Carlson Melody - Stealing Bradford

Feeling slightly bad for the blue-eyed blonde joke, DJ decided to be cooperative. She went over and stared at Taylor’s face then the model’s. Finally she admitted that there was a definite resemblance.

“I knew it,” said Taylor, now satisfied.

“Who is she anyway?”

“Just a model from Poland.” Taylor returned to the window seat and kept staring at the photo.

“Do you think you’ll be a model?” asked DJ.

“Your grandmother thinks I could…if I wanted to…but I don’t think I want to.”

“Why not?” asked DJ. “I mean I know why I wouldn’t want to, but you seem to like attention, Taylor. I’m surprised you wouldn’t leap at an opportunity to model.”

“It just seems pretty one-dimensional.”

“Meaning it’s about surface looks and not much else?”

“Pretty much.”

DJ wanted to point out that Taylor was pretty one-dimensional too, but she didn’t.

“Of course, the money can be good,” said Taylor. “And you don’t have to do it forever.”

“They won’t let you do it forever.”

“Duh. But I suppose I could do it for a year or two—until I figured out what I really wanted to do. It might be fun.”

“Not my idea of fun,” said DJ as she flopped down onto her bed. “It sounds more like torture to me.”

“So tell me,” said Taylor. “Which of us is prettier?”

DJ sat up and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Taylor held up the photo again. “I mean me or Kamila. Who’s prettier? And be honest, I can take it.”

DJ studied the photo. “Well, to be fair, I know for a fact that the photo has been airbrushed and touched up…”

“Just pretend that I’ve been airbrushed too.”

DJ stared at the photo then stared at Taylor. “I think it’s a toss-up,” she finally said. “You’re both beautiful. Happy now?”

Taylor scowled.

“Well, now with that expression, I’d have to say that Kamila wins.”

“What if I were a blue-eyed blonde?” asked Taylor. “Would I be prettier then?”

“Of course not.” DJ firmly shook her head.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not. I think your dark hair, dark eyes—the whole package—is really beautiful, Taylor.” DJ couldn’t believe she was saying this. But maybe it was because of what she’d read in the Bible today about saying good things to mean people. Whatever.

“You know that my mom is Latino,” said Taylor in a slightly serious tone. “And you’ve probably guessed that my dad is black…”

“Not really,” admitted DJ. “I mean, yeah, I knew your mom was Latino.”

“The thing is my dad doesn’t look black. I mean he can pass for Latino too.”

“Oh.” DJ had no idea where this was going or why Taylor was even telling her. Or if it was even true. But she just nodded.

“So, when I was born, it was kind of upsetting.”

“Upsetting?” DJ was just plain confused now. “Why?”

“Because I’m the darkest one in the family.”

“You’re not that dark,” DJ pointed out. “Mostly you look like you’ve got a fantastic tan—one that most girls would kill for.”

“Well, my dad didn’t like it. Not one bit. He even accused my mom of cheating on him, you know, with someone darker.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wow, that must’ve been hard.”

Taylor shrugged. “Hard on them. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Do you and your dad get along?”

“You mean when he’s not in rehab?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess so. I mean he’s gotten used to me.”

Suddenly DJ realized what time it was. “Oh, I better get ready. Conner’s picking me up in about half an hour.”

“Going out?”

“Yeah, to eat and then that First Friday thing.”

“Guess I’ll see you there then.”

“Guess so.”

Then Taylor closed the magazine, laid it aside, and went into the bathroom. And, as DJ dressed, she tried to figure out what Taylor had just told her. Was she saying her parents didn’t love her as much because her skin was darker than theirs? That just sounded crazy. Or maybe Taylor just didn’t love herself. Whatever it was, it would probably take an experienced shrink a couple of years to get to the bottom of. And DJ just didn’t have time.

“THANKS FOR DINNER,”DJ told Conner as they got back into his pickup.

“It’s nice we have similar taste,” he said.

“Well, I don’t always eat cheap greasy food.”

He frowned. “You mean you didn’t really like it?”

“No, I totally loved it, Conner. I was kidding, okay?”

“Oh, okay.”

DJ glanced at her watch. “Is it too early to go to the art walk?”

“Nah, I noticed some people were already walking around when I came by to pick you up. You know, the old-timers who can’t be out too late.” He drove through town and finally parked in a small lot behind The Mockingbird Gallery.

“Uh-oh,” said DJ as they got inside. She pointed to the lime green Vespa parked right out the back door.

“Taylor?”

“Yep.” DJ had already told Conner about Eliza’s plan.

“Do you think Rhiannon is here yet?” he asked.

“I don’t see Eliza’s car anywhere.”

“Or Harry’s Jeep.”

Conner pushed open the door, and the sound of jazz music floated toward them. But, other than the elderly couple admiring a bronze statue of a mother and child, the gallery looked fairly empty. Conner and DJ slowly made their way around the gallery, quietly talking about various pieces as if they were both art experts, which was so not the case. Finally the older couple left, and DJ started to giggle.

“Sorry,” she said trying to control herself. “But I feel like such a phony.”

“Hello and welcome to The Mockingbird,” said a woman with a heavy French accent. “I am Gabrielle Bruyere.”

“We’re friends of Bradford, Mrs. Bruyere,” said Conner, politely introducing them to her.

“But, of course.” She smiled warmly. “But, please, call me Gabrielle. Or even Gabbie. And know that any friend of my son is a friend of mine.”

“They’re my friends too,” said Taylor as she emerged with Bradford on her arm. “In fact, DJ, which is short for Desiree, is my roommate.”

“Ah, Desiree, that is French,” said Gabrielle.

“Yes,” admitted DJ. “My mother lived in France for a while. She loved their culture and language. But I think that Desiree Jeannette is a mouthful. So I go by DJ.”

“And you and Taylor are roommates? How much fun you girls must have! I can only imagine.”

DJ sort of laughed. “Yes, it’s pretty unbelievable.”

“And you are both so beautiful. Are all the Carter House girls such rare beauties?” Taylor chuckled. “You know what they say—beauty is in the eyes of the beholder.”

“Well, I am beholding you both, and I declare you are both beautiful.” Gabrielle pulled the two girls together and stared at them. “Look, boys, are they not beautiful? Such opposites…I would like to paint them together.”

“Do you want me to put this CD in now?” asked Bradford.

“Yes, of course,” said Gabrielle. She smiled at Taylor. “A signed CD from one of my favorite musicians—such a rare treat.” She turned to DJ. “Your roommate has a very talented mother, no?”

“So does your son,” said Taylor. “I’m still amazed at your art, Gabbie. I think I’m going to have to buy that oil of the koi pond for my mother for Christmas. It would be perfect in her bedroom.”

Gabrielle clapped her hands. “A piece of my art in Eva Perez’s boudoir? I could not be happier.” She put her arm around Taylor and squeezed her tight. “You are so adorable!”