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.