Melody Carlson - Mixed Bags

Desiree, caLLeD Inez

The name is DJ.

Im sorry, but your grandmother has instructed me to call you Desiree.

DJ opened the door and looked down on the short and slightly overweight middle-aged housekeeper. And I have instructed you to call me DJ.

Inezs dark eyes twinkled as she gave her a sly grin. Yes, but its your grandmother who pays my salary, Desiree . I take orders from Mrs. Carter. And she wants to see you downstairs in her office, pronto .

DJ grabbed her favorite Yankees ball cap and shoved it onto her head, pulling her scraggly looking blonde ponytail through the hole in the back of it.

Youre wearing that? asked Inez with a frown. You know what your grandmother says about

Look, said DJ. My grandmother might pay you to take orders from her, but Im a free agent. Got that?

Inez chuckled. I got that. But youre the one wholl be getting it before too long, Desiree .

DJ , she growled as she tromped loudly down the curving staircase. Why had she let Dad talk her into living with her grandmother for her last two years of high school? Shed only been here since last spring, late into the school year, but long enough to know that it was nearly unbearable. Boarding school would be better than this. At least shed have a little privacy there and no one constantly riding hertelling her how to act, walk, look, and think. She wished there were some way, short of running away (which would be totally stupid), out of this uncomfortable arrangement.

There you are, said Grandmother when DJ walked into the office. Her grandmother frowned at her ball cap and then pasted what appeared to be a very forced smile onto her collagen-injected lips. I want you to meet a new resident. She made a graceful hand movement, motioning to where an attractive and somewhat familiar-looking Latina woman was sitting next to a fashionably dressed girl who seemed to be about DJs age, but could probably pass for older. The girl was beautiful. Even with the scowl creasing her forehead, it was obvious that this girl was stunning. Her skin was darker than her mothers, latte-colored and creamy. Her long black hair curled softly around her face. She had high cheekbones and dramatic eyes.

DJ noticed her grandmother smiling her approval on this unhappy-looking girl. But the girl looked oblivious as she fiddled with the gold chain of what looked like an expensive designer bag. Not that DJ was an expert when it came to fashion. The woman stood politely, extending her hand to DJ.

Id like to present my granddaughter, Desiree Lane. Grandmother turned back to DJ now, the approval evaporating from her expression. Desiree, this is Ms. Perez and her daughter Taylor.

DJ shook the womans hand and mumbled, Nice to meet you. But the unfriendly daughter just sat in the leather chair, one long leg elegantly crossed over the other, as she totally ignored everyone in the room.

Grandmother continued speaking to DJ, although DJ suspected this little speech was for Taylors mother. Ms. Perez and I first met when my magazine featured her for her illustrious music career. Her face graced our cover numerous times over the years. Perhaps youve heard of Eva Perez.

The woman smiled. Or perhaps not, she said in a voice that was as smooth as honey. According to my daughter, kids in your age group dont comprise even a minuscule part of my fan base.

DJ smiled at the woman now. Actually, I have heard of you, Ms. Perez. My mom used to play your CDs. She was a serious Latin jazz fan.

Was ? She frowned. I hope her taste in music hasnt changed. I need all the fans I can get these days.

Grandmother cleared her throat. Desirees mothermy daughterwas killed in a car accident about a year ago.

Oh, Im so sorry.

DJ sort of nodded. She never knew how to react when people said they were sorry about the loss of her mother. It wasnt as if it were their fault.

Desiree, said Grandmother, Would you mind giving Taylor a tour of the house while I go over some business details with her mother?

No problem.

Grandmothers recently Botoxed forehead creased ever so slightly, and DJ knew that, once again, she had either said the wrong thing, used bad grammar, or was slumping like a bag of potatoes. Nothing she did ever seemed right when it came to her grandmother. And after the tour, perhaps you could show Taylor to her room.

Which room? asked DJ, feeling concerned. Sure, Taylor might be a perfectly nice person, even if a little snobbish, but DJ was not ready for a roommate just yet.

The blue room, please. Inez has already taken some of Taylors bags up for her. Thank you, Desiree.