Maybe she should mix and match; one Jane Fonda, one Bridget Fonda, a Greta Scacchi, two Sharon Stones and three Jayne Mansfields. No other woman would get a look in with her around; Hey, look at me. I have eight breasts. Choose your film star. Lucy glanced down at her own anonymous chest. Quantity and celebrity over size? The idea had merits.
But it couldn’t be denied; even window shopping through her favourite photo-fit scrap book wasn’t working for her today. There was no more college, no more job. God alone knew where she’d get the money for a new third-hand cab now her student loan was gone.
She was on her stomach on her bed in her room, repeatedly and lazily pressing a remote control, attention split between the changing channels of a portable TV and the photos before her.
The rabbits hopped around beside her. Maybe she’d call Osmo and ask if he’d had any luck finding her rats.
From a crumpled box beside her, she popped the last chocolate into her mouth. It struck cardboard with a hard Pthudd, spat straight back into the box. Walnut Cluster. Yukk. It lay there, half-chewed. The ant could have it, assuming he ever finished trying to glue her car back together. ‘How you doing out there?’ she shouted through to him – him in the hallway, working in what was presumably meant to be thoughtful silence.
‘Lucille,’ he called back. ‘It is becoming a taxi cab fit for any. Come and see what progress I am making. Soon your cabbage shall await.’
‘Carriage.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Carriage. Soon my carriage shall await.’
‘But, then what shall you do with this cabbage?’
She refused to dignify it with an answer. Instead, she glanced at the TV, in case she’d missed anything good while talking to the insect. Fat chance. There was nothing to miss, just an endless stream of plywood-walled Australian soaps, each with the same cast.
On another station, an evangelist told everyone to give him money. Two cops walked in and handcuffed him.
She hopped channels.
Now the evangelist was on a confessional show, telling a fat American woman how he’d been a sinner, a crook and a fornicator, like no one could’ve guessed from looking at him.
Maybe she’d give Dan a call later, see if he was still acting weird.
She turned the page and studied more chests, hoping it would set her interest alight. It didn’t. The one top-left seemed okay; 44FF, far too small but maybe they could enlarge it.
Or maybe … maybe she could have them fitted upside down.