Mixed Bags (2 page)

DJ started to do a repeat of her earlier tour, even using the same lines, until she realized that Eliza was actually interested.

“How old is this house?”

“Just over a hundred years,” DJ told her. “It was built in 1891.”

“It has a nice feel to it.”

DJ considered this. “Yeah, I kinda thought that too, after I got used to it. To be honest, it seemed pretty big to me at first. But then you’re probably used to big houses.”

“I suppose. Not that I’m particularly fond of mansions.”

“Why aren’t you with your parents?” asked DJ. “In France?”

“They’re concerned about things like politics and security,” said Eliza as they exited the library. “In fact, they almost refused to let me come here.”

“Why?”

“Oh, I think they felt I was safer in boarding school. If our grandmothers hadn’t been such good friends, I’m sure they never would’ve agreed.”

“So, you’re happy to be here?” DJ studied Eliza’s expression.

“Sure, aren’t you?”

DJ frowned. “I don’t know…I guess.”

“I think it’ll be fun to go to a real high school, to just live like a normal girl, with other normal girls.”

DJ tried not to look too shocked. “You think this is normal?”

Eliza laughed. “I guess I don’t really know what normal is, but it’s more normal that what I’m used to.”

“But what about the whole fashion thing?” asked DJ. “I mean you must know about my grandmother’s plans to turn us all into little debutantes. Are you into all that?”

“That’s nothing new. Remember, I’m from the south. My family is obsessed with turning me into a lady. That was one of the other reasons my parents agreed to this. I think they see the Carter House as some sort of finishing school.”

Or some sort of reformatory school,
thought DJ. Although she didn’t say it out loud. Not yet, anyway.

DJ was JUST FeeLInG HOPeFUL
that life might return to normal. The house had been quiet for a couple of hours, and DJ had retreated to her room with an old Fitzgerald novel that she’d scavenged from the library. Then she was interrupted by a quiet tapping on her door. “Who is it?” she called out lazily.

“Desiree?” Inez poked her head inside DJ’s room and then actually smiled in a sheepish sort of way. “Sorry to disturb you, but your grandmother is asleep, and we have another girl downstairs. Do you think you could show her around?”

DJ let out an exasperated sigh as she set the book aside and pried herself up from the padded window seat. She knew why Inez had come to her. She didn’t want to risk her employer’s wrath by interrupting her “sacred” afternoon nap. But weren’t these girls Grandmother’s problem, not DJ’s? Still, after witnessing Taylor’s rudeness to Inez earlier, DJ was resolved to treat the housekeeper with a bit more respect.

“I’m coming,” she said as she shoved her feet into her flip-flops.

“She’s in Mrs. Carter’s office.”

“Okay.”

DJ wondered what this next girl would be like. Perhaps she should have paid more attention to Grandmother when she’d described the soon-to-arrive residents these past couple of weeks. However, DJ doubted that it mattered much. She suspected that the Carter House girls (except for her) would probably be pretty much the same. Wealthy, attractive, impeccably groomed, tall, fashion-conscious, weight-obsessed, a bit on the spoiled side, and probably snobbish.

Even sweet Eliza with her southern veneer of good manners and charm would probably act differently once school started. She and Taylor would probably both worm their ways into the “elite” clique—a group of snotty girls that held no attraction for DJ. The same girls who had pushed DJ (and kids like her) off to the sidelines—or worse, made fun of them.

DJ tried to block these miserable thoughts as she went into the office to meet the next Carter House girl. But, to her surprise, she found a petite, dark-skinned, black-haired girl sitting in one of the leather chairs. At first, DJ thought there must be a mistake. This girl not only didn’t fit her Grandmother’s model-criteria mold, but she looked really, really young. Like maybe twelve.

“Hello?” ventured DJ.

The girl stood now, holding her hands nervously in front of her. “Hello.”

“I’m DJ,” she told her. “My grandmother is Mrs. Carter, but she’s taking a nap right now. Are you one of the new residents?”

“Yes. I’m Kriti Nahid,” she said politely. “My mother is outside with the taxi and my bags. We wanted to be sure this was the right house. It seemed that no one was home.”

DJ spotted Inez walking through the foyer just then. “Inez,” she called, “Could you go and help…uh, what was your last name again?”

“Nahid.”

DJ nodded. “Could you help Mrs. Nahid with Kriti’s bags?”

“Okay.”

DJ turned back to the girl. She really wanted to ask how old she was, but a second glance told her that although Kriti was petite, she had curves and was most likely older than twelve. It was probably her Indian heritage (DJ’s guess at her ethnicity) that made her so petite. Still, DJ wondered how her grandmother would react to this interesting twist. Or perhaps she was aware. Perhaps it had more to do with money and need.

Before long, an equally petite woman joined them, introducing herself as Mrs. Nahid, Kriti’s mother. She was well dressed, and her jewelry looked expensive.

“We came by taxi from the city,” she told DJ with a thick accent. “I do not want to let the driver leave yet. But his meter is running. I had wished to speak to Mrs. Carter before I depart.”

DJ wasn’t sure what to do now. “Uh, my grandmother is having her afternoon nap. I could wake her if you—”

“No, no, do not disturb her.” Mrs. Nahid frowned. “Excuse me while I call my husband, please.” Then she stepped out the door and made a call on her cell phone. Speaking rapidly in a foreign language (probably Hindi), she sounded very angry at whoever was on the other end.

“I am sorry,” said Kriti, holding up her hands in a helpless way. “My parents are very protective of me.”

DJ frowned. “And they let you come here?”

“We live in the city.” Kriti frowned. “There is much crime. My parents worried for my welfare.”

“Oh…”

“We have only been in America for seven years. My father’s business is growing, but he needs to live nearby, in the city. They heard about the Carter House from friends. They felt I would be safer here.”

“Right.” DJ nodded. “That makes sense.”

“I am sorry,” said Mrs. Nahid now. “I just did not know what to do. The taxi was very expensive. It is a long way to the city. My husband said that it is acceptable to leave Kriti here now.”

Mrs. Nahid had tears in her eyes. She reached over and grabbed Kriti by both arms, pulled her close, and hugged her tightly as she said something in Hindi to her. Kriti just nodded as her mother stroked her silky hair, but there were tears in her eyes too. Suddenly, DJ felt like an intruder. This was a private moment…a moment that DJ would give anything to have with her own mother again. She turned and looked away, but it seemed rude to just leave without excusing herself.

Finally, their tearful good-bye ended, and Mrs. Nahid apologized again. “I do not usually get this emotional.”

“It’s okay,” said DJ. “I understand.”

“I have met Mrs. Carter,” continued Mrs. Nahid. “She seems a very responsible woman, and I know Kriti will be in good hands.”

“Of course.” DJ forced a smile as she wondered whether or not she should tell this unsuspecting woman the truth—or perhaps it was simply DJ’s version of the truth. But in her opinion, her grandmother was not exactly the “responsible” woman that Mrs. Nahid seemed to assume that she was. And as far as “good hands,” well, it probably depended on how one interpreted that.

“Can you have Mrs. Carter call me when she is awake?” asked Mrs. Nahid. She handed DJ a business card. “She can call on my cell phone or at my home. Either is acceptable.”

“Yes,” said DJ. “Absolutely.”

Mrs. Nahid said something else in Hindi to her daughter.

Kriti nodded, glancing at DJ. “Yes, Mother,” she answered in English, probably for DJ’s benefit. “I am absolutely fine. Please, just go ahead and leave. You better get going before you owe the taxi driver a thousand dollars.”

Mrs. Nahid made a stiff smile and then nodded. “Yes. You are right.” Then she thanked DJ and left.

“I can show you around,” offered DJ as they left her grandmother’s office, watching out the front window as the taxi drove away.

“Where should I put her things?” asked Inez as she came in the door with what must’ve been the last suitcase. She set it with the others, all mismatched and beat up and pretty unimpressive. For a moment DJ imagined Taylor’s shocked reaction if these shabby looking bags were to end up in her room. It might be good for a laugh.

“I don’t know,” she told Inez. “Maybe just put them upstairs on the landing for now. Grandmother can tell you which room later.”

DJ briefly considered offering to share her own room with Kriti. She knew that she would probably get stuck with a roommate eventually, and Kriti didn’t seem too bad. Still, it was hard letting go of her privacy. And, as far as she knew, Grandmother’s plan involved two girls per room, for a total of six girls. And she hadn’t filled all the beds yet. Maybe she wouldn’t.

Kriti remained pretty quiet during the tour. DJ hoped it wasn’t because she was feeling bummed about this whole thing. DJ knew that it wasn’t easy living away from your parents, but you get used to it, eventually. Finally they were finished and back in the foyer again. DJ wasn’t sure what to do now. She wished her grandmother would come downstairs and take over. It was nearly four now. Usually Grandmother was done with her nap by now. Suddenly DJ felt irritated, like she was stuck babysitting this new girl. She didn’t like it a bit. Was this how it was going to be? Did Grandmother assume that DJ was her slave girl?

“I can wait for Mrs. Carter in the library,” offered Kriti, as if she sensed DJ’s dilemma of having to entertain her.

“Do you like to read?” asked DJ as she led her back to the library.

“Oh, yes. I am a good reader.”

“The books in here are kind of old, but there are some good ones too.”

“I like old books,” said Kriti. “I learned to read when I was three, and I have read literally thousands of books since then. My reading level has always been much higher than my age.”

DJ nodded. This was Kriti’s way of saying she was an “academic,” and most likely she was proud of it. Probably a straight-A student too. Well, that was fine with DJ. Not that she cared too much about grades. And, really, it was preferable to being an elite snob who put everyone else down. Although DJ was well aware that some academics could be just as mean and superior as girls like Taylor. Whatever.

“SO THIS IS KrITI,”
said Grandmother, finally joining the two girls in the library. Her eyebrows lifted slightly when she took in the petite girl’s stature. “Inez told me that you arrived during my nap. I am Mrs. Carter.” She extended her hand.

Kriti shook her hand and smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

Grandmother nodded. “I see you’ve met my granddaughter, Desiree.”

Kriti glanced at DJ curiously, probably wondering about her name, and then said, “Yes, she was very kind to show me around.”

“And your mother has left?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry I missed her. I hope she wasn’t inconvenienced.”

“She asked that you call her,” said DJ, digging the slightly rumpled business card from her jeans pocket.

“Thank you.”

“We didn’t know which room Kriti was going to be in. Her things are—”

“Yes, I saw her things on the landing.” Grandmother cleared her throat. “I will tell Inez to take them to the rose room.”

DJ frowned. Grandmother was putting Kriti in with Eliza? That seemed a little odd, considering the way she had treated Eliza like royalty, simply because her family was so rich. But DJ said nothing. Mostly she was relieved that she was not being asked to share her room yet.

“Has Kriti met the other girls yet?”

DJ shook her head. “I think they’re still in their rooms.”

“I see,” said Mrs. Carter.

DJ wanted to be in her room too. She was tired of playing handmaid to Grandmother. Let her deal with Kriti now. “I’m going upstairs to—”

“Oh, good,” said Grandmother. “Since you’re going upstairs, please take Kriti and introduce her to Eliza.” She smiled at Kriti now. “You are a lucky girl to room with Eliza Wilton. She is a delightful young lady, and I’m sure you will find her to be a most congenial roommate.”

Kriti nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Carter. I look forward to meeting her.”

So, knowing she was still stuck, DJ led Kriti up the stairs and then knocked on Eliza’s door.

Eliza opened it with a cheerful, “Yes?”

DJ performed the introduction, trying to do it properly, politely. Probably more for Kriti’s sake than for her grandmother. She suddenly felt a tiny bit sorry for Kriti. How would she feel about sharing a room with Miss Perfect?

Eliza smiled, but DJ thought it looked a little forced. “I’m pleased to meet you…, was it Christy?”

“Kriti,”
said DJ.

“Yes, well, I’m pleased to meet you,
Kriti.
That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s Hindu.”

Eliza nodded. “I see.”

“Does your name have a meaning?” asked DJ, hoping to help Kriti feel a little more at ease.

“Yes, it means ‘work of art.’” She looked down at her feet as if this embarrassed her.

“Isn’t that lovely,” said Eliza in a tone that sounded a bit saccharine to DJ’s ears, even though she was still smiling.

DJ couldn’t help but notice how completely different these two girls appeared. Kriti, short and dark, looked very insecure and totally out of her comfort zone. Meanwhile, Eliza, tall and blonde, seemed to be in perfect control. It was obvious who would be dominating this room. Already, it looked as if Eliza had made herself at home. Her things were spread everywhere.

“Hopefully you’ll have room for Kriti in here,” said DJ.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Eliza as she began removing things from one of the beds. “I was unpacking and I got a little carried away.”

“Bottega Veneta?” asked Kriti as she picked up Eliza’s bag and politely set it on the other bed, which was now heaped high with clothes and things.

Eliza blinked. “Yes.” Now she seemed to study Kriti’s outfit more carefully. Although DJ couldn’t see that it was anything too spectacular—just a pair of white capri pants, a black T-shirt, and platform sandals. Also, Kriti had a black bag slung over her shoulder. It was trimmed with some big brass rings and things. Eliza pointed to Kriti’s bag. “Dolce & Gabbana?”

Kriti smiled shyly. “In a way.”

Now Eliza looked suspicious. “A knockoff?”

Kriti nodded. “My father runs a knock-off business.”

“No way!” Eliza leaned over and peered curiously at the bag. “It looks like the real thing.”

“That’s the point.”

“But isn’t that illegal?”

“No,” said Kriti. “Not unless a design element is trademarked.” She pointed to one of the buckles on her purse. “For instance if this had the initials here, it could result in a lawsuit. But my father is very careful about these things.”

“How does he know?” asked DJ.

“He is very smart. And his brother is an attorney.”

“So does he sell his knockoffs on the street?” asked Eliza in a slightly snooty tone.

“No, he is a legitimate businessman. He sells to stores, and they know the items are knockoffs. It’s all in good fun since the customers know they’re fakes. Besides it’s profitable.”

Eliza shook her head. “But it seems wrong.”

“Why?” asked Kriti.

“Because, look at my bag. It’s a real Bottega, and I paid $2,400 for it.”

“Are you serious?” asked DJ. She stared at the purse and tried to figure out why it should possibly cost that much.

Eliza nodded. “I’m totally serious. And I’ll bet Kriti’s dad knocks them off for a fraction of that price. That’s just wrong.”

“Maybe it’s wrong that you paid $2,400 for your bag,” said Kriti. “Especially when you could’ve gotten one almost exactly like it for a tenth of the price.”

DJ wasn’t brilliant at math, but she knew that was $240. “That’s still a lot of money for a purse,” she said to both of them.

“Not when you want quality,” said Kriti. “Sure, you can get a knockoff in the city for, say, ten bucks, but it’s a piece of junk that will fall apart in less than a week.”

“That’s true,” said Eliza. “A friend of mine bought a Prada knockoff when she was on vacation, and it didn’t even last her one day.”

“In some ways, you get what you pay for,” said Kriti. “Unless you pay too much.”

Eliza did not look convinced. And DJ just felt confused. Her bag was a Fossil, and she thought it was perfectly fine, but she’d paid less than sixty bucks for it at Macy’s. Of course, it was on sale. But still, it hadn’t fallen apart, and she didn’t exactly take good care of it.

“I don’t get it,” DJ admitted. “It’s just a purse, for Pete’s sake. Why does it have to cost so freaking much?”

“You’re not into fashion, are you?” asked Eliza.

DJ shrugged. “Obviously.”

“I noticed that too,” said Kriti in a slightly superior tone. “I find that surprising—I mean, considering your grandmother.”

DJ rolled her eyes now. “Thankfully, the fashion gene must’ve skipped over me.”

“So, you don’t care how you look?” persisted Eliza.

“I care.” DJ frowned. “I just don’t care as much as you do.”

“Well, I don’t care all that much either,” said Kriti. Although DJ wasn’t sure she believed her now. She might’ve earlier, before Kriti revealed her knowledge of big name designers. “I am much more into education than fashion. My parents researched the school we’ll be attending here. Crescent High may be small, but it has a very impressive academic record.” She smiled. “And I plan to graduate at the top of my class and then get a scholarship at one of the Ivy League schools. Harvard perhaps.”

“What year are you?” asked Eliza.

“A junior.”

“You look younger,” said Eliza.

“Actually, I am. I was moved up a grade. Plus, I’m small. People always assume that means I’m younger. Still, I can’t do anything about my size.”

“No, of course not.”

“Here are Miss Nahid’s bags,” announced Inez as she shoved the mismatched luggage into the room.

“Those are your bags?” said Eliza with open disapproval.

“I know,” Kriti said. “They are pretty ugly. But it was what we had on hand. My father promised me a new set of Ralph Lauren knockoffs by Christmas. He said to throw these out as soon as I unpack.”

Eliza laughed. “Good idea. Maybe we can have a bonfire out back.”

Kriti unzipped a bag and began to remove her clothes, carefully laying them out across the bed. “I assume there are hangers,” she said as she shook out a jacket.

“I’m already running short,” said Eliza.

“What am I supposed to use?” asked Kriti.

“I don’t know.” Eliza frowned as she looked at all the items that were still piled on her bed.

“Just because you were in the room first doesn’t mean you get to use my hangers,” pointed out Kriti.

“Yes, I realize that.” Eliza turned to DJ now. “The fact is I’m worried there’s not enough closet space here. Does your grandmother have a plan for this? I could store some of my off-season things elsewhere.”

“These closets do seem to be a little on the small side,” observed Kriti.

“There’s plenty of room in my closet,” said DJ.

“That’s not surprising,” said Eliza a bit too smugly.

“This is an old house,” said DJ, feeling slightly defensive now. “I don’t think it was ever meant to have gigantic closets.”

“Obviously,” said Kriti.

“Can you please check with your grandma?” asked Eliza. “Find out what her plan is for storing our overflow of clothes.”

“Right.” DJ backed out of the room, eager to get away from what was starting to look more like a clothing boutique than a bedroom. “I’ll let her know there’s a problem.”

Then, suddenly, as DJ was going down the stairs, she felt hopeful. Yes, there was a problem. Her grandmother had bitten off more than she could chew. Perhaps she should consider this and get out of this crazy scheme before it was too late. In fact, that was just what DJ intended to tell her. She would convince her to cut her losses and send everyone—maybe even DJ—packing.

She hunted around until she finally discovered her grandmother discussing the next week’s menu with the cook. Rather, they were arguing about it.

“You can’t possibly serve all those carbohydrates,” said Grandmother. “That is six portions of carbs on Monday alone. The girls will all be as fat as pigs in a month.”

“What do you have against carbohydrates?” said Clara in an angry voice. “This is food we’re talking about, right? What am I supposed to fix?”

“I am simply saying that you have too many servings of things like potatoes, rice, and bread. You need more vegetables. And desserts should be things like fruit and gelato. Cakes and pies are out.”

“Is this a boarding house or a prison?” demanded Clara.

Grandmother frowned down at the dumpy, middle-aged woman. “It wouldn’t hurt you to cut back on carbs yourself, Clara.”

“Well!” Clara fumed.

“Excuse me,” said DJ, thinking it was a good moment to interrupt.

“No more than two servings of carbs per day,” Grandmother commanded Clara. Then she turned on her heel. “What do you want, Desiree?”

DJ quickly explained the need for more closet space, and her grandmother actually looked concerned, as if this had not occurred to her.

“And I’m wondering,” continued DJ, feeling she was on a roll. “Maybe this isn’t going to work out. I mean already Eliza and Kriti are fighting over closet space and—”

“They’re fighting?” Her grandmother glanced back at Clara, who was probably listening. Then she took DJ by the elbow and guided her out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into her office, where she closed the door. “What are you saying? Are Eliza and Kriti really fighting?”

“Well, they haven’t come to blows, but Eliza used most of the storage space, and Kriti doesn’t have any hangers and—”

“I’ll order more hangers.”

“But the closets are too small,” said DJ. “These girls came with a lot of stuff. Did you see how many bags Taylor had? I’ll bet she’s filled up every bit of space in the blue room by now.”

“That shouldn’t be such a problem.”

“Why not?”

Her grandmother waved her hand. “Oh, I don’t need to go into that just yet. But I can guarantee that her roommate won’t be bringing a lot of things.”

“Who is her roommate?”

“Rhiannon.”

“Rhiannon? As in the girl who used to live next door? The one who used to clean the house for you?”

“Yes.”

“She’
s one of your residents?”

“I’ve made an arrangement of sorts.”

“Don’t tell me she’s going to clean house for you in return for her room and board?”

“No, of course not.”

DJ did not get this. All the other girls were about money and fashion. Rhiannon was a nice enough girl, and pretty too, but her mom was a little bit strange, not to mention a little bit broke since her divorce. And, due to financial problems, they had moved away about a month ago. DJ had actually been disappointed to see them go.

“So, how is it that Rhiannon is going to live here?” asked DJ. “What kind of arrangement?”

“If you must know, I am being charitable.”

DJ was shocked. “Really?”

“Please, do not repeat it.”

“Wow!”

“So, you see, Taylor shouldn’t be too concerned over closet space.”

“But why can’t Rhiannon be my roommate?” demanded DJ. “I mean, unless I don’t need a roommate. That’d be cool with me.”

“No, I had other plans for you.”

“What plans?”

“Well, I was waiting to surprise you, Desiree, but if you must know…”

“Who is it?” demanded DJ.

“Casey Atwood.”

“Really?” DJ hadn’t seen Casey since right after her mom had died, almost a year ago.

Her grandmother nodded. “Deborah called me just a week ago. It seems Casey got into some trouble in school last year.”

“Casey got into trouble?” DJ had a hard time believing that. She had known Casey for as long as she could remember. In fact, Casey was the closest thing to a cousin that she’d ever had. Their mothers had been best friends since childhood and, although the Atwoods had lived a few hundred miles away in the Bay Area, their families had gotten together a lot. Even after DJ’s parents divorced, they continued to be friends with the Atwoods. “What kind of trouble did Casey get into?” asked DJ.

“She got into the wrong crowd at school. Deborah was worried that Casey might turn to drugs, or worse.”

“What’s worse?”

Her grandmother just shrugged. “So, she is coming here.”