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The daydream that she only allows herself to play out when she's already lying in bed always starts the same way - she is walking down the street, not a care in the world for once, and accidentally bumps into Amanda LaRusso.
Only its not the Amanda of reality, with her sleek dresses and high heels and perfectly styled hair. This Amanda has an old tank top on, stained and see through in patches, shorts frayed at the hem paired with beat up sneakers. The soles are nearly coming off. Her hair is a little greasy and thrown into a chaotic bun, no doubt a tangled mess she has no time to brush out anymore. The final touch is the bags under her eyes - so deep they could be mistaken for terribly applied eyeshadow.
They lock eyes, and Carmen knows that Amanda has sunk to this level - to Carmen's level - because of something she herself did. She doesn't bother to delve into what it was, that's not the point of the fantasy. The point is that this is her doing, and it's not just her that knows it; Amanda does too.
Fake Amanda always takes this moment to purse her lips at her in that snotty way rich people seem to have mastered. Sometimes Carmen has her catch herself and look away. Other times she has her need Carmen to raise an eyebrow at her in order to remember that she's not a successful business owner anymore. Either way, she flushes in shame and mutters that she needs to go (to the post office, Carmen imagines, because she needs to send a money order for an overdue bill, because she doesn't have a modern phone to pay bills on anymore), and that's when Carmen softens.
"Hey," she says, softly like she's talking to an upset Miggy, and impulsively grabs Amanda's arm - still slightly muscled even though there's no way she can go to her fancy gym anymore. Amanda startles, blinks hard, but she doesn't pull away, and Carmen takes it as an invitation to step in closer.
This is a mistake, because Amanda is taller than her even without her power trip heels, and now Carmen has to tilt her head back to keep eye contact. For a second, she sees something of the rich Amanda in the woman's eyes, faintly amused and certain of her superior position in the world.
(Carmen clenches her hands in her bedsheets and tries not to squirm; she always forgets to not get so close to Amanda in the daydream, because even in Carmen's head Amanda will always press an advantage, but still she whispers to herself: next time. Next time she'll remember.)
Nevertheless, Carmen manages to hold her stare, and to her satisfaction, Amanda looks away. "Hey," she says again. "Do you -" she swallows. "Do you want to come over tonight? For dinner?"
Amanda glances at her, and Carmen gives her a gentle smile (that Amanda is dazzled by, but Carmen thinks she wouldn't show it, because Amanda is a proud woman. Not too proud though. Not proud enough that she can't say -)
"Sure."
The fantasy skips over to dinner, and here Carmen can never decide how she'd feel. She changes her mind a dozen times all while she imagines Amanda slowly making her way towards Carmen's door, nervous but determined not to show it. Meanwhile, Carmen has looped through every emotion she has ever had so fast that by the time she imagines hearing two short knocks, she's given up and settled for the kind of calm that barely covers the anxiety thrumming through her make believe veins.
(And Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, why does she let Amanda get to her so much, even in her own head? It's ridiculous.)
(This is always the point she takes a deep breath and physically gives herself a little shake. Daydreams, even the not so idle ones like this one, are for pleasure, not stress.)
She smiles bright at Amanda, who looks as cleaned up as she can be. Faded jeans, a simple top, some flats. Her hair is clean and loose around her shoulders, but not stylishly waved. She looks lovely, but still nowhere near the woman Carmen knows in the real world.
(The gleeful rush that comes with the observation has her biting her lip.)
She goes on to greet her with a hug and an enthusiastic smile that, despite her previous annoyance, she knows she'd never have to fake. Amanda gives her a shy upturn of lips in return, ducking her head a little, and both Carmen's dream self and her real self let out a little sigh of satisfaction.
(I could do that to her, Carmen thinks, and curls her toes.)
"Where are Miguel and your mother, if you don't mind my asking?" The question comes as Amanda takes the seat Carmen has graciously pulled out for her, and Carmen has to struggle out of the dual feelings of smug chivalry and indignance at her own automatic servitude to answer.
"Oh, they're at Johnny's." She waves her hand negligently, though she knows in reality she'd probably talk a lot more about the subject.
"He could use the company anyway," is all she allows herself to say here though. She adores Miggy, she adores her mother, and she even feels great fondness for her blond disaster of a neighbor, but it really, really isn't about them right now.
It's about Amanda, who after an encouraging nod starts filling her plate up as Carmen does the same. Amanda, who she knows would give her a sidelong glance, waiting for a signal of some kind, before letting herself dig in.
(She wonders, for the millionth time, what Amanda would look like having to say grace, because she's sure a woman who clearly thinks of herself as very modern doesn't Believe, but. Maybe it's strange that this is the line, but Carmen refuses to bring her faith into this. It's a little bit like why she'd never let Miguel play around with a Ouija board - some things you don't mess with.)
"Oh my God, Carmen, is there anything you can't do?" And maybe the question is based more on Carmen's desires than on reality, but it still fills her with a shy warmth, because what if? What if Amanda did admire her from afar? What if Amanda did look at her exactly as she's doing in Carmen's head, awed and pleased, like the appreciation for the food Carmen made for her has transferred over to Carmen herself?
What if Amanda wanted to taste her?
(What if Amanda let Carmen taste her? Carmen rubs her thighs together and doesn't pull at that thread.)
"It was nothing, really," she says, letting a blush stain her cheeks and letting her voice become throaty. (Sue her, she knows what looks good on her.) Amanda licks her lips absentmindedly, and Carmen lets her eyes follow the movement before Amanda snaps out of it and collects the poise she has left. She goes back to her food. Carmen does too, smiling when Amanda can't hide her hums of appreciation.
(Rich Amanda might be able to, but this poor Amanda? No way would she have had a meal like this in recent memory. She'd be starved for the pleasure of a home-cooked meal, wouldn't have had time to cook for herself even once because she wouldn't know how to handle being poor like Carmen does.)
(Like Daniel would, she thinks briefly, before shutting down that line of thought. Daniel is a good man, a perfectly nice man despite the petty, obsessed squabbling, but there's no place for him in Carmen's fantasy.)
There would be conversation, she knows, but the words that could be said don't seem so important in the face of painting Amanda's face with the expression of someone savoring the moment. Closed eyes, a healthy flush on her cheeks, the forced slow chewing so as to wring out every drop of flavor, the sigh after every swallow. Some might say it's a little like watching someone in the middle of sex, and maybe there is a voyeuristic aspect to it, but sex? No, this is better than that. This is Carmen having made something with her own two hands, something that comes easily to her but not to everyone. This is Carmen showing her roots, the "food is love" aspect of her culture; this is accepting someone into her home and sustaining them.
It's showing this white, formerly high status woman the power and strength a brown, lower class woman can hold. Showing her another way to live.
The thought lights Carmen up inside, both in the dream and in reality, so much she thinks she thinks she should be glowing with it. In the dream, Amanda sneaks glances at her out of the corner of her eye, because she might not be glowing literally but there's certainly a sort of luminescence there, something she wishes she could always have around Amanda, so she could always look her best, never haggard or worn.
(In her bed, Carmen breathes a little faster, swallows and half-remembers the climax of Like Water For Chocolate - Tita willing herself to burn with passion and swallowing down matches until they caught fire within her. She had always wondered what that must feel like, to be so consumed by ecstasy it killed you. She thinks she could know now. She thinks she could understand why people looked at the Latin passio and decided that with just an added letter, it could go from meaning "to suffer" to meaning "overcome with emotion.")
(It's all the same in the end, isn't it?)
Amanda finishes the last of her food. The change in her is startling - she almost looks like Rich Amanda, ready to tear down the world to get what she wants.
Almost, but not quite.
Because Carmen made her look like that, nourished and brimming with energy, and she didn't do it by bulldozing over everything and everyone else. She did it her own way, a kinder way, and maybe Amanda can learn to do that too.
Maybe they can create a little pocket in the universe together, a safe haven where karate and cutthroat business deals and terrifying exes can't touch them.
She reaches out, places a hand on Amanda's, effectively cutting off the thanks she was about to give. Amanda blinks at her, eyes wide and a little confused but a little hopeful too, and -
(Carmen holds on to the frozen moment as long as possible. Amanda, looking like she belongs in Carmen's tiny little apartment. Her pale but now calloused hand resting under Carmen's darker and far rougher one. Her posture still excellent but ready to crumble at a word from Carmen. Like a marionette, wholly at Carmen's mercy.
No mercy, she remembers hearing, and she thinks Rich Amanda would agree with the sentiment.
But Carmen - regrettably, fortunately - has plenty of mercy to spare. And wishing too hard for Poor Amanda to exist so Carmen can swoop in isn't quite fair to Real Amanda. It's not fair to Carmen either. She lets the moment fade away slowly, savoring the lingering taste of possibility within it.
Ay Diosito, ¿que hago con esto? she thinks, as she always does when the fantasy is over. She curls up on her side. Wonders idly if the meals of reality can ever measure up to the meals of fantasy.)
Maybe she can make up an excuse to see Amanda tomorrow.