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.