“It all started when…” Gran begins.
“Mama, please. Why don’t you order that pizza, Winn?” Dad tells me as he twists the cork out of the bottle and glugs the sauvignon into the fancy crystal stemware I bought to treat myself—and I do stressmyself—after opening my fifth successful franchise.
“I want mushrooms on mine.”
“Meat lovers. Lots of sausage. That knit-in has me horny. The gals and I are doing penis pillows for our next project,” Gran orders.
“Ooh, I want one,” Carolina pipes up.
“We should sell those at the store.”
“Kathy… no.”
“We need to capitalize on all this new foot traffic,” my sister tells me blithely.
“I used to do a little knitting,” Dad says excitedly. “Sign me up.”
“You should get over your fear of large dicks and get with Fitz so you can get me some measurements.” Gran mimes with her hand.
“It’s a branding moment, Winnie.” Kathy starts sketching out advertising ideas.
“Oh, so now you’re reading the business books I bought you?”
“Hell yeah!” Gran thumps her chest. “Sounds like being a businesswoman runs in the family! You girls get that from me.”
“Eyes on the prize.Stay the course,” I chant to myself as, behind me, Gran, Kathy, and Carolina chat about the merits of different types of yarn for anatomically correct penis pillows.
“There’s already so much demand for the penis pillows,” Kathy tells me excitedly. “I think we could sell them as part of the book club package.”
“Why pay to touch a penis when you could get paid to touch a penis?” I remind her.
“Are we sure escort services are legal?” Carolina whispers to me as we enter into the muted pink-and-white lobby.
Water flows from a hidden fountain.
“Welcome to the Oasis.” A woman who’s been plastic-surgeried, makeuped, and hair-extensioned within an inch of her life looks up at us. She’s barely able to smile with the amount of Botox in her face.
“We have an appointment.”
There’s an imperceptible raise of an eyebrow at the pastry cream on my shirt.
“Shehas an appointment,” I clarify, pointing to Kathy in her couture sundress.
The plastic face is slightly more approving.
“Shit, add me onto that appointment too,” Gran declares. “I need to find me a rich man who’s a lonely sucker with cash burning a hole in his pocket.”
“We matchmake companions. Cecily Meyers.” An older woman, equally as plastic, hand outstretched, struts out in high heels that I’d put on and immediately break my ankles in. “Katherine, this way. There’s a café down the street. You can wait there until her appointment is over,” she tells us disapprovingly.
“There is no way I’m leaving this to chance,” I tell her. “Kathy already blew the last high-end boyfriend I tried to score for her.”
“I’m here for moral support.” Carolina adds.
We crowd down the hall into the conference room.
“I want in on this shindig too,” Gran demands. “Do you need an elderly woman? I put out. ”
“We are not that kind of service.” Cecily is offended.
