Chapter 40

Most days, we do our work, pack up, then go back to Otis’s house for brownies. Max found a new supplier with a grow-op in his basement. The stuff turned everyone into wacked out fools. Margot ate her brownie down at the computer, taking over Otis’s time slot. He was too blitzed to move. Margot wasn’t much better. She started out telling one blogger she didn’t do crying. “That’s Otis,” Margot said. “What’s your problem, anyway?”

The woman had a failed boob job. Her tits looked like squashed marshmallows. Nobody wanted her squashed marshmallows. “There’s more to life than your tits, Lola,” Margot told her. Another message followed: “But I’m an exotic dancer.”

“Well,” Margot said. “Maybe it’s God telling you to get off the pole. Did you ever think of that? Surely, a well-spoken girl like you has other options. What about telephone sales?” Another message: “I do telephone sales—check my prices.”

“That’s not what I meant, Lola, and you know it.”

Meanwhile, Ruby’s learning to tango in the living room. She and Muller practice a few cazas under the critical eye of Otis. He sits off in the corner with Bisquick on his head, grunting like a warthog. Bisquick loves Latin music. He bobs up and down, getting all fluffed up. “Tango,” he says. “Tango.” I finally have to drag Muller away, telling him he’s got two women waiting to dance at home. We leave Otis swatting at Bisquick, and Ruby trying a few moves on her own. Max is passed out on the couch.

As we leave, Otis is saying, “That’s the devil’s music, Ruby.” She tells him to go fly a kite. “I’m tangoing whether you like it or not, Otis,” she tells him.

“I won’t have my house turned into a dago hall.”

“Shut your piehole.”

“I’m warning you, Ruby.”

“Dammit, old man,” Max says. “You woke me up.”

“Your mother’s dancing the devil’s music.”

“You still woke me up.”

“Stop doin’ that dago shit, Ruby.”

Margot’s cattle caller go off downstairs, probably making Lola’s marshmallow tits shake like crazy.