Savages

16

One Christmas

What was waiting under the tree for O were—

Boobs.

She was hoping for a bicycle.

This was during one of her (rare) Productive Periods, when she got herself a J-O-B, at the Quiksilver shop on Forest Avenue, and wanted green transportation to get back and forth from W-O-R-K.

So she came down in the morning (yeah, okay, it was eleven-thirty but still the fucking morning, yah), all excited like a kid even though she was nineteen at the time, and didn’t see the shiny new bicycle she was hoping for but a shiny new envelope instead. Paqu was sitting cross-legged on the floor (this was during her Buddhist phase) and Stepdad Three (Ben once observed that O was in the early phases of a Twelve Stepdad Program) was plopped in his easy chair grinning at her like the lascivious mouth-breathing cretin that he was, blissfully ignorant that he had one foot out the door anyway to make room for Four.

O opened the envelope to find a gift card from a cosmetic surgeon for:

“1 Complimentary Breast Augmentation.”

“This does mean, actually, two complimentary breast augmentations, right?” she asked Paqu.

“I’m sure it does, darling.”

“Because otherwise . . .” She drooped one shoulder down to illustrate, ultra–creeped out that Three was, like, assessing her bosom.

“Merry Christmas, my darling girl,” Paqu said, her face radiant with the glow of giving.

“I kind of like my breasts the way they are,” O said. Small, yes, but tasty, yes, and other people seem to like them, too. Given the right mellow weed, people have dined on them for hours . . .

“But, Ophelia, don’t you want breasts like . . .”

She searches for the right word.

The word is “mine,” O thought.

Don’t you want boobs like mine? Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who has the nicest rack of all? Me, me, me, me. I walk through South Coast Plaza and make men hard from across the aisle. To affirm that I’m still attractive, not getting old, getting old getting old not. Don’t you want to be beautiful like me?

Yeah, no.

“I really wanted a bicycle, Mom.”

Later, after three apple martinis over Xmas dinner at Salt Creek Inn, Paqu asked O if she was a lesbian. O confessed that she was. “I’m a five-five bull dyke, Mom. Carpet munching and strap-ons are what I like, you bet.”

She traded the gift card to Ash for a bright red ten-speed.

Quit her job three weeks later anyway.