Lisa Trenton stirred her iced tea absentmindedly as she listened to her sister drone on and on about her latest business coup. It wasn’t an uncommon situation, so Lisa often employed such tactics in order to maintain some semblance of sanity. She would just disappear for a short while, imagining herself in the Bahamas, sipping some exotic rum cocktail on a toasty beach or, perhaps, in London, taking The Tube to some dive-y neighborhood where she could have fried fish wrapped in newspaper while cozying up to a Guinness. Whenever Diane would stop for a breath, Lisa would offer a “hmm” or a “sounds like you’ve had your hands full,” hoping they were near the end of this particular verbal marathon.

                “I don’t think you’re listening to me at all.”

                The statement ripped Lisa right out of her fantasy (which, at that particular moment, had involved her Lit professor and the soundtrack from The Thorn Birds miniseries.) She looked up at her sister, trying her damndest to come up with a reasonable lie with which to save face, only to find that Diane was talking to someone on her cell.

                “I said Jamison, Richard, not Jamerson.” Her sister’s tone implied that the person on the other end of the line was either mentally retarded or Diane’s personal assistant. “Jamison. JamISON. Not JamERSON. Damn it, Richard, it’s like you’re one of those meth heads from that show on A&E. No, not Dog, the Bounty Hunter, you moron. Just tell JamISON to get the proposal over to MFA as soon as Lipinski is done with the edit. You got that? Are you sure? Okay. You screw this up, Richard, and it’s Dick from now on. Every last intern and toilet scrubber in that building will be calling you Dick. Big D. Little ick. Got me? Good.”

                Diane sighed as she ended the call and dropped the phone into her Prada handbag. “Can you believe that? That’s what I’m on about. I’m dealing with imbeciles over there. They don’t pay me enough to deal with people like Richard. He’s like a Hobbit – only more overtly homosexual. He reminds me of that guy you brought home for Thanksgiving dinner your senior year.”

                “Matt wasn’t gay,” Lisa said. “He was artistic.”

                “You say tomato.”

                Lisa took a sip of her tea and then poked at her over-priced salad. “Mom said Dad should be out of the hospital soon. The doctors seem surprised he’s recovered so fast.”

                “Well, they do bypasses with their eyes closed these days,” Diane said. “It’s all old hat. Besides, Daddy’s always been the rugged sort. Construction might be for suckers but it builds a strong body.”

                “It was his passion,” Lisa said. “He loved building things.”

                “He loved it so much he never made any money at it. Frankly, I’m shocked his insurance covered the surgery.”

                “Mom said they were really easy to deal with. She was shocked.” Lisa added a little more raspberry vinaigrette to her greens and took a bite. “She said Dad’s been asking for you. She was wondering why you haven’t been to see him since the surgery.”

                Diane tasted her poached salmon and frowned. “I don’t really do hospitals, but the truth is that I’ve been über busy and just couldn’t get over there.”

                “He’s our dad, Diane, not some VP at your company.”

                “I know that, silly. I would have made time for a VP – providing, of course, they were part of my division.” She buttered a roll and shrugged. “Dad didn’t buy my car, Lisa, and sure as hell didn’t get me these Manolos. This is all me. He doesn’t pay the bills, sweetie. If he wants my attention, he’ll just have to wait in line like everyone else.”

                Lisa had never been so angry that she could feel it in a physical sense, but there it was, molten lava of rage bubbling just beneath the surface of her skin. Had she been a cartoon, steam would have issued from her ears. “I had almost forgotten what a heartless bitch you can be sometimes. Thanks for the reminder.”

                Diane rolled her eyes. “You make what I make and you can judge me. Until then, I don’t give a damn what you think, Lisa. Though, I would expect at least a little gratitude from you. Every time we have lunch I take you places you could never get into without me. What little class you have comes from me, not Mom and Dad, so don’t act all high and mighty with me. I love my parents, Lisa, just like you. They are fine people as far as their sort goes, but I left the old neighborhood with a purpose. I didn’t want to settle for mediocrity. I wanted to be someone – someone with the power and money to get anything and everything I want. Now that I have it, I want to keep it. No offense, but it doesn’t look good for me to associate myself with the middle class.”

                “How could I possibly take offense at that?” Lisa stood up and pushed her chair under the table, then tossed her napkin onto her sister’s food. “Now you return the favor and try not to be offended by this.”

                She kicked her side of the table, causing most of its contents to fall into Diane’s lap. The entire restaurant turned toward the commotion, giving Lisa their full attention as she climbed on top of the table.

                “Attention uppity asshats! My sister, Dr. Diane Trenton-Thomas, is the president of GMO’s domestic acquisitions office. When she was seventeen, she had sex with her Biology teacher so he wouldn’t flunk her. She lied on her college applications and completely fabricated her doctoral thesis after lining enough pockets to buy her degree. She was in love once, with a sales clerk at a Big and Tall men’s store, but she cheated on him with her boss so he took back his proposal and dumped her sorry ass.

                She, ladies and gentlemen, is a mockery of everything good and decent. She is poison in Prada, a guillotine in Gucci! She is an asshole with an Aston-Martin and the anathema of everything that is sacred and human. She is, I can say without exaggeration, the most worthless piece of garbage in this seven figure heap. Her nose job costs more than my annual salary and she isn’t fit to share a cheese taco with me let alone the gold-encrusted horseshit they serve here.”

                Having said all she intended to, Lisa jumped down from the table and made her way toward the exit, flanked on both sides by what passed for the restaurant’s muscle. “One more thing,” she said, turning to look her sister in the eye. “My dear sister, Dr. Diane Trenton-Thomas, got genital warts from a jock she banged in high school. Cast an eye to your poster child, all you Forbes fat cats. Ain’t she a beaut?”