis, maybe these feelings you have for Carmen ... maybe they're not the same for her," Shane said, trying to frame a coherent answer that would spare Luis' feelings yet get Carmen off the hook. And Shane might have pulled it off given six or eight hours to process and think, but no way she was going to come up with anything on the spur of the moment. But just then she was saved by Carmen's sudden appearance at their side.

"Hi, hi," Carmen said to each of them. "Mind if I cut in?" Shane looked mildly shocked, but Luis almost fainted dead away, believing for a moment that the girl of his dreams was about to dance with him. But his face fell and his world collapsed as Carmen turned to Shane and began to waltz away with her.

"Isn't this a little risky?" Shane asked after a moment.

"Ah, I didn't tell you that in the Latina culture, it's okay if two girls dance with each other," Carmen said. "It's not exactly queer."

"You left that part out, huh?"

Carmen grinned wickedly and laughed. "Yes, I did. I love your hair!" That made Shane both blush and laugh, because they both knew it simply wasn't Shane, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. 

"You owe me," Shane said.

"I know! Thank you." Carmen grinned, knowing there was going to be serious payback, but she was more than willing to suffer those consequences.

"You're welcome," Shane said, already thinking about that payback.

***

The quinceañera began to wind down about nine o'clock, and was over by nine thirty. Shane and Carmen got home just before ten, tired but happy. Shane went to her room and couldn't wait to take off that damned dress, which she carefully hung up on its hanger and placed back inside its special plastic zipper bag. Three seconds later she had run her hands through her hair and in mere moments had restored a good bit of the Shane Shag. She reached into a drawer and removed a clear plastic baggie and a rolling paper, and dressed only in a lightweight wife-beater undershirt and her boy-cut Hugo Boss tighty blackies she went into the kitchen in search of Carmen and a beer. Carmen was in the bathroom, so Shane pulled two Dos Equis from the refrigerator and began rolling the joint. Carmen came into the kitchen still dressed in her beautiful mauve outfit. She was still wired from her MC work, and it often took her a while to come down after a performance. She gladly took a drag from the joint Shane offered her, gratefully took a swallow from the beer bottle, and went to the counter to begin putting away all the containers of leftover food her mother had made her take home.

As she loaded containers into the refrigerator, she began to talk. "Okay, every single person in my family adores you. My mother? She absolutely loves you." She finished and came to Shane, taking another drag from the joint.

Shane exhaled the smoke she'd been holding inside. "I love them, too."

"You do?" Carmen put her hands on Shane's hips, moving close in.

"Um-hmm," Shane said, nuzzling into Carmen's neck. "But I wonder how much they'd love me if they knew I was fucking their daughter." She kissed Carmen's cheek and neck, feeling herself getting moist and hot in key places. 

"Oooo!" Carmen whispered, loving the kissing she was getting. "Well I wonder who's going to be doing the fucking tonight, because you looked pretty girly in that dress you had on." 

Shane groaned and made a face. Then her hands began lifting Carmen's skirt up to her waist, revealing Carmen's sexy black stockings held up by a lacy black garter belt. Underneath there was a brief hint of a scanty burgundy-colored thong. "Well," Shane said, "you look a little girly yourself."

Carmen giggled, set down her beer bottle and backed away from Shane for a second, picking up a remote from the kitchen table behind Shane. She turned and aimed the remote at the boombox on the sideboard, and a second later D'Angelo's cover of Feel Like Makin' Love began to play. With her back still to Shane, Carmen began to sway to the music, swinging her hips slowly and running her hands through her own hair. Shane watched the hips sway as Carmen slowly and sexily backed her way into Shane's lap. She gently thrust her bottom into Shane's groin but bent over forward, wordlessly asking Shane to unzip the back of her dress. When Shane did, Carmen straightened up, still swaying and pushing back into Shane, giving her a striptease lap dance. She shucked off the dress, which puddled to the floor, and Carmen toed it out of the way. She wore a lacy black brassiere that matched the garter belt, and continued swaying and teasing. Shane's clit was at full attention and the sight of Carmen's luscious bottom, the garter belt, the warm caramel color of the skin of her back, the faint aroma of vanilla from somewhere were as arousing as anything Shane had ever experienced. She turned slightly and extinguished the joint in an ash tray because she knew that in a moment she was going to be much too engaged to finish it as she otherwise might. She put her hands on Carmen's hips, loving the feel of those delicious ass cheeks pushing against her own thighs. It was payback time, and Shane was gonna get her --

The phone rang.

"No, no, no, no, don't answer it!" Shane pleaded as she felt Carmen respond to the ring.

"What if it's an emergency?" Carmen asked.

"No, no, no, no," Shane pleaded, but it was too late. The wonderful bottom cheeks: gone. The hips: gone. The smells: gone. The back, gone, the breasts, the face, the mouth ...

Carmen walked to the wall phone and picked it up. "Hello? ... Hi, Jenny! ... Uh, yeah, are you okay?"

In the bed of a pickup truck parked in a field just outside of God-Knows-Where, Colorado, Jenny lay looking up at the stars and talking on her new cell phone, something she'd gone without during her six months in the mental hospital in Skokie. Beside her lay a stone butch with a sharp-featured face and high cheekbones named Moira, whose truck it was. 

"No, no, I'm fine, don't worry," Jenny said into the phone. "Yeah, we're just taking our time. We're gonna be there in a couple days ... uh huh ... oh, my friend Moira decided to take her pickup truck, and we're driving cross-country now."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 18



"Wow, are you and Moira girlfriends?" Carmen asked, putting enough emphasis on the word "girlfriends" to suggest something more. 

"What? My girlfriend?" Jenny asked. "Excuse me." She turned to Moira. "Moira, are you my girlfriend?" Moira had a strange look on her face. She had fucked Jenny half a dozen times, been kicked out of Jenny's house when her stepfather had caught them in bed together, and had just fucked her now in the bed of the pickup. But all she could do in response to the question was shrug. Moira knew that Jenny was a pretty strange chick in a lot of ways. And vice versa.

"We don't know," Jenny said into the phone.

"Oh," Carmen said, surprised. "Well, have you ... did you ... "

Jenny laughed. "Yes, we have. We did. We do. How are you and Shane? The last time we talked you guys were going out every other weekend and fucking your brains out in bed-and-breakfasts all over California."

Carmen laughed. "Yeah, that's pretty much still going on." She glanced over at Shane. "Jenny and a girlfriend are on their way out here, they'll be here in a few days," she told Shane.

"Cool. Tell her I said hello."

"Shane says hello," Carmen repeated.

"Me, too," Jenny said. "What are you guys up to tonight?"

"We just got back from my 15-year-old cousin's birthday party," Carmen said. "And you should have seen Shane! My mom loves her, and made her wear the dress my mom wore when she had her 15th birthday. Shane was soooo adorable."

"Wow, did you come out to your family?"

"Oh, no," Carmen said, feeling Shane come up behind her. "No, they don't ... uh ... ." Carmen felt Shane's arms encircle her and her hands cup her breasts, Shane's thumbs gently rubbing Carmen's nipples into hardness. "... uh ... we're ... ."

Jenny laughed. "I interrupted something, didn't I? You guys are doing the dirty right now, aren't you?"

"Uh ... " Carmen said as Shane kissed the back of her neck while her fingers found the clasp of the bra, which dropped to the floor.

"Wow, I wish I was there to watch," Jenny laughed. "I'm gonna let you go get it on, now. See ya in a few days! Bye!"

Carmen hung up the phone and yielded as she was gently pressed up against the wall. She felt Shane come in close behind her and realized Shane had removed her T-shirt. She felt Shane's hard nipples press into her bare back; a moment later she realized Shane had taken off her tighty blackies as well, and was naked. Shane reached her hands around Carmen and cupped her breasts. Shane nuzzled her neck, bit her earlobe, and whispered, "It's payback time." Shane gently turned her around and pressed her back against the wall again. Shane bent down, and Carmen felt Shane's hot, moist mouth lick, kiss and suck her left breast, suck the nipple into her mouth until it was swollen, wet with saliva, hard enough to cut glass.

"I figured out how I can pay you back for tonight," Carmen said, cradling Shane's head as it crossed from breast to breast, licking and sucking and gently biting. 

"Mmmmmmmm?" Shane muttered, not stopping what she was doing.

"Yes. I'm going to make you pancakes. Would you like some nice hot pancakes? I can rustle them up in a jiffy."

"Mmmnnnghmmdnnnnn," Shane said, and out of that Carmen heard something that might have been "No pancakes."

"No? You don't want a nice stack of hot, fresh pancakes? Uh, okay. How about some waffles? I can make you some waffles. I know you like waffles." 

This time Shane didn't even bother generating sounds; she had Carmen's right nipple in her mouth and she just shook her head from side to side, no, never letting the nipple loose.

"Gee. No waffles. Okay, how about this? Tomorrow I'll wash your truck. How's that? I'll even do the tires, scub the whitewalls." She felt Shane laughing, her shoulders shaking as she kissed and licked the lovely warm division between her breasts.

"Mmmmmffph," Shane said.

"C'mon, Shane, I'm trying to figure out a way to pay you back, and you aren't helping out here. How about I clean out your closet, straighten it up, organize it -- you know I'm a good organizer, take the clothes you don't want to the Salvation Army or any other charity of your choice. The Home for Unwed Lesbians? The Gay Kiwanis?"

Shane dropped to her knees, her mouth kissing and tongue-fucking Carmen's bellybutton.

"Oh, now I get it," Carmen said. "I know what you want. Come here." She put her hands under Shane's armpits and lifted her up and pulled her into an embrace. She kissed Shane deeply, slowly. "You want me to perform some wicked, dirty lesbian sex act on you, don't you? That's how you want me to pay you back."

Shane was giggling, but nodded her head emphatically, yes, yes, and that made Carmen laugh, too. 

"You want to have your way with me. You want me to perform hot, dirty, perverted, filthy, sweaty, deviant sex acts on you. That's it, isn't it? That's what you've been thinking all along, right from the very first moment. I swear, that's all you bois -- that's boi with an 'i' -- ever think about. Sex, sex, sex."

Laughing, Shane bobbed her head again, yes, yes. 

"I suppose you want to keep on playing with my lovely, firm titties, kissing and sucking them, and taking my hard brown nipples into your mouth, and covering them with your saliva, your hands fondling them and caressing them."

Her mouth full of right nipple, Shane bobbed her head again.

"I suppose, having me firmly pushed up against this wall, you want to slowly and teasingly insert a finger or two into my hot, wet snatch, slowly fingerfuck my warm, moist lamb pie, making it get wetter and wetter--"

Shane nodded, two fingers beginning to caress Carmen's labia, which were already quite wet. After a moment, the two fingers slowly inserted themselves. She felt Carmen inhale deeply as a tremor went through her body. Seismic activity.

"-- as my beautiful, silken pussy starts to swell, as my cuntlips can no longer contain the honey lubrication seeping out between them and around and between your searching fingers. You probably won't be able to see the color changing as my darling pussy gets darker and darker as it swells with blood. Knowing how perverted and deviant you are, you're probably going to pull your wet fingers out of my cunt so you can suck my juices off of them--" She closed her eyes and moaned, "Oh, shit," when Shane's fingers came out, and she shivered as she watched Shane suck those fingers. "I wouldn't even be surprised if you put those fingers back in me, got them wet again, and made me suck them. I bet that's something you'd --" and she shut up as the two fingers, reloaded, gently entered her mouth. As she sucked her own juice, Shane began to rub her thigh between Carmen's, a slow, rhythmic tribbing. As Carmen well knew, it was Shane's favorite kind of sex, and it was the most perfect payback Carmen could imagine.

"Oh, yeah," Carmen whispered. "I hope you're not gonna stop."

"Paybacks are hell," Shane whispered, her face buried in Carmen's neck, her lean, long body slowly humping, feeling Carmen's little triangle of cunt hair against her own lower belly, feeling Carmen's pussy and clit on her thigh, feeling her own pussy and clit on Carmen's, both clits pressed against warm flesh, slowly riding up and down, the clits swollen and red under their hoods, those little red hoods made for riding, not too fast and not too slow, but just right for loving. 

"This one isn't," Carmen whispered, pulling Shane face up to kiss her mouth. "God, I love you so much. I love your mouth. God, I love a nice, juicy mouth." Her tongue plunged into Shane's mouth as her hands gripped Shane's ass cheeks as she rode up and down on Shane's leg, pulling Shane's pussy up and using it to slide up and down, masturbating Shane's pussy and clit on her own leg.

"I love you, too," Shane murmured, out of breath from the long kiss, and starting to pant as she thrust forward.

"If you want ... you can fuck me ... with your strap-on ... if you want," Carmen groaned, her hands in Shane's hair as she whispered in her ear. She felt Shane break rhythm momentarily, then resume the slow tribbing.

"How do you know about my strap-on?" Shane whispered.

"Remember ... a couple months ago ... oh, God, that feels so good ... a couple months ago, you had the flu ... you were sick, remember? three, four days ... I nursed you ... one day I did your laundry for you ... maybe you don't remember ... I folded it all up and put it away for you. When I went to put your underwear ... oh, shit, I'm so close ... so close ... your underwear drawer, under some T-shirts, I saw ... I saw a strap. I pulled it out, saw ... oh, keep fucking me ... saw it was a strap-on ... a nice one, it looked expensive ... and you never used it on me ... oh, God, Shane, I'm almost ... almost ... UNNNNNHHH! ... YES! ... oh, ohhhhhhhhh, NGGGGGGGGGG!"

Carmen's head banged hard onto Shane's shoulder as she came, her pussy leaking madly and drenching Shane's leg. She pulled Shane in so tight Shane thought her ribs might break and she had a handprint on her ass that would take a week to fade. Shane was only seconds away herself, and feeling the flood from Carmen's cunt running down her leg set her off, a series of cries and grunts and she thrust up, her clit in spasm, her own juice freely flowing, the pair of them bathed in endorphin heaven. 

After a few minutes, Carmen, raised her head and began kissing Shane's sweat-glistened face. "That's what I call paybacks," she said.

"We're not done yet," Shane whispered back, and she loved the music of Carmen's laughter.

***

Shane stood at her dresser, the top drawer open. Carmen came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her. She noticed Shane holding the strap-on in her hands.

"I didn't mean to pressure you into using it," Carmen said, kissing Shane's neck. "It's up to you, whatever you want to do. I probably shouldn't have said anything. You know how sometimes I speak before I think."

"No, it's all right," Shane said. "Have you ever ..."

"Yes, I have," Carmen answered quickly. "The second woman I ever made love with fucked me with a strap-on. And then I fucked her with it, too. I even sucked it, when she was wearing it. She was backed up against her desk, and I sucked it, the first time I ever sucked anything with that shape, and by rubbing the base of it against her clit I made her cum. And then a few weeks later she fucked me in the ass, and I fucked her in the ass, too. It's ... it's not my favorite thing to do, but once in a while ... I just wanted you to know ... that if you wanted to ... I was okay with it. I'm okay with anything you want to do to me, pick your favorite hole to put it in." She had her arms around Shane, and laid her head down on Shane's shoulder. "I love you, and I love making love to you so much, any way you want to do it, anything."

"Someone ... gave this to me," Shane said after a minute. "Somebody --"

"Cherie Jaffe," Carmen said. "That's the woman whose name you don't want to say, isn't it? It's okay. I know you had a thing with her, something more ... what I mean is, I know she was special to you."

Shane slowly turned around and looked at Carmen, who couldn't read her face. "I know I don't tell you things about my past--"

"It's okay. I know a few things. I know she was this actress and you got a job doing her hair, and next thing you guys are, you know ... and she was married and even had a teenage daughter--"

"The daughter had a crush on me," Shane said. "But I didn't do anything with her. With the daughter, I mean. Clea was her name. She wanted to, but I didn't. But then she lied and told Cherie and Cherie's husband I did, and they freaked, and the whole thing--"

"I know," Carmen said, cradling Shane's head to her shoulder. "It doesn't matter. It's all just history, now. It doesn't matter." She kissed Shane's forehead and, though both were still standing, rocked her gently.

"Car?" 

"Yes, baby?"

"There's more. I once ... I once had a bad experience ... with a strap-on ... and for years afterward I wouldn't have anything to do with them. And then Cherie bought me this one for my birthday, and made me wear it ... and use it ... and in a way she helped me get over that bad thing. So ... that's why I never used it on you ... or anybody."

"I understand, baby. Let me ask you this: Did you like using it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then. Would you like to use it on me? Would you like to fuck me with it? Do you want me to fuck you with it?"

Shane shrugged, as always a victim of her own speechlessness. And as was often the case, she was miles behind in processing all this, and the noise level in her head was high. "I dunno. Maybe. Yes, I guess. I dunno."

"Okay, baby, we'll take it nice and slow. Go ahead, put it on now."

As if in a dream, Shane opened up the strap-on harness so she could step into it. She did, with Carmen holding her arm for balance. Then she stood there, naked except for the strap-on. The harness was black glove leather, smooth and supple, with a small triangular patch at the back where the waist straps came together and the center strap passed between her buttocks. In the front, just at the base of the cock, there was a real one-carat diamond, imbedded so it didn't cut or get in the way of the action.

In a way, they were twins, Shane wearing the black leather harness and Carmen still in her black stockings and garter belt. The difference was Shane's held a modest, blue, jelly-type dildo, a generic that had three gentle bulbs along its length. It was only about six inches long, and had no veins, no cockhead, no fake glans, no balls. Strangely, it had a kind of elegance, like a Brâncusi sculpture. Le Cock (1935).

"It isn't very big," Shane said, looking down at it. "I don't like those fucking awful giant things, they're grotesque. And those lifelike ones ... I can't--"

"It's okay, baby," Carmen said, her hands on Shane's hips as she looked down at it between them. "I think it's perfect. And I even like the zirconium thing. It's lovely. And this might sound weird, but it seems to be just the right size for you. And it's not like a guy, but it's like you, sleek and smooth, just some gentle curves."

"You think?"

"Yes, I think. I think it's quite beautiful in a way a realistic cock could never be. Don't move." Carmen sank to her knees, and leaned forward to kiss Shane's belly. She kissed Shane's navel, licked it, cradling the dildo in her left hand and bringing it gently to her cheek as she kissed and licked Shane's tummy. And then she kissed the head of the dildo more gently and softly than anything Shane had ever experienced. Carmen kissed the dildo along its length, gently, and then took the head of it in her mouth. Shane could tell Carmen had done this before, but she was mesmerized by the sight of Carmen on her knees before her, sucking gently on her girldick, loving it and lubricating it with her mouth. Despite her enormous sexual history, Shane had only ever seen one other woman on her knees sucking her strap-on cock, and that had been Cherie Jaffe. 

Beneath its base, Shane could feel her clit hardening as the gentle pressure of Carmen's work caressed the base against her pubes. Carmen sucked the cock with the same high level of loving skill she brought to every sexual endeavor. Shane felt Carmen's hands slip around to grasp her buttocks, kneading them even as she pulled them in, setting up a gentle fucking motion, the cock sliding in and out of Carmen's mouth, a blowjob like Shane had received from Cherie Jaffe several years ago. And perhaps -- memory being a tricky thing -- this blowjob might have been even better. Cherie had been bisexual, and had sucked many more real cocks than she'd sucked fake ones. But she'd always been hungry, voracious, and she sucked cock like a porn movie whore, not like a lover. Carmen made love to Shane's cock, whereas Cherie had only just sucked and fucked it. 

"Get on the bed," Shane said, gently pulling the blue magic wand out of Carmen's lovely mouth. She pulled Carmen up and gently lowered her backward on the bed. She pushed Carmen to the middle of the bed, on her back, her legs spread. Shane knelt between them, leaned down, kissed Carmen's breasts, licked them, and gently brought the cock to Carmen's pussy. She put her hand on Carmen's cunt and felt its hot wetness, knew it was ready, and gently began inserting the cock until she was all the way home. She heard Carmen's sighing and whispering, yes, yes, more, and looked up into Carmen's eyes, wide open and tear-filled with joy. She started slowly fucking, Carmen pulling her down into a kiss so deep the kiss itself was a kind of sex. This was classic missionary position, but Shane loved it. She had the body for it, the long, lean swimmer's body that allowed the tremendously disciplined slow undulations, almost like a dolphin riding a bow wave, feeling Carmen's legs wrapping around her up under her butt cheeks, pulling Shane deeply inside her. Shane fucked, undulated, thrust and withdrew, thrust and withdrew, looking down into the face of the most beautiful woman in the whole world, a woman whose own face was glazed with love and on the cusp of orgasm.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 19



Chapter 19 Frankie Goes to West Hollywood

Sometimes, like a Ritalin-deprived preschooler wired on Count Chocula, love sneaks up behind you and bites you on the ass. Or something close to love, anyway. It's not always easy to figure out what exactly that emotion is.

Cherie Jaffe lived in a gated mansion in Belair, and also in a beach house in Malibu, because everyone needs two mansions only a few miles away from each other. (The Jaffes had a house in the Hamptons, too, but lately didn't fly east all that often.) Cherie's husband Steve had a ton of money and the brains to not only keep it but make it grow. And anyway, the beach house was a deductible business expense because they did a lot of entertaining there.

Cherie (neeVerna Marie Peroni, a.k.a. Cherie Danish, a.k.a. Cherie Sunrise, a.k.a. Cherie Valentino, and -- in her one and only porn movie, a two-minute appearance in a naked crowd scene in Thong of Bernadette that not even her husband knew about, made when she was 17 and had lied about her age -- a.k.a. Jaki Swallow) had just enough talent and just enough ambition to bring her to Hollywood and a career as a D-list actress. Her primary skills were three: lying and fantasizing, which taken together could pass for "acting" on a good day in the bottom tier of thespian employment, and the third was cocksucking. Those skills plus a pretty, sharp-faced, feline appearance and a pixie haircut landed her a couple of bit parts (although mainly it was the cocksucking) and a brief five-episode story arc as an ingénue in the soap Grover's Corners, which eventually brought her to the attention of Steve Jaffe, a talented, workaholic real estate developer and sometime producer of movie schlock, half of whose work took place not in Hollywood proper but out in the valley's porn industry. 

Steve had for a partner an equally skilled businessman, Harry Samchuk, a gay man he'd met at the Stanford Graduate School of Business. Their genius in the porn industry came not from making the product, but rather from owning and renting out the dozens and dozens of studios, editing facilities, storage facilities, mailing/shipping mills and Internet shops -- the infrastructure -- that the industry needed to do its work. They also owned and leased out a major proportion of the expensive houses and estates the porn people used as sets. Thus they earned a tremendous amount of income from the porn industry without ever having actually to be "in" it. They owned warehouses and office space and leased the equipment; what other people did with it wasn't their concern, and anyway one could depreciate the hell out of the inventory. With those profits they could afford to dabble on the outskirts of the "legitimate" movie industry. The one-gay, one-straight combination worked out amazingly well for both of them; among other things, it meant they never competed for the same sex partners in their private lives, and it gave them a broader range of sensibility than some others might have had. Both realized early on how well the symbiosis of their relationship worked, and they were therefore scrupulously honest with each other in their business dealings.

Cherie initially dated Steve to advance her career, but after a few months she began to understand that being his wife might provide for a more secure future than trying to be an actress, which after all not only involved hard work, but also required more talent and more luck in being at the right place at the right time than she seemed to possess. Comparatively speaking, giving Steve frequent access to her mouth, still-tight pussy and still-taut rosebud was not only much easier and more pleasant, it had a much higher probability of the big payoff. For his part, Steve was besotted having his own worshipful sex minx hungrily gulping his joy juice a couple times a week without disrupting his busy schedule, and before he knew it he was in love, he was married, and a few months later he was an expectant father-to-be. 

Cherie herself transitioned quickly from Golden Globe diva-in-waiting into a Real Housewife of Beverly Hills a decade and a half before the show ever ran. She discovered and nurtured newly acquired talents including shopping, spending Steve's money, hostessing events and business cocktail parties, and being a capo in the LA charity mafia. Best of all, she didn't have to relinquish any of her diva skills. It was win-win-win-win. As long as Steve was serviced on a regular basis, he was so absorbed in his work he paid little attention to how Cherie spent her nine-to-fives. And hell, give the man credit: he really wasn't a bad fuck at all. He really did do most things he turned his hand to very well. And he really loved his trophy wife. Sometimes that happens.

After their daughter, Clea, was old enough to go into a high-end and tony daycare center for privileged children, Cherie roamed the shops and stores of Rodeo Drive and Beverly Boulevard, the spas, the salons, and all the trendy places. Before she was thirty, she had built herself a discreet but impressive list of masseurs and cabana boys she had fucked and sucked -- often in lieu of a tip -- plus a couple of gardeners and pool maintenance men, plus one or two casting execs she blew for old times' sake and just to keep her hand in. Early in her career she'd discovered that not only did an ambitious gal need to suck a cock once in a while to get a role, in egalitarian Hollywood sometimes she had to suck a pussy instead. This opened up a new avenue of her personality and by age thirty-five gave her a select, highly talented list of masseuses, hotel maids, aroma therapists and other tradeswomen who regularly serviced her. There were three different sales girls on Rodeo Drive alone who sometimes met their monthly sales quotas in the changing rooms of their shops on their knees tongue-buffing Cherie's clit. And then there was the lovely Asian flight attendant Cherie had met on a shopping trip to Hong Kong, who whenever she landed at LAX spent her layover in Cherie's bedroom, playing with anal toys and buttfucking or being buttfucked by Cherie and her strap-on. Steve knew nothing about any of it.

Plus a line or two of blow every now and then. A little e. A little oxy. Lots of Grey Goose. Personal trainers, male and female, some fuckable, some not (by orientation; there was a gay guy who had incredible, inspired hands, but he simply wasn't interested in pussy). Parties at the beach house. Liposuction. A tuck or a tightening, a little tweaking. Once or twice a year an MFM or an FFM, not so often it got boring, just often enough to keep it interesting and a little different. Parties at the Belair house. Two trains, but only one as a participant, in Puerto Vallarta. She was only a spectator during the one in her own pool cabana. 

Life was good.

Cherie added Shane to her list of multi-tasking playmates-for-hire through the somewhat unorthodox route of gay Harry Samchuk and Shane's gay prostitute friend Clive. Several months before Harvey had died, Shane went looking for Clive on Santa Monica Boulevard, and it took her three days to find him. He was struggling and not doing well, and Shane's sudden disappearance from his life hadn't helped. Shane helped him get his shit together and they kept in loose touch over the years, a fine example of Shane's very best qualities, her loyalty, her refusal to judge people, and her generally sympathetic nature. If you were Shane's friend, she would give you the shirt off her back, and in Clive's case that's almost literally what she'd had to do.

With her help Clive had cleaned up enough as a gay prostitute that he'd eventually worked his way up the food chain until he had the good fortune to be picked up by Harry Samchuk, who was enamored of Clive's cocksucking skills much the way his business partner enjoyed that same skill from the former Jaki Swallow fifteen years earlier. Hollywood and the TV and movie businesses relied upon the ability to spot talent, and cocksucking was as much an appreciated skill as set design, hairdressing, sound mixing, acting, show-running or sitcom development. Clive began to hang around the fringes of Harvey's circle, and one night brought his friend Shane to an industry party Harry threw. Harry, who liked the andro/boi look, took an immediate liking to Shane and even made a pass at her, thinking she was a guy. Shane demurred politely, though, without offending Harry or being offended, and eventually set him straight, so to speak, about her true gender and orientation. Harry took it well, and for some reason remained fascinated by her; he had even gone so far as to lend Shane the use of his yacht one day so Shane could invite all her friends over to it to have a pussy party on board. Maybe Harry just needed the tax deduction: Entertained client S. McCutcheon and posse.

And then as sometimes happens, fate played dominoes. First, Shane got picked to do Pink's faux Mohawk hairdo when she filmed her Bitter Pill video. That led to a one-time shot doing Madonna's hair on a location thing when Madonna's regular people couldn't make it. Madonna added her rave to Pink's. Next thing Shane knew a major studio exec named Ellie Zimmer got a recommendation from Harry (via Clive) to give Shane a try. Harry didn't like Ellie Zimmer much, but figured what the hell, if Shane did a good job, that was great and it would get Clive off his case about Shane all the time. And if Shane fucked up, well, that was on Clive and on Shane, and too fucking bad, Ellie. But Shane did a great job, and when Cherie Jaffe saw Ellie at a benefit looking better than she'd looked in decades, Cherie was impressed ... and jealous as hell.

When Cherie's favorite hairdresser finally succumbed to AIDS and flew home to Stockholm to die, Clive asked Harry to recommend Shane, as least for a tryout. Thus it was on a sunny afternoon in November 2003 that one of Steve's minions -- a minion he happened to be balling, although Cherie didn't know about it -- arrived at Lather, the salon where Shane worked, performing advance work for Cherie, who arrived a few minutes later for her haircut. And then it was just one of those things, just like a year later when Shane ran into Carmen in Arianna's dressing room. Kismet, chemistry, hormones, destiny: whatever. Cherie looked in the mirror at Shane, and Shane looked in the mirror at Cherie, and there was more electricity in the air than could be accounted for by the static in the comb in Shane's hand.

Shane put her in the chair, spun her around, looked in her eyes, and said, "Tell me what you want."

"I want so many things," Cherie replied, looking away demurely, reprising her role as the shy ingénue from Grover's Corners, "but in terms of what you can do for me, I want a change. I want ... something new."

Shane ignored the inuendo -- too much processing, she was on the clock, and sensed correctly that Cherie was doing some kind of meek act -- and studied Cherie's face and hair. "Excellent," she said, and spun Cherie around again to face the mirror. "I know what to do."

Forty-five minutes later Cherie got up from the chair and was so anxious to call Harry Samchuk that Shane was still fussing with the final look. "Harry? You asshole! I'm calling to say thank you for begging me to go to Shane--" she held her cell phone up to Shane's ear and commanded, "Say hello, Shane."

"Hello, Harry," Shane said dutifully.

Cherie giggled into the cell phone. "It's amazing! She's a genius!" She leaned over and gave Shane a fast, meaningless Hollywood peck on the cheek. "First of all for giving me a great haircut," she continued, walking away from Shane without looking back, "and second of all for not sleeping with you. Yeah. So call me when you get out of your K-hole, okay?" 

Shane stood, watching her go, and wondering what the hell that was all about. Apparently Harry was doing some Ketamine, that's what K-hole meant. Hollywood. Movie people. Go figure. She leaned over the railing of her loft work space and watched Cherie walk downstairs and to the check-out desk. She heard Cherie praise Shane's work to John, her boss at the register.

A week later Lather got a visit from the minion asking for Shane to be sent out to the Jaffe house in Belair; Cherie had a benefit for the Woman's Cancer Project that evening and needed her hair done. She gave Shane the address and told her to be there at five sharp. 

At five of five Shane pulled into the driveway, parked her old Toyota pickup behind somebody's sleek, fast, silver Boxster on the edge of the parking circle, and walked to the front door. A Latina maid answered her doorbell ring, expecting her. "The meesus, she wait for you upstairs," the maid said.

Shane stood in a large circular foyer that looked like the castle keep scene in Robin Hood and looked up around the curved staircase that led to the second floor. Up above, Cherie Jaffe looked down at her, smiling enigmatically. She wore a black peignoir and had a tall, fluted wine glass in her hand. She said nothing, just watched as Shane climbed the stairs. Shane's heavy Doc Martens clunked loudly and echoed in the foyer. Cherie turned and went down a hallway, knowing Shane would follow. They entered what turned out to be Cherie's capacious dressing suite under the eaves of a wing of the house. For some reason the phrase "batcave" came into Shane's mind, unbidden. The suite had its own walk-in closet, an eight-foot-long makeup table with an eight-foot mirror, and its own private bathroom at the far end. There were built-in shelves that were used as shoe cubbies; Shane thought there might have been fifty or sixty pair neatly tucked away. In front of the built-in table there was a chair similar to one of Lather's hairdressing chairs.

Cherie sat in her chair, sipping her wine and still not saying anything. Shane stood behind her ready to go to work. "Okay, so should I do what I did last time?" she asked.

Cherie looked into the mirror at Shane's reflection and smiled that same enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. "I was hoping for a little more," Cherie whispered, as she and Shane stared into each other's eyes in the mirror.

Shane, no more articulate now than ever, asked, "Oh, uh. What kind of more?"

Cherie turned in her chair and faced Shane, her face at Shane's stomach level. "Lots more," she whispered. 

Shane was wearing jeans and a man's white dress shirt, untucked. Cherie surprised her by reaching for the bottom button of the shirt and unbuttoning it. Shane flinched in surprise and said, "Uh." Then she looked down as Cherie unbuttoned the next button, and the next. Cherie pulled on the shirt, bringing her close, her mouth kissing Shane's navel and belly and stomach. Shane put her hands on Cherie's ears and pulled her up to her feet and into a kiss that only lasted a second before Cherie opened her peignoir and dropped it to the floor. She was wearing a black brassiere, black panties that were two square inches away from being a stripper's G-string, and long, black, thigh-high stockings, all sheer and expensive. They clinched, kissing and caressing each other as Cherie found and unbuttoned the last button of Shane's shirt, dropping it to the floor. Shane wore no brassiere, of course, and Cherie's mouth went to her breasts right away, suckling the hardening nipples, eating them hungrily, nipping and biting. 

"My God," Cherie murmured between sucks, "you've got the most beautiful nipples I've ever seen!"

And before Shane knew it they were on the floor by the chair, Cherie on her back with her legs in the air, knees bent as she skinned her thong down her legs and then pulling Shane's head down to her pussy, and in the blink of an eye Shane found herself kissing, licking and sucking Cherie's liquid center. Cherie's hands forcefully guided Shane's face, pulling her head into the demanding twat. Rarely had Shane ever seen a woman so excited and so hot and so ready this fast. 

"Suck my clit," Cherie demanded, tugging Shane's head into position and wrapping her legs over Shane's shoulders and around her neck. Shane was happy to do so, although in the normal course of events she'd have spent ten or twenty minutes getting around to it, instead of grabbing for the brass ring after less than a minute of prep. Shane thrust two fingers into Cherie's pussy. It did the trick, because Cherie immediately started grunting and thrusting, whimpering into a cum that washed Shane's face with Cherie cola. Shane knew without having to process it that Cherie must have been drinking her wine and diddling herself before Shane arrived, in anticipation. The cool, silent act when she'd arrived must have been because Cherie was so stoked she'd had to stifle her every impulse to keep from jumping Shane at the front door.

Her cum had no sooner ended when Cherie sat up, bringing Shane to her knees in front of her, Shane holding Cherie's face in her hands and kissing her, thinking this was like fucking a wild mare. 

"Fucking amazing," Cherie murmured, "I can't wait to tell Harry, he'll be so jealous."

"Cherie!" They heard Steve Jaffe call from the foyer. "Cherie," he called again, coming up the stairs.

"Oh my God!" Cherie blurted. "It's Steve!"

"Fuck!" Shane swore as she scrambled to find her shirt while Cherie found her thong and laid back on the floor to pull it up her cum-and-sweat dampened legs. Shane scrambled toward the bathroom with her shirt, tripping and falling but rapidly getting the door closed just as Cherie stood up and Steve Jaffe, unaware, entered the room. Cherie smiled at him, breathlessly, holding up her black peignoir in front of her.

"Honey! You're always interrupting me when I'm not ready," Cherie whined to Steve.

"I thought you'd be dressed by now," he said, sauntering toward her.

"I was just getting my hair done," she told him, putting on her peignoir.

He looked at her hair, which was shaggy, disheveled and mussed.

"Ummm," he grunted. "Looks good."

"It's the just-fucked look," Cherie said, patting her hair into place.

He leaned forward and they kissed. "Yeah? Well, works for me," he said, fondly.

Just then Shane came out of the bathroom, dressed. "Uh, hi," she said.

Steve walked toward her, his hand outstretched to shake. "You must be Shane," he said cordially.

She gestured with her hands, not wanting to shake. 

"Uh, my hands are wet," she said, as though she'd just washed them. It was true they were damp -- and a little sticky as well.

"That's okay," Steve said, smiling and friendly.

Shane glanced at Cherie. "Uh, yeah, you look great," she told her.

"It's good to be able to put a face to the name," Steve said, never realizing Shane had just put that face somewhere else. "Harry won't stop talking about you."

"She's the best," Cherie said.

"Okay," Shane said, heading for the door. She stopped in front of Cherie, flicked a strand of hair off her forehead, fussed a little bit, and regarded her non-work. "Excellent," she said. "You look lovely." She turned to Steve. "It was nice meeting you." She spun and headed for the door as Steve waved goodbye.

"So ... um ... if I need a touch-up I'll call you," Cherie said.

"Yup, yup," Shane said going through the door and down the hall as fast as politely possible.

***

Shane did Cherie three more times (and her hair twice) before Thanksgiving, when the Jaffes flew to Cabo for a five-day weekend. Then she did Cherie and/or her hair once a week up until Christmas. For the second post-Thanksgiving appointment Cherie's minion had booked a room at a hotel near the Kodak Center, and had asked for Shane to be there at one o'clock, and for her to spend the rest of the day there, as Cherie wanted Shane to do the hair of a friend of hers as well.

When Shane knocked on the door of the hotel suite at five of one, it was answered by a stunning, petite Asian woman wearing a white half-slip and a white bra she didn't really need.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 19



"Hi, come on in, I'm Becky," she said, letting Shane walk in. She shook hands with Shane, who looked around the suite for Cherie. "She's in the potty," Becky said. "I've so been looking forward to meeting you. I've heard great things about you. Would you like a drink?"

"Uh, sure," Shane said, putting her hairdressing kit down on a coffee table in the middle of the room. She could see into a master bedroom that had suitcases and clothes spread out.

Becky went to the bar area and Shane studied her pert little ass. "What would you like?" Becky asked over her shoulder. Shane was looking at what she would like.

"Beer's good. Or wine. Or whatever." She liked the tinkle sound of Becky's laugh.

"Cherie and I are going to a movie premiere at the Kodak Center tonight," Becky said, "and we're supposed to leave here about five thirty. It's just down the street, and we can walk from here. So we figure we should jump in the shower about four, and after we come out you can do our hair. Does that sound reasonable?" She handed Shane a glass of white wine.

"Sure, no problem," Shane said, wondering what they were going to do between now and four o'clock, but also knowing the answer.

Just then Cherie came out of the bathroom into the bedroom and then into the living room. She was wearing a white terrycloth robe and apparently nothing under it. The robe was loosely tied, and Shane could see down to Cherie's bellybutton.

"Hey, there you are, darling! I see you've met Rebecca," Cherie said, coming over to Shane and wrapping her arms around her. She kissed Shane lovingly on the mouth as though Becky wasn't in the room. After a moment Shane responded, thinking, oh, what the hell. She'd done threesomes before perhaps a dozen times. When the kiss ended, Cherie kept one arm around Shane's waist and turned toward Becky, who was watching and smiling. Shane saw she had a glint in her eyes, and knew what it meant. "C'mere, Becks," Cherie whispered to Becky. "Say hello to Shane."

Cherie brought Becky to her and into a three-way hug, then turned Becky into Shane. The pretty Asian woman had to stand on tip-toe to kiss Shane on the mouth, her arms reaching around Shane's body. They kissed like they'd been lovers for years. Cherie slid around behind Shane and reached around to unbuckle Shane's belt, unzip her fly, and tug her jeans to Shane's ankles. She bent down and patiently untied Shane's heavy boots -- those fucking Doc Martens again – and made Shane step out of them. When Shane was barefoot Cherie pulled her jeans away from her ankles, then pulled Shane's tighty-blueys down and off. Shane was naked from the waist down, and wore nothing but a man's shirt above. As Shane and Becky's tongues worked in each other's mouths, Cherie pulled down Becky's half-slip and then her tiny panties.

"Becks, look at these," Cherie said, standing and reaching between them to open Shane's shirt and reveal her breasts. "Aren't these the most yummy nips you've ever seen?"

Becky's eyes opened wide in appreciation. "Wow! And I thought mine were pretty nice. Shane, yours are fabulous. And I love how they point upward like that. May I?"

"Uh, sure," Shane murmured as Becky lowered her mouth to Shane's right breast, gently licking circles around the nipple.

"Me, too, me, too," Cherie said, taking Shane's left tit in her mouth. Shane shrugged her shirt off her shoulders and cupped her hands behind Becky's and Cherie's heads, holding them to her breasts, listening to the two women moaning and slurping happily. Cherie broke away first, grabbing both girls by the wrists and dragging them behind her into the bedroom. She turned dramatically and flopped backward on the bed. "Christ, come on, guys," she urged, "get up here and climb on!"

Becky giggled happily and climbed her way up Cherie's body, straddling her face and planting her adorable trimmed beaver onto Cherie's mouth. She grabbed the headboard and started tribbing Cherie's tongue. Shane lay down on her tummy and munched her way up Cherie's thighs to her now-bald pussy. Cherie had had a modest landing strip for several years, and the week previously had asked Shane to give her a wax trim along with her hairdo. Cherie decided she wanted a full Monty, pubes, lips, twinky. She knew Steve would love it, and Harry would want to hear every detail.

After Cherie and Becky both came, it was Shane's turn.

"Hey, Becky," Cherie said, as she lay recovering and getting her breath back, "why don't you introduce Shane to Alec?"

"Oh, good idea!" Becky said. "Let me just rest up a moment." After a minute, Becky got up from the bed slowly, and Cherie pulled Shane up to lie beside her. She kissed Shane on the mouth and said, "You taste just like my pussy."

"I wonder why," Shane replied uneasily. "Who is Alec?"

"This is Alec," Becky said. She stood near her open suitcase, and had just stepped into a strap-on with a modest pink dildo front and center. "Alec, say hello to Shane." She grasped it in her hand and shook it gently, pretending to be a ventriloquist. She changed her tone of voice to something gruff and faux masculine. "Howdy, Shane. Ah'm pleased to met ya."

Shane shook her head, and looked at Cherie. "Why Alec?"

"Because, lover, Ah leck to fuck him, and Ah leck to suck him, and most of all Ah leck to have him in my tushy. Becky, dear, why don't you put Alec through his paces. Shane, flip over."

But Shane held up her hands. "Thanks, but no thanks. I ... uh ... I don't do anal."

"No! Really? You've got to be kidding me!" Cherie said, unable to imagine there wasn't anything Shane wouldn't do. "Oh, what a waste. You've got such a beautiful ass."

Becky knelt on the end of the bed facing them. "Shane, I'll be really gentle."

Shane smiled at her. "I know, Becky. And thank you. But I ... I had a pretty bad experience with anal and a strap-on a few years ago, and I'm still gun-shy, I guess."

"Okay, I understand. But you still haven't come. What would you like for Plan B?"

"Just about anything else is fine. Fuck my pussy with it, give me head, we can trib, you can finger me or fist me, you can both do me, sixty-nine."

"What would you like?" Cherie asked, stroking Shane's back and nibbling on her earlobe.

"Well, since we have a special guest here from Hong Kong, I think I'm in the mood for some Chinese," Shane said. She pointed to the strap-on. "But I think I'll skip Column A. I'm in the mood for some ... wonton." 

Cherie groaned at the pun, but Becky crept forward on her hands and knees.

"Wonton? You want wanton? Oh, Shane, baby, I'll give you all the wanton you can handle."

"Ohhhh, I want to watch this," Cherie said. "Maybe we can change your mind about your bottom problem later."

***

Actually, they did solve Shane's bottom problem, although it took two orgasms alternated with two lines of coke -- cum, snort, cum, snort -- with Shane feeling no pain as she lay between Becky's thighs, languidly licking and sucking her petite, tight, fluid, quivering, delicious, leaking pie. She fucked it with her tongue and flicked the tiny clit and its wonderful little hood from side to side, sucking it into her mouth and listening to Becky pant and groan and swear in Mandarin. 

Meanwhile, it was Cherie who now wore Alec, and while Shane serviced Becky Cherie gently spread Shane's buttocks, licked her rosebud, and began to dribble lubricant over it. Shane, stoned, anesthetized on coke and endorphins, and mentally occupied with other matters, hardly paid attention, and before she knew it Cherie had straddled her bottom and had Alec's tip inside her starfish. Shane groaned and sucked, and another half inch went in. She licked and moaned, and took another inch. Becky, her eyes clenched as tight as her jaws, slipped into her third or fourth cum of the afternoon, clutching Shane's head tightly to her pussy. She came, teaspoons of juice welling up and into Shane's mouth. Before it was over Shane had five inches of dildo in her ass, and didn't mind it a bit. Cherie worked it slowly out a few inches, and then back in. Slow out, slow in. Slow out, slow in. She pushed a little deeper each time -- there was only another inch to go -- and Shane took it, groaning and perhaps only half conscious.

"Here, let me help," Becky said, after she'd recovered sufficiently. She knelt between the two sets of Shane's and Cherie's spread legs and inserted her hand under Shane's body, finding her clit and cupping it, and giving it a massage. Then she slid her other hand forward and put two fingers into Shane's pussy, pushing the fingers down until she found the rough, wrinkled surface of Shane's G-spot. After a few strokes it was all over, Shane undulating her hips under Cherie's weight but coming, coming, coming, her first bumfuck orgasm in many years. And, as anal orgasms are usually the most intense of all types, it short-circuited her brain. She bucked, she cried out, her juices flooded Becky's hand and even Cherie felt a sudden orgasm sneak up on her through the base of the strap-on. Then Shane was unconscious, lying on her stomach on the bed as Becky and Cherie quietly crept off to the shower to begin getting ready for the movie premiere. It was ten after four.

***

On Dec. 22 the Jaffes and their daughter, their minion and their maid flew to the Caymans, and got back January 6. Cherie had missed Shane's 28th birthday on December 29, and for the first time in a decade Shane felt a little lonely and sad to be spending her birthday without someone being around -- and in this case, Cherie. It was funny, because Shane normally didn't give a shit about her birthdays, and since they came so close to Christmas and New Years, she was more than used to it being submerged in all the other holiday events and hullabaloo. She hadn't had anything like a decent birthday since she was nine, and this one nearly two decades later wasn't any better. Shane was living in an apartment she shared with three very radical, very political lesbians, and she was friendly enough with them, although she'd never fucked any of them. They took her out to dinner at a trendy new vegan place, and everybody was home by 9. Whoopee.

She didn't care that Cherie was in the Caymans; she wasn't jealous. She hadn't cared when the Jaffes went to Cabo, and she didn't especially care about vacations to luxurious places, since she'd never had one herself. She didn't care that Cherie was married, and that she'd had to share her pussy and tits and mouth with her husband and perhaps a few other men and women Shane had begun to suspect were staples of Cherie's love life. Shane had fucked married women before, one-time hook-ups for the bi-curious and crazy lost weekends while the hubby was away, but no repeaters and nobody serious. There had been a couple of clingers, like that Lacey Driscoll. But there hadn't been anyone who Shane ... she searched her mind for a verb. It wasn't "love," of course; that would have been absurd. But some slightly lesser word than love, something a couple of emotional tiers below. She could find no satisfactory word, probably because the English language had nothing. "Liked" was simply insufficient. "Liked a whole lot" was ridiculous. "Had a crush" began to circle around it, but "crush" sounded so juvenile, so high school. And ephemeral. And transitory.

But even more absurd was the woman herself. How could Shane "have feelings for" (how lame, how weak, how pathetic) a married, forty-five-year-old, loud, rich, spoiled, self-centered, self-involved, hedonistic, sybaritic -- Shane had to stop thinking of all the many negatives Cherie had, both as a person, as a partner, as a lover, and how many reasons why ... having feelings for ... this woman was crazy. It wasn't just absurd, it was like some twisted cosmic joke, some karmic retribution for all the girls and women Shane had fucked without so much as a moment's emotional involvement.

Sitting at her kitchen table with a beer in her hand that she hadn't touched in ten minutes, Shane completed processing something that had been in her head for two months. It didn't matter that these ... feelings ... for Cherie were irrational and made no sense. These kinds of feelings never did make sense. Love (if that's what it was) never made any sense. But here was the insight: Her crazy feelings for Cherie kind of matched the crazy feelings Lacey had had for Shane.

Light bulb.

One night Shane had been hanging around Milk and in came this interesting pussycat. Shane's antennae stood up and she began processing the incoming data. First vibe: a lot of contradictions. Complicated, buried under simplicity. Cute ... over a darker soul. No, that wasn't right. Cute, over an injured soul. Lacey was blessed with a round baby face that seemed younger than her true years. She wore her hair dyed platinum and short and spikey, going grunge and punk -- but over a heart that wasn't punk at all. She looked soft butch, and might have been trying for andro, but couldn't quite pull that off, either. There was too much femme, too much girl underneath. She was shorter than Shane, but had a broader build, broader shoulders. She wasn't fat, wasn't a chubette ... but she was, what? Chunky, Shane decided. Compact, that was it. Shane couldn't immediately tell if she lifted weights or was a bodybuilder, but Shane sensed that inside Lacey a thinner, sleeker girl was trying to get out, and couldn't. Accordingly, since she couldn't pull off lipstick lesbian, she went the other way. So that explained the spikes on her head, the Goth eyeliner and sooty eyelashes that sat above apple cheeks and a beautiful smile. Okay, a beautiful, sulky pout. Nice tits, a reasonable handful, set high. They would be nice, Shane knew. Good hips, nice butt, a handful, to be sure. Her stressed, tie-dyed and ripped jeans were packed full of firm Lacey, and it would be interesting watching her squirm out of them. No tighty-whities; Shane knew instinctively that under the butch outerwear Lacey had on a frilly white bra and girlie panties.

The girl had come in with a couple of friends, and as she scanned the room her eyes fell upon Shane, thirty feet away and regarding her thoughtfully. No, not Kismet, not lightning. No thunderbolts, no Cupid's arrows. But ... yes. Two women thirty feet apart in a semi-dark, crowded, awfully loud dyke meat market, each thinking, okay, there's a possible over there at twelve o'clock.

It took twenty minutes, Shane not moving and Lacey doing all the running, because she was searching and lacked Shane's inner tranquility. But here she came, working her way closer, and then she was standing next to Shane, watching people dancing in the center of the room.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Shane responded.

"Place is really jumping," Lacey said. "I'm Lacey." She offered her hand to shake, which Shane understood was to make physical contact. Here I am, take me. I need to be held. Touch me. Touch me lots of places.

"Shane," she said, shaking Lacey's hand. I'd be happy to touch you.

"Buy you a beer?"

Shane looked at the bottle in her hand, which she'd gotten only a minute ago, and which was still three-quarters full. "Well, I tell ya what, I'm in pretty good shape here, but instead let me buy you one." She liked the way Lacey's face lit up.

"Sure, okay. Cool." Touch me. You can have me. Anyway you want. Right here on the floor.

Shane took Lacey's wrist and turned away, threading her way through the crowd toward the bar. Lacey was happy to be tugged along.

Forty minutes later they were in Shane's pickup in the parking lot, wrestling like God and Jacob, their hands all over each other's thighs, tongues writhing in each other's mouths.

"Where can we go?" Shane panted. "All my roommates are home and one of them has a cold."

"My place," Lacey panted back. "It's up in Silver Lake, near the reservoir, off the 101."

It was six miles away and took them fifteen minutes to get there, Shane driving like a maniac. Lacey explained that she had recently broken up with somebody after a long-term thing, a singer, pretty famous, maybe Shane had heard of her, Teri Lethbridge, and she had had to move into the first apartment she could find, temporarily, until she could get a new place, and God, she was so fucking horny she couldn't wait to get Shane naked, the last couple months with her partner the pop singer had been contentious and she hadn't gotten laid in months, fucking months, and she wanted someone to lick her pussy so bad, the whole story and all her troubles and lust and want and need gushing out, a female ejaculation of the psyche. 

Shane drove, listened and groaned to herself that she'd only known this girl for an hour and already she was telling Shane her story, and that was against the rules. Never tell your story, never let them tell you theirs.

Lacey knelt on the seat facing Shane as she tried to drive, tonguing Shane's ear and stroking her. "Do you give good head? God, I hope you do! I need it so bad. I'll do anything you want. What do you like? I'm so hot, and you turn me on so much, Shane, my God, I want you. I bet your tits are wonderful and I want to suck them. Do you like tits? You can play with mine all night long, I love to have them licked and kissed. I bet I come three, four times, like, in twenty minutes. Are you shaved? I don't care, I'm just asking. I don't care if you're bald or hairy, I just wanna get my mouth on your pussy. Mine's spikey, just like on my head, my ex once joked it was like cunnilingus on a porcupine but she was only joking around. Do you squirt? I don't, but I get pretty wet sometimes."

"I like to trib," Shane managed to get in.

"Ohhhh, that's my new favorite! Do you really? I haven't tribbed in a long time. I'm so excited! Turn left up there, where that white car just turned. Oh, wow, I can tell already you've got a great body for it. Do you care if you're on top or bottom? I don't care, you can do me any way you want. I saw you right when I walked in tonight and I knew, okay! There she is, that chick knocks my socks off, I'd sooo love to do her. And then we were talking and you bought me that beer and already I was getting wet just thinking about you. The next right. What do you do? I'm a graphic designer for an ad agency, I'm, like, a PhotoShop expert."

Chick? Had she really said "chick"?

"I'm a hairdresser," Shane said, driving.

"Hey, cool. I'm sorry, I know I'm, like, crazed. I'll shut up. It's just I'm excited."

"It's okay," Shane said, laughing, because this girl was kind of funny and charming, and hell, she was enthusiastic, and she sure hid nothing. She wasn't a game-player, and Shane always liked that. And she told you what she wanted and needed, and there was a lot to recommend about that approach, no fucking guessing games. And she was cute, and hot, and Shane was always a listener, not a talker, so it didn't matter if Lacey filled up the dead air. And Shane's gaydar and radar told her she'd be a really good fuck, and she was, as it turned out. She really was.

Thirty hours later Shane dragged her ass out of Lacey's bed and drove home for a quick shower and change of clothes before she went to work. Shane was breaking rules all over the place, staying at Lacey's for Round Two, and lunch, and Round Three, and dinner, and Round Four and sleeping overnight for the second night in a row. Somebody call fucking Guinness Book of Records. Washing off dried cum in the shower, Shane's thighs were actually sore from tribbing, and her fingers hurt, and so did her jaw. Lacey loved it all, but she loved getting head most of all. Sixty-nine was Lacey's lucky number and they had actually fallen asleep in that position. 

As she dried off, Shane began to think about the day ahead, the clients she had scheduled, and the rest of her life. She assumed she'd probably never see Lacey again. She was wrong.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 19



On Wednesday Lacey showed up at Lather just as Shane was finishing the last customer of the day. When Shane saw her sitting in the lobby, Lacey waved hello. When Shane's customer finished and Shane came to the lobby, Lacey asked if Shane wanted to go get a drink or something.

"Uh, sure," Shane said. They got a bite and then went back to Lacey's apartment. They made love in the small living room, in the tiny bedroom, in the tiny shower, and watched TV until midnight, when Shane went home. She assumed yadda yadda, she was wrong, yadda yadda.

The next night Lacey found Shane at Milk. Shane had a girl hanging on her, kissing Shane. Lacey watched as Shane went out the door with the girl, their hands all over each other. She followed them outside, saw Shane and the girl kissing in the parking lot, and watched them get into Shane's truck and drive away.

On Saturday Shane, Alice and Dana decided to go to a new club that had just opened in Venice Beach. They got there a little after nine, and three minutes later Lacey arrived. The minute Shane saw her she flashed on the insight that there was no way this was a coincidence, that Lacey had been surveilling Shane and had followed them.

"Oh, fuck," Shane muttered to Alice. "Code Red, Code Red!"

"Huh?" Alice asked, turning to see what the problem was and seeing this cute, round-faced Goth blond with the spikey hair come up to them.

"Hey, Shane!" Lacey said. "Boy, what a coincidence running into you here! I was hoping maybe I'd run into you tonight."

"Hi, Lacey," Shane said warily. "Lace, these are my friends Alice Pieszecki and Dana Fairbanks. Guys, this is Lacey ... Haskell."

"Driscoll," Lacey said.

"Right, Driscoll, I'm sorry. What's up, Lace? Hey, listen, we just stopped in for a minute to check this place out, but we're heading out, we've got to go to this reception." Without Lacey seeing, Shane prodded Alice in the ribs to help her out.

"Oh, yeah, it's this tennis thing. Dana --" she point to Dana, who was standing a few feet away not paying attention -- "she's a professional tennis player. Maybe you've heard of her? Anyway, she's got to go to this tennis fundraiser thing, and she's gonna sneak us in because Martina and Billie Jean are gonna be there." 

"Can I come along?" Lacey asked.

"Uh, er, see--" Shane started, but Alice dove in.

"Gee, I'm afraid not," she told Lacey. "It's like a hundred dollars a ticket, because it's a fundraiser thing, and we've already paid, you know?"

"Oh," Lacey said, her face falling, and for a second Shane felt sorry for her.

Alice grabbed Shane's arm and dragged her off to find Dana. "C'mon, Shane," she said over her shoulder, "we better get Dana before she's late. Bye, Lacey, it was nice meeting you."

When they got outside with Dana, Alice said to Shane, "Okay, you owe me big time."

"I know I do," Shane said. "Thanks for the rescue."

"What's going on?" Dana asked, perplexed.

"Shane's got a love stalker," Alice said.

***

The phone calls started the next day, and Shane had to turn her cell phone off. Things were quiet for two days, and then the friends discovered Lacey was going up and down the neighborhood all around The Planet handing out flyers that had Shane's picture on them. Lacey was warning everyone to stay away from Shane the lesbian seducer, the love 'em-and-leave 'em dyke. It got ugly and embarrassing, with Lacey telling people Shane was a 4-Fer, find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em, and forget 'em. 

That was Shane's last straw. She went looking for Lacey and found her down a few blocks, handing out flyers in front of a cafe.

Lacey didn't see Shane coming until Shane stopped a few feet behind her. She stood watching Lacey for a moment, and then Lacey turned around and saw her.

"So what do you think?" Lacey asked, holding up a flyer for Shane to see. Under Shane's photo in large letters was the word "User." Shane didn't bother looking at it. "I told you I was a PhotoShop expert."

Shane just looked sadly at Lacey for a moment. "Lace, what are you doing?"

"Whatever I feel like," Lacey said. "Isn't that what you do?" She handed a flyer to a man walking by.

"All right. Enough. C'mon." Gently, Shane put her arm around Lacey and drew her out of the traffic flow and under the awning of the cafe. "I think we have a big misunderstanding. I mean, you and me, we had a really great time together, but —"

"I know," Lacey interrupted, "that's why I don't understand what happened."

"Babe, nothing happened. Okay? It's just about having a good time and enjoying each other's company."

"I know, but then you went off with the other girl."

"Yeah. I don't see what the problem is with that." Lacey didn't seem to comprehend. "Look, Lace, you're beautiful. And I like you a lot. But ... I like a lot of people."

"What does she have that I don't have?"

"Nothing. It's not about having something or not having something."

"Did you like fucking her better than me?" She meant the girl Shane had left Milk with.

Shane hesitated. "No."

"Because I really liked fucking you."

"Yeah, I liked fucking you, too, Lace."

"So then, what's the problem?"

Shane hesitated again. She knew what the problem was, had always been. "I don't do relationships."

"I'm not asking for a relationship," Lacey said, looking away, because that was exactly what she was looking for. It wasn't a lie exactly ... it was just ... what? A tear ran down her cheek and she sniffled.

"Wait — don't ... hey, don't cry," Shane said.

"I am not crying."

"Yes, you are ... I hate it when girls cry, all right? C'mere." Shane really did hate it when girls cried ... but she was a softy. Instead of running away, it was Shane's nature to comfort. She pulled Lacey into a gentle embrace, rocking her slowly.

"I just really like you, is all," Lacey whispered, sniffling again.

"Yeah, I like you, too. I do."

"I guess I got carried away with the posters and fliers and ... the banner."

Shane pushed Lacey out of the embrace and looked her in the face. "You made banners?"

"Just one. But they wouldn't let me hang it at Girl Bar."

Shane shook her head and laughed quietly. "Honey, you have a lot of feelings."

"I know, but then you went off with the other girl!" Lacey started crying again.

"No, no, no, shhh," Shane whispered, embracing the poor girl again. What a fucking mess. "Don't, please, don't, don't. Forget about it, okay? Don't even think about that."

"I don't want a relationship with you, I just want to be with you all the time," Lacey said, as though that made perfect sense. Shane froze, working on it. Then Lacey caught on. "Oh, hey, oh ... Oh, I am so dumb. I am always doing this. I just want to know why everybody always abandons me."

"No one's abandoning you," Shane said.

"Everybody leaves," Lacey said. "My father left when I was five. My mom died. My sister ... ."

"What happened with your sister?"

"She moved to West Covina."

Shane sighed. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm not going anywhere." After a moment they separated, Shane looking into Lacey's tear-stained face. "Okay?"

"Okay. Yeah."

"All right?"

Lacey nodded.

"We gonna stop with the flyers and the banners and stopping people in the street?"

Lacey nodded. "Would you do one thing for me?"

"What?"

"Come back with me to my place, make love to me one last time? Go down on me, please? I loved that so much when you did that to me."

"If I go down on you, will you stop all this?"

Lacey nodded.

"Promise? And one other thing. Would you see somebody, get some professional help? A shrink, a therapist, somebody to help you out with your feelings."

But Lacey was so happy with the thought of another round of cunnilingus from the best pussylicker she'd ever met that she'd agree to anything. "Yes, okay, I will."

"We have a deal?"

Lacey nodded, smiling and wiping her face. She was gonna get her pussy sucked by Shane! She was so happy.

"Promise?"


"Promise."

***

Was ever going down so bittersweet? Shane had every right to be angry and resentful that she was being extorted into having sex. (Even she saw the irony.) Yet it was not in her nature to be angry. Shane was by nature too sweet and too gentle and easy-going to stay mad for long, and she hadn't been very angry at Lacey to begin with, just disappointed. Shane truly liked Lacey. She recognized a woman who had been damaged and hurt, not unlike herself, and who therefore had earned a bit of slack. She reminded Shane of an exuberant young puppy with too much energy and too much need for affection and attention; she was also a young puppy with an injured paw. How could Shane not be sympathetic?

Shane sat on the edge of a chair by the open window in Lacey's small bedroom, smoking a cigarette and staring out into the night. She heard a police siren off in the distance. The only light in the room came from a candle Lacey had lit; she must have thought it romantic.

Lacey lay in her bed, loosely wrapped in a sheet, with her head propped up on one elbow as she studied Shane's silhouette. She had come three times, but that was misleading. The first one came quickly, as she'd expected. She'd had her pants off before she'd gotten as far as her bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed as Shane knelt in front of her and got the first one out of the way, per agreement. Then, both naked up on the bed, slowly, skillfully Shane set about number two. She liked Lacey, she really did, and thought she was cute and fun, but when it came to high maintenance she was an 11. Shane wished her well, and was sorry about all those issues Lacey had fucking up inside her head, and she knew there was nothing she could do about any of it. Not only didn't she do relationships, she didn't do psychotherapy, either, despite her skills as a listener. 

Lacey's third orgasm had been gentle and tender and even in its own way spiritual. It was an antidote to the second one, the one that rocked them both to the core, not because it was so good -- which it was; it was spectacular -- but because it broke Lacey.

"Oh, God, I never came that fast before," Lacey said, flopping back on her bed after the first one. It was an apology, because Lacey was hoping this One-Last-Time Cum would be a good one, not some lame, five-minute, pissant little quivverer hardly worth the name. Shane, too, getting up off her knees and removing her clothes, also knew that first one hadn't lived up to expectations, that as cums went it was a piss-poor representive of the Sapphic arts. It wasn't that she felt she "owed" Lacey a better cum; she didn't "owe" Lacey anything at all, and after all, a climax doesn't come with a warranty, it just cums. But Shane had pride in her love-making skills, and knew that what Lacey had just experienced wouldn't cut it.

When she was naked she climbed on the bed and straddled this poor, confused, wounded girl, gently unbuttoning her shirt and helping her remove it, then having Lacey sit up so Shane could unfasten her bra. When that was gone, Shane got up and pulled Lacey's sneakers off, then her jeans, which had been bunched at her ankles, and her panties, which were -- no surprise -- lacey. Then she climbed back up and straddled Lacey again.

"I'm sorry," Lacey whispered.

"I know," Shane said. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I'm going to make love to you again, and this one's gonna be really good, okay? Would you like that?"

"Oh, yes," Lacey said. "Yes, I would. Thank you."

Shane kissed her neck, her throat, slowly, gently, setting a slow rhythm she wanted to use to settle Lacey down, get her to relax, loosen up. 

"I love your breasts," Shane murmured as she began to kiss and lick them. Lacey's nipples were pale and pink, almost as light as her skin color, and conical. As Shane kissed and licked them, sucking them into her mouth, they got puffy and swollen, changing shape, mushrooming out. They sat atop nice handfuls of breast meat with a small separation between them that Shane found nice to bury her face in. 

"I love your nipples," Lacey said, returning the complement but doing so truthfully. She really was mesmerized by Shane's nipples, as was most of lesbian Southern California. "May I suck them?"

Shane grinned, and moved upward, letting her left breast slide between Lacey's open lips. Lacey suckled and licked and nipped with her teeth until she was satisfied, and then Shane slipped down on the bed between Lacey's pleasantly plump thighs. She wanted to do a really, really good job on this orgasm. Shane believed -- perhaps naively, for it is possible to mouth-love nine hundred women's pussies without knowing what was going on in their minds, and there was a certain naivety in Shane's nature anyway -- that if she gave Lacey this one last terrific, earth-moving cum, that would be the end of their involvement. So she took her time, worked slowly, stayed away from Lacey's clit until the last possible moment, caressing Lacey's hips and thighs, nibbling, flirting with her perineum, spreading wide the rather petite twat that had such a large appetite, licked and tongue-probed, until Lacey was mewling like a newborn kitten. Time to kick it up a notch, swing into the grand finale as the music swells. She inserted two long wet fingers into Lacey's pussy, pads up and searching for the turgid walnut G-spot as she blew breaths on her clit and then slowly engulfed the clit hood and clit in her mouth, her tongue probing the slick little ball bearing of climax as Lacey went off. She arched her back and lifted her ass off the bed, her body a rainbow with Shane nursing its golden arch, following her up, clenched between the quivering thighs.

"Teri, omigod, Teri!" Lacey yelled out. "Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm coming, Teri! Ahhhhhhhhhh."

And she did, wonderfully. Shane's thigh-imprisoned face seldom had such a ride, her cheeks, nose, mouth, chin washed with pussy nectar, delivered in little wet surges and pumps that kept pace with the rapid pulsing of a human heart. When Lacey finally lowered her hips back to the bed Shane was able to slip free. And the next thing she knew Lacey was grabbing her, clutching her and sobbing her heart out. "Why did she leave me? Oh, Shane! I want her back so much!" Racked sobbing. "Teriiiiiiiiiiii," she wailed. "Teriiiiiiiiiiii."

Shane held her and rocked her, thinking, Jesus Christ, what have I done?

Lacey sobbed and babbled, mixing heartbroken wails of grief with sentence fragments Shane could barely piece together. "She ... she ... oh, Shane, I loved her ... oh... sob ... I didn't ... she, she... why? oh God, why ... I can't ... she ... boo-hoo ... when ... and then she ... she said always ... why? ... oh, Shane!"

Shane held on and rocked. There was nothing else she could do. She whispered, "It's all right, it's all right," and "Shhh, it's okay," and "Let it all out, Lacey, let it all come out." She understood that ever since her break-up with Teri Lacey had been so hurt and so angry she had never actually gotten around to completing the grieving. All that anger and humiliation and loss had been so strong it had bottled up. Lacey had transferred and twisted it onto Shane, making Shane both the lost love object as well as the scapegoat and outlet for her grief. It took thirty-five minutes for Lacey to calm down. Luckily for her, she was in good hands, so to speak, literally as well as metaphorically.

Shane sat on the bed with her back to the headboard; she cradled Lacey in her arms with the side of her face against Shane's chest, which was wet with Lacey's tears. Love, thought Shane. Sometimes it sneaks up behind you and bites you on the ass.

"I'm so sorry," Lacey finally said, sniffling. 

"It's okay," Shane said. "It's okay."

"I miss her so much."

"I know you do."

"I took it out on you. I got mad and upset with you because I was mad at her."

"I know. It's okay. It happens."

"Thank you for being so understanding. I put you through hell."

"Don't sweat it. It wasn't so bad. And we got some good sex out of it."

Lacey laughed and sniffled, a bubble of snot coming from her nose that she wiped away, "Yeah, we did, didn't we? God, you are incredible. I wish I really was in love with you instead of her. But I loved her so much, and I still do. I can't help it."

"I know."

"But she sure fucked me up, didn't she? Wow. I'm a fucking mess."

Shane laughed. "Yeah, you're a mess. But you're a sweet, kind, gentle mess, and you were too good for her. It's her loss. She doesn't deserve to be loved by somebody as terrific as you. I'm sorry she couldn't see that."

"Thanks," Lacey said. After a while she said, "Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever had your heart broken?"

"No," Shane said. "I mean, yes. When I was nine years old. But not since then."

"You never loved anybody? Since you grew up? Since you've been a lesbian?"

"No."

"Oh." There was a long pause. "That's too bad."

"Yeah, I guess so," Shane said.

"It fucks you up," Lacey said. "It sure fucks you up."

"That's why I don't do it," Shane said.

"Maybe you have the right idea," Lacey said. "Love 'em and leave 'em."

"Find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em," Shane said.

"I'm sorry I wrote that about you," Lacey said.

"It's okay. It's kinda true."

"No," Lacey said. "No, that's not who you are. I can tell. You're better than that."

"Well, that's sweet," Shane said. "But I'm really not better than that."

"No, I'm right, and you're wrong. The last couple hours prove it."

Shane laughed. "If you say so."

After a while Lacey said, "If you want to go, it's okay. I'm okay now."

"Okay, I will. But first, one more thing. Get up, turn around."

"Why?"

"I'm going to do you one more time."

"The last time."

"No, the first time. This will be the first time for the new Lacey. The Lacey that made a breakthrough tonight. The Lacey who's going to go out and fall in love with somebody else, and forget Teri."

"Oh," Lacey said. "Wow."

She made Lacey kneel on the bed facing the headboard, her hands against the wall. Shane crawled down the bed and then slide up under her, her face under Lacey's tender, sore pussy that was not so sore that it couldn't handle one more very gentle, very loving cum.

***

Late on the morning of January 8, John, the manager at Lather, got a phone call from Cherie Jaffe herself. Something had come up at the very last second and the Jaffes had to go to a special dinner thing with the Governator himself at 6 p.m. Yes, yes, Cherie knew it was really short notice, but pleeze pleeze pleeze could they somehow shoehorn her in to see Shane no later than 3 p.m., re-arrange her schedule, do whatever it takes, Cherie would even pay for the client who got bumped off the schedule to have someone else do her hair, but Cherie just had to get in by 3 because they'd been to the Caymans and no one had TOUCHED her hair who had known what they were doing, can you imagine? So pleeze pleeze pleeze John pleeze?

John had difficulty controlling his face and keeping the smile off it and the laughter out of his tone of voice, but the truth was, he lived for moments like this, moments when he, manager of a hairdressing salon, held real Hollywood power in his fists. He closed his eyes, almost climaxing from the pleasure of it. He gathered himself up, found the tenor of concern in his voice that had made him a minor legend in the trade, and sighed deeply. He asked Cherie to hold a minute while he saw what he could do. He had the shop appointment book in front of him, and knew the day's schedule well. He didn't even have to look in it to know that Shane had a 20-minute break at 1:40, and that the 2 o'clock was someone he could easily shift to either Janice or Trudy, and if Cherie was paying for that one as well, it was a no-brainer. But you never tell a client that.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 20



Chapter 20 Tastes Just Like Lobster

On the Tuesday after the quinceañera Shane and Carmen sat on the couch watching television after dinner. They sat, as couples do, in the places they now always sat, because new couples begin to develop habits and patterns with each other. Carmen sat upright on an angle in the corner of the couch while Shane lay full-length with her head in Carmen's lap. Out of habit, and without especially being aware of it, Carmen played with a strand of hair behind Shane's ear. As was her habit, Shane didn't notice; but once in a while she would reach back and take Carmen's hand and hold it against her cheek. 

Just as House was going off and Boston Legal was coming on, Shane asked, "Have we got anything in the house? I think I'm in the mood for dessert."

"I'm glad you asked that," Carmen replied. "As it happens, I do have something special. Let me up and I'll go put on a pot of decaf."

Shane let Carmen get up and watched her ass as she left the living room. "It's not cobbler night, is it?"

She heard Carmen laugh from the kitchen. "No, babe. You wish."

"I do wish, I do," Shane called back. Carmen laughed again.

Carmen stuck her head in the door to the living room. "Well, even though there's no cobbler you just never know when there might be some special surprise around this place." Then she disappeared back into the kitchen, laughing.

"Car? Car?" Shane called out, sitting up now.

"Don't you come in here until I call you," Carmen ordered.

"You are such a tease," Shane grumbled, loud enough for Carmen to hear, and heard her giggle out there. She heard sounds of Carmen filling the coffee pot with water, opening drawers and cabinets, and doing ... something. In a minute she began to smell the coffee.

The smell of coffee brewing. Snuggling together on the couch and watching TV. Going to bed every night with the warmest, sweetest, sexiest, hottest woman who ever lived. A sudden wave of realization swept over Shane that in her entire life to date, she had never been happier, nor so cared for, nor so well cared for. She, who never even dreamt that such a thing as happiness even existed. This living together with your lover, this thing she had sworn would never happen ... it was pretty cool. Shane felt a swelling, gentle pain in her chest, the kind of pain that sometimes happens when you realize how much in love you are. A very good kind of heart ache.

"Okay, you can come in now," Carmen called. Shane bounded up and went into the kitchen.

Carmen had turned the kitchen overhead light off, and the room was softly lit only by an under-counter light over the stove, and by the glow of a single candle in the top of a very small chocolate layer cake in the middle of the kitchen table. The candle was the kind used to decorate a child's birthday cake, and was in the shape of the number 6. The table was set with two cups and saucers, two dessert plates, silverware, and paper napkins, the two settings facing each other.

Shane looked up into Carmen's happy, smiling face. 

"Happy anniversary, babe," Carmen said, holding her arms out wide for a hug. Shane came forward into the embrace, and wrapped her arms around this unbelievable woman.

"I know you have no idea," Carmen said, "because you wouldn't know this in a million years. But today is our six-month anniversary, six months since the day we finally finished all the painting and moving all my stuff in here with you and I spent the first night with you as a couple here in our home. And I know this is all a silly, girly thing as far as you're concerned, and that's fine. But sometimes I like being a girly girl who likes anniversaries, and so this one is special to me."

"Well, now it's special to me, too," Shane whispered into Carmen's ear, hugging her tight. She found herself kissing Carmen in a way that would soon get out of control if Carmen hadn't broken away.

"Sit down," Carmen said. "I'll pour the coffee while you cut the cake. And don't forget to make a wish before you blow out the candle." Carmen never really expected that Shane would do such a girly thing, but when she turned back from the stove she saw that Shane had her eyes closed in concentration, and then she leaned forward and blew the candle out. Carmen poured the coffee while Shane put slices of cake on their plates. Carmen wondered what wish Shane had made, but knew not to ask.

When she sat down she realized Shane was not eating but just ... looking at her.

"What?"

"I'm just ... just ... ." Shane shrugged, at a loss for words, as she always was. There was a gentle roaring in her ears, but not an unpleasant one, not the confusing, distracting one she usually fought off. This one was more like ... the surf. A good noise. "I'm just so lucky," she finally said, and saw Carmen bite her lip and her eyes fill with tears.

"Oh, Shane," she whispered. 

***

When she finished her slice of cake Shane got up from the table, got the coffee pot from the stove, and poured each of them a fresh cup of decaf. When she sat back down she asked Carmen, "Are you sleepy?"

Carmen grinned. "You naughty girl, I know what you're thinking."

Shane grinned, but denied it. "Actually, I do want to make love to you, but ... I thought maybe ... maybe this might be a good time to have a talk."

Carmen froze. "What kind of talk?"

Shane saw the fright on her face. "No, no, it's okay. I've just been thinking, you know, how you always say ... uh ... how I don't talk about ... you know ... my past, and stuff. And I was thinking ... I've been thinking about this for a few weeks, see." She reached forward and pulled Carmen's hand across the table toward her, and held it in both her own. "Maybe it's time you told me all about yourself. About, you know, Lucia, was that her name? And ... the nun ... and how you got that tattoo. But before you do, I think ... it's time I told you about Harvey. And ... some other stuff."

"Oh, Shane," Carmen said quietly. 

"Yeah, I know," Shane whispered. "Never tell your story, and never let them tell you theirs. But that was then, and ... now I think maybe it's time I told you my story, and about that violin tattoo you asked me about that time. It's a pretty long story, and ... there's some bad parts. Really bad parts, and I know how you are, you're gonna yell and cry and all, and that's okay. That's good. But, I want you to know it, all of it."

"Okay," Carmen whispered.

"It's gonna take a long time."

"I'm not going anywhere," Carmen said again.

"Okay. Well. See, when I was eighteen, almost nineteen, I had saved up a little money, just a couple hundred dollars, and hitchhiked here from Texas. I got a job in a BurgerMax on Cuhenga. I didn't know anybody, and I was living in this shelter for runaway kids. One day at the shelter I met this guy, Clive, who was my age. He was gay, he had this spikey platinum-colored hair, and my hair was short and spikey, then, too, and we kinda looked like twins, except one blond, one brunette, salt and pepper punk-Goth andro queers. And I didn't know a single other soul in this whole city, and he was okay, and he was gay so there was nothing sexual going on between us, he was safe, you know? Anyway. Well, after a few weeks I got fired from the BurgerMax and Clive and me, we started hanging out together over on Santa Monica, and pretty soon we both started turning tricks."

It took a couple of hours, and Shane was right, Carmen yelled and cried a couple of times. She held Shane and rocked her on the living room couch while Shane told the story of her rape, and Shane, too, wept as she had not wept since the day it happened. Carmen swore she'd kill the muthafuckers if she ever got her hands on them, cut their fucking balls off, piece of shit cocksuckers. And she wept over Harvey, mourned him as though she'd known him. 

When the story was finished they were both exhausted. Shane fell asleep on the couch in Carmen's arms as Carmen held her and rocked her. In the corner of the room she could see Ixchel's yellow eyes gleaming in the dark until finally the jaguar, too, closed her eyes and went to sleep. Carmen wasn't sure if she was imagining it, but she thought she heard a kind of purring coming from the goddess, a sign of contentment at the breakthrough, a good day's work accomplished.

***

Shane used her morning break to call Carmen to ask if there was any chance she could get off work early that day.

"Uh, yeah, I guess it's possible. The schedule's pretty light today," Carmen said. "Why, what's up?"

"You know my friend Chase, the guy who runs that skateboard shop I go to?"

"I've never met him, but I know who you mean, you've mentioned him," Carmen said.

"Well, he and I have been talking over the years I've been skateboarding there, and he just called me a little while ago and said he had something to show me. Some sort of business proposition."

"Why do you need me?"

"Because you're my girlfriend, my partner, I love you, and also because you're ten times smarter than me, and you have a good head for business and all the things I'm not good at."

"Shane, I am not ten times smarter than you. But sure, I'll come along if you want me to. What time?"

"Can you be home by four? Then we'll drive over to Venice Beach before it gets dark."

They took Shane's pickup to an address six blocks back from the ocean, in a part of town less often visited by tourists. The skateboard shop was called Wax, and was located in a building that used to belong to a major chain of muffler shops. It had three large garage bays that had been converted to a boutique that featured not only skateboards and skateboard equipment, but also clothes and jewelry that would appeal to the young skateboarder demographic. The entire property, once open and easily accessible, had been enclosed with a high chain link fence to channel and control the kids who hung out there, and to keep unauthorized skateboarders out at night when the shop was closed. Inside that perimeter most of what had been parking lot had been converted to a skateboard park complete with a couple of half-pipes as well as areas for beginners as well as the pros. As Shane and Carmen walked down the sidewalk toward the gate, they heard what sounded like a dozen kids inside having fun with their skateboards. When they came to the gate it was locked but they could see inside, and called out "Hey," to draw somebody's attention and let them in.

It was Chase, the owner, who came to the gate to let them in. He was a young entrepreneur with short, spiky blond hair and an assortment of piercings, and was carrying a skateboard as he unlocked the padlock on the chain link fence. Shane knew Chase was gay, but the skateboard culture that Shane and Chase hung out in called it FDADTWDGASEW: Fucking don't ask, don't tell, we don't give a shit either way. It was all about the boards, the pipe, the skill, the rush.

"Chase, Carmen. Carmen, Chase," Shane said by way of introduction, waving index fingers back and forth between them. 

"Hi!" Chase said, genuinely friendly, as he shook Carmen's hand. He led them past a skateboard half pipe where people were skating and watching. They said "Hi" to a few people as they passed by and went into the shop. Shane hadn't been there since Chase had told her he'd done a major makeover on the shop. And he had.

"This place is amazing," Shane said, looking up and around at the large open bay area. Chase had left the muffler shop's garage doors in place It had been transformed into a full-blown boutique, the colorful T-shirts decorating the high-ceilinged walls, and there were racks of clothing for sale along with jewelry and of course skateboards and related skateboard equipment and supplies, protective gear, posters, CDs – the compleat skateboard experience.

"This is it," Chase said proudly. Inside the shop half a dozen male and female employees, waited on customers, put out merchandise, put finishing touches on the construction makeover, and bustled about. There was a special silk-screening station where T-shirts could be custom-made with any of a hundred patterns.

"Wow!" Carmen said, truly impressed.

Off to one side a couple of girls were relaxing on a large L-shaped yellow sofa in front of a large flat-screen TV. "Guys, this is Shane, Carmen," he said, introducing them all around.

"Dude, this is so cool!" Carmen said as Chase led them to another part of the large hall. 

Chase stopped at a check-out register station at the counter and handed the girl at the register the skateboard he'd been carrying. Shane and Carmen saw that it had been broken in half from some accident. "One for the graveyard," Chase said to his checkout girl, who took it from him and put it inside a large trash barrel behind the counter.

Chase led them to a clothes rack and showed them the merchandise Wax was selling.

"This is what we're doing," he said, pointing upward at skateboards and clothing on the walls and hanging from the ceiling. "These are all our board designs. We do, like, custom stuff, you know." Chase led them behind the two guys doing the silk-screening and stenciling work at their work station. "Excellent," he told the guys, inspecting one of their pieces. "These are my stencil masters." He spoke to one of the guys: "You got that special ... thanks." The stencil master handed Chase a Mylar sheet with a hole in it, a pattern for some sort of art work. Chase gestured to a young carpenter doing work to some sort of large sliding wall panel that Shane and Carmen couldn't yet identify.

Chase handed the stencil to the carpenter and said, "Hey, would you set that up?" The worker took the stencil and went around the far side of the panel to do something with it. 

He turned to Shane and Carmen. "He's just putting the finishing touches on that thing I wanted you to come see. Let's give him a minute to do it. While we're waiting, what do you think of these clothes?" He gestured toward a rack that Carmen had already begun to look through. She found a vest on a hanger and held it up against her chest for Shane and Chase to see.

"I'm totally digging this vest," she said.

"Try it on," she said, and turned to Chase. "I love this place." Shane swiveled to look around and take it all in. "I do, I'm loving it... but what is it you want me to do?"

Chase pointed to the alcove behind the panel where his carpenter was just finishing up with the stencil. "We install this chair, just one chair, because I want people lining up to get on your schedule. And then--" he pulled back the sliding wall panel enough for Shane and Carmen to see the interior of that space. The alcove was large and had been made into a hairdresser station. The walls were stark white, and there were large black silhouettes covering much of the space; the one the worker had just finished spraying in black paint was a stylized portrait of Shane herself, her head and shoulders.

"This would be your hairdressing station," Chase explained, as Shane's mouth fell open. "I got my boyfriend to build you a really fat counter over here. Eventually we could do like a line of hair products or something, ya know? Check it out."

Shane and Carmen were stunned.

"Shane for Wax," Chase said. "That's the name of our salon section here. Shane for Wax."

Shane, as always, was inarticulate silence – but Carmen and Chase could tell she was digging it beyond words. Carmen began to grin. Shane for Wax. Wow. Fucking wow.

***

The sun was low on the horizon and directly in their eyes as they pulled into the driveway of their home. There was a pickup truck parked in the driveway in front of them.

"Whose truck is that?" Carmen asked.

"I don't know," Shane said.

As they pulled to a stop behind the truck they saw Jenny come walking toward them. It was hard to see with the sun in their eyes, but there seemed to be another person standing behind Jenny but hanging back.

"Who is that?" Carmen whispered, unbuckling her seat belt and getting out of Shane's Jeep.

"Jenny's girlfriend," Shane guessed.

"Girlfriend? Ah..."

As Jenny came running toward them Shane shouted out, "You fucking lunatic!" and wrapped her arms around a jumping, squealing Jenny, who hugged back like a happy child. She madly kissed Shane's face and neck, not sexually, and then saw Carmen coming and held out her arms to her, squealing again.

"Oh, my god!" Jenny yelled, hugging Carmen like a long-lost sister.

"Hi!"

"Hi! Oh, my god! You guys look amazing!" Jenny gushed.

"Look at you!" Carmen said, hugging and spinning her around.

When the initial hysteria was over Jenny walked backward with them following, toward the person who was waiting and watching by the house. Jenny turned and presented her friend. "And this is Moira."

"You must be Shane," Moira said, reaching out to shake Shane's hand. Moira was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. She had short, cropped hair and a sharp, angular, hawk-like face with high cheekbones. She had deep-set eyes that might have been blue, but were shielded and hard to read. Even Shane, who was perhaps more used to the androgynous look than most people, didn't quite know how to process this person. There was an awful lot of data coming in fast, and Shane was receiving many, many mixed signals.

"...and that's Carmen," Jenny said, presenting Moira to Carmen. Jenny and Shane hugged each other again, laughing, giggling and messing up each other's hair like children.

"Hi," Carmen said, putting her hand forward to shake, but Moira leaned over and kissed Carmen on the cheek. Carmen returned the cheek kiss, but already was getting funny vibes from this awkward, strange person.

"Look at your hair!" Jenny said to Shane, still laughing.

"Look at yours!" Shane replied. Jenny's hair had grown back long, as it had been the evening she'd asked Shane to cut it short and give her entire life a makeover.

"Oh, I know!" Jenny said.

"Did you just get here?"

"Yeah, we just rocked in," Moira answered. "We just barely had time to take a piss. We been drivin' for, like, fifteen hours."

A small dog began to bark from behind the fence in the back yard and Jenny walked over to see what it was. "Oh, my god..."

"Yeah, we're puppy-sitting for a friend of Dana's," Shane explained. "Dana's out of town, at a tournament."

Carmen opened the gate to the backyard and picked up the puppy. "Hello, there! Did you miss us?"

"Who is this?" Jenny asked.

"This is Otto," Carmen said, handing the puppy carefully to Jenny, who took him in her arms with a bit of reluctance.

"I just have a bit of allergy," Jenny said.

"Oh, shit," Shane said, concerned.

"No, no, no, you're gonna be fine," Carmen said. "He's part pit bull and he's a bit hairless, too, no dander, so your allergies should be just fine..."

"Um. Ah...people are usually more allergic to the saliva, more than the hair," Moira put in.

Carmen looked at Moira, not happy about being contradicted.

Suddenly Jenny jumped and held the dog away from her chest, where there was a wet stain appearing. "Oh, shit. Why?" she moaned.

"God, did he pee again?" Carmen asked, taking the puppy from Jenny.

Shane took the dog from Carmen and spoke quietly into the puppy's face, "Why? Why do you pee on people?"

Carmen, who also liked doing that, thought it would be a good time to change the subject. "You know what, how about we help you with your bags."

Moira cut in quickly. "You girls just relax, and let us butches unload the truck. C'mon, Shane."

Moira walked confidently toward her pickup, slapping Shane on the shoulder as she went by.

As Shane handed the puppy back to Carmen, Carmen whispered to Shane, "Ya big butch. Go unload the truck." She was grinning at Shane, and slapped her on the shoulder harder than Shane had expected.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 20



"Ow!" 

Carmen laughed. As Shane turned away she saw a duffel bag come flying at her from Moira's truck.

"Here, catch!" Moira shouted.

The butch and the butch dontwannabe unloaded the pickup.

***

Grunting, Shane carried a heavy duffel bag into the living room and dropped it down unceremoniously with a thud. She collapsed backward onto the couch with a groan and a sigh and stretched out her feet on top of the duffel bag. She looked up when Carmen came into the room. "I just went and locked Otto up in my studio, but you don't think he's going to eat anything in there, do you?" she asked.

"I hope not."

Moira came in, carrying a rolled-up rug on her shoulders. She and Carmen said "Hi" to each other and then said "'Scuse me there, buddy," to Shane, whose stretched-out legs were blocking Moira's path to the room she was going to share with Jenny. Having Jenny back in the house had forced Carmen to move into Shane's bedroom – for which Carmen was actually grateful – and to convert the studio room out back where Mark had once lived to a true studio for Carmen.

Shane sat up and removed her legs from the duffel bag. Moira picked it up. "Just gonna move some of these bags into our bedroom," she said.

Shane stood up. "Do you want some help?"

"No, I got it, thanks," she said. She picked up five duffels they'd brought in like they weighed nothing, and took them down the hall. 

Carmen, sitting at the dining room table, muttered under her breath to herself, "Our bedroom?" As Shane walked toward the kitchen, Carmen whispered to her, "Our fucking bedroom? Our bedroom? Our bedroom?"

Shane made a shushing sound and looked down the hall to make sure Moira was out of earshot. "Don't look at me." She sat at the table next to Carmen.

"Well, don't you want to find out?"

"No, this is Jenny's house," Shane whispered back.

"I know this is Jenny's house and that's great, but don't you think we should have had some notice that we're gonna get an extra roommate all of a sudden?"

"Well, honey, I'm sure we're gonna find out what their plans are tonight at dinner," referring to the fact that the whole group of friends had agreed that upon Jenny's arrival they were going to take her out to celebrate.

"Oh, my God. Is she coming to dinner with us?" Carmen asked, more to herself than to Shane.

"Of course she's coming to dinner with us," Shane said.

Carmen realized her mistake. "You're right, you're right, of course she's coming to dinner."

"Come on," Shane said, 

"I know she's nice," Carmen said.

"Don't be like that—"

"Okay, okay, your right, she's—" Carmen conceded, just as Moira came back up the hall.

"Guys, we brought you a present, from Lajinta, Colorado," Moira said, setting down a gallon-size jar on the dining room table between Shane and Carmen. Carmen's nostrils flared with anger and irritation, but she said nothing. She knew the name of the town was La Junta, and that the locales used something close to the proper Spanish pronunciation, la huntah, although in good Spanish Carmen would have drawn out the syllable a little, to something like hoon-tah. Like most Hispanics, she was used to gringos mispronouncing a lot of Spanish, and she was tolerant to a degree -- but there was a limit to just how much butchering she was willing to overlook without saying something. But pronouncing the "j" with a hard "g" sound and making it la GIN-tah, well, that was just plain ignorant. Christ, didn't they at least have Taco Bells and baseball players where Moira came from?

The big jar held something that looked like walnuts. Shane turned it around so she could read the label. "Cow Balls," it said. Moira, beaming, took the jar, spun the top off, reached in and took one out. She popped it into her mouth and started chewing it happily. Carmen suddenly had the urge to throw up and even Shane turned green.

***

The group had a reservation at a new place called Tile for the Welcome Home Jenny dinner. When Shane told Jenny that she and Carmen had to swing past Alice's apartment to pick her up, Jenny said that was fine and she would drive separately with Moira.

"Is anything wrong with Alice?" Jenny asked, picking up on the vibe.

Shane and Carmen looked at each other. "Well ... yeah," Shane said. "You remember I wrote you that Alice and Dana had broken up, and that Dana was living with a woman called Lara Perkins?"

"Yes, I remember about the break-up," Jenny said. "I exchanged a couple of letters and e-mails with Alice."

"Well, long story short," Carmen put in, "Alice isn't handling it well. She seems to think the group has split into a pro-Lara/Dana camp and a pro-Alice camp, which isn't exactly true--"

"--but there is just enough truth in it to be a problem," Shane said. "At least, if you're as hypersensitive about it as Alice is. And she can barely control herself whenever Dana and Lara are in the same room. So even though tonight is supposed to be all about you, Jen, there's probably gonna be a lot of drama going on that has nothing to do with you. I just wanted to warn you, you know, if anything weird happens, you'll know what's going on."

"Okay, thanks for telling me, guys," Jenny said. "Poor Alice."

***

Poor Alice, indeed. She was having a great deal of trouble deciding what to wear. In fact, she'd been in her room in her bra and half-slip, trying to figure it out, for three hours. Or, more accurately, not trying to figure it out, since it was pretty simple and Alice was normally pretty decisive. But Dana was going to be there, and of course that bitch Lara, so the occasion required the correct ... the correct ... no, it didn't. Yes, it did. No, it didn't.

Shane paced up and down the hallway outside Alice's bedroom, calling out once in a while, "Alice, c'mon," or "Alice, we're triple-parked," or, "Alice, the building's on fire. Women and children are jumping to their deaths from the roof." Carmen, who had never been in Alice's apartment before, had gone exploring.

From inside the bedroom, Shane heard Alice's voice. "You know what, you guys? I totally think it's an either/or. Jenny can have me at this party, or she can have Dana and Lara."

Shane closed her eyes in resignation, but she wasn't going to buy into the argument. Better to try to change the subject. "Jenny's girlfriend's a huge tennis fan," she said, speaking to the door loud enough for Alice to hear. "She thinks Dana's fantastic."

Alice, still in bra and half-slip, opened the bedroom door and came out into the hallway. "Now whattaya fucking do? I don't understand why I'm the one who has to behave." She went back into her room, but left the door open.

Carmen stuck her head into the hallway from the room. "Shane! C'mere!" she whispered.

Shane walked down the hall to the living room and found Carmen standing in front of The Cutout. It was the life-size cardboard cutout photograph of Dana in her tennis outfit, racket in hand, that Alice idol-worshipped like it was a stone monument on Easter Island.

"My god! Have you seen this?" Carmen asked Shane, pitching her voice low.

Shane shrugged, and didn't bother lowering her voice. "That's nothing. You should have seen this place before. For Alice's birthday Helena bought her a cleaning service for a day. Helena made Alice dismantle this huge shrine Alice had built to Dana. The Cutout was the bargaining chip, and was the only thing Helena would let Alice keep." She put her head in the hall and yelled down to Alice's room, "Hey, Al, can you hurry up? We're late."

"Okay!" Alice shouted back. "I'm excited we're going to Tile. It was written up last week in LA Magazine."

Shane paced up and down the hallway like a Siberian tiger.

Finally, Alice came out into the hallway, dressed in a simple frock it had taken her only four seconds to pick out and 20 seconds to put on. She walked past Shane and continued the conversation as though she hadn't kept them waiting pointlessly for ten minutes. "Supposedly the chef, Armen Perlman, is reinventing food preparation."

Alice entered the living room, where she found Carmen touching the face of The Cutout.

"Yeah, I'm throwing it away," Alice said, acknowledging her own obsession. "I'm done with it. I just haven't gotten around to it, 'kay?"

"Yeah. Totally," Shane said, without conviction.

Alice put on her jacket and stood in front of Carmen. "Do you think my lipstick is, like...too lurid?"

"Why don't you just blot it a little bit?" Carmen said, turning to get a tissue from her purse, but before she could Alice turned and kissed The Cutout on the mouth, and walked out of the room. Carmen and Shane stood speechless, staring after her.

"Okay, let's go," Alice called from the hallway. "So, what's Jenny's new girlfriend like?"

Carmen whispered to Shane, "Wow!" To Alice: "Um, Jenny's girlfriend?"

"I think she's sweet," Shane said.

"Yeah?" Alice said, walking out her door and down the hall to the stairwell. "Shane! Lock the door!" she called behind her. 

Carmen shook her head. Nuts. The woman was nuts.

***

Bette and Tina were standing at the bar having a drink with Dana and Lara when Carmen, Shane and Alice arrived at Tile. They all exchanged greetings and hugs, all except Alice and Lara, who took pains to stay at opposite ends of the group. "Hi, Alice," Lara said quietly.

"Hi," Alice said, then looked away. The rest of the group looked at them, wondering how this was going to go.

"Is Jenny with you guys?" Lara asked, determined not to be bullied into invisibility.

"No, no. She'll be here soon," Shane said.

"How is she?" Bette asked. Everyone knew the question carried a lot of freight.

"She seems really good," Shane said.

"Really?

"Yeah. She's got a new girlfriend. Imported from Spokane," Alice said, unable to contain her hostility and so channeling away from Lara and toward Moira.

"Skokie," Shane corrected her.

"Whatever. They're both in the Midwest, right?" Alice said, although she knew better and made a lame joke out of it.

"But she's okay? She's happy? She's not...?" Tina let the end of her sentence drift away. Crazy, she was trying not to say.

"She's healthy? She's not doing the ...?" Dana made a funny face, also signifying craziness. The word she didn't want to say was "cutter."

"Yeah, yah, no, uh, she's been out of the hospital for five months," Shane said. "Seems to be doing really well."

"Oh, good," Dana said.

"I had a cousin who was a cutter. The urge is so powerful," Lara said. Everyone turned to stare at her for putting into words what they were all thinking. But it wasn't the right thing to say. It might have gotten more uncomfortable still, but just then Jenny and Moira walked in. 

There were squeals of delight and much hugging, kissing, compliments as Jenny made the rounds of all her friends, and there were a few happy tears. The grand reunion went on a few minutes, everyone smiling and laughing, and then Jenny remembered herself, or rather, remembered Moira. Everyone had dressed well, Hollywood appropriate for a fancy restaurant, and even Shane was wearing her best pants suit outfit, what Carmen in private moments called Shane's undertaker duds. But Moira, standing shyly outside the group, was clearly the outlier, the stranger ... and the one inappropriately dressed. She wore old jeans, but not stylishly old, not $200 old. Just ... shit-kicker old. She wore a plain, cheap white T-shirt, and over it an ordinary flannel shirt that had never come from L.L. Bean. She didn't look LA Butch, which would have been acceptable and even unremarkable. Instead, she just looked like she just fell off the turnip truck. Which, metaphorically, she had.

"Oh, I'm sorry, this is Moira," Jenny said, going to Moira's side and presenting her to the group.

"Hey, hey, uh, hi, everybody," Moira mumbled.

Bette, who was nearest, was the first to react, reaching out to shake hands. "Nice to meet you. I'm Bette."

"Moira. Nice to meet you," Moira said, shaking hands. 

Dana, a few feet away, smiled and waved.

"You know, Dana, Moira's a huge fan of yours," Shane said, trying to smooth the way.

"Oh, really?" Dana beamed.

"Yeah. I'm a really huge fan, actually," Moira said, shuffling her feet. 

"That's so nice!" Dana said, genuinely pleased. "Thank you!"

The maitre'd came and got them, telling them their table was ready and leading them to it. They put Moira at one end and Jenny, as the guest of honor, at the other. It was well-intentioned – but it was a mistake.

Moira had spent virtually her entire life as an outsider, a stranger, even in many ways to herself, but it was fair to say she'd never gotten used to it, much less liked it. She had spent the vast majority of that life in the familiar places she had grown up, surrounded by familiar people, if not always nice ones. At least, they were predictable, and she knew them. Now, sitting at the head of a long table in a very fancy, very trendy, very expensive restaurant located in – of all places – Hollywood, California, Moira had never been such an alien, such a stranger in a strange place, such an outsider. That everyone she was with, all of Jenny's friends, were lesbians, as she was, made no difference. It felt like Jenny and all her friends were from Lesbian Venus, and she might as well have been from Lesbian Mars. 

The first item she saw on the menu confirmed her instincts. "Palate Cleanser – Liquid Nitrogen," it said, and a line of text described a cocktail made of green tea, lime and vodka "poached" in liquid nitrogen. It costs twelve dollars. Moira had no idea what it was or what to do. It cost more than the jeans she had on. The rest of the menu wasn't any better. When a waiter came to her side, she closed the menu and handed it to him. "Just a salad and a side of fries," she said.

"Tonight's green salad is a roca frisee and shaved Jerusalem artichokes with a pine-cone-infused jus," the waiter explained. As far as Moira could tell, he was speaking Mongolian.

"How much is that?" she asked him.

"Fourteen dollars, ma'am."

Fourteen bucks. For some kind of weird Hollywood salad. "Okay," she said, embarrassed and as uncomfortable as she'd ever felt in her entire uncomfortable life. Jerusalem artichokes. Shaved.

Alice had heard Moira's exchange with the waiter and understood what was going on. She looked at Moira with concern, but didn't know how to get her out of it.

"Have you decided, ma'am?" the waiter asked, turning to Bette.

"I would like whatever the chef recommends, whatever is good tonight," she said, confidently.

"Armen is recommending the lobster tonight," he said. "It comes with sautéed baby chicory, lemon froth and shaved, dried tuna roe."

"Sold!" Bette said happily, handing him her menu.

"Sounds really good! I love lobster," Dana volunteered.

"Aw, baby, you should go with that," Lara said. "Armen does amazing things with seafood, you guys." Lara was herself a skilled gourmet restaurant chef and knew what she was talking about. And which, therefore, rankled Alice no end.

"Well, according to LA Magazine restaurant reviews, but who reads that?" Alice said, dripping sautéed baby snark in a sarcasm froth. Her remark hung silently in the air as the rest of the group looked everywhere but at Alice. Even Moira, who knew almost nothing about the group and its dynamics, could tell there was something going on. She was grateful it had nothing to do with her.

Dana studied her menu, then finally told the waiter, "Okay, I'll have the cioppino. Thank you." She handed him her menu, adding, "Although I'm sure it doesn't compare to the one Lara made last week. It was amazing!"

Lara nodded, smiling immodestly. "It was good. It was damn good." 

"Are you ready to order?" the waiter asked Jenny.

"Ah, yes. I'll have the green pea ravioli. Thank you." Jenny looked down the table to Moira. "Did you order? I'm sorry..."

"Oh, yeah," Moira mumbled.

Carmen wanted desperately to change the whole mood of the evening. "Jenny! Tell me about your book, your editor. Have you heard back from them lately?"

"No, I think she has a very busy schedule," Jenny said, referring to the book manuscript she'd submitted to a prominent New York editor her writing teacher knew.

"Moira, do you read Jenny's stuff?" Alice asked, genuinely trying to bring Moira into the group, while Carmen, Shane and Tina all ordered the lobster.

"Well, I'm a computer technician, so..." Moira said, seeming to apologize for her occupation.

"Don't... so what? Don't say that!" Jenny jumped in quickly, defending Moira from herself.

"Who was the editor you sent it to?" Bette asked Jenny.

"This lady named Jan Martin," Jenny said.

"Oh, my god! Jan Martin!" Bette said.

"You know her?"

"Yeah, she's famous," Bette said.

"She's that New York lady you used to tell me about," Shane put in, "that big editor you always used to talk about."

Jenny nodded emphatically.

"Did you send it to her directly, or did you know her, from school?"

"I met her because her daughter was my roommate in the hospital. So Jan would come and visit her."

"Was her daughter a... cutter... too?" Alice asked, unable to restrain herself from using the other C word.

"Alice," Tina frowned, giving her a reproving look.

"It's fine," Jenny said brightly. "You know what? It's so good to talk about it. Fuck it, and it's better not to tiptoe around it."

"Well, that's generous of you, thank you," Bette said.

"And you're healthy?" Carmen asked, genuinely concerned.

Jenny gave a big theatrical wave. "I'm fine."

"That's all that matters," Carmen said, nodding. "Yep."

"So, Jan Martin's daughter was sick, she had an eating disorder," Jenny said, taking up the discussion again.

"Oh, God, please, please, don't let that happen to our daughter," Tina murmured.

"I don't think it's possible to control that, but what you can control is how you communicate with them about what's happened," Jenny said.

"Well, I can guarantee you that nothing will happen to Angelica, because I won't let it." Shane said with authority. Everyone laughed and there were a couple of sweet "awwwws." "I do mean it. Auntie Shane," Shane said, nominating herself again as Angelica's special guardian.

"Noooo!" Tina protested, not contradicting Shane, but the subject matter. "Let's not talk about this anymore, it's getting too dark. Let's just talk about something else."

Moira had been quiet, but found a way to change the subject. "So, you guys have a kid?" she asked Bette and Tina.

"Yeah, a daughter, six months old, her name's Angelica."

Moira turned thoughtful. "You know, a bunch of women back in my dyke community in Willamette, they're doing that, too."

There was a stunned silence while they all processed this. My dyke community? What kind of thing was that to say? Carmen, who had already decided she didn't much like Moira, quietly muttered, "Wow."

***

Moira came back from the ladies' room and sat down just as the waiter placed the first dinner plate on the table. It was Bette's lobster – at least, the upper half of a lobster, sitting upright and erect on the plate, like a dog begging for a treat. Then the waiter put a plate down in front of Lara, and Moira had no idea what it was. It only looked weird, something she had never before seen in her life.

Lara read the perplexed expression on Moira's face. "Sea urchin," she explained.

The waiter set down Moira's dinner in front of her. It was a large, square, white plate, upon which rested a smaller black plate. Moira couldn't figure out why anyone needed a large plate to contain a small plate. And why her smaller black plate contained a "salad" that was served in three small sections, the middle one of which was a small cup that contained what appeared to be some sprigs of ... well, weeds. Sea grass, maybe, or ornamental grass. Moira had never felt so estranged from human food in her life. She looked up, and saw that everyone else seemed to be having a good time, because there was a lot of conversation going on, not only about food but other things as well. These people all seemed to know each other pretty well. And at the far end of the table sat Jenny, with another erect lobster sitting up in front of her like Rex, the Wonder Crustacean. There were, in fact, four or five lobster torsos and heads sitting up on plates around the table. To Moira it was like a bad Muppet show on acid.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 20



"-- We bought our tickets to southern France, you guys. We leave on the fifteenth, next month," Lara was saying. Alice's face clouded over and she grimaced. Fucking Lara taking fucking Dana to fucking Provence. Shit.

"Oh, fun!" Shane responded to Lara.

"We're taking a food and wine tour," Dana said happily.

"Does anybody want some of my lobster?" Alice asked. "What's the sauce on this?"

"I think it's lemon froth and shaved, dried tuna roe," Bette said, laughing. Tina rolled her eyes at Alice in sympathy.

"Whatever, it's good," Alice said. She turned to Moira at her left with a lobster claw in her hand. "Do you want a piece of lobster, Moira?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Moira said quietly.

"It's not gonna bite you," Alice said, oblivious to Moira's discomfort and still absorbed in her own imagined grievances.

"No, thanks."

"Moira, don't you like lobster?" Tina asked, trying to be friendlier than Alice.

"Yeah. Actually, I like it a lot," Moira said.

Unfortunately, Tina's conversation drew the attention of the entire table toward Moira. "Well, you want some? I don't think the claws have any sauce," Tina said.

Bette tried to be helpful. "There's only the tail left, but if you want, you can have half, just wipe the sauce off."

"No, it's cool," Moira said, although it wasn't.

"You sure?"

"Yep," Moira said, affirming it yet again. Everyone went back to eating, and there was a lull in the talk. 

"I know something interesting about lobsters," Moira said, after a moment. "You don't have to put a lid on the pot when you cook female lobsters. Does anybody know why?"

A few women looked at each other or at Moira, and said no, they didn't. 

"When you cook a pot of male lobsters, when they realize they're in this pot of boiling water," Moira said, "they start totally freaking out, they're like, fuck, we gotta get outa here, and they start making these little ladders, and helping each other get out of the pot. So you have to put a lid on the pot to keep them inside. Females lobsters? You don't have to put a lid on the pot, because once they realize they're in a pot of boiling water, they all just start grabbing each other, and they're like holding each other down. They're like, if I'm gonna die, everyone's gonna die. None of them wants to let any of the other ones get out of the pot." There was stunned silence around the table. "It's a real shame, isn't it?" Moira concluded.

Carmen, whose one flaw was her quick tongue, had been following the story with a growing sense of anger, and she was the first to speak, masking her thoughts with a joke. "Wow. Those craaaaazy female lobsters, just bitches some times." 

After a moment casual talk resumed around the table as Moira sat in silence, not touching her inedible salad. After a moment she got up and walked to Jenny at the far end. "Jenny, I'm gonna go," she whispered into Jenny's ear. "You can get a ride home from Carmen and Shane." She turned and left, leaving Jenny staring after her.

"Will you excuse me for a second?" Jenny said to the table, and walked out after Moira. 

At the table, everyone was thinking the same thing, and Tina was the first to explain the mystery: What Jenny saw in Moira and how she came to be her friend and lover.

"Maybe she kept Jenny from feeling lonely. You know how it is when you're with someone that's completely wrong for you. It's just because you don't want to be alone," Tina said.

"I don't know, maybe she's Jenny's type," Dana said.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause Carmen's such a stone butch, too," Alice said sarcastically. 

The conversation bothered Shane. "I don't think I'd call Moira a stone butch," she said.

"Okay, well, then, what would you describe her as?" Carmen asked, then paraphrased Moira's remark, "'Hi, let us butches help you ladies out with the luggage,' right?"

"She comes from a place where, you know, you have to define yourself as either/or," Bette said. "It's probably the only language she has to describe herself."

"She has the language, and those shit-kickin' boots," Alice said, "and that lumberjack walk." That made Carmen giggle.

"I'm just surprised she went into role-play like that, especially after everything Jenny's been through."

"Well, Moira could be completely different in the bedroom," Lara said.

Dana backed Lara up. "Maybe she's butch in the streets and femme in the sheets."

"Oh, that's so original!" Alice snapped sarcastically, in full meow mode, although she was right, it was a cruel thing to say. It was just that Dana got there first.

Shane had had enough. "You know what, what difference does it make whether someone's butch or femme? We should just leave labels alone, just let people be who they are." It was Shane at her unappreciated best.

"All right," Tina said. "Let's leave it alone." The table grew quiet for a moment, but Lara couldn't let it go.

"What did you guys think of that lobster thing, anyway?" she asked.

"Oh, come on! Competitive female lobsters! It is so not true!" Carmen protested.

Just then Jenny came back into the room and sat down at the table.

"Is everything okay?" Shane asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah," she said, although not convincingly. She paused, then asked, "Should we have dessert?"

***

Jenny sat in the back on the way home, and there was very little talk. Jenny was obviously worried about Moira, and Shane could tell Carmen was still miffed about being called a lobster bitch. When they got home Otto was in his little kennel box and yapping, so Shane took him out to the back yard for a walk. When she went out the back door with Otto under her arm, she found Jenny sitting on the porch steps just as she hung up her cell phone.

"Have you heard anything from her?" Shane asked, putting a leash on Otto and letting him pee on a rose bush.

"No," Jenny said.

Shane sat down next to her on the steps. "I'm sure she's okay. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

"I feel like such an asshole. I should have gone with her."

"Sorry we weren't more accommodating, dear friend. We were just excited to see you. The dinner was about you, and, I don't know, I guess she should have understood that."

"I fucked up," Jenny said.

""No, you didn't," Shane said, and put her arm around her and gave her a hug. "We did."

***

When Shane went into the bedroom she found Carmen already in bed, her arms crossed behind her head, eyes closed. Shane knew she wasn't asleep, in part because Carol King's Tapestry CD was playing softly. Shane knew Carmen was trying to mellow out, and she often liked to do it with Tapestry or the Gipsy Kings' Un Amor CD>.

"So what's bugging you?" Shane asked as she started getting undressed.

"Ah, I'm sorry," Carmen said. "But I'm still pissed about that whole lobster thing. I'm so pissed at Moira."

"Why?"

"Because she ruined Jenny's evening. Tonight was supposed to be about Jenny, welcoming her home, and how glad we all were to see her. It was supposed to be happy. More than happy. It was supposed to be happy and warm and loving and convivial, and everyone there loves Jenny except maybe Lara, only because she never met her before."

"Actually, I think Lara did meet her before."

"Well, okay, then, you're just making my point for me. So anyway, everyone there was more than happy to have Jenny back, and we should have all been laughing and telling stories, catching her up on what's happened while she was away, and making her feel as welcome as possible. Instead we have this catty bickering between Alice and Dana and Lara, which all the rest of us can usually ignore. But what we couldn't ignore was this dark, brooding, sulking, bitter--"

"Uh, isn't that a little over the top?" Shane asked. "Back in a sec." She went down the hall to the bathroom to pee and brush her teeth. When she got back she turned out the light, climbed into bed and turned on her side facing Carmen, who turned to face her and kiss her a brief peck on the lips.

"And?" Shane said, knowing Carmen had more. You live with a woman for six months, you know when she's got more.

"Look, we went out to Tile because we like that kind of food and that kind of experience. Every one of us was comfortable there, even though it was this fancy, high-end, expensive, chic, trendy Hollywood nouveau cuisine restaurant. And we knew Jenny likes those kinds of places as much as anyone else. None of us even knew fucking Moira existed three or four days ago, much less that she was some backwoods butch. What the fuck were we supposed to do, consult a crystal ball to divine the fact that Moira wouldn't feel comfortable there? I'm sorry, but were we supposed to take Jenny out to Kentucky Fried Chicken because Moira never in her life had a dinner that didn't have the supersized fries? I understand Moira felt out of place, but the night wasn't about her and her fucking trailer park sensibilities. Granted, she felt out of place, she should have sucked it up, smiled, tried to learn about that kind of restaurant. She should have asked questions. There were about six people there who would have gladly and patiently explained anything she wanted to know without condescension or any attitude. Bette offered to share her lobster with her. For Christ's sakes, Shane, I came from the barrio, but I know how to eat at a fancy place like Tile. You came from Bumfuck, Texas, and you learned, too. Moira was no more ignorant about how to behave tonight than you and I once were. People taught us, and we learned, and we learned to like and appreciate a night like tonight. Instead, some Gomer Pyle hillbilly who hadn't even met three-quarters of the people at that table decided she knew who we were and what kind of lesbians we were, and what kind of people, and she put us down. Well, Shane, fuck her, okay? Just fuck her."

Shane leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. "Okay, you got that all out of your system? 'Cause I was looking forward to some lovin' tonight."

Carmen sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more understanding, and keep my mouth shut. But she's gotta try, too."

Shane climbed on top of Carmen, straddling her and bringing her face close to Carmen's. "I don't want you to keep your mouth shut," she whispered. "Believe me, I don't."

So Carmen didn't.

***

On Friday, Shane called the office of her lawyer, Bernie McFadden, who had handled Harvey's estate and who was executor of the trust fund Harvey had left her. Bernie's secretary told her Bernie was on vacation in Europe, and asked if his associate, Mattie Shepherd, could help. In a three-way conference call with Carmen participating, they worked out a time slot when everyone was available the following Wednesday at 2 p.m. to meet with Mattie.

"Wow, Bernie must be doing okay," Carmen said as they entered the outer office of Bernie's law firm. It was spacious, richly appointed, and looked what it was: expensive. They waited while the receptionist paged Mattie, and Carmen got up from her seat to look at a wall directory that listed all the lawyers and their ranks in the firm.

"Did you know Mattie was a partner?" Carmen asked Shane.

"No, I didn't, but good for her. I think she was some sort of associate, last I knew, but that was, like, nine or ten years ago. Over the years I only ever talked to Bernie, and that was only maybe once or twice a year, if that. Mostly him just checking in on me, see if I was all right, still alive. And he always sent me a Christmas card and a birthday card, but I always assumed some secretary took care of it, I was just in the client database."

Carmen sat back down, and looked around the big, handsome reception area. "You know, in college I once thought about going to law school and becoming a lawyer. I think I'd have made a good lawyer. I have a good analytical mind."

"That's true," Shane said, "but I think if you became a lawyer you'd quit after a few years."

"Why's that?"

Shane shrugged. "You don't have that killer instinct. You're basically too nice, and you want everyone to be happy."

"Well, I guess that's true," Carmen reflected. "Maybe I'd become, I don't know, maybe a mediator or a facilitator or something. You're right, though. In court there's always a winner and a loser, and sometimes I'd be on the losing side. I'd rather work on win-win situations."

"You'd be good at that," Shane agreed.

"You know what else I once wanted to be? A police woman. A detective, actually. I think I'd be a good detective. Solving crimes."

"You just want to be a detective so you could fuck Mariska Hargitay," Shane said.

Carmen laughed. "Well ... yeah. And Cagney, too."

"James Cagney?" Shane asked, suddenly shocked that Carmen might want to fuck a guy, and an old one at that.

"No, no. Sharon Gless, from Cagney & Lacy. She was Cagney."

"Oh. I've heard of that show, but I don't think I ever watched it."

"I watched it in reruns," Carmen said. "Tyne Daly played Mary Beth Lacey, her partner, who was a married working mom. First it was a movie, and Loretta Swit played Cagney, who was single. But she couldn't be in the series because she couldn't get out of M*A*S*H, so they wanted to cast Meg Foster, but the TV execs thought she was too butch and everyone would think she was a lesbian. So instead they hired Sharon Gless, who was more feminine and girlie. But lesbians just loved her, and fantasized about her like crazy."

"Is she a lesbian in real life?" Shane asked.

"No, she's married to the guy who created the show, and they have a couple kids. But she's extremely gay-friendly and won some awards and stuff from gay organizations."

"Well, I think you'd have been a good detective," Shane said. "You're good at solving puzzles and putting pieces of information together, and you've got a good head for details. And you never quit, never give up."

"You'd be a good cop, too," Carmen said.

"Me? No fucking way," Shane said.

"Yes, there's lots of parts of it you wouldn't be good at," Carmen agreed, "but there's parts you'd be great at. Your radar and ability to read people are outta sight. And you know how to talk to people, to get them to talk and you'd listen. You're a terrific listener. In a Good-Cop/Bad Cop scenario you'd make a terrific Good Cop."

"I'd really suck at Bad Cop," Shane said.

"Yeah, you would," Carmen said, and they both laughed. "You'd be, like, the worst Bad Cop ever. You'd be like, 'Hey, would you like a soda? Do you need to use the rest room? I'll wait here until you get back. Are those handcuffs too tight? Let's do lunch.' And then twenty minutes later you'd be at The Planet with the perp, having the mixed salad with sprouts and bean curd, and the suspect would be confessing and crying and sobbing, and you'd be all patting them on the shoulder and giving them a big hug, and you'd get a medal from the police commissioner for getting them to tell you where they hid the murder weapon or the robbery money or the kidnap victim."

A minute later a trim, blond woman in her late 30s came through a door near the receptionist. She was dressed in a dark business suit that Carmen could tell cost a boatload of money. It wasn't flashy; it was quite conservative. But it clearly spelled out "money" "success" and "importance." 

"Hi, Shane!" the woman said, marching toward them as they stood. She had her hand outstretched to shake. "Boy, it's been a real long time, hasn't it? And you look great, by the way."

"Me? You look even better," Shane said, "and hey, I understand you're a partner, is that right? Congratulations."

"Yes, I made partner a couple years ago. Bernie decided to keep me around, I guess," she laughed as though it was a fluke, although everyone knew it was no such thing.

"Mattie, let me introduce Carmen Morales," Shane said, bringing Carmen forward. "Carmen and I are, uh ... um."

"Yep, okay, got it," Mattie said quickly, laughing and winking at Carmen, and shaking her hand warmly. "You're Shane's significant uh um. Terrific to meet you, Carmen. Let's go back to my office." Mattie linked her arm in Carmen's and led them through the door and down a long hall to her office. Mattie and Carmen were talking like long-lost old buddies, with Shane bringing up the rear.

"I actually know who you are," Mattie was saying as they went ahead of Shane down the hall. "You DJed a wedding reception I went to a few years ago. One of the younger lawyers here got married, and you did the whole shebang afterward. DJ La Pica, right? You were really terrific, everybody here talked about you for weeks after. Bernie was there, too, at the wedding and reception, by the way."

"Did I meet you? Or him?"

"Oh, no, probably not. And even if you did, you have no reason to remember us. I mean, there were 300 people there, half of them boring dull, cookie-cutter lawyers, so you have no reason to remember anybody."

"Who were the bride and groom?"

"Miguel Serrano. He married a terrific gal named Jessica Spencer. They just had a little baby boy a few months ago."

"Oh, how cool! Yes, I remember them," Carmen said. "Gimme a second." She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration. "Crescent Ballroom. Sit-down dinner. Six p.m. to midnight, open bar."

"Do you remember what you were wearing?" Mattie laughed.

"Oh, sure. I did a couple costume changes, like I usually do for a gig like that. Let's see—" she closed her eyes again, thinking. "—Started off in my booties, my white booty shorts and the white glitter top, right? And then, yes, I got it, that was Lakers' Night."

"Right! What a memory!" Mattie said. They were seated comfortably in the sitting area off to the side of Mattie's desk.

"What was Lakers' Night?" Shane asked.

Before Carmen could answer Mattie jumped in. "Miguel is this big LA Lakers fan, see? Courtside season tickets, the whole bit. Anyway, Carmen knew this somehow, and she got a whole bunch of Laker uniform shirts, she must have had two or three dozen of them. And at one point during all the festivities she got them out and made the whole wedding party put them on, over top of their gowns and tuxedos and everything. Well, most of the guys had their jackets off by then, I think. But it was hilarious! And then she made some others put them on, too, like Jessica's grandparents, this old couple in their seventies. And some of the stuffy lawyers. Carmen had this sixth sense about who in the crowd would look the most ridiculous in a Laker's shirt over top of a $1,500 Armani. And then she made them all come out on the dance floor and do the Macarena and the Electric Slide and Hava Nagila. And then, as a highlight, somebody had hired one of the Lakers to show up, and they brought one of the Lakers players, I can't remember who it was, it wasn't Shaq or Kobe – Robert Horry? Kareem Rush? I can't remember, I don't really follow them much – but anyway, Miguel just went out of his mind. So there's short, petite Carmen out on the dance floor in her Laker booties, and this petite Laker girl, and then this nine-foot-tall Laker player and Miguel and Jessica and six or eight geriatrics, all doing the Boogaloo Down Broadway. I gotta tell you, it was just about the all-time best wedding reception I ever went to."

Carmen was laughing and blushing at the same time. Shane was grinning proudly and grabbed Carmen's hand.

"I gotta tell you, babe, I have NEVER seen you Boogaloo Down Broadway. You've been holding out on me!"

Carmen laughed and made a suggestively naughty face at her. "Well, then, I'll just have to give you your very own special Boogaloo some time."

"Okay, girls, get a room," Mattie said, laughing. "Shane, I'm going to punch the clock now. What can I do for you?"

Shane outlined her relationship with her friend Chase, the nature of his skateboarding shop and business, and how he'd mocked up a hair salon station for her. Chase had made the offer of simply hiring Shane to be the on-site hairdresser, but said he much preferred to have Shane come aboard as a business partner, not an employee. He'd said he had no idea what kind of financial resources she had, but that he was willing to negotiate pretty much any kind of deal she might propose. He was a very sharp and knowledgeable businessman, Shane said, but he wasn't greedy like so many. He preferred to work with people rather than over them. He liked success, for its own sake, but didn't use money as any kind of yardstick. His parents were already rich, and he had everything material he could wish, and anyway wasn't into big fancy cars, mansions or lifestyle. He liked what he was doing, and wasn't competitive. He was, in many ways, a masculine version of Shane. What Chase had suggested was that if Shane could find a way to buy in, he'd be happy to have her as a business partner. She'd run the hair salon end of it, and together they'd develop a line of hair care products with the Shane for Wax brand on them. 




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 21



Chapter 21 What About Bledsoe?

When Shane got home from work one Monday several weeks later, she found that a package delivery company had left three boxes on the back porch, all for Carmen. She took the cartons inside and put them on the kitchen table. One box was round and looked like a hat box; Shane looked on the label and saw that it had come from a western wear hat company. The second box looked like a large shoebox, and had come from a specialty boot and shoe company. The third was rectangular but not heavy, and looked like it might have held clothing. Shane looked at the label but didn't recognize the name. Something-or-other sportswear.

"Oh, good!" Carmen exclaimed when she came home a while later, walked through the kitchen door and saw the boxes. Shane stood near the stove, making dinner. "Hey, babe," Carmen said, coming over to kiss Shane hello.

"What's in the boxes?" Shane asked.

"Parts for a costume I have to make. I wanted to ask you, I've got this big gig next Sunday afternoon, and I wondered if you'd help me do the set-up and take-down. There's a very narrow time window built into it, and I have to get offstage with all my stuff really fast, so they can set up for the next event."

"Sure, no problem," Shane said. "I can be your roadie."

"Exactly! Thanks a million. Who knows, there may even be a reward in it for you, a little thank-you present."

"Oh? What?" Shane asked.

Carmen flirted. "You'll have to wait to find out." But she stuck her tongue in Shane's ear, leaving little doubt about what form her reward might take.

After dinner Carmen got out her portable sewing machine she kept in her closet, and set it up on the kitchen table. When you are a production assistant in Hollywood, you learn all sorts of trades, and there's almost nothing a top production assistant can't do if she put her hand to it. In Carmen's case, she had grown up in a household and a neighborhood where women learned to sew before they started elementary school. Carmen had made, altered, or otherwise modified her own clothes all her life, as had her mother, her grandmother and all her sisters and cousins. 

While Shane watched TV in the living room Carmen worked on adapting the costume parts she got out of the boxes. She worked for nearly two hours. Shane could hear the sewing machine working from time to time, and she heard Carmen talking to herself, and even once or twice humming or singing to herself as she worked away happily. When she was finished she packed up her portable sewing machine and went into her room to try on her new DJ costume. After she'd changed into it, she stood in the doorway to the living room, where Shane was engrossed in watching an episode of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip she had recorded.

"Shane, when you get a second, there's something I want to show you."

Shane held up her hand, still focused on the TV. "'Kay, babe, this will be over in just a sec." 

Carmen stood watching the end of the show, waiting for the commercial break. When it came, Shane said, "What's up?" and turned to look at Carmen. Her mouth fell open.

"What I wanted to ask you was have you ever had a fantasy about fucking a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader? Put her backfield in motion and then watch her end zone dance after a big score? I know I have."

Carmen stood in the doorway, laughing at Shane's astonishment. She wore her version of a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit, starting with shiny, white, patent leather, mid-calf cowboy boots trimmed in blue piping the same shade as Cowboys' blue. She had hot-glue-gunned blue Cowboys stars on the sides. She had on as skimpy a pair of white booty shorts as Shane had ever seen, and which featured a wide, white, shiny, patent leather belt that had blue stars on it, just like the shorts and belts the Dallas cheerleaders wore ... or maybe a bit less so. The Dallas cheerleaders had copyrighted their signature uniform so no one could use the look without the permission of the Cowboys front office, which it almost never gave. Their cheerleader blouse design was a blue shirt with long, puffy sleeves, but cut off at the midriff. Instead of buttons, it was simply knotted in front at the bottom of the sternum. Over this shirt the cheerleaders wore white midriff-length vests that had two Dallas Cowboy signature blue stars on each half of the front. 

Carmen had not bothered to even try to replicate this top; instead, she had characteristically put her own touch on the uniform. She had bought a Dallas Cowboys football jersey from a sporting goods outfit that sold football team jerseys. You could pick whatever number you wanted, and have your name put on the back in the same block letters your favorite team used. The jerseys, though expensive, were as authentic as it was possible to get. Carmen had chosen a white Cowboys team jersey, and on the back she had ordered LA PICA in blue letters as her player name, and below that her team number. Then she had gone to work on it, making modifications. First, she had gotten some standard shoulder padding used in some kinds of women's dresses, and built up the shoulders a little, so it looked like she might have been wearing a football player's shoulder pads under the jersey, or at least the suggestion of it. She had cut the sleeves way back and put in elastic, so the sleeves clung tightly to her arm above her biceps the way many football players wore them.

The next thing Carmen had done was to cut off the bottom of the jersey so she had a bare midriff. She had re-hemmed the bottom of the jersey and put in more elastic, so the jersey clung to her ribcage just below her breasts. 

The typical jersey had a standard T-shirt-type neckline. There was no way Carmen was going to let as fine a bosom as she possessed to be hidden from view. She had skillfully undone the blue trim at the throat and cut a generous scoop neckline out of it so the jersey revealed the warm brown tops of her breasts and gave her some cleavage. She re-hemmed that cutout, too. Then she sewed in bottom cups to hold her wonderful breasts up, without the need for a bra. 

Her final alteration was the back, where Carmen had left the large team number in place, cutting a square out around it so the bottom two-thirds of the number hung down beneath LA PICA like a bib. The net result was the team number hung down on her back, but her bare midriff theme continued almost all the way around. Just below the bottom of the team number on her bare caramel skin rode the twin faces of Ixchel just above the top of her booty shorts.

The team number Carmen had chosen was, of course, 69. No surprise there.

On her head she wore a gorgeous white Stetson cowboy hat that had the Dallas Cowboys blue star embroidered on the front and the number 69 embroidered on each side in two-inch numbers.

She was delectable enough to give the shade of Davy Crockett a major hard-on. Shane stared.

"Because, you see, the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders are extremely popular," Carmen said. "I don't know if you know this, since you know virtually nothing about football, but they even have their own annual calendar. There's about thirty or forty million men who would sell their souls if only they could fuck a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, especially one from the calendar, and I wondered, you know, you being an excellent judge of high-quality pussy yourself, how you felt about them." 

"Uhhhhhhhhh..............." Shane said. Carmen knew it would take Shane over an hour to try to process enough information to frame a coherent answer. 

"So, what do you think? Do you like it?" Carmen asked. "Does it make you want to fuck a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader calendar girl?" She twirled in a circle, showing off the outfit like a fashion model, wiggling her butt suggestively at Shane and striking model poses.

"The gig I'm doing on Sunday? It's for a bunch of Texas oil men. They have an out-of-town convention Thursday to Monday in Santa Barbara. And as it happens, next Sunday evening the Cowboys are playing the Carolina Panthers, and all these poor Texas oilmen so far, far from home are gonna watch the game from their convention ballroom, and they hired me to be the DJ for their pre-game tailgate party for two hours. So I've got to set up in the ballroom, do my gig while they tailgate in the ballroom, drinking themselves senseless and eating barbecue in preparation for the game, then I have to clear out quick, so they can set up a jumbotron so they can watch the game. So that's why I need your help, to get off-stage and out of the way right before the game starts."

"Well, you've certainly got the tail for a tailgate party," Shane said.

"Why, darlin', you turn a girl's head," Carmen drawled. "So what do you think? Do you think they'll like my outfit?" She pirouetted in a circle again, and leaned over, giving Shane a view down between her breasts to her navel.

"Uh..................." Shane said.

"Don't be shy, you can tell me," Carmen said, striking another model's pose against the door jamb. "Haven't you ever fantasized about fucking a cheerleader? I know I have, and I won't mind if you say yes, too. And while you think that over, let me tell you a few things about the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. They are sweet and pure, virginal and innocent and wholesome just like the All-American Girl Next Door."

"The girls next door where I live are a pair of power dykes," Shane said, not unreasonably. "And there's two more dykes living in our garage. I'm pretty sure there's not a virgin among them. Not much innocence, either."

"Shane? Try to focus."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, the Cowboys are America's Team. And so do you know what that makes the Cowboys cheerleaders?" Carmen asked.

"America's Nookie?"

"You are oh so very close. They are America's Trim," Carmen said. "And everybody in America wants to put the wood to America's Trim."

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"No. I'd be happy to lick America's Trim. Kiss it. Tongue-tickle its lovely pink clit. I'd suck America's Trim all day long, in fact. But I don't have any wood, so as wholesome as you say these girls are, I doubt I'd be able to do much for them, if it's a piece of broomstick they want. I take it that America's Trim are hetero?"

"Well, that's clearly the theory," Carmen said. "Although virginal and ladylike, one assumes they prefer cock to pussy in the bedroom and in the beds of their pick-em-up trucks under star-filled Texas night skies. But perhaps a few of them might be a little bit, you know ... bi-curious."

"Bi-curious, huh? You mean ...?"

"Yes. It's possible some Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders might pine to experience a love that dare not speak its name."

"Oh, my goodness," Shane said. "I'm shocked. Don't they have laws against that sort of thing in Texas? Has President Bush been told?"

"Just think about it, Shane. Three dozen of the most fuckable young women in America. Working out together. Practicing their cheers, their dance moves. Their taut, lean bodies glistening with sweat in the hot Texas sun as they shake their pom-pons and work on their routines. And then, after practice, they go into their locker room. They strip naked, Shane. Naked cheerleaders. They're all in the showers together, soaping up their lithe, glistening, nude bodies. Bodies that perhaps ache for the kind of touch that only another woman such as yourself can provide."

"Carmen?" Shane said.

"Yes?"

"I think I have that woody now."

"Ohhh, you," Carmen sighed, "you say the sweetest things." She came forward, walked around to the front of the couch where Shane sat. She knelt on the couch, straddling Shane cowgirl fashion.

Shane stared straight ahead at the satin-smooth skin between Carmen's breasts. She thought maybe she smelled something familiar, something ... vanilla. She leaned forward, her nose touching Carmen's skin. She inhaled deeply. Yes. Vanilla. She kissed Carmen's sternum, then trailed her lips to the side, nuzzling the swell swelling of Carmen's right breast. 

"So tell me," Carmen whispered. "Who's your favorite player?"

"That's easy," Shane said, still nuzzling cleavage. "Piper Perabo."

Carmen laughed, because Shane had a crush on Piper. "No, silly. Your favorite Dallas Cowboy."

"Mmm, that's harder," Shane said, turning her head to nuzzle the side of Carmen's left breast. "Roy Rogers? No, wait! Dale Evans."

Carmen sighed a big theatrical sigh and backed up off of Shane. "You're incorrigible. I think I'm going to have to give you a crash course in football before next Sunday, or those oil men will throw us both out of there." She turned and picked up the TV remote from the coffee table and switched the TV to ESPN, where the Monday Night Football game of the week had started.

"Who's that?" Shane asked, watching the two football teams gathered near the middle of the field. 

"The New York Giants, at Dallas," Carmen said. "They are arch-rivals."

"Oh, right, right," Shane said. Then after a moment: "Which one's which?"

"Jeez, Shane," Carmen said. "The Giants have the ball. It's probably the opening drive."

"Who's that guy?" Shane asked as the camera focused on the Giants quarterback taking his team into the huddle.

"Eli Manning, their quarterback."

"He looks like he's fourteen years old," Shane said. "Think he's still a virgin?"

"I do," Carmen said, "but even so he's still pretty good. His brother is the quarterback of the Colts."

"The Colts?"

"The Indianapolis Colts? Peyton Manning?"

Shane shook her head blankly.

On the TV screen Eli Manning brought his team to the line of scrimmage, took the snap, and threw a 50-yard touchdown pass to Plaxico Burress. 

"Who?" Shane asked.

"Plaxico Burress."

"Plaxico? Is he from Mexico?"

Texas Stadium had gone silent as announcer Mike Tirico and color commentators Tony Kornheiser and Joe Theisman rehashed the play.

"No, Shane, he's not from Mexico." Carmen put down the TV remote and climbed back on Shane's lap. 

"Is this when the Cowboys get a chance to score?" Shane asked meekly.

"Fuck the Cowboys," Carmen murmured, kissing the side of Shane's neck and beginning to nibble on her ear. "You still haven't answered my question. Haven't you ever wanted to fuck a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader?"

"Yes," Shane said. "Now that you mention it. Yes. Yes, I have. It's been on my to-do list for many years."

***

Just before the end of the first quarter, Dallas quarterback Drew Bledsoe got drilled in his own end zone by Giants linebacker LaVar Arrington, for a two-point safety. Like Bledsoe, Carmen, too, got drilled in her end zone about half an hour later, although not by LaVar Arrington, and with some other significant differences. Unlike Bledsoe, Carmen made no effort whatsoever to avoid the sack; indeed, she jumped into hers with gusto. Although both events produced a great deal of moaning and groaning, Shane was far more tender and gentle than Arrington had been with Bledsoe, and she used a generous amount of lube, whereas Arrington had not. Bledsoe's debacle only lasted a few seconds, and he was quite unhappy about it. Carmen's experience, on the other hand, was much more positive, and it lasted much longer – perhaps because she kept exhorting, "Don't stop, don't stop, oh, God, don't stop!" -- words that Bledsoe certainly never uttered that evening. 

Later that night Jenny and Moira came into the house to get some ice cream and to use the bathroom. The TV in the living room was on, but no one was there. Jenny went to the TV and turned it off, wondering who could possibly have been watching Monday Night Football, of all things. She went into the kitchen, where Moira had gotten each of them a dish of ice cream. As she and Moira sat at the kitchen table eating it, they heard a muffled cry coming from down the hall from Carmen's bedroom, something like, "Gaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." 

Moira grinned. "They sure like to make a lot of noise," she said.

Jenny nodded, toying with a spoonful of Rocky Road. "Oh, yeah."

Moira was quiet.

"Go ahead, ask me," Jenny said.

"You used to be with Carmen."

"Uh huh."

Moira, it turned out, was often just as inarticulate as Shane. She said nothing.

"What is it you want to know?" Jenny prodded gently.

Moira shrugged. "Nothing. It's none of my business."

"You want to know how Carmen was in bed."

"Like I said, it's--"

"She's incredible," Jenny said, calmly, eating her ice cream. "You wouldn't believe the things she taught me. It was Marina who first seduced me, but it was Carmen who taught me how to be a lesbian, and how to have sex and make love, how to be comfortable with it. Marina and Francesca were sadistic, manipulative, self-absorbed, power fuckers. They were into that whole dom/submissive thing. Carmen wasn't my first woman, but she was my first female lover, in the best sense of that word. She showed me how two women can make love, and there was none of that top and bottom, dom/sub stuff."

"So what happened?"

Jenny shrugged. "Shane happened. Carmen was always in love with Shane, from the very first moment. I knew it, Carmen knew it, everybody else knew it, except Shane. She was the only one who didn't have a clue."

"Didn't that bother you? The girlfriend you were sleeping with was in love with your housemate?"

"No, it didn't bother me. Carmen and I never lied to each other. We loved each other as friends, and we had great sex, but we never said we were in love, we never told those kind of things to each other." She made a face and adopted a character voice. "Oh, my darling, my beloved, I love you forever and ever! I will die without you! I lovey-lovey-love you, my darling snookums.' No, we didn't do that."

"You used each other."

"Well, yes, but in a good way. Like, maybe, friends with benefits. Fuck buddies. Like you and me."

That shut Moira up. When she finished her ice cream, Moira rose and washed the bowl and spoon in the sink, dried them, and put them away lest Carmen throw a hissy fit about finding dirty dishes in the morning. She went down the hall to use the bathroom. She could hear better the sounds of sex coming from Carmen's room. Then she went out to the garage apartment.

Jenny had a small bowl of ice cream, only a single modest scoop, but she lingered over it, idly licking the back of the spoon like it was a popsicle. Moira had never felt comfortable in the house; she had felt like an interloper from the first day. But Jenny was entirely comfortable there, in part because it had been her house to begin with, hers and Tim's. She held no grudge at all that Shane and Carmen had taken it over; after all, Jenny had been committed to the sharps ward in the broken cookie factory in Illinois, and as far as anyone knew, she'd never go back to LA. She came into the house in the evenings more often than Carmen or Shane knew, and she lingered much longer there than was strictly necessary just to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. Several times she had come into the kitchen quietly and discovered Shane and Carmen deep into lovemaking in the living room or the dining room or in the shower. Instead of going quietly back to the garage, she had stayed, sinking quietly to the floor in the dark kitchen, listening to the sounds of sex, the murmurs, grunts, whispers, cries, exhortations, the pleading, the coming. At other times, when Shane and Carmen were in one of the bedrooms with the door closed, she sat in the dark bathroom or in the closet at the end of the dark hallway, listening. Sometimes she masturbated, but often she did not, because this wasn't just voyeurism. It was that, and a bit more. It was fuel for feeding her demons, and also feeding her writing. 

The stories she wrote were often surrealistic, mystical, strange and sometimes violent. They were nightmares made fiction. But Jenny often thought that perhaps she should switch gears, start writing about her friends, this group of young California lesbians and bisexuals who had befriended her and made her part of their group, their family. There was so much material it would have to be a novel, not a short story. The characters were rich: Carmen, the sensual Latina whose cunnilingual skills were almost supernatural. Shane, the androgynous bad boi/bad girl who fucked everything in sight. Tina, bisexual earth mother. Bette, the ultra-sophisticated power dyke who, like Shane, couldn't stop her eye from wandering. Crazy Alice, fucked up Alice, love-starved Alice who also called herself a bisexual although she probably would never have sex with a man ever again. Dana, the closeted dyke tennis player coming out of the closet and battling breast cancer. Moira, the tormented transgender who didn't know who or what she was, but hated it anyway. And then there was herself, the once-straight naïf from the Midwest, who'd lost a husband and battled her demons and her ambitions while discovering the joy of tongue-fucking juicy girlloin. Yes, there was a book there. And so she listened as Shane and Carmen brought each other to climax and fell asleep in each other's arms.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 21



Jenny took her time peeing and brushing her teeth and getting ready for bed. She lingered, sitting on the toilet and remembering what sex had been like with Carmen, how good it had been, the loving without the romance, affection without the lies and pretending. The orgasms Carmen had given her. The water sports in the shower and even on the toilet in that very bathroom. Jenny began to rub herself, and before long had her own orgasm, fantasizing that it was Carmen and not Moira between her legs, licking her pussy so well the way Carmen did, almost ... jungle-cat-like. A way that Moira could somehow just never seem to master.

Before the night was over, the Dallas Cowboys had their butts manhandled, 36-22, at home. Carmen, too, had her butt womanhandled, caressed and adored, also at home. And unlike Drew Bledsoe, she fell asleep that night smiling. And still wearing her Cowboy boots.

***

Shane went to the bar and got a pair of mugs of Dos Equis from the keg, and took one to Carmen up on the dais at the back of the ballroom. Then she went to find herself a piece of wall somewhere to hold up while she drank her beer and watched DJ La Pica do her stuff. The guy who had been in line behind her at the keg wandered over and backed into the wall next to her. He had a mug of beer in one hand and a shot glass of Jack in the other. He sipped enough beer out of the mug to create space, and dumped the shot glass of whiskey into it. He bent down and put the empty shot glass on the floor by his feet. 

He was a decent-looking guy in his mid-thirties, one of the Texas awl bidness people whose party this was. He wore a suit of a nice dove-gray material that Shane could tell had been quite expensive. The guy's white dress shirt was buttoned at the collar, and he wore a bolo string tie with a large piece of turquoise at the neck clasp. Shane could tell from his bloodshot eyes he had been drinking all afternoon. At Carmen's insistence, Shane herself wore a cowboy-style shirt with a line of fringe across the front at pocket level; she'd worn one just like it the time Carmen had made them attend the western movie film festival at Cal U. Shane wore jeans, an old, beat-up pair of cowboy shitkickers, and a carefully weathered cowboy hat that disguised most of her hair. 

The guy gestured with his beer mug, indicating Carmen up on the dais, and ignoring the beer that slopped over onto his hand. "That's one mighty fine-looking woman," he said with a trace of slurring in his speech. He looked at Carmen, and Shane could see the lust in his eyes. She felt a surge of anger at this asshole looking at her lover that way. Just calm down and take a breath, Shane told herself. Just relax and let it go. Carmen was a gorgeous, sexy woman: Of course men were going to look at her like that. And in her Dallas Cowboys knock-off outfit, she had given nearly every Texan in the room his own personal longhorn – but that was the nature of the DJ job; it was why they'd hired her. 

"Uh-huh," Shane said.

"I seen you git her a beer a minute ago," the guy said. "You know her, huh?"

"Yes, I do," Shane said. "I helped her bring in and set up her equipment."

"Oh, you're like her roadie, huh?" the guy asked. Shane could tell he didn't mean it insultingly.

"Yeah, I guess I am her roadie," she said, relaxing.

"Well, you're one lucky bastard, then, lemme tell ya. That's one fine-looking woman. She got a boyfriend, do you know?" He took a swallow of his beer.

It dawned on Shane that the guy thought Shane was a man. She realized her outfit was androgynous, and her voice was deep enough it could go either way. It had certainly happened often enough before – she'd even made a career out of it, once upon a time.

"No, I'm pretty sure there's no boyfriend," Shane said. What the hell, she decided, I'm gonna have some fun with this guy. No need to get all bent out of shape.

"No, guess not," the guy said agreeably. "No reason for a girl that young and that pretty to get tied down to some asshole, ya know? Get tied down and knocked up and start popping out the muchachos. She's got the right idea, stay single long as possible, am I right?"

"You got it," Shane said. "Preaching to the fucking choir."

"Damn right," the guy said, equably. He took another pull from his mug, and sighed. "Not that I got anything against married women. I'd bang a MILF, some nice, happily married mommacita. You bet I would."

"I've banged a couple of married women in my time," Shane said truthfully. In fact, her score of married women was well above a dozen. Cherie Jaffe had not been the first, by a long shot.

"Man, I'd love to tap some of that tonight," the guy sighed, gazing at Carmen.

"Me, too," Shane said. The guy laughed. They watched Carmen perform a bit of business up on the stage, flirting with someone in the crowd. Her cleavage was spectacular.

"She keeps that up," the guy said, "I just may have to go choke my chicken, know what I mean?"

"Tell me about it," Shane said.

"Guy like you, always on the road going from town to town, I bet you roadies get some fine pussy."

"I have had me some fine pussy," Shane nodded. "I surely have." Gospel truth.

The guy transferred his beer to his left hand and reached his right across to shake hands with Shane. "William Earl Hardesty from Plano, Texas," the guy said. "People call me Billy Earl."

"Shane McCutcheon," Shane said, putting everything she could into a manly guy-type grip. "I'm from LA now, but I was born and raised around Austin."

"Awriiight, Austin," Billy Earl said. "Great town. Shane, huh? Like the gunfighter."

"That's right," Shane said. "Shane like the gunfighter."

"Nice to meet cha," Billy Earl said.

"You, too," Shane said, thinking, if he gives me the "Mother wants you" line I'm gonna kick him in the nuts. But Billy Earl had other things on his mind than what his mother wanted.

"Look at that ass," Billy Earl marveled, still focused on Carmen, who had momentarily turned away, giving them both a perfect view of her awesome, firm bottom in those fucking white booty shorts. "I always wanted to fuck a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader," he said wistfully.

"Got that right," Shane said, nodding. "America's Trim."

Billy Earl laughed. "America's Trim! That's great. I gotta remember that."

Don't hurt yourself, Shane thought.

"Look at her," Billy Earl said. "You know how they say somethin's as tight as a cheerleader's asshole? Well, that right over yonder's 'xactly what they mean."

"Oh, man," was all Shane could say. She knew from personal experience earlier that very week that Carmen's asshole really wasn't all that tight, and it certainly wasn't as tight as the asshole standing next to her. But yes, Carmen's bottom was firm and muscled and tight without an ounce of cellulite anywhere. The anal ring at the bottom of her crease would accept a finger or two with enthusiasm, if the fingers in question were lubed, took their time and didn't get too frisky too fast. 

"Think she gives good head?" Billy Earl asked, half to himself and lost in his reveries.

"Bet she does. Absolutely," Shane said. "World class."

"Bet you're dead right, pardner," Billy Earl murmured. "Wonder if she's a moaner or a screamer?"

"Bet she's both," Shane said. "Bet she starts off low, kinda like, 'eh, eh, eh,'" she said, giving a pitch-perfect imitation of Carmen's warm-up growl. Shane had no difficulty in remembering what it sounded like; she'd heard it just last night.

Billy Earl threw his head back and laughed so loud that across the room and over the music Carmen heard him and turned to look. She saw Shane and some guy laughing and talking like two bosom buddies at a frat party. "What the fuck's that all about?" Carmen asked herself. 

"Yeah, yeah," Billy Earl added, "and she's Mexican, right?"

"Latina," Shane said. "She's an Angelina."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, after she goes, she goes, she goes 'eh, eh,' she starts talking in Mexican, right? 'Oh, dios, oh, Haysu, más difícilmente, más difícilmente,'" harder, harder, he said. "Then she goes, 'ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, gimme that taco, gimme that big enchilada, ohhhhhhhhhhhh,'" and he and Shane both laughed like fools, the guy grabbing his own crotch and Shane thinking she'd like to choke this guy's chicken for him right about now, and not in a good way.

Carmen looked over and saw them laughing, and she knew they'd been talking about her. When Shane looked over, Carmen gave her a questioning look. Shane just waved her beer mug hello in reply, smiling broadly. For the first time all afternoon Shane was actually enjoying herself. The song that had been playing came to an end, and Carmen had to turn her attention back to her turntables and soundboard. She clapped her earphones on and did some DJ business with the crowd.

"What made ya leave Texas and come out here to LA?"

Shane shrugged. "One thing and another. You know."

"Yeah, I guess. Me, I could never leave Texas. I was born there, and I'll die there."

Not soon enough, Shane thought to herself.

"You guys sticking around for the game? Kickoff's at 5:15."

"No, we can't," Shane answered. "Her contract says she's got to hurry up and get her stuff out of the ballroom here so they can set up for you guys and to bring in a jumbotron to watch the game. And anyway, we've got a long drive back to LA. So we can't stick around."

"Did you hear Parcells is gonna start Romo instead of Bledsoe?"

Shane had no earthly idea who Parcells was, nor, for that matter, what a Romo was. She vaguely remembered the name Bledsoe from Monday night's game, but within moments of the Plaxico Burress touchdown, she was lying on the floor with a bottomless Carmen straddling her face for a few minutes before they decided to take it to the bedroom.

"When did that happen?" Shane asked.

"Parcells announced it Wednesday."

"Christ A'mighty," Shane said.

"Fuckin' A," Billy Earl said.

"Shit. We'll be on the road," Shane said.

"Well, you'll miss a helluva game," the guy said.

"That's what I hear."

"But I tell ya, I'd gladly give up watching the game for a piece of that tail," Billy Earl said, gesturing toward Carmen.

"Oh, me, too," Shane said. "I'd give up two games. Three, maybe."

The guy laughed again. "Well, I don't know about three games. We're talkin' 'bout the Cowboys, ya know."

"True."

"But yeah, maybe two games, on the fifty-yard line, too."

"Me, I'd go for the end zone," Shane said, feeling a touch of sadism coming on.

Billy Earl laughed again. "Right, right. She's got some end zone."

"Just imagine," Shane said, "her sitting on your face. Your tongue, lapping up that pussy juice. Sucking on her clit while she starts to moan."

Billy Earl closed his eyes in pain. "Oh, Christ," he moaned. He shifted position against the wall, like something in his pants had made him uncomfortable. He didn't realize Shane wasn't fantasizing, but working from memory.

"Her thighs wrapped around your face. That velvety smooth skin over those thigh muscles, and she's riding your face. Then she comes. They say she's a squirter, she starts squirting all over your face as she cries out, her legs twitching, and your face is covered in the sweetest cum you ever tasted."

"Shit," Billy Earl said, grimacing. "Hey, I got to go drain the swamp. Good talking to you." He hurried off, heading for the corridor leading to the men's room. Shane chuckled to herself. She looked up and saw Carmen looking at her again with that quizzical look on her face. Shane just grinned back, and saluted her with her beer mug.

Later, when they were loading Carmen's gear into her Jeep, she asked, "Hey, what were you and your new best friend talking about? You guys seemed to be hitting it off."

"Women. Football," Shane said. "You know, guy stuff."

"Uh huh."

"Parcells said he was going to start Romo tonight."

"No shit? When did he say that?"

"He announced it Wednesday."

"Really? What about Bledsoe?" Carmen asked.

"Well, exactly," Shane said. 

Carmen picked up a cardboard box full of CDs to put in the Jeep but stopped. "Wait a minute," she said. "Shane, do you have any idea who Drew Bledsoe is?"

Shane racked her memory of the two minutes she saw of the Monday night game, trying to remember if the name Bledsoe rang any bells. Not really. There was just that Texaco Burbage guy who scored the touchback, and then Carmen had straddled her lap and Shane's concentration went elsewhere.

"Sure," she said confidently. "He was the announcer."

Carmen closed her eyes and thought about counting to ten, but she knew that wasn't enough numbers. "How ... why ... Shane, why would Bill Parsells bench an announcer?"

Shane thought about it. "Speech impediment?"

Carmen laughed. "Shane, you don't have any idea what we're talking about, do you?"

"Nope," Shane said, beaming. "Not one fucking clue."

Carmen grinned, and shook her head as she put the carton in the Jeep. "It's such a shame you're a lesbian. You could have been a world-class sports widow to some poor husband somewhere."

Shane shrugged her shoulders and grinned back at her, happy. Tonight she was going to be the only woman in the entire United States of America as well as the great and sovereign state of Texas who was going to tongue-fuck a living doll in a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader outfit, America's Female Ejaculator.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 22



Chapter 22 When It All Goes to Hell the First Time

It took Mattie Shepherd nearly two weeks to confer with Bernie McFadden, perform her due diligence research, draw up all the necessary paperwork, get Shane's signatures, and get a check cut for $50,000 out of Shane's trust fund. This suited Shane perfectly, because on the following Monday she went in to work a little early and asked John, her boss at Lather, if she could speak to him for a moment in private. 

"Sure, Shane," he said, taking her into his small office and closing the door. "What's up?"

"Well, first off, I need to give you my two week's notice. The reason I'm leaving is because I've been offered an opportunity to open my own small one-person hair salon as part of a larger business thing, a skateboard park in Venice Beach. I'm buying into the business as a junior partner, so I get a piece of the overall business as well as my own share of my hairdressing work. Second, I just want to thank you for all your understanding and support, and thank you for putting up with me, especially during some of those years when I gave you a lot more shit than anyone should have to put up with."

John smiled. "Well, Shane, it sounds like a really good opportunity for you, and I hope it works out. You built up a loyal following of customers here."

"That's the next thing I wanted to tell you," Shane cut in. "I'm not gonna try to hijack any of your customers. If you want, I'm perfectly happy with neither you or me saying anything to them, and one day I'll just be gone. I don't like that kind of thing, when somebody runs out on you and steals your customers. I always thought that was shitty."

"Thanks, I appreciate that, Shane. But don't worry about it too much. That kind of thing happens all the time in this business. Customers follow particular hairdressers around from place to place, if they like them. But I appreciate your sentiment about it. Anyway, you'll be in Venice Beach, which is a fair distance across town, and not everyone will be willing to follow you that far north of town. I'm sure we'll keep some of your customers, and lose a few, too."

"Well, I didn't want there to be any hard feelings, because that's something else I wanted to mention to you. After I get set up in my new place, my business partner has plans to set up a line of boutique hair care products in my name, called Shane for Wax, that's going to be the name of my new salon, and I know we're going to ask you if you'd be interested in retailing them here. I talked it over with Chase, that's my partner, and we're willing to cut you the absolute best wholesale price, to get our foot in the door, and because you've been so good to me over the years. So we wanted you to be Retail Distributor No. 1 for Shane for Wax products."

"Well, I'll certainly think it over, Shane, and sure, keep me informed of your progress on getting the line set up."

They talked for a few minutes about the hair care products Chase and Shane were thinking about, and John had some good suggestions.

Meanwhile, Shane had called Chase late Friday afternoon to tell him she'd met with her lawyer, that she was good to go, and wanted to buy in with the $50,000 share, as they'd discussed.

"Hey, that's great!" Chase said. "I'll get started setting things up first thing Monday."

"Don't you want to wait until I get the check first?" Shane asked. "It may take a week or two."

"Nah. I'm not that kind of businessman," Chase said. "Your word is good enough for me. I operate on a handshake. I know that makes me a total anomaly in Los Angeles, but what the fuck, that's how I want to operate, and why I want to be my own boss. I don't want some corporate beancounter assholes telling me I gotta do this and do that. The whole point is to be able to seize opportunities and move fast, without a lot of overhead and procedures and shit. When you get some free time next week, come over and we'll start talking about what we're gonna do and when and how. We have to plan for your grand opening, among other things."

"Grand opening?"

"Fuck, yeah," Chase said. "We're going to put Shane for Wax on the map. We got to line up media, put out some advertising, do flyers, a whole ton of stuff. Guest list, entertainment, catering. We got to get your station set up and operational for the first customers. On opening day and for the first few weeks we want you to be booked solid, for as many hours as you can put in."

After work on Monday Shane and Carmen went over to Wax and conferred with Chase. They decided that after Shane did her two weeks at Lather she should then take a week off, during which she and Chase would work intensely to get everything ready to open at the end of that third week, with the big party that Saturday night. On the Tuesday or Wednesday of that week, Shane would set up her new work station to make sure she had everything she needed and felt comfortable in her new environment. They'd line up a handful of customers and do what Chase called a "soft opening," in essence a day or two of dress rehearsal. On Friday they would decorate the entire building to get it ready for Saturday's grand opening event. Then there would be the big party Saturday night.

Carmen took off from work the Friday before the opening so she could go with Shane to Wax to work on decorations for the opening. On the way, they stopped at The Planet for coffee and bagels. They were eating when Kit came over to their table.

"Would ya like to hear some good news, DJ Sugar?" Kit asked, her hand on Carmen's shoulder.

"I would. What is it?"

"I just got off the phone with Paul Jarrett," Kit said, "and he heard you DJ at our Vulva Las Vegas fundraiser a few weeks ago, and he wants you for his VIP After Party for Russell Simmons and his new band Black Butterfly."

"Holy shit! Are you kidding me?" Carmen almost spilled her coffee.

"No, no, I'm not kidding," Kit said.

"Oh, my god! Oh my god! Kit, come here!" Carmen jumped off her stool and hugged Kit, who laughed as Shane beamed. "This is huge, this is fantastic," Carmen gushed, almost beside herself. "When are we supposed to do this?"

"Tomorrow night, at the Abbey, at 9 o'clock."

Carmen's joy evaporated. "Tomorrow ... I can't. I can't do it." She turned to Shane "It's your opening."

"No, no, don't even--" Shane started to say.

Carmen turned back to Kit. "I am so sorry--"

"No, come on, girl, look, there's gonna be a lot of other parties," Kit said. "There'll be a lot of other parties."

"There's gonna be a lot of other parties ... in Los Angeles ... with Russell Simmons," Carmen said, knowing there wouldn't be, not for her.

"Sure, there will. Okay, you think about it, let me know. Call me, okay?" She gave Carmen a quick hug and patted Shane on the arm, and hurried off to the kitchen to deal with someone who was waving to her.

"Okay," Carmen said quietly to the empty place where Kit had been.

But Shane surprised her. "Come on, this is a huge thing, don't give it up for Wax."

"Oh, right," Carmen said. "Like I'm not gonna be at your opening."

"Well, think about it," Shane said.

***

It was after nine when they got home that evening. Carmen walked through the back door into the kitchen and stopped short. Shane, coming behind her but not paying attention, ran into her. She looked over Carmen's shoulder to see what had stopped her. The kitchen was a mess. Someone had been cooking spaghetti and there was a big pot of marinara still on the stove, with a trail of marinara sauce running down the front of the stove and onto the floor. A marinara-encrusted ladle sat on the stovetop between the burners. There was also a pot of what had once been boiling water, and there were now strands of cooled, hardened spaghetti hanging down its side. There were cooking spatters all over the stove, and on the counter there were crumbs from where someone had sliced a loaf of Italian bread. 

Carmen muttered "Shit!" and seized a sponge from the sink, and began angrily cleaning up the marinara on the floor and the stove top.

"Honey, don't do this," Shane begged her. "It's not your mess."

"Well, ya know what? Someone's gotta do it," Carmen said through gritted teeth. "And the person who made this mess clearly has no intention of doing it."

Shane knew it was futile to argue with Carmen when she was in this mood, and Shane couldn't say that Carmen was wrong. While Carmen certainly wasn't obsessive, she was by nature a tidy and orderly person, and the mess in the kitchen offended every fiber of her work ethic. Carmen herself loved to cook, and like any cook would often make a mess in the kitchen herself, but she would always clean up promptly after dinner. Well, there were a couple of times she and Shane got frisky, and the dishes waited a few hours, and once until morning. Still ... .

Shane got a beer out of the refrigerator and sat down wearily at the table.

"And I don't suppose Moira has chipped in anything for rent," Carmen said, mostly to herself, and not expecting an answer, because she already knew the answer. "They've been here five weeks now. Or either of them contributing toward the groceries they seem to have no trouble eating." She dumped the big pot of water into the sink and began trying to chip off the hardened spaghetti from its side. "Or the utilities. Electricity. Water and sewer. Trash pickup. Cable TV. Beer. Pot. Anything."

Shane said nothing because she'd had a sudden insight. This wasn't about money, and it wasn't about household clean-up. Well, it was a little bit about the mess in the kitchen, but mostly it was about something else entirely. It was about turf. It was about their home, their nest. Hers and Carmen's. Objectively, Carmen knew perfectly well that Jenny and Tim were the original renters of the house, going back to when they had first moved to California. Jenny's name was still on the lease even now. And Carmen would probably have been okay with Jenny moving back in after her six months' stay in Chicago ... maybe. But Carmen was not happy about a fourth person, and a stranger, and worse, a stranger she didn't especially like. But there was even more to it than that. What Carmen objected to was that over the past seven months, she and Shane had built a life together here. A relationship. This was now their home, never mind whose name was on the lease. Carmen had repainted her bedroom, and together they had repainted both Shane's room and the living and dining rooms, as well as the garage/studio. They had refurnished a lot of the place, adding a piece here or there. They had bought a new couch. They had bought a new flatscreen TV. Carmen had totally re-landscaped the front and back gardens and plantings, modest as they were. But this was about even more than paint and possessions and rose bushes. They had made love here, often, and in every room. They were used to walking around naked or half naked, and now they had to think about who else was in the house, whether Jenny or Moira had come in from their studio bedroom for something. They had to think about the sounds they made when they made love. And it wasn't as though either of them cared very much if Jenny or Moira happened to walk in on them if they were fooling around in this room or that. But still, it was ... inhibiting. 

The fact was, Carmen was a nester. She had worked hard at making this a home for herself and for Shane, and for no one else. Carmen would have been perfectly happy having Jenny as a guest for a week or two. Hell, Alice stayed over all the time. Dana had crashed one night. Kit had. One night when Bette and Tina were squabbling Tina had spent the night in the spare bedroom. Both of Carmen's sisters had visited and stayed the night at one time or another. Carmen didn't mind guests at all; she liked them, and God knows, there was no friendlier, more hospitable person in the world than Carmen. But these two people had invaded her nest, and she didn't like it. Carmen wasn't even aware of this being at the root of her problem, Shane understood. But either way, Carmen would not say out loud what she felt: Jenny and Moira had overstayed their welcome. They had fouled Carmen's clean, neat, carefully built love nest, had inhibited her and Shane's vigorous, spontaneous and highly creative sex lives, seemed to have no awareness of any of it ... and had no intention of leaving. The money and the sloppiness were surface manifestations of the deeper things. 

All this Shane suddenly came to understand, having been processing the problem for a week. There was nothing she could do about any of it, so far as she could see. 

And then there was the problem of tomorrow night. Here Shane thought there might be a solution, one Don Quixote himself would be proud of. A noble sacrifice. Of course Shane wanted Carmen to be at the opening, but they were a two-career family, and Shane cared just as deeply for Carmen's career as her own, maybe more so. And the truth was, she knew tomorrow night's party would be a big blur and a gazillion people, and while it would be great if Carmen was there to share it with her, it was simply more important for Carmen to take the DJ gig. 

"This is disgusting," Carmen muttered as she worked.

Shane took a pull on her Dos Equis. "I think you should DJ the Russell Simmons' party."

Carmen never missed a beat in her cleaning. "So, ah, it really doesn't matter to you at all if I'm not at your opening?"

"Honestly? It's not that big of a deal to me," Shane said.

"Um. Okay," Carmen said in a tone of voice that meant it wasn't okay.

"Uh, wait, Carmen. Don't take it that way," Shane said. "You know I want you to be there." 

"Yeah," Carmen said, wiping fingerprints off the front of the refrigerator.

"I know your DJ career is something you've been working really hard at. Right?"

"Mmm-hmm," Carmen nodded, beginning to fill the sink with hot, soapy water.

"Okay, then," Shane said, as though it settled something.

"Thank you," Carmen said. Shane got up, came to the sink and kissed the back of Carmen's neck. Then she picked up a dish towel and dried the wet dishes as Carmen washed and rinsed them and handed them to her.

***

They did their Saturday morning shopping and errands, and went over to Wax shortly before noon to check on the final decorations and arrangements. Carmen's mind was preoccupied with her own schedule that night, going over set lists in her head, mentally rearranging songs. She'd bought two CDs that morning, and would have to integrate them into her system. She'd have to pack up her Jeep. Unpacking and setting up at the Abbey was no problem; Simmons' people would be there, and she could count on all the roadie help that would be dying to help out a muy caliente Latina chick. The party didn't start until nine, but she'd want to be there before eight to set up and do sound checks. Okay, now what about the costume... .

While Shane talked to Chase Carmen wandered aimlessly around the store, looking at clothes but not really seeing them. She found a jewelry case, and saw a necklace in it she liked. She held it up to show Shane, who was across the room talking with Chase.

"Hey, Carmen, that'd look really good on you," Shane called out when she saw the necklace.

"You should take it," Chase called to her. Even Chase, who had only met Carmen two or three times and knew her hardly at all, could tell Carmen was walking around in a daze. "Is she all right?" he whispered to Shane.

"Carmen's really bummed," Shane said. "She can't come tonight. She got a really big gig DJing for Russell Simmons."

"Wow, that's cool. Well, you gotta have priorities. She's an entrepreneur, like me. I get that. It's business, man. There'll be other parties."

"I know, that's what I keep telling her."

"It'll mellow," Chase said.

Shane suddenly remembered something. "What time is it?"

Chase glanced at his watch. "It's, uh, like, one-thirty, quarter to two."

"It's what?"

"One-thirty."

"Fuck!" Shane hustled across the room. "Hey Carmen, Dana's game's on!" They both ran to Chase's office, where he had a chair and a big couch and a bigger widescreen TV. Dana was playing in the final round of the 2006 Mercedes Challenge Tennis Championship against Ludmilla Ivanova, the feisty young Russian, and the match had started at noon. The scoreboard showed Dana had lost the first set, 2-6, with Ludmilla breaking Dana's serve twice. Dana battled back in the second set, winning in a tiebreaker, 7-6. They were tied 5-5 in the third and final set. 

They had followed Dana's progress through the tournament all week. Dana had been seeded 6th, and on Monday she had handily defeated a 27th seed in a little over an hour. On Tuesday she'd upset the number 2 seed, the amazing Czech veteran Alma Hrusnik, but Hrusnik had pulled a hamstring the day before, and it had hampered her game. Still, a win was a win, and Dana found herself in a grueling match with Billie Reynolds on Wednesday. On that same day on another court, Venus Williams had twisted her ankle and lost to Ludmilla Ivanova, a very good player but one who never expected to get past Williams. On Thursday in the semifinals, Dana had beaten Peaches Carpenter and Ivanova had defeated the French-Canadian upstart Marie-Claire Valjean easier than had been expected. So Dana and Ludmilla spent Friday resting up before their big final at noon on Saturday. And Carmen and Shane both were so preoccupied with their own troubles both had forgotten about Dana's match until it was almost too late.

"Come on, Dana, you can do it," Shane muttered at the TV screen as Chase came in and sat down in the chair next to them. Ivanova was serving, and at love-30 she foot-faulted. Both players were visibly tiring in the heat, and it was going to be a question of stamina, will, and making the fewest mistakes. It seemed Dana had used up all her mistakes in the first set, and had recovered to play flawlessly. Ivanova had just committed one such unforced error, giving away an unearned point and ad-out. Ludmilla served, taking a little off the ball, and Dana smashed a great return down the line. Ivanova got to it, what with her tremendous range and great legs, but Dana had rushed the net, anticipating which way Ludmilla would return the volley. Dana had guessed right, and she was there at the net, plunking down a soft dink cross-court that Ludmilla knew was futile, and had not even bothered to go after. She grinned weakly at Dana, acknowledging the nice shot, and turned away muttering in Czech. It was 6-5, and all Dana had to do was hold her own serve and the match was hers. It was the first time she'd broken Ludmilla all day.

"Whoo, she did it!" Shane exulted, clapping her hands over her head. Before they had all met Dana and brought her into the Circle of Friends, not one of them followed any professional sports of any kind, male or female. The lesbianism of Billie Jean King and then especially Martina Navratilova had made the news while most of the Friends were in elementary school or pre-school, and so they had no special affinity toward tennis over any other sport. Tina had played volleyball in high school, and Bette had played field hockey and basketball, but neither had ever pursued it beyond graduation. Like most people, they watched Olympic sports every other year, but like most people, their interest waned significantly the day after the Olympic torch was extinguished for that season. The only two women besides Dana in the Circle of Friends who knew anything at all about any sport were the newcomers Max, who had followed tennis for years, and Carmen, who liked pro football and had reasonable knowledge about other sports; she had also lettered in basketball and softball in high school, and knew how to play tennis herself. However, with Dana in their midst, they'd all become knowledgeable tennis fans, and Dana had even given Shane and Carmen tennis lessons, at Carmen's request. Not surprisingly, Carmen had an innate athleticism, good, well-muscled legs and competitive killer instinct. In another universe or another lifetime, she might have become a skilled gymnast or tennis player. She would have made anyone's cheerleading squad – high school, college or professional -- in a heartbeat. Who knows, she could even have been a cheerleader calendar girl.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 22



"Hey, where is everybody?" they heard Alice calling out from the main room. "I'm here to help."

"We're over here," Carmen called out to her. "Dana's serving her next point. C'mere."

"Guys, this place is so--" Alice tried to say, but Shane loudly shushed her into silence. She sat down on the arm of the couch next to Carmen and watched the woman she loved obsessively play tennis.

Dana served and won the first point with a good backhand down the line. She lost the next point when Ludmilla forced her to lob. It was 15-15.

The TV close-up showed Dana seeming to struggle with herself.

"She looks like she's hurting," Shane said quietly.

"C'mon, Dana, pick it up, let's go," Alice whispered. 

Dana seemed to find some inner reserve of energy, and the camera held her up close as she rocked into her serve. It was an ace down the center line. Dana led, 30-15. She tossed the ball up again, firing another ace.

"Amazing serve!" the woman TV announcer said, and the male announcer added, "Exactly! And when she needs it she digs deep and she finds it." It was 40-15, match point. The crowd hushed.

Dana served again into the center line and Ivanova blocked it back into what became a long volley. 

"Come on, Dana, you can do it," Alice whispered.

On the TV screen the camera cut away from the court to the stands, showing Dana's mother and Dana's girlfriend, Lara, tensely watching. The mere sight of Lara was enough to paralyze Alice.

Dana edged toward the center of the court, anticipating. Ludmilla returned cross-court and Dana shot one down the line for a clean winner. "Game, set and match to Fairbanks!" the stadium loudspeaker said, its voice drowned out by a screaming crowd. At Wax Shane, Carmen and Alice screamed, jumping up and down and hugging each other.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Dana Fairbanks is the Mercedes Challenge champion," the male announcer said. "An absolutely brilliant performance by a somewhat fatigued Dana Fairbanks."

Just then the camera showed Dana at the edge of the court as Lara ran up to her, hugged her madly, and then they were kissing, right there, on national television. Mouth to mouth.

Alice froze in horror.

***

There were more than two hundred people celebrating the grand opening of Shane for Wax by the time Dana and Lara Perkins got there. Dana saw Shane talking to some people outside the middle garage bay and snuck up behind her until she could put her hands on Shane's kidneys and give them a squeeze. Shane jumped and spun around.

"Wonder Woman! I can't believe it!" Shane shouted, giving Dana a big, warm hug in congratulation for the tennis victory. "You were fantastic!"

"Thank you," Dana said, laughing and raising her voice over the din of the music and the people.

Shane saw Lara standing behind Dana, smiling diffidently, and she reached out an arm to give Lara an awkward left-handed handshake. "Lara! I'm so glad you could come," Shane said, embracing her. Lara gave Shane a cheek-to-cheek Hollywood air kiss.

"We wouldn't have missed it," Lara said.

Just then Jenny, Moira and Helena came over, and there were more hugs and congratulations to Dana from everyone.

"I'm a big tennis fan. That volley in the second set, that was like, awesome!" Moira told Dana.

Dana was impressed and looked at Moira in a new way. "Thank you! Nobody else noticed that." They talked tennis for a minute and then Dana grabbed Shane by the elbow.

"C'mon, give us the tour," Dana said. "I've heard about your way cool work station and I want to see it."

Shane took them both by the hands and led them in to the building, which was packed with twenty-somethings. Chase had put a couple of his security people at the gate checking IDs and turning away anybody under twenty-one, since they were serving beer and wine. There were a couple of beer keg stations with stacks of disposable plastic cups, and Shane stopped at one, drawing a beer for Dana. "Come on," Shane said, handing her the beer, "you're not in training tonight!"

Lara declined a beer and said she'd have a glass of wine instead. She went to a makeshift bar nearby where one of Chase's people was pouring inexpensive chardonnay into plastic cups. When Lara got her wine, Shane led her and Dana to her work station that, like the rest of the place, was jammed with people. "This is really fab, Shane," Dana said, admiring the set-up despite how difficult it was to get a comprehensive view with all the people.

"Shane! Shane! We got another volunteer!" somebody shouted, and somebody else pushed a girl forward right in front of Shane. The woman was in her early twenties and was dressed andro, just as Shane was. She had spikey, semi-Goth red hair and Shane's vibes told her she was ultra-dyke. There was a big sign Chase had posted that said that anyone who wanted a skinhead mohawk could get one free, and that's what this girl had agreed to.

"You sure you want to do this, right?" Shane asked her. The girl nodded as several of her friends pushed her further forward, yelling, "Do it! Do it!"

"Okay, assume the position," Shane said, spinning her barber chair around and letting the girl sit down. Shane draped a barber cape around her, fastened it, and picked up her clippers and flicked its on-switch.

"Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!" the crowd chanted amid cheers and laughter. Shane mugged for the audience, pretending to study the girl's head and turn it this way and that, as though she'd had to study what she was about to do, but everybody knew the drill. After a moment Shane plunged ahead with the clippers, shearing the girl's skull like an Aussie shears a sheep. "Go! Go! Go!" the crowd kept up as Shane shaved away big swaths of the girl's hair around her ears and the back of her head. Shane turned the chair as she worked her way around the girl's head. It only took a minute, and when she was done the girl had only a narrow patch of hair left on the very top of her head, from her forehead back to the crown. The sides and back of her head were as bare as an Army recruit's. The crowd laughed, applauded and cheered as Shane held up a mirror so the girl could look into it. She took the mirror and looked into it, pretending to primp, and the crowd laughed. She handed the mirror back to Shane and jumped up out of the chair, and began a Rocky/Sylvester Stallone victory dance, her arms in the air as she bounced like a boxer.

***

Shane went outside for a cigarette. If possible, the place was even more packed with partying people than it was before. Shane figured for every thirty feet she walked she was stopped six times by someone offering congratulations, someone wanting to chat or someone just saying hi, introducing a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or to ask where the bathroom was. Shane had never shaken so many hands or done so many high fives and fist bumps in her life. It was a good feeling, a great feeling, even, but it was also exhausting. 

"Hey," Chase said, coming up beside her. "Terrific night, huh? We got a great crowd," he said, lighting Shane's cigarette for her. "I've gotten nothing but compliments all night long. I think you're booked for two months, at least. I got people offering me bribes to get on your schedule."

"Cool," Shane said. "Hey, I just wanted to say, in case I don't get around to it later, how grateful I am for everything you've done."

"You're welcome, in spades. But remember, this wasn't just for you, and it wasn't charity. We're both gonna make a ton of money out of this. Bottom line, you're good for business. I got an eye for this kinda thing."

"I know you do, and I know I can learn a lot from you."

"Well, I think we'll learn from each other," Chase said. "Why don't you grab a board and take a spin on the halfpipe. Lotta people want to see you, and that's a good way to be seen. We want everybody to know who Shane McCutcheon is, we want them to recognize her on sight. We want them to see how cool it is to be Shane McCutcheon, and if they can't be Shane McCutcheon, we want them to want Shane McCutcheon to be the one who cuts their hair. We aren't selling a haircut or a hair salon, we are selling access to the entire Shane McCutcheon experience."

"Okay, I will," Shane nodded, "soon as I finish my cig."

"Great. Hey, I gotta go to talk to some people." Next thing Shane knew, Chase was across the yard talking to half a dozen new arrivals. It took her twenty more minutes to wend her way back inside, check out a board from the desk, and get back out to the pipe. She was still warming up inside the pipe with some easy turns when she saw someone near the the first garage bay who looked a lot like Carmen. She looked closer. It was Carmen! She rode the board over and stepped out of the pipe just as Carmen turned and saw her coming. Carmen broke into a broad, happy grin and that laugh of hers that always made Shane's knees weak.

"Hi! What are you doing here?" Shane asked, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek. "I thought you were with Russell Simmons."

"I know! It's a surprise," Carmen grinned. Just then a tall black guy stepped up right behind her and stuck his hand out for a fist bump.

"She is with Russell Simmons," Russell Simmons said. Yes, it really was Russell Simmons! "Actually, I'm with her. Hi. Hiya doin', I'm Russell." The fist bump morphed into a handshake as he turned to his left to introduce a stunning blond who was with him. "This is Simone, my assistant." She and Shane smiled to each other. "Meanwhile, your girl here is very talented," Simmons told her.

Shane beamed with pride and looked at Carmen. "Yeah, she's not so bad." Carmen made a pretend mad face and poked Shane in the ribs.

"But I should also tell you," Simmons continued, "she has her priorities straight, because even though I hired her, she's here for you."

"Is that so?" Shane asked, turning to Carmen.

"Yeah," Carmen said quietly as she leaned forward to kiss Shane on the lips. "Guess what? I have a surprise for you. I worked on this mix all week for you." She handed Shane a CD in a jewel case.

"For me?"

"Just for you," Carmen said, happy.

"Go play it for her," Simmons said, nudging Carmen.

"You're gonna love it!" Carmen shouted over the noise of the party as she ran off to the dais. The DJ Chase had hired moved aside for her and in a moment Carmen's mix tape began to play as Carmen, one big earphone held to her head, waved across the room and blew Shane a kiss.

***

The grand opening party lasted until well after midnight. It had been a long but exciting day for both Shane and Carmen, and by 1 a.m. Shane found Carmen sitting upright on the couch in the TV room, sound asleep despite the considerable music and party noise all around. Shane leaned down and woke her with a kiss.

"Hey," Carmen said, putting her hand behind Shane's neck and pulling her down for a long exchange of tongues.

"Are you ready to head home?" Shane asked.

"Whatever you want, baby, it's your party. I can leave any time you want."

"I think I'm about all in," Shane said.

"Can you drive? I don't think I should," Carmen said. "I'm pretty well in the bag."

"Me, too," Shane said, "but it's not a problem."

Wise beyond his years, Chase had learned to hire a couple of limousines to be on duty at events like this, to drive home any partygoers who were too high-risk to make it on their own. Chase's understood what "full service" meant, and he didn't want any media reps who attended his parties to wind up in a ditch or in in jail. He wanted them to have a positive experience right up until the moment they collapsed on their own beds or bathrooms floors. He especially understood that the younger his clientele the higher the risk, and so he took pains to protect them above and beyond the normal call of duty. And Chase had learned that he could get away with it, because he was young and cool himself, and he could yank somebody's car keys and make them like it. He was that good.

Laughing, he gently put Shane and Carmen in the back of one of his limos. Shane had had a couple of drinks, smoked a few joints, and when Carmen wasn't looking had done a line. Carmen would smoke a joint, but she didn't approve of anything harder. But she had her own buzz going, having had half a dozen beers and not a few Tequila Sunrises sneak up on her. They slept propped up against each other on one of the limo's side seats, and had no objection when the driver dropped off his other four passengers first. He woke them gently when they got home, helped them out of the car, and even unlocked the front door with Carmen's key, making sure they got in safe and sound.

***

The hangovers on Sunday morning were manageable, but even so it took almost until noon before the Friends could all gather at The Planet for Sunday devotionals. Jenny had gotten a job waitressing there, and was on duty when Shane and Carmen straggled in. Bette, Helena and Alice were already at their table. Carmen ordered coffee and bagels for the both of them from Jenny and greeted Kit when she came over and sat down with them. A few minutes later, Lara and Dana arrived.

"Hey, Jenny? Can you sit for a minute?" Dana called out to her as she passed by. "I just wanna talk to you guys for a minute."

Alice was her usual bristly self. "So what's up?" she asked Dana and Lara. "You guys getting married?"

Dana rebuffed it calmly. "Ah, no. I just want to--"

Bette's cellphone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. "I'm sorry, that's Tina." She got up from the table and walked away.

"I have an announcement, everyone," Shane said. "Alice is about to go out with a vampire."

Alice looked shocked. "A vampirologist, actually," she corrected. "She's kind of a doctor at it, well, not a doctor, she's kind of a teacher at Loyola Marymount." She passed around the table a magazine article with a photo of the vampirologist, Uta Refson, in it.

"She's gorgeous," Helena said approvingly.

"Just a first date," Alice said, shrugging as though it didn't mean anything, when everyone knew it did.

"First dates are the best, by the way," Carmen said. "So, good luck."

Bette returned from her phone call with Tina. "Sorry about that. What's up?"

"I just wanted to tell you guys I'm having a little operation tomorrow, that's it," Dana said, finally getting it out on the table.

"An operation?" Alice asked, trying to mask the fear in her voice.

"Yeah."

"Is it out-patient, or is it overnight?" Bette asked, concerned.

"Is it something serious, Dana?" Helena put in.

"Are you gonna be all right?" Kit asked.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be fine," Dana said. "They ... um ... I, I'm having a ... ah, I ... they found a lump on my breast, and so they, I'm having it removed, it's routine." 

"A lump?" Alice asked. She had turned pale. Dana's voice had fooled no one, least of all Alice.

"Did you have it biopsied?" asked Bette.

"Yuh," Dana muttered.

"What did they find? Is it benign?"

"It's just a little operation, really, everything's okay," Dana said. "Everything's okay."

There was silence all around the table while everyone digested this news, all of the Friends processing all the things that weren't being said, rather than what was.

Bette broke the silence. "You know, Tina had a lumpectomy, and you can't even see the scar."

"No. No, you can't," Helena added. Then it suddenly dawned on her and everyone else that Helena's affair with Tina was not only a sore subject, it was a gaping wound. She tried to recover. "I mean, I didn't even know that she'd had one."

There was another long, uncomfortable pause, and it was Shane who managed to cut through everything to its proper essence: "Oh, fuck it, what time? We'll be there."

"No, that's fine," Dana responded quickly. "Lara's gonna be there, really. It's just gonna be overnight, I'll be out the next day."

Alice looked like she was going to be sick.

***

On Tuesday after work Carmen swung by Wax to pick up Shane. They'd agreed they wanted to go over to Dana's apartment to see how she was doing. Lara had texted them in the afternoon, inviting Shane and Carmen to stay for dinner. She said that Dana was home and resting and everything was fine. 

"I don't believe it," Carmen said during a phone call to Shane. "I want to see her for myself."

"I do, too," Shane said. "I know they're trying to make it all seem okay, but I just have this bad feeling."

"Me, too. And did you see Lara's face while Dana was telling us about the operation? Something's not right."

"No."

Carmen didn't mention that she had tattoos of the Mayan goddess of healing, Ixchel, above her butt, and that she had discussed the whole Dana thing with a large black jaguar who was the earthly incarnation of Ixchel, and who concurred something was wrong.

When they rang the doorbell they expected that it would be Lara who let them in, but it was Dana herself. "Hey, guys! Come to view the remains, huh? Well, come on in." Dana wore a sling around her neck and had one arm suspended in it. Nevertheless, she tried hard to be mobile and animated.

"What's that?" Carmen asked, standing in the doorway.

"That? Oh, they just want me to keep my arm immobilized for a while. It's nothing. I can even take it off if I want to, to shower or whatever."

Dana would never understand it, but she stood before what were probably the two women in all of Los Angeles least likely to be snowed by bullshit: Shane, whose instincts, powers of observation and ability to read people bordered on the supernatural, even if it took two or three days to process it all, and Carmen, a healer and disciple of the Mayan goddess Ixchel, whose powers were supernatural. In fact, Ixchel waited quietly right behind Carmen, and followed her into the apartment. The jaguar walked right up to Dana, sniffed at her delicately, looked briefly at Carmen, and went to sit quietly in the corner. Carmen knew they would have to talk later.

Lara was in the kitchen assembling dinner. She glanced up and smiled quickly at Carmen and Shane. "Hi," she said. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." She tried hard to be friendly, and she would make quick eye contact with Carmen or Shane, but she couldn't hold it.

Dana worked hard at it, too, but she tired almost right away, and her color wasn't good.

"Even minor surgery takes a lot out of you," Dana said, apologetically. She only picked at her dinner and made small talk about tennis and doctors and hospital food. 

"Really, I'm okay," she said, hanging onto the apartment door for support as she showed Shane and Carmen out after dinner. "I just need to rest up and get some sleep. Thanks for coming over."

Shane and Carmen got into Carmen's Jeep and had gone four blocks before either one of them said anything.

"Not good," Shane finally said quietly.

"No," Carmen agreed. "Not good. And she's not ready to talk about it, either."

"No," Shane said.

***

It was after nine when they pulled into the driveway, parking behind Moira's pickup. They went in through the back door and stopped dead as they entered the kitchen. There appeared to be no one home, but the TV was on in the living room. There were open bags of potato chips and Cheetohs, and beer bottles on the coffee table, sitting on the varnished wood in their own small circles of sweat. There were pans in the kitchen on the stove that hadn't been cleaned, and there were dishes in the sink and on the kitchen table.

"I don't believe this," Carmen said between gritted teeth. "I don't believe this. Look at this. Helloooo!" She yelled out "Is anybody here?"

"Fuck, Carmen!" Shane said, trying to calm her down but knowing it was already way too late for that.

"Can you guys come clean up your fucking mess?" Carmen shouted out, possibly to an empty house. But then Moira walked down the hallway from the bathroom.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 22



"Hi," Carmen said, not meaning it. "What is this? This looks like a fucking pigsty!" She swept her hands out, taking in all the mess in three rooms.

Moira looked chagrined, like a dog that knew it had done something unspeakable on the living room rug. "Sorry. We were just wa-"

But Carmen had already lost it. "No, you know what? I am sorry. I ... am really, really sorry, because I, apparently, don't know how to live in a frat house. This is disgusting, Moira."

Shane lurched forward between Carmen and Moira, calming Carmen down. "Okay, Carmen, Carmen, Carmen, come on." She put her hand on Carmen's shoulder. Carmen just stood with her eyes closed, counting to ten and trying to keep it together. "Where's Jenny?" Shane asked Moira.

"She went to the store to get a six-pack," Moira said.

Shane turned to Carmen, as though Carmen was deaf and hadn't heard. "She went to the store, she'll be back. They'll clean up," she said to Carmen.

"Great! Good! Yeah, leave that on the floor, too," Carmen said, pointing down at the kitchen floor where there was an empty pizza box. She stomped down the hallway to her room and slammed the door shut.

"We're were gonna clean it up," Moira said, trying to appeal to Shane. "We were just watching a movie. What's the big deal, anyway?" Shane didn't have an answer ready, and looked heavenward for guidance. None came.

***

"Carmen's been a bitch to Moira from the moment she met her," Jenny said, sitting on the couch in the waiting area just outside Shane's cubicle at Shane for Wax. She watched Shane sweep the floor. She had dropped by late the next afternoon after her shift to have a heart-to-heart with Shane. Shane had expected there would be an apology, but that didn't seem to be on Jenny's agenda.

"I don't think that's true," Shane said. 

"C'mon, she judged her without even getting to know her. Shane, Carmen's a snob, about the way she dresses, about what her job is—"

"Look, Carmen works really hard," Shane said, "and she expects people to pull their weight."

"Okay, and Moira's looking for a job," Jenny said. She ignored the fact that it had been nearly five weeks.

They were interrupted by one of Chase's guys, who called out, "Shane!"

Shane looked over. "'Kay, one second," she said, and turned back to Jenny. "That's great. Then Moira can pay her rent and Carmen can be happy."

"Hey, Shane," Jenny said. "Fuck Carmen. Okay? Moira shares my bedroom, she doesn't take up any space or Carmen's fucking business."

"Shane, you ready for ... " Chase's guy said.

"Yeah, yeah, one second." She turned to Jenny, "Look, I can't do this right now."

Jenny threw up her hands, hopelessly. "Great," she said, not meaning anything like it.

"All I can say is there's four people living in this house," Shane said, "we're sharing a kitchen, a bathroom, electricity, and that's a lot."

Jenny sat up, angry. "Fine. We'll split it four ways. I'll cover Moira 'til she gets on her feet, okay?" She stood up and turned away.

"Oh, come on," Shane said, pushing Jenny gently back down into the chair. Shane sat down on the arm of the chair next to her, looking at her, her hand down Jenny's back in a friendly way.

"What?" Jenny asked.

"Come on," Shane said quietly, shrugging and having one of her deeply inarticulate moments. "I don't know what to say about it."

After a moment, Jenny relented. Her shoulders sagged and her head bobbed as she slipped off the defensiveness and anger. "It's cool. Don't worry about it. Okay?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, we're cool." She sat up and turned toward Shane, and leaned in, and gave her a kiss on the cheek, a friend's kiss. "Have a very, very nice day," she said, and Shane had to laugh.

"You, too." Jenny got up and left, leaving Shane slumped in the chair. She needed a cigarette. Maybe even a joint, although that wasn't allowed at work; Chase would have a fit. Okay, then, just a cigarette and maybe a couple minutes in the halfpipe, letting her mind clear.

She was skateboarding in the half pipe a few minutes later, got off, and looked at her pocket watch. She saw Chase near one of the bay doors.

"Hey, Chase, have you heard from my six o'clock?"

"Oh, ah, that's uh, Cherie..." Chase said, coming over. He picked up Shane's appointment book off the counter in front of her bay door. He ran his finger down the page of appointments book for Shane. "Cherie ... Peroni," he said. It had been added to the schedule only two hours ago. Shane had agreed to stay late only because Chase said the client had begged Chase to make it happen.

"She's fucking late," Shane said.

"Do you want to set up that board?" Chase asked, referring to a new skateboard he wanted Shane to try out. They were talking about making it the official Shane McCutcheon model.

"You mean now? Well, if she doesn't show up, but let's wait a little bit."

Shane studied her appointment book, looking over tomorrow's schedule. She didn't notice someone come up behind her until a hand placed an open magazine spread in front of her. Shane recognized it as Alice's big feature on the opening of Shane for Wax in Left Coast magazine.

"Looks like a slammin' party," said the voice of the woman who held the magazine. "Sorry I missed it."

Shane turned, and stared into the face of Cherie Jaffe. "Cherie ... what the fuck?"

"That's a nice way to greet an old friend," Cherie said, coquettishly. She batted her eyelashes at Shane.

"I'm sorry, Cherie," she babbled, recovering from her shock. "How are you?"

"Good," Cherie said, smirking.

"Why are you here?"

"I have an appointment. To get my hair cut. You don't just do Mohawks do you?" She swept past Shane and headed toward the back, where Shane's chair was. "Because I don't think I'd look too good in a Mohawk," she added.

Shane still stood by the bay door. "Wait. So you're Cherie Peroni?"

"I'm divorced. I went back to my maiden name," she said, now facing Shane. "I wasn't gonna keep that fucker's name. But I certainly kept a shitload of his money." She sat down in Shane's barber chair and made a point of languidly crossing her legs. "Is this where you want me?" 

Shane understood just how dangerous a question that was, and chose to ignore it. "Yeah," was all she could manage. She reached for the barber cape and began to drape it around Cherie, who kept talking.

"Scumbag left me for his bookkeeper. She's about your age."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," Shane said, coming around to stand in front of Cherie.

"No, don't be sorry. You should have seen his face when the judge awarded me half his company." She reached up to remove Shane's sunglasses. "You look beautiful, by the way."

Shane felt her pulse begin to speed up. Her gaydar alarm was screaming like an air raid siren. She knew with total certainty that Cherie wasn't here for a haircut, that she was here because she wanted a Shanefuck. Just the way Cherie looked at her with those hungry eyes. And she felt the rising pain in her own chest, recalled the confusing feelings she herself had had for Cherie, feelings she had never been able to fully sort out, whether it was some sort of love, or what. And then it had gone to hell when Clea got that crush on her, and Cherie and Steve had gone berserk accusing Shane of fucking Clea, which was ironic as all hell since for once in her life Shane was innocent. But, hell yes, she remembered the afternoons fucking Cherie blind, being fucked blind herself. And now here she was again, a year later, wanting some more Shanelove.

Cherie's face was just inches away from her own. Something – her supernatural instincts – made Shane look up, and there, coming through the big bay door, was Carmen. Shane remembered they were going to an Indigo Girls concert, and that Carmen had said she would come by to pick Shane up. 

"Hey, baby, the reservations came for tonight," Carmen called out, coming into Shane's inner cubicle and seeing a customer in the chair. "You want me to wait for you out front?"

"Um, Carmen, this is Cherie. Cheri, this is Carmen."

Carmen froze. Shane had never said anything about the Cherie in her past ... but Jenny had. Alice had. In fact, Cherie had become part of the Shane legend. Carmen knew all about Cherie and every fiber of her Mayan genes called out a single word: enemy. But it wasn't Cherie who was the problem; it was the look on Shane's face. Guilt. Shane had that frightened, oh-shit-I've-been-caught-red-handed look on her face. It didn't matter that she hadn't actually done anything. This was all about Thoughtcrime. 

In the blink of an eye it seemed an entire telescoped conversation had taken place between Shane and Carmen: What'sshedoinghereCarmenIswearIddidn'tknow—Thisisthepredatorbitchwho¬ fuckedyouuplasttimeAreyoufuckingherNoIswearIdidn't¬ -Haveyoutoldheryou'reinvolvedwith¬ someonethatyou'vebeenlivingwithmeforeightmonthsNoIhavebarelysaidtwowordsto--WhyisshelookingatmethatwayCarmenIswearIdon't

"Carmen," Cherie said cooly, looking at Carmen up and down with an appraising eye: the lush, curvy body inside the chic but casual clothes; the raven hair; the gorgeously idiosyncratic face, the flawless caramel skin. 

Carmen ignored the Cherie bitch. She could handle a Cherie bitch with one arm tied behind her. It was Shane she looked at, the guilty look on Shane's face, and her temper flared. "Fuck you," she said quietly to Shane, but it might have applied to Cherie as well. She turned on her heel and strode quickly to the bay door. Shane ran after her, and caught her arm outside on the sidewalk.

"Carmen!"

"Let go of me! Stop it!" Carmen snapped, shaking her arm free.

But Shane wouldn't be denied and grabbed her shoulders. "Calm down, calm down! What's your problem?"

"Cherie Jaffe."

"Come on, I didn't know--"

"Bullshit!" Carmen spat.

"You don't believe me?" Shane said, getting angry now at being called a liar. "Go look at the book. Go look at my book, you don't believe me." She pointed to her appointment book on the counter.

Carmen stepped over and got the book and brought it back to Shane. Shane pointed to a name near the bottom of the page. "Cherie Peroni. What did you want me to do?"

"Whatever, that's not the point. Tell her to go fuck herself!" She looked at Shane with pleading eyes. "Act like you have a girlfriend!"

Because that was what this was about. What Carmen had seen was the way Shane was looking at Cherie, and the way Cherie was looking at Shane. Just seeing how they looked at each other was all the crime necessary for the jury to convict.

Carmen threw the appointment book down on the ground and stomped off. Shane watched her go before slowly returning to her barber chair.

"I'd say that she's your girlfriend," Cherie said archly.

"Yeah," Shane said weakly.

"Congratulations, Shane. She's pretty." She rose from the chair and gathered her purse. She leaned forward and whispered in Shane's ear, "But not as hot as you are. Why don't you come out to the beach this weekend? You can bring the girlfriend, if you want." She handed Shane a business card with the address of the beach house on it. "I'd rather see you by yourself. You and Frankie."

Then she was gone. Shane felt like she'd been gut-punched. She sat down in her chair, blew out a breath of air, and looked up at the heavens for help. But once again there was none.

***

Shane straightened up her work station and then closed it up for the night. Then she went and found Chase and asked him to give her a ride home. She assumed Carmen had left in her hissy fit, and whether she'd gone home or to the concert without Shane she didn't know. But as Chase pulled through the gate they saw Carmen's Jeep sitting across the street, and Carmen sitting in it. Shane got out of the car and told Chase thanks anyway.

"No problem," Chase said. "Good luck. Let me know if I can help."

Shane crossed the street and got into the passenger side of the Jeep. She sat looking straight forward. Carmen was talking on her cell phone and making notes on a small notebook she kept in her purse.

"Uh-huh, okay. Santee. That's way south of here ... where? ... oh, right. Sky Ranch ... so let me get this right, it's four consecutive Saturday nights, and you'll put me up at the hotel ... yes, it sounds like fun ... I think it's okay, but I'm in my car at the moment, let me just check my schedule when I get home and I'll get back to you ... .yes, you, too! Bye!"

Carmen put her cell phone away and sat staring straight ahead. "That was the banquet and entertainment manager at some resort conference center hotel down near San Diego. Somebody she knows saw me do the Russell Simmons Def Jam thing, and now they want me to DJ at their hotel for four Saturday nights in a row. It's terrific money, and they'll pay my travel and overnight hotel."

"Why didn't you say yes? And you know your schedule, you don't have to go home to check it."

"I wanted to ask you first. It'll mean four Saturday nights in a row. That means it will cancel out two of our Traveling Wilbury weekends, although you could come along, if you wanted to."

"When is it?"

"The first one is in two weeks."

Shane took out her cell phone and checked its appointment book feature. "I'm doing a wedding. That's our stay-home weekend, so I booked it."

"Okay," Carmen said.

They sat, both of them looking straight ahead.

"Look," Shane finally said. "I'm sorry, for whatever it was I did, but I don't think I did anything."

"I know you didn't, but I know who that was. That was Cherie Jaffe."

"I didn't know you knew her."

"I don't know her, I never met her. But I know about her. I know who she is."

"So what did they tell you?"

"Who?"

"Everybody. Jenny, Alice. Tina. Kit. Bette. Dana. I don't know, all of them or just one of them, it doesn't matter. I just wondered what they'd told you."

"Do you really want to discuss this?"

"Yeah, I do. But only because it seems to be really important to you, so yes. If getting past this means I have to talk about stuff I don't want to talk about, then I'll talk about it."

It took Carmen a moment to unravel that, but she understood what Shane had meant. Carmen softened just a little.

"First off, I need to tell you that I knew who Cherie Jaffe was before I ever met you, or Jenny and Alice or anybody else in the group. Don't forget, I live in Los Angeles, and I work in the movie industry. And, I might add, I'm a lesbian. You can't be all those things and not know who and what Cherie Jaffe is. She is to LA what Godzilla was to Tokyo, this predatory creature who just goes wherever she wants and takes whatever she wants, and destroys her toys when she's done with them. And I actually know who Steve Jaffe and Harry Samchuk are, because us production assistants get to see a lot of behind-the-scenes technical stuff. I've worked with equipment rented from their company, and I've worked on sites and locations they owned and rented. Remember the Rocking Horses From Hell video the Blind Rats did a couple years ago? I was one of the PA's on that job, and we did it in a studio they owned. Harry even came to the set and watched one afternoon. I hooked him up with a headphone. I knew all this about the Jaffe family before I ever met you."

"Okay, I understand," Shane said. "But then you still must have heard something about me and Cherie last year."

"Yes, I did. You may not believe this, but your friends were defending you."

"They were?"

"Yes. Jenny and I had gone to The Planet. I don't know where you were that day, but you weren't there. And somebody or other happened to mention that they saw some girl who was Cherie's daughter at some bar, hanging all over some girl, and somebody else said oh, shit, that's the girl who got Shane all fucked up with this girl's mother and what a fucking mess THAT was and then Alice gets all pissed off and fierce and she starts saying no, no no, Shane didn't fuck the daughter even though the daughter lied and said she did, and blah blah blah, Shane was fucking Cherie Jaffe but no, she never touched the daughter, and the daughter was a lying scumbag who lied precisely because Shane wouldn't do her. And it caused this huge blow-up and the girl's parents threatened to have you killed and a bunch of shit like that, and Alice was all indignant, you know how she gets when she has a full head of steam."

Shane grunted.

"So anyway, Jenny is sitting there and she says, yeah, all that happened just when she was getting over that thing with Marina and whatshername--"

"--Francesca--"

"Whatever. So Jenny says, yes, Shane was really hurt by that whole thing, because Cherie was the first woman Shane ever had some real feelings for. And then there was this long discussion about whether you were actually in love with Cherie, or was it just this crazy crush thing, or was it just a sex thing, because up until then you never had a relationship that lasted longer than a weekend, and here you'd been fucking Cherie for a month or two, which broke all the records for you. And they couldn't figure out what the attraction was, because Cherie was a rich-bitch bi predator party MILF who wasn't your type at all. Not that you even have a type, because you don't. But anyway Cherie seemed to have fallen for you, which at least they could understand, because a thousand others have, too. But what was different was you fell for her."

"I see."

"Do you? Well, that's what I knew. You had this thing for Cherie Jaffe, maybe it was love and maybe it wasn't, and in any case she was bad news, and she hurt you. The fact that she hurt you, especially when Jenny and Alice say you didn't do anything with the daughter, puts Cherie on my permanent shit list. And then there she was, sitting in your salon chair and just about to play kissy face when I walked in. And it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to see the sparks flying between you."

"I don't know what to say," Shane said, no more likely now to be able to process everything and come up with an answer than ever. Carmen understood this.

"I accept that you didn't know she was coming. I was wrong about that, and I over-reacted. She sandbagged you. I apologize. But Shane, I SAW the way you two were looking at each other."

"I'm sorry," Shane said weakly, but she meant it.

"I know you are," Carmen said. "I know."

They sat for a minute.

"So," Carmen said, "we still going to the concert?"

"Whatever you want to do," Shane said.

"I think we need to go. I think we need to put some time and distance on this thing. I think going home right now and glaring at each other isn't a good idea."

"Okay," Shane said.

Carmen turned the key and started the Jeep.

***

They were cool toward each other all week, over-compensating with politeness and more-than-usual solicitude, as couples often do after they've had a fight. And there might have been an opportunity for some really good make-up sex, except for two factors. The first was Carmen's. She knew she had a quick mouth that sometimes got her in trouble when she spoke without thinking. What no one knew was how much Carmen regretted such incidents, and how much she beat herself up over them afterward. She truly felt bad, and her anger at herself lingered longer than it might in other people. It was one of her few faults that she was slow to forgive, and she forgave herself least of all, with consequences to her normally vigorous libido. She had falsely accused Shane of some sort of complicity in having Cherie show up at the salon, she had thrown a hissy, and had thrown down Shane's appointment book when she had been proven wrong. She tore herself up over that, even though she had been dead right about the other part: Shane and Cherie were a split-second away from kissing, and Carmen knew what she had seen. But could she have handled that part of it better? Did she need to fly off the handle? Could she have shriveled Cherie with, say, icy disdain? Contempt? Maybe fake politeness and overwhelming confidence that she was not only a better lover than Cherie – and she was – but that she was also a better partner for Shane-- as she was. The truth was, she was not at all sure that if she went toe-to-toe with Cherie that she would have won. Carmen had everything to lose, and Cherie – nothing. So even on the part she was right about, Shane's near-miss near-kiss, she flailed herself with recrimination and doubt.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 23



Chapter 23 The Morning After

Carmen was asleep on the living room couch and didn't hear the front door open or close, but she heard the squeak of a floorboard and knew Shane was standing near the door, trying to be silent and invisible. She didn't know what time it was, but it was daylight, a lot of it. 

Without turning, Carmen asked quietly, "Did you fuck her?" She rolled over, sat up and looked at Shane, who stood frozen in the middle of the living room. In a way, the question was simply rhetorical, to get it on the record. In her heart, Carmen already knew.

Shane hung her head. Busted. 

Well, that answered that. Carmen stood and went into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. Shane walked down the hall to her room, took off her tuxedo jacket, and went to the bathroom to take a piss, and to remove her strap-on, which she put back in her dresser drawer behind her clean underwear. There was roaring in her head, but nothing unusual about that. She had no idea what to say or do. She was exhausted. She'd had maybe an hour of sleep.

When she went back to the kitchen she found a mug of coffee waiting for her on the table. She slumped down in her chair, her hand around the warmth of the coffee cup. Carmen was standing near the sink looking out the window.

"Are you in love with her?" Carmen asked, again quietly.

"No!" Shane insisted. How could Carmen think that?

But Carmen was equally insistent. "Are you sure?"

"Yuh."

Carmen poured herself a cup of coffee.

Shane knew this wasn't over by any means, but she tried feebly to shut it down. "Please, Carmen, I don't want to make this into a big deal." Big mistake. It lit Carmen up. 

"You go all the way over to somebody's beach house and you fuck 'em 'til the sun comes up, and you're asking menot to make it into a big fucking deal?" 

"You were practically coming all over those two Def Jam guys!" Shane shot back. 

"That was work!" Carmen said, her anger building. Ah, so that's what this was about.

"You were—"

"That was work, and you fucking know it!" Carmen turned and glared at her, but then a thought struck her. Her voice softened. "Are you jealous?"

"No! I'm not fucking jealous." Uh, another mistake. Just leave it alone. "It just made me sad." You should have left it alone, Shane told herself, way too late.

"Oh, you were so fucking sad that you go off and you fuck Cherie Jaffe? Shane, what kind of a psychotic response isthat?"

"I guess I'm really fucked up in that way."

Carmen didn't say anything, just looked out the window. Her tone softened again, because inside her head she was telling herself to calm down. "Are you hungry?"

The change in tone surprised Shane, whose processing was usually hours behind. Right now she wasn't hours behind, she was days behind. "Yeah. Starving."

"You are?" Carmen's tone was almost ... gentle.

"Yeah."

Carmen went to the refrigerator, sniffling. She took a big cardboard box out of the refrigerator and put it on the stove top. "We've got some pizza." 

She took a slice out, but then the anger wave hit her. "You want sausage or fucking pepperoni?" she yelled, scraping off a handful of toppings and throwing them at Shane.

"Fuck, Carmen!" Shane shouted, jumping up and shielding herself from the incoming. 

"'Cause, if that's what you want, it's just fucking meat, if that's what you want!"

"Sometimes it is!" Shane blurted out, angry now, too, because the simple truth didn't require any processing, but it was just oh so far on the wrong side of this there was no way out.

"In that case, you should have no fucking problem with me going out and fucking whoever I want!"

Shane stared at her. It was a stopper. She had never considered that maybe Carmen would, in fact, ever be the unfaithful one. Carmen fucking somebody else. The idea wouldn't have occurred to Shane in a thousand years, which was completely the opposite of what had made Shane so upset at watching her flirt with the Def Jam guys. And yet it was such a simple idea: Turn-about is fair play. It was a rule understood in every childhood playground, yet for some reason it didn't work all that well with adults. If the rules allowed her to fuck Cherie Jaffe, Carmen ought to be allowed to fuck the Def Jam guys, right? Not that it was really ever going to happen. But what about somebody else?

Carmen stomped out of the kitchen, but she was so angry she turned around and stomped back in again. She pulled the chair out opposite Shane so forcefully it made Shane flinch. She sat down and folded her arms tightly in front of her. 

"Look, I'm furious for a whole bunch of reasons, but here's a couple of them," Carmen said, looking Shane in the face. "Those guys I was flirting with? Especially Roland, remember him? Shane, those people had penises. I don't do penises. You know that. Did you see the packages they had down the front of their track suits? Roland must have had a whole kielbasa stuffed in there. Did you see him?"

Shane said nothing.

"Shane, I'm asking you a question. Did you see the size of the package in his pants? Shane?"

"I saw it," she said, not looking up.

"Shane, I'm not fucking Federal Express. I don't do packages, any more than you would. What totally boggles my mind is that you know this about me. I can understand people getting all jealous and fucked up when their lover seems to be cheating with somebody else. In a way it can even be kind of flattering that you care so much. I get that part of it. But Shane, if you're ever gonna get bent out of shape about me and somebody, the one you're gonna have to worry about will most likely be some shy, quiet, twenty-something girlie-girl with nice, modest tits and a cute smile. Who knows, she might even look a little bit andro, or maybe not. But no big, strapping butch in a flannel shirt, and most of all, Shane, no real, live, testosterone-fueled, one-eyed trouser snakes. You know I hate snakes anyway, and I can't think of anything more likely to turn me off than some misogynistic superstud with a lance in his pants who thinks he's gonna find a home for it in this senorita's panochota."

And anyway, Carmen thought to herself, if I was going to cheat on you and have an affair, you'd never know about it. I sure as hell wouldn't throw myself all over some P. Diddy Wannabe and his posse, not in front of a room full of people, and sure as hell not in front of my lover, the person I've lived with and fought so hard to win and keep and heal. No. If something was going to happen, even you, with your supernatural powers of observation, would never know about it. It would be the stealth fuck of the century.

"The second thing is, yeah, I was flirting with them, Shane. I admit that, and if it bothered you I'm sorry. But it's just like they say in The Godfather, it's just business, Mikey. By night and some weekends I'm La Pica, the smokin' hot Latina DJ, and it's how I earn some of my paychecks. You already know all this, too, but I guess I gotta say it anyway. When I'm up on that stage I wear my hot little booty shorts and my push-up bra, and yeah, I give 'em the booty, and the cleavage, the titty show, and the big smile, and I flirt outrageously, because it's all just part of the act. I bet that you, of all people, wouldn't bat an eye if I was a topless pole dancer stuffing dollar bills in my G-string. But I don't go anywhere near that far, Shane. And no, it doesn't matter to me one damn bit whether my audience is straight or gay, black or white or brown, gringo or gringa, they all get hot DJ La Pica. I'm an equal opportunity entertainer, and my job is to make people happy by having a good time and dancing to the music. Shane, I flirt shamelessly with 85-year-old men in nursing homes, men who are wearing Depends and haven't had erections in forty years. And that's all it is, just flirting, and it's where my job stops. Nobody touches me, not ever. Whatever they think in their heads, their masturbation fantasies, their jack-off dreams, that's got nothing to do with who I am. But you know me when I'm not working, and you know that hot tamale up on the stage showing cleavage to the playahs, you know that isn't the real me. Don't you?"

Again Shane said nothing.

"Shane? Do you think that's the real me up on that stage? You think I'm a slut? Some cock-hungry party girl? You really worried I might actually D-P two gangstas?"

"No," Shane whispered.

"Correct answer. Now let's switch teams. Have you ever seen me flirt too far for your comfort level with anybody who had a pussy? Shane?"

"No."

"Well, thank you. Thank you for acknowledging that. Now here's the last thing. If you want to run off and fuck some pathetic Beverly Hills Desperate Housewife, go do it, but don't lay it off on me as being my fault, that anything I did made you go do it. Just go fuck her and don't get caught, don't ever let me find out about it, don't come crawling home with her lipstick on your nipples and a hickey on your ass and expect me to pretend I'm blind and can't smell her pussy on your face. Don't come home with AIDS or any other STD you picked up in a toilet stall in a leather bar. If you're gonna do it make fucking sure I never find out about it and I don't catch anything. Am I making myself clear? Shane?"

"Yes," Shane whispered. "But I'm not--"

"I don't want to hear it!" Carmen said. 

Carmen got up from the table and started cleaning up pizza shrapnel. There was a glop of tomato sauce on Shane's sleeve. Carmen left it where it was.

***

Later. Shane sat on the back porch steps, smoking a cigarette and reading the newspaper when Carmen came out of the house with a large dictionary in her hand. She had changed out of her DJ costume from the night before, and wore a black tank top, black Capri pants, and her funky classic Uggs her mother had given her for Christmas that she loved so much. She opened the book in the middle, turned a few pages and studied a passage.

"Okay, we're talking monogamy. It is a noun. And it is the condition or practice of having a single mate during a period of time--"

"I get it, Carmen," Shane said.

"Wait a minute, I just want to make sure you and I both know what we're talking about here. Um. Oh. Listen to this." She began to read from the book. "'Monogamy is common among birds.'" 

"That's great, because I love birds," Shane said. She knew she was just going to have to endure this.

"'It is the practice of having a single mate during a period of time,'" Carmen read. She closed the book and set it down on the picnic table on the back porch, next to their barbecue grill. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"I'm willing to try," Shane said. 

Carmen bit her lip and slowly turned away. That made Shane angry now herself. She stood up. "Is that not enough? I'm willing to try something that doesn't come naturally to me? And that I don't understand, but I'm willing to try it?"

"Um, hm, right," Carmen said, picking up a small fire extinguisher they kept on the deck next to the barbecue grill. "Birds, Shane. I'm talking about a goddam fucking bird, asking you to be as civilized as a goddam fucking bird."

Shane looked at the fire extinguisher in Carmen's hands. "Don't," she said, as Carmen began to gently shake up the fire extinguisher.

"Really? Don't do it?"

"No."

"I shouldn't do it. It's wrong. It's completely irresponsible--" She hit the lever and sprayed Shane with a huge cloud of dry chemical powder. Shane yelped and tried to crouch out of the way. Carmen stood there laughing as the cloud dissipated. Shane stood motionless like a nicely snowflaked beignet, glaring at Carmen. Had the fucking woman lost her fucking mind? 

Just then Alice came through the house and came to the back door. "Knock, knock," she said, standing in the doorway. Carmen turned to her. "Hi!" she said, warmly and friendly, like nothing whatsoever had just happened.

"Hi, weirdos," Alice said, regarding Shane covered in the cloud of powder and the fire extinguisher in Carmen's hand. "Still trying to get her to quit smoking?"

"Ah, ya know," Carmen said. "Just a little talk about monogamy."

"Oh. Yeah," Alice said, as though that explained it all. "Yeah. One of those."

Shane spit powder and dust out of her mouth. "A fucking expert," she said angrily. Alice's mouth puckered. "Didja know birds mate for life," she asked Alice.

Alice thought about that. "Hey. Do you know anything about bats?" She looked from Shane to Carmen.

"Bats? Bats, bats, bats, bats," Carmen pondered. "No." 

"Too bad," Alice said, "because I got bitten!" She turned her head to the side, revealing bite marks on the side of her neck.

"What?" Carmen laughed. She went to Alice and looked at the marks. "Oh, my ... ." She remembered now that last night Alice had introduced her date, a pretty, dark-eyed woman, a bit Goth, whose name Carmen didn't remember. Rita? Uta? Kata? Something like that.

"Don't be jealous," Alice said.

"My god!" Carmen laughed, looking at the bite mark on the side of Alice's neck.

"Okay, but don't laugh, because I could really be one of the undead, like, in two days."

"Al!" Carmen laughed. Shane looked at Alice like she'd lost her mind, as Carmen had, and it had become contagious. 

"And do my eyes look a little black?" Alice removed her sunglasses as Carmen laughed again. "I'm serious."

"No!" Carmen said. "Come on, Al. You got embraced."

"Sure did," Alice said demurely, batting her eyelashes and grinning.

"No," Carmen giggled, "it's called a vampire's embrace. There's these lesbian vampire Goth cults. So what they do is they pick a victim, they take 'em home, seduce 'em. Fuck 'em bliiiiind--"

"And how!"

"—and then they bite your neck."

"It was the best sex I've ever had. In my whole life," Alice said. "I came, like, nine thousands times." She looked at Shane, who looked at Carmen. "Ya hear that, Shane? Like, nine thousand. Orgasms."

"Fantastic, Alice," Shane said, with all the enthusiasm characteristic of the Undead.

"And then I threw Dana out when I got home."

"You threw Dana out?" Shane asked.

"That point-of-sale promotional cutout? The foam core silhouette?" Alice moved her hands as to show a human shape. "She's gone."

"Congratulations," Carmen said.

"Thank you." She paused and looked at Shane and Carmen. "So, I'm gonna go to the Sleater-Kinney concert tonight, with Uta. Are you guys coming?"

"I don't know," Shane said pointedly and looking at Carmen to see if the Smokey the Bear Fire Prevention effort was still in effect. "Are we?"

"Only if you manage to clean up your act by then," Carmen said.

"Yeah, Shane, you really should quit smoking," Alice said.

"Mm-hmm" Carmen added.

"It's gross." Alice said. Shane stared at them.

***

After Alice left Shane went into the house to shower off all the fire extinguisher powder. She stripped off her clothes in the bathroom and climbed into the shower. She felt like shit. She felt like crying, something she almost never did. She knew she'd fucked up, and she felt horrible about it, but the right words just couldn't come out. Maybe there were no right words. She stood under the shower, letting the water beat down on her head. She felt so miserable she did start crying.

Carmen came into the bathroom to get some aspirin out of the medicine cabinet. She'd given herself a headache over this thing, but she knew the headache was the least of her problems at the moment. What was she going to do? Had she gone too far? 

This whole "cheating" thing. Monogamy. Being faithful. So far as she knew, no one had ever cheated on her before ... but then, most of her previous relationships had been, well, unconventional, to say the least, although being a lesbian had nothing to do with it. Lucia had been sleeping with Pablo all along, but she made no bones about it and Carmen not only knew about it, she had watched them from her window. If anything, Carmen had been the one who was cheating, she had been the one who had helped Lucia cuckhold Pablo. And she had known at the time exactly what she'd been doing, she and Lucia. So she was a fine one to talk about being faithful. 

Then there was Sister Rosario. Talk about being unfaithful. Madre. She had helped Sister Rosario cheat on an entire international religion. She had helped her cheat on the Pope. On God herself.

Had she simply expected too much of Shane? God knows, Shane was just about the least monogamous woman on earth. Was it unfair of her to have expected something different from Shane? Was it unrealistic? Shane had slept with a thousand women, for crying out loud; was it simply insanity on her part to think Shane would suddenly change into something she wasn't, and had never really ever been? Maybe the fact that Shane had gone eight months faithful to one single partner had been more miracle than anyone had a right to expect. And what was this thing women had with Bad Boys (even when the Bad Bois were andro girls)? Why did women think they could "fix" these Bad Boys, change them, "cure" them? Sometimes even a Mayan jaguar goddess wasn't enough help to keep somebody's zipper zipped.

"Carmen?"

Carmen looked into the bathroom mirror, and saw Shane looking at her through the transparent shower curtain. Water streamed down Shane's face, but Carmen could still see there were tears there, too. Shane looked so miserable. So beaten down. So full of hurt.

"Yeah?"

"I made a mistake," Shane whispered, and then her voice broke. "And I ... I can't say that ... it won't happen again ... without being a fuck-up and a liar." She turned and parted the curtain to face Carmen directly. "But I want to try." Carmen looked at her, listening to the sorrow in Shane's voice. "You're the first person I want to make that ... I want to make that promise to."

Carmen turned and looked at her. She felt the pain in her own heart seem to ... change. She could see Shane was hurting, hurting so bad.

Carmen walked to the tub and looked into Shane's eyes. What she saw there was remorse. Sorrow. Carmen felt her own heart finally melt. She reached down, pulled her top off, kicked off her Uggs, unfastened her bra, dropped her pants and panties. She stepped through the shower curtain and enfolded Shane in her arms. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Shane said, crying, as Carmen cried, too.

***

When they got to the Sleater-Kinney concert there was no sign of Alice, but that didn't mean much of anything, not at first. They switched their cell phones to vibrate, and went in to find their seats. During the opening number, Shane felt her phone vibrate and looked at the caller ID. She ignored it, but a moment later it vibrated again. When she looked she saw a text message had come in: "@ CedarSinai w Dana. Ver sic. Come quik."

"I gotta call Alice," Shane whispered to Carmen. "They're at the hospital." She was gone and hurrying up the aisle to the lobby before Carmen could ask what was up.

In the lobby near the bar Shane called Alice's cell.

"Hey, what's going on?" Shane asked.

"It's Dana," Alice said. "She's really sick. When I went to pick her up she was on the floor, and I had to call the paramedics. They took her to the hospital, and I rode in the ambulance with her."

"What happened to her?" 

"I don't know. They're still trying to figure it out. I think it has to do with that procedure she had the other day, maybe some reaction to the drugs or something."

"Is she conscious? What did she say?"

"She was mostly out of it when I got there, and then the paramedics put this oxygen mask on her, and she couldn't talk, and when we got to the hospital you know how it is, you have to wait outside while they all rush in and do whatever. So as of this moment I still don't know. But can you guys come over? I hate to ask you, in the middle of the concert, but I'm really scared—"




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 23



"Fuck the concert," Shane said, "we'll be right there."

"Okay, would you call everybody else and tell them what's going on? We're in the ER, and I think they're going to admit her, so you'll have to track us down. Call me or text me when you get here and I'll tell you where we are."

"Right, got it." Shane snapped her cell shut and suddenly felt herself loosing it. All her sixth and seventh and eighth senses kicked in, all her radars. She felt a sense of dread, and suddenly found herself crying. She pulled herself together and hurried back down the aisle, caught Carmen's attention, and signaled to her to come out.

"What is it? Is she hurt? What happened?" Carmen whispered as they hurried up the aisle.

***

Carmen raced down Robertson Boulevard to Cedars-Sinai, which was only half a dozen blocks from the Abbey, while Shane worked her cell phone. She got Bette and Tina, and Jenny and Kit's phones went into voice-mail mode, so she left voice-mails and text messages for them. Carmen found a parking garage near the ER, and they hurried inside. There were several people in front of them at the reception desk, and while they waited, Kit arrived. There was some confusion about exactly where Dana and Alice were, and it took a few minutes to learn they had immediately transferred Dana up to the cancer center on the sixth floor, rather than a bay in the ER. As they were leaving the ER and heading toward the cancer ward they saw Bette coming in, and she joined them as they made their way to the right floor and the right department. When they arrived they were shunted into a small waiting room.

After an hour, Alice came and found them.

"Alice!" Shane called out, the first to see her coming down the hall.

Alice came and was hugged by Bette, who said, "Honey, you must be so exhausted."

"She's really sick," Alice said.

"What happened?" Tina asked. "I thought it was a benign lump."

"She didn't tell us the truth," Alice said, "and it's a lot worse than they thought. And the cancer spread."

"Ah, fuck!" Kit whispered. "Fuck." Bette rubbed her sister's arm.

"You guys want to see her?" Alice asked. They did, and Alice led them to Dana's room. Lara sat on the far side of the room, holding Dana's hand. 

"Hi," Jenny said meekly as they filed in. Dana's eyes were barely open, but she smiled weakly.

"Hey, Dana," Carmen said softly.

It took her a moment, and finally Dana said, "Hi," only it wasn't even a whisper. It was barely even a breath.

"What you doin' in here, baby girl," Kit said gently. Bette came forward to stand alongside Dana's bed. She took Dana's left hand. "Dana," she said, "sweetie. We love you. Do you know that? We love you."

"Yeah," Dana whispered.

***

They decided to go to the hospital's food court, located at street level in the medical complex's south tower, and which stayed open until midnight. Nobody was very hungry, but they got coffees or sodas, and pulled two tables together so they could talk. They were somber, and nobody wanted to talk first, so Carmen decided to become the moderator.

"Okay," she said, "Alice? Lara? Can one of you tell us what the fuck is going on? Because it's pretty apparent we're all in the dark. I'm not saying I'm mad at anybody; I'm not. But it's clear we've been lied to. I don't care about the lies, or who told them. I just want to know the truth."

Alice and Lara looked guiltily at each other. 

"I guess it's my fault," Lara began.

"Lara," Carmen interrupted, but her voice was kind and consoling. "I don't care about fault. I'm not blaming you or anyone else. I get it that Dana didn't want us all to know things. That's all behind us now. It's not about fault. Just tell us what happened."

"She had a mastectomy," Lara said. "A radical mastectomy. And it looks like they didn't get it in time."

"She told us the lump was benign," Shane said. 

"She said the surgery was no big deal," Bette added.

Lara and Alice looked at each other. Alice clearly wanted to talk, but it was also clear that she had a tight grip on her mouth, and was deferring to Lara, who was Dana's partner.

"It wasn't benign," Lara said. "I was actually the one who found it ... well, I won't go into that. But I said, you have to have this looked at, and she did. And the biopsy came back positive. So she made me swear to keep it secret. They gave her the diagnosis and the options. It was something called invasive ductal carcinoma. It's the most common type of breast cancer, over half of all cases are this kind. They call it IDC."

"I've read about it," Bette said. The others nodded.

"Anyway, she wanted a mastectomy right away, so that was the surgery she had. The one she told you guys was nothing. Well, that was it. And ... " Lara choked up and had trouble finishing.

"She thought she could bluff her way through it," Alice said. "She thought she was this real tough tennis jock, and a mastectomy was nothing, and she could take a couple days off and then it would be all gone, and everything would be okay. But that was wrong." Alice was tearing up, too.

"So anyway," Lara picked up, wiping her runny nose, "the secrecy thing. That mostly wasn't about you guys. It was mainly about the media, reporters and tennis officials and tournament people. She didn't want them all finding out Dana Fairbanks had breast cancer, or had a mastectomy. She thought it would really set back her career, even if her physical recovery was fine. She didn't want to be known as the tennis player with one tit. I know that sounds stupid, but that's how she felt."

"She didn't want her family to know, either," Alice said. "You know how they are. They'd be over her house every day and every night, they'd call every twenty minutes, and her mother would be flying in specialists from the Mayo Clinic and the Vatican and God knows where. It would be a circus. And unfortunately, I gotta say, Dana was right about that. It would have been a nightmare. Probably the media thing, too. So she went into this big denial thing, like it never happened."

"So, not telling all you guys," Lara said, "it wasn't so much about not telling you, but more like not telling the media, and not telling her family, and living the bluff, and not telling you guys was kind of ... I don't know ... a side effect. Keeping it contained, that's what she said. She didn't want you guys to know, because that would have broken the facade. She wouldn't have been able to carry off the charade if you guys knew the truth."

"So not telling us, that helped her to not tell anybody else," Shane said quietly.

"Yes. Exactly. That's it exactly. And believe me, she felt bad about it." Lara said.

"But what about treatment?" Carmen asked. "Didn't she need follow-up? Chemo? Radiation?"

"Well, yeah," Alice said sarcastically. "See, that's what went wrong with the plan. She started the chemo, and it kicked her ass. It was way tougher than she thought it would be. Like I said, she thought she was this tough jock. The funny thing was, when she had the lump, she felt perfectly fine, and she even won that tournament. Then, they do the mastectomy, and Dana thinks, okay, all I have to do is take the medicine. And the medicine turned out to be far worse than the disease."

"Well, except that the disease was going to kill her," Jenny said quietly.

"It metastasized," Lara said. "The chemo and the radiation, they cripple your immune system. They kill the fucking cancer, and you die of something stupid, like a common cold or something."

They all knew it was more complicated than that, but no one argued.

***

Cedars-Sinai kept Dana for three days, and got her healthy enough and strong enough to go home. Lara told the group Dana didn't want to make a big deal out of coming home, so the group all nodded and said yes, they understood, and so they made a medium-sized deal out of it. 

Carmen noticed that Shane took the news of Dana's condition a lot harder and more seriously than she would have guessed. On the way home from the hospital Shane had not only been even quieter than usual, but Carmen noticed Shane was on the verge of tears. Her eyes were watery and she sniffled.

"You okay?" Carmen had asked quietly when they pulled up at a stoplight. 

"Yeah," Shane whispered.

"'Yeah' means 'No,'" Carmen said. "Shane, talk to me." Then she let Shane work on it.

After a block, Shane said, "I always thought of her ... "

"Yes?"

"I always thought she was so tough. The athlete thing. They cut off her tit. I don't care about the lies. But she's so much sicker than we thought. And ... I get this really bad vibe from her. I'm afraid ... ." There was nothing more.

"You're afraid we could lose her."

"Yes."

"Me, too," Carmen said. She didn't tell Shane she'd picked up the same vibe. And of course she couldn't tell Shane that she'd discussed Dana's condition with Ixchel, who had sadly shaken her head.

"It's very bad," Ixchel had said. 

"Is there anything we can do? You can do? I can do?" Carmen had asked, but the jaguar had only flicked her long tail.

"Be her friend," Ixchel said. "There is nothing more."

"Is she going to die?" Carmen asked.

"We've been over this," Ixchel had said. "I'm not a fortune teller, I don't predict the future. I diagnose, and I try to cure. My powers are very limited, and I can only help one person at a time. It's why I couldn't do anything for Jenny. It stretches the limits of my power to help you keep Shane healthy and stable, despite all her self-destructiveness. And anyway, my cures are all holistic, and herbal remedies. Remember, I'm an ancient goddess, not a modern one. I'm not an oncologist, and I'm not a surgeon."

"I know," Carmen had said. "I guess I'm still stuck on some of my childhood notions of Catholicism. Praying to saints and expecting miracle cures, and things."

"And what was their cure rate? How often did those miracles occur? There is a reason they called them miracles," Ixchel said. "They happen once in a million times."

"I know," Carmen said. "What can I do for Shane?"

"Same thing. Be her friend. Comfort her. Be tolerant and understanding."

"I had no idea she and Dana were that close."

"What you have to remember is how sensitive Shane is. How she picks up vibes and feelings so strongly and so much more often and more deeply than most other people do, and how it takes her so much longer to process all that information. Aren't you concerned and worried about Dana?"

"Sure, of course I am."

"Well, so is Shane, but five or ten times more so. That's just how she is. You're worried about Dana. Shane is worried, times ten. You're afraid, and so is Shane, but times ten. You've picked up this bad vibe about Dana. So has Shane—"

"Times ten," Carmen finished Ixchel's sentence for her.

"Yes. And this is why you and I have to work so hard on your relationship with Shane. Everything is amplified, magnified. You are doing the emotional work of dealing with not one woman, but who knows, five, six, eight women, whatever the degree of amplification is. It isn't a criticism of Shane. She is what she is, and you've chosen to love her. That's good. But it requires so much more from you than it would if you were in love with someone ... simpler. Less complex. If you were in love with Helena or Tina or Kit, it would be like a walk in the park compared to Shane."

"What about Bette?" 

"Bette would be a little harder, but not too much. Maybe almost as much as Jenny. Jenny and Alice are both high-maintenance girlfriends. So is Bette to some extent, but nowhere near as difficult as Shane. Shane is no maintenance, the polar opposite of Alice, but just as hard to deal with. She's not needy, she's lack of needy. She's self-contained and doesn't think she needs love and affection, like other people do. If you hadn't come along, she'd have gone on the rest of her life, happily fucking two or three girls a week, never falling in love, never having a relationship. Except for the sex, that's anti-needy. The trouble is, when somebody's in love a reasonable and moderate amount of maintenance comes with the territory."

"Sometimes ..."

"Yes?"

"Sometimes I think about what it would be like, to be in love with someone else. Somebody less ... complicated."

"That's normal. Everyone does that, even if the lover of the moment is easier or harder to love. Sometimes it's just simple lust, or curiosity, and sometimes it can be even more. Sometimes you have this view that monogamy is easy, simple. For you, monogamy is easy, most of the time. For others it can be much, much harder, and for some people it is impossible."

"Sometimes I think that about Shane."

"It is extremely difficult for her. First, it's not in her nature. Second, after well over a decade of having random meaningless sex with hundreds and hundreds of women, it has become a habit. So both nature and nurture are working against her. Or rather, against you. You and me. We've always had our work cut out for us, ever since that first moment you walked into Arianna Huffington's dressing room." 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm up to it. If I'm strong enough."

"Even being a deity, I can't answer that," Ixchel said. "But I can tell you this. You are the most loving, most skilled, most compassionate person I've ever worked with. Ever met, even. You are the most sensual and sexual woman I've ever known, and you put one hundred percent of yourself into this relationship. I don't know if you can make this love work, but I do know that if you can't, then no one on the face of the earth can do it."

"Do you really think that?"

Ixchel flicked her tail in annoyance. "Have I ever bullshit you?"

"No."

"Then that's your answer. And there's something else."

"What's that?"

"Do you remember when you asked Shane if she was in love with Cherie Jaffe, and Shane said no?"

"I remember. I'm still not sure she was telling the truth."

"She was telling the truth insofar as she understood it," Ixchel said. "But do you know why she wasn't in love with Cherie Jaffe?"

"No."

"Because when she first met Cherie, Shane didn't know how. She didn't know what love was, and she didn't know how to bein love. Despite all the women she'd fucked in her past, she hadn't learned how to love any of them. Remember, love scares the shit out of her. So no, she didn't love Cherie Jaffe, but she had all these complicated feelings for her. If you put all those feeling into a basket and gave them to someone else, it would have been love, no question about it. But in Shane, all those feelings, mixed with all those fears, and all those habits she'd learned, it meant that those feelings never came together or solidified into what we'd call love. So no, Shane didn't love Cherie Jaffe a year ago, and she didn't love her last month. But she did still have most of those feelings."

"I was afraid of that. And I could sense it."

"The good news for you is that Shane picked just about the very last person on earth who might have taught her how to love, how to put all those feelings together, and that was Cherie. A promiscuous, self-absorbed, narcissistic, spoiled, cougar MILF? It was an impossible relationship from the very beginning. There was no way Cherie was going to give up her lifestyle and her marriage to fall in love with Shane, much less teach Shane to love her back. And that's even assuming Cherie had the ability to teach Shane how to love."

"So ... she does have this thing for Cherie?" 

"Thing? Yes, but you needn't be concerned. Because that's all it is, this nameless, shapeless, unidentifiable 'thing.' Because Shane is finally learning how to love somebody, as awkward and unskillful as she still might be. And it wasn't Cherie Jaffe who taught her how. It was you."

Carmen didn't know what to say.

"Don't think about the sex, the fucking. That isn't love. Think about the romance and how lovers behave. Do you see Shane and Cherie taking long walks on the beach and holding hands in the moonlight? Walking in the rain? Whispering sweet nothings? Gazing soulfully into each other's eyes by candlelight over dinner in some cozy bistro up the coast in Carmel?"

Carmen laughed.

"Exactly," Ixchel said. She flicked her long tail, got up, walked around in a circle, and laid back down, as cats, even big ones, sometimes do. "It was you who taught Shane how to do those things."

Carmen looked at her hands, knowing it was true.

"There is something else to consider."

"What's that?" Carmen asked.

"There's a parallel. Shane isn't the only person with a complicated but impossible love affair in her past. In that regard, you and Shane were in exactly the same place. Tell me, how do you feel about Sister Rosario? Don't you still have all these residual feelings about her?"

"I ... um ... well, I see, I guess."

"The feelings Shane had for Cherie Jaffe last month are much like the feelings you have for your old lover, Sister Rosario. And you may always have those feelings for Sister Rosario, although they'll gradually fade away over time. And Shane may always have those complicated feelings for Cherie, and they'll fade away over time, too, just like yours will."

"I guess."

"That relationship of yours was also doomed from the start. Were you and Sister Rosario ever going to walk together on the beach holding hands, stroll through a summer shower, gaze into each other's eyes by candlelight?"

Carmen understood the answer was no.

"Did you ever entertain fantasies of you and Sister Rosario moving in together, and living the rest of your lives together as a warm, loving, committed couple, growing old together? Maybe raise children? Did you ever for one moment believe she'd give up the church, her marriage to Jesus, for you?"

Again, Carmen said nothing.

"It was an affair, that's all it was, but it had no future, and you would have realized that if you'd ever stopped to think about it, and no one would blame you if you didn't, because you were infatuated, and that's how crushes like that go. Tell me this. If Sister Rosario came through that door right now, if she walked up to you and took you in her arms, and if she kissed you, and took your hand and put it inside her blouse, on her breast. Do you think you would remain loyal and true and monogamous with Shane? Would you tell Sister Rosario that it's been lovely seeing you again, and even though you were weak in the knees and wanted to get down on them to lick her pussy all night long, you weren't actually going to do it, because you had this other girlfriend?"

Carmen looked down at her hands, but she had a faint smile on her face.

"No, I thought not," Ixchel said, also laughing. "When push comes to shove, Shane wins, Sister Rosario loses."

"So what do I do?"

"You have to get rid of this idea that being faithful and monogamous is easy. In many circumstances, it can be damned difficult, and in some it might be flat-out impossible. It's like what they always say in those TV cop shows about murder -- that under the right circumstances, literally everyone is capable of it. Well, if under the right circumstances you, Carmen Morales, might murder someone, then under the right circumstances you, too, might be unfaithful. As long as Shane stays away from Cherie Jaffe, and you stay away from Sister Rosario, you'll probably be okay. Just don't think you're all that different from Shane. Anyway, she's been doing the best she can. I think you'll probably admit that."

"I admit she's worked really hard," Carmen said. "She's done better than I ever expected. Just that one lapse."

"Your old church kept telling you that you humans are imperfect people. Not some of you, but all of you, everyone. Even you. Whether you call something a 'sin,' or just a mistake, or a lapse, or whatever, you all do it, just some more than others."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 23



"I know."

"I know you understand this, but Shane has two things working against her that you don't have. The first is that she takes a long time to process things, and when she's under stress and has to think or react quickly, she makes mistakes. She's just not good under stress. The second thing is, she's self-destructive. She has a long history and a long pattern of sabotaging herself. That affair with Cherie Jaffe, that was a collision of bad things coming together all at once. It was all those old feelings for her, coupled with difficulty with monogamy, coupled with being under stress, coupled with being self-destructive. And none of it was about you."

"Okay," Carmen said.

"And you have to consider, something like that might happen again."

"I know. I've been thinking about that."

"She's probably learned her lesson about Cherie. But monogamous people tend to stay monogamous, and people who sleep around generally tend to continue sleeping around. These kinds of patterns are hard to break. You are what you are."

"I know." 

***

On the following Monday morning, Carmen was sitting at the kitchen table having her breakfast coffee, toast, jam and a bowl of Cheerios when Shane walked in and poured herself a cup of coffee. She was wearing her terrycloth bathrobe, and had just gotten out of the shower. She had a towel draped over her wet hair, and looked like a welterweight boxer entering the ring before a fight. She sat down at the table opposite Carmen.

"I've been thinking," Shane said.

"Okay," Carmen said.

"There's something I'd like us to do. It'll take maybe two or three hours. What's your schedule like this week?"

"On Saturday I've got that overnight DJ gig down near San Diego. I'll probably leave here around noon or one, but the morning's open unless we go visit Dana. Thursday's probably going to be pretty light, it looks like only half a day. I can be home by one-thirty or two."

"Saturday morning won't work, and anyway I want to go visit Dana, too. Can you hold Thursday afternoon open?"

"Sure. What's up?"

Shane shrugged and looked up from her coffee cup. "Can it be a secret? A surprise?"

"Sure, if you want."

"It's ... I think you'll like it. Really like it. But ..."

"But you want it to be a surprise. That's cool. Thursday afternoon it is." Carmen stood up, finished with her breakfast, and started taking her dishes to the sink.

"It's gonna be cool, I think. I think you'll like it."

"Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"If you want it to be a secret surprise, stop talking about it."

"Oh. Yeah. Okay."

"I'm sure it'll be great. I gotta run, we've got an early call on the set today."

"Okay. Thanks. Go." Carmen was almost out of the room when Shane turned in her chair and looked at her. "Hey, Car?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. I do."

"Aw, baby!" Carmen came over and hugged Shane to her body. "I know you do. And I love you, too. And now you make me regret I took my shower first. But if I'd jumped in the shower with you this morning we'd both still be in there, all wrinkled and pruney and fucked out, and we'd both get fired." She leaned over and kissed the towel on top of Shane's head. "I gotta run."

"Bye."

"Bye."

***

On Thursday afternoon Shane was sitting in her truck in the street in front of their house, reading a book and listening to music, when Carmen got home. Shane had moved out of the driveway so Carmen could park there without blocking Shane's pickup. Carmen got into the pickup and said, "Okay, babe, surprise me."

Shane grinned and took off down the street, and was soon headed toward Venice Beach.

"Are we going to Wax?" Carmen asked.

"No, but nearby. A couple blocks away."

"Okay."

In Venice Shane circled a block, looking for a parking spot, and soon found one. They got out and Shane started feeding the meter. "You got some quarters?" she asked Carmen.

"Here, what do you need?"

"Two hours ought to be enough. If we need more, I'll just come out and feed it."

"It'll be six o'clock by then," Carmen said.

"Oh, yeah, right."

"Lead on."

Shane walked down the street, Carmen following, until they came to a tattoo parlor called "Michael Angelo." Shane opened the door and held it for Carmen.

"This is where we're going?" Carmen asked.

"Yup."

The tattoo parlor was bright and airy and clean, and had a modern and successful look about it, almost clinical. There were a few people in the waiting area, leafing through magazines, waiting their turns or else waiting for someone they'd come with. Shane went to the counter and was greeted by a receptionist.

"Shane McCutcheon," she said. "I have an appointment for Mike."

The receptionist went through beaded curtains leading into the back room.

"Who's Mike?" Carmen asked.

"Mike is Michael Angelo," Shane said. "She's terrific. She's the one who did the violin on my back."

"Are you getting a tat today?"

"We both are," Shane said, looking at Carmen and grinning. "At least, I hope we are. That's my secret surprise. I hope you'll like it. You don't have to do it if you don't want to, but I really hope you will. It'd mean a lot to me. I think it'd mean a lot to you, too."

Carmen's mind was racing, trying to figure all this out, but then the receptionist came back through the curtains, followed by a dark-haired woman in her early thirties. She was attractive in a boyish kind of way, on the thin side. She was wearing what appeared to be an open lab coat, like doctors wore, with the name "Mike" embroidered over the left chest pocket, which was filled with pens and pencils. She wore jeans and under the lab coat a low-cut knit jersey. At the top of it, Carmen could see she had some major, colorful tat work across the top of her chest.

"Hi, I'm Mike," the woman said, reaching to shake Carmen's hand. She had her lab coat sleeves rolled up a couple of turns, and Carmen saw more colorful work on Mike's arms. "You must be Carmen. Shane's told me a lot about you. Come on back."

Mystified more than ever, Carmen followed Mike through the curtains, with Shane close behind. They entered a large, well-lit work room with four bays where tattoo artists, two men and two women, worked on customers. Mike led them to her office just off the workroom and sat down behind her desk. "Please, sit," she said, gesturing toward two chairs in front of her desk. The office was large enough, but it was cluttered with all manner of posters on the walls, filing cabinets, books of tattoo selections, equipment, a couple of soda cups and coffee cups that might have contained soda or coffee. It was the office of someone who was a serious artist, and the clutter had some order to it.

"So, Carmen, it's really great to meet you," Mike said, and then turned to Shane. "You haven't told her, like you said you weren't, is that still right?" 

Shane nodded. 

Carmen looked back and forth at them, like she was watching a tennis match. "Somebody want to fill me in, please?"

Shane was her usual tongue-tied self, as Mike quickly saw, so she jumped in.

"Sure. Here's the story. Shane came in last week and told me she wanted a pair of matching tats, one for you and one for her. We talked about where to put them, and Shane thought the nape of the neck, just at the bottom of the hairline would be good. If you happened to wear your hair down, nobody would see it. If you put your hair up in a ponytail or a bun or something, it would be visible, although it would be fairly small and unobtrusive. So then we talked about the design she wanted. She was pretty specific, she knew exactly what she wanted, the only problem was how to find it. We looked through a lot of pattern books, and there was lots of choices, but nothing exactly what Shane wanted. So she asked me if it was possible for me to come up with a custom design." Mike laughed and grinned at Shane. "So I said, 'Hey, Shane, I'm fucking Michael Angelo, man. I can do anything.'"

"She can, she really can," Shane said to Carmen with enthusiasm. "You ought to see some of her work. It's crazy. Crazy good, is what I mean. Unbelievable."

Mike laughed again, easily. "Thanks. So anyway, Carmen, I did a bunch of research and sketched something out, and came up with a final drawing. So then I faxed it over to Shane's work, and she calls me up, and she's all, like, oh my God, that's it, that's it, Carmen will love it. And she tells me she's going to bring you in, but it's going to be a surprise, and now here you are."

Carmen looked from Mike to Shane, who was beaming and grinning fit to burst her pants. "Show her, show her," Shane said.

Mike opened her desk drawer and took out two small, identical stencils and put them on her desk facing Carmen. "What do you think? I hope you'll like it," Mike said.

Carmen's breath caught, and she clapped her hands over her mouth, tears welling up in her eyes.

Each stencil showed a small bird about an inch tall, which looked like a long-legged wading bird, an egret or a stork. The body was in the shape of two small hearts, one inside the other. Then there was the round head with the triangular beak, like a chickadee's beak. They style of it was clearly representational, and clearly had a Mayan look about it. 

Mike looked up at Shane. "I think she likes it."

"It's a bird, Car," Shane said, unnecessarily. "A bird, like a Mayan would draw it. A bird that mates for life. One for each of us."

***

Carmen sat in the chair with her head bent forward, while Mike held the buzzing tattoo gun, finishing up the bird. Shane stood behind her, watching. "It's looking good, girl," Shane said. "How's it feel?"

"Ahh. Hmmm. It feels good," Carmen said as Mike finished and leaned back, setting her tattoo gun down.

"All done, Carmen," Mike said. "Next victim."

Carmen got up, picked up a hand mirror from the counter, and stood with her back to the big wall mirror, so she could examine the tattoo.

"Let me see it," Shane said, coming over and looking at the back of Carmen's neck. "Hey, I like it."

"Yeah?"

"I do."

"Good," Carmen said, "'cause it's on for life."

Just then a good-looking brunette parted the curtain and stuck her head in, already talking. "Hey, Mike, I'm gonna head out-- oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were with somebody." She was about Carmen's age, and had a trace of Nawlins accent.

"No, it's all right, come in," Mike said. "Shane, Carmen, meet the Gulf Coast version of Michael Angelo. This is my protege, Lisa Bobo, from New Orleans. She's got a tat shop in the French Quarter and she's just starting to make a name for herself down on the bayou."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Lisa said, shaking hands with Shane and Carmen. "You guys are getting some of Mike's work, huh? Me, too. Hey, look at this, she just finished this one on me this morning."

Lisa was wearing a very loose, baggy blouse and pulled it up just under her breasts to reveal a brand new tattoo on her stomach. "It's a quote from Albert Einstein," she said. 

Carmen bent over slightly to read it. "Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds," she read out loud. "Cool, I like that." 

"I like it, too," Shane said. Her radar and gaydar had already told her this woman was straight, even though she was quite edible. Dark hair, tanned skin, good tits, good legs, a killer smile, great eyes. This one would break some Cajun hearts before long. They'd be guys, though, most likely. Can't win 'em all.

"Hey, I gotta run, I'm catching a plane," the girl said, approaching Mike and giving her a sisterly hug. "Cher, thanks for the ink. We'll do some more next time I'm in town."

"You got it," Mike said. "Have a good flight." When the girl left Mike shot gunfighter fingers at Shane. "Next victim."

Shane sat down in the chair.

"Look at you two," Mike said. "Another couple of dykes with matching tats."

"You know what, though, at least we didn't get our names tattooed," Carmen said.

"That would be the ultimate KOD, wouldn't it?" Shane said as Mike applied the stencil to the nape of Shane's neck.

"KOD?" Mike asked.

"Kiss of death," Carmen and Shane said simultaneously.

***

A week later Dana's chemotherapy started. It began with an intravenous infusion of her cocktail of drugs, which took about three hours, and then Lara brought her home. The schedule called for one of these IV "cycles" every three weeks, for anywhere from four to eight cycles, depending on how the drugs were working and how Dana was reacting to them. Among the many side effects most women experience, Dana had most of them, some worse than others: nausea, constipation, hemorrhoids, and "burned tongue" sensation. She was tired, which was normal, and she suffered another common side effect, which was forgetfulness and impaired ability to think, which was nicknamed "chemo brain," a phenomenon no one in the medical community understood. Never a "good" patient at the best of times, Dana was irritable, testy and bitchier than normal.

Dana's lover, Lara, was a sous chef, and was a very nice person. She was kind, gentle, smart, self-effacing, sweet, considerate, thoughtful, and a good lover in bed. She was a little moody, and perhaps more quiet and withdrawn sometimes than was good for her. She had many wonderful qualities...but she was not a good caregiver, like Carmen and Kit were. And it wasn't that her ego was fragile, it was all the rest of her that was. Like Shane, she was not strong, emotionally, at least, and she was not a fighter, not like Dana and Carmen and Bette were. If she had been an athlete, they would have said that, like Shane, she lacked "heart," that intangible quality athletes needed. She detested confrontation and arguments, and ran away from them, like Shane and Jenny did. She was a nice person, but she wasn't a warm, open person, a social person, a friendly person, like Carmen or Tina or the new, improved Helena. As Dana's lover, she had automatic membership in the group...yet she never took that opportunity. Alice hated her...but that was because she was Dana's lover, not for any other reason. In any case, Alice's antipathy was ignored by everyone else. That was just Alice being Alice.

Lara tried hard to please Dana, but everything she did was wrong. She did the best she could, but her best just wasn't good enough. It takes extraordinary skill and effort to be the partner of a breast cancer patient and mastectomy survivor. Lara lacked those skills, and knew it. She knew everything she did failed. And she knew that Dana was eating her alive, corrosively eating away at her self-esteem, her spirit. She knew she wasn't helping Dana. She knew it was taking her down, and she had no idea what to do about it. She perceived that she had no one to talk to about it. She felt lost and alone, and had turned it into a self-fulfilling prophecy, a downward spiral. Still, she kept trying. She thought that maybe a party might lift Dana's spirits. Nothing big, and nothing that took a lot of energy, or even planning: Just a small, casual afternoon with all her closest friends, maybe over at Bette's house, where Dana could lounge in the sun by the pool. Yes, that seemed like a good idea. She would talk to the gang, and she was sure they all would pitch in to help.

***

Alice drifted on a raft in the middle of the pool, drowsing off. Dana was in a lounge chair wrapped in a sweater.

"Hey, Alice? Alice? Wake up, come on," Shane called to her, splashing her to wake her up. Shane and Carmen had just walked over from their house next door and were sitting with their backs to the pool. Shane wore a T-shirt and jeans, but Carmen was stunning in what seemed to be the world's skimpiest white bikini. "Come on, wake up!"

Alice woke with a start.

"Alice, what do you think?" Shane asked her as she and Carmen both pushed their hair up at the backs of their necks to expose their new, matching tattoos.

Helena, looking gorgeous in a black two-piece, swam over for a closer look. "I think they're really discreet," she said.

Mangus was manning the grill. "I had my first girlfriend's name tattooed on my ankle," he said. "I had it removed."

Kit, coming out of the house, passed by him. "Oh, why didn't you have something else put on over it?"

"Bronwin?" Mangus asked, accepting a bottle of Dos Equis from her.

"Hello, everybody," Jenny said as she arrived. She carried a small bouquet of daisies in a drinking glass over to Dana. "I picked these, out of the garden, for you." 

Dana took them and smiled wanly. "Thank you, they're beautiful," she said.

"Hey, I thought you were out of here," Shane called out.

"I'm taking the Red Eye to New York tonight," Jenny said.

"What's going on?" Helena asked.

"I'm going to be meeting with my book editor."

"Well, that's exciting," Helena said. "Is Moira going with you?"

"No, she had to stay to work tonight at The Planet with Billie."

"We had to close tonight so we could rig for tomorrow," Kit said.

"That's right!" Carmen blurted, grabbing Shane's arm. "The B-52s are gonna be there! That is huge. Kit, how did you get them?"

"My sex- and drug-crazed manager, he landed 'em," Kit said, throwing up her hands. "Hey, Carmen? I could use a hand bringing some food out."

"Sure," Carmen said, jumping up and following Kit inside.

"There's a big bowl of potato salad in the fridge," Kit said, stacking up a batch of hamburgers on a plate to take out to the grill.

Carmen got the bowl out of the refrigerator and as she turned she bumped into Mangus, dropping the serving spoon from the potato salad onto the floor. 

"Sorry," Mangus said, taking a large plate out to the grill.

"No problem, I got it," Carmen smiled. She set down the potato salad bowl and took the spoon to the sink to wash it off. She flipped on the faucet, and as she did she saw Alice and Bette right under the kitchen window. They had their backs to the window and their heads together, but Carmen could just hear them.

"Go ahead, ask her," Alice hissed. "I bet she'd do it."

"What about Shane?" Bette asked.

"I betcha Shane would be okay with it."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Anyway, I wanna see it, too," Alice said.

"I'm going to kill Tina for telling you how badly I want to see it," Bette hissed. 

Alice laughed. "Well, you aren't the only one. Jenny told me it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen."

Carmen quietly turned off the faucet and dried the spoon with a dish towel. She stepped to the side so no one would see her eavesdropping. What could they be talking about? What would Shane be okay with?

"Shane!" Alice hissed. 

Carmen could hear Shane say, "What's up, guys?" as she came up to Alice and Bette under the window. Carmen could hear whispering and carefully leaned over to look out. Shane was drinking from her bottle of beer while Alice whispered something in her ear. Shane suddenly laughed, but she put her hands up in the air like she was surrendering. "Hey, don't ask me, ask her!"

"Ssssshhhhhh!!" Alice quieted her. "She's in the house somewhere."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Shane whispered in reply. "But like I said, you'll have to ask her, not me."

"But you're cool with it if we do? You don't mind?" Alice asked.

"You guys are twisted," Shane laughed.

"That's not fair, Shane," Bette whispered. "You and Jenny have both seen it. It's not like we're gonna touch it or anything. We only want to look at it."

"Shane, it's already practically a fucking urban legend. Everybody knows about it but nobody's actually seen it, except you and Jenny. Helena wants to see it, too. She told me she did."

Shane waved her hands and her beer bottle. "Hey, this is all on you guys," she said laughing. 

"But what do you think she'll say?" Alice pressed her. But Shane just held up her hands and walked away laughing, and went to go sit near Jenny at the other side of the pool.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 24



Chapter 24 Life and Death

Moira sat at the kitchen table pouring milk over her breakfast cereal when Shane and Carmen came into the room. It was a Saturday morning two weeks after Dana's party. Normally Shane and Carmen were up, showered, dressed and gone to work before Moira and Jenny stirred or took their turns in the bathroom. On Saturdays, though, Shane and Carmen slept in if they weren't on the road doing their Traveling Wilburys thing. When Carmen went to the bathroom she found there on the sink by the soap dish something she never expected to find.

"Hey, Moira," Shane said. "We've got something to ask you."

"Yeah," Carmen added, walking to the kitchen table and putting down a hypodermic needle. "What is this? What's going on with Jenny?" Carmen folded her arms, her face set hard. Her body language said angry. Shane's body language said concern. Moira's body language said don't give a shit.

"You guys, Jenny's fine." Moira gestured toward the needle. "It's mine. It's testosterone. I'm starting a program of it."

Carmen knit her eyebrows. "What kind of a program?" 

"Unh. I've always felt really uncomfortable, in this body. So I've decided to transition. I'm changing myself, from female to male."

Shane and Carmen looked at each other with the same doubtful expressions. "Does Jenny know?" Shane asked.

"Yeah. She's helping me."

"How is she helping you?"

"She's been shooting me up with it."

Carmen was floored. "Wow. So you're really gonna go through the ... breast—"

"Top," Shane corrected.

"—top surgery?"

"Yeah, when I can afford it, I am. Ya know?" Moira stood up from the table to put her cereal bowl in the sink, then held up her palm for a high five. Carmen hesitated, then raised her own hand in the air to reciprocate. Moira whacked it cheerfully, smiling, and went down the hall to the bathroom.

Carmen looked in surprise at the palm of her hand where Moira had whacked it. "Strong," she muttered, flexing her fingers.

***

Late that afternoon Shane showered before getting dressed to attend the B-52s concert, while Carmen finished up some gardening work outside in the yard. When Shane went into her underwear drawer to get a clean pair of tighty-whities, she found a plain business envelope in the drawer sitting on top of Frankie. The envelope was unsealed. Shane opened it and took out a single sheet of paper that contained Carmen's handwriting, and read it. It said:

"I love you, you know that I do. You are the love of my life. And if you want to fuck me with a strap-on from time to time, that would be great. You know I'll do anything you want, any time you want, as much as you want. I like strap-ons, once in a while, as you already know. But I feel uncomfortable telling you what you can and can't do or should or shouldn't do with your own personal possessions. I know I don't have the right to do that. But I have to tell you this. Not the strap-on you fucked Cherie Jaffe with, the one she gave you. I saw you were packing it the morning you came home from her beach house. I understand it was a gift, and I understand it has a diamond on it. I understand that she gave it to you long before you and I ever met. But I don't want to ever see it or have anything to do with it, ever. I know I don't have the right to ask you to get rid of it ... but please get rid of it. Donate it to the Salvation Army, auction it off on eBay to charity, throw it in the recycle bin, burn it, I don't care. It's just important to me to know it isn't in the house anymore, and that you'll never use it again. Pry the diamond out of it and hock it or keep it, I don't care. If you feel that somehow you must keep the strap-on, then hide it where I'm never likely to find it, and then lie to me, tell me you got rid of it. Just this one time, I'm giving you permission to lie to me, if you feel that's what you must do. And then, if you want a new strap-on, go buy a new one, or if you want, I'll buy it for you, for a Christmas present or a birthday present, or we can go buy it together, whatever you want. I don't care if it will be just yours, or if it will be ours together. And yes, it would be lovely to have one handy every once in a while. Just not that one particular one, that's all I'm saying. I apologize for the fact that this is freaking me out, but it is.

"I love you."

***

Bette, Helena, Carmen and Shane sat at the bar of The Planet before the B-52s concert. Shane had just broken the news to them that Lara and Dana were splitsville, according to a phone conversation she'd had with Alice.

"Yeah, Alice said it got ugly," Shane told Bette.

"Can I get a Dewars on the rocks, when you get a chance?" Bette asked the bartender.

"Lara left Dana," Carmen added. "She said that she couldn't take the pressure anymore."

"Yeah, Dana kicked Lara out. And we shouldn't be talking about it in front of Dana, 'cause she's really upset about it."

"I'm sure Lara will come back," Helena said.

"Hey, Kit, hi!" Carmen said as Kit joined them.

"Drinks are on the house," Kit said, hugging Shane and Carmen. She looked over and saw Alice and Dana coming in the door, and went over to them. Alice looked cheerful enough, but that was just Alice. Dana looked sad, as well she might during chemo, and a little unsteady on her feet. Kit's heart went out to her. "Hey, guys!" 

"How's it going?" Alice asked.

"It's going great," Kit said. "Come on, I'll block interference for you." She led them over to the others.

"Dana! Dana!" Shane grinned as she saw them coming through the crowd. "I'm so glad to see you! Come, sit down!"

Alice guided them as they gingerly put Dana into the seat. "Hey, guys. I'm the booby guard."

"Nice," Shane said.

"Hey, guys, did you see Moira's arms? They're like ... man arms, kinda. They're cute! But they're getting big." Alice made a bulging motion on her bicep.

"Practically a man, Al," Shane said.

"That's a little Harshy McHarsh, there, Shane," Alice said.

"No, I'm not being harsh, I swear to God, it's being honest."

"What are you being honest about?" Dana asked, but before anyone could answer Billie Blaikey came over and the conversation drifted away.

Later, in the middle of the B-52s concert, Alice leaned over to Shane and shouted in her ear to make herself heard: "Shane, what's your big problem with Moira?" Carmen could hear her as well.

"Well, Shane just doesn't trust what Moira's doing," Carmen interjected.

"Well, what's she doing? Besides living off Jenny."

"She's having a sex change, Al," Shane said. Alice's expression said she didn't understand.

"Yup," Carmen added. "Moira's becoming a man."

"Are you guys fucking kidding me?"

"Mm-mm," Shane said, taking a swig from her Dos Equis.

"For real?"

Carmen nodded.

"Does Jenny know?"

"She's helping her," Shane said.

"Dana!" Alice called, and then leaning over to talk to her. "Shane just told me that Moira's getting a sex change."

"Wait, what are you talking about?" Dana asked.

"You know the article I wrote about gender reassignment surgery?" Alice began.

"Oh, my god, I loved that article," Carmen said. "It was all about, like, women who become men and they take hormones, testosterone, and like cut off all their hair and they cut their tits--" and then Carmen froze, realizing the horrible error she'd just made. Alice, Carmen and Shane all looked at Dana, whose face had frozen. Dana stood up. "I'm gonna go," she said.

Poor Carmen felt awful. She put her hand to her forehead. Dumb, dumb, dumb, big mouth dumb, she said to herself. "Dana, I'm so sorry! Shit!" But it was way too late. Alice went after Dana.

"Shane!" Carmen said, but Shane was already in her face.

"Why'd you say that?"

"It just came out! I didn't mean to! Fuck! God!"

***

Shane, bottomless as always, slept spooned in tight behind Carmen, with her arm over her. Carmen's warm, delicious and naked rump was pressed gently into Shane's groin. Carmen was deep into a REM cycle, dreaming one of those disturbingly real but surrealistic scenarios that she hated but couldn't escape from. She turned in her sleep from her side onto her back, roughly brushing away Shane's arm, then rolled onto her side again. Shane woke momentarily, but dropped back asleep, resuming her position with her arm over Carmen. Carmen suddenly flailed her arm back again, driving into Shane's arm so hard it hit Shane in the face. 

"Ow!" Shane said, coming fully awake. She watched as Carmen mumbled something in her dream. 

"It's not good," Carmen told whoever was in her dream. She was about to flail her arm again when Shane grabbed her wrist and stopped her. Instead, she got a kick in the shins.

"Carmen! Carmen! Carmen," Shane said, protecting herself from a beating. "Carmen?"

"Hmm?"

"You were having a bad dream."

"Mmm?"

"You're having a bad dream."

"I am?"

"Yeah. You kicked me."

Carmen slowly rolled onto her back. "Uh. I'm sorry," she said, rubbing one eye. She sat up on one elbow. "Oh, God, Shane. I had this dream that we were inside Wax, but it was like, it was reallytrippy, and there were all these painting that were like floating around. You were there and I was there, and there was this lady ... it was Cherie!" Carmen sat up, realizing who was in the dream. "It was Cherie Jaffe. You were giving a tattoo to Cherie Jaffe. Like the one that we have that's on the backs of our necks. Why did you do that?"

Shane sat up reluctantly and looked at Carmen. "Do what?"

"Give her a tattoo?"

"I didn't."

"That was something that was really sacred to us, that was just between us!"

"But I didn't, I—"

"Goddamit, Shane! That's so fucked up!" Carmen said angrily, getting out of bed and stomping out of the room.

Shane looked after the departing woman, trying to figure out which one of them had gone completely insane.

***

At Wax, Shane finished with a customer, dusted off her barber's chair, and turned to the waiting area where half a dozen women waited, reading magazines. "Okay, who's next?" she asked, just as Dana and Alice came in. A pretty blonde had stood up to go next, but Shane told her, "I'm sorry, these two are next." The blonde frowned, but sat down and resumed reading her magazine.

"Hi, Shane," Alice said brightly, but Dana didn't say anything. She was in disguise under a large, baggy shirt, and had a long white Isadora Duncan scarf around her neck. She wore sunglasses and a huge floppy hat; she could have been Greta Garbo incognito. The blonde who thought she was next looked peeved.

Shane closed the curtain between her station and the waiting area, and turned to Dana, who sat patiently in the chair. "Hey," Shane said, quietly, leaning down and peaking under the big hat into Dana's face. Shane gently removed the hat and handed it to Alice. "Give me these," she said, carefully taking Dana's sunglasses, folding them, and handing them, too, to Alice. She put the covering sheet around Dana's shoulders and clipped it in place in the back. Then she looked for a long moment into Dana's sad, sad eyes. "Are you ready?" 

Dana hardly reacted, a mere flicker of her eyelids.

"Yeah," Shane said, quietly. She gave Dana a small smile of encouragement. After a moment, Dana smiled back wanly. Shane got her clippers and turned them on, the low humming sound filling the alcove. Ever so gently, she began to cut off all of Dana's hair, every last strand.

***

Kit was at the recording studio cutting her record with Nona Hendryx, the well-known singer/songwriter, musician and music producer who had been Kit's friend ever since Nona, Patti Labelle and Sarah Dash had their big hit, Lady Marmalade" in the mid-1970s. Helping out with the recording was Nona and Kit's friend Elizabeth Ziff, who went by the stage name ezgirl. Kit was starting to get irritated, because instead of getting much work done it seemed to be visiting day. First Tina arrived with baby Angelica, accompanied by Helena Peabody and her new friend Dylan Moreland, who everyone knew was in the process of becoming Helena's new lover. Dylan was a big fan of Nona's and had asked to be introduced. A few minutes later there was another arrival: Alice and Shane, who both had their hair done up on top of their heads in outrageous freaky, spikey flips that made them look like the bad guys in the Mad Max Thunderdome movie. The hair-dos were a deliberate joke, designed to misdirect attention away from someone else.

"Hey, ya got some new visitors," Alice said as she and Shane entered the studio. Everyone gawked at their hair. 

"Hey, what is it with the crazy do?" Kit asked.

"It'll all be explained in a minute," Alice said.

"Yeah, it's extreme," Shane said, gesturing helplessly at her own hair. "It's the new thing this season."

"Yeah, so we wanna introduce you to someone."

"Yeah," Shane picked up, "so please welcome...the new...Dana Fairbanks!"

"Come on, Dana," Alice said, as she and Shane turned toward the doorway. There was a pause as everyone stared at the doorway, and then, finally, Dana strode into the room. She had the long white scarf around her neck ... but she was completely bald, shaved down to her bare skull. She wouldn't look up, though, and Alice and Shane put their arms around her protectively. Everyone in the studio began to applaud and shout out compliments and happy encouragement to Dana, who finally looked around, grinning.

"Look at you, Dana!" Kit exclaimed clapping. Everyone gathered closer, giving Dana hugs and compliments.

"That's amazing," Tina said, kissing Dana's check.

"Gorgeous!" Helena said, laughing.

"Dana, I've got someone I want you to meet," Kit said, taking Dana by the arm and walking her over to where they could look into the control room window, where ezgirl and Nona Hendryx sat watching the hairless hair show in the studio. Kit put her arm around Dana's shoulders and spoke to the control room window. "Ez, Nona, this is Dana Fairbanks, our best friend, who came by to show us her new chemotherapy coiffure!" 

Everyone clapped and cheered.

Nona spoke into a microphone from the control room. "I'm very glad to meet you," she said. "You know what? I'm very down with that do!"

A few minutes later, with the whole gang watching from an observation room, Kit and members of the group Betty, ezgirl/Elizabeth Ziff, her sister Amy Ziff, Alyson Palmer and Tracy Bonham went back to work, with Nona Hendryx in the control room, where Mangus was doing the producing and sound engineering work.

***

Dana was exhausted, so Alice and Shane took her back to Alice's apartment, where Dana laid down on the living room sofa to get some rest. Shane and Alice sat cross-legged on the floor by her side, intently playing a video game.

"I think I got ya...DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!" Alice shouted at the screen, working her controller gun buttons as fast as she could. Shane did the same thing as up on the screen their avatars blasted the shit out of each other.

"Bastard," Shane grunted at the explosions and gunfire on the monitor.

"Fucker," Alice muttered. Behind her she felt Dana move a little on the couch. Without taking her attention from the screen she said, "Hey, Dane, you okay? You want to go home?"

"I want to stay and have fun and play games," Dana said sleepily, closing her eyes. She felt like she had no strength whatsoever, and her stomach, as always these days, was queasy.

"Go, get the motherfucker! GET THE MOTHERFUCKER!" Alice ordered her avatar.

"I got it got it gotta gotta," Shane said, concentrating mightily and firing like mad.

"Where's Carmen?" Alice asked, destroying a dude with a handful of rapid blasts.

"Uh," Shane sighed. "I'm in the shithouse."

"Why?"

"Carmen had a dream that I gave Cherie Jaffe a fucking tattoo."

"Oh, Yeah. I've had that happen," Alice said, sympathetically. The deadly fire on the screen slackened. "I had this girl who dreamed I fucked David Schwimmer."

Shane looked at Alice like she'd lost her mind.

"Well, Friends was on a lot," Alice explained. "God!" she muttered, firing at a bad guy and missing.

"Shit," Shane whispered, also firing and missing.

"Well, actually, when we were going out," Dana said from the couch to Alice, "I had a dream that you were a midget." Shane snickered and giggled, and Alice jabbed her in the ribs with an elbow. "But I wasn't mad at you or anything," Dana said.

"Dammit!" Shane yelped as her avatar was destroyed. She tossed down her controller, disgusted.

"Well, he keeps shooting her back," Alice explained about what had happened in the game.

Shane stared at the TV dejectedly. "I hate being in the shithouse," she said. 

She and Alice decided to go back to the record studio and watch Kit cut her record, and let Dana get some sleep.

***

Carmen got to the record studio too late for Dana's appearance, but Kit and the Bettyband members were still in the studio working. Carmen quietly slipped into the control room, where Shane had been hanging out in a back corner with Alice.

"Baby! What are you doing?" Shane tried to keep her voice down as she went over to Carmen.

Carmen held up a warning finger and the look on her face stopped Shane in her tracks. "No. I. Am. Not. Here. For you. I. Am. Here for Kit, and I'd like to meet Nona Hendryx, okay?" Carmen said with not a little attitude, the raised finger still between them like a barbed wire fence. At least it was the forefinger, not the middle one. The middle one was in Carmen's tone of voice. "You. Are not to talk to me. That's it."

"Guys?" Mangus turned from his seat at the control console next to Nona. "Guys, can you keep it down?"

Carmen lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, but was otherwise undeterred. "Not only did you give Cherie Jaffe a tattoo, but there was a scary looking bird that kept flying around, and at one point it was screaming your name, and I was like 'Shane! Shane, hello, Shane!'" -- Carmen waving her hands wildly -- "and you sprouted wings and you flew off with the bird. Okay? That. Is. Unacceptable. Nuh-unh! No!" And with that she brushed past Shane and went to the console to sit down next to Mangus. 

Shane looked blankly at the wall. The noise was roaring in her head, and all the sounds said one thing: What the fuuuh...?

Mangus turned and nodded hello to Carmen.

"They sound so good," Carmen whispered to him, referring to Nona and Kit.

Shane wanted to bang her head against a wall. She wondered if maybe she'd simply lost her hearing. Or her mind. Or maybe taken some hallucinogenic drug that was producing these psycho pictures of deranged Carmen. Could she have had a bad mushroom for lunch? But no, she knew she was sober. She hadn't taken anything. It was simply a crazed reality biting her on the ass and chewing and swallowing whole pieces of butt. She went over to stand next to Alice, who had witnessed the whole episode.

"Latin women," Alice said. "Caliente."

Shane ignored her and stared straight ahead into space. The fucking bird. She would bet the bird was the one tattooed on their necks. If only she hadn't sprouted wings and flown away with the fucking bird. Flown away with Cherie Jaffe. She, Shane My-Ass-Is-Grass McCutheon, she was the one who had flown away with Cherie Jaffe. 

Fucking bird.

***

Shane came home from work a few days later, and found Carmen sitting alone out on the back porch steps. They were going in a little while to the airport with Helena Peabody to take Dana to the San Jose Lightnings-Houston Mustangs basketball game, the surprise they'd all been planning. Shane went and sat down next to her. "Hey," she said, softly. They both sat with their arms folded on their knees.

"Did you...have any more of those dreams last night?" Shane asked. Carmen looked down and then away, slowly shaking her head no. There was a long pause.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 24



"I'm sorry." Shane said, and her voice broke when emotion welled up from somewhere down deep. Carmen turned to look at her. "I'm sorry...that you're having these nightmares...because of that fucked up thing that I did."

Carmen relented. "I know that we're ... we're doing this, we're trying to work this out and stuff, but I ... guess that ... I'm still hurt."

Shane looked down. "You have every right to be," she said meekly.

Carmen nodded her head. "You flew off, Shane. You totally took off with this bird."

Oh, Christ, here we go, Shane thought. The fucking bird.

She looked at Carmen. "I'm not going anywhere," she said.

They looked at each other. After a moment they heard, "Hey, guys!" as Tina came across from her yard.

"Hey," Shane said.

"I wish I could go with you guys to San Jose," Tina said, "but Angelica's got a cold, and I don't think I should take her on the plane."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Carmen said.

Just then Jenny came out of the house onto the porch. 

"Hi, Jenny," Tina said. "Where's Moira?"

"Max," Jenny corrected. Everyone had been told that Moira had decided to change her name to Max, but no one was used to it yet. Not only was the name change a problem, so were the pronouns. She was a he now. Her was a him.

"Oh. Sorry. Max," Tina said.

Shane turned to Jenny. "Is he coming, or what?"

Jenny looked down. "I dunno."

They heard Angelica crying inside Tina's house. "Have a good time. I should go," Tina said, listening to Angelica cry. "She's not doing well." She hurried off.

"Bye," Jenny said.

"Hope the baby's better," Carmen called after her.

***

They had told Dana they were going to swing by the Burbank airport to pick up Bette, who was flying in early from her business trip, and then they were all going to go out to dinner at this trendy new restaurant Alice knew about. Everyone was dressed casually; Dana was more dressed up than anyone, but that was due to her continued use of disguises to hide her bald head. She wore a casual blazer, and on her head a black bandana. Over the bandana she wore an oversize, stylish porkpie hat. 

When they got to the airport they didn't go to the arrivals terminal; Alice drove them to the section of the airport where the private jets embarked. Alice pulled up in front of a small terminal building, and they all got out. Dana realized that something was wrong with the plan to pick up Bette and go out to dinner. She came around the front of the car.

"Alice, what's going on?" she asked.

Shane, Carmen, Jenny and Max gathered behind Alice, smiling. "Dana, we are taking you to the San Jose-Houston game," Alice told her.

"The basketball game?" Dana asked, in something like shock.

"That's right," Alice said, Shane nodded.

Just then a man came out from the terminal building. "You the Peabody party?"

"We are. That's us," Alice said. "C'mon, everbody, comeoncomeoncomeon!"

"Get out!" Dana said, stunned.

The young man led them across the tarmac to where a big private jet sat waiting, its hatch open and a short pair of steps extended. It was the corporate Peabody company jet.

"Ohmygod, I can't believe I'm about to get on a private jet," Carmen whispered.

"I can't believe I'm going to a championship basketball game!" Dana said.

A Jaguar sedan pulled up by the jet, and Helena Peabody got out. Dylan got out of the passenger seat, and as they walked over to the group everyone noticed that Helena and Dylan were holding hands.

"Hi!" Helena exclaimed, smiling grandly at everyone. She and Alice hugged hello, and introductions were exchanged.

"You guys remember Dylan, right?" Alice said.

"Ready?" Helena asked everyone. She gestured them all to go on board. 

Dana went to Helena. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"It's my pleasure."

Dana was overwhelmed. "This is awesome," she said, entering the cabin. "Do we get, like, free food on here?"

Max hung back, not sure as always if he fit into the group. Even more intimidating, he was the one person in the group least used to this kind of fancy luxury. This was just so clearly out of his league. 

At the top of the stairs Helena turned and saw Max standing there, hesitating. "You coming, Moira?" she asked.

"Max," Max said.

"Oh. Right."

Jenny paused at the entrance to the plane, turned and faced the open runways, the airport, and the world in general. "Everybody," she shouted over the sound of the jet's engines now starting up, "Moira's dead!" She lowered her voice and looked at Max. "Long live Max."

Max smiled at Jenny, and went aboard.

A few minutes after take-off a flight attendant came down the aisle from the galley right behind the cockpit. She stopped at the first passenger's seat, where Max sat facing aft, across the aisle from Dana. There was a small table between Max and Jenny, with plates of food and a big loaf of bread on it. Drinks and cocktails had been served. Alice and Shane watched, grinning, and loving the entire surprise treat they'd arranged.

"We have apricot tarts, all kinds of freshly baked cookies," the hostess told Max. "Fruit. Yogurt. Would you like a latte or a cappuccino?" 

"Uh, yeah, I'll have the..." -- Max hesitated -- "uh, ya know, I shouldn't. Sorry. Never mind."

"You trying to quit caffeine?" Alice asked.

"Yeah, I'm trying to stay as clean as possible," Max said.

"Is that because of the medication you're on?" Dana asked.

"Yeah, actually," Max said.

"Me, too," Dana said.

Max paused. "I'm really sorry about what you're going through." 

Dana looked down at her hands. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"Dana, I want you to know that I can understand why you wouldn't want to be around me. I mean, you worked really hard to create the body you have, and, um, your whole life's been in that..." He trailed off.

"You're right," Dana said, looking at Max in a new way.

"I want you to know...I mean, you don't have to accept this...maybe I shouldn't even say it, but...it's life-and-death for me, too."

Dana looked down. "But you don't have cancer."

Max didn't have an answer.

"Hello, ladies, it's your captain here," came a woman's voice over the plane's PA system. "Hope you enjoyed your ride so far. We're going to begin our descent into the San Jose Airport in approximately ten minutes"

***

When they got to the basketball arena, Dana and Max both had to use the bathroom before they sat down, so they parted ways from the rest of the group. Max was actually excited about the prospect; it was the first time he was going into a public men's room and the first opportunity to use the new strap-on he'd bought to allow him to pee standing up at a urinal. He walked confidently into the men's room, where dozens of other men were using the facilities. He walked up to an unoccupied urinal between two other men. No one paid any attention to him whatsoever, in accordance with all the rules and regulations governing guy behavior in public johns. Max sidled up to the urinal, unzipped, fished out his dick, and experienced one of the greatest pleasures of manhood.

Back out in the concourse surrounding the arena, he met Dana just as she was coming out of the ladies room. Just then a woman approached them. "Hey, aren't you Dana Fairbanks?" she asked excitedly.

"No, I'm sorry," Dana said, lowering her head and brushing past the woman. She and Max walked together around the concourse to the section where their ticket stubs indicated they were to sit.

"You don't like being recognized, huh?" Max said as they walked.

"No, not like this," Dana said. She had been thinking quite a lot about their earlier conversation. "So, um. What did you mean back there, on the plane, about life-and-death for you?"

Max thought about the question for a while. 

"The first time I tried to kill myself, I was, like, ten years old," he said, "and I tried to fight against it because I really believed it was a sin. But I knew, I was like...I knew this wasn't my life."

Dana was shocked. "You were ten when you tried to kill yourself?"

"Yeah," Max shrugged like it was nothing. "But I knew, I was like...I knew this wasn't my life," he repeated. "I thought maybe, if I died, and if I came back, God would put me in the right body."

Dana didn't know what to make of that.

They found Section 106, and entered the area. Dana led the way down the steps, and almost immediately the arena announcer's voice came over the PA.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have someone very special in the house tonight."

Overhead on the big four-sided projection screen high over the center of the arena a camera had focused on Dana and Max as they walked down the aisle steps. Dana didn't see it, though, because she was looking down at the steps in front of her. But the thousands of people in the audience saw it, and many along the aisle of Section 106 began to turn their heads to look at the woman walking down the steps. Dana suddenly found herself in the center of a glaring spotlight, the crowd beginning to cheer. She looked up.

"Give it up for the 2006 Mercedes Challenge Tennis Champion, Miss Dana Fairbanks!"

The crowd roared its approval, cheering and applauding. They rose to their feet, a standing ovation. Dana froze in the spotlight, still wondering just what the hell was going on, why this applause. At their seats, Helena, Alice, Shane and the other girls went wild.

"Are you rrrrready for Lightning to strike?" the announcer taunted the audience, and they cheered even louder. Up on the scoreboard there were clips of Dana's tennis matches, including the famous final serve that won her that championship. "The San Jose Lightning congratulates you, Dana! Sports fans! Make some noise!" The scoreboard display did its thing, flashing skyrockets and huge "Go Dana!" and "Congratulations!" messages. The arena filled with thunder.

Max stood next to Dane, the two of them taking it all in, looking around in astonishment. A tall black woman in the uniform of the San Jose Lightning came running up the steps at them. It was the Lightning's star forward, number 10, the incredible Malaika Maitland, Dana's all-time favorite player. She carried a large stuffed teddy bear dressed in a Lightning uniform with the number 1 on the back below the teddy bear's name, Moose.

"We LOVE you! We're so excited you're here!" Maitland said, presenting the teddy bear to Dana with a huge grin. She turned and ran back down the aisle.

"Thank you," Dana said to the retreating figure, nodding and smiling. But in a panic she turned to Max and whispered, "Get me outta here!" She started to head back up the stairs. Max blocked her way.

"Dana, it's not for you," Max said. "It's for them."

Dana stopped. She turned, and looked down the aisle where Helena, Shane, Alice, Jenny, and Dylan stood, grinning and laughing and applauding. They were so happy; they'd pulled it off, this magnificent gesture, this tribute to their long-suffering friend, whom they loved.

Dana turned, looked around the arena. Thousands of people were on their feet, thousands of women, cheering and applauding. It just wasn't going to stop. Dana walked down a few steps toward her friends, then stopped again. She looked up, saw the clips of her on the giant overhead screen. A grin began to spread across her face, and she raised her arm, finally acknowledging the crowd, the gift she was being given. She waved, and tears wet her face.



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 25



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 25

Better a Whore Than a Lesbian

"Oh, wow!" Alice exclaimed as she walked into Wax. She was carrying a tray of cupcakes she'd made -- cupcakes iced in the form of round, full breasts with large nipples. They were intended for the bake sale, a minor part of the festivities being set up at Waxfor Max's "top" surgery fundraiser. Jenny had appointed herself chief organizer, and Wax was swarmed by two dozen workers busy turning the place into something that looked like a demented prom night. In fact, they billed it as "Trans Prom," and colorful flyers for it were posted all over West Hollywood. There were people up on tall step ladders running crepe paper streamers around the ceiling and hanging down from the rafters. There were bunches of balloons, and the place had the appearance of the William McKinley High School gym in a Very Special Tranny Episode of Glee.

"Hey, guys!" Alice called out.

"Hellll-ooo" Jenny said, happily running up to greet Alice. She had a big ball of tulle and organza in her arms. "Oh, good, these are so fabulous," she said, looking over the nipple-top cupcakes. "Is Dana going to be okay with these?"

"Yeah. I mean, you know, she's having a hard time, but I think she's coming tonight."

"Good, good, good. Hey, Max!" Jenny called, walking over to a large piece of plywood that Max and Shane were working on. The plywood had been painted as a simple cartoon beach scene with a stylize palm tree in the middle of it. Max was up on a ladder attaching a streamer to the top of it while Shane held a big roll of sticky tape she doled out in pieces to Max when he needed them.

"Look at these," Jenny said, indicating Alice's mammary cupcakes.

"Cool, Alice," Max said.

"Is there a fridge?" Alice asked, "'cause I don't want them to melt."

"There's one right in the back," Shane said, pointing to the rear of the building.

Shane walked across the room to the booth Carmen was setting up. It featured a big sign on the backdrop that said "Get some kissin' here!" next to a large purple heart. Carmen was climbing up a stepladder with a huge pair of mauve-colored lips she had to attach to the other side of the sign. Shane put her hand up on Carmen's ass, mainly to steady her on the ladder. It startled Carmen. "Erp," she said.

"Hey," Shane said, holding Carmen's hips so she didn't fall. "Need some help?" Shane could have held one of Carmen's butt cheeks for hours on end, she loved them that much. Days. Weeks. Years, maybe.

"No, it's okay, I got it," Carmen said, but Shane reached out to hold up the giant lips. "Shane, I got it," Carmen said.

"But, baby I just—"

"Shane! I got it!" Carmen pushed the lips against the sign, and it stuck in place.

"What is your problem?" Shane asked, angry and frustrated. "You've been like this for days. What's your problem?"

Carmen got down from the stepladder. "I'm fine," she said.

"Oh, really?" Carmen knew Shane wasn't buying it.

"Okay. Fine. You want to know what it is? How would you feel, if you were making love to me, and then all of a sudden I just check out in the middle of it. Gone. Not there."

"Check out?"

"Yeah, you're there, you're lying next to me and stuff, but I try and touch you, I try and kiss you, I try and do all these things to make you feel good, and you're completely gone."

"No," Shane protested.

"Yes!" Carmen said firmly.

"I'm, I'm, I'm there," Shane protested, the noise level in her head rising, all the confused feelings and ideas bursting from wherever they lived and milling around in the plaza of her conscious mind, getting in the way of coherent thought. The worst part of it was that the complaint was true.

"Okay, when was the last time you came?" Carmen asked.

Shane had nothing. "Eh, duh, mmm." She waved her hand and shook her head no. "That has nothing to do with it."

"Really?" Carmen asked quietly, almost gently. "I think that somewhere, deep down, you realized that all of a sudden you're in this nice, little committed relationship, now, and it pisses you off, and now you're punishing me."

And before Shane knew it Carmen walked away to the other side of the room, as though the conversation had never taken place. 

"Hey, Jenny?" Carmen said. "I have to tell you, this place, it looks amazing!" 

Jenny was sitting in one of the waiting room chairs near Shane's hairdressing alcove. Behind her was an eight-foot-tall collage poster that said "Transform the Tranny." It featured a life-size but crude drawing of a bare-chested, manly Max, surrounded by detachable parts: a pair of pants, a vest, a white dress shirt, brassieres, a sleeveless tank top, a penis with a set of testicles, sunglasses, several caps, and so on. There was a pouch pasted over Max's crotch, and sticking out of the pouch was the head of a cardboard dick. The effect was that of a giant doll with interchangeable paper doll accessories. Cocks notwithstanding.

"I've been telling you, lady, you did a phenomenal job," Carmen said, sitting down next to Jenny as Alice came over to join them. "If my prom were this cool, I absolutely would have gone."

"Why didn't you go to your prom?" Jenny asked.

Carmen laughed. "All right. So there's this girl, see, her name was Lucia Torres" -- she made a gesture and a salacious grin indicating that she and Lucia had been lovers, which was true -- "and that night we snuck off, and, like, we went to this porn festival—"

Jenny gasped and Alice asked, "For real?"

"—so we go to this porn festival, and afterward she taught me how to sixty-nine!"

"That's, like, the coolest prom night," Alice said. "I'm so jealous!"

"Why?" Jenny asked.

"I mean, I went to mine, but it sucked," Alice frowned as Shane came over. 

"Did you go to your prom?" Jenny asked Shane as she slouched down next to her and pulled her knees up.

"She didn't finish high school," Alice told Jenny quietly.

"You didn't finish high school?" Jenny asked. Shane sighed. She shook her head no.

"'S'awright," Jenny said, patting Shane's knee and rocking her leg fondly. 

"The G.E.D.," Alice said. Shane nodded.

"Did you go? To prom?" Alice asked Max, who'd just come over.

"I did," Max said rather proudly. "I went with Buck Thornton."

"Buck Thornton?" Carmen and Jenny asked simultaneously, disbelieving.

"Yeah, he was captain of the football team," Max explained, holding out his arms as though that was the greatest thing in the world. Which, in some times and places and contexts, it probably was. "Yeah. And a total closet case," he added.

Then Max noticed the paper doll tranny display. "Jenny," he said, growing angry, "you can't do this." He stepped up to the collage and gestured at the dick in the pouch covering the doll crotch.

"But ... why?" Jenny asked, mystified.

Max yanked the dick out of the pouch. "It's totally disrespectful," he said, throwing the dick down into a box on the floor. He walked away mad.

"It's inside the pants," Jenny tried to explain to the retreating figure and the other girls, who just looked at Max. They didn't get it, either. Trannies. Go figure.

***

"Abuela," Carmen said, addressing her grandmother in Spanish and asking her a question that Shane didn't understand. 

Carmen's abuela replied something brief, and possibly dismissive. 

Carmen wanted to swing by her mother's house on the way home after they'd finished decorating Wax. Shane certainly didn't mind dropping in to say hello; she welcomed every chance to bask in the glow of the Morales clan. They weren't going to have dinner there but were just hanging out before it was time to dress for Max's big trannie fundraiser. Carmen knew they could never say that to Mercedes, but they could very well tell her ninety-five percent of the truth: They were going to a fundraiser that evening for a benefit for a friend of theirs who was having a major medical procedure. If Mercedes pressed, Carmen was even willing to tell her their friend was having a double mastectomy, which was completely true. All she had to do was be careful about the pronouns "he" and "she" and that the mastectomies had nothing to do with breast cancer.

Shane, Carmen and her grandmother were sitting on the back steps of Carmen's mother's house. Shane was helping Abuela shuck ears of corn in preparation for dinner. Carmen had retrieved a large cardboard banker's box full of old record albums, and sat sorting through them. Grinning with pleasure, she held one up for her grandmother to see: It was the Lo esencial Beny Moré y su banda gigante album, "The Essential Beny Moré and His Big Band," put out in the mid 1950s at the height of the Cuban singer/bandleader's huge popularity in the Hispanic world. Some people said Moré was the greatest Cuban singer there ever was.

"I was just teasing her that, if she had ever met Beny Moré then she absolutely would have married him," Carmen translated for Shane.

"Who is he?" Shane asked, interested. 

The simple truth was that Shane loved Carmen's family. She loved Carmen's childhood home, the actual house itself. She loved the culture. She loved being surrounded by something in her own life she had never before experienced: A warm, loving household. She wanted to know about everything that went on in the Morales villa, everything that was said, what everything meant. Shane was absorbing Latino culture as she never had before she met Carmen. And she was absorbing familial love.

"Oh my God, Chane!" exclaimed Carmen's mother, Mercedes, coming out of the house onto the back porch with a bowl and spatula in her hands. "Who was Beny Moré? Only the best musician in the world!" She took her bowl and spatula back into the kitchen.

She was a heavyset, exuberant woman with a large body and an even larger heart, and if Shane loved Carmen's mom, Carmen's mom adored Shane. In a way, their affection mirrored that of Shane and Carmen themselves: Love at first sight. This particular love merely happened to be maternal, not sexual, that's all. Maybe it was just something in the de la Pica or Morales genes. Shane was no more able to resist the one family member than the other. 

Mercedes pronounced Shane's name as "chain," and what was strange was the fact that mispronouncing her name would have bugged the shit out of Shane coming from the mouth of anyone else on Planet Earth but Mercedes. From Mercedes' lips "Chane" was music laced with affection. It was Mother Love Incarnate. Mercedes could have called her "Chithead" instead and Shane would have eaten it up with a cuchara.

"Beny Moré," Carmen said, lowering her voice only a little, "he's the guy that you liked for me to play, every time, when, you know, back in the day when I used to go down on you."

Shane froze in shock. "Carmen!" She knew Abuela spoke no English, but even so ... had Carmen lost her mind again? To say such a thing with her own mother only a few feet away? They stared at each other. 

Carmen turned away with a shrug and went back to sorting through the box of records. "Mom!" she called out, and asked her mother in Spanish if they had any more of Abuela's cigars.

Shane knew Abuela loved her cigars, and that they were kept in a cigar box on top of the refrigerator. And she understood enough Spanish to jump up and say, "Oh, wait, no, I'll get it."

She went inside the door to the house to the refrigerator, reached on top, took out a big cigar, and brought it back to Abuela, who pulled Shane down to her to give her a big embrace, for Abuela loved Shane almost as much as Mercedes did. And for someone who had held five hundred or six hundred or maybe a thousand women in her arms before she turned thirty, hugging large, overweight motherly and grandmotherly types was a totally new experience for Shane. She had hugged women she was fucking, and she had hugged her friends platonically from time to time. She had been hugged by people before, during and after Harvey's funeral. But the last time Shane had a mother's hug had been the day she was ten years old and her own mother had turned her over to Child Protective Services. After nearly two decades of maternal starvation, Shane treasured the embraces of Abuela and Mercedes in a way incomprehensible to other people.

Abuela almost crushed Shane in her arms, and then happened to see the back of Shane's neck and the new tattoo of the bird.

"Oooh, bonita tattoo!" she said to Shane.

"Ah," Shane said. "Yeah! What do you think?" She bent over and pulled her hair aside so Abuela could see the back of her neck better. At that moment Mercedes came back out onto the porch. She saw Shane bending over showing the tattoo to Abuela. She saw Carmen's neck, too, for Carmen had worn her hair up that day. Matching bird tattoos. Bingo.

Carmen suddenly realized what was happening and snapped her head around to look at her mother, just as Mercedes turned away. Carmen knew her mother had seen the matching tats.

"Chane?" Mercedes asked, "could you help me?" She went into the house, and Shane, oblivious, said "Sure," and went in after her.

"Tomorrow night you and Carmen are coming to dinner?" Mercedes asked Shane.

"Uh, yeah, I guess we can, sure," Shane said.

"Oh, you have to come," Mercedes said. "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Okay!" Shane said.

On the porch, Carmen listened to her mother's conversation with Shane. Carmen had lived a couple of chapters of When Bad Things Happen to Good Lesbians, and knew no good would come of this. Her heart filled with dread.

***

That evening Tina was dancing with Max at the Tranny fundraiser at Wax, which seemed to be a great success. The place was packed with lesbians, gays and trannies of all kinds. There were at least half a dozen trannies who already had top surgery themselves, and they walked around bare-chested, showing their hairy chests and especially the scars across their rib cages, showing where their tits had been removed. It was a macho thing, like a German dueling scar had been before World War I. No dueling scar, no manhood. No titty scar, no trannyhood.

Max glanced around the room and saw that Jenny was dancing with one of the bare-chested trannies, a good-looking blond guy with a haircut so short it hardly qualified as hair at all. It was a buzzcut a Marine Corps recruiter would admire (the trannie under it, not so much). A good many of the non-butch lesbians in the room had gone the other way in their clothing choices: The theme was high ultra mock femme, Cinderella gowns with lots of petticoats, elbow-length gloves, tiaras and high-top hair-dos, the works. Alice wore a bare-shouldered ball gown so low cut her endowments were almost falling out; she accessorized them with a lovely strand of oversize faux pearls the size of gumballs that drooped to her waist. Dana went Jackie Kennedy, in a pink suit with elbow-length lace gloves. She wore a lovely red-haired Jackie-style wig, and actually looked smashing, considering her chemo. For her part Helena Peabody had gone the other way, wearing a very mannish men's business suit, a white dress shirt, and a black necktie tied but with the knot so loose it rested down on her sternum. It was cute, and Helena was one of those rare women, like Carmen, who were still so innately feminine that no amount of men's clothing made them look like guys. And like Shane, Helena looked even cuter and more attractive in men's clothes, not less. There just wasn't an ounce of butch in either of them. Some dykes are like that.

Jenny went Wizard of Oz Good Witch, and wore a pale emerald green ball gown with large, puffy shoulders; the color complemented her long dark hair color, but contradicted the hair style: The just-washed, towel-dried couldn't-care-less-if-I-brushed-it look. She wore a large, twinkly tiara on top that had cost a buck ninety-eight in K-Mart, and a pair of large, round, owl-like nerdy glasses. The total effect was kind of in-your-face ragamuffin cute, and Jenny could carry it off where others might not.

Max's problem with Jenny wasn't her outfit, it was that she seemed to be enjoying herself, slow-dancing with the buzzcut trannie, and the more Max thought about it the less he liked it. They weren't even dancing in the clinch, just swaying a foot apart like a pair of fourth-graders, her hands resting on top of his shoulders. Never mind that Max was dancing with Tina the same way; that didn't count. Max stewed, and finally he could take it no more. 

"Excuse me," he said to Tina, and walked across the floor to Jenny and Scarchest.

"Hi," he said as they stopped dancing.

"Hi," Jenny said. "You want me to draw another raffle--"

"Do you mind?" Max said to the guy, who took the hint, raised his hands in the "no foul, no harm" gesture, and backed away.

"I'm sorry," Jenny said to Scarchest as he left.

"What are you doing?" Max asked with some attitude.

"Dancing," Jenny said, wondering WTF now?

"Are you trying to embarrass me?"

"No!" Jenny said.

"You're my girlfriend!" Max said, roughly grabbing her wrist and pulling her arm. "This is my party! You shouldn't be dancing with some other dude!"

Jenny ripped her arm away from Max's grasp. "I'll dance with whoever the fuck I want to dance with," she hissed. "I wasn't sucking his fucking cock, was I, Max?" This was in reference to the fact that a few days earlier she'd caught Max giving Billie Blaikey a blowjob in the back room of The Planet. She turned and walked away. Just as Max was about to follow after her, Shane stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

"Hey," Shane said firmly. "Don't hurt her. Or I'll fucking cut your tits off, do you understand?"

"I'm not gonna touch her!" Max said, angrily brushing past Shane. He walked over to the corner where Jenny sat by herself. He found a chair, reversed it, sat down next to her. His mood had changed. 

"Jenny, look, I'm sorry," he said. "I really am. It's just that when I saw you with that guy, you know, I just got ... you know ... I couldn't stand it."

Jenny thought about it for a moment. "When I realized I might be gay," she said, "I ... I didn't rule out men. But if I'm gonna be with a guy, I'm not gonna be with some aggressive, macho male pig who has different standards of behavior for himself than he does for me." She looked down at her hands.

Max seemed to think about it. "You're right," he finally said. He leaned in toward her. "You're totally right. I messed up. I'm going to try to be a better man."

Jenny looked at him, looked away. She took off her oversize nerdy owl glasses. 

Max had run out of words. He didn't know what would work. Awkwardly he leaned forward, put his head on Jenny's shoulder, slide down so his cheek rested on her collarbone.

Nothing.

He put his arms around her waist, hugged her closer.

Nothing.

***

Carmen and Shane stood in a long line waiting to get their photographs taken. One of the fundraiser events was a photo backdrop where a professional photographer took photos of the guests dressed in their costume party outfits. One of the backdrops was the beach scene with the palm trees that Shane and Carmen had painted and put up.

Shane wore one of her signature look man's tux outfits that featured white piping on the lapels, a white, fancy, riverboat gambler's dress-front shirt with black piping down the frills, and a black cravat. Carmen had gone funky. She wore a black, sleeveless dress with a square-cut top, a triple strand of plastic pearls that had a flapper flavor, a large white cross on a black leather strand, and wore her hair up on top tied off with a big white bow. She deliberately wore a lot of face makeup, highlighted by a very dark red lipstick. She wore elbow-length gloves made of fine pink lace.

As they stood waiting patiently, Shane started to giggle to herself about something Carmen's mother had told her that afternoon.




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.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 25



"All right, all right ... Okay, we'll be right there. Goodbye," Shane said. Carmen realized something was wrong.

"Dana's in the hospital," Shane said.

"What happened?"

"Her chemo's breaking down her immune system. She has an infection."

"Oh, shit, no! Let me run and change."

Carmen dashed out of the kitchen, yanking down the shoulder straps of her Farmer John coveralls and pulling her red tube top up over her head.



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, 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."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 26



"There's an all-night diner a mile or two south of here, on the 67, heading toward Cajon," the girl said. "I go right past it on the way home to San Diego."

"Cool," Carmen said. "So you want to come with me? Have a cup of coffee, maybe split a BLT or a burger or something?"

The girl looked at Carmen, dumbfounded.

"Okay, think it over," Carmen said, smiling and almost laughing at the girl's shock. "But don't go anywhere, don't leave. I gotta get back up on stage."

***

"So, what are you doing way out here on a Saturday night when there's so much more to do in San Diego?" Carmen asked, right after they'd ordered decafs and two BLTs. They sat facing each other in a booth toward the back. There were a dozen people in the diner, what you'd expect at 1:30 in the morning on a major highway on a Saturday night: some long-haul truck drivers, some kids on a date, a pack of reasonably well-behaved college guys giving them the eye.

The girl was shy, the quiet type, blushing madly, and she wouldn't look up.

"Why didn't you dance with anybody?" Carmen persisted, but quietly. "I saw one or two guys come over and ask you."

The girl played with her knife and fork. She shrugged.

"Not interested in guys?"

The girl blushed even more deeply and wouldn't look up.

"It's okay," Carmen said. "I'm not, either."

That got her attention, Carmen knew, because the girl's hands stopped playing with the silverware.

"My name's Carmen, by the way. We haven't been properly introduced." 

"Robin McManus," she said, "and I know who you are. Carmen de la Pica Morales. DJ La Pica. I saw you DJ in a club in Hollywood a few months ago. Then I started following your Internet site."

"Oh, yeah? Cool. What were you doing in Hollywood?"

"A few friends of mine and I went up there for the weekend. We're all school teachers, elementary school. I teach third grade. We shared a big motel suite and went on the Universal Studio's tour. Stuff like that. Then Saturday night we were driving around looking for something fun, and we went past this club on Santa Monica Boulevard. There were a lot of people out front, and we could hear the music, so we decided to go in. The place was called The Planet."

Carmen laughed. "Oh, boy. Bet your pals were surprised."

"Yeah, they were. Not right away, because it took us a while to realize what kind of club it was. I mean, there were a few guys there, and so on, the bouncer at the door was a guy, and one of the bartenders, you know? And you were up on the stage DJing, and people were dancing and having a good time, and you were ... well ... ."

"I was what?" 

The girl shrugged, and fell silent when the waitress brought their decafs, and then went away.

"I was what?"

"I thought you were ... ." Another shrug, and more silence.

"Cool? Fantastic? A space alien? A drag queen? Mel Gibson? Brain-damaged? A vampire? What?"

The girl laughed. "I thought you were fantastic," she finally said.

"So then what happened?"

Their sandwiches came.

"We stayed a little while and had a drink. Sandy says, 'O-M-G, did you see that? That girl just kissed that other girl!' So then we started looking around, wondering about what kind of place it was. Beth says, 'Yeah, I think this is a lezzie bar.' She said she'd been in one before."

"So were you guys all weirded out, being in a lesbian club?"

"No, not too much. It was kind of exciting. We school teachers lead such dull lives, I guess, it doesn't take much to get us all stirred up. We stayed a little while, and danced a little bit, and then finally Beth said she wanted to leave, go find another place, with guys. Straight guys, she meant. So we left."

"What about you?" Carmen asked. "Did you want to leave?" She took a bite out of her BLT, watching the girl, who took a long time to answer.

"No," she finally said. "No, I didn't."

"Your friends, they all like guys, don't they?"

"Yes. Sandy is married, and Pat's engaged. Beth is the one always on the prowl."

"And what about you?" Carmen asked quietly. "They don't know about you, do they?"

The girl was quiet, and only picked at her BLT. Finally she said, "No. Nobody knows about me."

"But I do," Carmen said. "You want more coffee?"

"I'm fine."

"So what brings you so far from home on a Saturday night?"

The girl twisted her napkin. "My older sister lives in Cajon. She's married to a pilot. I was at their house five or six weeks ago, babysitting my niece. She's two years old. Karen and Chuck were going to some event at the Officer's Club, and I volunteered to watch Jasmine, that's my niece, to save them some money, because they were going to be out all night. So I was reading the local newspaper and I saw this big ad for the hotel, here, describing the new dance night thing, and it said there was going to be this really hot DJ from LA, named La Pica, and I knew immediately that was you, because I remembered your name from the club in Hollywood. The ad said you had a Web site, djlapica dot com. I looked it up to make sure it was you, there were photos of you DJing, and it had a schedule of where you were going to appear. I've been following you on the Web. So I decided to come, you know. See you again."

"Wow! My own cyberstalker! My first groupie! And I'm really glad you did come. But you kept leaving early, last week and before, before the dance was over."

"It's a long drive home."

"I guess so. But I have a suggestion."

"What's that?"

"Come back to the hotel with me. Spend the night. My room has two double beds. It's way too late for you to be driving all that way. It'll be fun. We'll have a pajama party."

Carmen watched as the girl blushed furiously again. Carmen knew, even before she said it, that she was taking huge risks, pushing things way too fast, and that this girl, in particular, needed to be handled slowly and carefully. But Carmen also knew there was no time to do that. This was a one-shot, now-or-never encounter. She didn't have the weeks or months necessary to woo this shy, inexperienced young woman, and anyway that would have been a deal-breaker for Carmen, too.

"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer, or anything. Tell me it's none of my business and to go to hell, if you want to. But ... have you ever been ... you know. With another woman?"

The girl didn't look up but she smiled to herself. "Yeah, I have. Three times, in college. Once with my roommate, and twice with a girl in one of my classes."

Carmen felt tears welling up in her eyes, but didn't know why. "Okay, then, Robin. Wow. That took a lot of courage to tell me that. I know it must have been hard for you."

At last, Robin looked up into Carmen's eyes, and then looked away. "Actually ... it felt kinda good. To say it. Liberating. I never told anyone. There's nobody ... none of my friends, none of the other teachers, not that I know of, anyway. I mean, I know one or two people who are gay and all, everybody does ... but nobody that, you know, I can talk to about stuff like that. My family ... we're a military family. All these religious, tight-ass conservative Republicans. My dad, my big brothers, they'd all go ballistic if they knew. And ... there's no way, I'm not coming out to anybody. I know maybe someday I might have to. But I'm not ready now, and I have no reason to."

"How long have you known? About yourself, I mean."

Robin made a breath-expelling sound, and picked up her coffee cup. "Just about forever, I guess."

"Yeah, me, too," Carmen said. "Since I was about 12, anyway. Maybe not forever ... but ever since Day One of puberty, you know? When your body starts to wake up and all those hormones start kicking in. I knew pretty much right away." She looked up and saw that Robin was thinking seriously about something. "What?"

The girl smiled, and then looked up, briefly, then shyly looked back at her hands.

"I was thinking," she said, "that I'd like to stay the night with you."

***

"I don't know about you, but I need a shower pretty bad," Carmen said as they walked into her hotel room. "I've been sweating under those hot lights all night. I'm all stinky. Come on, join me." Without waiting for an answer, Carmen stripped herself and also Robin, and then pushed her ahead of her into the bathroom's shower stall. It all happened so fast Robin had no time to react or to even voice a preference one way or the other. Carmen didn't want to give the girl a moment to think, panic or change her mind. She knew that a blitz was the only way to do it.

Carmen had never been the seducer before; she had been the innocent or mostly innocent seducee of Lucia and Sister Rosario, and then after that she had been reasonably experienced and knowledgeable. She'd had lovers after Picassa, but none had been virginal or lez-virginal; they knew what they were doing and so did Carmen. Not only was this a new experience for Robin, it was for Carmen, too, but she seemed to need no guidance whatsoever. Her moves were assured. She never once hesitated, or thought, "What do I do now?" She knew. Robin's innocence only heightened the excitement.

Carmen washed her new cub thoroughly and efficiently as Robin squirmed, wriggled and laughed, eyes squeezed shut against the shampoo and the spray, mewling and squealing as Carmen licked her face and nuzzled her neck and ears. Sightless, Robin put out her right hand and cupped Carmen's left boob, for spatial orientation and balance, or maybe because she just couldn't believe what was finally in her hand: a woman's soft, warm, wet breast. It felt so good, so ... right. Robin's subconscious reverted back nearly twenty years to the last time she'd stood naked, giggling, as someone who loved her washed her squeaky clean. 

Carmen was impressed with how much the girl trusted her, that no matter where Carmen wanted to touch her or kiss her or stroke her, the girl would let her do it without hesitation. It wasn't that she was fearless, like, say, Shane was. It was just pure, simple trust: She had put herself in Carmen's hands, and that was it. Whatever Carmen wanted to do, this girl was willing to let her do it. She and Carmen had entered that open savannah where the boundary lines between the sexual and the maternal were washed away, for it is to be remembered that the jaguar goddess Ixchel was not only the priestess of women and medicine, but also of maternity, child-bearing and child-rearing. Robin was as hungry to suckle at the tender breast she held as Carmen was to offer it to this inexperienced, needy child-woman. This sexual/maternal nexus was something no man, straight or gay, had any knowledge of, and no dominion over. 

Not for the first time all that night, Carmen had the thought that maybe this was the kind of woman she ought be in love with, someone quiet and loyal, someone who wanted and needed to be loved and wasn't afraid to give her heart away. Someone whose spirit was whole and undamaged, and just waiting for Princess Charming to come along and set her free. But Carmen also knew that was unfair to Shane; it was partly because Shane was damaged and hurting and so much in need that Carmen was so attracted to her. It was a woman's nature to heal and comfort the wounded.

Carmen rinsed Robin's hair, kissed her on the mouth and pushed her into a corner of the stall while she washed herself quickly. Robin stared fascinated at the tattoo she'd only seen small hints of peeking out at the top of Carmen's pants. Now that she could see the full display, front and back, Ixchel's twin faces atop that beautiful, flawless bottom and in the front the flower boxes and the tiny triangle of closely mowed carpet, she was mesmerized. If asked, Robin couldn't have remembered the last time she'd been awake at 2:30 in the morning, much less likely to be awake for some hours to come, being gloriously fucked and sucked until sun-up. That had never happened before.

When they had dried off as much as Carmen was willing to allow, she pulled the naked woman to her, wrapped her arms around her and kissed her. Then walking backward she pulled the girl with her to the bed, and gently laid her down on it, and climbed over her. She looked down into Robin's glassesless face, and saw her eyes were wide, but she looked ... happy.

"In college," Carmen said, "when you made love with those girls. Did they go down on you? Did you go down on them?"

"No," Robin said, "we just used our fingers. Well, my roommate, she kissed me there, for a second. But that's about all. It wasn't very--"

"Okay," Carmen said, bending down to kiss her softly. "I'm going to make love to you tonight the way it should be. I'm going to teach you things. You don't have to do anything to me if you don't want to. It's up to you. No pressure. Nothing you don't want to do, 'kay? And if you want me to stop doing something, just tell me. I want to do a hundred things to you, but I won't do anything you don't want, okay?"

"I understand," Robin whispered. "I want ... ."

"Yes?"

"I want you to do everything. Everything there is. And I want to learn to do those things to you. I know I don't know anything, but--"

Carmen interrupted her with a kiss. "It's all right," she said. "I'm going to do things to you you've only ever imagined before. Would you like that?"

"Oh, God, yes."

Carmen laughed. "I'm going to kiss and lick and suck your breasts, and I want you to suck mine. Would you like to do that?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And then I'm going to go down on you." She could feel the girl shiver and squirm beneath her. "I'm going to kiss and lick your pussy. I'm going to lick it and fuck it with my tongue, I'm going to eat your pussy, and you're going to come like you've never come before, in my mouth."

"Oh, God!" Robin sighed again. "I'm getting so wet!"

Carmen laughed again. "You don't know what wet is," she said, and bent down and took Robin's hard left nipple into her mouth as the lesson began. Robin's breasts were smaller than Shane's or Jenny's, but that's how Carmen liked them. Robin's first orgasm caught them both by surprise; she had been so excited for so long thinking about having sex with Carmen that she was off like a jackrabbit. She had her first climax just from Carmen's kissing and sucking her breasts and rubbing her lightly haired vulva. One moment she was moaning and sighing and the next thing either of them knew Robin had arched up taught as a bongo drum, thrust her hips and pussy into Carmen's hand, shot her head back, and quivered into a cum that drenched Carmen's palm.

"Wow, where did that come from?" Carmen laughed, holding the girl as she twitched and shivered in her arms. She brought her palm up to her mouth and licked Robin's juices. Then she held the palm to Robin's mouth and said, "Here, taste this. This is what you taste like." Not really knowing what Carmen was talking about, the still-dazed Robin dutifully leaned forward and licked the palm of Carmen's hand, tasting the salty pussy brine. It was the first pussy she had ever tasted, and it was her own.

Carmen let Robin recover for a minute, then let her fall back on the bed, still breathing hard and staring vacantly at the ceiling as Carmen leaned over her and started kissing her way down over the girl's stomach and down to the promised land. Carmen was not at all surprised that Robin had an untrimmed bush; she had washed it in the shower, and it had fluffed out when Carmen had dried it; now it was damp again. Carmen buried her nose in it and deeply inhaled clean girl smell. She moved down a little more and nuzzled the girl's thighs, gently spreading them and kissing the trembling muscles down to the knees and back up again. She took her time, and when she thought Robin was ready, she lovingly began to perform the house specialty, her piece de resistance, the thing Carmen did better than almost every other lesbian in California: Cunnilingus La Pica. She laved the girl's lightly furred outer lips, bringing forth tender sighs and moans from somewhere up above. Then Carmen made her tongue wide and flat and started at the perineum, northbound.

"Oh, Jesus," Robin moaned. For twenty agonizing minutes she endured a licking that turned into a pussy-parting tongue-fucking that became a finger-fucking clit-licking. Carmen gently pulled the girl's inner lips apart and softly tongued her vestibule, probing with her tongue at Robin's pee hole and the surrounding spongy pad, then licking all around before thrusting her tongue into the opening as far as it would go. She pulled Robin's inner lips out one at a time and licked them, both sides, slowly, listening to a madrigal of moans and cries. Robin was wet, and Carmen's face was slick with her joy. Finally Carmen went in for the kill, fucking the pussy with two and then three fingers while her mouth licked for the second time the girl's swollen clit hood, then her clit. Robin was keening and crying and humping her hips up in the air as her fists clenched the sheets.

In college Carmen had taken an elective in geology, on the theory that anyone living in California ought to learn as much as possible about earthquakes and tectonic plates. Her take-away was something slightly different, and during lovemaking -- especially cunnilingus -- it became what Carmen liked to think of as "seismic activity." As far as she was concerned it was the highlight, the pinnacle, the most shatteringly enjoyable part of making a woman cum: all those tremors, quivers, shakes, twitches, shudders, quakes, the spasming, clenching thighs, the shivers, the heaving soft jello bowl of fluttering belly, the back-arching, toe-flexing, jiggling, quavering, lurching, thrusting, the muscle judders as the inner thighs crushed against her ears. Carmen had learned that sometimes the oscillations from an earthquake could suddenly turn solid earth into vibrating mud. Likewise, Carmen knew, there came a point when a woman's vulva seemed to go slack, to quiver, to lose all its muscular tone and just go all jelly spaz under her mouth while the adductor muscles in the woman's thighs went into spasm, the woman erupting, a gush of love streaming from her liquid cunt as up above the woman screamed, or clenched her teeth in that wonderful grimace, a river of obscenities like a lava flow, fuck, oh fuck, fuck, oh god, oh fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkkkkkk.

Carmen's skill was such that she thought that an "average" or "ordinary" sexual encounter -- if there even was such a thing; they were rare in Carmen's experience, although Shane BC (before Carmen) used to have them once or twice a week -- should produce what Carmen liked to call "Taking Attendance at Short Vowel School." This occurred when her lover called out all the short vowel moans and groans, ahhhhhhhhhhh, ehhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, ihhhhhhhhhhhhh, ohhhhhhhhhhhh, uhhhhhhhhhhhh, and even the occasional long vowel, eeeeeeeeee or oooooooooooooooooo. If that's all the session produced, by Carmen's reckoning, then somebody was either drunk or just not trying very hard. Carmen expected and almost always got what she liked to call "The Hymn of the Short Vowels," an a capella canticle that melded her lover's orgasm with scat singing, a free-form, improvisational jazz movment, "Oh, God, ohhhhhhhhhh my God, ohhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhhhhh, Jesus, oh my God, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, omigod omigod omigod, aieeeeeeeee, oh Jesus, oh, oh, please God, oh, eeeeeeeeeeee, oh fuck, oh God, yessssssssssssssss, oh, uh, uh, almost ... don't ... ohhhhhhhhhhh God, ohhhhh, there, fuuuuuugggg, oh, fugggggggggggggggggg ... ." If the hymn didn't have the word "fuck" in it, it could have been written by a 13th century monk.

This was the psalm Robin sang, she who had chastely almost never said the F-word in her life before, especially not when you work around third-graders all day, as her pussy shook and soaked Carmen's tongue, as she quivered and twitched and clenched into her second coming, a shivering vaginal-induced orgasm three times more intense than the first, clit-rubbed climax. Robin had orgasmed before, of course; she had masturbated and brought herself off numerous times, and she had been finger-fucked to orgasm three times in college. But this cum was orders of magnitude beyond anything she knew of or ever thought possible. Her hands clutched the back of Carmen's head, and when Carmen's middle finger stroked the back side of Robin's clit from inside her pussy, the walnut-sized nub of engorged Skene's gland, the G-spot delivered to Carmen a shotglass of Sappho's nectar more delicious than any Carmen could remember. That's when Robin came again, and passed out.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 26



*** 

In the late morning when they woke up, still in each other's arms, Robin smiled, purred, and began gently nursing at Carmen's breasts, then slipped down until she was joyfully suckling between Carmen's velvet thighs. It dawned on Carmen that she had found a lovely young creature who had never, before last night, been naked in front of another human being in a sexual context, yet who in the space of a single night had become fully comfortable with it, reveled in it, enjoyed it as naturally as if she'd done it for years. This was a pixie whose loss of Sapphic virginity in college had been every bit as fumbled, unsatisfactory, half-dressed, hurried, inexpert, unsatisfying, amateurish, predatory, and unfulfilling as any young heterosexual woman's cherry-popping, hymen-breaking, back-seat-of-the-Chevy catastrophe. Worse, Robin's two subsequent sexual experiences weren't much better. Yet -- and finally -- having willfully put herself in destiny's path, this was a young woman with a nearly vertical sexual learning curve, a woman hungry to try, to experiment, and willing to be taught. This was a girl who would give without hesitation, and who was also willing to take what suddenly came her way without fear or panic. Robin was a petite, slight, flat-chested, sensual gamin whose heart and appetite and yearning far outmatched her frame and her physical attributes. In some ways she was as clumsy and awkward as any newborn colt, and cute as one, too, in the same endearing way as a colt, and there was no part of Carmen's body she didn't want to lick and clean and nurse at with her hungry wide mouth and full lips. She loved Carmen's breasts and thought she couldn't get enough of sucking Carmen's nipples -- until Carmen made her stop, spread her legs, and lie still as Carmen fed her own nipple into Robin's pussy, teasing her clit with the nubbin and fucking it with the entire aureole. Then, when it was good and wet, Carmen brought her breast back to Robin's mouth, and Robin joyfully suckled her own juice from it until Carmen feared she was getting pruney. She stuck two fingers into her own pussy and when they were slick with lubricant she fed them to Robin, who loved sucking Carmen's juice even more than her own. "More," she panted, begging Carmen to reload her fingers with another dollop of twat cream. When Carmen couldn't stand it anymore, she pushed the girl's head down to her pussy so Robin could eat her out for the third time that morning.

At 11:30 Carmen realized it was past checkout time. She called the front desk and told them she wanted the room for another day, and gave them her credit card number to cover it, since it exceeded her contract with the hotel.

"If I don't eat something besides you pretty soon I'm going to get a headache," Carmen said. "Let's go get some breakfast and then come back."

Robin asked, "If we go eat, should I leave room for dessert?" 

"Oh, yeah," Carmen said, "you sure better leave room for dessert, And I think I know just what you're going to have."

***

It was noon and the diner was crowded with the after-church mob, so they had to wait a few minutes for a table. 

"I'm famished, I could eat a horse," Carmen said as they waited. "I need some red meat, and lots of carbs to build my strength back up. You took it all out of me."

Robin grinned and blushed, and Carmen thought she'd never known anyone who could turn scarlet so often as this darling elf. She hoped that whatever the future held, Robin would never get so jaded that she ceased to blush so easily. It was a major part of her charm and appeal.

The hostess came and led them to a small back table for two, very near where they'd sat the night before. Carmen wondered if the hostess might have guessed that in the past 10 hours Carmen had eaten here, given four orgasms and received three, and had slept only three hours. Now she was back again for more fuck fuel before another round of hot, juicy sapphic climaxing.

The diner was noisy, providing a background din of privacy for them to talk without fear of being overheard. They sat opposite each other and looked through the menus. "Okay, I see what I'm gonna have," Carmen said. "Six rib-eye steaks, medium raw, three orders of french fries, and a side of chili. What are you gonna have?"

Robin peeked at her over the top of her menu. "I don't know. I know what I really want to eat, but I don't see it on the menu." Carmen grinned.

After the waitress took their order -- Carmen settled on the giant cheeseburger platter and Robin asked for the tuna melt and a house salad -- Robin folded her arms in front of her and looked down. "Can I ask you something? If you don't want to talk about it, I understand."

"Sure, anything," Carmen said. 

"Um ... back home ... in LA ... do you have a girlfriend? Because I kind of think maybe you do. That is, I can't see how someone like you ... you could have anyone you wanted."

Carmen frowned and fiddled with her silverware herself. "Yes," she said quietly. "I do."

"It's okay," Robin said. "I kinda thought so."

"And you're wondering what last night and today are all about."

Robin shrugged. "If you were me ... ." She let it drift away. "Did you guys have a fight or something?"

It was Carmen's turn to shrug. Half of her mind admired Robin's intelligence, her intuition, her insight. The other half of her mind struggled to answer the question. "Sort of. We're just going through a rough patch, that's all."

"What did she do?"

Carmen couldn't help but grin. "You know, you're very good."

"School teachers," Robin said. "We know things."

"Guess so," Carmen said. "What she did was, she cheated on me. She slept with one of her old girlfriends. A married woman in her forties, no less. Some rich-bitch former D-list nympho actress."

"Oh wow, that's awful. I'm so sorry. Were you and she really serious?"

Carmen nodded. "We've been living together for seven months. I thought ... I thought this was the real deal. The love of my life. My soul mate. I still think that's the case. But she ... has issues. With monogamy, with being faithful. She's had a lot of women, but never had a girlfriend before. She's never been in love before, and she doesn't know how to do it. She's pretty used to ... ." 

"Wham, bam, thank you ma'am," Robin finished for her. "I have older brothers."

Carmen nodded. "I think we'll get past it. It's just gonna take time."

"And so I was ... what? Kind of a revenge thing? A get-even thing? I mean, I'm not mad about that. It's okay if I was. But I'm just asking." And the funny thing was, Carmen believed her. Robin wasn't angry about it. 

"Maybe ... maybe it started out as a get-even, revenge fuck thing," Carmen said slowly. "But it didn't stay that way. It changed. It became something else, that didn't have anything to do with Shane. That's her name, Shane. It became about just you and me."

"You saw me sitting there--"

"Yes--"

"—all alone, and so a revenge fuck became a pity fuck--"

"No!" Carmen said, so loud that several people heard her above the general din of the place and turned to look around at her. She lowered her voice and said urgently, "It wasn't like that at all! I saw you and I liked you, and you seemed lonely and I thought maybe you wanted me to come over--"

"It's true, I did," Robin said. "Look, I'm not upset. I just wanted to know where I stood."

Carmen twisted her napkin. Then she grinned.

"What?" Robin asked.

"I just thought of what you were," Carmen said. 

"What?" Robin asked.

"You were a teachable moment," Carmen said and couldn't help laughing. "Isn't that what you teachers call it?"

Robin began to laugh, too. "That's great. In the space of half an minute I go from a revenge fuck to a pity fuck to a teachable moment." But she was grinning.

"It's even more complicated than that," Carmen said. "You went from revenge fuck to pity fuck to teachable moment, to something wonderful, and sweet, and loving, and special. And I think maybe you ruined whatever was in my head, that if I cheated on Shane I would be all guilty and feel like shit and would have these tormented sleepless nights, like I've been hoping Shane was having, and she was, and if I somehow did the same thing -- maybe Shane and I would be on the same level with each other again. But it's not working out that way."

The waitress brought their platters, and they dug in. Robin took two huge bites of her tuna melt, and with both cheeks bulging she managed to ask, "So what are you gonna do when you get back home to Shane? Are you going to tell her what happened?"

Her own mouth full of cheeseburger, and with a thin stream of juice running down her chin, Carmen patted it up with a napkin and managed to say, "Hell if I know. I guess so. I guess I have to be honest with her."

"How will she take it?" Robin asked, delivering a forkful of lettuce slathered in ranch dressing into her mouth.

"God knows," Carmen said, her mouth full of french fries. She picked up one, dipped it into the dollop of ketchup on her plate, and fed it tenderly to Robin, who gobbled it down.

They were so hungry they ate most of their sandwiches before either one said another word. Finally it was Robin who broke the comfortable silence. "Can I ask you something else, something ... personal?"

"Sure," Carmen said, as if discussing her cheating lover hadn't been personal.

"I noticed ... how could I not notice? ... that you shaved ... down there. I was wondering ... what that felt like, to do. I was wondering if maybe I should do it. I'm kinda ... furry ... down there. I didn't know if that bothered you."

"No, honey! Not at all! Anyway, you're not as bushy as maybe you think, compared to a lot of women. You're not furry at all. There's no right or wrong, it's whatever you want to do, and what you're comfortable with. Me, I just like a kind of ... minimalist ... kinda thing. And I got used to trimming and shaving my flower boxes a long time ago, after I got my tats, so it's no big deal. When we get back, I can give you a little trim, if you want. Show you how to do it."

"Would you?"

"Sure. And the best part is, if you don't like it, it'll grow back in a few weeks and nobody will ever know."

"Well, there's nobody to see it now anyway, or to know about it, so that doesn't matter. I want to ask you something else."

"Yes?"

"What ... gee, this is so awkward."

"Go ahead, just ask me."

"What I want to know is ... what do I look like? Down there. Below. My pussy. Compared to other women, I mean. I mean, I know what I look like, but ... am I, I don't know, uh, 'typical,' I guess, or unusual, or--"

"Oh, Robin," Carmen said. "I know what you're asking. And here's the answer, from the bottom of my heart. You're beautiful down there. You're heart-breakingly and breath-takingly beautiful and lovely and totally normal in every way, except that you taste divine. Okay? I know, when we look at ourselves down there, we wonder, is it ugly or is it beautiful, or what. Will my girlfriend or my boyfriend, if you go that way, will he or she think ... will he or she want to kiss it and lick it, or will they be grossed out. And the answer is no, baby, she won't be grossed out. She's gonna love it, just like I do. Okay?"

Robin was blushing crimson again, but in a happy way. Carmen understood how important self-confidence was to a shy, closeted young woman like this, and she understood she had just given Robin a gift more valuable and more long-lasting than just about anything else in the world. 

***

On the way back to the hotel they stopped at a chain pharmacy and on Carmen's recommendation Robin bought a Schick Quattro and a starter kit containing a special shaving cream, a pre-shave oil, post-shave lotion, and a brush for applying the cream. "This is different from shaving your legs and under your arms," Carmen told her as they roamed the aisles looking for what they wanted. "First, it takes longer and you have to do it carefully. You can do a quickie on your legs, but not on your twat, it's too sensitive. You want a really good razor with a pivoting head and multiple blades, three or four. No disposable plastic jobs--you'll nick yourself or get an ingrown hair. Those are real risks. There's something called ingrown hair serum, which really helps. You'll want to keep some of that on hand."

Back in the car, Carmen gave her more tips: Don't shave during your period, you're too sensitive then. If you want to dye it some color, do the dye job before you shave, not after. Always shave with the grain first, only shave against the grain on the second pass. Don't use a dull razor; replace shaving heads frequently. She went over the alternatives, electrolysis, bikini waxing, depilatories.

"I've heard of something called a Brazilian," Robin said.

"Right, that's both a technique and a style," Carmen said. "They use hot wax to cover your pubes, and then they rip it away all at once. It hurts, but it's pretty effective and lasts much longer than shaving. One problem is it's hard to do to yourself, you should go to a specialty salon and have it done for you. And there's an alternative I use, called sugaring, some people call it a Persian wax. I'm kinda partial to the whole Persian thing. For one thing, it's all-natural, you make up a pot of stuff using nothing but water, sugar and lemon juice--"

"You're kidding!"

"Nope, that's all it is, although you can buy pre-made sugaring stuff. Basically two cups of sugar, and a quarter cup each of lemon juice and water. You simmer it on the stove for 20 or 25 minutes until it's at exactly the right golden color and consistency of a paste like fudge or soft caramel, 235 to 245 degrees. If it gets hotter than that it basically turns into saltwater taffy, and that's too stiff and hard. When it's cool you apply it with your fingers or a tongue depressor, or a small spatula. First it helps to dust yourself with corn starch or talcum powder. Then you glop it on against the grain of your pussy hair, and then peel it off with the grain, and it doesn't hurt nearly as much as hot wax. And it's water-soluble, unlike wax, it just washes off, and it doesn't have anything in it you might be sensitive or allergic to. It's gentler, too. Hot wax exfoliates, but it takes both live skin cells as well as dead ones. Sugaring only exfoliates dead skin cells, which is why it doesn't irritate like wax sometimes does. And there's a terrific side benefit. Omigod, does your lover's pussy taste good after you've just sugared her -- all slick and smooth and sweet and lemony-fresh. I call it Lemon Pussy Sorbet."

"Oh, god," Robin whispered, closing her eyes and licking her lips.

"But then the other thing you have to decide is if you want some hair left or not. A lot of women keep what's called a landing strip, that's a strip about the width of one or two fingers, a vertical line. You can go all the way up, or stop it short. You can have a Bermuda triangle, like I do. A circle, a diamond, a star, a thunderbolt. If you're a squirter you could have it shaped like a drop of liquid, although I think a drop looks more like an ice cream cone. Which wouldn't be a bad thing, you know? Something you like licking. Some women dye their hair pink or flaming red for Valentine's Day and have themselves shaved with a furry red or pink heart right there, for their boyfriends or girlfriends. Actually, I never heard of any lesbian doing it, I guess it's a straight thing, but who knows. Or you can have all the hair removed, but some women think that looks too childlike. But it's all up to you, any way you want. But back to kinds of waxes, shaves and sugaring. There's three general types, the Brazilian, like you mentioned, which trims to the bikini line, and also trims in back and in between--"

"In back? In between?"

"Oh, yeah. I didn't mention it, but people have hair back there, too, and the place in between your two holes, the perineum, it's called. Sometimes people want it removed. See, you've got to think about that if you're going to wear a thong bikini. You wear a thong, it leaves everything back there pretty much open to view, you know? A Brazilian removes it back there. Another type is called the French Wax, and that removes everything in the front, or leaves a landing strip, but doesn't do the back or in between. Then there's the Hollywood Wax, that takes everything. Total bald, front and back. I guess they called it the Hollywood because all the porn actresses nowadays are all totally bald. There's a variant called a thong Brazilian, which is you wear an actual thong during the process, and they remove all the hair right up to the thong itself. The other good thing about sugaring is that it removes vellus hair, that's that really fine, short, almost invisible hair women sometimes have on their faces. Regular waxing doesn't work on really short, fine hair, but sugaring does."

"I never even heard of any of this," Robin said. "Except for the Brazilian and the bikini waxing, I mean. I guess we schoolteachers don't get around as much as we think we do. It's not the kind of thing we yak about in the teacher's lounge."

Back in the hotel room Carmen said, "Why don't you take a quick shower to get it nice and moist and warmed up and ready?"

As Robin started taking off her clothes she said, "This is, like, my fourth shower since yesterday morning."

"Well, that's why people always say sex is dirty," Carmen said, "and like Woody Allen said, if it isn't dirty you aren't doing it right."

"I just never realized how wet good sex is," Robin said, slipping into the shower. Carmen watched her; Robin just continued to take her breath away. She was an elf, a pixie, a gamin, a waif, and had a childlike innocence. And when her bush was trimmed back (or eliminated, if that's what Robin wanted) she would be even more so. But it was her total sweetness and innocence. Carmen could understand how, when the door to her classroom was closed, it would close upon a room full of third-graders and Ms. McManus just one more of them. They would relate to her as a peer, not as an adult. And they would love and adore her, and she them. Carmen suddenly had an insight that when you are surrounded by as much love as Robin would be in her classroom, it was much easier to ignore some of the other kinds of love you lacked out in the world.

***

While Robin showered and sudsed up her lovely pussy, Carmen considered where to do the deed and what to wear for the occasion. She suspected that it might be a somewhat wet affair, and decided to take off all her clothes so she would be as naked as Robin. When Robin came out of the shower, Carmen toweled her off, telling her she didn't want her pussy hair to be too damp. 

"Here, climb up on top of the toilet seat, turn around, and sit down on the tank top," Carmen said.

"Will it hold me?"

"Oh yeah. You have no idea how many Hollywood lesbians have had their world rocked while sitting on a tank top in a toilet stall."

"Have you?" Robin asked as she climbed up, turned and sat with her legs spread wide. Carmen sat down backward on the toilet seat lid, straddling it and facing Robin. 

"A couple of times," Carmen said. "It's not my favorite place, but yes, I've had a couple of cums more or less where you're sitting. The restroom is where you tend to get a quickie in a club or a bar, and I'm generally not into nameless quickies. If you go to a lesbian bar and you have to pee, you might as well wait until you get home, because somebody's gonna be in there eating at the Y. Of course, it's always fun to put your ear to the door and listen to the sound effects."

Carmen decided not to mention that she had eaten out Jenny a couple of times while she was sitting on the toilet tank after their team shower. She was glad that neither Shane nor Mark had walked in on them. The water sports interruption had been embarrassing enough, and it would have taken way too much explanation telling Robin who everybody was.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 27



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization

Chapter 27 Into the Wild

Dana started dying at 2:33 p.m. and it only took two minutes. For six days she had been fighting the infection in her blood stream. It was a dirty, hand-to-hand, cell-by-cell, take-no-prisoners street brawl with no rules and no mercy. Dana survived these days on sheer will power, on an athlete's grit and determination, but on the afternoon of the sixth day, five days after entering the hospital, she had nothing left to keep up the fight. She was done. Her exhausted heart stopped, and the monitoring machine started beeping frantically at the ICU nurse's station.

"We have a Code Blue in ICU Room 7, Code Blue in ICU Room 7," a nurse announced calmly but firmly over the PA, and everyone came running. One of the nurses brought the crash cart.

A young doctor named Wyler sprinted into the room, looked briefly at the monitor and lifted Dana's left eyelid to look into her eye. It was unresponsive to light. Her lips were turning purple, and her skin color was turning gray. He grabbed the paddles from the crash cart.

"Ready for de-fib, everyone clear," he said. It was 2:34:44 p.m.

"Clear!" a nurse said, removing the oxygen mask from Dana's face. Dr. Wyler applied the paddles to Dana's chest and shocked her silent, motionless heart. 

Nothing.

"Shock again, three hundred joules," the doctor said. "Clear!" He shocked her again.

"She's still in de-fib," the nurse said.

"Any pulse?" Dr. Wyler asked.

The nurse listened through her stethoscope. "No carotid. No radial." 

"Continue ventilation and chest compressions," the doctor said. "Give her one mig epi, IV." 

"Epi is in," the nurse said, pulling the now-empty hypodermic out of the IV plug. It was 2:35:12.

"Let's shock again," Dr. Wyler said. "Everybody clear." 

"Clear!" the nurse told him. He shocked Dana for the third time. 

Nothing.

"Three hundred amiodarone, please," the doctor said. He watched the nurse inject the drug into the IV. 

"Still no pulse," the nurse said.

"Shock again." 

"Charging," the nurse said, watching a dial on the machine. "Clear!"

Wham. Nothing.

"Give her sixty migs lido. Shock again." 

Nothing.

"Charging. Clear!" The paddles delivered another shock. 

"She's still in de-fib. No pulse." 

"One more epi push." He waited while the epinephrine went in. 

Nothing. 

"She's gone," he said. "I'm calling it. Stop CPR. Time of death, 2:35 p.m., March 12, 2006." 

***

Dana's death caught the Friends by surprise. Some of it was garden-variety denial, which we all face in these circumstances. Some of it was due to the fact that they had been lied to. Dana had minimized her condition from the beginning, and some of that false optimism still lingered, even on her final day. Some of it was the simple faith in modern medicine, on the knowledge that Dana was in one of the best hospitals in the country, that she was receiving the best care possible, that she was tough, that she was a fighter. Sure, they all knew by now that she'd had the mastectomies, the tumors were gone, she was receiving chemo. Most people who had come this far survived, and there was no reason to believe Dana wouldn't be one of them. They'd all looked up the survival numbers on the Internet: 85 percent lived five years, 77 percent lived ten or more years, 64 percent lived twenty or more. All the numbers were on Dana's side. You saw cancer survivors everywhere, on TV, in society, down the block. Everyone knew someone who was a cancer survivor. Dana would surely become one of them. One day soon Dana would be on a TV talk show, telling the world about her bout with breast cancer. She'd be wearing a pink ribbon and enthusiastically promoting a women's marathon to raise funds and awareness. She'd be out walking the walks and running the 5ks and 10ks at the head of the pack. She'd look great.

They knew about infections and, intellectually, they knew infections could and did kill people. They just couldn't conceive that an infection might kill their beloved Dana. Not in the middle of this warm, sunny California afternoon.

Lara was in Paris and had an excuse, if a poor one: She was oblivious to Dana's worsening health. But Lara had lost her prerogative to forgiveness, because she had abandoned Dana, had run out on her, unable to take the stress that came with nursing. That Lara lacked the temperament for it, coupled with the fact that Dana was a difficult and abusive patient, didn't seem to matter.

Bette, too, didn't know. She had gone to a ten-day silent retreat at a Buddhist monastery in the Cascades in Washington State. She had been unemployed for nearly a year, and it had begun to weigh on her sense of who she was. Her relationship with Tina had deteriorated until she had metaphorically kicked her out of their bed and out of the house, and except for their shared motherhood of Angelica, out of her life. But between the crushing silence and the attractiveness of a demur, bald-headed Buddhist nun, Bette was going bonkers, and finally could stand it no more. Calling herself a "meditation retreat drop-out," she'd packed her bag and left the retreat -- yelling, screaming and happily yodeling all the way down the hill to the bus stop.

Jenny and Max were on the other side of town with Tim, Jenny's poor ex-husband, who had found someone new and in fact had married her. Her name was Becky, and she felt like a fish out of water. They were having lunch at Pink's on North La Brea, because Jenny said Tim claimed they had the best hot dogs in LA. Tim was contemptuous and dismissive of Max, and he continued to think Jenny was still out of her mind, despite being released from the sharps ward in Illinois months ago. Becky seemed nice and tried to be so, but she was the outsider -- and several months pregnant, although she had not yet begun to show. In only a few minutes Tim and Jenny were at it. 

"Hey, Becky," Jenny finally said, "did you know on the night Tim came to say goodbye to me, he gave me a little revenge fuck?" 

Becky turned pale, stood up, put her purse strap over her shoulder. "Come on," was all she said. Tim got up and silently followed her out.

Helena was in a meeting with her lawyer -- and her mother. She'd gotten herself into a serious jam, and Mommy was there to bail her out. Helena had been honey-trapped by a woman named Dylan and Dylan's invisible boyfriend, Danny. Between them they'd led Helena into seducing Dylan and then being filmed doing it. Dylan and Danny sued for sexual harassment and asked for millions. But Peggy Peabody suddenly turned up at the settlement conference and exposed the plot for what it was. Dylan and Danny had a long-standing grievance against the Peabody Foundation, having been turned down five times for grants. Trapping Helena was the payback. Peggy told Dylan to go to hell and see you in court, but Helena, heartbroken and humiliated, signed over a check for $350,000 to just make it all go away. She left in tears.

Tina had been seeing a nice guy named Henry, whom she met when their kids were on a play date at a pool. Now she was sleeping with him. Of all the friends, Tina had always been the bisexual one, the one most likely to slip back to "the other side," and so she had. On this day she was having lunch with Henry and several of his friends at a Mexican restaurant. As they talked, it became apparent that not only did Henry's friends believe that Angelica had been adopted by Bette and Tina, so did Henry. Tina became aware that if she had explained Angelica was her biological daughter, fathered by artificial insemination and by a black man they had actually chosen, no less, it would have changed everyone's opinion, and not for the better. She said nothing, but grew increasingly uncomfortable.

***

Tina picked up some clothes on one of the chairs in Dana's room. "Do you want me to take these home and wash them?" It was a few minutes before noon and she had her lunch date with Henry at 12:30.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Alice said. "Or you can just take them over to my place." 

"I brought your mail." 

"Thanks." 

"Dana? M&Ms," Tina said, holding up a large bag of Dana's favorite candy. It was hard to tell if Dana was even awake, but Tina could see just the faintest trace of a smile, and knew she'd scored. She slung her purse over her shoulder, getting ready to leave. She walked to Dana's beside and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Dana, do you want me to get your mail, too?" 

Dana shook her head no, a gesture so small it was almost microscopic. "Okay," Tina said, bending over and kissing her on the forehead. "I love you." She looked up at Alice. "Are Shane and Carmen next?" 

"Emm-mm," Alice shook her head no while taking a bite of her sandwich. "Max and Jenny are next after they get back from lunch with Tim, and Shane and Carmen are coming at five." 

"Are they bringing you dinner?" 

"No, but Kit is." 

Tina looked at herself in the mirror above the sink in the room, and felt embarrassed. "I hope I don't look too dressed up," she said. She was wearing a dark, long-sleeved top over stylish jeans for her date.

"You look good," Alice said.

Tina nodded thanks. "Bye," she said, and left. 

Alice gave her a moment and leaned over to whisper to Dana. "You're right," she said. "Bisexuality is gross. I see it now." It had been a running argument between them, and for many years Alice had claimed to be every bit as bisexual as Tina. She had bedded and fucked almost as many men as Tina had, and had enjoyed it just as much ... once upon a time.

Dana appeared to crack that faint smile. 

"Did I make you laugh?" Alice asked, grinning, and then she chanted in a schoolyard sing-song, "I made you lau-augh." 

Dana napped and Alice finished her lunch, reading a magazine. A while later the nurse came in.

"Is it that time?" Alice asked as the nurse started changing Dana's bed linen.

"Her mom and dad are coming back," said the nurse, a lovely Jamaican woman who pronounced it "bock." "We got to get her cleaned up and presentable. Isn't dat right?" she asked, speaking not to Alice but to Dana. "She's a fighter, dis one!" She wrung out a washcloth and handed it to Alice. She got one for herself and prepared to wash Dana.

"You hear that, Dana? You're getting a little reputation around here." 

"So. What dey bring you for lunch?" the nurse asked Alice. "Peanut butter and jelly." 

"Uck," the nurse grunted.

"Yeah. I think I'm regressing to childhood." She started washing Dana's left arm, being careful not to disturb all the tubes running into it.

"So you goin' ta get out of dis room today? Take a walk?" 

"Uh, well, I took a walk this morning around the nurse's station." 

"I meant outside. It's a beautiful day! Why don't you take a walk, get out of dis damn air conditioning." She looked sternly at Alice. "How many days you been in dis room?" 

"Five," Alice said reluctantly.

"And has she gone anywhere?" 

"No." 

"Dat's all I'm sayin'. Clear your head." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It'd be good for da bot' of you." 

Finished with the bed bath, the nurse packed up the tub of water and the wash clothes and with a knowing look at Alice to follow her suggestion, she left the room. Alice picked up a bottle of lotion and poured some in her palm. She rubbed her palms together for a moment to warm the lotion, then began to apply it to Dana's upper arm. "What do you think, can you do without me for a little bit?" Dana made no response.

"You want some more M&Ms for your incentive pot?" Alice asked. No response. "Okay, but don't get mad if you get fat. I'm not gonna hear about it." She finished applying the lotion. "All right, I'll work out with you, but you can't show off, you have to promise." Alice pulled a tube of lip balm from her pocket and started to apply it gently to Dana's dry lips." I know how you get. Deal?" 

Dana's eyes flickered open for a second. " Deal," she agreed, her voice barely audible.

Alice smiled, and bent down to kiss Dana on the cheek. Dana's eyes opened again for a second. "Ah 'ove you," she could barely murmur.

"I love you, too," Alice said.

***

The nurse was right. It was good to get out of the room for a while. Stretch the legs, work out the cramps. A change of scenery. Alice rode the elevator down to the main floor and wandered into the hospital gift shop. She picked up a couple of bags of different kinds of M&Ms, went to the drinks cooler and picked out a can of ginger ale and a diet Mountain Dew. Standing in line at the checkout register, her attention was captured by a display of felt flowerpots, each containing a large and colorful felt daisy with a Smiley Face stitched on it. When you picked it up, its motion sensor started the daisy singing "You are my sunshine" in a cute but metallic robot voice while it moved and bent slightly, then bowed when the song was done. Alice couldn't resist.

After she'd paid for her purchases she went for a walk outside. It was a warm, beautiful spring day, and truth be told, Alice hadn't seen sunlight in a week. She sat on a bench, melancholy, but glad to absorb a little vitamin C from the sky. She basked in the sunshine and closed her eyes, feeling the heat. Then a shadow came over her, and when she opened her eyes there was someone standing there in front of her, blocking out the sun. For a moment Alice couldn't make out who it was against the glare. And then she could.

"Alice?" the shadow asked.

"Tonya?" Oh, shit. It was that wacko hospitality bitch from the Dinah Shore Open weekend Dana had met. Worse, Dana had possibly fallen in love with her, or thought she had, and very briefly had been engaged to her before Alice and the Friends had staged an intervention to kill the deal.

"Mind if I sit down? It's so weird running into you here." Tonya plopped herself down on the bench, forcing Alice to scoot over and remove her bag of snacks, drinks and felt daisy.

Hey, I've got an idea, Alice thought to herself, why don't you sit down?

"I've been thinking about Dana a lot lately," Tonya said, launching into the monolog Alice was expecting. "I made a really big mistake with her. I threw something really, really special away." She took a sip from the jumbo soda she carried.

Alice hesitated, then said quietly, "I don't really think you threw it away, I think--"

"Yes, I did! I mean, things fall apart when your partner senses you're looking for something better. Think about it! I could have been Mrs. Dana Fairbanks right now." 

Alice managed to conceal a grin and looked away. Tonya was looking for something better? Dana hadn't been good enough for her?

"I wish I could just turn back time and do it all over again," Tonya said, oblivious. She took another sip of her soda. Hydration was important. "Do you still talk to her?" 

"Yeah, mm-hmm, I do," Alice said quietly.

Tonya looked at her with pity. "I heard you had a really bad break-up." 

Alice brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

"Don't worry, it's not like I know anything else," Tonya said. "I've been pretty out-of-the-loop since I've been trying to have a baby." 

Well, holy shit, Alice thought to herself. "You're having a baby?" 

"Mmm-hmm," Tonya nodded. "I decided I wanted someone who'd always be with me." 

Alice had nothing to say to that -- nothing she could say out loud, anyway.

"Okay, I know that may not sound like a very good reason to have a baby, but ... you know what? There are worse." 

Alice chewed on that. "Yeah," she said. "Yep." Tonya could set back the cause of Motherhood twenty years.

"I really gotta go," Tonya said. "Wish me luck. I might be pregnant in a few hours." 

Alice laughed. What can you do with this crazy woman? "Good luck," she said, reaching out to pat Tonya on the arm. "I really mean it." Tonya reached back and they hugged, then stood up. They began walking toward the hospital when Tonya suddenly realized something and turned around. "I didn't even ask you. Why are you here? Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, well, I'm ... um ..." She held up the bag with the plush stuffed singing daisy sticking out of it. "I'm just visiting a friend." 

"Are they all right?" Tonya asked.

"Uh, yeah, I mean, they're getting better." She made a cute Alice face.

Tonya thought for a moment, then decided she'd say what else was on her mind. She leaned in. "You know, I was always a little jealous of you, Alice." 

"Why?" 

"Because Dana loves you so much. It was actually kind of hard to deal with when we were together. I mean, ultimately there was always this other person who was so much more important to her than me." And Tonya shrugged and made a Tonya face. "Anyway," she said, embarrassed. "Gotta go." 

Alice watched her walk away. Then she called out, "Hey, Tonya!" 

Tonya turned and looked back.

"I'll tell Dana to call you," Alice said.

"Would you? I'd really love that." 

Alice just grinned and waved. Tonya waved back, smiling, and then walked away. Alice stood there for a moment, thinking, well, Jesus Christ. Can life get any stranger than this? I gotta tell Dana. And the gang, too. They'll never believe this.

But Alice never got around to it.

***

Alice got off the elevator on Dana's ward just as a med tech was getting on. She'd seen him around. He looked at her funny, but said nothing. Alice didn't register it. Walking down the hall she passed a nurse she'd talked to a few times, but the nurse didn't make eye contact. Alice, lost in her own thoughts, never registered it. When she got to Dana's ICU she stopped at the window and looked in. The Jamaican nurse and another nurse were on each side of Dana's bed, doing something with the sheets. Dana's face was an awful gray color. She was unhooked from her oxygen tube and monitor and IVs. The monitor rack and the IV stand were pushed away into a far corner. The sheet was pulled up to Dana's neck. She wasn't moving. 

The Jamaican nurse turned and looked out the window at Alice. Her face was sad.

Alice's hand flew to her mouth.

Dr. Wyler came up to her in the hallway.

"Her blood pressure started to fall," he said. "In spite of our best efforts, we couldn't bring it back up, and her heart failed. We couldn't get her back. I'm very sorry." He walked away.

Alice began to sob. She leaned against the wall and sank down to the floor, heart-broken, weeping inconsolably.

***

Every one of the Friends knew Dana's funeral was going to be difficult for them to bear, but it turned out even worse than they imagined. Alice wasn't in good shape by the time she got to the front door of the church, guided by Shane and by Carmen, who drove. She had cried herself sick for three days, comforted by Carmen, Jenny, Kit and Tina, as needed, but then, as often happens, she got it together on the fourth morning. While Carmen made coffee and breakfast in Alice's kitchen, she took a shower, washing away tears and grief, and got herself dressed. She came into the kitchen somber and subdued. She went to Carmen and silently wrapped her arms around her in a hug. She went to Shane, who was sitting on the couch, and hugged her, too. Then she sat down at the table. "What's for breakfast? I'm starved. I could eat a horse." 

She asked about the weather, and about funeral arrangements. She wanted to know about Dana's obituary and about press coverage. She asked who had called and what messages she had received. Did she have phone calls she had to return? She'd get to them this morning. How were the other members of the Friends holding up? Martina and Billie Jean had sent flowers with handwritten, personal messages, as had Gloria Steinem. The rest of the tennis community had sent messages of condolence, too, and in lieu of flowers many had sent donations to breast cancer charities. Carmen brought her the stack of notes and messages, and as she ate her way through the large plate of huevos rancheros she went through them, commenting, sometimes reading out loud.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 27



She was feisty and opinionated, funny and snarky. She was going to be okay.

Shane wasn't in such good shape. She had cried, too -- everyone had, no exceptions. But there are degrees of grieving, and this is where Shane paid a heavy price for her hypersensitivity. It was Carmen who had comforted both of them, Alice and Shane alike, at Alice's house, and it was Shane she was much more worried about.

On the morning of the funeral Alice got herself up and got dressed and ready. She was brisk, quiet and businesslike. Shane was a zombie. Carmen had to quietly and calmly guide her through every step of getting dressed. She could barely get Shane to drink half a cup of coffee.

The church was large and very nearly full when they got there. Guests included not just family and friends, but a large swath of the tennis community as well as Dana's publicity and promotions people. Alice tried to put on a stiff upper lip as she walked down the long aisle directly to the altar, but lost it halfway there. By the time she got there she was in tears. Carmen saw Alice was losing it, and hurried up to her, taking her elbow and leading her the last few steps.

"Those are her ashes?" Carmen asked quietly, looking at the plain, burnished bronze urn in the middle of the display.

"Yeah," Alice said, sniffling. In front of the urn rested two crossed tennis racquets, braced by photographs of Dana and two large bouquets of flowers. 

Alice sniffled again. "Hey," Carmen said, wrapping her in a hug. Shane came up with Dana's brother, Howie. They were losing it, too. Carmen had her hands full.

"She told me she wanted them scattered at her summer camp," Alice said, to no one in particular.

"They're putting them in a mausoleum," Howie said quietly so the family wouldn't hear.

"This just sucks," Alice said.

"They suck!" her brother said a little too loudly. He lost it, crying. "I mean, look, this isn't Dana." He buried his face in Carmen's shoulder. She held him and rocked him gently.

Helena and Tina entered the church and sat down next to Kit and Bette. "Why are we sitting all the way back here?" Tina whispered.

"The front rows," Kit replied, "are reserved for family and close friends." 

"And we are...?" Tina asked.

"Does it really matter, Tina?" Bette interjected.

"Yes, it does, Bette. It would matter to Dana." 

"Can we all put ourselves aside for once?" Bette pleaded.

"Guys," Kit said calmly, sending the sparring partners to neutral corners, "we are here for Dana." 

"That's what I was saying." Bette had to have the last word.

Alice, Carmen, Shane and Howie sat down in the row behind them. Jenny was sitting next to Alice, and pulled her close in a hug. Jenny kissed Alice's forehead fondly. Alice let herself be comforted. Carmen sat down and then leaned forward to talk across Shane to Alice. "Al? Have you talked to Lara?" 

"I think she's still in Paris," Alice said. "I called and left her messages. But I don't even know that she knows." 

"All rise," asked the organist at the front of the church, the organ peeling into Nearer My God to Thee. A choir of six senior citizens, three men and three women, led the singing. Then everyone sat down and the minister stepped up to the podium, and started the eulogy.

"She was a champion," he began. "That much we all know. We know that through deep faith and rigorous discipline, by her truly extraordinary and God-given gifts, Dana outstripped most of us. And when He chose her to join Him, God knew that He was doing so before this beautiful girl ever got the chance to fulfill her other great longing: to find domestic happiness. In want of companionship, she almost certainly would have found it." 

"She did, she absolutely found it," Carmen muttered under her breath. Alice turned her head to glance at Carmen, turned back. "It's okay," Alice whispered. Jenny, too, had leaned forward, looked at Carmen, and sat back.

They all knew they were going to have to sit through some bullshit. Just best to let it go, ignore it, it was just religious boilerplate. No reason to get upset.

"If Dana had had more time on this worldly plane, why, a beautiful girl like Dana, she would have, easily could have found a love mate," the minister continued.

"She found love," Shane whispered, frowning. 

"We know that, Shane. That's all that matters," Alice whispered calmly. But Helena frowned, too, and looked at Tina, who frowned back.

"She would have settled down, with a loving partner, someone to care for her, a strong, devoted man, a loving husband who matched her stren--"

Oooooooooookay, enough of this shit, Alice thought. She was furious and could take no more. She stood up, and asked the minister angrily, "What are you talking about?" 

Nearly every head in the room swiveled to look at her. 

"Dana was gay," Alice said, and climbed over Shane and Carmen, heading purposefully up the main aisle toward the exit.

***

The service ended, the family rose and was escorted out, then the rest of the crowd, row by row, front to back. Bette, Kit and the other Friends were among the last to walk out. In the lobby Dana's mother came over and spoke briefly to Kit as she came through the big doors. Kit went to the group and whispered in Bette's ear. Bette looked shocked.

"So were we explicitly not invited back to the house?" she asked her sister.

"Well, if you consider blood relations, and family friends for more than fifteen years," Kit said.

"Why don't we just go anyway?" Carmen asked. She turned to Shane. "What do you think?" 

"Why would you want to do that? Make her family feel uncomfortable?" Shane asked quietly. She was taking it hard, but typically she could see the opposite side's point of view. Still, she leaned against a railing, her head down, her hands nervously twisting a service program card.

"Well, because, you know, I just feel like I haven't said goodbye to her," Carmen said quietly.

"I'm gonna go home to be with my baby," Bette said, "especially since her other mother is taking her off this afternoon to be with her new man friend." 

"You be all right?" Kit asked Bette.

"Yeah," Bette said, hugging Kit. She blew an air kiss to the group. "Bye." 

Carmen, Shane, Jenny, Max, Kit, Tina and Helena gathered in the lobby at the front of the church, sitting on the bottom rows of a flight of stairs that led up to a balcony.

"What are we waiting for?" Carmen asked.

"Alice," Shane said. "She needed to go back inside." 

"Max, what was the name of that job you applied for?" Carmen asked, making quiet conversation as the group waited.

"A place called InTechMode," Max said. "Jenny thought it'd be cool." 

"Oh, wait, you already interviewed for that didn't you?" Carmen asked.

"No, Moira did," Jenny put in, "and they were a bunch of sexist pigs, and I was going to write an article about it." Max had grown a beard since the first time he'd interviewed.

"You think they'll give Max a job they refused to give Moira?" Tina asked, mystified.

"It's a better job, actually," Max said. "Senior project manager. They seemed to like my resume, so--"

"Good for you, Max," Helena said.

Alice came out of the sanctuary and joined them in the foyer. She had a funny look on her face. "Guys," she whispered. "Look what I got." She carried her coat over her hands to hide something she carried. She pulled the coat back to reveal a Styrofoam coffee cup nearly filled with ashes. Several of the Friends gasped. 

"Are those Dana's ashes?" Max asked. Alice smiled like a Cheshire cat.

"You're my hero," Shane said, grinning. "Déjà vu all over again." 

"I had a good teacher," Alice said quietly to Shane. To the group she said, "We're going to have our own memorial, at Camp Imalahkaha." 

***

Shane was taking Dana's death harder than anyone had expected, even Shane herself. She was silent in the car, sniffling and occasionally wiping her nose or eyes as Carmen drove them home. Shane got out of the car without speaking, and went to sit on the back steps. Carmen had the good sense to leave her alone. She went to her room and changed out of her black dress, putting on a T-shirt and her Farmer John bib overalls. The flower beds in the back yard needing tending, and it seemed like a good time to do some quiet work that would occupy her mind while Shane grieved.

When Carmen stepped out onto the back porch she found Shane sitting there crying. She had buried her face in her arms, and was slowly rocking herself back and forth. Carmen watched her for a few moments, not sure if she should say anything or do anything. Ordinarily she would have tried to comfort Shane, put her arms around her. She'd been comforting her all week. But Shane was so quirky sometimes, and her grief seemed such a private thing that she kept inside, a thing only between herself and Dana, that Carmen felt Shane might not want comforting. Though it hurt her to do so, she turned and went back into the house, and stared out the window at the lonely figure sobbing on the porch. Carmen poured herself a cup of coffee and waited. Shane needed the private time.

After a while, Shane seemed to pull it together, and stopped rocking and crying. Carmen decided it was safe to go back out. She walked past Shane to the shed and got out the canvas carry-all bag of gardening tools, and a basket to put the weeds and trimmed waste material in. She looked at the flower beds that lined both sides of the walk, and decided to plunge in next to the studio, and work her way toward the house. She knelt and began to weed the flowerbed. The sun beat down on her and the warmth felt good. It felt good to be using her hands, and it suited Carmen's strong work ethic to always be doing something useful, something productive. The back yard had blossomed ever since Carmen had moved in and taken over responsibility from Jenny, who was only a halfway decent gardener. Shane had always been indifferent to it.

Carmen worked steadily for twenty minutes, and was halfway toward the house. She had worked up a little sweat, and a strand of hair had worked loose from the ponytail bun at the back of her neck. Carmen knew Shane was processing and that it took time. She didn't notice that Shane had quieted down, and was looking at her. 

And then she heard Shane ask, "Will you marry me?" 

***

Alice's Mini Cooper led the four-car caravan, followed by Carmen's Jeep, Helena's Porsche 911, and Bette's SUV bringing up the rear. Jenny and Tina rode with Alice to keep her company, Tina road with Helena, Shane rode with Carmen, and Kit rode with Bette. Camp Imalahkaha was in the Sierras north of Fresno, where there was still snow on the ground on the last weekend of March. The caravan left early Saturday morning and took five hours to get to the base of the mountain were the camp was. The roads up into the mountains were clear but wet, and last night's inch of snowfall lined the shoulders of the roads and decorated the tall pines. The sky remained overcast, and the temperature hovered just above freezing by the time they'd climbed up to the camp. Alice had called ahead and spoke to the camp director, who was actually vacationing in Arizona at the time. The director was sympathetic; of course he had heard of the famous tennis player Dana Fairbanks, and knew she had spent her teens there. In fact, the camp promoted its tennis program with Dana's face on the brochure, with Dana's happy permission. He saw no harm in the group going to the camp and scattering Dana's ashes there. It would be an honor. He said he'd call the security company that watched over the camp when it was closed for the winter, and someone would let them in. They could park in the parking lot, and if they wanted, he'd get them a guide to accompany them. He suggested that perhaps the best place to scatter the ashes was at the waterfall at the end of the trail; it was almost every camper's favorite spot there, and Dana had even mentioned it to Alice. Alice said thanks but no thanks; they didn't need a guide, they'd find their way. 

At the end of the parking lot there was a sign board that had "Camp Imalahkaha" and the name's translation," Place of Family," carved into its header. Below the header was a large map showing the trails and locations of key features around the camp.

"Dana's brother, Howie, was saying it was a bit of a hike to the waterfall," Max said.

"I think there's two falls," Alice said. "I think he's talking about that one," She pointed to the map. "I think we take the Algonquin Trail through the Passamaquoddy ... but do we take the Arapaho, or the...?" Bette puzzled over the map, trying to trace a route.

"You guys, I got it," Max said authoritatively. "We'll just take the Algonquin Trail through the Passamaquoddy Pass, go right at the Nicmac Valley, and that third nature trail, the Narragansett? We take it to the fork in the road, and that goes to the Ackwi River, where the waterfall is." 

"Great," Alice said, glad someone had figured it all out. Who would have thought Max would have turned out to be Daniel Boone? Maybe it was the beard and moustache. Maybe Max was transitioning into Jeremiah Johnson.

" Okay, let's go," Bette said, leading the way. 

"Guys, first we have to find the cabin Dana stayed at. It was really important to her. She talked about it at our first meeting." 

After half an hour's hike they came to a small cluster of cabins. "All right, guys, here's the cabins," Alice said.

"Which one did Dana stay in?" Shane asked. To their right was a small, cozy bungalow with "5"on the door.

"It was called the 'Hine Ãta,' I'm pretty sure," Alice said. She saw a small carved sign with the name Hine Ãta on it. "Here it is! I can't believe it's still here. Come on, we gotta go in." 

"This is the first place Dana got it on with a girl? And why do you know this?" Bette asked as they went in. The cabin was a single room barely large enough to contain three sets of bunk beds. Jenny, Alice and Shane climbed up into one of the top bunks, Alice and Shane sitting with their feet over the side and dangling down, while Jenny laid out behind them. Carmen reclined below them. Across the way Helena and Tina sat on the lower bunk while Max sat at a small table in the corner. Kit and Bette sat on a low chest against the wall.

"I was writing for this girl sports magazine, if you can believe that," Alice said, "me writing sports. I was given an assignment to interview this tennis player ... ." 

***

"Okay! Dana!" Alice exclaimed. She sat opposite Dana at a small table on the balcony of a coffee shop where they'd agreed to meet. She checked her notebook and turned on a small tape recorder and set it between them as Dana stirred her coffee. "I'm really excited about this interview." 

"Oh, good," Dana said, folding her arms and waiting for the first question.

"Did you have a special person, or like a mentor, someone who inspired you?" 

Dana seemed a little troubled by the question, and it was only the first one out of the box. "Yuh. Um. Well, yeah, ah. I was a senior camper... at Camp Imalahkaha, and uh, I was in Hine Ãta, that was the name of the cabin, and Hine Ãta means 'leader,' and there was this ... I had a bunkmate, who was sort of this leader of all us leaders, and she was ... um ... really mature and together, and--" Dana's eyes went distant and Alice could tell she'd gone back into the past for something. "—strong, and really funny ... and she always knew that she was--"

Alice had an idea what Dana was hinting at, but then Dana swerved. "—was always going to be a professional tennis player ... so ... um ... yeah, she was the first person I really looked up to in that way." Dana nodded, seeming to reaffirm something that wasn't there.

Alice nodded and was about to write it down when Dana picked up again.

"But she was an amazing athlete, beautiful, too. She had long blond hair ... and ... um ... really incredible muscles ... " Dana had retreated again into her memories. " She was really tan ... "

"Wow!" Alice said. "So it was kind of like--" she flapped her hand over one way then another, searching for the words. "Is it fair to say, maybe, that you were ... infatuated ... or uh ... you had love feelings--" she saw Dana's face had hardened into a frown --"for her?" 

Dana's frown turned into a comfortable laugh. "No, uh, no." She shook her head. How silly. Her face, though, said something else.

"But I mean, like ... you must have had, like a crush, or, you know ... not to say that she was a dyke, or that you are, but that--"

Dana's face hardened again. "What are you talking about?" she asked harshly.

Alice tried to play it cute, with eye rolls. "Well ... girl athlete ... long blond hair, big muscles ..."

"You know, I'm sorry," Dana said, picking up Alice's tape recorder and turning it off and smacking it back onto the table. "I can't do this interview. I've heard about this thing happening before, I just never expected it from a reputable publication like yours. I'm, I'm--" she reached down for her purse. "I have to go. You'll be hearing from my lawyer." 

***

"So how did you two wind up being friends after she got you fired," Helena asked.

"Oh, she didn't get me fired," Alice explained. "I means, they canned the story ... and never hired me again ... but whatever. So, um, one day I'm hanging out at Fred Segal Café, right? And I look up and there she is, Dana Fairbanks, and her mother. So I was sitting at this table with a bunch of people, Gabby Devaux was with me--"

"Uck," Shane muttered. She had some history with Gabby, and it wasn't good.

"—and Dana kept starring at me, and she couldn't take her eyes off me, right? So afterward I went to the florist to buy Gabby tulips, and she was cheating on me already, but anyway, I bought her tulips. And I came out, and I went up to Dana's car, to talk to her." 

***

"Nice wheels," Alice said, speaking to Dana's ass. Dana had the back door open and was bent over putting something inside on the seat. She stood up and whirled around. 

"Oh, hey! Hi," she said, smiling and happy to see Alice. "Thanks!"

"Where'd your friend go?" Alice asked.

"Oh, that's my mother," Dana said.

"Did you guys eat here?" Alice asked, pointing back at the café.

Dana hesitated, then nodded. "Uh, yeah." 

"Because Fred Segal Café is the biggest lezzie hangout in West Hollywood," Alice said.

"No, I didn't know that," Dana said, but she didn't seem too bothered by it. Alice said.

"Hmph," Dana shrugged. How about that. There was an awkward moment.

"Hey," Alice began, "maybe sometime you and I could go for lunch, or ... "

"Really? Yah, yah, sure," Dana said.

"Really? Oh, cool!"Alice said. "Great." She paused. "Maybe Wednesday." 

"Yeah, okay," Dana said, not very convincingly.

"Cool! Maybe we'll go to Fred Segal Café." 

"Or maybe Fred Segal Café," Dana said, mocking Alice a little bit saucily.

"Really?" 

"Yeah," Dana replied decisively.

Alice thought of something. She stepped a little closer to Dana. 

"Off the record. I swear. Camp Imalahkaha?" 

"Yeah?" 

"You and that girl? You got it on, right?" 

Dana looked coy, smiling and flirting. "Off the record?" 

"Yah!"

Dana leaned in close to Alice's year like she was going to whisper the secret, secret truth. "See you Wednesday," she said, laughing and getting into her car.

***

"So this is where it happened. With the tennis player," Alice finished her story. "It could have been this bunk." She and Shane and Jenny looked around at it, wondering if this was indeed where the historic deflowering deed had been done. "And it took her years to tell me." 

"She was really deep in that closet," Tina said.

"And then right after you met her you brought her to our millennium Y2K party at the gallery," Bette said, "where we partied like it was 1999." Everybody laughed.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 27



"Oh, that party," Shane reminisced. "That party was fucking insane! Do you remember that girl in the box?" 

"Yeah, that performance artist," Bette said.

"She would write on the glass," Shane said, her mind drifting off into reminiscence.

***

It was a double-date plus a wingman: Alice came with her boyfriend Greg, who was a member of their garage band. Alice was in her uber-straight phase, and had slept with Greg any number of times. Dana had brought her male tennis partner, a guy named Harrison whom everyone within a hundred yards could tell was as gay as Richard Simmons. He was a poor choice for a "beard" -- even Max's awful facial hair was better -- but Dana was still deeply closeted, and Harrison seemed the best she could do. The wingman, of course, was Shane, who had only just met Dana for the first time that night, and who was along for the ride. 

The gallery was run by a woman Alice had interviewed for a magazine assignment named Bette Porter. She was an up-and-coming powerdyke mover and shaker in the Los Angeles art world, and she had invited Alice and any of her friends she wanted to bring to the gallery's Millennium Y2K open house.

"So do you lift weights?" Alice had asked Dana as they stood talking and sipping their wine. Harrison had gone off somewhere. "What do you bench?" Since she had never completed her interview with Dana, Alice still didn't know much about Dana's tennis career.

"Oh, I don't bench," Dana said. "I use free weights." 

Just then a handsome black woman came toward them and as soon as Alice saw her she waved her to come over. "Hey, Kit, I want you to meet Dana Fairbanks. She's a pro tennis player." 

"Yeah? Get out! No shit?" the black woman said, smiling and shaking Dana's hand. Dana could tell the woman had been drinking.

"Kit Porter, she's the sister of one of the hostesses," Alice said, continuing the introductions.

"Cool, nice to meet you," Dana said. She turned quickly and grabbed the arm of a guy standing behind her. "This is my boyfriend, Harrison." 

Harrison had a wine glass in his left hand and squeezed in between Greg and Dana to offer a limp handshake to Kit.

"Hey, hiya doing," Kit said, their handshake morphing into a series of complicated fist bumps and slaps that seemed to baffle Harrison. Dana quickly grabbed his hand and pulled it to her side, out of harm's way.

"That's your boyfriend?" Kit asked, having sensed that there was something deeply ... different ... about Harrison.

"Yeah, isn't he cute?" Dana gushed.

"Yeah, he cute all right," Kit said with more than a touch of doubt in her voice as she wandered off.

Alice suddenly realized that Kit had been drunk.

"How long have you guys been dating?" Alice asked, puzzled herself.

"Well, it's been a while," Harrison began before Dana could stop him. "We... ." 

The central feature of the party was a beautiful Jamaican performance artist named Jimmi. Jimmi's "performance" consisted of two large pieces of clear thick, plate glass, each one six feet wide by eight feet tall. The two pieces were carefully hinged at the top and bottom, and were open at a slight angle, so they sat like two halves of a two-photo picture frame. Jimmi had an assortment of colored magic markers and paint brushes with paint, allowing her or gallery attendees to write various and sundry slogans, catchphrases, mottos, graffiti, nonsense, telephone numbers, and whatever crept into the minds of art gallery patrons who gave her things to write on the glass. Sweet baby. Lick me. Feel free to touch. Ilene is here. Call me. Keep going you are making me hot. As performance art, it pushed the edges of the envelope. If there was an envelope.

Oh, one other thing. During her artistic performance, Jimmi was completely, totally, proudly, defiantly, exquisitely, jubilantly, luxuriously bare-ass naked.

Shane's taste in women was as small-C catholic and universal as it was humanly possible to be. Shane loved all of womankind, black, yellow, tan, white, pink. There wasn't a hue of human she hadn't licked, and there wasn't a hue she didn't love. If women came in plaid or paisley, Shane would have happily fucked them. She'd eaten Chinese, Thai, Indian, Japanese, Italian, Mexican, French, Argentine, Tex-Mex, Inuit. She had munched the deliciously liquid Persian carpet of a gorgeous, bi-curious actress who was descended from a 19th century shah of Iran. She had sixty-nined at least two Hawaiian goddesses who had the blood of kings in their veins, as well as the haole granddaughter of a famous pineapple baron. She had tribbed minor royalty from England, Italy, Russia and Greece. She'd fucked a former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, no less than seven active-duty and five former college cheerleaders, and one reigning Rose Bowl queen. Lauren Hancock might have been the first law enforcement office Shane had made love with, but she wasn't the last: There were at least six others, including in a three-day period both a member of the Navajo Tribal Police as well as the police chief of a small town in the Mississippi delta (but not at the same time), both of whom were in L.A. to attend a law enforcement convention. 

Being a resident of the greater L.A. region, Shane had full access to hundreds of struggling young actresses who flocked to the city, and she had ready access to hundreds of Latina women, since such a high proportion of the region were of Hispanic heritage. Carmen was by no means her first tasty panochota, and Jimmi was by no means her first black woman. Shane had had sex of one kind or another with well over three dozen black women of varying hues, and had a mad, unfulfilled crush on a gorgeous black porn actress named Misty Stone, who like Shane was small-breasted and lean. Shane would have gone down on Halle Berry, Sanaa Lathan or Gabrielle Union in a heartbeat if she'd ever crossed paths with them. 

Most human sex tends to take place under relatively poor lighting conditions. That being said, Shane had sampled enough lady love over the years in sunlight or with the lights on that she had developed a keen appreciation for the many shades and subtleties of color and color change surrounding the pussy and female anus. It is a fact that in women of every race, skin coloration tends to be at least a few shades darker on the nipples, the pussy -- especially the inner and outer lips -- and the anus, usually the anal ring itself and sometimes in the entire butt slice. In Shane's experience, there were some white women -- usually pale-skinned and very fair -- whose nipples were pale and pink, very nearly the same color as the nearby skin; their pussies, too, were very nearly the same shade as the surrounding thighs, and their twinkies were as perfectly pink and pale as the rest of their skin. Shane knew these women were exceptions, not that she cared one whit. One of the pleasures of undressing a white girl for the first time was the complete surprise her nipple color would turn out to be. Just like pussies, nipples came in many shapes, styles, sizes and shades, and there was no way to predict what you were going to get. Shane was a big fan of their sex blush, their flushed faces and blushing necks and upper chests right at and immediately after orgasm. As far as Shane was concerned a woman didn't have one specific "color" -- she had a palette of them, depending on which part of her body you were talking about, and modified by things such as sun tan, birth marks, blushing, freckles, moles, complexion.

Among women of color -- any color, pick a color -- it was a little different. Their nipples and vulvas were almost always going to be darker than their overall skin shade -- but once again, variety was spice of life. Latino, black, Asian, it didn't matter: Nipples were going to be darker and browner, but it was going to run the full gamut from just a little darker to something very nearly on the other side of the spectrum. The same thing with pussies. Shane had seen (and licked) every shade under the sun: tan, brown, burgundy, black. She'd seen several that were dark gray, and once one that seemed purple. Even more fascinating to her was the color change that occurred when nipples, pussies and anuses began to swell with blood flow, turning darker and darker by the minute. A pussy could start out gloriously pink, and within moments it would become bright red. With just a little licking a black women's labia could turn from milk chocolate to a dark-roasted coffee bean color that was black but not-black. 

It was the shades of color of pussies that most fascinated Shane about black women, and most of all it was the shocking contrast when her hungry fingers pulled those pussy lips apart. Inside every black pussy she had ever loved and licked she found bright, shocking pink, exactly the same bright pink insides that white pussies and Hispanic pussies and Middle Eastern pussies and Asian pussies had. Shane loved that black-and-pink combination, it was almost like biting into a cherry-filled piece of dark chocolate in a Whitman's Sampler, a chocolate covered strawberry of lust. Assholes, too: Spread the butt cheeks of the blackest woman who ever lived and inside that anal ring was the most shocking, girly pink. It was a profound metaphor for Shane: Exterior skin color simply didn't matter because inside, all women were the same universal hue. A hue that she loved.

***

From the first moment Shane laid eyes on Jimmi, the pilot light in Shane's love oven turned on to start simmering Hollandaise sauce. It was not enough to say that Jimmi was gorgeous. She wore her hair cropped close, Solange Knowles style, so close that it revealed the shape of her head, which was itself so gorgeously crafted you wanted to hold it in your hands and kiss it all over, it was that beautiful. Jimmi's chocolate skin was the high-end gourmet bittersweet chocolate you paid extra for, but she sunbathed and purposely wore a bikini when she did so. The result was that her breasts, butt and pussy where a lighter shade of chocolate caramel. She had gorgeous full lips, a pleasantly wide nose with flaring nostrils that suggested excitement, and large, sleepy half-closed bedroom eyes. In repose her mouth took on a sultry, natural, shy, secretive smile. Her body was slim, with good legs and firm thighs. Her pussy was bald as a Republican. Even her navel was gorgeous, deep-set just above the gentlest swell of smooth belly. She had a bubble butt to die for, firm, taut, tight. And most gorgeous of all, a pair of the most beautiful tits Shane had ever seen. They were small and wide set, but had a lovely upward thrust. On their tips rested two of the prettiest dark brown aureoles that ever pointed to the heavens. Her eyes weren't watching God, but her nipples certainly were. When Jimmi walked, she glided, and nothing jiggled, nothing moved that wasn't supposed to move. 

Across the room, Jimmi and Shane made eye contact with each other, and Jimmi's face relaxed into a sleepy, sultry smile, eyes half closed, that announced she had met her partner for the night.

"There she goes," Alice murmured to Dana, who nodded agreement.

"My God, they're like elks in rut," Bette murmured. "You can practically smell the estrus." 

They watched Shane walk away from them and slowly approach the big glass panels that stood between them and Jimmi. Shane casually drifted along the glass wall, Jimmi watching her coming with a faint Mona Lisa grin on her face. When Shane got to the far end, there was a plastic ribbon rather like police barrier tape that was supposed to keep gallery attendees out of Jimmi's performance space. Casually, Shane ducked under the tape, and approached Jimmi slowly as a roomful of Y2K guests watched. Jimmi stood with one hip forward, watching this skinny, white andro-boi in her leather motorcycle jacket and spiked brunette hair approaching. Her gaze was level and curious, and her smile coy. Shane glided up behind Jimmi, and slowly pushed her against the glass wall, leaning in to nuzzle Jimmi's neck and shoulders, which Jimmi let her do. 

"What time do you get off?" Shane asked.

"About five minutes after I take you home," Jimmi whispered. Shane loved her Jamaican lilt.

"What time will that be?" 

"I have to stay until ten," Jimmi said.

"Okay, ten o'clock," Shane whispered, still nuzzling her neck. "I can't wait." 

"Me either," Jimmi whispered. Shane backed off reluctantly before a security guard could come running. 

"Okay," Shane said as Jimmi turned around and looked into Shane's eyes. Around them another hundred pair of eyes knew what had just transpired, and a hundred loins twitched with jealously. Dana watched the whole episode, her eyes glazed over, her mouth open and jaw slack. Jimmi, naked, Shane fully dressed, caressing her. She could imagine in glorious Technicolor what was going to happen later that night, the two of them, slowly sucking and fucking each other into God knew how many cums. 

***

"Y'all couldn't wait to out her outta that closet," Kit said, recalling the sight of Dana's face that night. "Yeah, like you were so innocent about that," Bette laughed.

"She was suffocating in there," Kit protested. "You had to bring her out. She had to breathe. She needed to live. What? Am I wrong?" 

"Kit, you were shitfaced," Bette said.

"Not too shitfaced to know that boy was gay as the day is long." 

***

Dana and her date, Harrison, were looking at two paintings in the gallery. On the left was a full portrait of a woman wearing a 1950s dress and carrying some sort of large purse or satchel in her left hand. On the right was a same-size full portrait of a ... person ... nude, with a patch of fig leaves over the crotch. The figure had a mop of curly blond hair, and a muscular, manly chest with no breasts, just two small nipples. But the rest of the figure was ... ambiguous, at a minimum, and actually feminine in many regards. In particular, there was no bulge under the fig leaves, suggesting the possibility of a vagina rather than a set of cock and balls. Which was the point of the painting. Dana and Harrison studied it, not knowing they were being observed across the room by Shane, Alice, Tina and Kit.

"It's a man, right?" Dana asked Harrison. He'd come to the Y2K gallery party dressed in dark slacks and a white Fruit-of-the-Loom T-shirt. He studied the painting. 

"Definitely," he said.

"Then, where's the ... " Dana left off.

Harrison put his hand down to his own crotch, sticking his ass out and miming tucking his cock in. The movement couldn't possibly have been more effeminate. "He has it down between his legs," he suggested. Dana poked him out of his posture before anyone saw them.

"Oh, my god, who are they kidding," Tina laughed, watching them. Alice had a perplexed look on her face, while Shane had something close to a full not-amused glower.

"Yeah, like they don't be doing the funky monkey tonight," Kit said. And indeed, she was shit-faced, since this was back in her heavily liquefied days.

Just then a tall, good-looking man walked past Dana and Harrison. Dana never noticed him, but Harrison twirled around and watched the guy walk away. The guy looked back, and he and Harrison made eye contact. Cue swelling theme music, cue violins, cue surf pounding on beach, cue train going into long dark tunnel.

"You know what, I gotta go," Harrison whispered into Dana's ear, He took off after the good-looking guy.

Shane, Alice, Tina and Kit watched as the good-looking guy walked by, followed a few steps later by Harrison. They all laughed.

***

"Do you guys know that Dana and I fooled around once?" Jenny asked as the group continued on their hike up the trail. 

"You and Dana?" Carmen asked, surprised. "Are you kidding me?" 

"Are you fucking kidding?" Alice added.

"No!"

"You're just saying that to get attention again," Carmen said.

"No, I'm not saying it to get attention!" Jenny protested.

"It's true, she did," Shane tossed in to support Jenny.

"Okay, Jenny," Helena said. "Details." 

"We, um, I was at the Palms, and she came, and we bumped into each other, and we started talking, or whatever, and she came back to the studio, and we proceeded to have the worst sex ever in history." 

"How did you recover after that?" Helena asked.

"We said we should just stop, before it got totally out of hand," Jenny said, "like two crazy people. And then, she asked if I wanted to learn how to dance." 

"She was a really good dancer, wasn't she?" Helena said.

"Um. Yes," Jenny said, remembering the night Dana had taught her to waltz and square dance. They were laughing, and ended up in each other's arms—but as friends, not lovers.

***

"Remember when Lara and Dana broke up?" Shane asked. They were all sitting around a picnic table by a lake. They'd known it was going to be a long hike to the waterfall, and so had brought backpacks with a picnic dinner. They had deli containers of potato salad and coleslaw, cold cuts, cheeses, crackers, and portable plastic wine glasses. Appropriate to the occasion, Helena had supplied two bottles of Dom Perignon. They had planned to leave the park by sundown, and stay the night in a motel suite outside Encino before driving back to L.A.

Shane was still taking it all very hard. She looked down at her knees. "I don't think I've ever seen her that devastated in a long time," she said, "so I took her to this Tegan and Sara concert." 

"Fuck, you were supposed to take me," Alice said. 

"I know! I just wanted to do something to cheer her up. She was in the worst place. But, anyways, but -- I don't know why -- but I brought acid." Everybody laughed or groaned. "I think Dana had an epiphany that night." 

***

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Shane said.

"I want to," Dana replied, opening the cellophane packet. They sat in Shane's car in the parking lot outside the club where Tegan and Sara were going to play.

"What's it going to do to me?" Dana asked.

Shane laughed. "Well, it depends." She put her head back, feeling the acid slowly taking hold of her. "Well, I don't know, I find it makes me kind of floaty, it makes me see trails, and colors, it's ah ... it's like that." 

Dana looked at Shane, seeing she was already a little floaty, and smiled. "Is that fun?" 

"I think it's a blast," Shane said.

"I don't knowwwww," Dana said. "Will it set me free?" she joked.

Shane laughed. "You know what? It'll give you the illusion that it set you free, and that's just as good." 

Dana swallowed her tab.

They sat at a tiny table at the back of the club. Tegan and Sara were singing Love Type Thing. Dana swayed to the music. Nice music. Musicy music. Shane took out her Bic lighter, flicked it on, and stared at the flame. Pretty flame. Floaty flame, Flame floaty.

"A shirt tucked out, and your hands tucked in. When dark things come calling, they want you to hear. The sweet humming underground; sleeveless and tired." 

"How do you feel," Shane asked.

"I don't feel anything," Dana said.

"You will," Shane said, holding the Bic up and slowly waving it back in forth, watching the pretty flame.

"Do you know who's a lesbian? Dana Fairbanks,"  Tegan sang up on the stage.

"I am not!" Dana said loudly and emphatically.

Shane looked at her. "What?" 

"Huh?" Dana replied. She looked up at the stage, where Tegan and Sara were bathed in these wonder halos, these beams of light that seemed to emanate out from them. Dana thought it was hysterically funny. Then for some strange reason their tiny table at the back was located right up front, and Tegan stopped playing, leaned over and put out her hand to Dana. 

"Come on, Dana," Tegan said. "Come out of that closet." 

Dana took Tegan's hand and got up on stage between the two singers, and danced. Or maybe she didn't. It was difficult to tell, because just then the Dana dancing up on stage gestured to the other Dana in the audience at the tiny table, who was laughing hysterically, it was all such fun.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 28



Chapter 28 Cat's Cradle

Although it was only forty miles as the crow flies, it took Shane more than an hour and a half to drive out Los Feliz Boulevard south of Griffith Park to Glendale to pick up the 5 to get to the 134 and then east all the way out to San Dimas on the 210, also known as the Foothill Freeway, nestled at the base of Glendora Mountain. It might have been easier to just go out Santa Monica to the 101 to get to the 10, but she would have had to drive past the place on the 101 where Harvey had been killed, and Shane always did everything she could to avoid that stretch. Harvey was on her mind very much lately, anyway, and she would have driven to Mexico if necessary to bypass the strip of road where the only man she had ever loved had died.

When she got off the 210 she turned north, climbing into the foothills near the old and famous Route 66. She pulled into a small, modest community of senior and assisted-living homes, found the street address she was looking for, and parked her pickup at the curb under a big shade tree. She admired the neat, orderly, colorful flowerbeds surrounding the house as she walked up to its front door. She was looking for the doorbell when the door opened, and Carol Beringer stood there, beaming. Carol pushed open the screen door and said, "Shane, Shane, Shane." 

Shane entered and immediately let Carol enfold her in an embrace. Carol wore her glasses on top of her head as she always did, but now the steel gray Brillo hair had gone white. She was still a trim, compact woman, and although she seemed to be aging well, Shane could see the care lines in her face. Shane understood at her deeply intuitive level that Carol's life had not been easy. 

Carol ended the hug and stepped back to look at Shane, still holding her at arm's length. "Oh, look at you, all grown up!" Carol said.

Shane laughed, delighted, and nodded. "Yep, that's me. One hundred percent fully functioning adult, at last, and against all the odds. All thanks to you."

"Oh, no! Not thanks to me. You did most of it yourself. Harvey and Barbara and Bernie and I, we just helped out, here and there. Come in, come in! It's so good to see you!"

"I hope I'm not intruding or interrupting anything, any plans you had—"

"Plans? Oh, my goodness, Shane. A couple of ancient retirees like Paul and me, we don't have many plans these days. When you called this morning, I told Paul, 'Shane's coming to visit! It's been ten years!' I told him all about you."

"Well, you look great for an ancient retiree," Shane said laughing. "How are you feeling? How's Paul?"

"I'm fine, for an old bird," Carol said, "and you know about Paul. He's still hanging in there, God knows how. Come on, can I get you some iced tea? Lemonade?"

"Iced tea would be great," Shane said. "That's a long, dry, drive out here."

Shane knew Carol was seventy, now, and that her husband Paul, who was a decade older, had had Alzheimers for some years. Shane knew from Christmas and birthday cards and the occasional letter that Paul was confined to a wheelchair, and had ceased speaking several years ago. His body was in fairly good shape, but his mind was completely gone. He had no idea who anyone was, including Carol. When Carol had said she'd told Paul that Shane was coming and she'd told Paul all about her, Shane knew that Carol had been speaking to a human scarecrow, an empty shell, and that Shane's most intimate secrets were safe with him. 

She followed Carol to the kitchen, where they got two iced teas, and Carol led her out to a screened porch that faced north with a grand view of the Los Angeles Mountains -- mountains that were just low, scrubby foothills. Off to their side sat a tall, emaciated old man in a wheelchair. He was clean and combed, and wore a nice flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled down in spite of the warmth of the day. A lap robe covered his legs, and when Carol and Shane entered he never moved so much as a muscle. Shane knew he may not even have known they were there.

"Look, Paul," Carol said. "Shane's here! And look how grown up she is!"

"Hi, Paul, it's great meeting you at last," Shane said comfortably, knowing there would be no response.

"Here, sit down and make yourself at home," Carol said. They sat in two large, comfortable wicker chairs with big cushions. There was a small table between them with coasters, where they could put their drinks. "So tell me, what brings you all the way out here on a Saturday afternoon? Everything still good with Carmen?" 

Carol knew all about Carmen from Shane and Carmen's most recent joint Christmas card just a few months earlier that featured a photo of the two of them dressed up as elves at The Planet's annual Christmas party, each sitting on one of Santa's knees. Santa was played by Kit, with her jolly white beard and mustache not hiding her black face. Shane and Carmen were waving at the camera, and Kit used the photo as a promotion for the party. Carmen was always game for any kind of promotion Kit wanted, but she had had to let Shane smoke two joints to get into the holiday spirit and the costume. In addition to the card with the photo, Shane had sent Carol a note telling her about Shane for Wax and adding that she and Carmen were in a committed relationship. Shane had crossed out the words "committed relationship" so Carol could still read it, and written in, "shacking up."

"Carmen's great," Shane said. "She's got a gig this afternoon DJing this huge wedding reception up in Woodland Hills at the country club. The groom is some record producer she's done work for over the years. Going to be something like 400 record industry people there. It'll be great for her business. But speaking of Carmen, and speaking of weddings--" She stopped, smiling shyly.

"What? Shane? Are you saying what I think you're saying?" 

Shane just grinned as Carol jumped up from her chair and made her stand up for another hug. "Oh, Shane, I'm so happy for you! Now, tell me everything!"

"Well, it's pretty simple, I guess. I asked her to marry me, and she said yes."

"Nothing's ever really that simple, you should know that, Shane. So you asked her, and not the other way around?"

"Yes, I asked her. And she didn't say yes right away, she needed to think about it. And I've been thinking about asking her for a while, so it's not like we just jumped into it or anything."

"Yes, I see. But you asked her. Wow. That's a pretty big step for the Shane McCutcheon I know, wouldn't you say?"

"I know. And I guess it's kind of bittersweet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I better start at the beginning. Do you follow tennis? Do you remember a month or two ago a woman tennis player named Dana Fairbanks died of breast cancer?"

"Fairbanks? Yes, that rings a bell. And she came out as a lesbian, right? The media made a big fuss after some tennis match she won. Was she close to you?"

"Yes, she was. I mean, we never, you know ... we didn't—"

"I understand. Go on."

"We've been friends for years and years. There's this group of lesbian women I hang out with, me and Carmen, and my old roommate Jenny, and her friend Moira, and Tina and Bette and Bette's sister Kit, she was the one dressed up as Santa Claus in that photo, and, let's see, there's Helena ... oh, and Alice, remember Alice Pieszecki, the magazine writer? You met her one night when we were planning Harvey's funeral—"

"Sure, I remember her. She came to the beach when we scattered Harvey's ashes."

"Right, that's her. She's been my best friend ever since then. Well, she and Jenny. But anyway, there's this group of us, and Dana was in the group, and when she got sick, you know, we all went through that with her, visiting in the hospital and taking care of her when she came home, and so on."

"Sounds like a pretty impressive group, Shane. You all care for each other. That's good."

"Yeah, I guess. There's been a lot of shit, though, a lot of drama over the years. Feuds and people splitting up and getting back together, you know? What's a bunch of lesbians without a ton of drama, right? But anyway, yes, we've all stuck together, thick and thin. But my point is, on the afternoon of Dana's funeral, that's when I asked Carmen to marry me. I know, the timing seems awful, right?"

"That's not the right word, but I understand what you're trying to say. But the timing, it's completely understandable. When Dana got sick, seriously sick, all of you in the group began thinking about death and your own mortality. That's normal, we all do that. And then when someone close to us dies, especially somebody so young, it all becomes a lot closer. Like when Harvey died. You had just turned twenty. You probably never gave a thought to your own mortality until that afternoon, right?"

"No, you're right. And then this past year we had another death. Bette and Kit's father died. He came to live with them his last few weeks, and their house is right next door, so Carmen and I spent a lot of time helping out Bette and Kit with Melvin, that was his name. So yeah, we thought a lot of mortality then, too."

"Did you know Dana was going to die? Was that expected or unexpected?"

"It was a shock. And what made it worse was she lied about it, I guess to protect us. At first she wouldn't even say it was breast cancer. She kept hiding it and minimizing it, and didn't tell us when it had metastasized. She was on chemo and radiation, and we thought it was working. And you know how everybody wants to be positive and optimistic and all. Nobody wants to be a downer. And then, bang, one day her immune system collapsed, she was rushed to the hospital, and next thing we know a few days later she was dead."

Shane had to stop and collect herself. Carol sipped her iced tea and looked out at Glendora Mountain in the haze.

"So anyway, we came home from the funeral, and Carmen changed into her yardwork clothes and was weeding the flowerbed, and I just asked her. And she, like, freezes and doesn't say anything, and I thought, you know, fuck, I must have really screwed it. But she gets up and comes and sits next to me and puts her arm around me and rocks me. Oh, I was crying, see, because I'd been thinking about Dana and I was really hurting, grieving, I guess."

"I see. And your marriage proposal was all mixed up with your grieving for Dana."

"Yes. Fucked up, huh?"

"No, not at all. Did Carmen understand?"

"Oh, my God, you have no idea about her. She's phenomenal. She has, like, this supernatural power, this ability to see into people, what they're thinking and feeling, and to, like, separate out all the things I'm thinking into their own, I don't know, pathways or something."

"But you have that ability, too, Shane. Remember our conversations?"

"Yes, but what you explained is my intuition, and that I pick up on people's vibes and stuff. And I do. But Carmen is way different from me, from how my mind works. Like you said, I take in lots of information and then I process it, and it takes me a long time, but I eventually get it done. Carmen, she's the opposite – she's fast, fast as all hell. And I seem to sense what people are feeling, but Carmen can tell what they're thinking. It's like she can see all the wheels turning inside someone's head, while I see what's in their hearts. Or something like that. I know that sounds stupid, but that's how she is."

"So what did she say?"

"She starts by saying that she knew how big a thing this was for me to ask, you know, considering my history and all, and that I was grieving for Dana, too. And then she says, 'I know everything's tumbling around inside you, but I take this very seriously. And because I do take it so seriously, I'm going to think about it, I'm not going to answer right away.' She says something this big, it deserves serious consideration."

"And then what?"

"And then she takes my hand and makes me go in the house, and, uh ... ."

"You made love," Carol said, grinning broadly.

"Yeah," Shane said, actually blushing. "How'd you know?"

"Because that's what people often do after a funeral. There's lots of reasons for it. One, it's life-affirming. Two, after a funeral, your emotions are in a pretty raw, open state, and people need solace, they need to be comforted. You certainly did at that moment, right?"

Shane nodded.

"So what better time, what better partner, what better means of helping each other to feel better? And I'll bet you five dollars something else."

"What?"

"It was really good sex. Really, really good. No matter how good your regular sex life is, this was even better. Yes? No?"

Shane laughed and blushed again. "Yeah. It was, uh ... ."

Now it was Carol's turn to laugh. "Paul, close your ears," she said over her shoulder to her husband, who never heard a word. "You don't have to answer, but yes, you just admitted it was really good. You have nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. It's all perfectly normal, and maybe one of the best parts about what it means to be human. There's even been studies that show a person's dopamine level in the brain increases after a funeral, and that triggers an increase in testosterone, which is what makes people horny. So even Mother Nature conspires to make people want to have sex after a funeral. It's in our chemistry."

"Wow. I had no idea." 

"Let's skip ahead. What happened the next day, or whenever."

"Well, I have to back up a little bit again. Dana's family wasn't comfortable with Dana being a lesbian, and they weren't comfortable with all of us lezzies being at the funeral, and Alice even made a scene and walked out of it when the minister made this dumb-ass remark about Dana never finding love and not having had time to find a husband--"

"Oh, no. The minister didn't know, did he?"

"Clueless, just clueless," Shane said.

"I've been to many, many more funerals than you have, Shane, but you'd be shocked at how many times the clergyman gets up to deliver the eulogy, and you realize he has no idea whatsoever who the deceased person was in life."

"Dana's brother told us the last time Dana had been in that church was when she was, like, fifteen years old. So anyway, we all got dis-invited to the reception at the Fairbanks' house afterward, so we're all kind of pissed off and all, and Alice gets this bright idea to steal some of Dana's ashes and that we should have our own ceremony and memorial for her. So that's what happened, Alice got a paper coffee cup and went into the church after everybody left and scooped out some of the ashes from Dana's urn."

"This is like déjà vu, isn't it, with you and the group of us switching Harvey's body at his funeral. And Alice knew about it because she went to the beach with us. You told her about the switch, I assume."

"Exactly! We were standing in the lobby of the church and she looked at me and I looked at her, and it was, like, Bingo! I knew what she was thinking instantly, I could read her mind and she could read my mind, so she went and got the ashes. I was so proud of her! So anyway, we have some of Dana's ashes, and a week later we all drive up to this tennis camp in the mountains that was Dana's favorite place on earth, where she used to go when she was a teenager, and there's this waterfall Dana loved, so we go and we take turns scattering her ashes into the river by the waterfall."

"Well, I was pretty upset, again, since this was, like, Dana's real funeral, you know? I was grieving, and after we did the ashes I was off by myself, crying, and Carmen comes and finds me. And she's just standing there, not saying anything, and then she just says, 'Yes.' Just like that, 'Yes,' and I don't even have to ask what the question is, because I know, she's saying yes, she'll marry me. So that's how it happened."

"Interesting."

"Uh-oh. That's shrink talk," Shane said. "What does 'interesting' mean?"

Carol laughed. "Okay, you got me. And I think you already know what I mean. Don't you?"

Shane sighed. "Yeah, I do. It's what I've been thinking about for a couple weeks now. Twenty minutes after Dana's funeral, I ask Carmen to marry me. Twenty minutes after we scatter her ashes at her second funeral, Carmen says yes."

"Bingo," Carol said. "You want some more iced tea? Come on, follow me out to the kitchen. Paul, you want anything?"

They went and refreshed their iced teas, and after Carol grabbed a bag of oatmeal cookies they returned to the verandah. "Here," Carol said, offering the cookies to Shane. "Great source of fiber. That's what us old folks tell ourselves." She went over to Paul and gave him some ice water through a straw from a cup. He drank, and raised his hand slightly, signaling "enough," but it was the only human gesture he made. 

"So you think me asking Carmen to marry me, and her saying yes, it's all connected to Dana dying?" Shane said after Carol sat back down.

"I'll tell you what I think in a minute, but first I'll tell you what you think, because you already made the connection between the funeral and the marriage proposal all by yourself, without any help from me, long before you came out here to ask me about it. No?"

"Yes," Shane said quietly. 

"And here's how it goes. You're worried that maybe you asked her because you were grieving, you were emotionally very upset, fragile and vulnerable. It's a variation on the sex-after-a-funeral idea, that you – and Carmen, too, let's not leave her out – needed comforting and consoling. You both needed emotional closeness. Just like sex after a funeral takes your mind off the dead person and the mourning, asking someone to marry you also changes the subject, and takes your mind off the grief process. You follow?"

"I—I don't know. Maybe."

"It raises the question in your mind, suppose Dana hadn't died. Suppose she didn't have breast cancer. If your lives had proceeded normally, with Dana still alive and healthy, or at least not terminally ill, anyway, would you still have come to the point of asking Carmen to marry you? And would Carmen have accepted? Is that what you've been asking yourself?"

"Yes. I can't believe you figured this out."

"Piece of cake. Next time ask me something difficult." 

Shane smiled. "You said you'd tell me what you think."

"I will, but first, let me ask you some basic questions. Do you love Carmen?"

"Yes. Sure."

"Good. Quick answer, no hesitation, no qualifying, no hedging. Next, does she love you?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. She even says it was love at first sight, for her, anyway. Maybe for me, too, but I was probably too fucked up to pay attention, and anyway, love scares the crap out of me. But yes, she loves me. There's just no question about that part of it."

"Okay then. What does she think about marriage?"

"She's all in favor of it. She's real big on monogamy and commitment, and being faithful and all that. And she's got that wedding thing most little girls seem to have, even a lot of lesbians. She says even when she was a little girl she wanted to get married, even before she knew she was gay. She had that fantasy thing about the white wedding dress and walking down the aisle, and all that. The whole enchilada, as she likes to say. As far as she's concerned, being a lesbian is practically an insignificant detail, it's not even a bump in the road. You know, you just stick two women dolls on top of the wedding cake, and move on, like everything was that easy. And for her, it is that easy."

"And what are your feelings about marriage?"

Shane sipped her iced tea and looked out at the mountain. She set her drink down in its coaster and brought her hands together, fingers interlocked. Then she brought them apart quickly, like a bomb exploding, and made a movie explosion sound deep in her throat. "Booooom!"

Carol laughed. "Yeah, I figured something like that. Ka-boom. So what does ka-boom actually mean? Are you against it?"




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 28



"No. What ka-boom means is that I don't know what it means. Does that make any sense? It means that everything ... ."

"Comes apart."

"Yes!"

"It's completely disruptive of everything Shane McCutcheon stands for, and has always been. The free spirit, the butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, spreading her pollen, having endless one-night stands. Never getting emotionally involved, never falling in love, never letting anyone close enough to fall in love with you. And then all the downsides and the bad statistics. The fights, the divorces, the custody battles. You might have some friends who went through all that bad stuff. Isn't that the picture?"

"Until Carmen came along, yes."

"And she changed your view of things. Of relationships."

"She sure as hell tried. And I sure as hell tried to fuck it up. You have no idea how hard I tried to screw it up. One dumb, shitty, stupid thing after another."

"But she stuck it out?"

"She's smarter than me. A hundred times smarter. And she's patient, and she knows what she wants. Every time I did something stupid, she figured it out, sooner or later, and just waited me out. At first, I just treated her awful, and she figured that out even when I didn't, that it was my way of keeping her away. Out of my heart, I guess you could say. And even then I pushed her away again, I even pushed her into a relationship with my housemate Jenny. They were even sleeping together, if you can believe it, right there in the bedroom next to mine, for a couple of months, although they weren't in love with each other. They were just, like, fuck buddies, and it was Carmen's way of staying close to me. And here's the funny thing: Carmen was sleeping with Jenny because I made them, and it ate me alive, it tore me apart. I was jealous, I was crazy, it ate my heart out, I could hardly watch it even though I was the one made it happen. I mean, that's just so twisted, you know? But I did it, that's how fucked up she made me. I pushed her away harder than I ever had to push anybody else, by far, and of course that was because she was a bigger threat than anybody else ever was, by far. I thought love would kill me, and man, she was fucking Jack the Ripper, you know? Jack the Ripper and the Grim Reaper, both of them knocking on my door. All the walls I put up, Carmen just slowly and patiently climbed over them or around them or dug tunnels under them. And of course I blamed her, too, which is even more fucked up and unfair. This was all her fault, it had to be, because I was in denial about who the fucked up one had to be, and it wasn't her. And then, finally, we went on this cruise, and by that time I was just like this sick, screwed-up, tormented, lovesick teenager."

"Wow. Okay, what changed it?" 

"You know who Phoebe Sparkle is? The sex writer?"

"Sure. I've read her books, every shrink has. What's she got to do with this?"

"Phoebe was on the cruise, she was their celebrity lecturer, and I met her. I even slept in her room for five nights, and I swear to God, Carol, no one would believe this in a thousand years, but I never fucked her. I never laid a hand on her, or her on me. She slept alone, in her bed, and I slept all alone on the couch, and swear to God, we couldn't have been happier about it. Oh, she made me promise to never tell that to anyone, so you have to keep it secret—"

Carol laughed. "Patient confidentiality covers it, don't worry about it."

"Phoebe said it would ruin her reputation, mine too, if people didn't think we fucked liked maniacs all night long. So everyone thinks I had this mad fling with Phoebe, and I let them think it, one more celebrity notch in my gunbelt, you know? Anyway, one morning we had this long talk, and she said what I should do was ask Carmen out on a date. And I'm like, are you fucking out of your mind, lady? But you know, she was exactly right, and that's what I did. Me. You could put it in Ripley's Believe It or Not right there on the corner of Hollywood Boulevard and Highland Avenue. The very first time I ever asked a woman out on a date. We went to a Gloria Steinem lecture. I opened the car door for her. We were like two sixteen-year-old virgins on their first date. It was, like, we threw out our entire history, especially mine, and started over from scratch."

"Pretty amazing. The word we shrinks would use is 'transformative.'"

"Transformative, huh? Okay, whatever."

"What did all your friends think?"

"Oh, they're all like, ho-hum, so what else is new. They all knew this was gonna happen. Jenny, she knew right from Day One that Carmen was in love with me, and not her, and it didn't even seem to bother her, although that's a long story in itself. But, yeah, she always knew we were meant for each other. Alice knew. Tina and Bette, they're our next door neighbors, and they're split up, it's a real mess, the kind I worry about for myself. Anyway, they knew. Dana knew. She's like, what took ya so long? Kit knew. She's Bette's sister and manger of the place we hang out. She was a big fan of Carmen's right from the start, personally and professionally. She thinks the world of Carmen, she hired her to be the permanent house DJ, and business is incredible the nights Carmen is there Djing.

"What does everybody think about the wedding?"

"Oh. Yeah. That's harder to say. I think they all have mixed feelings about it, and they don't want to talk about it, at least when I'm around. I'm sure they talk about it like crazy when I'm not there."

"What do you think they say?"

"Well, like I say, they have mixed feelings. On the one hand, they all love me and Carmen, both, and think we're great together and all. And I guess everyone wants us to be happy and stuff. But I think ... this is kinda hard to say ... I think they worry about me being happily married, and faithful, and all. I don't exactly have a real good track record, to put it mildly. Hell, I suspect a few of them don't even think I'll make it to the alter."

"What do you think?"

"I think ... what they think is certainly understandable."

"Meaning what?"

Shane sighed and looked out the window at the hills before she finally answered. "They're right, I don't have a good track record. I'm famous for not being in long-term relationships. This is the only one I've ever been in, and I already fucked it up once, by cheating on her. I ... I never in my life imagined myself getting married. It was never remotely on my radar. You know how people talk about settling down? Well, I'm not a settler-downer. I'm about the least monogamous person I know. I once told her that monogamy was unnatural to me."

"And yet this was your idea, your initiative. You asked her. Did you guys ever talk about marriage? Did she drop hints, anything like that?"

"No, never. I got to give her credit. I mean, she loves me, and wants a committed relationship with me, and all, but she never said word one about marriage, or any kind of commitment ceremony, or whatever. She once talked with our friends about how when she was young she wanted to be married in this beautiful white wedding dress. But that was mostly more about the dress thing, and anyway she didn't say it to me."

"And she didn't say yes right away."

"No. She wanted to think it over. I can't fault her for that. And, you know, the circumstances were pretty bad. It wasn't like it was all romantic, like in the movies."

"Does she have family?"

"She does, and you know what? I met them, and they loved me, and I loved them, but see, it was before Carmen came out to her mother. And when she did, bang, that ruined everything. Carmen's mom threw us both out. And we haven't seen her since."

"You said it ruined everything."

"Yeah, it did." Shane looked out at the hills again. "I ... I really liked them. No, I loved them. I loved her mother. Her mother and I ... ." Shane choked up.

"Here, let me get you some tissues," Carol said. She went into the house and returned a moment later with a box of them. Shane took the box and plucked out a tissue to wipe her yes and blow her nose.

"Her mother loved you. Something you haven't felt, quit literally in twenty years. Mother love."

"Her mom ... ."

"Yes?"

"She hugged me. I loved it when she hugged me. I can't begin to tell you what it was like. It was ... I just can't describe it."

"There's nothing quit like mother love, is there? It's not like any other kind of love in the world."

"Got that right," Shane said, sniffling. "Which reminds me. I've got more news. I'm going to go meet my father."

Carol gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Wow. That may be even more of a bombshell than you getting married."

Shane nodded. "Tell me about it."

***

"It's sort of like a Mexican wedding cake, it's got pineapple and walnuts in it," Lara said. She and a few of the friends were having their post-dinner coffee at a restaurant and discussing what had become everyone's all-consuming topic, The Wedding. Lara had volunteered to do the cake.

"You're a culinary genius," Alice said.

"Do you guys think Shane's going to go through with it?" Jenny asked.

"I have to admit I'm a bit surprised she's gotten this far," Bette said.

"All I can say is she better go through with it," Helena said, "because I booked fifteen rooms at the Fairmont Chateau Whistler."

"Also, not to mention, what is it, the private ski instructor." Alice said.

"The lay minister, the chapel," Helena added.

"The fondue," Bette said. 

"The fondue," Helena agreed.

"That's very nice of you," Jenny told Helena.

"It's nice to have rich friends," Alice had to throw in.

"You know, it makes me happy to do it. What worries me is Shane doesn't have any family, and Carmen, I don't know, are any of her family coming?" Helena asked.

"Oh, my God, haven't any of you guys heard about Shane?" Lara suddenly remembered.

"No, what?"

"That Shane's meeting her dad, tomorrow." Alice said.

"I thought Shane was an orphan," Bette said, frowning.

"Yeah, me too," Kit said.

"A couple of weeks ago, her dad's wife was in this beauty salon or whatever, and she was reading Angelina magazine—" 

"I wrote that piece," Alice said, beaming while trying unsuccessfully to seem modest, "about the opening of Wax, and she gave it to Shane's dad, and the dad called, and Shane is going to Oregon City to visit Gabriel."

"Wow," Kit said.

***

"No, I don't want Carmen to know. I don't want her to get her hopes up," Helena said, talking into her cell phone. She was in a corridor at the showroom and dressing area of the Angelika Webster Collection, the wedding dress shop where the Friends had gone to help Carmen pick out and try on wedding dresses. "Just make sure the hotel's holding the rooms, all tight? You ought to see Carmen; she looks incredible. I've got to go, bye."

Carmen stood before a full-length three-panel mirror up on a dais. She wore a strapless gown that had a series of small black bows on the back.

"What should I do, twist and turn and shake it all out?" Carmen asked as she and Jenny fussed with the petticoats and the spread of the skirt. "I don't know. What should I do? Should I try to go bridal femme? Should I totally try and butch it up in some way?"

"What's Shane doing?" Helena asked. "Is she wearing a traditional tux?"

"No, it's Shane," Jenny said, "so she's not going to do anything traditional."

"You know what?" Bette said, sitting in a chair to the side and observing the proceedings. "You should just do whatever feels good for you."

"Here, try this one," Alice said, handing Carmen another dress on a hanger.

Carmen shook her head and gave out a long sigh, shaking her head in disbelief, though not at Alice or the dress.

"What?" Jenny asked.

"I don't know, I don't know," Carmen sighed. "Am I really trying to marry the most unobtainable person on the face of this planet?" She held up in front of her the dress Alice had just handed her. She looked in the mirror. She liked the dress, but it didn't thrill her. She handed it back to Alice. A few minutes later she found one she thought she should try on. She came out of the dressing room in it.

"This needs to be taken in, like this," Jenny said, adjusting the top of it.

"That's a lot, though," Bette said, eyeing it critically, and frowning.

"I don't like it," Jenny agreed. Carmen looked in the three-panel mirror; she didn't care for it, either, now that she had it on.

"Jenny, what did you wear when you got married?" Alice asked. She was sitting to the side, seemingly absorbed in her cat's cradle string play that she'd recently picked up.

"You were married?" Helena asked, surprised by the question.

"Oh, yeah!" Jenny said. "I wore a beautiful pair of black Converse—" everybody laughed, and Jenny continued to mug it up with enthusiasm – "a great pair of ripped tights with dirt on them, a jeans skirt, and then I wore this beautiful, old, ripped, stained, pink sweatshirt. It was awwwwwesome!"

"Not exactly the wedding dress of your childhood dreams," Bette said.

"I didn't really have that childhood thing, you know, of getting married," Jenny said wistfully. "You know, that all little girls are supposed to have that dream, right?"

"Not little gay girls," Alice said.

"Oh, wow," Carmen said, holding up a dress on a hanger, "this has 'Jenny' written all over it."

"That's beautiful, look at the beads," Bette said. Carmen handed it to Jenny, who went into the dressing room to try it on, just for kicks. Then they found one Carmen seemed to like, and she, too, went off to put the dress on.

A few minutes later Jenny stood before the mirrors in the dress, with a full mesh veil over her head. She looked gorgeous. Carmen came out of the dressing room in a strapless that wrapped around the bodice, and modeled it next to Jenny. Alice helped Carmen try on the headdress/veil that came with it. Helena found a dress she liked and held it to her chest, looking at it in the mirror.

"When Tina and I were talking about getting married we were both going to wear fabulous dresses," she said.

"How come you guys didn't get married," Jenny asked.

"Tina thought it would be too conventional," Bette said. "She didn't want to 'cleave to the heterosexual paradigm.'"

"Now it's cleavin' all over her," Alice remarked, helping Carmen. Tina was in the midst of a heavy affair with a man, an extremely sore point with Bette, obviously, and something of a mystery to the rest of the Friends as well.

"Oh, God," Carmen said. "Come back to us, Tina, come back on our side."

"Fuck that, they can have her," Bette said.

"I think you would look beautiful in your wedding dress," Jenny said to Bette.

Helena took the dress she'd been looking at and handed it to Bette. "Go on, Bette. Try it on," she said, kindly. Bette eyed the dress, which was gorgeous. But she reluctantly pushed it away, saying quietly, "No, thanks."

"I mean, I knew I was gay since I was 12," Carmen said, holding up a dress in front of Alice, "but, I dunno, I just always kinda dreamed of something like this."

Carmen really did like the dress. She studied it for a moment, then looked in the mirror at the people behind her in the showroom. There, lying contentedly in the middle of the floor near Bette's feet was a large female jaguar.

"These are all my friends," Carmen said.

"I know," Ixchel said. "They seem like nice people. Although a few of them are damaged."

"Aren't we all damaged, at least a little bit?" Carmen asked the jaguar goddess. The jaguar flicked her tail over her rear haunch as though chasing a fly, though there were no flies in the room.

"Yes, of course," Ixchel said. "But it's a false equivalency. Some are hurt worse than others. The small one, the one you had the affair with. We've talked about her before."

"Jenny? Yes, we have, I know."

"She's very damaged. And she's getting worse again."

"Is it because of Shane and me?"

"No. You two have nothing to do with it."

"I thought maybe Shane and me, getting back together ... ."

"No. Your conscience is clear."

"I just feel so bad about her."

"I know you do. But it's because you have such a big heart. You love people very deeply."

Carmen sighed. "Ixchel, tell me the truth. Am I making a huge mistake? Am I making a fool of myself?"

"You are following your heart. Do you think that's a mistake?"

"No."

"But you are taking a very big risk, I grant you that. Taking a risk isn't the same as making a mistake. 'Mistake' is just the name we give to it on Monday morning if it works out badly. If it succeeds, then we say it was bold and brilliant. But here's the key thing you need to know. You really don't have any choice. All the wheels have been set in motion."

"I don't understand."

"When Shane asked you to marry her, that started a chain of events. You had a series of choices, in theory. But you really couldn't have done anything other than what you did. You didn't screw up. Here, let's look at your choices. You could have told Shane no, you wouldn't marry her. If you'd said that, what would have been her reaction? What would it have done to your relationship?"

"At that moment, when she was grieving over Dana? I don't know ... I think it would have hurt her. Yes, I know it would."

"Right. Not right away. You know she takes forever to process things. But over time, maybe only a few minutes, she would have come to understand it as a rejection. It would have struck at the heart of her self-esteem, which in any case is pretty fragile. She would have assumed it was a leftover artifact from her infidelity with Cheri Perroni. That you still hadn't totally forgiven her. She values your opinion, especially your opinion of her, above all others. If you'd said no, you would have been rejecting her, not just as a marriage partner, but as a person."

"What if I'd said yes?"

"That's only a theoretical possibility, but it wasn't in the cards. Something this important, this fundamental. This complicated. So many things to think about. Maybe some people could have said yes right away ... but you aren't one of them."

"No."

"So you said the only thing you could. That you loved her, and that you needed to think about it. That it was an important question and you took it seriously. You hit all your marks. And then you went inside and made love. Like I said, you really had no choice."

"I guess."

"And then you gave it a lot of thought. You worked on it all week. And then there came a point where you owed her a proper answer. There, on the side of that mountain, you gave it to her. You said yes. Do you have any regrets?"

"No."

"Good. But I know what's on your mind."

"What?"

"It's the risks. It's that this is a big, big gamble. That Shane is unreliable. As you say, unobtainable. You recognize that it isn't just the question of whether Shane will show up at the alter. It's that she could still bolt, say, three days after the wedding. A week after. A month after. A year after."

"It's that I don't trust her."

"No. That makes it sound like it's on you, that it's your problem. It isn't. It's on her."

"So what do I do?"

"The only thing you can do. Proceed. Give her the benfit of the doubt. Give her the trust. Assume the best. Think positive. Don't second-guess yourself. Do you love her?"

"Yes, you know I do."

"Well, then, marry her. Walk down the aisle."

"It sounds like you're saying I should give her enough rope to hang herself."

"I am saying that. Because sometimes people don't hang themselves. Sometimes things work out. Anyway, once again you don't have any choice."

"Why not?"

"Because that's who you are. You are Carmen de la Pica Morales. You put yourself on the line for the people you love. If you hesitated, even for one moment, you'd never forgive yourself. The truth is, you are incapable of giving only 99 percent. It's all or nothing."




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 28



"All or nothing."

"Yes"

"Okay," Carmen sighed. "Let's do this thing."

***

Shane stood in front of the hardware store where they'd agreed to meet, lighting up a cigarette and looking around for the man who was supposedly her father. Oregon City, Oregon, was a small town of about 30,000 people nestled in the northwest corner of the state on the Willamette River right below its fork with the Clackamas River. The air was cool and crisp, and Shane could see people's breath in the air as they exhaled.

And then all of a sudden there he was at her shoulder, startling her. He was a tall man in his late forties, wearing jeans, a white Shetland sweater, and over top of it a waist-length fleece-lined buckskin jacket. He wore dark sunglasses and had a full head of shaggy hair. His face was weathered and creased in a manly Western kind of way.

"It's all right," he said, touching Shane's arm. He stepped back, and then stepped one step forward again. He had an amused smirk on his face. "You were thinking about ditching on me, weren't you?"

"No, I—" Shane tried to begin.

"Yes, you were, I saw it in your eyes," Gabe said, again vaguely amused. He put his hand on the small of her back and guided her down the street. "Come on, it's okay," he said. Shane heard a lot of roaring in her head, and said nothing. She was still busily processing.

Gabe took them to a small restaurant and sandwich shop down the block. They seated themselves at the table near the front window, and ordered coffee.

"So you're a hairdresser at a skateboard shop," Gabe said, making conversation. "I might need an explanation."

"Don't really have one, it's just what I do," Shane said, not making eye contact with him.

"Okay!" he said, friendly and trying to be charming. "Have you always wanted to do that?"

Shane didn't know what to say, and just sat silent.

"Did you go to school for it?"

Yes, Dad, See, I was a street whore and one of the faggot johns I gave handjobs to on Santa Monica Boulevard took me in and paid for my education after three assholes sodomized me so bad I couldn't sit down for a week. "I just kinda picked it up along the way," Shane said, looking out the window.

Gabe leaned in. "You're not giving me a lot to work with here," he said gently. "You don't like answering questions, huh? Well, I don't, either. So go ahead. Ask me something." He sat back, getting out of her space and tapping his knuckle on the table.

Shane looked up from her own hands, and looked him in the eyes for the first time. "Why'd you want to meet me?"

Gabe thought about it for a minute, deciding what to tell her. "I didn't," he finally confessed. "My wife Carla made me."

"At least you're honest," Shane said.

He leaned in again, conspiratorily. "When I saw you out there on the street, when I saw you deciding if you were gonna ditch me ... I was thinking the exact same thing."

Shane was tucked in, in full tortoise mode, giving away nothing, and trying to ignore the roar in her head. "I bet you were," she said quietly, not looking at him again. Then she looked up and let him have it. "Kinda like when I was little, right?"

He sat back slowly, only mildly wounded. "Kinda sorta," he admitted.

***

"I was an assistant poleman at the pulp mill until I hurt my back," Gabe said, sipping at his coffee. "Now I drive a truck for a beverage distributor."

"How'd you hurt your back?" Shane asked as the waitress came by and refilled their cups.

"We McCutcheons have these long backs, you, know, and we tend to hunch forward and slump our shoulders," Gabe said, rounding his shoulders to show Shane what he meant about the McCutcheon gene pool's posture and physiques. "You always did as a kid. I used to come watch you, I'd see you on the playground at the church school, and you always looked--" he searched for the words thoughtfully, "--so pissed off." He gave her a small laugh.

She still looked that way. "You never talked to me," Shane said, with a look that stopped just this side of a glare.

Gabe looked away, looked back. "I wouldn't have been much good to you back then. All I cared about was getting high. Getting laid." He shrugged. "I'd probably still be doing it if my friend Chuck hadn't OD'ed."

"I'm sorry," Shane said quietly.

"As strung out as I was, it really shakes you hard when you lose someone that you were really close to," he said. 

Shane wouldn't look up, but she nodded her head. "Yeah." She knew about that. She sat forward. "I, ah ... I just lost a really close friend recently, so ... yeah."

Gabe took Shane's right hand in his big hands. "So," he said. Then he released her, sat back, and regarded her thoughtfully.

"Why don't you come home with me for dinner? Be a good time to meet Carla and Shay."

"Shay?"

He leaned forward, smiling. "We almost called him 'Shane' because I loved the name so much." He reached out his roughened hand to hers. "I named you that, you know," he said.

Shane looked at him. The noise level in her head was as loud as a pulp mill. She didn't know what to say.

***

"Dinner was phenomenal," Shane said. She was sitting around the kitchen table with her new-to-her stepmother, Carla, and the younger half-brother, Shay, whom she'd never met and had only ever heard about as a rumor. "Thank you."

"That's okay," Carla.

Shane sat next to Shay, and they played a miniature electronic hockey game at the table while Carla relaxed and Gabe did the table clearing and clean-up. "Score!" Shay exclaimed.

"Good shot! You got past my goal. Good job," Shane said.

"I knew you were his daughter, and not just because of the name," Carla said a bit awkwardly, referring to the magazine article she'd read that led to their meeting. "It was the picture. You have his genes. His very strong genes." She laughed. "I mean, look at all three of you."

"Hey, Shay," Gabe said, leaning over Shay and putting a refilled glass down in front of him. "Shane has a skateboard shop."

"You skateboard?" Shay asked, his eyes shining.

"I do, I do," Shane said, smiling. "We have a half pipe at the store."

"Cool!"

"Looks like you're doing real well there," Carla said. "You have your own line of hair products, and everything. 'Shane for Wax,' I love that."

"Thank you, that was my partner Chase's idea."

"Is he the boy with the red T-shirt?"

"Yeah," Shane said. "That's him in the picture."

"Are you two ...?" Carla asked.

"Oh, no, no, no," Shane held up her hand, shaking her head emphatically, no, there was no relationship there.

"Oh," Carla said, and then turned to Shay. "Come on, finish your dinner, or I'll take the game off the table."

During the following silence, Shane came to a decision. "I'm actually ... getting married next week," she said. 

Gabe and Carla both looked at her in surprise, then looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Wow!" Carla said. "Wow, that's wonderful! Gabe!"

"Wow," Gabe said, "getting married. Who knew?"

"Mmm, not me," Shane said, and Carla laughed.

"Well, just because it took you forty-five years to settle down, Gabe," Carla said. She turned to Shane. "Everywhere we went, women just threw themselves at him," Carla added, having no idea she had just done a triple back flip off the high dive into the like-father-, like-daughter McCutcheon gene pool. Gabe preened. "He never even had to do anything. No one ever thought he'd settle down."

"And look at me now," Gabe said.

"Well, looks pretty good," Shane said.

Gabe nodded his thanks for the compliment. "So what's he do, your guy?"

Shane paused, and thought. "She's a DJ," she answered matter-of-factly. "She also is a production assistant. She works on movies and TV shows, and CD video shoots. Her name's Carmen."

There was silence around the table. Gabe nodded his head.

"Well, see," Carla finally said, smiling and breaking the tension. "I told you," she said to Gabe. To Shane: "I looked at your picture and I said, 'I bet she's gay.'" She laughed.

"She did, she nailed that," Gabe confirmed, nodding and smiling.

"Yeah?" Shane said, returning to the hockey game with Shay.

"Yes!" Shay exulted as he scored another goal.

"Hey, you won," Shane said.

"My dad always lets me win," Shay said.

"So," Gabe said. "Where are you getting married?"

"In Whistler."

"Canada?" Gabe said.

"Right, you can do that up there." Carla said. She seemed happy and delighted with the news.

"Yes, you can," Shane said. 

"Hey, we should go!" Carla turned to Gabe, excited. "I mean, it's so close, we ... " She stopped.

"Honey, we haven't exactly been invited," Gabe said in a stage whisper.

"Uh, um," Carla, mumbled, now embarrassed and realizing what she'd said.

"No, you're invited," Shane decided. She looked at Gabe and then Carla, then Gabe again. "I'd like for you guys to be there ... if ... ya know ... if you'd like."

Gabe seemed to be smiling and nodding. He seemed to like Shane. He seemed proud of her.

***

Alice toyed with the string wrapped around her fingers, making yet another cat's cradle. The studio lights were turned down, the way Alice liked when she did her show at KCRW, the public radio station at the campus of Santa Monica College. Calmly she began her monolog to her nighttime audience out there in radioland.

"I want to believe, my friends. Believe me, I do. 'Cause my friend Shane is getting married this weekend, and I wanna believe for Shane, and I wanna believe for all the rest of us who are flailing around in this abyss, tryin' to feel what we're supposed to feel in order to connect in meaningful ways. I wanna believe that real, true connection among human beings is actually possible. And supposedly ... marriage connects us. I mean, supposedly it improves our moral fiber, and all. Which begs the question: Why do these crazy, creepy, defending-the-family crusaders think it's a bad thing for gays? I mean, why can't they just wish us well? Hypocrites. 'Cause we're goin' to Canada, people! Whether you like it or not, to take our best shot at this connection. And if we fail, it is not because we are less wholesome than you are. Pleeeze. I mean, you guys have been failing at this miserably since the beginning of recorded history. And if we succeed, and our love connections actually flourish ... and there's a little less loneliness in the world, then even I might start believing in miracles."



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 29



Chapter 29

Canadian Sunset

"Welcome to the Fairmont Chateau Whistler," the doorman said after opening the door to the Hummer stretch limo and helping Peggy Peabody climb out. She was followed by Shane, Carmen, Alice and Helena, all of whom had flown from LAX to Vancouver in the Peabody corporate jet, and then taken the limo up Highway 99, the Sea-to-Sky Highway to Whistler two hours and some 75 miles to the north. The road ran along the eastern shoreline of the fantastically beautiful Strait of Georgia, then through forest, and then along the western shore of Daisy Lake before finally turning northeast into the town of Whistler. The resort itself nestled at the foot of Blackcomb Mountain. Not only did it include two mile-high mountains with some of the best skiing in the world, it even had its own glacier, and you could ski on it, too.

"Wow, look at this place," Shane murmured in appreciation. There was no place like it in Texas, where she had spent the first two-thirds of her life, or in LA, where she'd spent the last third.

Carmen got out of the left side of the car, turned, and looked out over the snow-covered valley. The view was incredible. The sun glistened off the snow-crusted mountainsides that ringed the huge resort hotel. Carmen had been born and raised in the barrio, but she had traveled much further and wider than Shane ever had. She'd even gone on ski trips before, and she loved mountains and forests just as much as she enjoyed oceans, beaches and deserts. She could hardly believe it, her fairy-tale wedding taking place in such a fairy-tale environment as this. Cliché or not, it would be the memory of a lifetime. 

"Here comes the bride," Alice said from the steps of the grand hotel.

"Look at this!" Carmen marveled, throwing up her hands and gesturing at the landscape. She inhaled the crisp winter air happily. She and Shane had their arms around each other as they went up the steps and into the chateau's immense lobby.

And then there they were, the six of them. Carmen's sisters Patricia and Anna, and their husbands, Freddy and Pablo. Her cousin Evi, the hairdresser. And at their center, pouring over a map of the resort, was her mother Mercedes.

Carmen saw them and stopped short. Mercedes looked up from her map.

Shane looked at Helena, who had a broad, happy grin on her face. She realized what Helena had done, that she had somehow brought Carmen's family here for the wedding, as a surprise. Alice, too, had a Cheshire-cat grin on her face; she'd been in on it with Helena.

"They're all dressed in the same clothes," Peggy murmured to Alice. And indeed they were: all six of Carmen's clan wore identical red snow parkas trimmed out in gray and white accent panels. All four women wore white boots. 

"Carmen didn't know they were coming, though," Alice told Peggy. "I think Helena might have had something to do with it."

Carmen slowly stepped forward in shock, looking at her mother. This meant ... this meant ... . Slowly she shook her head no, she couldn't believe it. And then Mercedes threw herself forward, laughing and crying, hugging Carmen to her, words of endearment tumbling out in Spanish and English. "I couldn't miss it! My baby! Getting married!"

Patricia went over to greet Helena, who stood beaming at them all. "Everybody," she called out, "this is Carmen's friend Helena, the one who phoned me, and invited us all, and paid for our plane tickets and hotel rooms." The co-conspirators had outed themselves.

Carmen went to Helena and hugged her, saying "Thank you, Helena." Both their faces were wet.

"My pleasure," Helena said, returning the hug. Before they knew it, the entire Morales clan had come forward, surrounding them, hugging, clapping Helena on the back.

Peggy turned to Alice, who could read Peggy's mind perfectly. Peggy did the money math in her head: round-trip plane tickets for six, shuttle to and from Vancouver, hotel rooms for a couple of nights ... . "I guess it grows on trees," she said to Alice, who merely smiled. 

Mercedes grasped Carmen's hands. "Anna says you bought a dress." Carmen nodded; she had been in more-or-less constant contact with her sisters, if not her mother, for weeks now. "You bought it yourself? I need to check it!" Mercedes said, overriding Carmen's attempts at protest. "I want to make sure that the jewelry goes with it! And look, we have Evi to do your hair."

Carmen laughed and waved at Evi, who blew her a kiss.

"And Chane! Chane!" Mercedes said, pulling Shane over to join them. "Aww! You're going to make such a handsome bride!" Carmen pushed Mercedes' arm. "Groom!" Mercedes corrected, laughing as Shane laughed, too.

"Thank you," Shane said, her hands grasped by Mercedes lovingly. She couldn't believe the sudden change in her fortune, that she had regained the mother love of Mercedes and the Morales clan she'd thought had been lost.

"So handsome!" Mercedes said. She turned to her daughter. "Carmencita! You are coming with us. We are going sight-seeing at the Whistler Village." She waved a finger in Shane's face. "You're not allowed to see her now until the wedding! Okay?"

Shane, beaming, said, "Okay."

Evi came and joined them, and together Evi and Mercedes carted Carmen off between them.

"Bye," Shane said, helplessly, watching them go out the front door. She turned and saw Helena standing there, smiling. She went to her and hugged her. "I'm ... speechless ... I can't ... you'll never know ... ."

"Oh, I think I do," she said.

***

"So, Shane, where is your lovely bride?" Peggy Peabody asked. They were in a private dining room off the one of the hotel's restaurants called "The Chalet," a separate building from the main hotel and located by the resort's golf course. They'd all been transported to The Chalet by horse-drawn sleighs. Helena had booked the room in advance for the evening's dinner ... and entertainment.

"Peggy, this is Shane's bachelor party," Alice explained. "Brides are excluded."

Jenny, Max and Lara had joined them all for a glass of wine before dinner was served, and the others were expected momentarily.

"Oh, my goodness, I had no idea you were all such role-playing lesbians," Peggy said.

"Come on, we're not," Shane protested. "Actually, I'd like for her to be here, but her family's so traditional, so I stepped back."

"I think that's nice," Max said.

"I think that's regressive," Jenny had to put in quietly. Lara looked at her, mildly annoyed. It was so Jenny.

"Well, we're pretty traditional in our family too, aren't we, Mummy?" Helena said. She was sitting on the arm of the chair Peggy was ensconced in, and rubbed Peggy's back fondly.

Peggy rolled her eyes and looked at her daughter incredulously, as if to say, Have you lost all your marbles?

"Oh, look, Bette and Tina are here now!" Helena said, saving the moment and still oblivious to Peggy's reaction. "Time for dinner. Please, take my hand," she said, helping her mother rise up out of the chair, "and let me bury my head in your ample bosom if I get a little too emotional."

Bette and Tina had arrived, Tina pushing baby Angelica in a stroller. A minute later Kit and Mangus arrived, and the Friends all seated themselves around a single long table in a private room, with Shane seated in the middle in the guest of honor's position.

The meal was The Chalet's famous and popular three-course fondue, starting with a cheese fondue with vegetables. Then came the main course, Fondue Chinoise, a broth-based fondue featuring pieces of beef tenderloin, prawns and salmon. Dessert was -- what else? -- a gloriously decadent chocolate fondue.

Then it was time to get down to business: Shane's bachelor party event. Jenny and Alice stood up at their end of the table and Alice tapped on a glass to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, everybody, we would like to make a toast to our dear friend, Shane," Jenny began.

"Yes," Alice picked up the narrative. "Shane. We have been through a lot together as friends—" here Shane buried her face in her hands, laughing, but knowing this was going to be brutal "—especially in the last few months."

"Shane, the thing that you've taught us about friendship is about being fearless," Jenny said. "So thank you very much for convincing me to cut off my lustrous, mink-like, long, long mane as short as humanly possible. And Shane, thank you very much for not making it look like yours."

Everyone laughed, Shane, too.

"It's really grown back fast," Alice said in an aside to Jenny, to more laughter.

"Yes, it has," Jenny acknowledged.

Alice consulted her notes. "Shane, thank you, as a friend, for saving me from going home with that girl that night, you know the one I'm talking about. And ... as a friend ... taking her home yourself, instead. Thank you." Laughter.

"Shane," Jenny said, "only you could make a two-piece pleatherette ensemble look good--"

"--at 7:30 in the morning--" Alice said.

"—drunk--" Jenny said.

"--after a one-night stand," Alice added. Shane was sunk so far down in her chair her head was barely at table height. "But, in all seriousness," Alice picked up, "you are ... our best friend."

"Shane," Jenny said, "you are the most loyal friend I -- and I think I can speak for the group -- that we have ever met, and you've never left our sides when things have become dark ... and I think that you've taught the whole group that people's rough edges are beautiful."

"And we know that, if Dana was here," Alice said quietly, "that she would be very happy to know that you were marrying someone you love." There was a brief moment of silence as everyone thought about Dana. "So. We love you very much, and congratulations."

"To Shane! To Shane!" Glasses were raised all around the table and were clicked in toast. Shane halfway rose up out of her chair in embarrassed acknowledgment, and immediately sank back down.

Then one by one, Bette, Tina, Max, Helena, Kit and Mangus stood and each delivered a brief but heartfelt toast. Finally it was Peggy Peabody's turn, and she delivered a slightly longer toast, concluding, "So my dear Shane, although I don't understand why you would embrace an institution that breeds conformity and restricts free will, that said, if you give one another children, I only hope that they're as generous and kind ... and lovely ... as the child my good-for-nothing Brit gave me." And with that she gestured fondly toward Helena, who laughed and gave her a fond nudge back, and sat down.

"What about that? Are you guys gonna have kids?" Mangus asked. He got a major glare from Kit. "What? She's the one who brought it up," he defended himself.

"You're not gonna have kids. You don't want 'em, do you?" Alice asked.

To everyone's surprise, Shane hesitated, thinking seriously about it. Finally she said, "Uh, yeah, I think I do."

"You do?" Alice asked, incredulous.

Shane thought again. "Yeah," she finally said, nodding.

"I think you'd be a wonderful parent," Bette said from beside Shane.

"Yeah. And Carmen would be really beautiful pregnant," Max said.

"What makes you think that Shane wouldn't carry the baby?" Jenny asked, having the need to spar with Max over just about anything.

"Ah, whoa, whoa, whoa, I don't know about that, I don't think I'd go that far, but I think that, in any event, I think kids are such a beautiful gift. Because, I don't know, I look at that little one—" she looked toward baby Angelica, dozing peacefully and obliviously in her carry-all at the other end of the table --"and I see the love that you have for her—" she looked at Tina and Bette -- "and the love that you actually have for each other, despite the things you're going through, and it just seems that sometimes love just doesn't last the way you hope it will, but if you get through that pain, it just could last in ways that are more precious. Maybe. Possibly."

Alice could hardly believe her ears, and the things that were coming out of Shane's mouth. "Wow. Hi, I'm Alice," she said, pretending to shake Shane's hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Everyone laughed, and Shane slapped away the handshake, laughing herself.

"Anyway, Shane, as your best man," Alice said, standing up again, "it is my honor to present you with a gift from your bride-to-be."

"Wha...?" Shane asked, truly surprised.

"Yes. So, this is a gift from Carmen," Alice said, standing behind Shane's chair, her hands on Shane's shoulders. "To Shane. With all her heart. Come on, get up! C'mon!"

Shane rose slowly and suspiciously, and allowed Alice to guide her to yet another side room. Everyone followed.

"What the hell is this," Shane asked, being propelled forward.

In the side room were two women. The first was a stone butch with a shaved head, dressed in military combat camouflage fatigues. The second was a heavyset woman in a high femme outfit. They both had hand-held microphones.

"Congratulations, Shane," the butch said. "My name's God Des, and this is She. And Carmen wanted me to tell you something really important, that there actually is a prescription to a happy marriage. And this ... is it." 

God Des turned and punched a button on a CD player. From somewhere a heavy rap rhythm blared out over a PA system, and God Des and She swung into chanting their rap song.

Good Evening, Class I would like to welcome you To Pussy Eating 101 Pay close attention now

There's rules and regulations to pleasin' a girl Goin' downtown could really rock her world But you gotta make sure that you know what you're doin' There's a map down there that you gotta start learnin'

First, you gotta make sure you rehearse Move 'round your tongue like your tryin' to curse 'Cause there's nothin' worse than a tongue that doesn't work Then your girl will be mad and you'll feel like a jerk

Spread out her lips before you kiss You wanna make sure that you find the clit Lick a little bit then move it all around Lick it all over 'til you hear her make a sound

Then you know that you found a good spot Tease it and touch it, but not a lot Put your mouth on top, you're in control You can make it happen - fast or slow

Lick it, better lick it right Touch it, better touch it right Kiss it, better kiss it right Do that pussy riiiiiight

Don't be bland - better act creative Be on top of your game and be innovative Experiment a bit and change it up Lick a little lower then put it in her butt

Then you can place a finger inside Make sure that it's wet and easy to glide If she's really wet, and your finger slides, Try to put another one inside

But you better still have your mouth on the clit You know you're doin' good if her legs twitch Then pick her up and set her on your face Pick a large area to give her some space

She needs some room to place your mouth where she want it And let her ride your face like she's 'bout to cum on it The key to a girl's heart is goin' down south So come on everybody, let her put it in your mouth!

Lick it, better lick it right Touch it, better touch it right Kiss it, better kiss it right Do that pussy right

Let your mouth do the talkin' and your tongue do the walkin' Work on your cardio, there is no stoppin' Get through the pain if your jaw locks You gotta be a soldier and don't stop

Lick her and finger her at the same time Feel around the G-spot seek and you shall find Rub on that spot, lick on top You got to be coordinated, show her what you got

Once you got that down, put your other hand around I have to be blunt and not profound Put your wet pinky finger in her asshole You're in three different places - it's time to go

Your pinky in her ass and your other in her hole Your tongue move fast like a drum roll... If your girl can't come this way, I guess she's not ready, come back another day

Lick it, better lick it right Touch it, better touch it right Kiss it, better kiss it right Do that pussy right

Lick it, better lick it right Touch it, better touch it right Kiss it, better kiss it right Do that pussy right

Lick it, better lick it right Touch it, better touch it right Kiss it, better kiss it right Do that pussy right

Lick it, better lick it right Touch it, better touch it right Kiss it, better kiss it right Do that pussy right

[Copyright assumed to be 2006, by God Des & She. Permission to use lyrics requested, no response received.]

***

Shane leaned against the door of the hotel room and drummed her fingers on it, tapping a quiet staccato. The door opened a few inches, and Carmen peaked out. She was wearing a man's white shirt, and her hair was tousled, like she'd been sleeping; it made her look cute and adorable and desirable as all hell. When she saw it was Shane she grinned from ear to ear, knowing that Shane had just witnessed God Des and She's performance at the bachelor party.

"I love my present," Shane said, "and I wish I could do exactly what they taught me." She grabbed Carmen by the waist, gently pushed her back against the door, and buried her face in Carmen's neck.

"You can't come in, it's against the rules," Carmen whispered, not struggling very hard -- or at all -- to fend off Shane's advances. Shane ducked under Carmen's chin and began kissing the other side of her neck. Carmen groaned.

Behind them a man laughed. "I hope that's Carmen," Gabe McCutcheon said. He and Carla were coming down the hall to their room across the hall.

Shane and Carmen broke apart quickly. Shane turned and saw who it was. "Hey, you made it!" she said.

"Of course we made it," Gabe said as he and Carla stood smiling at them.

Carmen put her hands over her face, suddenly realizing who'd caught them necking. "Oh my God," she said, laughing but embarrassed.

"Gabe McCutcheon," he said, introducing himself. "My wife Carla." They were both still grinning, but came forward.

"Hi!" Carmen said, shaking Carla's hand. "Good to meet you." She turned to Gabe and offered her hand, but he wouldn't take it.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr," he growled, and came forward wrapping Carmen in a big hug as she laughed delightedly.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" she laughed, stroking the back of her future father.

"Welcome," he said, kissing her cheek. He stepped back to Carla.

"Hello! I'm so glad that you guys made it," Carmen said.

"Me, too," Shane said, quietly, but with real affection.

Carla knew they'd interrupted a moment. "Honey, we should probably ... you know ... go to sleep, leave these two alone--"

"Yeah, I'm gonna go to bed, too," Carmen said. "I think tomorrow's kind of a big day."

"Let's us get a drink," Gabe said to Shane, with a let's-go gesture.

"Yeah, let's do it," Shane grinned.

"He's a total night owl, never goes to sleep before 2 a.m.," Carla said.

"Oh, my God," Carmen said, pointing at Shane, "this one is the exact same way. Two a.m. Right?"

Shane leaned in and kissed Carmen, a little more chastely than a few moments earlier, and Gabe kissed Carla good night. "See ya in a bit," he told her, and Shane said, "See you tomorrow," to Carmen. Gabe and Shane walked off down the hall, swinging their arms and holding hands. Carla and Carmen watched them go, both marveling at a sight neither one of them could ever imagined.

***

The next morning Gabe and Carla sat at a small table on the crowded deck of the chateau, watching all the skiers and snowboarders on the lower slopes of Blackcomb Mountain. The resort was packed with hundreds of people decked out in their parkas and ski outfits. Helena, Bette and Shane came by and stopped to say hello. Shane introduced them to Bette and Helena.

"So aren't you two going to go skiing?" Bette asked, putting on her gloves.

"I've never skied, and I don't figure today is the best day to start," Gabe said, grinning.

"Well, you could take a private lesson," Helena suggested.

"Yeah, you should," Shane said, putting on her own gloves. It was a frosty morning, the air clean, crisp and cold.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 29



"They have private instructors for everyone," Helena said. "I think Carmen and her sisters are up there on the mountain."

"No, you go on," Gabe said. "We're just gonna hang out here."

"Ah, okay. Well, what should we do," Shane asked, turning to Bette and Helena. "Should we check out Blackcomb or should we check out Whistler?"

"Whistler," Bette said, "more snow. And Carmen's on Blackcomb. Gotta keep you from running into each other." She put her hand on Shane's shoulder and pushed her in the direction they wanted to go. 

"Okay, let's go," Shane said. "Bye!" And she and Bette were off.

Gabe waved and watched them go, calling out, "Bye!"

Helena hung back for a moment, and then turned to Gabe and Carla. "If there's anything you two need," she began. "This whole wedding's like a gift to Shane and Carmen from me, so ... just talk to me, okay?" And she went off after Shane and Bette.

Gabe and Carla looked at each other. "Wow," Gabe said quietly. "Wow."

***

Gabe leaned over and kissed the young woman on the cheek, then said to the bartender, "Keep, the change, pal." To the woman he said, "Let's get out of here." 

The bar at the chateau was crowded with afternoon skiers, snowboarders and tobogganers, everyone dressed in their finest après-ski apparel, all except Shane, who had begun dressing for her wedding. She wore her tuxedo slacks, and had on her frilly dress front man's shirt with the vertical ruffles and frills. Her anxiety level had been creeping up all day, and she felt the need of a Dos Equis and some time to kill, and so went to the bar in search of a brew and maybe some of her friends. What she found was her father, kissing some younger woman he'd apparently just picked up at the bar. There was no sign of Carla. Shane stood transfixed, in shock.

Gabe and the young woman had their arms around each other's waist as they turned away from the bar -- and faced Shane, staring at them. Gabe and the woman walked up to her. Gabe had a strange look on his face. It wasn't "busted," exactly -- more a resigned expression. The woman looked at Shane pleasantly enough, having no idea who this androgynous person in a man's fancy dress shirt might be.

"Who is she?" Shane asked quietly.

From Shane's tone the woman realized she was in the middle of something, and looked at Gabe.

"Who ... is she?" Shane repeated.

Gabe turned to her. "What's your name, babe?"

"Patty," she told him, smiling faintly.

"Her name is Patty," Gabe said, smugly. Shane had never in her life wanted to punch a man in the mouth as much as she did this man right now. Arrogant, condescending prick. Smug, condescending, two-timing, wife-cheating prick. "This is Shane, my daughter," he explained to Patty, who nodded. "Will you excuse us a minute?" 

Patty nodded again and walked away, leaving Shane and her father face-to-face between two tables in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Shane's face was a frozen mask.

"I'm sorry," Gabe finally said after an uncomfortable moment. "I'm not proud of this. It's just who I am. Okay?"

Shane said nothing. Her face said, no, asshole, it's not okay. 

"I know you know what I'm talking about," he said. And then he walked away.

***

Shane stood rooted to the spot. Noise roared in her ears. All she could think to say, even to herself, was, That motherfucker. That motherfucker. She snapped out of it, and walked out of the bar without her Dos Equis, and looked down the hallway toward the foyer that held the elevator bank. She saw Gabe and Patty waiting, and when the door to an elevator opened, they got it. Gabe never turned to look back. Shane had the sudden insight that he was a man who never looked back, not ever. Motherfucking motherfucker.

Shane walked to the elevator bank and pushed the Up button. When an elevator came she got in, joined by some returning skiers. She pushed the button to her floor, one floor above Carmen's room -- and from Gabe and Carla's room right across the hall. When she got out there was no one in the corridor. She walked past her own room and knocked on the door next to it, where Alice and her now lover Lara were staying. There was no answer.

"Fuck," Shane muttered. She had to talk to somebody, and Alice was her best man. The noise in her head was so loud she could hardly think. She didn't need a Dos Equis, she needed a joint, but she hadn't brought any grass because she was wary of going through customs, even coming off of Peggy Peabody's private jet. She wondered if Alice had any. Fuck. She walked back to the elevator foyer and just as she got there she heard a door open behind her and someone talking. She turned and saw Gabe and Patty coming out of a room, Shane quickly jumped into a side hall, looking for some sort of exit, when she realized Gabe and Patty weren't coming down the hall toward her. She turned and peeked around the corner. She saw Gabe and Patty walking down the hall, away from her. She pulled a wheeled suitcase; he had a large duffle bag over his shoulder. They were leaving. She watched them turn a corner and disappear. Shane knew there was an ice machine down that way. And a stairwell. They weren't just leaving, Shane realized, they were sneaking out. They didn't want to risk being seen in the main lobby, or wherever else they were going. Gabe had probably parked in the garage under the hotel.

So where was Carla?

Shane took the elevator down one floor and knocked on the door to Gabe and Carla's room. There was no immediate answer, and she knocked again a little louder. 

"Motherfucker," Shane muttered. She was just about to walk away when the door suddenly opened and Carla was standing there. She had been crying. They just looked at each other. Finally Shane broke the silence. "What's going on, Carla?"

Carla turned and walked back into the room. Shane followed her, not bothering to close the door. Carla's suitcase was on the bed and she was packing her things.

"Carla, talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

"You don't want to know," Carla said, still packing.

"Yes, I do. Tell me."

"Well, what's it look like? He's leaving me. Make that past tense. He left me. He's gone. The son-of-a-bitch is gone. And I'm left here, alone, holding the bag. Shane, that's what's going on. I'm sorry."

"I'm getting married in a few hours."

"I know. I'm sorry. You know that saying, so-and-so could fuck up a one-car funeral? Well, Gabe McCutcheon can fuck up a lesbian wedding. You know why he doesn't care if you and Carmen are lesbians? It isn't because he's an enlightened, sympathetic, 21st century pro-LGBT humanist. It's because he can't fuck you and you don't have enough money for it to be worth it to steal, and so he just doesn't care. You could be a pederast, a sheepfucker, for all he cares."

"Why did you stay with him this long?"

Carla laughed bitterly, and zipped up her suitcase. "Because I'm a woman. Because I'm an idiot. Let me tell you, Shane, there's a lot you don't know about marriage. What a trap it can become. How you get locked in and you can't find your way out, and then one day you have a kid and you're dependent on him for all sorts of things, not just money. Companionship, sometimes, Maybe just not being alone. And then there's all these crazy ideas you have. We women, we're attracted to bad boys, they're exciting, and you tell yourself you can tame them, that with you it's different, they'll behave, they can change. You, you're a bad boy, too, aren't you? Maybe that's why Carmen's so in love with you. Yeah, we just go crazy for the bad boys, God knows why. And so when your bad boy is out fucking other women you deny it and tell yourself whatever bullshit you need to hear. They're flawed but we're all flawed. That's what you say to yourself. They're fucking sons of bitches, and you tell yourself you're down on their level, we're all flawed, you say. And that's just yet another rationalization, another way to overlook the fact that some flaws are minor and excusable and others are fucking horrendous and inexcusable and shouldn't ever be forgiven. 

"And you know what? A lot of times these fuckers come back. Oh, yeah. They're crying and apologetic, they swear they'll never do it again. They swear they love you. They swear they need you, blah blah blah, boo fuckin' hoo. And you believe it. You know why? Do you know why you believe their bullshit, Shane? Because you need to. Because that's your weakness, one they can see and use, because that's what they're good at, seeing other people's weaknesses and preying on them. They're players, Shane, that's all they are. They are bad boys, and they'll always be bad boys, and no, you can't change them and you can't fix them. They're unrepairable. They just find whatever way they can to fuck whoever they want, and when they're done they move on. They're predators, Shane. Serial predators. Only they don't kill their prey, they just use them and sometimes live with them, and suck the life out of them, and then they move on."

Carla had finished packing her suitcase. She folded the top over the bottom, zipped it up, looked once around the room to make sure she had everything, but there was nothing much there. She hefted the suitcase onto its wheels on the floor, extended its pull-along handle, and looked at Shane.

"Time to say goodbye," she said. "So goodbye. And I'm sorry. You seem like a very nice person, and you don't deserve this. But you know what? I'm not as nice as you, but I don't deserve this either."

"No," Shane said, not knowing what else to say.

"I better get moving. I checked, there's a bus in forty minutes."

"I'll come with you."

"You don't have to."

"No, but I want to. The walk will do me good."

"Suit yourself," Carla said, pulling the suitcase behind her out the door.

They took the elevator to the basement entrance to the parking garage. Shane realized that, like Gabe, Carla was sneaking out and avoiding going through the main lobby. Shane said nothing, and realized that avoiding the lobby was a good thing for her, too. Suppose she ran into one of the Friends, or Carmen's family. What would she say?

***

"I'm fine, you don't have to wait here with me," Carla said, sitting down on a bench at the bus station on Gateway Drive. They could have taken a shuttle bus or a taxi, but Carla wanted to walk, and it was only about a mile down Blackcomb Way just south of the village and town center.

"I know, I just ... I want to make sure you get on okay."

"In the back of my head I knew this was going to happen one day. Not a family guy. The restrictions, and responsibilities and crap. Gabe McCutcheon. I'm surprised he lasted this long."

Shane turned away and thought for a while. "Yeah, you can't rely on us McCutcheons, can you," she said, talking to herself as much as Carla.

"Well, I'm not taking him back this time," Carla said, "even if he comes crawling."

"Nor should you," Shane said after a moment.

They were silent for a few minutes. Then Carla said, "Look, there's something I haven't told you. Gabe had a meeting with your friend Helena. I think ... I think something's going on. Something bad."

"I don't understand."

"Let me start from the beginning. This morning, when we were sitting on the deck, and you were there, you introduced us to Bette and Helena, and then you and Bette went off to one of the ski trails."

"We went up Whistler Mountain," Shane said.

"So anyway, Helena hung back for a second, and she told us this whole wedding thing was her present to you and Carmen. And then she said if we needed anything, just ask. She was being gracious, a good hostess, making sure we were taken care of."

"Yes?"

"Well, I think Gabe asked her for something. I think he asked her for money."

"You lost me."

"We were at lunch, and he saw Helena walk past the restaurant. He ran out after her, he said he needed to ask her something. After a minute, I got up and followed. He caught up with her out front, and they were talking. Gabe has this thing. I call it the McCutcheon Charm. Well, he can talk a snake out of its skin. And one of the things you don't know about him ... about us, I guess ... is that from time to time Gabe pulls a scam on somebody. He's a con man. A grifter. He finds ways to defraud people and steal their money. A couple times ... when we were both doing drugs ... I helped him. So what I'm saying is, I think he found a mark. Helena." 

Oh, fuck, Shane thought. The noise level inside her head, already loud, increased.

"I stayed inside the door but I could catch parts of what they were saying. He asked Helena to loan him some money. Ten thousand dollars. He said it was going to be a wedding present for you and Carmen, so you could make a down payment and buy a house. The money would be a gift from us, toward your house, get you started. He told her when you came up to visit us, you talked all about how you and Carmen wanted to buy this cute little place you'd found, and you needed help with the down payment."

"What? I never said any such thing!"

"Of course not, but Helena didn't know that. It was bullshit, Shane. All part of the con. He told Helena after you went back to LA he and I talked about it and decided to give you guys the money as our wedding present. And then he said this crazy, silly thing happened. He thought I went to the bank to get a cashier's check, and I thought he went, and blah blah, and it wasn't until we got on the plane to Vancouver that we realized neither of us had the check. Shane, you just have to hear this asshole do his spiel. He told Helena we had the ten thousand in the bank in Oregon City, we just had no way to get that much here, and across an international border. You can't go to the ATM and get ten thousand bucks out of it."

"Jesus Christ! Ten thousand? Did Helena give him the money?"

"No, not right then. She didn't have it on her, of course. But she seemed to agree to help and that's when I went back into the restaurant. She was nodding and smiling, so I guess his scam was working. When he came in a few minutes later he gave me some bullshit story about why he had to talk to Helena, and that's when I knew something was wrong. And that I wasn't part of it."

"Did you ask him?"

"No. That's one of the things you learn about Gabe. Asking him does no good. He'll lie his ass off, and he's really, really good at it. He can look you right in the eye and make you think it's all your fault, whatever it is. He's got this, like, super hypersensitivity. He can read people, and that's how he scams them."

Shane felt her blood run cold. Super hypersensitivity. Reading people. The McCutcheon skill set. "So then what?"

"We were in the hotel room. He was reading and I was trying to take a nap. He got up and left the room, and was gone for more than an hour."

"What time was this?"

"About three. From three to four."

"I saw him about three-thirty, in the bar."

Carla made a sad laugh. "Was he alone?"

Shane didn't know what to say. 

"Don't worry, you don't have to say it. Remember I told you that women seem to come out of the woodwork and go after him? Let me guess. Blond, mid to late twenties."

"Her name was Patty," Shane said.

"Oh, you met her?"

"I saw him with her. At first I couldn't believe it. I was angry. I asked him who she was, and he had to ask her. He didn't even know her name."

Carla just laughed bitterly, but it wasn't funny. "He's a real motherfucker, that one. I guess they went back to her room. I bet he had Helena's ten thousand in his pocket." She considered. "Anyway, when I woke up from my nap he still hadn't come back, so I was worried and went looking for him. I gave up after about half an hour and went I went back to the room all his stuff was gone. He'd packed up and left."

Shane was shocked into silence. And then the bus pulled into the terminal.

"Right on time," Carla said. She stood, picked up her bag and walked to the curb as the bus pulled up to her. When the door open she stepped aside as a dozen skiers and vacationers climbed out. The driver climbed out, too, and opened the cargo bay, distributing luggage and skis to his passengers. When he was done Carla handed him her bag, and he put it in the bay. Then he went back aboard.

Shane stood up, and took a step toward the bus Carla was boarding. Carla turned. They looked at each other, kind of nodded, not a goodbye exactly, but some sort of acknowledgment. An acknowledgment about life, about its hardships and its cruelties. About the futility of trying to love the no-good McCutcheons. Then Carla turned and got on the bus.

***

The bus pulled out. It was quarter to six. The wedding was at seven. Instead of walking back to the Fairmont in time to finish changing -- all she really had to do was put on her tux jacket and tie her tie -- Shane wondered into the main village. The sun had set behind the mountains and it was fully dark. The streetlights had been on for quite a while, and the town was beginning to empty out as dinner time approached. The temperature had been dropping since sundown.

Shane's legs wouldn't work. There was roaring in her head, at unimaginable levels. She could feel her heart beating fast and her breathing came harshly, sucking in the frozen air. Suddenly she was chilled to the bone despite her parka. Her father was a thief, a grifter and a philandering horndog, a man who serially abandoned people. Shane. Shane's mother. Now his current wife (had there been others)? His son. All for a chance to blow ten thousand bucks on pussy. And it was all her fault. She's the one who had invited him up here, a man she hardly knew. She's the one who had put naive, innocent, rich Helena Peabody in his sights. The phrase "lambs to the slaughter" jumped into her mind. Her fault.

How could she go meet all of her friends, knowing Helena had been swindled out of ten thousand dollars by her own father? Helena, who had so generously -- over-generously -- financed the wedding? And not only that, had engineered and pay for Carmen's family to come. The reconciliation she and Carmen had both longed for. The family she had never had, had longed for, or maybe never known she'd longed for until she'd actually found it. One hug from Mercedes, that's all it took. And now the humiliation of facing all of them.

Carmen. How could she walk down the aisle with Carmen, under these circumstances? What kind of wedding memories would they have? Carmen didn't deserve this. In fact, Carmen didn't deserve her. It wasn't just that her father was a worthless, unreliable pussy hound -- she was, too. All part of the McCutcheon skill set. Chasing tail. Being unfaithful. She'd cheated on Carmen once already, and what a mess that had been. Carmen expected monogamy -- and if that's what she wanted, she was entitled to it. Just not with Shane, because Shane had some really serious problems with monogamy. The past nine months proved it. 

Let's face it. She was worthless. A cheater. Some day she'd break Carmen's heart again. How long? Six months? A year? Two years? Shane knew she'd never make it as far as the Seven-Year Itch. Monogamy. Shane loved women, and the idea of only ever having sex, of only ever going down on one woman, ever again ... no, she'd never make it. In fact, any idiot could see this marriage was a terrible idea. All the Friends thought so; you could tell that's what they were thinking, although they were all too polite to say it out loud. They loved her, and they loved Carmen, and that's why they couldn't say anything. But she could tell, ever since the trip to Camp Imalahkaha, what they all thought.

The truth was, she didn't deserve Carmen, and Carmen deserved somebody much more ... what? Worthy? Somebody more faithful. Somebody who knew about love, who liked it, who liked being in love. Carmen deserved a happy marriage and a long life with a faithful, true companion. Somebody who appreciated that Carmen was a nest-builder. That Carmen would make a terrific wife and mother -- especially a great mom. Max was right: Carmen would be beautiful when she got pregnant. That wasn't the life or the lifestyle Shane was cut out for, and she ought to just come right out and admit it. A house and a home, the PTA, family vacations to Disneyland, play groups and play dates? Hah! What a laugh. That wasn't Shane McCutcheon. Shane McCutcheon was the woman giving head in some toilet stall in some club, the naughty boi tribbing some bi-curious dyke wannabe in the alley behind a bar somewhere. She was the one climbing out of some college coed's bed at 2 a.m., pulling on her pants and going home because she didn't like sleepovers.




Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 29



Why could she have been thinking? This was crazy. She had asked Carmen to marry her because she was grieving over Dana, any fool could see that. She was in pain and needed comforting and she had said the first damn thing that had popped into her head. And you could tell just from Carmen's hesitation that it was a bad idea. Poor Carmen. She had put Carmen into such a bad spot. That was so unfair. And it had taken her a week to say yes, a week to find some way not to hurt Shane's feelings, she was sure that's what was in Carmen's head. Carmen couldn't hurt her, she realized. She'd given poor, lovely, adorable, warm, wonderful Carmen no way out. It wasn't Carmen's fault she'd said yes. She'd had no choice, Shane could see that now. Shane had boxed her into a corner, put her in an untenable position. And the truth was, Carmen was just too good a person to say no. To hurt her feelings. To pile one hurt right on top of another. Of all the horrible times to ask someone to marry you, twenty minutes after the funeral of one of your best friends.

These were the thoughts Shane poisoned herself with as she walked back to the hotel. She could feel the fear mounting. She couldn't face Carmen. My god, how could she tell her? She couldn't. Carmen would be much better off without her, that much was obvious. She remembered that saying she'd seen on posters and bumper stickers in head shops: If you love something, let it go. Something like that. A bird, that was it. Let the bird go, let it fly away, and if it was yours it would come back. Shane hadn't really understood it at the time. Now maybe she did. And they had these bird tattoos, and this bird metaphor, birds mating for life. If she loved Carmen -- and she did, she really did -- the best thing for her would be to set her free. Don't trap her into going through with this hopeless charade. Carmen marrying Shane would be almost as bad as Carmen marrying Gabe McCutcheon. It was only a matter of time before Shane broke Carmen's heart, destroyed their marriage, inflicted the cruelest kind of pain on her, the pain of betrayal. Of all the many wonderful things Carmen espoused, loyalty and faithfulness were at the pinnacle. Shane could never deliver on all those things Carmen wanted and deserved.

The noise was roaring in her ears. She tasted copper in her mouth. A wave of nausea came over her and she stepped off the snowy sidewalk and found herself bent over between two parked cars, vomiting into the slush-filled gutter.

Three skiers, two men and a woman, stopped and asked her if she was all right. Shane waved them away politely. "I just ... you know. The flu or something. Thanks."

But she wasn't all right. She was far from all right. She was literally sick with fear. Fear of facing Carmen. Fear of facing Helena and all the friends. Fear of getting married. Fear of making the biggest and most serious mistake of her life since the day ten years ago when she got in the car with that asshole who'd raped her. She vomited again in the gutter, just a small amount, almost a dry heave, because there was nothing left in her stomach. She had a terrible headache. Fuck. Her legs were weak.

When she'd recovered a little she walked to the corner where there was a cab stand. She knew she didn't have the legs to walk back to the hotel. She didn't know what she was going to do when she got there, but she'd have to think of something pretty damn quick. She wished she could talk to somebody about what she should do, but Carmen was the one person who she respected most, and Carmen was the very last person she could talk to. Fuck.

When the cab got to the Fairmount Shane got out, paid the driver, and instead of walking through the lobby she went around to the garage entrance and went up to her room without being seen.

It was Carmen she had to save. If she loved Carmen, the best thing she could do for her was to stop this thing somehow. It would hurt, of course, but it would be for the best. What was that musical she and Harvey used to talk about? Man of La Mancha, that was it. Don Quixote, making a noble sacrifice to save the woman he loved, even though it meant his own destruction. Something like that. So that's what she would do, she would save Carmen from this horrible mistake, even though she knew it would mean a thousand nights of pain and guilt for herself. She'd got Carmen into this mess, and now she'd have to find a way to get her out. Out of a marriage with a worthless, unfaithful, daughter of a thief, a grifter. And she was no better than he was -- bad boys who shared the McCutcheon genes. Monogamy wasn't in their DNA. And her own father, the motherfucker, had recognized it. He'd even told her. ""I'm not proud of this. It's just who I am. I know you know what I'm talking about." 

It's just who I am. 

It's just who I am. 

Yes, she knew. He was a no-good, cheating worthless son-of-a-bitch, and so was she.

Love. It was a one-way ticket to hurt. She'd always said so. She'd been right all along -- love was for somebody else. Somebody who knew what it meant. But love could kill you, if you were Shane McCutcheon. I'm not proud of this. It's just who I am.

She stripped off her fancy tux pants and shirt and put on her jeans and an old sweatshirt. She threw all her stuff into her duffle bag. It wasn't until she went into the bathroom to pack up her toiletries that she glanced in the mirror -- and realized she'd been crying.

She put on her parka. She put one hand in a pocket and realized that's where she'd left her cell phone. She looked at it and saw seven phone calls from Alice over the past half hour. There were four voicemails from her, and five text messages. Where are you. Where are you? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?? Fuck.

She took the elevator to the garage, walked around the front to the cab stand, and took a cab to the bus station. It was ten minutes to seven. She took her phone out, and put in a phone number.

The noble sacrifice. It would hurt now ... but it would hurt Carmen a hell of a lot worse later if she went through with this.

Bad boys. You couldn't fix them. You delude yourself into thinking you could, this time it would be different. No, it wouldn't.

It's just who I am.

"Alice? Yeah, it's me."

Shane sat in the last row of the bus and cried all the way to Vancouver.

***

The tent was beautiful. It was large enough that they could set up five rows of chairs, four seats to a row, on each side of the wide center aisle. Wide enough, anyway, for a bride in a large, flowing wedding dress to walk down on the arm of whoever was going to give her away. And it was beautifully decorated, with some simple strands of while garlands. There were tall, stainless steel, propane space heaters at the corners, shaped like giant mushrooms, which made the room warm enough to take the chill off. Even so, all the guests wore winter coats, gloves, scarves and some wore hats. At the end of the aisle in front of the aisle there was a podium facing the audience.

"Alice is giving Shane away," Helena leaned over to tell her mother. Peggy Peabody nodded and smiled. We'll see, she thought. We'll see.

Mercedes walked Carmen a few steps from the tent entrance to the beginning of the aisle. She was so proud, and her daughter -- oh, so beautiful! Then Alice came up behind them and put her hand on Carmen's elbow, stopping her and turning her around. Carmen looked at Alice, and knew in that moment just from the look on Alice's face that her whole world had just collapsed. 

Then from the front of the room a woman's voice spoke.

"Everyone, I'm Marilyn Shepherd, I'm the wedding official. I've just been in touch with Shane McCutcheon."

Alice spoke quietly into Carmen's ear. "She said that she doesn't expect you to forgive her. She, um ... she said to tell you she's not proud of this, it's just who she is."

The wedding official spoke again from the front of the room, by the podium where she had expected to conduct this wedding. "She wanted me to extend her deepest apologies to all of her friends. She loves, and cherishes you more than you could possibly know. She apologizes to the Morales family, and hopes ... that you might forgive her someday ... and maybe even understand."

Carmen looked at Alice, who wouldn't look her in the eye.

"But ...?"

"I'm sorry," Marilyn Shepherd told the audience.

Carmen sniffled. She started to cry. Her mother came to her, put an arm around her. 

"I'm okay!" insisted Carmen, who wasn't, not at all. Jenny came hurrying down the aisle toward her, and pulled Carmen into a hug, Carmen crying now into Jenny's shoulder.

Mercedes didn't know what to do, where to go, what to say. Patricia and Anna tugged at her, hugged her, tried to comfort her.

***

Carmen and Mercedes sat next to each other in the tent after everyone else had gone.

"Don't you want to look for her?" Mercedes asked.

Carmen looked at her hands in her lap, sniffled. 

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

"I already know what happened," Carmen said. "I just want to go home, be with my family," she said.

Mercedes looked at her. "Si," she said softly. "Si."

"I'd like to be alone for a few minutes. I'll come up soon. I promise."

"I love you," Mercedes said, squeezing Carmen's shoulders and kissing her forehead. 

***

Carmen sat in the aisle seat in the third row from the back, in her wedding dress. She had cried herself out. She was huddled in one of white lap robes the hotel had put out on each chair. The tent was otherwise empty, and no one came by until about 11 p.m., when some of the staff arrived to turn off the space heaters and put the chairs away, turn off the lights, and close up the tent for the night.

She blamed herself. It's what women do. 



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization Ch. 30



Shane and Carmen: The Novelization 

Chapter 30 Epilogue 

Ms. Robin McManus, 3rd Grade 

c/o John C. Fremont Elementary School 

200 W. Catalpa St. 

Abington, CA 

Dear Robin:

Hi! I'm hoping you're the right Robin McManus. I guess you'll know right away whether you are or you aren't. I apologize for writing to you in care of your school. I Googled your name and you seemed to be the only third grade teacher in the area where I think you said you lived, Abington, I think it was, so I'm just guessing (and hoping) I got it right. Google says that Fremont Elementary has a 3rd grade teacher named Robin McManus, and I just hope it's you. If not, please just disregard this letter.

The other day I saw someone who reminded me of you so much I actually went up to her and said, "Robin? Hi!" only it turned out she wasn't you, and it was a bit embarrassing in a funny way. But it made me want to get in touch with you, just to say hello and I guess to pass on some news. 

First, that relationship I was in turned out badly, and as a consequence I decided to move to San Francisco about seven or eight months ago to jump-start my life all over again. If you've been following my website like you used to, maybe you've noticed I'm occasionally DJing in the SF area, and not in LA or points south anymore. 

Second, I wanted to tell you I have two other jobs. I work part-time for a certain specialty travel agency -- I think you'll be able to guess which one -- not only setting up tours and trips, but also going on those cruises as a special guest DJ, master (mistress? sounds kinky, but it's not) of ceremonies, tour guide, etc. I'm like Julie from the Love Boat, only in my gold lamé booty shorts. And I also work part-time as a consultant and guest DJ for Royal Princess Cruise Lines on some of their cruises. More Julie-type work. Would you believe I've been to Hawaii, Alaska, Mexico, and a couple places in the Caribbean, all for free? Do I have a great job or what? 

But what that means is that I'm often out-of-town on a cruise ship somewhere, and not too often home ... and when I am home, I'm often out doing a DJ gig somewhere in the greater SF area. I work my tail off, like always, but it's good because it keeps my mind occupied, so I don't dwell on what happened. It's like therapy, so I don't feel sorry for myself. And it's worked pretty well. I feel pretty good now, although there were a few rocky months there for a while, I gotta tell ya. Not good.

What I'm trying to say is, if you and any of your fellow teachers ever decide to take a trip to SF, I hope you'll look me up, so we can continue the conversation we started back in LA that time. Or, you know, you can come alone. And maybe someday you'll decide to take a cruise somewhere, and if so, well, guess which travel agency and which cruise line I'd love it if you used -- wink wink. Especially if it happened to be a cruise I was working on. Of course, all this assumes some lucky, cute guy hasn't snapped you up by now ... wink wink.

So, just in case, I'm including below my mailing address, e-mail address, office phone number, cell phone number, etc. Wow, that sounds needy and desperate, doesn't it? Maybe it's some kind of karmic stalker payback. (LOL) 

Oh, crap. The truth is, I just wanted you to know that relationship I was in was over. I don't know why it took me so long to tell you, maybe I just had to process everything, or something. Clear my head. Work through it all. I don't know. But that's what I wanted to tell you. 

Anyway, I hope you're doing well and teaching your heart out, which I know you're spectacular at, and I bet all those 3rd graders just love their Ms. McManus like crazy. 

Hope maybe to hear from you sometime.

Best,

Carmen