Savages

11

O goes home.

Where Paqu is in one of her phases.

O has a hard time keeping up with her phases—

But in rough order:

Yoga

Pills and alcohol

Rehab

Republican politics

Jesus

Republican politics and Jesus

Fitness

Fitness, Republican politics, and Jesus

Cosmetic surgery

Gourmet cooking

Jazzercise

Buddhism

Real estate

Real estate, Jesus, and Republican politics

Fine wine

Re-rehab

Tennis

Horseback riding

Meditation

And now—

Direct sales.

“It’s a pyramid scheme, Mom,” O said when she saw the boxes and boxes of organic skin-care products that Paqu tried to enlist her to sell. She’d already signed up most of her friends, who were all selling the shit to one another in a sort of merchandizing circle-jill.

“It’s not a pyramid scheme,” Paqu objected. “A pyramid scheme is like those cleaning products.”

“And this—”

“Isn’t,” Paqu said.

“Have you ever seen a pyramid?” O asked her. “Or a picture of one?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” O said, wondering why she was even trying. “You sell this crap and kick up a percentage to the person who enlisted you. You enlist other people who kick up to you. That’s a pyramid, Mom.”

“No, it isn’t.”

O gets home this afternoon and Paqu is on the patio slamming mojitos with all her Organic Makeup Cult buddies. They’re all buzzed and buzzing about some upcoming motivational three-day cruise event.

Which would make you root for Somali pirates, O thinks.

“Can I fix you some Kool-Aid?” O asks the women graciously.

Paqu is oblivious. “Thank you, dear, but we have refreshments. Wouldn’t you like to join us?”

Yes I wouldn’t, O thinks.

“I’m otherwise engaged,” she says, retreating to the relative sanctuary of her room.

Six is hiding in his home office pretending to be tracking the market but really watching an Angels game. The door is open and he sees O and quickly swivels around to peer into his computer monitor.

“Don’t worry,” O says. “I won’t squeal.”

“You want a martini?”

“I’m good.”

She goes into her room, flops on the bed, and crashes.