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.