Viva Vermont! (2 page)

2

“COME ON, SLEEPYHEAD,”
said Taylor as she tugged on DJ's arm. “It's getting late, and we need to get you to look all pretty for the big show.”

“I can't believe you were taking a nap,” said Rhiannon. DJ blinked sleepily. “What time is it?”

“It's time for you to get moving. That's why I called in the forces.”

“I need to sleep,” moaned DJ. That pill was still affecting her.

“You need to cooperate,” insisted Casey.

And so, as DJ groggily sat on a chair in the center of the bedroom, Rhiannon, Taylor, and Casey all worked her over. Rhiannon did her hair. Although, what she was doing was a mystery to DJ. Not that she cared since Rhiannon was good with style. Taylor did DJ's makeup, which could be a mistake since Taylor was a little heavy-handed with the eye shadow at times, but, hey, it was a fashion show. And Casey actually did her nails. Who knew Casey (aka Grunge Girl) could do nails?

“Thanks, you guys,” DJ said after they were done. Although she didn't want to look in the mirror. Why bother? She held out her hands. “Am I presentable now?”

“You'll pass,” said Taylor. “Just don't let your grandmother get too close. Your complexion is really in need of some exfoliating.”

Casey rolled her eyes, and Rhiannon handed DJ her cane.

“We're off to see the wizard,” sang Taylor as they trekked down the stairs with DJ slowly bringing up the end of the line, “the wonderful wizard of odds.”

Grandmother and the other girls had already left, and since they were running late, DJ opted to let Taylor drive.

“That's probably just as well,” said Rhiannon as she and Casey got into the backseat. “Since you're obviously impaired.”

“Are you on pain meds?” asked Casey.

DJ closed her eyes and leaned her head back, wishing that they would all be quiet so she could sleep. “Yeah … I was in pain, okay?”

“I'm just jealous,” muttered Casey. “I could use a little something for this fashion show myself.”

“Casey!” snapped Taylor.

“Kidding,” said Casey. “Well, sort of.”

“How's your rehab counseling going?” asked Rhiannon.

“I'm doing the program, okay?” said Casey in a grumpy tone.

“And DJ is doing the drugs,” teased Taylor.

“Are you going to be okay on the runway, DJ?” asked Rhiannon. “You're not going to pass out or anything, are you?”

“I'll be fine,” said DJ, without opening her eyes. Sure, she was a little groggy, but at least her leg didn't hurt. “The sooner we get this over with, the happier I'll be.”

“While you were snoozing, your grandmother gave us a copy of the lineup,” said Rhiannon. “Eliza leads off the big show, and you follow.”

DJ brightened some. “And then I'll be done. That's nice. Maybe I can sneak back to the car to sleep.”

“That's so unfair,” complained Casey. “At least you should have to stay and watch. I mean, the rest of us have to do the runway at least twice.”

“I'm doing three,” said Taylor, a trace of pride creeping into her voice.

“You really
do
like this, don't you?” Casey accused her.

“Sure, I like it. You know me. I
love
being admired.” Taylor laughed that big husky laugh of hers. And DJ knew that she was simply stating a fact. Taylor did love being the center of attention—she went out of her way for the limelight. Well, vive la différence!

Casey groaned. “You make me sick.”

“Whatever.”

Soon they were there. The “models” were all cloistered in this stuffy room that had apparently been set up for brides, since Keller Tavern was a favorite wedding location. A couple of women from the Chic Boutique were supervising the clothes. And as far as DJ could tell, everyone was getting along and getting dressed. Of course, a simple thing like “getting dressed” wasn't a great challenge to most people. But for DJ—with a walking-boot cast and cane to maneuver about, combined with no place to sit—it was starting to feel like an Olympic event. She'd managed to get her hoodie jacket off, but was having a problem with her sweatpants. She was looking around for an inconspicuous exit when Rhiannon joined her.

“Looks like you need a hand,” she said as she steadied DJ from toppling into the clothes rack.

“I was thinking more like I needed an escape route,” admitted DJ.

“Oh, look,” said Rhiannon as she removed some items that were bundled together on the rack. She pointed to the tag that said
Desiree Lane
. “Here's your outfit, DJ. Nice.”

“Thanks a lot,” said DJ. “The challenge of locating the clothes wasn't hard, it was figuring out how to get dressed without breaking my other leg.” Just then a girl trying to pull up a pair of boots bumped DJ from behind, causing her to grab onto Rhiannon to keep from falling. “See what I mean.”

“Let me help,” offered Rhiannon as she balanced DJ and helped her out of her sweats. Then she unzipped the sweater dress. It was the color of warm sand and very soft. She slipped it over DJ's head, being careful not to muss her hair.

“What about you?” mumbled DJ from beneath the fabric. “Don't you need to get dressed too?”

“My first walk is number ten … I figure I have loads of time. Wow, this cashmere is really nice,” said Rhiannon as she zipped it. “And really sophisticated.” She stepped back to admire it. “It's amazing how the simplest lines are the most elegant … and the hardest to pull off too. It looks great on you, by the way.”

“Thanks.” DJ stood a little straighter.

“But not with your footwear.”

So then Rhiannon helped DJ into a sleek dark brown Prada boot.

“I wouldn't mind a pair of these myself,” said DJ as she longingly watched Rhiannon place the unnecessary boot back in the tissue paper. “I mean, when the cast comes off.”

Rhiannon's eyebrows shot up as she noticed the price on the box. “Those boots cost $990.”

“No wonder they've got security guards all around,” pointed out DJ.

Next Rhiannon helped her with some large tortoise shell-beaded earrings, a long necklace, and a mix of bangle bracelets that actually looked pretty good together. “I'm liking this outfit,” said Rhiannon as she fussed with DJ's hair again. “Very classic.”

DJ shrugged. “Is that it?

“Hey,” said Taylor as she joined them. “Looking good, DJ. But you need to freshen those lips.” Before DJ could say a word, Taylor whipped out some gloss and put a layer on.

“You're looking good too.” DJ laughed. “Black leather suits you. All you need now is a whip.”

“I wouldn't mind wearing this outfit home.” Taylor struck a pose. “Except that it would wipe out my clothing budget for an entire month. I just tallied it up, and the whole thing comes to about five grand.”

“No way!” Rhiannon looked appalled.

“You might have the right idea, Rhiannon,” said DJ. “I think designers make more money than models.”

“But they don't get as many of the perks,” said Taylor.

Rhiannon adjusted the wide leather belt on DJ's hips, setting it at an angle that DJ never would've considered. Then she stepped back and smiled with satisfaction. “You look fantastic, DJ.”

“And the color of that dress is really good with your hair,” offered Taylor. “Really brings out the gold highlights, which, if I may suggest, need to be touched up soon.”

“Thanks.” DJ nodded grimly. “But does this outfit go with my cane?”

Rhiannon laughed. “Don't worry, darling, no one will be looking at your cane today.”

“No,” said DJ, “they'll be looking at my boots.”

Now Eliza joined them. “That's right,” she said, snickering as she glanced down at the mismatched boots. The one sleek brown knee-high Prada, and the other, DJ's clumsy-looking black walking cast.

“Why are you picking on DJ?” demanded Rhiannon.

“Moi?” Eliza batted her thick eyelashes at them. Naturally, Eliza looked fabulous in a pair of fitted black pants and short boots with very high heels. This was topped by a black-and-white checked jacket with oversized buttons. Very sixties and very chic in a Jackie O kind of way. Not that DJ planned to tell Eliza as much after that last comment. Besides, Eliza was obviously aware that she looked good.

“She's picking on DJ because she's still jealous about losing to her last night,” said Taylor with a smirk. “Eliza doesn't like to lose, do you, Eliza?”

Eliza's eyes flashed in what almost seemed hot blue anger, but then she took in a breath and smiled, and she even patted DJ on the back. “Don't worry about the fashion show, dear, you're certain to get the sympathy applause out there today.”

“Thanks a lot,” said DJ.

“By the way, you should be pleased to know that the proceeds from this fundraiser go to the Ronald McDonald House, DJ. I'm sure you'd fit right in with those poor handicapped kids.” Eliza laughed and flitted away.

Okay, this made DJ mad. It was bad enough for Eliza to give her a hard time, but to make a comment like that was so out of line. DJ remembered the young girl at the Ronald McDonald House—and how she'd helped DJ get over herself. Maybe Eliza should spend some time with Lacy Michaels too.

Taylor made cat claws at Eliza's back, hissing for special effect.

“She's still really angry about not getting homecoming queen.” Rhiannon shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably selfish,” snapped Taylor. “I mean, she's not the only one who lost.”

“But you were a good loser,” said Rhiannon.

Taylor just shrugged. “Guess I didn't want it as badly as Miss Snooty Pants.”

The music was beginning to play now, their cue that it was time to get ready. The feel of the music was very upbeat and energetic, probably in hopes that women spectators would feel like opening up their pocketbooks. The girls had practiced to this music already, but DJ had never been able to move and walk like the others. It was one thing to fumble about in the privacy of your own home, with only your “friends” to tease you. But doing it in public like this … well, it would be humiliating. What a comedown from last night. Surely Eliza should get a small bit of satisfaction from that, shouldn't she?

DJ took in a deep breath as she hobbled over to get in line behind Eliza. It was bad enough to clump down the runway, but it figured that she'd follow Miss Supermodel Eliza Wilton. And, in the rush to get ready, DJ hadn't even remembered to put on deodorant. Great, now she was going to pit out a thousand dollar dress. She wondered if she had time to shove some tissues in her armpits, but figured it was unlikely since Eliza was already getting ready to go. Oh, well, best to just grin and bear it. Get it over with. ASAP.

Naturally, Grandmother was the emcee for the fashion show. After a short formal welcome and some introductions to some of the local supporters as well as the designers, she cleared her throat, and the runway music began to play again. The lights, which were operated by volunteers from the high school drama department, began to fan around, making the room seem even more high energy. Grandmother's intention had been to make this feel like a real New York event.

“And our first lovely model today is Eliza Wilton. Eliza is one of our Carter House girls, originally from Louisville. Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Wilton, are joining us today.” As Grandmother spoke, describing Eliza's outfit and the designer responsible, Eliza perfectly executed the pattern that the girls had been taught to walk—all the way to the end of the runway, turn, walk halfway back, turn again, back to the end, one last turn, and then back to the staging area.

The rest of the plan was that when the model did her final turn, the next model would emerge from staging. She would begin her walk so that the two would cross somewhere near the middle. “So the runway is never empty,” Grandmother had instructed them. “That keeps the energy and excitement escalated. Like choreography.”

So as Eliza made her last turn, accompanied by a hearty applause, DJ began her walk down the runway. But because she was slowed down by the cane and walking cast, she was only a quarter of the way before she and Eliza met. Eliza's eyes locked onto DJ's, and her pasted-on smile never even twitched as they passed. But as DJ took her next step, her cane somehow missed the floor. Realizing she was about to plunge forward on her bad leg, and trying to balance herself as well as to avoid pain, DJ did something like a tuck and roll. It was a movement the girls used to avoid a bad fall when making a dive for the ball in a volleyball match. Naturally, this carried her straight off the narrow runway and right into the laps of a couple of very startled-looking older women.

“Oh, my!” cried one as she looked down at DJ.

“I'm—I'm sorry!”

“Are you all right, dear?” asked the other woman.

Feeling like a complete fool, DJ struggled to get off as several other people attempted to help her. By then the music had quieted down, and DJ was certain that all eyes were on her. She was about to stand and take a bow, when she heard Taylor say,
“You witch!”

DJ looked up in time to see Taylor holding onto Eliza by the sleeve of her checked jacket. “You tripped DJ on purpose. I saw you kick her cane!” And then, to DJ's shocked horror, Taylor slapped Eliza. The audience gasped. But that wasn't the end of it. Eliza, usually so composed and careful, now had eyes filled with rage, and she lunged back at Taylor!

Suddenly the two of them were actually fighting. Okay, it was that pathetic kind of girl fighting, where neither of them really knew what to do. Lots of slapping and grabbing and attempts to kick at each other. But it was definitely a fight. DJ could not believe her eyes.

“Ladies!” cried Grandmother from the podium. “Ladies! Ladies!”

“Are you okay?” asked a gentleman as he handed DJ her cane.