Putting on the Glitz--Exclusive Taj Jackson Erotica

As many people may or may not know, as a child I competed in beauty pageants throughout my home state of Texas and several of the surrounding states. And it's a community that has been under intense scrutiny since about 1996 when a now-famous unsolved murder of a child beauty queen occurred. The image of pageants were not helped at all with their depiction in shows like Toddlers and Tiaras to name one. So I got to thinking. What would happen if a man, with no clue as to pageants or how they worked were to fall in love with a woman who very livelihood was based in such contests? It was an idea that appealed to me, and the result is this story. I do hope you enjoy it.  

"Putting on the Glitz" 

A Taj Jackson Erotic Short Story By: 

MJsLoveSlave (Tiffeny B.) 

“...where is he?...God, where is he?...”

The question repeated itself, ad infinitum, in the young woman's head, as she paced, back and forth, outside of the massive, polished hardwood doors of the Grand Ballroom, which stood shut.

Notes of muffled classical compositions could be heard here and there.

Small, clammy, manicured hands wrung continuously, perspiring so profusely, that droplets had begun to fall off, leaving the barest traces on the silk and lace of her evening gown.

Her mind surged, as did the furious torrent of blood through her veins.

He said he'd meet her there.

He said he'd be there to escort her in; to watch her!

Again, for what had to be the hundredth—thousandth time, dark eyes squinted anxiously down the silent, vacant corridor.

Down at the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

Lighted numbers above each showing that they all remained on the first floor.

Neither had moved in the last half hour.

He was on the fifteenth floor.

She knew he was on the fifteenth floor; that's where she had left him...to make her way down to the Ballroom.

Oh, why didn't he come?

If he were on the elevator, any elevator, the numbers would denote his descent.

Alas, nothing.

A foot, clad in a five-inch stiletto stomped at the floor and the sweaty hands turned to balled fists of unbridled rage, rattling at her sides.

While her facade stayed fairly placid, not a hair out of place, the heavy, yet tastefully applied cosmetics, the designer gown...the only give away to her torture, her malaise, was the woeful turbulence in her eyes.

Outwardly, she was a testament to genteel femininity at its finest.

Inside, she was screaming into oblivion.

Swearing not only at him, but at herself.

For what she'd done.

For what they'd done.

No...shoulders straightened suddenly and a head of thick, lush tresses was tossed scornfully.

It wasn't her fault.

It was not her fault.

Why—he had seduced her!

She hadn't told him to come to her room in the dead of night, maybe not the dead of night but it was still kind of late.

No!

He'd taken it upon himself to come knocking, wearing only a satin robe.

How could she have been so stupid?

So weak?

How could she have let something as meager as a....man....come into her world, wholly shake it up and nearly throw everything she stood for and believed in, off its very foundation and into utter chaos?

Staring off into the distance at the elevators once more, her head sagged with a mix of shame and defeat.

It had happened....because she had allowed it to happen.

She had wanted it to happen.

Four Weeks Earlier

Palmdale Galleria

Los Angeles, California

“...Words can't bring me down...I am Beautiful in every single way...Yes, words can't bring me down...”

The black and white accented, neon-swathed Mecca known as Sephora drew wannabe makeup artists and beauty beginners like moths to a flame.

Few could resist the multicolored allure in the promise of a new face, a new look, perhaps even an entirely new life, all with careful, well placed swipes of colorful liquids and powders.

While most of the aisles were littered here and there with a cross-section of typical Californian customers—suburban soccer moms with bad dye jobs and 'Karen' haircuts cooing over Clinique, twenty-somethings tanned to terracotta with acrylic nails far too long to serve any plausible function other than getting in the way of the most basic of tasks, picking their way through Urban Decay and teens, clueless in their youth, scarcely looking up from the smartphones glued to their palms, clamoring for any and everything in cute, novel packaging that could be posted and bragged about on social media.

It was a calm, slow-paced atmosphere; the female persuasion wandering aimlessly here and yonder as cast members—what Sephora called its staff, moving on the fringes in all black uniforms—had any offers of help deflected.

Yes, most women were perfectly content to spend the entire day, on into the evening, perpetually grazing like bovines in a sunny, green pasture.

Moo, ladies. Moo.

Melrose DeBurke was not most women.

The others shuffled, sauntered and loitered.

Melrose, on the other hand, walked with purpose.

A sense of direction.

She knew exactly where she was going and what she wanted once she arrived.

There was no nitpicking, no arguing within herself, no confusion when faced with a myriad of products from so many vendors it would have sent a lesser person into a whirlwind.

Without a moment's hesitation, over and over again, the small, dainty hand bearing coffin-shaped, ombre French tips reached picking up everything from lipsticks to eye shadow palettes to brush sets to primers.

In short order, the black basket dangling from the crook of her arm, slightly mashing the puffed sleeve of her off-the-shoulder frock, was full to near overflowing.

Satisfied, Melrose began moving through the aisles, past groups of the aforementioned patrons.

And as she passed each, unwillingly, heads turned, eyes showing admiration, envy or a mixture of both.

Melrose DeBurke was indeed a very attractive woman—breathtaking in some circles—and at this stage of her life, had grown accustomed to drawing attention for her looks.

It was impossible not to notice her, the gorgeous, leggy creature, whom already stood five-foot-nine barefoot and had chosen to supplement her height five inches further with a pair of leather wedges the straps of which blended into her rich, warm brown complexion, furthering the appearance of a long, lean line.

A tasteful, strapless midi-dress of blue floral on a dusky orange background further accented her coloring and highlighted her cognac colored eyes.

Eyes set in a face, oval in shape, with protruding cheekbones, luscious pouted lips, and smooth skin gave Melrose an exotic yet innocent look.

A face expertly made up and contoured in complimentary browns, golds and bronzes.

Her figure, one that many paid dearly out of pocket for to have crafted by the skilled hands of a surgeon had come naturally from birth to Melrose; a generous, pear shaped figure, as her backside/hip area was slightly wider than her bust, balanced by a toned midsection.

Making her way to the counter, Melrose partook in the usual small talk that came when interacting with retail workers.

Had she found everything she was looking for? Was her experience pleasant? Did she have all the help she needed?

To all of which Melrose replied in the affirmative with a blisteringly white smile, her voice a trifle on the low side, featuring what sounded like traces of a Southern Accent blending with a more typical Valley one.

Her total rang in at close to eight hundred dollars, a figure which drew audible gasps from some of the other patrons whom had formed a queue behind her, but if Melrose had been at all bothered by the exorbitant cost of something so trivial as makeup, she gave no indication.

Running a hand through her hair, jet, lush, falling to the middle of her back and just big enough to add drama, without looking like a 1980s cosplayer, Melrose was calm as she reached into her handbag, coming up with a platinum card which was rapidly swiped, completing the transaction.

As a half dozen bags of merchandise were passed back to her, the cast member could no longer keep to her script of pleasantries and inquired,

“Are you really going to use all of that makeup?”

Wispy false lashes fluttered, Melrose eyeing the fresh-faced clerk, lipstick on her teeth, natural lashes clumped together from too much mascara, and quipped dryly,

“You must be new. And yes, I intend to—I'm a makeup artist.”

With that, Melrose was gone, ambling away, leaving several open-mouthed and glassy eyed at her impertinence. None more than the cast member herself, staring downwards dejectedly.

Leaving out of a side door that led directly to the parking lot on side of the mammoth, five-story shopping metropolis, Melrose already had the key fob to her baby, a Tiffany Blue Range Rover, in hand, unlocking the doors.

The makeup was deposited on the backseat, while Melrose slipped into the driver's seat, bouncing several times as her legs and thighs came in contact with the specialty dyed blue leather seats, hot after sitting in the ninety-plus degree heat for over two hours.

And there was still so much to do that Saturday afternoon.

Digging about in her purse, she produced her smartphone, its case covered in hundreds of clear Swarovski crystals of varied shapes and sizes, set together in a silver-plated mosaic, and pulled up her To-Do List.

“...drop Brinkley, Anniston, and Kenzie at ballet, check...get my nails done, check, ...get the car detailed, check...restock on makeup, check...”

Melrose mumbled to herself and squinted at the next item listed.

“Pick up Ginger from the groomer's.”

Melrose lingered a moment longer, wondering if she should go back into the mall, braving the weekend crowd to walk all the way to the opposite end, plus ride escalators up to the third floor to retrieve her pet pooch from Paws N Claws.

Or, would it just be easier to go the lazy route and drive around to the south end of the mall, skipping the bulk of the mob.

The engine of the Rover purred like a spoiled feline as Melrose decided that, yes, she would be lazy and ride around to the backside of the mall.

As soon as a suitable parking spot had once again been secured in the ever-crowded lot, Melrose disbanded from her car, heading for the revolving door that marked the South Entrance, her mind concerned with pressing matters, such as what flavor she would get in her iced coffee at the Starbucks just inside the Pavilion.

However, as she entered the mall, her attention was drawn, not by the allure of an overpriced caffeine boost; rather, her attention was drawn to a group of about a half dozen women loitering near a folding table, a few feet out from the door.

There was nothing remarkable about the women themselves, more of that suburban housewife archetype, a couple in jogging suits, the rest in those unflattering “mom jeans” that were slowly easing their way back into vogue.

(And that Melrose vowed to never be caught dead in.)

Interest piqued, and as she'd have to pass that gathering to get to the coffee shop anyway, Melrose allowed herself to wander over to see just what the gathering was all about.

Drawing closer, again, Melrose drew stares, this time, envy tempered with worry.

The table had what appeared to be some type of forms stacked neatly and at first Melrose assumed one of the many businesses were dumpster-diving for new employees.

Not so.

Instead of an application to Charlotte Russe or Forever 21, Melrose was quite surprised to find herself holding an entry form for a beauty contest.

Those layered lashes fluttered with amusement as she read the cumbersome, bubble script at the top of the page.

“Do YOU have what it takes to be the next QUEEN? Then come try your luck at the California Cuties Preliminary Pageant, open to all girls ages five to twelve...”

Shaking her head, soft giggles escaping her, Melrose returned the form to the stack and started to turn away to go retrieve her dog.

“Aren't you going to enter your little girl in the pageant?”

The smile on Melrose's face was cool and a trifle cruel as she looked over the thirty-something, patting at her arm and didn't even try to mince her words,

“No...I'm not going to enter my little girl. My little girl doesn't do mall pageants. The last thing I want is to parade her in front of God only knows who's ax murderer or worse. But if you want to do that with your little girl, by all means.”

Audible gasps were heard all around as Melrose flounced past them and off into Starbucks.

As the infuriated mother stared after her, shooting daggers of hatred and humiliation, another questioned,

“Do you know who that was, Becky?”

The head topped with a “messy” bun shook in the negative, the second mother relaying, her voice low and showing her obvious awe,

“That's Melrose DeBurke...one of the foremost child pageant coaches in the country, and the reigning Miss California Venus!”

The entry form slipped from the jilted mother's hand and wafted to the floor as Melrose, iced latte in hand, exited the Starbucks where she crossed over to one of the many escalators, disappearing from sight onto the second floor, along with what might have been that woman's ace in the hole for her daughter's foray into pageantry.

* * *

“...hold still you little booger...let Mama put your collar back on you!”

Melrose, crouching down just outside of Paws N Claws cooed in baby talk to the tiny bundle of rust-red and white fur resembling a live teddy bear that seemed insistent upon wiggling every which way, and trying to pull free from her grasp.

“Ginger! Do be still! Do you know how many dogs would kill to have a genuine Tiffany collar like you? Be still or I'll send you back to obedience school!”

Melrose decried, trying her best to loop the length of blue leather around the dog's neck.

Not that Ginger could decipher Tiffany from a hole in the ground.

At the mention of the obedience school, something lit in that puppy's mind and at once, Ginger grew still, panting, huge brown eyes cast upwards at her owner as finally, the collar was secured in place.

All that was left was to clip on the leash.

Melrose looked away for a fraction of a second to pull the leash from her bag.

Who knew a fraction of a second was all it took for a designer dog to bolt from her owner?

“GINGER!”

Melrose's shriek echoed along the third floor as she took up chase, as quickly as she could move in those towering heels of hers.

“GINGER! Somebody stop—catch my dog! Please! GINGER! HEEL! HEEL DAMN YOU! HEEL!”

Weaving in and around shoppers and outright pushing some from her path, doing her best to keep her eye on the red blur sprinting on all fours.

“GING--” Whipping around a corner, Melrose came to a screeching halt as Ginger, feeling freedom for the first time in its scant life, ran headlong into one of the glass display windows of a businesses and bounced off with a yowl.

“Ginger! My poor baby!” She instantly scooped the puppy up and was hugging it to her bosom fussing over it and kissing at its furry head.

As the dog continued to whine, Melrose looked at where Ginger had impacted, wondering if she'd cracked the glass and how much it would take to replace it.

No, there was no damage, thank goodness, she sighed inwardly to herself.

Then, one of those finely sculpted brows raised.

Through the glass, Melrose could make out dozens of framed portraits on display.

Solo shots, couples, families and even a few of owners with pets.

Was...this a photography studio?

Staring upwards, Melrose was greeted with the sight of a larger than life, three-dimensional rendition of an old-fashioned camera, bearing the words:

Lasting Memories Photography

Tariano A. Jackson, Junior. Proprietor

It was a photography studio!

Melrose's heart sang! She had been in desperate need of a new photographer for weeks now, not only for herself but for some of the girls she coached.

How advantageous her dog would slam smack dab into the side of a studio!

She made a mental note to shower Ginger with Milkbone treats once they got home.

Instantly, a hand went out to grip the handle to open it—she had to seek out this Mr. Jackson, now!

Much to her dismay, a sign dangled from the knob.

“Out to Lunch: 12-2 p.m.”

“Damn it!” The words were hissed, as Melrose, still juggling her dog, peeked at her phone inside her purse.

It was only five minutes past noon!

There was a phone number etched onto the door in Art Deco type script, but Melrose DeBurke preferred to handle her business face to face, rather than over the phone.

It seemed so...impersonal over the phone.

But Mr. Jackson could have been only God knew where in the Greater Los Angeles Area tucking into his midday meal. And she didn't really have the two hours to waste camped outside his door like a nerd for the latest installment of the Star Wars franchise!

What was she to do--

“Hey Lady, are you looking for Mr. Jackson?”

A voice called to her over the general din of hundreds of shoppers strolling past.

A few yards away, at a hot dog cart, a teen boy in uniform was tending to the tubes of mystery meat sweating away on a continuous roller.

“Yes...” Steadily rocking Ginger like an infant in her arms she nodded vigorously, “...do you know where I can find him?”

“Yeah...” The boy paused adding fresh weenies to the roller, “...he's up at the Food Court. He eats at Atomic Sub every day. Can't miss him.”

Melrose was contemplative a moment, admitting.

“How will I know him? I've never seen Mr. Jackson before. What does he look like?”

The boy glanced around him, and once he'd ensured that the coast was clear, left his post.

Through the glass storefront he pointed out a portrait.

“That's him, right there.”

Following his finger, Melrose took note of a photo that differed from the others.

The rest of the portraits on display were in simple minimalist black frames, while this one was in a larger, what appeared to be Lucite frame setting just past the door.

A head shot of a gentleman, wearing what appeared to be an all black suit offset by a silver necktie, peered back at them.

The man's expression was rather serious, face set, eyes piercing, with his head slightly tilted. His complexion was rather tanned, his black hair neatly cropped on the sides and longer on top, showing a decidedly coarse texture, a single tendril falling across his forehead.

He wasn't hard on the eyes at all, not a bit.

Melrose's lips curled with glee and she turned to the boy.

“Thank you—uh...”

“Timmy!” The young man piped up grinning, blue braces sparkling at her.

“Thank you, Timmy.” A hand was extended. “I'm Melrose.”

“Melrose--” The blue teeth parted in shock, with him stammering. “Are...are you...”

“Miss California Venus, yes.” She giggled and watched the boy fumble about himself coming up with a phone in a San Diego Padres case.

“I saw you win on TV! Can...can.... can I....” He was frankly dumbstruck and amused, Melrose bobbed her head, allowing him to hug close to her for a selfie.

“Oh my God! My friends will never believe I met you! Oh thank you!” Timmy grabbed her hand and kissed the top of it. “Thank you!”

With stars in his eyes, and perhaps even tears, Timmy ran back to his cart where a handful of people had begun to line up.

As he started lobbing orders, slinging weenies into buns with kraut, neon-green relish and onions, Melrose waved a farewell and made her way to the nearest escalator intent on finding Mr. Jackson.

The entire fourth level of the Palmdale Galleria was devoted to the Food Court, and as she stepped off the escalator, tugging Ginger in tow by her leash, Melrose was bombarded by the mixed cacophony of aromas from no less than thirty chain restaurants, along with more food buggies like the one manned by young Timmy.

All over, people were crowding in at tables and forming massive lines, shouting over one another to have their orders heard.

Melrose's eyes roved, with her taking in the names of the various restaurants.

“McDonald's, Chick-Fil-A, Panda Express, Stuff Your Face Sushi, Jamba Juice, Starbucks...”

She rotated slightly,

“...Seafood Corner, Taste of Hong Kong, Leaning Tower of Pizza—Atomic Sub!”

Yes, there it was glowing at her, a cartoon of a submarine sandwich with a bite taken out of it, across the floor from her.

“Come on, Ginger!” The dog was snatched off its paws, tucked under Melrose's arm as she made a beeline to the sandwich shop, which boasted a line at least fifty deep with five workers doing their best to keep up with demand.

Melrose's cognac eyes narrowed as she began to more intently scan the faces of those queued, trying to locate Mr. Jackson.

For the most part, the beauty queen DNA flowing through her veins wanted to slap every last woman she set eyes on whose foundation didn't match their complexion, contour under-blended, lipstick on their teeth and so many aesthetic sins she lost track of them.

Really, she wanted to make all of them wash their faces and start over from scratch. What was the point of makeup if one applied it like Jackson Pollack slinging paint at a canvas?

A woman's face was supposed to be a work of art, but not abstract art!

Melrose DeBurke wasn't typically one to approach a stranger to discuss the shortcomings of their appearance—she got paid, and paid well, for her expertise with her clients—but God Almighty, there was a woman of about forty with so much red lipstick on her teeth Melrose couldn't figure if she had applied it or bitten it straight from the tube and was en route to say something.

For the sake of all humanity.

Then her gaze fell on the gentleman directly behind that walking cosmetic travesty.

And Melrose stopped in her tracks.

It was...him.

Shifting from one foot in a pristine white Chuck Taylor sneaker to the other, stood Mr. Jackson.

He was remarkably dressed down by comparison to his portrait, wearing a plain black tee, displaying the white helmet of one of the Storm Troopers from the Star Wars films franchise with relaxed jeans.

His head was tilted slightly, as, while everyone around him was occupied with a phone, he instead was leafing through the pages of a vintage Fangoria magazine.

Melrose looked him over, time and again, taking in the thickset, yet pleasing physique standing around six feet tall.

How on closer inspection, it was clear the tan from the photo had faded, as his complexion was a paler, golden olive in person.

She inched closer, unaware that she was stepping beneath an air vent.

The sweet, delicate aroma of white musk and peony with a touch of tuberose announced her presence before she could dare utter a word.

His nose twitched, with his head coming up automatically to seek out the source of the perfume invading his nostrils.

Sleepy eyes, beneath broad, straight brows widened at the sight of the captivating woman in the orange dress, holding a red-brown puppy that panted and licked at the air with a pink tongue.

Plump lips, glossed to a dull sheen parted, with a single word coming from them,

“Yes?”

“Are...are you Mr. Jackson?” For the first time in her life, to whom public speaking usually came as easily as breathing air, Melrose's voice shook.

Her entire body shook.

The magazine was shut this time.

“Yes.”

This time the word came as a statement, not a question.

Regaining her composure and confidence after that unprecedented falter, a manicured hand was extended,

“My name is Melrose DeBurke, and I apologize for disturbing you during your lunch break, but...Mr. Jackson, I'm in dire need of a photographer's services and just so happened to come across your studio--”

Her small, cool hand was taken in his larger, warm one, with Mr. Jackson squeezing it gently.

“Pleased to meet you Miss DeBurke...” He spoke up in a somewhat deep, cultured voice that crackled here and there.

“And you aren't bothering me. I typically take my lunch alone. I'll be glad to talk everything over with you once I've grabbed my food—if you don't mind joining me?”

“No...” Her bosom rose and fell rapidly, the only giveaway to her being flustered by his touch and piercing gaze.

His gaze was so much more...amplified in person, than it had been in his portrait.

He was staring directly into her eyes with such intensity he should have been boring holes through her retinas.

It was unnerving, yet pleasing all at the same time.

Leaving Melrose with a sensation of flattery at odds with trepidation.

“Do...you mind if I run to Greenworks for a bowl...?” She murmured, shifting slightly to keep Ginger from leaping out the crook of her arm and taking flight again.

The salad bar, a favorite of Melrose, was three stalls down from Atomic Sub.

The top of her hand, still being gripped was patted with his free one.

“Where am I going?” He chuckled softly and Melrose felt herself smiling.

“You and...” Mr. Jackson paused, gripping the bone-shaped tag dangling from the Tiffany dog collar, reading the named engraved into the white gold.

“...and Ginger take all the time you need.”

The dog's head was given a kind pat, and Melrose scampered away, feeling far more awkward than she appeared or would have ever let on.

She never did look back, but if she had, she'd have found Mr. Jackson's eyes tracing her every move—and line of her figure—until she reached the end of the much shorter line at Greenworks.

Ten minutes later, Melrose sat at one of the few vacant tables on the fringes of the main dining area of the Food Court, quite a few stalls down from both Atomic Sub and Greenworks, but where she could be easily seen by Mr. Jackson.

(As if such a woman could be lost in the first place!)

Last she'd seen of him, he'd finally ponied up to the counter and was placing his order. He wouldn't be too long now.

Rather than dig into her Arugula, Pear and Walnut salad—it's lemony-mustard dressing already causing the greens to wilt—Melrose opted to wait, and instead was dutifully answering emails and texts on her phone, while taking dainty sips from her large cup of Diet Dr. Pepper.

Under the table, Ginger was laid at her owner's feet, nodding and lightly growling as she dreamed puppy dreams.

Melrose leaned to take another drag off her straw and stopped, seeing that Mr. Jackson was sauntering towards her, a red plastic tray in his hands.

Arriving at the table, he set the tray at the seat opposite hers, revealing a meal far heartier than her own—a thick, Philly Cheesesteak oozing with grilled onions and sliced jalapenos on toasted, crusty bread, a small box of kettle chips, and by the flecks of green clinging to them, they were obviously covered in more of those spicy chilies along with what appeared to be a frosty, root beer float.

A far cry from her bowl of bitter flora and fruit.

His eyes conspicuously grazed her as he took his seat, and tossed one of the chips into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, announcing wryly,

“I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long; seems like everyone in LA wanted a sub today.”

“Not at all...” White teeth flashed as Melrose set her phone aside on the tabletop, “It gave me a chance to catch up on a little bit of work.”

“Speaking of work, you seemed very interested in mine.”

Another round of fried tuber disappeared into his mouth, crunching loudly.

Picking up her fork, Melrose was more pushing her salad about the bowl than actually consuming it.

“Well, yes, Mr. Jackson--”

She was cut off by another chuckle, with him correcting her politely,

“Please, Mr. Jackson sounds so formal. In my field, I feel that there has to be a certain amount of camaraderie, um...an ease of manner, between the photographer and the subject. At the end of the day, I'm just plain old, regular Taj.”

He'd been going to his mouth, both hands gripping his sandwich when he happened to glance across at his company.

And the look of perplexity on her pretty face, eyes widened just so that he could see their color more clearly, the clean, deep golden brown, with darker limbal rings rimming them.

Knowing the source provoking such a look automatically, as he'd drawn that look his entire life long when his name came up, he added,

“Tariano is my given name—after my father. Taj is what I prefer to be called, because not everyone can pronounce my name properly and I got tired of hearing it go through a blender and get chopped all to hell as a child.”

“Oh...” The eyes dropped to the salad and a very refined bite was put into her mouth, with her replying, “...in that case, Taj, you can call me Melrose.”

Speaking around the sandwich, as he took a bite, Taj implored,

“Now that we've gotten names out of the way, what exactly is it that you require of me?”

Lashes fluttered and the tremendous, teardrop-shaped aquamarine solitaire ring perched precariously on her right ring finger sparkled.

“You see, Taj...” A chunk of pear went into her mouth, “I own and operate a child pageant coaching/consultation business, DeBurke's Divas--”

With brows shooting up to meet his hairline, Taj's mouth flew open and his foot went about halfway down his throat,

“You mean, like Toddlers and Tiaras?”

Melrose visibly cringed and her fork fell to the bowl with a clatter.

Her own brow furrowing she spoke through her teeth, clenched not in a smile, but a grimace,

“No...not like Toddlers and Tiaras. My girls are incredibly well-behaved, practiced and about as far from those overindulged, self-centered, holier-than-thou brats shown on television as you can get.”

Just as quickly, her face fell back into more pleasant lines and she tittered, tossing her hair.

“Also, I produce winners. If my girls don't take the overall titles at a pageant, they at least place well in their age groups. My girls never come home empty handed. Never have.”

There was a proud, wicked gleam in her eye.

Taj had a drag of root beer and ice cream, washing down his foot, masking a belch with his fist,

“How...how many girls do you coach, Melrose?”

The float almost came through his nose when she answered him nonchalantly,

“A hundred and fifty-seven, spread out across the States and into Canada.”

“You coach...” He was audibly coughing “...over a hundred children?”

“Yes, I'm one of the most sought after coaches in the country.” A grin was showing itself plainly, jubilantly. “Not only do I coach girls, but I create dresses and costumes and if needed travel to the pageants to do hair and makeup. I do it all.”

The small hand, which had shaken his earlier now reached across the table and was tapping at his wrist.

“You needn't worry about photographing all my pupils, Taj.” There was an amused, teasing tone in her voice.

“You'll only be shooting six of us—my Fab Five and myself.”

Taj appeared so relived, Melrose wondered if he needed a cigarette.

“Six of you?” He echoed and received a nod of confirmation,

“Yes...” The salad was abandoned, Melrose locked into her favorite topic,

“My Fab Five are my very best students who live nearby, including my little niece Brinkley, and they compete almost weekly.”

“Weekly?” Taj Jackson was eating, sure, but no longer really tasting his food, bumbling along, listening, captivation and confusion duking it out under his black curls.

He knew of pageants for the under-eighteen set, but had no clue that there were so many as for it to be pursued every week, given if one possessed the means and stamina to do so.

Melrose was undeterred. She knew what she wanted, and planned to get it.

“...the photographer we've used for years has retired and I've been searching all over here and yonder for a new one. I didn't want to use the same ones everyone else does, because I don't want my girls to look to like every one else. You've got to stand out in the right ways, if you plan to win—and we plan to win. Always. We have four big pageants coming up in the next few weeks: Babes of Summer, Precious Beauties of America, Emerald Elegance, and Diamond Darlings. We'll need swimsuit shots for the Babes pageant and regular glitz head shots for the photogenic categories at the rest.”

“Glitz head shots...” Taj was shaking his head. “Melrose, I'm extremely flattered that you'd like to give me your business, but I've never shot anything for beauty pageants. I'm not even sure I know what 'glitz' is--”

As he spoke, Melrose had been wildly skimming through her phone.

“Here...look.”

The gem-encrusted iPhone was held out to him, Taj reluctantly taking it.

Staring back at him was a girl, whom resembled Melrose rather strongly in features, although everything about her was...lighter.

Melrose's skin was that of a warm mocha; the child's was a softer tawny. Black hair was instead a deep brown with what appeared to be blondish highlights, and brown eyes were a startling shade of green.

In the photograph, the youthful little face appeared as laden in makeup as the adult woman's across from him, and had he not known it was a child, he'd have ballparked her in her late teens at least.

Visible from only the shoulders up, the girl wore a frilly leopard print top, glittering with crystals, matching the wide band set in hair that been curled and teased to its very highest.

Unnaturally white teeth were shown in a broad grin, the green eyes rimmed in heavy liner and what had to be false lashes as no child's lashes were that long and full that he'd ever seen.

“Brinkley's won at least a dozen Overall Photogenic titles with that picture, but I know its time to have new photos done. At the last pageant we went to, two weeks ago, she only won Division Photogenic for the seven-year-old age group—what?”

No longer able to conceal his shock, Taj was leaning back in his chair, mouth agape, eyes huge in his skull and focused on her.

“Your niece is only seven?” He sputtered,returning the phone to his guest, unable to make his mind connect the fact that the pretty miniature creature mirroring the woman across from him was so young.

“Eight.” Melrose remarked, placing her phone down and returning to eating. “She made eight last Tuesday. That's also why we need new photos; Brinkley is going up an age division. The next four pageants, she's bumped up to the eight to ten age division.”

A lull fell between the two of them, Melrose continuing to fork bites of arugula and pears away, while Taj stared down at his half-eaten sandwich, his mouth curling off sideways as he sank into a deep abyss of thought.

After an interval, Taj blinked, a realization coming to him, and he inquired,

“I understand your Fab Five needing photographs, but why do you? I mean--”

Melrose straightened in her seat proudly,

“I'm currently the reigning Miss Los Angeles Dream Girl, America's Gorgeous Goddess and Miss California Venus and I'll be competing in the eighteen and up divisions along with my girls. I need pictures, too.”

She rose from her seat and slinked over beside him,laying a hand on his shoulder.

Staring down at his lowered head and taking in how his prominent ears were slowly growing scarlet.

“I can tell you're apprehensive. Most people outside of the pageant world only know child pageants from two sources—Toddlers and Tiaras, like you said, and JonBenet Ramsey. And trust me, there's so much more to it, than a decades-old unsolved murder, and fodder for reality TV. There's hardworking people, harder-working kids. I would like for you to meet my girls, and their families. Then you can decide if you want to work with the lot of us or not. Does that suit you, Taj?”

He wanted to say no.

Scream it, yell it, swing from the rafters hollering it.

Taj took pictures of children every day.

Children with messy pigtails and missing teeth, wearing simple clothes from Walmart or Target. Maybe one of the specialty stores in the Galleria.

But the children looked like children.

Not like four feet tall women, in full makeup, lashes and hairpieces.

Not some strange unattainable version of perfection introduced over ten years too early.

And yet...

There was something in her eyes.

Something in Melrose's face that spoke to him on a deeper level, without words.

Something that told him, even though it didn't sit well with him at all, that she truly believed she was doing right by her girls.

That she was helping them to excel and achieve something special even if he didn't fully understand it in that moment.

He would probably never fully understand it.

But he wanted to try anyway. Make an effort.

Melrose DeBurke had to be doing something right; she had a hundred and fifty-seven clients!

Dozens of parents trusted their children with her.

Perhaps he could trust her, also.

She did seem to have faith in him, going through so much trouble to find him in the first place.

“I...suppose that would be alright...” Taj spoke slowly, and watched as those eyes lit up.

“Fantastic!” Melrose giddily clapped her hands together and reached for her bag.

A small, glossy white business card, embossed with gold lettering circling a tiara, was extended.

“Here's the address to my studio. During the school week, its open from five to eleven pm. And on weekends when there's not a pageant, it opens at eight am. You're more than welcome to come by any time, and meet the kids.”

“I will...” Taj was fingering the card absently. “You'll be open tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Melrose stooped, retrieving her sleeping dog. “Can I expect you?”

Glancing back down at the card in his hand, Taj was solemn,

“I'll be there.”

Again she stooped, but not for her pet.

No, she was leaning down towards Taj.

The hairs on his neck stood at attention as her lips came close to colliding with one of his ears, Melrose whispering off into it.

“Thank you, Taj. You don't know how much it means. Especially to the kids. I hope you will work with us. I...I look forward to it.”

Her hand went across the table, this time aiming for her tray to take it to dump it at a nearby trash bin.

Suddenly Taj's hand encircled her entire wrist.

“Melrose...” His voice crackled harder than ever. “...how...did you manage to find me? I mean, we've never met before.”

“The boy running the hot dog stand across from your studio showed me your picture and told me where to find you. Um...Tommy?”

“Timmy.” Taj was on his feet now. “About what time do you want me to drop by?”

Teeth were flashing vibrantly at him.

“Surprise me.” Melrose teased, elbowing him gently in the side.

And with that, Melrose DeBurke was gone, meshing back with the endless mass of bodies.

Taj Jackson loitered, watching her go.

Not even aware that he had taken the tray from her and stood holding it.

His mouth had been twisted, with him chewing on his bottom lip.

But as he watched the back of that head of glossy, teased tendrils grow smaller and smaller, his lips curled into a churlish little grin.

* * *

While most of the small, gated community of Eagle's Landing remained asleep, behind the locked doors and drawn curtains of nearly identical bungalow houses, a bit of activity was commencing at the end of the cul-de-sac.

In the pre-dawn gloom, a bright light suddenly fell across the grey-beige cement of the road.

Alas, it was not from the sun, with still an hour or so until it was due to rise, but the glimmer of illumination came in the form of an incandescent light bulb, via the opening of an automatic garage door.

The garage was ajar just long enough for an SUV in the form of a Lincoln Navigator, painted a trendy, matte black, to roll down the driveway and out of the way of the door, returning to the closed position.

Backing out into the street, the vehicle paused, a large hand, first fumbling with the satellite radio to locate an oldies station for the journey and once found, directions were hastily put into a global positioning system.

“OW! She's a Brick House...She's mighty mighty...Just letting it all hang out...”

As one of the better-known hits from Funk band The Commodores blared through the speakers, Taj Jackson, hand tapping to the rhythm on the steering wheel and unconsciously mouthing along, set out on what was to become a journey to the most peculiar of destinations.

According to the business card Melrose had given him—now showing creases and signs of wear as Taj had never really, fully put it down since the preceding afternoon—her studio was out in Beverly Cove, a suburb of Greater Los Angeles.

And dependent upon whether the traffic was bad, worse or downright hellish, it was going to take him anywhere from one to three hours to arrive.

Hence his leaving his own home before the cocks dared to crow.

Taj intended to (try to) time his arrival as close to eight am as he could, as close to the studio's opening, as he preferred to be punctual and didn't want to keep Melrose waiting.

Of course, as he mounted an on-ramp for the freeway, Taj's mind wasn't so much on his business or how he had been asked to take photographs of little girls masquerading around as fully-grown pageant queens.

No, his mind was on Melrose...the bedazzled Pied Piper after whom these children were following.

It had bothered, worried and perplexed him the entire night long.

While it was out of his realm—Taj was a single man in his early forties with no children of his own—he had his notions about child pageantry.

It just didn't seem right to him to take a perfectly sweet little girl and dress her up like a doll and make her perform onstage. And through passing glances of the television show Toddler and Tiaras, and documentaries like it, he knew that not all performances were willing from the child with some being bribed and others outright forced onstage by overbearing, ambitious parents.

Sure, reality television was heavily edited and patched together, but the events depicted did more than likely happen.

Melrose was peddling her wares to this niche market of which seemed to be a constant stream of customers.

Melrose had said she was taking five little girls to several pageants over the next few weeks. In addition to coaching over one hundred scattered to the wind.

All of those children couldn't possibly be willing, complicit little competitors?

Could they?

Eight-year-old Brinkley had appeared happy in the picture Taj had been shown, but to his keen, skilled photographer's eye, he knew that the girl therein had been heavily doctored.

Texture removed from skin, teeth whitened, straightened, eyes made to sparkle with editing software.

Were her eyes even green?

Nothing natural could be found.

Would he even be able to recognize Brinkley, the child, if he saw her?

Weaving around traffic, doing the classic leapfrogging in and out of lanes once they slowed to a crawl, even so early in the morning, only half listening to the instructions as spit out by the austere, robotic voice of the GPS, Taj's mind again went back to Melrose DeBurke.

(His mind had never truly left her, since he'd found her gazing at him in line at Atomic Sub. )

Not analyzing her face and figure as he had whilst tossing, turning and throwing himself out of bed and onto the floor multiple times.

Scaring the hell out of the goldfish in the bowl on his nightstand.

But truly reflecting on their conversation in the Food Court.

Melrose had come across as well-spoken, intelligent and sincere.

Polite throughout their exchange, although Taj has seen her eyes lose their light and go cold when she had spoken about how the media had cast a negative light on her beloved pageantry.

But she had been adamant about how behaved her girls were. There had been no disparaging remarks.

And as quickly, her eyes had shown with vigor once again.

Had he even been conversing with the true Melrose, or her trained,perpetually smiling, beauty queen alter ego?

By the time the black Navigator crossed four lanes to mount the Beverly Cove exit, Taj Jackson was perhaps even more mangled, mired and confused in his own mind, than when he had begun.

Beverly Cove, an affluent suburb, much in the vein of neighboring La Jolla, Torrance and Laguna Beach, it was a remarkably neat and pretty little town, which, as Taj followed the monotonous tone of the GPS went through the Cove's city center, saw that many of the buildings seemed to have an Art Deco or Post-Deco influence, indicating that the town had to have been established around the 1920s or sometime thereafter.

There was all the typical fare, City Hall, libraries, boutiques and bistros.

Several Catholic cathedrals with Mass already underway.

For a scant moment, Taj figured he was pretty well close to the DeBurke's Divas Studio, as he was able to see countless businesses unfurling before him on either side of the asphalt road, including both a ballet and gymnastics studio.

No, the GPS continued spitting out instructions.

Turn left here...drive on for approximately five hundred feet...turn right....

Businesses, restaurants and movie theatres soon gave way to residential neighborhoods.

Large, rambling estates with even larger lawns set far back from the street, almost all cordoned off by tall, imposing iron gates.

With homes that large, Taj only shrugged it off that Melrose would run her studio from her home.

Hell, Taj still maintained a darkroom in his own home for the times he felt like developing film the old fashioned way.

Turn right....and you will have reached your destination...

Following the instructions, Taj gamely turned off the road onto what was a bricked driveway and immediately slammed on the brakes, swearing in a cross between a shriek and a grunt,

“Goddamn it!”

Laying directly in the driveway, sleeping without a care in the world, was Ginger.

If Taj hadn't been paying attention he'd have turned that designer dog into a stain on the masonry.

Without a second thought, Taj had unbuckled and slipped from his still running vehicle, jogging to where the pooch lay.

In one swift motion, he'd scooped up Ginger, tucking her under his arm praying to himself that none of the curly, coppery fur came off on the black polo and slacks he wore.

(It had taken him nearly twenty minutes with a lint roller earlier that morning to rid himself of lint and the like to start with, as he knew Melrose likely had a keen eye attuned to such indiscretions. Looks weren't everything to Taj Jackson, but...)

Once both were secured inside the Navigator, Ginger lying on the passenger seat, still out cold and oblivious to how closely she'd come to impersonating a pancake in the hereafter, Taj threw the mammoth vehicle back into 'drive'.

Like so many of the other estates he;d passed on the way to Melrose's place, her home set back quite a few hundred feet from the main road. A solid half-mile was driven up a palm tree trimmed lane before it gave way to the DeBurke homestead.

Taj slowed cautiously, as suddenly, a fountain revealed itself directly in his path.

A rich terracotta, spouting water from a three tiered fixture in the center of a small, shallow basin which the water, sparkling light diamonds in the sunlight fell in graceful arches back into.

Swinging deftly around it, Taj found carved peacocks lining the perimeter of the basin staring back at him, full plumage unfurled.

Melrose DeBurke's home seemed almost too large for her to inhabit alone.

It was a fine, two-story, Mediterranean rambler, painted a faint yellow that went quite well with the rounded, red tiles covering the roof.

Drawing closer, Taj noticed several luxury vehicles parked near the front door: A G-Wagen, an Audi and a pair of Jaguars.

Sticking out like a cold, dead thumb, was a striking blue Range Rover, and seeing it was the exact same shade as the Tiffany collar encircling that spoiled mutt's neck, Taj knew it belonged to Melrose.

What else would a woman like her drive, but that delightful eyesore?

Pulling alongside it, Taj shut his engine off.

After a short moment of reflection to get his nerves in order, as he still had no definitive clue as to what to expect of a studio that churned out pint-sized pageant princesses, Taj again slid from the driver's seat, tucking Ginger back under his arm, his free hand grasping the thick, eel skin tome that was his portfolio.

Taj Jackson could only wonder if portraits of families, newly engaged couples and natural children would resound with people so deeply steeped in the Glitz Pageant World.

A set of double doors, filled with reeded glass and overlain with tendrils of iron work, in a slight recess served as the front porch.

Taj paused, his courage wavering momentarily.

Psyching himself up once more, he raised a hand and mashed the bronze plated doorbell, carrying on the peacock motif, with the bell chiming musically somewhere inside.

A few moment later, through the clear, yet textured glass, he could make out something green moving towards him.

At first, Taj took the figure to be Melrose, but the closer it got, Taj realized the blob was far too short to be the statuesque beauty, whom may or may not have been playing havoc with his emotions.

Instead, the door was opened by a small girl. She was a pretty little thing, wearing a jade colored leotard with long, floral lace sleeves, her brown hair gathered into a bun on top of her head.

Before he could utter a word in greeting, the child's face lit up, startling green eyes going wide.

“Oh! You found Ginger! I was looking all over for her! Thank you!”

Instantly, the child had snatched the dog away, cuddling her to her chest and giving Ginger a loud kiss, waking her.

“I thought I'd lost you! Auntie Mel would have killed me, you little booger!”

The dog was set on its paws, where it quickly scampered from sight.

Those huge green eyes focused back on Taj.

“Are you Mr. Jackson?” She questioned and he was taken aback by how exuberant the child was; at her age, Taj, whom had been extremely shy in his youth—a trait which still plagued him in the present day— would have been hiding behind one of his parents when faced with a stranger.

She was beaming warmly at him, showing her two front teeth to be missing.

“Yes, I am.”Taj returned the smile, “Are you Brinkley?”

“Yes, Sir!” The bunned head bobbed enthusiastically.

“Auntie Mel is...” A tiny frown crossed her face, as she tried to pull the appropriate term from her young mind, “...indisposed at the moment. I'll show you out to the studio.”

Taj had to turn his head to keep from laughing at Brinkley using a word far beyond her years, certain that Melrose had put that phrase in her mouth.

“Lead the way...” He spoke through a snort and was surprised when a tiny hand gripped his larger one.

Taj allowed himself to be lead through the foyer, featuring a mosaic of cool brown pink and beige tiles.

The scent of warm vanilla and peaches hung to the air, quite heavily, to the point it was almost overbearing.

All that was in the neat, orderly foyer was a massive oak sideboard across from a full-length mirror in a heavy bronze frame. Overhead, the bronze accents continued in the form of recessed lighting

On the sideboard, unsurprisingly, were several peacock figurines of porcelain and glass.

A woman as flashy as Melrose DeBurke seemed would favor the move ostentatious of fowl.

Tick-Tick-Tick...

In the silence, Taj became aware of a distinct clicking sound.

Looking down, he discovered, rather than ballet slippers, as he'd assumed Brinkley to be wearing, given her leotard, on her feet were a pair of dressy silver sandals, boasting a heel of about two inches.

He didn't even know heeled shoes came in children's sizes!

And...did her toenails have French tips on them?

The same with the teeny fingernails of the hand clutching his.

Children could get French tip manicures?

He only hoped they were her natural nails, and not acrylics!

Or gels or whatever it was women used these days to keep their talons in check.

Taj had been gearing up to make a snide remark, when he cross the threshold of the living room.

Automatically, his jaw came loose, sagging, with a choking startled gasp coming from the opening at the base of his face.

The spacious living room was just that, in the vague sense that it contained a long couch, smaller divan, and arm chairs with ottomans, all of buttery brown leather, around a low, glass topped coffee table, all of which faced an inlaid tile hearth.

What set this apart from any other living room Taj Jackson had ever been in was the overwhelming amount of trophies, embroidered sashes and rhinestone-laden tiaras prominently displayed from every available surface.

How had the time to compete in so many pageants been found.

How was it even possible?

Also displayed for all to see were framed portraits, not only of Melrose, but Brinkley, in all of their pageant finery.

So many dresses, so many hairstyles, too much makeup.

A veritable shrine to queenery.

It was so strange to see Brinkley DeBurke in the flesh, still holding his hand and grinning at him, every bit of the innocent eight-year-old she was, all the while standing in front of a head shot of herself looking twenty-five!

And all of this was encouraged; somewhere, there were more children exactly like her.

Passing the inlaid tile hearth, Taj Jackson stopped in his tracks.

Wind going idle in his lungs, blood racing through his ears.

A portrait of Melrose hung.

Taj's mouth had never closed, and again, that strange, guttural sound was repeated.

She was absolutely resplendent in a royal blue ballgown embroidered with thousands of shimmering beads, the yards and yards of fabric comprising the skirt taking up the bottom half of the portrait completely.

Not a hair out of place, makeup just so, with a bright smile of pride on her scarlet painted lips.

A sash of white silk, bore the words Miss California Venus 2017 in blue lettering.

Melrose stood beside a short white pillar, upon which sat a tiara in gold plating, set with large sapphire colored crystals, accented with smaller clear ones.

She... Taj gulped to himself,whole body growing warm.

She looked like a Disney Princess.

Taj did so love Disney movies.

In all that blue, Melrose reminded him of Cinderella.

He was breathless.

“Auntie Mel beat out over two hundred other ladies for that title!” Brinkley bragged pointing at the portrait. “She was on TV! And she'll go for the National title in November in Orlando! She said if I make all A's in school, we'll go to Disney World!”

Taj, still thunderstruck and scarcely able to tear his eyes from the regalia that was Melrose DeBurke,had come to notice something was amiss in the room.

The photographs were of Melrose and Brinkley, and only Melrose and Brinkley.

If there were more to the DeBurke family tree, it wasn't represented in that room.

Absently, more as a way to further the conversation than actually wanting to know, Taj inquired of his four foot tall hostess,

“Where are your parents, Brinkley?”

Her response turned his blood to ice in his veins,

“In Heaven.”

Aghast, Taj's head whipped around.

As his heart had been full of lust for Melrose, it was now breaking for young Brinkley.

“Both of them?”

That child....that poor, poor child!

How his heart ached for her.

Seeing the look of abject horror on his face, Brinkley gave him a smile, quite obviously forced, and assured him, in a tone that made it clear she'd had to utter the words too many times,

“Oh,you don't have to feel sorry for me or anything; I was eleven months old when it happened. I've been with Auntie Mel ever since.”

Stunned, absolutely stunned as no child should have to suffer the heartbreak so young, Taj was in something of a daze as Brinkley pulled him along after her, through the rest of the first floor of the house.

There were many more pictures displayed throughout, but while the living room had been a shrine to clenched teeth and crowns, the rest seemed to showcase the full DeBurke family.

For the most part, the DeBurke's appeared to be a typical, suburban family. From what he could glean from the small glimpses of life, he saw Melrose's mother and father, a somewhat stern, yet well-dressed looking couple. Melrose's mother was a youthful looking older version of her daughter.

And in every photo Mrs. DeBurke was immaculate, done up and flawless.

Mr. DeBurke was a rotund man, who bore a strong resemblance to actor James Avery, right down to the receding hairline. He appeared distinguished, even in the photo next to a lake, holding up a three foot long catfish.

Taj found Brinkley's father had been Melrose's big brother, as evidenced by what appeared to be a wedding portrait of him and Brinkley's mother, a stunning blonde, whom Taj was sure hadn't been a stranger to pageants herself.

Her brother was the spitting image of the father, except he was slimmer with a full head of hair cropped down into a short Afro.

By the time Taj was led out of a set of French doors in the rear of the house, he felt drunk, perhaps from the ever-present sweet aroma that had the home in a stranglehold. But he was happy for the breath of fresh air and to be back in the warm sunshine.

Out behind the house an Olympic sized pool was full, with several inner tubes floating haphazardly. On the opposite end of the pool was a stately building continuing the Mediterranean style architecture of the house.

The doors to the building were opened and from inside was the sound of light soft rock and a few people speaking. The laughter of little girls cut through it all, tinny and high-pitched.

“Taj Jackson!”

Somewhere, both behind and above him, his name was called, causing Taj to halt abruptly, and spun so quickly, Brinkley was lifted off her feet.

On the second floor balcony, waving to him, was Melrose.

And even from so far away, he could see her pearly teeth glinting as she was smiling warmly at him.

“Brinkley...” Her eyes drifted over to her niece.

“Yes, ma'am?” Brinkley was squinting up at her.

“Please go round up everyone so I can introduce them to Mr. Jackson.”

“Yes, ma'am!” With that, Brinkley was off like a shot, calling to the others in the building.

As the little girl rushed, the woman took her time; Melrose slowly making her way down the curling set of stairs to the patio where Taj stood.

Trying to keep her expression tranquil, she found it a losing battle, as she noticed right off that Taj was staring at her.

His sleepy eyes downright dreamy, chewing his bottom lip to the point his mouth went askew on his face.

And Melrose was reveling in it.

Of course, how could Taj not stare at her?

Melrose's long, shapely frame was shown off to perfection in a midriff baring, long sleeved yoga top, in a rich plum hue and matching pants.

An outfit which may or may not have been chosen for his benefit.

As she stepped down onto the terracotta tiles of the patio, he saw she wore a pair of purple furry slides on her feet.

A pair of clear, Lucite pumps dangled from one hand.

Up close, he saw she was painted in perfectly, this time in shades of purple, lilac and lavender, revealed completely as her hair had been swept back into a low ponytail, showing off small ,white gold hoops in her ears.

The aroma of tuberoses again tickled Taj's nose as, surprisingly, Melrose was leaning in towards him.

Her rouged cheek was so warm and soft against his own as she lightly hugged.

His hand unconsciously pressing to the small of her back.

Oh, how he wanted to touch the generous swelling of her bottom, but fought the urge, as he'd surely have been slapped senseless.

On the flipside, as Taj was enjoying her perfume, Melrose was delighted by his cologne, woodsy, piney with a hint of citrus.

Why couldn't they hear each other's hearts pounding so wildly, so willfully, so lustily?

Pulling back, Melrose giggled, seeing that in embracing him, some of the iridescent highlight she'd used sparingly on her cheekbones had smeared off on his face.

“I'm sorry, my make up got on you!” She tittered, and was rubbing her thumb against the streak of glitter. Gently pinching his cheek in the process.

Marveling to herself as to how supple and tender it felt.

His dermis was almost too soft for a man.

One so ruggedly handsome as he was.

“It's...” Taj clasped at her wrist, pulling her hand away. “It's alright.”

His gaze, those smoky eyes of his so intense, Melrose was lost in them for a silent, suspenseful interval. Unable to look away...her heart thudding in her ears.

Taj's eyes were quite mesmerizing, yes.

Seeming to come back to her senses, Melrose blinked, breaking the spell Taj had over her.

There was something so powerful and enticing in those sleepy dark orbs.

There was no denying that.

Much as her niece had, Melrose was extremely comfortable and also exuberant, also taking Taj by the hand, and began leading him around the pool towards the structure, where as they got closer, he saw, through the opened doors a handful of girls seated on the floor, with adults, presumably their parents, loitering idly just behind them.

Stepping through the door, Taj Jackson was again swept into a pageant whirlwind.

As in the house, the perimeter of the cavernous space, easily thirty feet by thirty feet, perhaps more, was rimmed by crowns, trophies and sashes. Seeing as most dated back to the nineties, and even the eighties, they clearly were all Melrose's.

Just how many pageants had Melrose DeBurke participated in?

Had she ever done anything else in her childhood?

On the far end was a kitchen area where a full buffet of breakfast treats had been set up—toast, waffles, sausages, scrambled eggs, fruit salad.

With a wave for already garnered attention, Melrose chirped brightly,

“Good morning all my lovelies! I'd like you to meet...”

He was indicated with a deep nod

“...the gentleman whom will hopefully be our new photographer, Mr. Taj Jackson!”

At once a crowd had formed around Taj, eagerly shaking his hands, exchanging pleasantries.

With him meeting the rest of the Fab Five, little girls all in similar leotards and shoes to Brinkley:

Kenzie Forester, aged seven, a tall slender, blue-eyed, auburn-haired little darling who spoke with a rather strong Southern Accent. Her two dads, Kevin and Dean, as ginger as their daughter,later told they'd adopted Kenzie from an orphanage in Tennessee when she'd been three years old. A pair of personal chefs, they'd provided the breakfast.

Anniston McClure, also seven, was blonde with hazel eyes and as she gamely shook Taj's hand, he wondered if the color were natural, as it was an almost Jean Harlow level of sheer white, platinum blonde.

Considering that her mother, Sara, possessed very dark brown hair, in the typical “Karen” archetype bob, Taj was horrified by the prospect that Anniston's hair was being bleached.

Lola Jimenez, a beautiful Mexican child of six seemed the pride and joy of her parents, Juan and Lupe, her mother strongly resembling the singer Selena, right down to the iconic red lipstick.

He also later learned that Lola's talent in pageants was indeed imitating the Tejano superstar.

The youngest of the group, Grace Washington, was five, a raven skinned little girl who's mother, Ash was Senegalese while her father, Don was African-American. While Ash appeared as devoted to pageants as Melrose, Don was a bit more indifferent.

Each child was pretty to look at and as far as Taj was concerned, none needed all of the accouterments that went into being stage-ready.

The culture shock for Taj Jackson came swiftly and never really let up, as once all the introductions were out the way, and everyone went to help themselves to the food, he heard Sara chastising Anniston,

“Don't eat so many starches! Have some more fruit! You don't get your new Beauty dress for another two weeks. You still have to fit in your old one! And we have two pageants it has to fit for! Put that waffle down! Do you want to diet again?”

“No ma'am, Mommy!”

Diet? Again? For a seven-year-old?

Anniston hadn't struck Taj as overweight in any way, and when he'd looked to Melrose for intervention, she'd merely shrugged while filling her own plate with mostly fruit and a single triangle of dry toast.

In fact, all of the girls were rather thin and seemed within a healthy range for their ages.

As the meal was taken and Taj's portfolio began being passed around and skimmed through by the adults, Melrose stood before a wall of mirrors, discussing their wins at a pageant the previous weekend.

From what Taj could tell, all five girls had done exceedingly well, with Lola taking the Overall Grand Hi Point Queen title out of the sixty-five participants in the pageant.

His head had been down, trying to scoop the last bit of eggs onto a small plastic spoon, when Taj heard Brinkley whine,

“I could have done better, but my teeth fell out!”

His head came up as her aunt retorted,

“And I told you to quit wiggling them! Thank God they fell out after Beauty, but you were snagglemouthed all through Talent, Swimwear and Western Wear! You'll have your flipper when you go to Precious Beauties next Saturday--”

“What's a flipper?”

Taj hadn't intended to ask that aloud, only think it.

And realized the error of his ways when every neck in the room swizzled, eyes locking on him.

“It's a device that goes in the mouth to cover up where the girls have missing teeth. Judges count off for missing teeth--” Melrose explained as though it were common knowledge.

Taj, seated on a low ottoman off to the side of the couch leaned forward, brows slamming together trying to make sense of what he'd heard.

“But...they're...they're kids!” He sputtered, eyes boring holes into him. “Babies! Baby teeth are supposed to fall out! They don't really wear--”

“Grace.” Melrose spoke over him to the smallest child. “Show Mr. Jackson your flipper, please.”

“Yes ma'am!” Without a care, Grace trotted over to him, reached into her mouth and with a dull pop, removed what looked like a bridge of the four top, front teeth.

Showing that her left front tooth was missing.

He'd have never known, but looking at the rest of the children, with the exception of Brinkley, all had perfect teeth.

Too perfect.

With a second dull pop the teeth were replaced and Grace returned to the group.

“Do...do they all have to...” Taj faltered as everyone recited back to him in harmony,

“You have to, if you want to compete Glitz.”

Was he in the goddamned Twilight Zone?

The Stepford Wives?

And Taj Jackson went silent.

And silent he remained for the next six hours, watching as Melrose went to task with rehearsals for her girls.

Taj, a lover of horror films had never been so frightened in his life as he remained on the ottoman observing some type of madness.

Starting with their Beauty—evening wear—routines.

Watching little girls prance about, teeth clenched, being reminded to flutter lashes, wink, and flirt.

(Flirt! Children being told to flirt with the judges. His eggs were threatening to come back up.)

With Melrose, whom had donned the soaring heels, demonstrating certain motions. Motions which were fine for a woman in her late twenties, but mildly disturbing for a child so young.

Again and again, Taj craned his neck to gauge the parents' reactions.

If they weren't looking at their phones, they were hawk-eyed on their own child. Some tense, others proud.

The girls did move with a grace and poise beyond their years, he did give them that.

Precious Beauties of America had competitions for Beauty, Swimwear and Interview.

Swimwear seemed a bit more fun, with the girls more dancing than anything, making cutesy faces and motions to techno and surfing themed music.

As the girls practiced in front of the mirror, opinions from Melrose were being given, as she had personally designed and constructed each child's swimwear.

Listening to her explain who got one-pieces and who got two pieces, what colors and what material made Taj's head spin.

Hearing how certain materials benefited a girls' figure and not others had Taj wondering if pageants were really more than livestock shows for more sentient, intelligent creatures.

Of course the focus would be on looks—it was a beauty pageant—but it all seemed like it was too much.

Too much of everything, especially pressure.

Pressure to get onstage, to succeed, to be the best, to get the highest title.

Sure, winning was a wonderful thing, but it should be a bonus, not the requirement.

And Taj Jackson was battling with himself.

He did like Melrose DeBurke, thought she was stunning and sweet and everything he found appealing in a woman.

Just this pageant thing.

It was so much of her life...such a tremendous part.

And looking around the room seemed like it had been from near birth.

He watched Melrose, sitting on her knees in front of Kenzie, helping her to strike a specific pose.

Melrose did appear so happy. Yes she was instructing children and trying to keep them on track, but he could see the joy in her face. She loved what she was doing.

And aside from a few grunted criticisms from Parents' Row, the children seemed happy also.

Were there any redeeming qualities to be found in all of this?

By the time the children moved on to Interview, Taj was doubtful.

Melrose lobbed the standard fare at them.

“What's your favorite food?”

“Who's your best friend?”

“Name the cartoon you love most.”

Trite fluff. That's all it was.

Trite fluff.

Then Lola Jimenez opened her mouth.

Melrose knelt beside her, fist balled to imitate the holding of a microphone,

“Tell me Lola....” She paused, placing two fingers under the child's dipping chin to remind her to hold her head upright. “...what do you want to be when you grow up?”

Taj, seated closest to Lola's parents, heard them begin to worriedly converse back and forth in Spanish under their breath.

And Taj, half-Latin himself, had a fair grasp of Spanish, and had to keep from screaming listening to them dissecting their own daughter saying Interview was her weakest event.

Taj distinctly heard Lola's mother say Lola was too shy and it showed.

Some children were just late bloomers, and Taj saw nothing wrong with that.

Lola pondered a moment, before replying softly,with uncertainty.

“Miss America.”

Melrose nodded, and started speaking to Lola.

What she said, gave Taj a sense of hope that he hadn't fallen through the looking glass into some highly-painted version of Hell.

“Miss America is a nice answer Lola, but you can only be Miss America for a year...like with other pageant titles. Its good and fun and can open many doors for you, but its only for a year...”

Hands were placed on tiny shoulders with Lola staring up at her coach.

“Now I know you're only six, and have so long before you're a grownup and off to college. But your life's ambition shouldn't be a pageant title, Dear. You can change your mind as you get older, but you're such a smart, bright girl. You could be anything. I'm asking again, what would you like to be when you grow up Lola?Think long-term.”

This time, Lola's face lit up.

With her giving her true answer and not what she thought a panel of strangers would want to hear.

“I want to be an ESL teacher like my Mami!”

Taj had to bite his bottom lip to keep from singing as he swung to stare at Lola's parents, watching her mother go deathly pale in surprise.

Yes, that little girl had more ambition than wanting a piece of metal with some sparkly stones attached.

Hopefully all of the Fab Five had bars set higher than some frivolous pageant title.

Morning melted into the afternoon, as one by one, Melrose began going through the routines the girls had to be ready with for the pageants after the immediate Precious Beauties.

At some point lunch had been ordered, and Taj vaguely remembered the taste of a roast beef sandwich from Atomic Sub in his mouth.

There was Talent, where Grace showed she had a particularly beautiful voice, singing a medley of spirituals, the others doing dances, hip-hop, jazz, tap, and ballet.

Taj listened to so much country music while the girls practiced for Western Wear, he had to peek outside to make sure his Lincoln Navigator hadn't morphed into a John Deere tractor!

Western Wear wasn't an event at Precious Beauties but would be at the following three pageants.

There was something called Outfit of Choice, which Melrose told Taj was also called Sportswear.

It was all Greek to him and appeared to be more of that hybrid of not quite runway modeling mixed with dance moves to more techno and pop music.

One thing was sure, Melrose was a perfectionist in that every last one of DeBurke's Divas were practiced at least a half a dozen times on each routine and if a mistake was made, they were made to start over.

Every move, every face, every step, every pause.

Eye contact! Eye contact! Look at the judges! Spot your judges!

Nod, smile, wink! Sassy walk—START OVER!

Taj was tired.

Strangely, everyone else around him seemed just fine.

Alert, attentive.

If Melrose were herself tired, she didn't show it in the least.

Melrose was bright cheery and bubbly as ever.

Was that her natural countenance, or just her in pageant queen/coach mode?

Did it ever stop?

Maybe pageant people were just more energetic, what with all the smiling and happiness that had to to be continuously feigned, under a spotlight.

Around two in the afternoon, it seemed that the fervent pageant rehearsals were coming to a close.

Again the girls sat on the floor, all looking up to Melrose, who stood, hands up for their attention.

“You all did very well today. There were some hiccups here and there, but I'm sure they'll be corrected by the next practice—yes?”

“Yes, ma'am!” The girls chorused.

“Okay, give your flippers to your parents and you're dismiss—yes, Brinkley?”

Brinkley, whom had been flagging at her aunt questioned,

“Is it okay if we go watch a movie in TV room, please?”

“Yes you may, but keep it PG this time. You had no business watching Pulp Fiction the other week!”

“We just wanted to see John Travolta dancing...” Brinkley pouted, following her friends as each popped out a set of false teeth, flippers, handing them over then running away to the Main House.

“So...” Melrose was stooping to remove her high heels, and walked barefoot to the adults, and a sickly looking Taj on the end.

She'd witnessed him growing ever-more uncomfortable it seemed throughout the practice, but kept assuring herself once he was used to the pageant world, he'd be fine.

“...you all had a chance to look through Taj's portfolio and get an idea of the caliber of work he does. Do you think we should try him out as our Glitz photographer for the girls?”

“I have a question.” Dean spoke up, stroking after his thick red mustache.

“Oh—yes?” Taj, entranced by the purple spandex stretching over buttery hips and thighs, cleared his throat, looking to the man.

“I know we're here for our daughters, but I absolutely loved this wedding photo!”

Portfolio in hand, he turned it, showing a portrait of a couple holding hands on a beach.

The woman, African wore a dress in the colors of the Nigerian flag and was radiantly beaning at the man, wearing a suit showing the colors of the flag of Mexico, a large diamond ring prominently on display.

“Kevin and I have our ten year anniversary in a few months and we'd love to do something like this to commemorate it! I've got an Irish background and Kev is French.”

“Thank you...ahem...I'd be more than happy to discuss your ideas and rates--”

“Oh, we don't have a budget!” Kevin chimed in draping an arm around his husband. “Do we Dean?”

“Nope.” Both men were smiling at Taj. “If we did, we wouldn't be in pageants!”

It was then he noticed all the adults were smiling at him.

It was a long moment, before it clicked to Taj Jackson, that yes, unanimously, this unit were going to make use of his services.

“You...you all...” He stammered, breaking into the first smile he'd had all day at the same time a cool mist of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Yes, you take very lovely portraits...even if they aren't specifically for Glitz Pageantry.” Ash pointed out, sentiment that garnered a nod from all present, even her reserved husband.

“But, we're sure with tips from Melrose, you'll get it down pat soon enough.”

Taj glanced at Melrose, standing just beside him, close enough for her perfume to invade his nostrils.

She was smiling bashfully, looking down at her feet.

“Melrose knows everything about pageants.” Juan chimed in with a chuckle. “When we started Lola, she made us start from scratch. New clothes, different hair and makeup styles. But its really when Lola starting winning and doing well.”

“We all want our girls to do well.” Sara agreed. “I'd have preferred Anniston do ballet like I did, but her heart is in pageants, so here we are. And with Melrose, they've all been winning.”

“Our girls are the 'ones to beat'.” Melrose intoned and the group laughed with Taj cracking an uneasy smile.

Once that bit of bravado had dissipated, Taj was pulled into a lengthy discussion, where he had to break out his phone in order to take down everyone's wanting to schedule photo sessions for the upcoming week, in order to have photos ready for the Precious Beauties of America pageant the following weekend.

It took a while for Taj to realize he'd scheduled himself for every single day, all day that week, but he didn't mind as not a single person complained about his four hundred and fifty dollar hourly rate.

Of course he almost declared he'd do it all for free when he learned Melrose would be there every day, primping each girl.

(It wasn't until the next day Taj realized each girl would miss a day of school in the rush to have her photos taken and ready, which he found excessive for what he felt was an overpriced hobby, but as the low man on the totem pole he knew opening his mouth would only draw ire from the bunch so devoted to Glitz.)

Taj also learned that Kevin and Dean were her stand-ins as stylists as Melrose herself would be missing the Precious Beauties of America pageant that weekend—but competing Brinkley anyway—in order to have her portraits done in time for the next three pageants. Especially the swimsuit shots needed for Babes of Summer the following weekend.

By the time all was said and done, Taj Jackson was fully booked and set to make quite a tidy sum off the Fab Five.

Maybe he could finally go backpacking through New Zealand to see where the Lord of the Rings trilogy had been filmed after all as he'd been dreaming and saving up to for the last ten years.

And, that evening, as dusk had began to settle, with Melrose hugging him tightly while bidding him adieu, he sincerely hoped that as he backpacked Down Under, he wouldn't be alone.

That night as he slipped beneath the covers to go to sleep, his mind was still quite the jumble as he still wasn't sure of the benefits, if any, that appeared to come from child pageants, but at the same time, his cheek with shimmering with another streak of purple iridescent highlighter.

Melrose's business card clutched in his fist.

* * *

The following Sunday afternoon found the inside of the Starbucks, situated on the first floor of the Palmdale Galleria, packed to the rafters with a steady stream of patrons ready and willing to shell out for overpriced cups of coffee, more to be seen with that status symbol in green than actually needing a pick me up in liquid form.

Among these brand name stimulant hounds, once more, Melrose DeBurke stood out, even in casual wear.

A simple ensemble of an oversized, distressed light-rinsed denim jacket paired with a black tank dress and sneakers still turned heads as the statuesque beauty waited her turn to lobby a complicated order at far too cheerful barista, thick lashes accentuating eyes smoked out in shades of black and plum with subtle gold highlights, her lips equally dark, matte.

Her mind should have been on executing her order; instead it was on Taj Jackson.

As it had been for the last week.

Working in such close proximity to Taj Jackson was beginning to tale its toll on Melrose DeBurke.

The first couple of days, Melrose had been able to keep her attraction to the shy, soft-spoken, serious Taj at bay; she had a job she was being paid dearly to perform and couldn't afford to make mistakes with her mind drifting elsewhere.

She had little girls to style, each requiring hair, makeup and costume changes for four vastly different head shots, in addition to a full-length swimsuit shot in order to compete, not only for the Photogenic titles but qualify to be in the running for the coveted overall titles.

That's what anyone worth their weight in glitter was vying for—those overall titles!

But, throughout the five consecutive shoots, averaging anywhere from ten to twelve hours a day, Melrose had begun to notice changes in Taj's behavior towards her.

The changes were subtle enough that a normal lay person would have overlooked them, but to a trained professional, whose livelihood came from studying and correcting the appearance and mannerisms of those around her, Melrose took notice right away.

For the first two sessions, Taj had worn relatively the same outfit: a black sweatsuit, over a superhero tee (Monday had been Wonder Woman, Tuesday, X-Men's Storm)

Wednesday, however, this look was upgraded to a, usually, open button-down over a plain tee and jeans, although he seemed determined to continue wearing sneakers. He was on his feet all day.

At the same time, his cologne became stronger, with him seeming to apply it more liberally as of late. Melrose had only been able to smell it faintly, as he moved around her—a touch of pine here, a whiff of citrus there.

Now from a distance, the aroma was plain and hung in the air. Both Brinkley and Anniston had mentioned in hushed whispers that they “...love how Mr. Jackson smells!”

Quite by accident, Melrose discovered Taj's poorly concealed penchant for staring at her.

Taj's large studio was equipped with a fine makeup area just off the main floor, featuring a huge round mirror which Melrose spent the bulk of her time next to, as she primped and groomed her clientele to go before the flashing lights.

And it was through said mirror, that as Melrose worked, layering cosmetics onto little faces, adding hair pieces to fill out coiffures and snapping flippers into snaggletoothed mouths, she found Taj's gaze tracking her.

No matter what he was doing, tending his cameras, changing lenses, altering lighting and hanging new fabric for backgrounds, he was watching Melrose.

Though she dressed for comfort, in brightly colored jogging suits and matching Converse sneakers, Melrose still showed up in full makeup and teased, voluminous hair, so perhaps it was a trifle hard not to draw attention.

One thing was certain, she did enjoy her hold on Taj.

As time wore on she grew to crave and even seek out his stares.

Some days instead of sweat pants she opted to wear shorts, showing off her long, lean, shapely legs, or let one of her shoulders be exposed by the sweatshirt.

Keen to gauge Taj's reaction each time.

He was a gentleman, never overstepping his bounds, but there was a glow to his eyes, and a slight curl to his cherubic lips.

It made her day knowing she was his distraction as he was hers; and she tended to lie in bed all night like an anxious schoolgirl, covers drawn to her chin, trembling with rapture and excitement.

Then entire week long, she'd been waiting with bated, erratic breaths for Saturday to arrive.

The day of her own personal shoot, where she'd be alone with Taj Jackson.

Ginger would be held in the Paws N Claws doggie daycare kennel and Brinkley would be over two thousand miles away in Atlanta, Georgia competing at the Precious Beauties of America pageant with her friends.

Her only concern outside of that studio would be the occasional text message from Kevin or Dean as they wrangled and groomed five little girls to be stage ready.

No...today was her day with Taj.

And without a whiny child or persnickety parent in her hair and getting underfoot, she wondered if she would be able to figure out if her relationship with Taj were merely business-oriented, or...not.

Much to her chagrin, Taj Jackson was as impenetrable a fortress as Fort Knox.

Throughout a ten hour shoot with only the two of them alone, he made no discernible moves.

Oh, his eyes told a far different story.

They registered surprise at seeing her with a bare face and hair in curlers as he arrived to open the studio.

They grew dreamy and soft as he watched her lay out her four, intricately designed, generously beaded toppers and accessories.

Went wide at the sight of her barely there gem-encrusted bikini as it was set out last.

A consummate professional, Taj's focus seemed only on ensuring the perfect shot.

He only touched her to adjust her posing and positioning in front of the camera.

She'd worn rich, luxe jewel tones, bloody ruby reds, emerald greens, sapphire blues.

Most pieces were off the shoulders, accented with jeweled rosettes, butterflies, bows and hearts.

Taj's scent had been intoxicating as he'd taken his camera off its tripod and bent near her, directly under an air vent so his cologne was ferocious in her face and her own hormones were on a rampage like a winning team after the Superbowl.

How badly she'd wanted to reach out and touch him, grab him, hold him.

She almost did.

While wearing her third topper, scarlet and dripping with hearts and stonework, more hearts dangling out of her hair, Taj had sat on his knees at her feet, switching out filters and lenses on his camera.

His head lowered, pomade sparkling in his dark curls, Melrose had put out a trembling hand to touch him.

But at the last moment her nerve failed her.

The piece de resistance had been her swimsuit.

A brilliant violet, covered all over with faceted gems in purple, aurora borealis and citrine.

Melrose's hair had been teased to its very biggest and more gems had been stuck to her face.

She was one headdress shy of being ready for Carnival and it was clear her look registered with Taj as he'd given an audible gulp at the toned figure, shimmering all over with golden glitter, so much cleavage on display it could have been deemed obscene.

Yet, he hadn't touched her.

Hadn't made a move.

Nothing.

And Melrose had left the mall that night defeated, tears streaming down her cheeks as she'd driven home and gone promptly to bed.

How it hurt.

How horribly it made her heart ache.

And now, here she stood in line for mediocre coffee, unhappy with herself, but still needing to go and retrieve her photos for her portfolio from Taj.

Unsure of what to do, or how to approach him.

They were business partners.

Portfolio photos had already been delivered for her Fab Five with parents and kids alike raving that they were some of the best shots they'd ever gotten; and for cheaper than the previous photographer.

It was almost guaranteed that Taj was to be in her future for quite a long time to come.

Just not in the capacity that she wanted.

“Welcome to Starbucks ma'am, what can I get for you?” A young woman in a green apron rattled off automatically and Melrose, starting to dig into the black and white striped clutch in her hand replied,

“A Venti Iced Mocha with three pumps of Liquid Sugar, Light Ice please. Name's Melrose.”

Credit card in hand she went to hand, she began to swipe it and was waved off by the barista.

“No ma'am, the gentleman already paid for it.”

“Gentleman?” Melrose echoed and the barista pointed past her.

Turning, Melrose saw, just inside the door to the shop, Taj loitered, hands stuck into the pockets of his jeans, a sheepish smile on his face.

Her own mouth twisting gleefully, she watched, as he, this time in a grey striped shirt over a white tee, made his way towards her, her heart pounding in her ears.

“Hello...” He greeted her coolly.

A wave of pine enveloping her.

“Hello.” On instinct, Melrose leaned in to hug him, as she had in all the days past, throwing an arm around him, pressing her warm cheek to his.

As a result, a champagne colored streak was left on his face.

“My highlighter is on you again...” Melrose giggled and went to brush it off his face as she had all week long.

Taj caught her hand in mid-air.

“Leave it...” His eyes bore into hers and suddenly all the noise around them seemed dampened.

“...I like it.”

Glancing down as his gaze was so abrasive, Melrose mumbled,

“I like it on you.”

both were quiet for a tense interval with Taj speaking up,

“Um...is Brinkley still in Atlanta?”

“Yes...she had Beauty and Interview last night. Today is Talent, Outfit of Choice and then crowning. Kevin sent me pictures. They said she did very well. ”

Phone in hand, Melrose poked at it a bit, then turned it, displaying a photo of Brinkley, decked out in a mint green and white long sleeved dress with a wide cupcake skirt of layers and layers of tulle, off set by pale pink three-dimensional roses across the bodice.

Her hair had been gathered into an elaborate French Roll, another flower stuck into it.

“Oh...wow...” Taj chuckled, a hand going to his chin as he took the phone for a closer inspection. “She looks nice.”

“You think so? I'm not sure about the up-do. I'd have preferred her hair down, but that's what Kevin decided--” Melrose was cut off by a man, a surfer type, judging by his board shorts, tank top and sun-bleached hair, to the side of Taj speaking up.

“I think its absolutely sickening how people like you dress poor babies up like that.”

A cloud of darkness came over Taj Jackson's face, and his head whipped around with him snapping in a low roar,

“Yeah? Well I think it's absolutely sickening that you butted your stringy ass into the private, personal conversation I'm having with one of the most highly sought after pageant coaches in North America to air your ignorant, unsolicited opinion.”

The store came to a standstill, all eyes falling on Taj, and Melrose, her bosom heaving at the rapt change in his demeanor, in her defense.

All he needed was a suit of armor and a lily-white steed.

Taj's glare was as sharp as a piece of broken glass and just as deadly.

He stared so hard that the surfer slowly backed away, hands up.

“I-I'm sorry, Dude...I didn't know...--”

“Yeah, I knew that the minute I saw you.” Taj's own eyes rolled and that quickly, he seemed back to his regular, mild self.

“Th...thank you...Taj” Melrose whispered, a barista timidly setting her drink out on the counter.

“You're welcome...” He returned her phone to her and grabbed her drink, holding it until her hand was free to take it.

“I...I still don't really understand about pageants myself.” He admitted, a hand on her back as he lead her to the door. “It's all very new to me but before I try to criticize it, I want to learn about it. Make educated points and not come across as some pretentious ass. And from what I've seen from you and your Fab Five...you're all happy and want to do this and its your choice. The parents are a bit upright but the kids are happy.”

“You...you're more than welcome to come to a pageant. The next three are right in Cali:

Diamond Darlings in San Diego, Emerald Elegance in La Jolla and Babes of Summer in Encino.”

“I'd like that....You're competing in Babes of Summer, right?” Taj hung back slightly, allowing Melrose to mount the escalator ahead of him.

Melrose was glas he couldn't see her cheeks glowing red with bliss.

“That's right. In the Miss Division.”

“I'm sure you'll win—damn it!”

From behind Taj, softly, Melrose could make out the theme from the film Total Recall playing.

Out of his back pocket Taj produced a phone, in a sleek matte silver case and pressed it to his ear.

“What, Taryll? I'm busy right now—what do you mean the baby won't stop crying? Hold it! Rock it! Sing to it—not you, you damn goon! The baby's mother. Of course the kid is gonna pitch a fit if some strange man starts singing to him! Give him to his mother! Where's TJ? Changing the set? Ok—wait. Wait a minute!”

Pulling the phone from his ear as they reached the third level, Taj instructed Melrose,

“Go on to the studio, it's open. I have to take this call. My younger brothers work with me and still don't know how to handle and photograph infants. I'll be there in a minute.”

Brothers? Melrose didn't even know Taj had brothers...they'd never come up in conversation before.

“Okay...”Melrose watched Taj,taking a few steps away, as he barked into the phone.

“What do you mean the kid hasn't had anything in three hours? It's a baby! For the love of God, feed him! Give him a bottle, a booby, something!”

With a nonchalant shrug, Melrose continued on to the studio, sipping at her drink.

“What do you mean you don't have the 800mm lens? Taryll! What the fu--”

The door swung shut after her, effectively dampening and drowning out not only Taj's cussing out his sibling, but most of noise generally associated with the after Mass crowd of a shopping mall on a Sunday afternoon.

Her sneakers squeaking softly, Melrose wandered through the open lobby, past the checkout counter where Taj generally accepted payments for his services and down the short, whitewashed corridor to the main photography area.

From the doorway, she spied a bright pink folder that stood out against the black and chrome of Taj's console and convinced it was her portfolio—why would an adult man have a pink folder for anything?—jogged over to retrieve it.

Rounding the side of the long, concave setup, she had her free hand out, reaching for the folder when something caught her eye and made her stop in her tracks.

Coffee and chocolate were gulped as cognac colored eyes widened in astonishment.

There was a bank of five monitors, each screen displaying a different shot of Melrose in her Glitz bikini from the day before.

Oh...Melrose held the same hand to her bosom, enchanted with her own appearance.

She did look so beautiful in that barely there suit with the regulation demi-cut bra and high-cut bottoms on a body that had not an ounce of fat where it didn't belong.

The flat toned tummy, showing a trace of abs, combined with more fluid, exceedingly feminine curves, were always what the judges looked for.

Yes, she did agree with Taj; she was probably going to take the Photogenic titles and hopefully an overall at upcoming pageant.

But had there ever truly been any doubt on that?

A small gasp left Melrose's when she noticed, subtly, the five renditions of herself were zooming in and out.

It slowly came to her that these were not photos Taj had open and up to lightly alter or correct...

he was using them as screensavers for his monitors!

Taj was using her pictures as his screensavers!

He...he had to like her!

At this epiphany Melrose inadvertently bumped against the console, causing all five monitors to go off.

Four showed a plain black desktop, littered with icons.

The fifth, smack in the middle, showed a partially written email.

Curiosity overcoming her common sense to stop while she was ahead, Melrose bent towards the monitor, her eyes scanning the bit that was visible.

“...I'm really not sure what to do Pops...I do like her so much. It was so hard for me to photograph her yesterday. I did remain professional, but it was so hard. She is really sweet to me and so nice. I'm trying to understand the pageants. That's what I don't get at all. Why people would want to dress up and be judged on their looks and maybe answering one or two questions. And pay to do it. But pageants are such a huge part of her life. She competes, coaches, makes costumes and dresses, just everything. She's so talented. I've seen the costumes on the little girls, and on her. If it's that important to her, I want it to be important to me, too. I want her to like me. I want to say something, but I don't know what. I just know that I'm happy every time I see her, hear her voice, and she runs up to hug me...I'm really stuck on her, Pops...”

Melrose blinked several times, trying to make sense of what she had just read.

Making sure that her eyes hadn't been playing with her.

There it was, in plain black and white, Taj professing his affection for her so plainly, so outright to...Pops?

Was Pops his father?

He was already telling his father about her?

At once, Melrose got the sudden, creeping sensation that she was being watched and her head popped up immediately.

She drew back with a hoarse yelp, as directly on the other side of the console, staring intently as ever, was Taj.

Her heart was in her throat, pounding away in her ears with bass.

She cold only stand there, trembling slightly, as Taj rounded the side of the desk, so that he stood in front of her.

He didn't blink.

Why didn't he blink?

Did he ever blink?

“So...” His voice cracked deeply, “...I guess, now you know.”

“Yes...why....” She paused as he plucked the iced coffee from her hand and set it on the tabletop.

“...why didn't you say something, Taj? Why didn't you...tell me?”

His eyes drifted from hers and down her body as he replied, luridly,

“I...I...I'm shy, Melrose. I didn't want to say something, and then have you not feel the same, or worse laugh at me.”

Warm fingertips pinched the smooth flesh of his cheek, Melrose declaring,

“I'd never laugh at you, Taj.”

Melrose was briefly aware of Taj's hand on the back of her neck, squeezing to the point she physically winced.

And then...then...

There was a split second flash of his face.

His woodsy fragrance was stronger than ever.

And his mouth, damp, warm, flavored with bacon, was crushing hers.

Melrose flailed a moment, utterly stunned, that yes, Taj Jackson was kissing her and her arms found their way around his thick middle, mashing herself against him.

Yes, his body was so strong, so solidly built against her own.

Smelling so delicious.

Taj's arms encircled her, his hands firmly planted on her full, sinewy backside, sucking away at her mouth, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper, as far she'd allow him.

Tasting the coffee and chocolate still on her tongue.

A taste he'd forever associate with her.

The pair wrestled, continuing to kiss and fondle each other, audibly moaning in shared joy and ecstasy.

At some point, Melrose's denim jacket came off, leaving her in just the tank dress.

“Taj....Taj....wait, Taj...” Melrose whimpered, with him leaning back and allowing her to catch her breath. “Stop...”

Was he trying to do what she thought...right there in the middle of his studio?

And she was going to let him.

“I can't!” He announced through grit teeth, hands going on and landing on the large, teardrop mounds pressing against the black ribbed fabric, his touch causing Melrose's to visibly bounce with wanton.

Stop? Had she actually had the audacity to tell this man to stop?

When all she'd dreamt about since meeting him was having his hands all over her body?

Just as he was now.

“You're perfect...so perfect....God, why are you so damn perfect?” Taj wheezed, hands cupping underneath her mounds, jiggling them joyously.

“You're pretty perfect yourself.” Melrose tittered, impishly pecking at his mouth causing Taj to chuckle.

“Let me see...” Taj's voice dropped to a whisper, with him tugging on the fairly stretchy fabric.

“Are you trying to see my tits?” Melrose teased, her smile growing as the redness that had been over taking Taj's ears began to spread across his face, until he was an attractive beet.

“Maybe...”

Letting go of him, Melrose leaned back against the console, manicured hands coming up to her neckline.

Those luxurious lashes fluttered flirtily, with her gripping it and slowly....

Another wheeze of excitement left Taj , sounding like a sickened accordion.

...slowly the fabric was drawn down, allowing her pair of perfect, brown globes to drop out to full view.

He was on her, his hands on her hips, pulling her to him, stooping.

When his lips made contact with one of the small, delicate nipples, a chill ran through Melrose causing her to keen and throw her head back, placing a hand in his soft curls.

Arms around her, face buried in her glorious mounds, kissing and sucking away on her smooth, firm perfumed cocoa-colored flesh, Taj lifted Melrose, so that she sat on the edge of the console, dress hiking past creamy thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Pulling him ever closer to her.

His hand warm on the bared dermis of her back as he cradled her against her, mouth coming up to nuzzle and peck around her neck, Melrose laughing into his pine-scented throat, returning the favor.

Her deep purplish lipstick leaving behind prints that vaguely resembled bruises.

Passionate bruises.

Somewhere in the frenzied fray, Taj's long-sleeved shirt came off, leaving him in his tee, strong arms nearly crushing Melrose as he seemed to never want to release her.

Melrose could have remained in his arms forevermore.

Happily kissing and sucking at his earlobe, watching as every visible bit of his skin grew redder and redder much to her deranged delight.

Suddenly, Taj Jackson grew cold and still.

It was a moment before Melrose realized it, as she had been leaving pecks along his jaw and Adam's apple,

But it became quickly apparent that something was amiss, as leaning back slightly, she could see he was no longer smiling as he had been the whole of their heavy petting session.

In fact, he wasn't even looking at her; rather, past her, at something behind her.

His face set, sleepy eyes wide and alert with what appeared to be...anger?

Yes, there was something of a storm cloud over Taj Jackson's round, shiny-cheeked face, darkening his features with hatred.

It was the look any superhero worth his cape would deliver upon his arch nemesis before engaging in battle that would leave half the Earth as scorched terrain.

“Taj--?” She started and jumped as he growled, drowning her out,

“GET OUT!”

Melrose herself, went stiff when two voices began simultaneously trying to explain themselves,

“....we were just trying to return the lens we took...”

“...and we needed a proof sheet so Mrs. Hemlock could pick out--”

“GET OUT!”

“...we didn't know you were busy!”

“...why the hell didn't you lock the damn door?”

“Bro!”

“Taj—wait!”

“GET OUT BEFORE I DO SOMETHING I REGRET!”

Taj shouted and instantly, foot falls were heard retreating rapidly.

That quickly, an expression of defeat came to his face and pulling away from Melrose, he instructed timidly,

“Please...please forgive me...I... I think you should go. I'll wait for you, outside”

With that, he shuffled somberly from sight.

And Melrose hung her head, unsure if she was ashamed, saddened or both.

The walk down and out to her car was alarmingly quiet.

Taj gripping her hand in his, but not really looking at her.

It wasn't until she was tucked away in her driver's seat, Taj hanging on to the still open door, leaned and smooched at her cheek, whispering so desolately,

“I'm sorry.”

Melrose, a lump in her throat was unable to reply and could only watch as Taj ambled back inside the Galleria and from sight.

Then she cried on her steering wheel.

Taj Jackson disappeared.

For the two weeks following the incident in his photography studio, no matter how hard Melrose DeBurke tried, she could not reach him.

Calls to his both his work and personal phones went unanswered, every other day, she was at his studio, only to find it locked, the lights extinguished.

Sweet Timmy was kind enough to tell her, that other than seeing Taj's two brothers come to take equipment for off-site shoots, Taj hadn't been in, period.

Melrose had even gone so far as to give Timmy her phone number to call her if he saw Taj, a move which left grateful, awestruck stars in the poor teen's eyes. He was still hung up on the idea that the reigning Miss California Venus even knew his name.

It was incredibly hard for Melrose to carry on with her work, coaching, primping and encouraging her little proteges all the while her mind was wondering where Taj had gone.

What had she done?

What had happened between them.

As much as she wracked her brain, she couldn't find a viable conclusion that made sense as to why Taj would seemingly drop off the face of the Earth.

Sure, she had been a little surprised that his siblings had interrupted their canoodling, but was it really something to take flight over?

For the first time in her life, pageants were secondary to Melrose.

Of course she coached daily and cheered on her Fab Five as they performed and took the bulk of the highest titles at Precious Beauties and Emerald Elegance, but it was Taj that kept Melrose up till all hours of the night.

Constantly playing over the not so secret moments they had shared.

His touch, his kiss, how his eyes had positively glowed with passion as he looked at her that day.

How he'd always looked at her, now that she really thought of it.

It was a pain she kept to herself.

She couldn't tell her friends, as she knew they'd worry she'd lost them their photographer, likely ruining their children's chances in future pageants.

It was just so hard to bear.

She could even tell that little Brinkley could sense something was wrong, but at only eight, couldn't have possibly had the scope of grasp to begin to understand the turmoil her aunt was silently enduring every moment of every day.

The tears she shed for him.

Each and every night.

Melrose couldn't ever recall being so heartbroken.

Why had he left her?

Why had he walked away with no more?

Was that why his last words had been...

“I'm sorry”

By the time the weekend of the Babes of Summer pageant came around, the last thing on Melrose DeBurke's mind was preparing five little girls for a beauty contest, much less performing onstage herself, but she had to.

She'd already paid the entrty fee for herself, and it was non-refundable. And there was no way in hell she was going to let her thousand dollars go to waste.

Bright and early Friday morning, the sliding glass doors of the Encino Hilton opened, a group of over a dozen adults and children, all outfitted in hot pink tees, DeBurke's Diva's inscribed in bold, proud lettering around the image of a tiara glittering with glued on jewels, Melrose and her troupe, as usual, turned heads.

(Seemed a lot of children were missing school that day)

They were the ones to beat.

They always were.

Melrose, rolling cases of makeup being pulled by each hand, stopped in the middle of the lobby, and began delegating tasks,

“Sara, please take the girls to get registered, I'll be there shortly to check myself in with the directors—I have to go set up in our dressing room. It's Conference Room 55B, don't forget! Kevin if you're gonna tan my pale ones, tan them outside. We don't need another bill for getting spray tan all over the damn bathrooms again. Everybody else, get the rooms settled. I'll be with you all as soon as I can. And Brinkley, stay the hell away from that pool until I'm able to watch you!”

She gave one last admonition, and with wide, nearly frightened eyes, everyone nodded to her whims and split up according to their charges, with Sara taking the girls, and the rest carting suitcases and rolling racks of pricey miniature costumes and dresses headed for the elevator.

“We're all on the fifteenth floor, y'all!”

As they departed, Melrose, found the long, endless corridor of conference rooms and began the trek to Conference Room 55B, key to the room dangling from one long finger.

After what seemed like a mile's walk, the door was located.

Melrose opened it and took a step in, instantly coming to a halt, her jaw loosening and sagging.

In the center of the room was a long, boardroom style table, where Melrose had intended to set up for hair and makeup, but rather than the table being completely empty, it was instead entirely covered in crystal vases of huge, pale pink cabbage roses.

Roses grouped so closely together, they were a sea of blooms.

“What the...?” She gasped to herself, letting go of the bags, and making sure twice that she had the correct room, crossed to blooms, picking one and bringing it to her nose.

Inhaling its delicate, sweet perfume.

And almost came out of her skin when a familiar voice spoke up haltingly behind her.

“Yellow roses....mean....I'm sorry...but....but I....I thought you'd like pink ones better....”

Whirling around, Melrose gasped, eyes growing and the flower fell to the carpet without a sound.

Against the wall, where he would have been out of sight as the door opened, was Taj Jackson.

Melrose could only stare, stunned, heart thudding as he came shuffling forward, hands shoved into the lockets of his jeans, head so lowered that his chin was meeting the collar of his matching chambray shirt.

“I really am so sorry--”

“Where did you go?” Melrose interrupted him, head shaking in disbelief. “I've...I've looked everywhere for you! You didn't answer my calls! Your studio's been closed the whole time! I had Timmy ask your brothers—they had no idea. Taj, where did you go?”

“The beach...” He replied simply, reaching and taking one of her hands, finger going over her nails, sporting a more traditional French manicure.

“After what happened in my studio, I...I was really embarrassed, Melrose. I'm already shy as it is, and I get embarrassed very easily. Being seen like that...the way we were, I couldn't take it. It was supposed to be a moment, just for us, and it got spoiled. And knowing how Taryll and TJ—my brothers—are little shits and like to tease me, I'd have never lived it down. I just needed time to go away. Collect myself and my thoughts.”

“About me?” Melrose surmised, allowing Taj to grip her hand in both of his own, squeezing gently.

“About us.” Taj corrected her, smoky eyes darting up to meet hers.

“Melrose...” He hesitated a moment, and his head lifted, his face set with sheer defiance and courage.

“Melrose, I'm in love with you. I...I have been since the moment I first saw you, when you came up to me in the Food Court at the Galleria. I... I couldn't believe you were actually talking to me. Wanting my help, wanting to work with me...”

Something in Taj appeared to have been unleashed and he couldn't have shut up even if he wanted to.

“...I didn't fully understand the child pageants or the work you do, still don't, but I know its important to you and its important to me now, too. Everything important to you, is important to me. Every time I saw you, the more time I spent with you, I got surer and surer. I want to be with you Melrose. I want you to be with me. I'm sorry I left you like I did. I just had to get my head on straight. I promise I won't ever leave you again. I swear it. Bible. Melrose--”

Taj went to say more, but was cut off by a lithe body, draped in a pink rhinestone-laden tee and ripped jeans throwing itself against him, arms going around his neck.

Warm glossy lips first pressing his cheek, then moving to his mouth.

Upon kissing Taj, Melrose Deburke saw nothing but stars, and was giddy as his arms wrapped her, hugging her so tightly it hurt her rib cage, but she didn't care.

He loved her!

He said he loved her!

Leaning back to smooch the tip of his nose, she tittered,

“I love you, too.”

For a long, delicious interval the pair remained in each others arms, eyes roving, joyously consuming one another.

Finally, it was Melrose who broke the silence.

“I...I have to set up...for tomorrow...” She whispered, starting to slip her arms from around Taj's pine-fragranced form. “Six of us are competing--”

“I know, that's why I'm here.”

Taj's hand was on the nape of her neck, kneading gently.

“I came to see you win, Melrose.” He added hotly, lips brushing her earlobe.

“I'm going to win for you...” Melrose mumbled back, flashes of heat wracking all over and shaking hands went up to move one of the many vases.

“I'll clear the tables for you. You just drove four hours in from Beverly Cove.”

“Tajjy, I can do it--”

“Queens don't do grunt work.”

Unwilling to allow for argument, Taj first seated Melrose in a folding chair and was going around the room, moving the vases and lining them on the far wall, out of the way. Much to Melrose's surprise, once the table were cleared of all the flowers, Taj set about setting up her makeup—perfectly.

“How...how do you know to lay everything out like I do?” She questioned, her lazy slouching straightening.

“I watched you at the photoshoots...” Taj, a small pot of gold highlight in his hand, opening it and rubbing a glittery streak along his wrist. “...you set it up the same way every time. For your Fab Five and yourself. Made a mental note.”

“You're very observant.” Melrose could feel her cheeks burning, Taj rounding the table to her.

“You're easy to observe...” A subtle gold dot was left on Melrose's chin as he pinched it.

In no time, Taj had Melrose's cosmetics, brushes, and other accouterments set out and ready to transform five little girls and one woman into full-fledged competition-ready pageant stars.

“What...what do you have to do now?” Taj offered his hand and Melrose gamely took it, allowing him to lead her from the room to the long corridor.

“Just lay out costumes, make sure my pale ones are tanned enough, and practice one last time. Thankfully, Kevin and Dean are doing hair, so I don't have to worry about that for the little girls.” Melrose explained, bringing Taj's hand up and kissing the top of it.

“Am...am I allowed...” Taj trailed off awkwardly and Melrose laughed, stopping him as they stepped back out into the larger, bustling lobby.

“You're welcome anywhere I am...” Seriously, through her long lashes she stared up at him. “You always will be.”

As she spoke, her free hand went out and grabbed something as it went zooming by stealthily.

With bulged eyes and a wide open mouth, a hand firmly gripping her bicep, was Brinkley, wearing a plain, yellow, non-Glitz maillot.

“I thought I told you to stay away from the pool Brinkley Christina!” Melrose snapped.

“You know you're not allowed to get your hair wet once it's straightened! I didn't spend three hours on it for nothing! Don't make me tell you again, or I'll pull you out the pageant right now. Don't defy me. Do you understand? You're too little to go swimming without a grownup. Answer me!”

Green eyes downcast, Brinkley murmured

“Yes ma'am, Auntie Mel. I'm sorry.”

Melrose had been bristling, but seeing the true remorse on the little girl's face, sighed,

“Alright, then. Say hello to Mr. Jackson.”

“Hello, Mr. Jackson...” The child squinted up at him, as she took Melrose's other hand, the three of them starting back towards the bank of elevators.

“Hello, Brinkley.”

Melrose, her attention now on her duties as Brinkley's guardian, was unaware of the completely, utterly loving way in which Taj was smiling at her.

The rest of the day, as was per usual when getting ready to compete, was something of a whirlwind to Melrose DeBurke.

There were dozens of last-minute practices, consultations on how hair and makeup should be worn, with the squabble here and there over whether a girls' hair should be worn up or down, what style of false lashes to use on tiny lids, what colors would look best on what skin tones in combination with costumes.

(Also the forty-five minute break everyone had to take while Anniston pitched a fit in her mother's arms over having to have an extra layer of spray tan added, as Sara didn't think her daughter was “dark enough”. Once Anniston had screamed and flailed herself to hoarseness, she went on and allowed Kevin to add another layer of brown mystery liquid to her skin so that she looked at though she spent the entire year on a desert island.)

Again, Taj was a bit of an outsider looking in, but it didn't matter to him, so long as he was near Melrose.

And near her he remained the entire time. Nestled beside her anytime she sat, close by whenever she was up, his hand on her neck or the small of her back or hip.

He was aware of the curious stares his presence drew, with a litany of questions going unanswered.

But he didn't care, so long as Melrose was within his grasp wisps of her tuberose perfume wafting to his nose every so often.

The two weeks had been enough torture.

He wasn't ever going to be away from her again.

By eight o'clock, the din and chaos that had been Melrose DeBurke's hotel room had finally quieted down.

Her Fab Five were across the hall,supposedly asleep under the other mothers' watchful eyes, but by the sound of some type of K-Pop music audibly thudding, it was clear the little girls were having a slumber party.

Further down the hall, Kevin, Dean and the other dads were helping to prepare and roll hairpieces for their little girls.

Melrose's own work was just now complete, the last of the few hairpieces she needed for herself rolled and pinned to Styrofoam heads, her evening down, swimsuit and costumes for Outfit of Choice and Talent hanging in dry cleaner's bags in the closet.

For the first time all day, she was alone, seated in the center of the bed, eating a late dinner of what else, but a salad.

Taj had disappeared, but this time she knew where he'd gone—off to his room two floors above, to settle, shower and change his clothes.

He'd left a kiss on her lips with the promise he'd be back soon...and that he wanted to talk to her...about them.

Them...

Melrose's mouth curled around her fork as she ate more grilled chicken mixed with pecans, cranberries and butter lettuce.

Them, she was part of a them...

A couple.

With Taj.

Melrose and Taj; Taj and Melrose.

Even the sound of their names together was perfect.

Everything about Taj was perfect to her.

The way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he spoke to her.

Even his overkill apology with the room of roses...

Perfect.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The fork fell from her hand with a clank into the plastic bowl, the sudden knocking at her door startling her.

A mix of emotions that tumbled within her, Melrose herself nearly tumbled from the bed in a heap as she rushed to get up.

“Just a moment!”

She scuffled about, tossing the bowl and the remaining half a salad in the trash—in truth she had been too nervy to be fully aware she was even eating--pausing to fluff her hair in the mirror and spray on more of her beloved perfume.

At the door, she squared her shoulders, heart in her ears, and placed a hand on the knob.

To find Taj, loitering casually, hands shoved into the pockets of a dark, plaid satin robe, appearing to be the only garment on his body, as he stood barefoot in front of her.

His cologne was aggressive, and the bit of his neck revealed by the top of the robe showed it glossy and wet with copious amounts of the scent splashed on.

Great minds had thought alike.

His down turned, sleepy eyes were all over Melrose, taking her in as greedily as she was he.

The hair, still big and volumized, a bit less tamed than it had been earlier in the day, the clear, smooth skin of her bare face—it was a beautiful face that really didn't need all that was regularly piled upon it, the huge eyes, good bones and pouted lips—the voluptuous form barely contained by the black and pink leopard-print print satin of her nightgown, falling to the mid-thigh, exposing the right amount of leg to get his heart off to the races.

She was so sexy.

His type of sexy.

Classy.

“You...ahem...” Melrose's eyes darted to the shut door across the hall, where she could hear childish voices singing along to Korean lyrics which they didn't understand.

“...you wanted to talk to me...Taj?”

“Not entirely...”

A large hand pushed the door further, allowing him to saunter past her, into the room.

“I think we know where we stand with each other, now.” He informed her, slipping behind her, so closely his breaths were moving her hair, and causing goose-pimples to take her all over.

“Do we?” Melrose questioned, chest hurting as her heart beat so violently, Taj reaching around her, shutting the door, and locking both the deadbolt and chain.

“We do.” He asserted, gripping her left forearm and turning her to face him.

“How...” Melrose tested, pulling free of him and backing against the door. “How do I know you won't abandon me again?”

She didn't know what had compelled her to question this; it just popped out her mouth.

“You have to trust me.” Taj loomed over her, pink tongue dampening his glossy lips. “You trust me...”

“No...” Melrose started to turn her head, and found a strong hand forcing it back forward to face him.

“You trust me.” Taj repeated, his strong broad body pressing hers.

“No...” The word was muffled, as Taj pressed his mouth to hers, catching her in a bear hug, making it clear he refused to let her go.

Melrose futility tried to fight against him, push him away.

When she truly didn't want him to release her.

Tongue mashing its way down her throat.

With a smack, he breathed heavily into her face.

“Yes you do...” Taj spoke, Melrose gasping for air, dizzy with her knees buckling gripped his meaty shoulders through the satin, trying to remain upright.

“Tell me, you trust me.”

“Taj...” Was all Melrose could manage, his mouth assaulting hers once more, forcing her to submit to his bidding.

“Say it!”

“I... I...I trust you.” She sputtered, staggering as Taj suddenly released her, and she bumped the door drunkenly.

His smile was both warm and malicious, hands drifting down to the belt on his robe.

* * *

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Oh! AH! Ah! Ah!”

How had this happened?

What had led to this?

It was but a foggy memory in Melrose's fevered mind.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Oh! AH! Ah! Ah!”

Taj's hands had gone to the belt of his robe, untying it.

The plaid fabric falling to the ground.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Oh! AH! Ah! Ah!”

Revealing his naked body.

The pale, olive skin.

His body strong with muscle, a touch more plump than Melrose had realized but found enticing just the same.

The long neck, the broad shoulders...

The belly showing traces of six pack abs, with a line of black hair starting just above an innie bellybutton, fanning across meaty thighs, while concentrating into a triangular patch of wild coils directly on his pubis.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Oh! AH! Ah! Ah!”

A pubis from which sprang a vein adorned, girth of manhood which left Melrose both impressed and frightened.

Their eyes had met, hers filled with sudden trepidation, his with assured arousal.

There had been no time for words, for speech.

Talk did nothing but waste that precious time.

The next thing Melrose knew, she'd been flung onto the bed on her back.

Taj leaping on her like a lion on its prey.

“Oh God! Taj! Taj! Tajjy, please! TAJ!...”

There had been kissing.

So much kissing, to the point her mouth had ached.

His tongue had slipped mercilessly down her throat.

Was he trying to go after the bit of salad she'd consumed.

His hands....why there were everywhere.

Quickly the animal print gown were gone, along with the matching g-string, leaving her as naked as her lover.

Taj was a man crazed, kissing her all over, caressing her all over.

Her breasts had been fondled, nipples sucked and gnawed, that she could recall.

His lip prints were left all over her torso amplifying her excitement.

She'd clung to him, rubbing against him, holding him, taking in his deliciously, manly scent.

And then, like a sexy sequoia, Taj had fallen on her.

There they laid across the mess of a bed, pillows, sheets and comforter askew, a tangle of wanton, luxuria riddled bodies.

Melrose with both arms and legs wrapped around him, crying out to the rafters with every thrust of his beefy hips.

Plunging to depths she never even knew existed.

How large he was....she was amazed he'd even managed to fit inside of her.

Indeed he was stretching that moist, little ring of pleasure to its very limit with each rough pass.

“Taj! Tajjy! Taj! Damn---TAJ!” She repeated, gasping off into his shoulder, starting to go slick from the exertion, beads of sweat popping up all over as he was slowly turning bodily red.

She felt so good to him, the way her tightness seemed to encapsulate his dick.

With her eyes closed in nasty merriment, she was unable to see the devilish grin taking Taj's face, perspiration from his swarthy face rubbing off onto her delicate one.

He stopped.

“What...” Melrose realizing the rhythmic meeting of their loins, his fuzzy, hers hairless had come to a halt, those cognac eyes fluttered open, as the weight of his body, pressing hers into the mattress lessened.

Taj sat back, still attached to her, a hand going to his chin.

“I just wanted to admire you for a sec, Sugar...” He chuckled, looking first at the stunning, crimson-cheeked face, then down at the still bouncing orbs standing up so proudly.

Wiping the dampness from his brow and Melrose beamed up at him, hand slipping between his pecs and down his stomach, hissing,

“I could say the same for you, Honey.”

It was baffling to her how'd she'd managed to live thus far without him.

After this....

They had their entire lives together after this.

Grasping one of her hands, Taj brought it to his mouth, lips brushing the sweet, soft flesh.

“You'll never know how badly I've wanted you...needed you, Baby...” He whispered, slipping off the bed and onto his feet, eliciting a small gasp from Melrose as their bodies became two again.

“I...wanted you too...” Melrose confessed, Taj pulling her up into a seated position on the side of the bed.

“Since we met?” Taj asked, churlish grin on his face, as he been since that fated day four weeks ago.

“Yes...” Melrose purred, hands circling the skyward hunk of meat protruding so rudely from his groin.

“Girl...” He snarled, head falling back and a hand going to his chest, tapping it as the warm, wetness of her mouth took him, down to what seemed the very base of her esophagus.

Indeed her nose was colliding with the tuft of fur blanketing him, as she found her stride, hands on first his hips, then making their way around to grab onto his thick buttocks for stability.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! That's it! That's it! Mel!” Taj encouraged, head falling down to watch her, witness this act of private lewdness unfolding.

Taking her thick, lustrous locks to keep them from hindering her sucking him.

“Mel! Melrose! Your mouth! Oh God! Shit! Shit!”

Taj swore, voice deeper, twirling her hair in his fist to the point it was causing her scalp to throb, but she didn't care.

Melrose was far more excited, at the taste and touch of Taj.

The smell of his cologne seemed fused with his DNA and it was all she could inhale.

Grip further tightening, Taj was beginning to bump his crotch against her face, effectively starting to outright fuck her little mouth.

“Suck that cock....Suck it....that's it...get it right...Shit...Damn, girl, that's the spot....”

He was coaching hotly, enjoying how her little cheeks were going concave, and how strongly she was making a point to gobble after him.

“Yes, Baby...Love on me...Love on your man...Ugh! Ugh! Uuuuugh!”

Rocking backwards, Melrose allowed her mouth to slip down his quivering shaft just far enough so only his blushing, mushroom tip remained in her mouth.

Taj physically jumped at the sensation of her tongue circling it several times.

Below him, Melrose laughed around the premium beef and taking him with one hand, started to stroke him, kissing after his nuts, cradling them with her other hand.

“Damn...you know what you're doing...” Taj had made the remark, caught up in sexual glory, not expecting a reply, his head having sank back so he was staring at the ceiling .

“Of course, I know what I'm doing...” Warm breaths caused the hair on his balls to dance.

“I've only thought about it every moment of every day.”

Taj's head snapped back forward eyes meeting hers a scant second, then she was sucking on his left nut.

“You saucy little bitch...”

A hand was laid on her bicep, with Melrose being yanked to her feet in one fluid motion.

Mouths were crushing, Taj's hand on the back of her neck as he attacked her mouth once more with his tongue, her nails raked through his hair and across his silken back, the pair of them tumbling onto the bed.

Somehow in the fray, Melrose was flipped onto her stomach, Taj's deftly positioning her so that she rested on her hands and knees in front of him.

The mirror on the doors opposite the bed displaying them to each other.

Through her wild, disheveled hair, Melrose could just make out Taj holding onto himself, a droplet of saliva falling from his pursed lips onto his swollen, already dampened mass.

Hand, warm and soft, rested on Melrose's slim hips, pulling her full posterior closer, and closer, and closer...

“Ah!” She keened, back arching as Taj forced himself deeply into her, at the same time grunting himself over her spectacular tightness.

How long had it been since she had a man to treat her the way she needed; he didn't know, but he was going to be the man for the job anyway.

POP! POP! POP!

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Wait! Taj! Stop!”

Immediately, with his strokes hitting her much more intensely than before, Melrose was thrown into a panic and doing her best to crawl away from him.

POP! POP! POP!

“No....no!” The hold on her hips tightened, Taj telling her. “I came here to fuck....I'm gonna fuck you.”

“Taj! Taj please.” Her head drooped and she was being smacked in the face by her own jiggling boobs. “I'm gonna come--”

“THAT'S THE DAMN POINT!” Taj cackled, leaning over her, each hand on one of her glorious breasts.

“God, you got the best titties I've ever seen!”

Slowly, Taj was hunching over her, never breaking his stride, eyes locked on the reflective glass, to see house how that equally gorgeous ass was rippling with stroke.

Then his ears picked up on it.

Very mild, almost at a whisper, but he could hear it.

Coming from Melrose, whom had latched on to a pillow and was squeezing it for dear life.

“Harder! Harder! Fuck me, harder! Harder! Taj! Tajjy! Tajjy! Harder! AH! AH! AH!”

As if he needed to be asked.

“UGH! UGH! UGH!”

Strong hands released the breasts where they went back to swatting Melrose in the face, Taj gripping onto her shoulders for leverage.

“UGH! UGH! YOU'RE SO....GOOD! GODDAMN IT!” Taj was snarling over her head, Melrose whimpering unintelligibly at that point, nails digging into the pillow to the point her acrylics threatened to pop off.

Suddenly, Melrose was overwhelmed.

Her flushed, perspiring little face was jammed into the pillow where her screams were muffled, and Taj felt it.

The walls that had been so loving, so tight around his rod began flexing wildly, and as he continued to drive himself back and forth, in and out, a fresh wetness made itself know, in random little spurts.

“Yes...yes Baby Doll...” He mumbled leaning over her to kiss at her neck and cheek.

“That's what I wanted...for you to get wet for me...”

Continuing to breathe heavily, in tandem with each other, Melrose felt Taj pulling free of her.

His slickened mass being tapped against her supple buttocks.

“Aw!”

After a few moments, Melrose could feel him climaxing, hot little bursts of liquid exploding from his tip and dotting over her back.

Chuckling, Taj placed a large hand on her arm and flipped her over, cuddling himself next to her so that the pair of them were spooning atop the covers.

“That...was fantastic...” He chortled, brushing her hair from her face, kissing at her cheeks and nose playfully.

Melrose stared up at the swarthy, sweaty, scarlet face eyes wide as emotions flooded her, and she took his hand, tucking him nearer to her.

“I love you...”

“I love you, more.” Taj was already drifting to sleep, but by the way his arms were folded around her so tightly, she knew he meant.

Knew he was to never let go.

And she was happy.

* * *

Now, several hours later, Melrose was the furthest thing from happy.

Where had Taj gone?

Where was he?

Had it all been lies?

Had the two week disappearance been only the precursor to a more permanent abandonment?

There was no time...!

She didn't even have her phone on her to call him to curse him out.

Slowly pacing in the empty hallway, she struggled to fight back painful tears.

“Melrose!”

At the sound of her name, her head flew up.

From the elevators, a figure was racing towards her.

“Taj!”

He was running at full speed, some type of leather shoulder bag flying out behind him.

“Are you okay? Did I miss anything?” He asked arrived to her, grabbing a hand and pecking at her rouged cheek.

“No—where did you go? I...I thought you had left me!”

Melrose stammered squeezing after his larger hand.

Taj's face grew stony and he intoned,

“I told you: I'm never leaving you again, Melrose.”

The bag was indicated,

“I left my camera in my car by accident and had to go out and get it. I wanted to take pictures of you being crowned the winner--”

Half laughing half crying, Melrose pointed out,

“I haven't even competed yet; the Teen Division is still onstage!”

“Well...” A thumb gently swiped away a lay tear.

“Let's go in. I want to watch the woman I love beat everyone's ass!”

Reaching for the door, Melrose promised,

“I'll make you proud.”

“I already am.”

With that, the pair glided on into the ballroom, towards the group over dressed little girls and adults waving and smiling to them.

It didn't matter if Melrose Deburke took home the crown from that pageant or was the Grand Supreme Queen.

She already had her King.