Twisted Sisters Read Online Free PDF

pesticide use?”
    I appear to have stumped her.
    “Do you mind if I check on that and get back to you?”
    I hesitate, finally saying, “No . . . I’m sure it will do. Thank you, Hope.” As she
     skulks away, I quietly note how much I hate when the servers can’t answer a simple
     question about the items they serve. This is probably why she carries trays for a
     living.
    I’m in the middle of a second, grudging sip when Deva asks, “Have you a lover, Reagan
     Bishop?” which propels an inadvertent spray of slushy rum and local juice out my nose.
    I’m loath to answer her for a variety of reasons, ranging from this being a gross
     violation of the social norm to my being genuinely puzzled about my own status. See:
Beeswax, None of Your
. How do I explain the break we’re on, when I’m not sure I understand it myself? And
     why did he request the break in the first place? I respond, “At the moment, no.”
    She tents her hands and rests her chin on her fingertips. “I could sense that your
     aura regarding love was out of balance.”
    Drink.
    “Have you read Pamala Oslie’s seminal work on auras? Specifically
Life Colors
and
Love Colors
?”
    I take another sip. “I’m waiting for the movie.”
    Deva’s face lights up and she claps together her great paws. “Oh, sweet Goddess, there’s
     a film? I’m so— Ah. Ha-ha! You
got
me, Reagan Bishop. Under that dour exterior, you’re actually quite funny.”
    I immediately bristle; I’m not dour.
    Am I dour?
    No, I am
not
dour.
    Maybe I’m not as lighthearted as, say, Geri, but few people are without the use of
     drugs, and everyone knows my stance on Big Pharma. I mean, anyone can pop a Dr. Feelgood,
     but true change is manifested only through an active commitment to cognitive therapy.
    Was I dour when Boyd and I drove the entire length of the Pacific Coast Highway naked
     that night? I think not. Then again, fooling around with him when I should have been
     focused on my dissertation almost cost me my doctoral program.
    I remember how my academic adviser screamed at me in her office about how I was throwing
     away what would be a brilliant career. So, much to my entire family’s chagrin, I broke
     up with Boyd because it was for the best. He didn’t understand why we couldn’t find
     a balance, maybe meet halfway. But what’s halfway between a doctor and a surfer/bartender?
    Yet my point remains that I’m not dour.
    To punctuate this point, I drink.
    And then I drink some more. Because I’m not dour.
    I decide to change my tactics and I start asking Deva some questions. “Is this your
     first time visiting Hawaii?”
    “Goddess, no. I’m here whenever I can get away. I own a beach home up the coast.”
    Huh. Even shacks in Maui start at a cool million. I’m suddenly intrigued. Perhaps
     I should revise my view on her. Here I thought she was just the weirdo who insisted
     on smudging the studio with burning sage before our broadcasts.
    “You’re kidding,” I reply. “I was under the impression you sold kachinas and hand-carved
     bongs for a living. No offense, of course.” There’s no way she could afford a beach
     house on her salary. Despite the ample perks Wendy provides, we’re still on a cable
     network, so I actually earn
less
than when I was in private practice. But if we ever make it to network, that will
     all change. That’s what I’m banking on, anyway.
    “I take no offense. I sell many things, Reagan Bishop. My business interests are varied,”
     Deva explains with some vagueness. “Also, in terms of P and L, you’d be surprised
     at the markup on tribal art. I carry artifacts from a Maori chief who’s such a savvy
     entrepreneur he could run Morgan Stanley.” She stops to reflect on her statement.
     “I mean, if he ever put on pants.”
    “Noted.” I believe my requisite fifteen minutes are up. Ultimately, a weirdo with
     a beach house is still a weirdo. I begin to close my eyes and lean back in my lounger.
    “Why