End Flashback

Yeah, what the hell is wrong with you, ladies and gentlemen.
If you’re with a woman for any length of time, eventually you’ll ask her that question.
And if she doesn’t answer, that’s trouble.
Please notice that Carmen didn’t answer.
Anyway, when the trouble begins, it comes at you from directions you’d never expect.
Shane was a sitting duck, let’s face the truth.

Flashback – Shane

Bette Porter is looking at me and her unborn class, plus her absolute professionalism, plus those intelligent, inquiring eyes are making me feel a little uncomfortable.
And even her young assistant – her name should be Nikki, if memory serves me well – makes me shift on my seat. There’s something into her eyes that makes me feel naked.
Undressed, I mean.
Moreover, I am mad at Carmen and every time I am mad at Carmen, I feel nervous.
Last night, when I finally stopped working in my studio around two o’clock and went to bed, she was laying on her side.
She was showing me her back and Carmen never sleeps showing me her back.
Never.
It’s a sort of unspoken agreement between us. She doesn’t show me her back and I don’t show her mine.
Anyway, I wanted to make it up.
I mean, the contract slapped on the back of my head was somehow funny, but Carmen’s expression was less than enthralled.
And I can feel it, I can smell it, when she is pissed off.
I don’t want her to be mad at me.
And I know that I have been a bit detached, and distant, and cold, but I was just engrossed in my job.
And Carmen should know that better than me.
So, I started to brush her smooth side with my fingers. The pace of her breath told me that she wasn’t sleeping.
“Carm…”, I whispered into her ear.
No answer.
“Carm, honey…”, I repeated, moving some strands of hair away from her temple and kissing it.
“Honey, I am so very sorry…”, I admitted softly.
She finally turned and looked at me.
Her eyes were frankly unreadable and, in the dim light of our bedroom, they seemed two enormous dark oceans.
“I am sor –“.
She grabbed the nape of my neck and pulled me in for a wild kiss, leaving me breathless.
No more words, no more apologies, no excuses.
We spent the rest of the night fucking angrily and feverishly, sharing raw kisses and even rawer orgasms, shouting and yelling like two savages.
The only words out of our mouths were deeper, faster, harder.
The last thing I remember, was being squeezed between Carmen’s tightly.
So hard that I couldn’t catch my breath.
But it was so exciting that I came immediately after.
Nothing else.
And, obviously, we weren’t making it up at all.
We were just fucking each other’s brains out.
Until we both fell asleep, sweated and exhausted, with no reconciliation or tenderness.
So, yeah.
I can officially say that I am mad at my wife.
And I can officially add that I feel overawed talking with Bette Porter.
That’s the reason why I am drinking one glass of wine after another since the lunch began.
And I am starting to feel dizzy.
“I think you’re gonna do a very good job for my museum…”, Bette is saying, “…Especially if the rumors are true…”.
I smile sheepishly, pouring another glass of wine.
“Well… I could definitely be of help with that”, I reply quietly.
Bu just when the conversation is really starting to take off, I feel the impellent need to go to the bathroom.
I clear my throat, getting up.
“Could you excuse me for a second, Bette? I’ll be right back”.
She slightly nods, clasping her hands.