Twisted Sisters by Jen Lancaster Read Free Book Online Page A

aggravated that my parents saddled me with this unfortunate moniker.
     For God’s sake, Geri was named after my mother’s idol, Geraldine Ferraro, the first
     woman to run for vice president. “Reagan” is a true anomaly, particularly given my
     parents’ political bent. Granted, I was born on the day Reagan took office in 1981,
     and while he was being sworn in, the Iranian hostages were released after 444 grueling
     days of captivity. The only explanation offered is that Ma was so overcome with hormones
     and morphine—mostly morphine—that naming me Reagan was a fait accompli. By the time
     she came to her senses, the birth certificate was a matter of public record.
    I suspect this is the exact moment when I adopted my Just Say No view on prescription
     drugs.
    Before I can elaborate, we notice Wendy entering the ballroom. Rather, we’re alerted
     to her entrance when the entire ballroom lets out a collective gasp. Twenty-five years
     in the business and she still has that impact on people. Deva and I quickly slip in
     at the back of the room and plant ourselves in the first open seats we can find.
    I’ll admit it—I sometimes experience
cutis anserina
(goose bumps) when Wendy speaks, such is her charisma. As she steps onto the dais,
     the crowd switches from reverent silence to a cacophony of cheers that take three
     whole minutes to quell. Her presence is legendary, although not necessarily because
     Wendy’s considered beautiful. I’m not being snarky here—as she herself says, she’s
     a little too short, a little too lumpy, and a little too ethnic (read: Jewish) to
     be a cover girl, which is so ironic considering all the magazines she’s graced in
     the past three decades.
    Wendy leans up to the microphone. “Hello, gorgeous people! How are you enjoying Mauiiiiiiiii?”
     She draws out the word “Maui” for a good five beats.
    The crowd bursts into prolonged applause, which dies down once only everyone’s hands
     begin to ache.
    “I want to thank you all for joining me on this journey.”
    More applause.
    “Not just to Maui, but in this journey we call life.”
    Would it be ungrateful to point out that sometimes Wendy speaks in phrases most commonly
     found cross-stitched on pillows?
    “And life is a journey, not a destination.”
    So much applause.
    (So much cliché.)
    “This trip is my way of saying thank you for all your efforts, especially those of
     you who’ve been here from the beginning. Like you, Patty. You’re more than my executive
     producer—you’re my soul mate and my sister. Where would I be without you? Wait, don’t
     answer that,” she laughs. “Without you, I’d be back in Providence, covering city council
     meetings.”
    The crowd continues to go wild, save for Patty. Seems like Patty should be basking
     in Wendy’s reflected light most of all, as they’ve been best friends ever since they
     met as cub reporters for the
Providence Journal
thirty years ago. Yet the look on Patty’s face is decidedly unreadable.
    She’s probably just overwhelmed. Wendy has that effect on people. I’m glad she uses
     her power for good; otherwise she could be a Bond-level supervillain.
    “And we’re doing fine work, necessary work, all of us, from assistants to producers.
     Every one of you is an equally vital member of the Wendy Winsberg family.”
    I shift a bit when she says this. Is Mindy really as vital as I am? Look at her sitting
     there with her mouth all agape, lapping up every word Wendy says like it’s the gospel.
     Don’t get me wrong, I’m a huge fan, and Wendy’s helped orchestrate an awful lot of
     positive change. But she’s not the Second Coming.
    As for Mindy’s worth being equal to mine, at least in an employment situation? She
     spills drinks; I change lives. On the continuum of what makes a difference, I suspect
     Mindy and I are on opposite ends of the bell curve. Sure, she serves a purpose and
     I’m grateful for all the coffee-shop runs, but let’s