New York Debut (23 page)

“But I know how to reach you.”

“Time to clear out of here,” called Camilla.

They gathered their stuff and piled back into the limos. As DJ was about to slip the business card into her bag, Eliza snatched it. “That woman was from
Vogue
?”

DJ just shrugged.

“Of course,” said Grandmother as she took the card from Eliza and slipped it into her own bag. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

Eliza leaned back into the seat, folding her arms across her front with narrowed eyes and making a noise that sounded a lot like “harrumph.”

“Tomorrow is the big day,” Grandmother said as they all sat around a long table in the hotel restaurant later that night. “Dylan’s big debut.” She smiled. “And yours too.” It was only a one-day show — one chance for a designer to shine. The girls knew how important it would be to Dylan Marceau’s career. Even Eliza seemed to be taking it more seriously now. Oh, she might be having periodic fits of jealousy, but at least she seemed to be cooperating. Still, DJ knew that she had to hang tight with Eliza for tomorrow morning. She had to make sure that Eliza stayed out of trouble and arrived in time for the show. For this, DJ thought she should get combat pay.

On Tuesday, Eliza, Taylor, Daisy, and DJ went to a matinee that ended with plenty of time to make it to Dylan’s studio for hair and makeup and finally the ride over to Bryant Park.

As they were getting into their first outfits, DJ was suddenly a bundle of nerves. She actually felt slightly lightheaded and afraid that she might faint. She went over to a chair on the sidelines and sat down.

She bent over and took a deep breath, then felt a hand on her shoulder. To her surprise it was Eliza. “Butterflies?” she asked her.

DJ nodded.

“Just breathe slowly,” said Eliza. “And think about something you love to do.” She laughed. “Like basketball.”

DJ took a slow breath and stood. “Thanks.”

“Let me help you with that,” said Eliza as she reached over to straighten the collar of the tweed jacket that DJ was wearing. “You look great, by the way.”

DJ frowned. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Eliza shrugged. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been nice to me.”

“I have?”

Eliza laughed. “Well, I could be wrong. But it seems like you have. I mean, you’ve been including me in things. You kept your grandmother from sending me home.”

“I did?”

“That’s what Mrs. Carter told me.”

DJ smiled, but wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, this show means a lot to her . . . and Dylan too. It seems like we should give it our best.”

And that’s what they did. Oh, there were a few little missteps to start with. Casey came out too soon on the first run and nearly knocked Kriti over. Then Ariel tripped over a piece of carpet that had come untacked, but at least she didn’t fall.

Still, the audience, which actually had some celebrities in it, didn’t seem to mind. As the show progressed, they became very energetic and enthused.

“Hold still,” one of the assistants told DJ back in the dressing room. “I need to fix that hem before you go out.”

DJ had just slipped into her second outfit, a formal holiday dress out of a dark blue taffeta that reminded DJ of an oil slick. Okay, she knew that wasn’t how Dylan would describe it, but the colors in the fabric seemed to change depending on the angle and light.

“I’m sorry,” DJ said as she waited for the girl to repair what had come undone. She was using some kind of special tape. “Did I do that?”

“It happens.” The girl used her fingers to press it back into place, then stood and nodded. “That should hold it.”

“It’s really a beautiful dress,” DJ said as she did a little spin to see how the full skirt flared out.

“Get into these shoes,” commanded another assistant, pulling them out of the numbered box.

DJ shoved her feet into the velvet shoes, waiting as the woman tied the bows, adjusting them to perfection. Meanwhile, one of the guys put a necklace that looked expensive around her neck. And then earrings and a bracelet too. DJ waited, standing perfectly still. Maybe this was how it felt to be a princess. And, okay, it was kind of interesting, but not something DJ would want to do on a regular basis. She grinned at Taylor, suppressing the urge to yell, “break a leg,” as Taylor got ready to take her turn on the runway. Once again, Taylor looked stunning. She had on espresso-brown pants that fit perfectly, a faux fur jacket that looked like a million bucks, and a killer pair of boots. But even without the outfit, Taylor would’ve looked stunning. It was just who she was. It was no wonder that she’d become Dylan’s favorite. The director cued Taylor to go. Kriti was next, which meant DJ needed to be ready to follow her.

“You’re doing great,” DJ bent down so Kriti could hear her.

“Thanks.” Kriti looked nervous. “I just hope I don’t trip or get knocked down this time.”

“Dylan seems very pleased with you,” DJ reminded her. “I heard him mentioning that he’d like to use you for a print ad.”

Kriti smiled happily. “Can you believe it?”

“Sure.”

Now the director nudged Kriti, and she stood straight and headed out for her turn on the catwalk. DJ listened to the crowd respond. And, not for the first time, DJ thought that Dylan had been smart to include “normal-looking” girls in his big debut. Sure, they weren’t all “normal-looking,” but there seemed to be a nice balance of normal against the ones like Taylor, Eliza, and even Daisy.

DJ felt surprisingly good as she took her turn now, strutting down the high and narrow catwalk, feeling like a rock star as the music blared and the lights flashed. Once again, she imagined she was participating in an athletic event, giving it her all, focusing on each step and each turn, playing her best game.

It seemed that all the girls were on top of it tonight. By the time the show ended, it seemed that Dylan Marceau and the Carter House girls (as the press insisted on calling them) were quite a hit in their New York debut.

In fact, when it was over the audience gave the girls and Dylan a standing ovation. Grandmother said that was something that didn’t happen a lot — especially not for a first-time showing.

Later that night, they celebrated their successful show at the five-star Italian restaurant Grandmother had been raving about. One of her friends had somehow gotten a reservation for ten. The food was fabulous, but DJ was almost too tired to enjoy it. The other girls were a mix of excitement and exhaustion, and everyone seemed satisfied that they’d done their best. DJ was just thankful that no catfights had erupted.

“Guess what?” Taylor said later that night, as they were getting ready for bed.

“What?” asked DJ sleepily.

“An agency called.”

“An agency?” DJ tried to figure out what that meant.

“A modeling agency.”

“Oh?” DJ peered curiously at Taylor. “They called you?”

“Yeah . . . offering a contract.”

“To model? Professionally?”

Taylor chuckled. “Yeah,
professionally
. I guess that means I’ll get paid.”

“But you’re only seventeen.”

“That doesn’t matter. There are models younger than that.”

“Are you going to do it?”

Taylor shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“It’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it?”

“Sort of.”

“Did you tell my grandmother yet?”

“No.” Taylor shook her head. “And don’t tell her, okay?”

“Sure. Of course not.”

“Because I’m not sure. And it’s a pretty big agency . . . I’m certain she’d think I should go for it.”

DJ wanted to ask Taylor why she was unsure about this after having wanted it for so long, but she didn’t know how to say it.

“I can tell by your face that you’re puzzled.” Taylor rubbed lotion onto her hands, forearms, and elbows — the same way she did every night before bed. “Go ahead, DJ, you can ask me why I’m not sure.”

“Okay.” DJ held up her hands. “Why?”

“Well, it’s partially because I’m worried . . . I mean, I’m barely out of rehab. What if I mess up . . . what if I start drinking again?”

DJ nodded. “Yeah . . . I wondered about that.”

“But that’s not the only reason.”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t want to tell anyone . . .” Taylor sat down on her bed and placed her hands in her lap.

“What?”

“If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret.”

“You know you can trust me, Taylor.” But even as she said this, DJ felt worried. What if it was something really huge?

What if Taylor was in some serious kind of trouble?

“While I was in rehab . . . I committed my life to God.”

DJ blinked. “You did?”

Taylor nodded.

“But that’s awesome, Taylor!” Despite being tired, DJ felt like dancing now. “That is so cool! Very, very cool. I’m so happy for you!”

Taylor smiled in a self-conscious way. “Thanks.”

“But why do you want to keep that a secret?”

“Because I still make mistakes. I blow it. I shoot off my mouth, and I don’t always act like a good Christian.”

“And?” DJ thought Taylor could’ve been describing her.

“And I can’t bear to have people thinking I’m a hypocrite.”

DJ kind of laughed.

“Thanks.” Taylor shook her head. “See what I mean.”

“No, that’s not it. Christians make mistakes, Taylor. I blow it all the time. Doing something wrong doesn’t mean you’re not a good Christian. In fact, I don’t even know what a
good
Christian is, well, except maybe Rhiannon. But to be fair, she’s always been a really sweet person. It’s in her nature to be nice. Although she does take being a Christian seriously too. Still, next to her, I look like a mess a lot of the time. But I know that all I have to do is ask, and God forgives me. We have to forgive each other too. Maybe in time . . . well, maybe we’ll grow up some and we’ll look and act like better Christians.”

“Maybe.”

“So, you really shouldn’t keep it a secret. I mean, it’s up to you, but I do think you should let others know. Rhiannon would be so stoked to hear about it. She and I have both been praying for you a lot.”

“Thanks.” Taylor stood back up. “But here’s my next question . . . I’m just not sure that being a Christian and being a professional model can really work. You know what I mean? We hear such sad stories about girls in this industry. What if I signed to model and fell off the wagon and lost my faith and totally messed up? Where would I be?”

“Back where you were at Christmastime?”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“But I’m not saying that’s going to happen,” DJ said quickly.

“But it might.”

“So . . . what are you going to do then?”

“I guess I’ll do what my counselor back in rehab told me to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Take life one day at a time and pray about everything.”

“Sounds like good advice to me.” DJ sighed happily.

“And now I’m going to bed.”

“Me too.” DJ turned off the light.

“Good night, DJ.”

“Good night, Taylor.” DJ giggled. “Hey, we’re related now, Taylor. We’re both God’s children — that makes us sisters.”

“Good night, sis.”

Read chapter 1 of
Bikini Breakdown
,
Book 7 in Carter House Girls.

1

“I’m sorry, Mother, but I refuse to spend
my
spring break in some disgusting, dirty third world country.” Eliza rolled her eyes dramatically for the benefit of her captive audience at the Carter House breakfast table. “That’s just peachy that you and Dad don’t mind being inoculated with all those toxic shots just so that you can use filthy outhouses, be devoured by mosquitoes, and sleep in rodent infested tents, but count me out.”

Casey giggled and DJ glanced around to see if Grandmother was anywhere nearby. DJ knew she didn’t like for the girls to use their cell phones at the table. But she also knew exceptions were sometimes made when it was a parent — especially when it was a parent of wealth or influence, like the Wiltons.