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.