Work Text:
2001
“Hello?”
“Hi, um.” A long silence. “Is this Carmen?”
“Who is this?”
“This is—” a sharp breath in and out— “Pamela.”
“Pamela who?”
“Coste. Pamela Coste.”
Carmen held the phone away from her face, staring into the transmitter as though it were full of snakes.
The list of potential reasons for Robert’s wife to be the one returning her call was vanishingly short, and there wasn’t a single good thing on it.
She was moving to hang up, to put the whole miserable affair behind her for good, when the buzz of frantic speech rang out from the speaker. It was tiny, incomprehensible, but it— didn’t sound like Pamela was calling her a nasty, gutter-trash, home-wrecking slut. In fact, she didn’t sound angry at all. Far from it.
It was nothing more than curiosity that moved Carmen to, finally, lift the phone to her ear again.
“—just wanted to talk to you— I know you didn’t know, he didn’t tell you— the lying bastard.” She was choking, sniffling. “I don’t even know how many other girls he’s got. But you’re the only one who showed up— oh, I can’t do this— and I didn’t even get a chance to talk to you. I can’t believe he turned you out like that. It made me want to hit him, I couldn’t believe he would ever… he doesn’t act like that—”
“Pamela,” Carmen interrupted. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I don’t care about Robert. I don’t need anything from you.”
“I— I’m not trying to offer you anything, Carmen,” she stammered. “I just wanted to talk. To meet up, maybe. Carmen, I haven’t told anyone else about this, I can’t. I don’t want them to know—” a tiny sob— “but you, you’re going through the same thing—”
“It’s not the fucking same,” Carmen interrupted. She felt a pang of regret for the hot streak of rage that burned through her then— but it’s nowhere near the same, she thought, raking a hand through her hair. It was loose and wild, and her fingers got caught in a tangle. It pulled painfully at her scalp, reprimanding her.
“I’m pregnant too, Carmen,” Pamela said.
Silence. A faint electronic drone on the other end of the line.
“So what?” Carmen said. She tried to sound venomous, but it came out dull. Exhausted.
“So your boy— he’s going to have a brother.” Pamela sighed. “Don’t you think they should meet each other?”
Carmen placed her hand on her stomach. There was a pulse there, quick and warm; sometimes she couldn’t tell if it was hers or the baby’s.
He kicked a lot. He had given her morning sickness for months. He’d made her life hell since his conception, and… fuck, but she still wanted him.
She never thought she’d be a mother; she’d made an appointment at the clinic to take care of the problem, to remove the last trace of the mess that Robert Coste had left in her life, and then… one day went by, and another, and… Carmen didn’t go.
Once the boy had convinced her that he wasn’t leaving, the problems started to stack up. There was the matter of Robert’s fame, which he hadn’t brought up during their brief affair— and why would she think to look him up; who gave a shit about fencing?
And then there were the phone calls; it wasn’t a big family, but there were still people to disappoint: I’m pregnant, the father isn’t around, yeah, he’s actually married, and no, he didn’t bother to mention that…
But the most significant problems were the ones that could be solved with money.
Not even a lot of money. A pittance to a guy like Robert Coste.
She couldn’t even get that out of him. It didn’t matter— she’d walked out of that McMansion with her head held high, going down the list in her head. A smaller, shittier apartment; a cancelled cable plan. She could get by with an antenna. There were places to cut back.
She could make it work on her own. She would.
The most she would give him would be the occasional message on his answering machine, just to let him know what a piece of shit he was, and that his son was still growing in her belly, strong and healthy without his touch.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Pamela,” she said.
“I think it is,” Pamela insisted. “I think this is a— fucked-up thing that Robert did to us. And I don’t think your boy should grow up not knowing he has a brother. I don’t want that for Jesse.” She sighed. “I don’t want that for Jesse.”
She didn’t sound good swearing. She had a high and pretty voice, clear like fresh-fallen snow; the opposite of Carmen’s throaty grumble. And she was earnest in her brokenness, like this was the first time a man had ever stabbed her in the back.
“You can tell him he has a brother,” Carmen said. “Don’t think Robert’s gonna like that, but, fuck. Not my marriage.”
“I’m not going to tell him. If he’s going to sneak around, then, well, so can I.”
Carmen laughed, sharp and bitter. Is this woman stupid? “You think the kid’s gonna keep that secret? For how long?”
“They don’t need to know everything. Come on, Carmen. I just think they should meet each other. I’ll tell Jesse when he’s older, or, well— I mean— I don’t even know if I’ll still be with Robert, I don’t know how to…”
“You will,” Carmen said. She didn’t know this woman, but she’d heard enough to glean that she didn’t have the strength to walk away, or maybe she just didn’t know what to do with herself once she had. “Just— if you still want to do this, then— call me after the kid’s born.”
“Yeah.” A long inhale, then a sigh. “Okay.”
They stayed on the line, neither one knowing what to say, how to end it.
But finally, the baby gave a sharp, decisive kick in Carmen’s belly, and she took that as her cue to hang the handset back in its place.
2005
About a year had passed since Pam Coste had last set foot in this apartment. Carmen had done her best to straighten up before she got here, but she knew it wasn't impressive; it never would be to someone like her, and yet, she walked in as though she was perfectly comfortable, like she wouldn't be going home to a place twenty times its size.
"Carmen," she said warmly as she stepped through the door and wrapped her in an effortless hug. If it were anyone else, Carmen would have recoiled; at least ask first, goddamn. But Pamela was always welcome anywhere, and she knew it.
No matter how hard she tried not to like her, it had failed. That was her power.
Carmen awkwardly returned the hug with one arm. The scent of Egyptian musk perfume wafted around them. "Hey, Pam."
"I wish we could have seen each other sooner but, you know," Pam said apologetically, unzipping her coat and setting her bag on the floor. "So many things get in the way. There's work, there's the kid. How's little Nicky?"
"He's fine." Carmen pushed the door shut and locked it. "He's at his grandmother's house."
"Oh, that's good." Pamela smiled faintly. "I wish my mother would help out with Jesse sometimes, but she never has a day off. I hope I'm not still working at her age, you know?” she laughed.
As far as Carmen could tell, Pam’s mother’s “job” consisted mainly of sipping wine and kissing ass at charity galas.
“Yeah,” she said. “I probably will, though.”
“As if I would allow that,” Pamela retorted. She draped her coat over her arm and nudged Carmen playfully. “If you’re still working at seventy, I’m forcing you into retirement and dragging you down to Boca with me. We’ll get a duplex.”
“Sure,” Carmen said flatly. She took Pam’s coat and draped it over the back of the sofa.
They made their way easily into the kitchen, which was small and cramped; there were bills and receipts on the table, but they'd been pushed to the side in a pass at tidiness, along with some cheese puffs that Nicholas liked. When she was sitting at the table, doing work or talking on the phone, Carmen would bounce him on her lap and feed them to him occasionally, and that would keep him quiet for a while.
Pam had retrieved her bag, and she set it on the table now. It was a large cooler-style bag. She unzipped it, then fished out a pair of wine glasses embellished with a glittery monogram (her latest business venture) and a bottle of blanc de noirs, sparkling.
"Look at that," she said, holding one of the glasses out at Carmen. "It's you."
Carmen looked. At first her eyes focused on her own ghostly reflection, warped and bloated by the curve of the glass.
But of course, what Pam wanted her to see was the monogram: C.E.C. Her initials.
"Cute," Carmen managed, rotating it in her hands.
Honestly, it was entirely tacky and a waste of space, and she could only think of Nicholas sprinting headfirst into whatever shelf she decided to stash it on. Shattered glass all over the floor, a crying and cut-up child, et cetera.
"Well, thank you," Pam said brightly. She had a catlike smile. Her eyes were blue like her husband's, but more vivid; her hair was a darker shade of blonde, with a natural wave to it, brushing her cheeks where it framed her face.
She deftly popped the cork on the wine. Carmen held out her glass and watched Pam fill it up. It fizzed as she poured.
When she'd served them both, she took a seat opposite Carmen and raised her glass. "To new beginnings," Pamela said, chipper.
"To new beginnings," Carmen said, eyeing her curiously. Clink. Pam had tried to get a few different businesses off the ground, but this was the first time she’d insisted on coming over to her place to celebrate, with wine. So was it about that, really?
They each took a long drink; the slight carbonation tickled at the back of Carmen’s throat, and when she put her glass down, she noticed the monogram on Pamela’s. P.J.S.
“S?” she asked, her mouth hanging open slightly.
Pam let her fingers rest over the top of her glass. Her nails were painted white and glossy; they looked just like her teeth, which were visible now, in a giddy little smile.
“That’s the new beginning,” she said, hushed. “I’m leaving Robert.”
Pam was looking at Carmen like she expected her to— clap, or something, but all she could do was sit there with her mouth hanging open. The wall clock was ticking, and the window was cracked, letting in the sound of traffic from outside.
“What?” Carmen asked, finally.
“I haven’t told anyone else yet.” Pamela picked up immediately where she’d left off, as though there hadn’t been any pause. “I haven’t even told him yet. I’ve been thinking about it for the longest time, and I’ve… made my decision.”
“Okay.” Carmen took another drink. This wine wasn’t meant to be swigged, but she did it automatically. “Uh, you seem really fucking happy for someone who’s about to be a single mom.”
“No, not at all. We’ll share custody, Carmen.”
“Are you sure?”
“We’ve talked about it.” Pam tapped her nails on the glass. “You know how many times we’ve talked about what we would do, if we ever split up? It was like we knew all along. Sometimes I don’t know why we ever tried to make it work.” She looked down at her fingers, still tapping.
“Well—” Carmen sighed, tensing her shoulders. “Of course you did, Pam. He’s good looking, he’s fuckin’ rich, he’s the father of your kid. I mean, you could do worse for a husband.”
“I just don’t think—” Pam pursed her lips. “I don’t think I lived my life before I got married, Carmen. I rushed into it, and what did I get? A guy who won’t even keep it in his pants for Jesse’s sake, forget about mine. He’s— I love him, but I think I have to leave before I— waste my life.”
Another swig, and the glass was empty already. “Okay,” Carmen said. “Well.”
Without asking, Pam picked up the bottle and refilled Carmen’s glass. She just knew what she needed.
“Yeah.” Carmen took another long sip. “So, what. You’re trying to get back on the market?”
Her own body had been utterly ruined by pregnancy; the little jerk had refused to turn around the right way, and had to be cut out of her, and the weight had gone to all the wrong places and never come off.
Pamela, of course, had suffered no such effect. She always looked like a music video starlet. Gorgeous. Hadn’t aged a day in the few years Carmen had known her. Even today, she was wearing a low-cut top in white, and it accentuated her tanned skin perfectly— smooth décolletage, a gold necklace with a tiny diamond charm, hanging just above the line of her modest cleavage.
“That’s only part of it,” Pam said, and tipped back the rest of her first glass. She smiled, exposing the sweet little gap between her two front teeth. “A small part, really. But, yeah, I want that.”
One bottle later…
They were on the couch, side by side. It was chilly in here, even with the heat on, so Carmen found herself entirely comfortable leaning against Pam’s side, soaking up some warmth from her skin.
Pam had an envelope in her hands. It was full of photos she’d just had developed. She’d stopped at the drugstore on the way to pick them up. Photos of Jesse, mainly.
He was a cute kid, and the spitting image of his father. He looked a lot like Nicholas, too, although part of that could just be… the way kids were at that age. Squishy and malleable. You could see what you wanted to see.
Carmen was shuffling through the photos, looking through them one by one, while Pam looked over her shoulder and commented. As they got to the bottom of the stack, they started to look familiar: these were the photos from the last time they’d seen each other, when they’d taken the kids to the zoo in May.
It was mostly Jesse, Nicholas, and the animals, but there were a few shots that included Pam, and one of Carmen. She was standing in front of the alligator enclosure, leaning against the fence with her hand on her chin, and a light breeze was blowing her hair back.
The kids were there too, pulling each other’s arms or something in the background, but the picture was definitely of Carmen. “I didn’t know you took this,” she said, looking closer and frowning.
“It was a great shot, I had to take it. Look, you looked like a model with the wind in your hair like that.” Pamela pointed with a manicured nail.
“Pfft, yeah right.” Carmen handed the photo to her, not wanting to look at it anymore. “Maybe if you caught me ten years ago.”
Pamela kept her eyes on the picture. “Why not now? I’ve always thought you were pretty.”
“Enough of that.” Carmen crossed her arms over her stomach, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
“What, you think I’m lying? As if I need to butter you up, girl.”
Pamela reached out and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind Carmen’s ear. She never asked permission to touch her like this— just little unthinking touches here and there, like she had a right to everything around her— and Carmen never stopped her. She just let it happen.
The tips of Pamela’s nails grazed the curve of her ear. Her breath was softly fragranced with wine.
“I’ve always thought you were pretty,” she repeated, firm with emphasis.
Carmen turned her head and met her eyes. There wasn’t a hint of any ulterior motive on Pamela’s face— there never was.
That was probably why Robert had married her. For a guy who liked to step out, it was good to marry a woman with an open face. He’d always know when he was pushing it too far— until now, it seemed. Unless he just didn’t care.
The thought crossed Carmen’s mind that Pam deserved better than him.
Well, a lot of women would. And, in fact, Carmen had thought for the longest time that the two deserved each other— naïveté meeting indifference. Pamela hoped that Robert would settle down eventually, and that hope was enough to keep her going despite all evidence to the contrary.
At the same time, she took it upon herself to befriend Carmen, and no matter how bitter she was at times, or how long they were apart, they always came together easily.
“Is that why you’re thinking of leaving him?” Carmen asked.
Pamela froze in place, her fingers resting against Carmen’s earlobe. “What?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re a lesbian or something?”
“No,” Pam objected quickly, turning her eyes away. Her fingertips played with the tiny gold hoop earring on Carmen’s ear. “Jesus, you’re so serious.”
“Well, I’m just saying.”
“Do you not like it when I touch you?” Pam pulled her hand back. “I’m sorry. You could have just said that.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.” Carmen leaned back against the couch. They were still touching, the sides of their bodies pressed comfortably together. “You never kissed a girl or anything?”
“No?”
“Not even in college? You went to a girls’ school.”
“No. Did you?”
“I didn’t go. But sure, in high school once, yeah.”
“That’s…” Pamela tugged gently on the earring. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, well. It doesn’t have to be nothin’ serious.” Carmen kept her arms crossed.
Pamela let her fingers travel across Carmen’s jawline, then her chin, delicately tracing over her skin. “So… did you like it?”
“Uh. It was fine.” A strange feeling was dancing in her stomach— anticipation, or discomfort, she couldn’t tell. “It was just for a laugh. Just messing around. Too much to drink, you know.”
What had been that girl’s name? Donna, or Dawn, or… it was all faded.
In the present moment, she was on her couch with Pamela Coste, who was cradling her chin between her fingers, and leaning in toward her. She moved one millimeter at a time, like she was trying not to get caught, but she was bad at that— she could never hide anything, Carmen thought, watching her blue eyes shimmer with curiosity.
She’s going to kiss me.
She let it happen.
Pamela’s lips were velvet-slick with the champagne-colored lip gloss she was always sporting, but that had quickly melted away. After the initial faltering attempts were past, she kissed hard.
Carmen hadn’t imagined that it would go this way— Pam on top of her on the couch, straddling her hips, both of them half-undressed— but…
I didn’t think it would go this far.
I didn’t think…
Maybe it was the wine— they hadn’t had that much, though. Or were they both just… deprived? She’d gone out with a guy last month, and the sex had been… fine, but not worth the trouble of finding a sitter. When was the last time she’d really had fun?
And Pam— did Robert still touch her at all? Did he ever—
He must not, Carmen decided, from the way Pam was devouring her. Like a horny teenager making out for the first time.
Her hands, too, were roaming over Carmen’s body. Squeezing and stroking her breasts, with her shirt and bra pushed up around her neck. Another long, deep kiss, and then Pam turned her attention to her stomach: caressing the mottled flesh, the T-shaped scar that trailed down from her navel.
Carmen didn’t know what to do with her hands, so she let them rest at her sides, clenching open and shut. The way she was being touched— as though these parts of her were attractive— was hard to fathom.
“Enough,” she said finally, her voice shaking. She lifted Pam’s head from where she’d been licking at the underside of her breast. The wet spot was cold when it hit the air.
Pamela frowned. “You want to stop?”
“Take your shirt off.”
She hesitated, but then she complied. Her white shirt came off over her head— and there was her stomach, unfairly toned, with only the barest evidence that she’d ever been pregnant— and her breasts, small yet perfectly shaped beneath a nude brassiere.
“Bra, too.”
Pamela looked at her like this was a bold and cheeky request. Never mind that she’d pushed Carmen’s bra out of the way to dive at her breasts just a few minutes ago.
Sighing, Carmen reached up and undid the front closure on the bra. Pamela’s breasts fell free with a little bounce, and she giggled. They were paler than the tanned skin surrounding them.
It was strange— she could feel her own arousal, her cunt swelling up, and the trickle of wetness when she shifted her hips— but how? She’d never thought about a woman in that way.
Pamela wanted her. Wanted to do this with her. The feeling of being wanted— maybe that was all there was to it.
“Are we gonna have sex?” Carmen asked. Her voice came out hoarse.
“Oh— uh, I don’t know.” Pamela shifted, pressing her pelvis down against Carmen’s hips. She grabbed at the straps of her bra and shrugged it off her shoulders. Now she was naked from the waist up, except for that little gold necklace. “Do you want to try it?”
Carmen played with the belt loops of Pam’s jeans, frowning. The way that Pam touched her was… intense. Too much to handle, right now. At least the guys she’d seen hadn’t touched her like that. They went about their business, and didn’t linger on the strange and ugly parts.
“I think I can get you off,” Carmen breathed, undoing the button of Pam’s jeans. “See if you like it.”
“Oh,” Pamela said, and a blush rose high in her cheeks. She raised her right hand to her mouth and bit gently at her fingers.
Carefully, Carmen unzipped the jeans and pulled them down a little; Pamela raised her hips to grant her access.
She was wearing panties that matched the bra, lacy and cute. When Carmen slid her hand along the underside, there was a hint of wetness soaking through.
Okay. Breathe. She was touching a pussy other than her own for the first time, and it was strange, but… it would work the same, so, it would be easy. She slid a finger beneath the edge, dipping into the wetness there. Wow.
Pamela held herself up carefully, watching Carmen work in silence. Her tanned belly rose and fell with her shallow breaths.
Carmen slid her finger back and forth experimentally, tracing the folds of the labia, then the hard nub of the clit. Pam gasped and fell forward a little, then. She pushed herself up on her knees, letting Carmen’s hand slide further in.
Pamela was fully shaven, but there was still a bit of stubble that would occasionally catch Carmen’s hand as she worked. It was nothing but pliant softness and endless wetness and intricate folds in there. Carmen wondered what it would look like, but for now she had to feel it out.
Pressing her index and middle fingers together, she pressed against the entrance, and— remarkably, they just slid right in. Hot, wet heat. Pamela trembled and quivered around her.
“Easy,” Carmen said. Her thumb came to rest on the clit, and she gently pressed against it. It felt smaller than hers, but hard and proud, craving her touch. She let her thumb move from side to side, then circle around it, drawing out a pleased sigh from Pamela.
It was difficult working at this angle, but she did it anyway, slowly and experimentally; pushing her fingers in and out, feeling the textures of Pam’s inner walls, the bumpy texture of her G-spot, and finding the ideal pattern to work her clit. She seemed to enjoy when Carmen’s thumb traveled over the topmost part, where it met her pubic mound. Every time, it made her expel a short and surprised gasp.
Eventually, Pamela had fallen forward over Carmen, holding herself up with her arms. The necklace dangled over Carmen’s mouth. She gave in to an absurd urge and took the diamond charm between her lips, tasting the metal with her tongue.
“Can I kiss you?” Pamela asked, her eyes fixed on Carmen’s lips. Her face was entirely pink now.
“Yeah.”
Pam let herself fall forward and pressed her lips against Carmen’s, and she let her in. Her tongue probed her mouth furiously, like she was trying to climb down her throat.
Carmen kept her hand at work in her jeans; the new angle allowed her to press in deeper. Pam gasped into her mouth as she hit a deeper spot, so she rubbed at her clit a little faster, keeping her touch light.
“Oh, Carmen,” Pam moaned. “That feels so good—”
Inserting another finger, Carmen shifted her hips, and she felt how soaked her own panties had become. Weird. She hadn’t thought…
But there was just something about the sight of Pam above her, totally flushed with pleasure, her perky little tits bouncing as she eased back onto Carmen’s hand, biting her lip and looking at her with such desire…
How did we get here?
“I think I’m close—”
“Okay.” Carmen pressed her fingers harder against that spot inside Pam, fucking her as deeply as she could at this angle. Her hand was cramping a little, but she didn’t want to let up. “Come on, Pam.”
Pamela kissed her again, sliding her tongue between her top lip and her teeth, hot and frenzied. “Ah— ah—”
And Carmen felt the tightening around her fingers, the inner walls swelling up and nearly crushing her, and— Pam’s body went stiff as she came, shaking and moaning and rutting herself against her hand.
Carmen rubbed her through it, circling her clit hard and fast until it was over. Then, suddenly, it was too much; Pam gasped and giggled, backing away.
Wow. A woman just came on my fingers.
“Ha… ah… oh my god.” Pamela settled back, sitting on Carmen’s legs. “You… you sure you don’t want me to…”
“Yeah.” Carmen withdrew her hand and looked at it; it was covered in slick wetness. “Come here.”
Carmen opened her arms, and Pam happily flopped forward and rested her head on her chest. She shimmied down, but there wasn’t enough room to fully lay down on the couch, so she bent her knees and kicked her heels.
“You know, you don’t have to leave him,” Carmen said.
Pamela scoffed. She turned her head, her hair trailing against Carmen’s chest, and frowned at her. “Him? You’re thinking about Robert right now?”
Hey, Robert? I fucked your wife.
“No, I’m not,” Carmen said. “I just, uh… if this is what you wanna do, you can do it. You haven’t told anyone else, right? Let him do what he does, and you can stay together for Jesse.”
“I don’t know.” Pamela closed her eyes.
“You’ve got a good setup, Pam. You can do what you want.” With her dry hand, Carmen ran her fingers softly through her blonde waves.
It wouldn’t matter what she said, anyway; Pamela would think it through herself, and eventually she’d go back to her fancy home, her handsome husband and her beautiful son— and her wine glasses, at least for a time.
But the two monogrammed with P.J.S. and C.E.C. would stay here. Way up high, on the shelf above the refrigerator, where little Nicholas couldn’t even see them when he craned his neck.
On rare occasions, Carmen would take them down and rinse them out, and pour a drink. Perhaps two.