We keep trying to impress PDC with the perfect investment they’ve made, by sending through regular financial reports and cute newspaper clippings about our contributions to the community. But our corporate daddy’s too busy to notice our A+ report cards and flawless ballet recitals. We are the forgotten achievers. And I’m really okay with that.

Melanie’s head turns. “Oh, I hear a scooter. Tag, you’re it.”

“Part of your duties is assisting the residents. Probably your top duty.”

“They’re all so old with see-through skin. I can’t handle it.” Melanie gets up and goes into the bathroom, phone in hand. I walk outside to create a drive-through service.

A sharp voice shouts, “You’d think for the price we pay, they’d do something about the turtles.” Steaming down the hill toward me are the Parloni sisters. The older sister taking the lead is Renata. She’s just turned ninety-one. I put a birthday card in her mailbox and it was returned to me, torn into pieces. It’s okay— I knew she’d do that.

“Be more careful, they’re endangered” is what Agatha (Aggie) replies. She is younger at eighty-nine years old and she is correct: They’re endangered tortoises and they’re everywhere. Providence has the highest concentration of golden bonnet tortoises of anywhere on the planet. They swerve their scooters around the slow-motion lumps dotting the path and my heart is in my throat.

Renata bellows back, “I’m the one who’s endangered around here. I want to turn them into hair combs.” When they reach me, they brake to a stop. Britney Spears blares from a portable radio in Aggie’s front basket.

Renata was once a fashion editor. The devil wears brands you’ve never even heard of. YouTube has footage of a fashion show in 1991 when she called Karl Lagerfeld “Weekend at Bernie’s” to his face. He called her something far worse in French, but she considers it a triumph. He had no creative reply.

HOT OR NOT magazine is long gone, but Renata is not exactly retired. I can pick out brand logos all over her.

Her sister, Aggie Parloni, is my style goal. Gray suit, white blouse, and black loafers. She has fine white hair cropped close to her head and is smart, neat, and reasonable. I get along with her great. Aggie is a quiet person, but she’s noisy because of her radio. The local station has a competition: Win $10,000 if they repeat the same song in a day. Aggie doesn’t need the money, or any of the random prizes she’s always trying to win. It’s the what-if feeling between entering and the prize draw that she is addicted to.

I ask her loudly, “Any luck?”

Aggie turns down the volume a touch and holds out some envelopes to me. They’re prestamped and ready for the afternoon’s mail run. They’ll be twenty-five-word-or-less entries. Collect-ten-coupons. Name This Yacht for a Chance to Win. “I did have a small windfall,” she says carefully, like she knows she’s about to be teased.

“She won a Frisbee,” Renata cackles. “Let’s ask the neighbors to toss it around, shall we? Break a few hips.”

The mental image almost pixelates my vision. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” The fact that their assistant isn’t in tow is a very bad sign.

Renata smiles, and it’s pure evil. “We need a new one.”

I know exactly what she means. “What happened to Phillip?”

She ignores me and lowers her sunglasses, cooler than I’ll ever be, and looks through to Melanie’s vacant chair. “Where’s your pretty Asian minion? Or is that not PC? Inspired by her, I ordered a lovely black wig.”

“You absolutely cannot call her that.” I hold eye contact until I see she understands. “But in regard to the wig, Melanie will be very flattered. She’s busy checking her social media in the bathroom.”

Renata’s cackle always hits my bloodstream like a drug. It’s the Providence equivalent of making the popular girl at school laugh. “The youth of today. On the toilet, right where they belong. I wish I’d had ‘the Instagram.’ ”

“Is it too late for you to try it?” Aggie’s a quiet instigator. Thanks a bunch. Before the day’s out, I’m going to be taking street-style shots of Renata leaning against a brick wall.

Renata narrows her eyes like I’m a magazine cover and I’m Not Hot. “You’re looking very old today, young woman. Where’s the visor I bought you for Christmas? You are asking for LIVER SPOTS,” she booms, loud enough to scare birds. “Look at my spotty OLD HANDS. This song was playing this morning,” Renata says to Aggie abruptly when the radio changes tracks. “Quick, call them.”

Aggie consults her notebook. “It was ‘Billie Jean’ at 9:09 A.M. This is ‘Thriller.’ Tell her what you did to Phillip.”

Renata is triumphant. “I gave him the joke pair of panties and told him to iron them. Who knew such a simple request would be the last straw?”

“He just picked up his keys and walked out,” Aggie says wearily. “Two and a half days. He lasted longer than most.”

For entertainment, some people go on safari. Renata Parloni prefers hunting a very specific type of game. She’s reloading her weapon when she says, “We haven’t had a Goth boy in a while. I want one that’s constantly thinking about his mortality.”

I steel myself. “We had an agreement. We’re putting up a sensible advertisement. I’ll go get it.” Imagine being able to tell Sylvia that I fixed the Parloni situation once and for all.

Renata says when I’m back with my file: “Read the old ad. I want to hear what’s wrong with it.”

“ ‘Position Vacant. Two ancient old women residing at Providence Retirement Villa seek male assistant for casual exploitation and good-natured humiliation.’ ”

Renata interrupts. “What’s wrong with that bit?” Both sisters are jiggling slightly on their scooters now. No one could stay still to “Thriller.” I’m shifting foot to foot, trying to hold the dance in.

I explain, “It’s illegal to discriminate based on gender. This says only males can apply.”

“I have no desire to boss around a female. Read the rest,” Renata bosses me. Aggie gives me a deeply empathetic look.

I continue, “ ‘Duties include boutique shopping, fastfood fetching, and sincerely rendered flattery. Good looks a bonus— but we aren’t picky.’ ” I appeal to Aggie. “I’m not sure that’s legal either. You can see that isn’t going to get anyone who will be any use to you. All you’ve gotten so far are— ”

Renata interrupts again. “Skinny boys with skateboards and dark circles under their eyes. Useless kids who don’t know how to peel an orange or drive a stick shift.”

I pull out my draft advertisement. “ ‘Wanted: Experienced aged-care nurse to provide assistance to two active elderly women residing at Providence Retirement Villa. Domestic duties, outings, and errands. Driver’s license plus police check required.’ ” I try not to cringe under Renata’s poisonous stare. “We had a deal.”

Aggie is on my side. “Ren, I think we need to go with this new ad. It would be nice to have someone who could actually complete tasks. Laundry. Making the bed. I am too old to live in this kind of mess because of your strange hobby.”