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CHAPTER 5

So, Carmen won the bet and got the house.
Or better, she got the house and, doing so, she won the bet.
She was happy.
Shane was happy. After a very troubled infancy, she was obtaining everything she wanted.
No more serial cheating.
No more one night stands.
No more booze and drugs.
No more loneliness.
Shane had a wife that anybody would envy.
Shane had a satisfying job.
Shane had a house, finally.
The house of her dreams. The house of Carmen’s dreams.
So, we could say that everything was working for the couple McCutcheon-Morales.
Wait, wait.
Let me restate that.
The couple McCutcheon-Morales was working for everything.
Over the next two years, Shane dug in.
Made senior partner of B&C Photography.
And Carmen… Well, Carmen labored seven days a week to create the perfect home that she and Shane always dreamed of.
Not easy for a girl who grew up drinking her milk from glasses with chipped, yellow flowers, right?
There were a million choices about the house, the furniture and everything around… and she sweated every one of them.
She refinished all the tables herself.
It took six months only to get the floors exactly right.
Dozens of Sundays to find the perfect Staffordshire figures and plates that she put over the fireplace.
And… well, when you work that hard on something, eventually you have to finish and face the awful question:
“What’s left to do?”.
Now, imagine Carmen.
Motionless in the middle of her wonderful living room, hands resting on her hips, as she is biting her lower lips with a perplexed, and a bit sad, expression painted on her beautiful face.
“What’s left to do?”.
And, above all, where’s Shane in our little pretty picture?
Well, Shane is at work.
As usual.

Flashback – Shane

I am editing some pictures on the huge screen of my MacPro when Carmen knocks at the door of my home office.
“Come in…”, I say, absent-mindedly.
She slowly opens the door and her face appears in the doorframe.
I glance at her and then I look back at the screen, my right hand moving rapidly on the mouse.
In any cases, one single glance is fair enough, for me, to notice that Carmen is tired.
Very tired.
I mean, she’s always perfect. Perfect hair, perfect face, perfect clothes for our perfect life. But something into her dark eyes tells me differently.
Something says that not everything is as perfect as it seems.
I know that Carmen has been working hard on this mansion, I know, I know, don’t get me wrong.
I know that she is doing her best. Housekeeping every day and spinning at The Moon practically every night just to scrape together some money.
However, am I not a worker too? Don’t I work my ass off too?
I know that, somehow, we are leaving each other aside, lately.
I mean, I know that sometimes I am so tired that I can’t barely speak to her.
But Jesus Christ, she’s tired as well. So tired that we haven’t made love for weeks, now.
So, well, yeah.
I am not mad at her.
I am just engrossed in my job, and this is just a transitory phase, I’m onto other things and the reason is only one and always the same: I am sweating my ass off this marriage, this house, this life.
Because, you know, I’m the one who pays for the beautiful furniture Carmen chooses.
I’m the one who pays the bills.
I’m the one who allows Carmen to stay at home all day.
So I light a cigarette and stare back at my computer.
“Are you working?”, Carmen asks in a flat tone.
I don’t look at her.
“Yes. Is it important?”.
She is watching me, her arms folded, back resting against the closed door.
“Yes. Kind of. I hope so”.
I nod, briefly glancing at her.
She sighs.
“Well… Stephanie Mayes called to say thank you for dinner the other night. She said the pâté I made was so good I should go into business…”.
She remains silent for a while, looking down at the expensive Persian carpet of my studio.
“Talk on…”, I murmur, “…I am listening…”.
She smiles a sad smile.
“Are you?”, she mumbles as if she’s talking to herself.
I stop, clasping my hands and resting my elbows on the desk.
I watch her straight in the eyes.
“Yes…”, I say, in a much softer tone, “Of course I am. Tell me, honey”.
She repeatedly blinks her eyelids, trying to gather her thoughts.
“Uhm… yeah, well… I asked her if she really meant it and she said she did, so… Uhm… So I took a pound over to her and collected 1200 dollars…”.
My eyes open wide in a complete surprise.
Carmen blushes a little, a slightly embarrassed expression on her face.
“I had almost forgotten what it felt like to make money…”.
She shrugs sheepishly.
I am staring at her, mouth agape.
“You sold liver to our friends?”.
Carmen chuckles.
“She paid me in cash, Shane”.
She shakes her head.
“Somehow, that felt different from the money I get cashing a cheque… It made me feel like… I don’t know…”, she chuckles again, “…Trading in the Volvo on one of those four-wheel drive things with the big, knobby tyres and the horsepower engine”.
She steps towards me and rests her hands on my desk.
Her beautiful eyes are staring at me.
“So I did. I am gonna pick it up tomorrow”.
And she bites her bottom lip with that sexy allure that always drives me crazy.
I grab the hem of her shirt and I slowly pull her towards me, grazing her lips with me.
“Thank you so much for telling me”, I whisper, resting my forehead against her.
“But… you think that you… need this?”, I add them, flatly, “I mean, the Volvo was a fine car”.
Carmen smiles.
“I’ll pay for it with my own money, babe”.
“How much does it cost?”.
She pulls away, sighing.
“All right, I know it is kind of crazy but I just… want it, okay?”.
There is a slight shadow of annoyance in her voice, now.
I chuckle, shrugging slightly and sitting back at my desk.
“So you only have to sell more pounds of pâté”.
Carmen raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms.
“Maybe I will…”, she says, in a defensive tone, “…Maybe I’m starting a business”.
I don’t reply.
Her eyes and voice suddenly soften.
“But if you don’t want me to, uh…”.
I wave my hands in the air.
“No. No, no, no, no, no. You do it”, I state, smiling.
She stops mid-sentence, staring at me with hopeful eyes.
“Do it. Do it”, I repeat, in a quiet tone.
Carmen swallows, speechless. She shift a little.
“Okay…”, I whisper then, confidently, grabbing the phone, “I am doing it, then…”.
She tilts her head in confusion.
“Wait a minute. Wait one minute”, she exclaims, raising her hand to stop me, “I don’t understand. What’s the, uh…”.
“What’s the attitude?”, I reply with a lopsided grin.
“Yeah. I can handle it, Shane”.
I shrug.
“Yeah, I know and I am sure you can. But sometimes you need a little push”.
Carmen sits on the corner of my desk, crossing her tanned leg.
“We all need a little push, but I don’t understand what you’re doing”.
I rest my hand on her knee.
“Well, I agree with you that you should do this liver bit. But you’ll be busy doing it, so we would need someone to take care of the house, right?”.
She exhales, rolling her eyes.
“Right, Shane. Right again. You like to have everything under control, don’t you?”.
She motions to get off my desk but I stop her.
“Oh, come on Carm. Let’s not argue, okay? I just want to call Mark to set up an interview. He’ll send us some prospects”.
Carmen doesn’t look convinced.
“Just think about it for a minute!”, I add, trying to ease the tension growing behind us, “I am only trying to make your life easier…”.
Carmen’s eyes look down, at the floor.
“I know, babe, I know… It’s just… Somehow the thought of a stranger living in our house just seems weird, you know?”. She looks up at me.
“Doesn’t it? I don’t mean just for us, but for you, too”.
I touch her chin, slightly forcing her to look at me straight in the eyes.
“Carm… I just want to make your life easier… You can’t handle everything all alone…”.
Her lips softly graze mine.