THIRTY-FOUR

"SHE HAD TO KNOW THE PAIN WAS BEATING ON ME LIKE A DRUM

SHE UNDERESTIMATED JUST WHO SHE WAS STEALING FROM!"

———

July 22nd, 2018

Taylor stared at the photo.

Three years ago.

She was holding up the VMA moon-man statue, rainbows of light reflecting off of its platinum surface, as though it was the cure to an unsolvable illness. It had been over three years and yet she could still recall the feeling she had as she left the stage and walked back to her seat. All eyes were still on her, claps and cheers echoing because everyone still liked her in 2015. She remembered gazing out at the expensively dressed crowd in Microsoft Theater, realizing she was moving and yet it felt as though her gold-pointed heels weren't even touching the floor. It was a feeling of confidence she'd only truly experienced one other time, after winning Album of the Year. It was dominance.

To her left in the photo was Gigi, along with Martha and her friend, Selena, in the background. Even though she buried the event in the depths of her memory, it felt as though it had only happened yesterday. Sipping luxurious booze together in her dressing room before they walked the carpet; laughing loudly and conversing in shouts, like middle school girls in the back of a mini-van on their way to their first dance. As individuals, they each conveyed beauty and success. Together, they wrung out jealousy. And Taylor had thought the crowd that night, though respectful, was very much like a dirty mop.

To her right was the woman she literally fist-fought in the video she was holding the award for. Well—not literally. Thanks to several top-of-their-class editors, a renowned stunt coach, and the power of visual effects, it was made to look as though she was beating the shit out of Karlie Kloss—sorry, Knockout. All of her friends had portrayed characters in the video. But the day they filmed her scene with Knockout (Karlie) was another one of those moments that seemed far too familiar for how long ago it had occurred.

She remembered walking out to the center of the concrete-floored space wearing a strappy, black-leather ensemble that—like many of the...items...on the video set—had been purchased from a sex shop in Beverly Hills. Karlie arrived moments later in a tight, Tomb-Raider-esque outfit herself, wearing layers of dark, angry makeup only slightly less dramatic than Taylor's. They shot the scene multiple times. At least a dozen. Each time the director cut the scene, Taylor had found it even harder to stop staring at the model.

That night, they had snuck those outfits off the set, and it was the first of many that they fucked each other senseless.

The night of the 2015 VMAs was no exception. After an after-party filled with bass-heavy music and endless glasses of liquor, Taylor had found herself in the back of an SUV with the other blonde. Ted had been the one driving them back to the high-rise Hilton in downtown LA as their drunken laughter filled the backseat. She remembered him complimenting Karlie's orange dress. But the funny thing was, even with the photo now inches from her face, Taylor had no recollection of it. Over the course of the night, she had gone from pleasantly buzzed to fucking trashed, and from what she could recall, she ripped that thing off the model just barely after setting the moon-man down on their hotel room dresser.

Her feeling of dominance prevailed. Everything about that night had been an other-worldly display of power. She was on top of the music industry, in a top-floor presidential suite overlooking Hollywood and the Hills beyond, on top of the blonde fashion model she had become best friends and eventually utterly infatuated with. It was a dream that seemed like only those going to Hell could have experienced. It was incredible, yet luxuriously rotten.

Everything during that period of her life seemed as though it was drenched in a blissful, rose-colored fog.

Until it wasn't.

"Good morning." Dorothea walked barefoot into the kitchen, taking a yawning breath. Taylor was startled to realize that the sun was now peeking through the curtains. She must have been staring at that photo for over an hour.

"Hi." Taylor smiled, dropping her phone on the table beneath her. "How's the sugar hangover?"

"On par with tequila." Dorothea winced, grabbing the plug to the Keurig machine. She glanced at Taylor curiously. "Wait. How long have you been awake?"

"Far too long for not consuming a drop of caffeine," she joked.

"What had you up so early?" Dorothea asked, grabbing a second mug out of the cabinet.

"I had to pee, but then I couldn't go back to sleep." She answered with a casual tone, although the tone of her racing thoughts was anything but. Luckily, Dorothea didn't seem to want to press her for a more detailed explanation. She watched the younger woman as she stood at the coffee maker waiting for it to heat up, with one hand on her back and the other resting on her bump. Now that the eight-month mark was approaching, there was no hiding it; any passing stranger would have assumed by the perfectly round, swollen nature of her belly on her otherwise slender frame that she was pregnant.

Taylor wondered now and then about how it felt, especially now, as Dorothea could barely see her toes. But the bigger question was, how would it feel after? Would she feel relieved? Empty? Like a part of her she had become familiar with was missing? It was hard for her to imagine Dorothea as physically just...Dorothea.

Would that change anything? Of course not! she thought, feeling as though she should be reprimanded for such an idea even crossing her mind. She was in love with Dorothea as much as she was in love with the child they had yet to meet. Hell, she had fallen in love with her that night they sat nibbling on over-priced Whole Foods cookies in her apartment, before she even knew about the child.

An unwelcome feeling of apprehension filled Taylor's chest, but she was able to bury it as Dorothea came towards her and set the two steaming coffee mugs on the table.

They sat quietly for a few moments, sipping their drinks and looking out the window. There was a thick, brutal yellow haze settling over the horizon. Despite the storms the night before, it was most likely going to be another humid steam bath of a show on their second night in New Jersey. Dorothea's feet would most likely end up swelling too large for her shoes.

"I realized the other day that Ivy's going to be a summer baby," Dorothea said, her gaze on the garden.

"Just like you," Taylor said.

"Does that make you feel left out?" She asked.

"As an almost winter baby?" Taylor laughed, shaking her head. "I like that I was born in December. It's such a happy, festive time of year. I know that isn't the case for everyone, but I was lucky. My mom and dad went all out during the holidays."

"Same." Dorothea laughed, eyes becoming distant, as though remembering. "I'm not sure who was crazier. The day after Thanksgiving my mom basically transformed our house into the North Pole. Sometimes she put on Jingle Bells before any of us had even eaten a bite of pecan pie. But my dad...he somehow always took it to the next level."

"Really?" Taylor asked. She was suddenly filled with a soft, aching feeling as she thought about the girl's late father.

Dorothea nodded solemnly. "It was his favorite holiday." She traced the rim of her cup absently with the tip of her finger. "He would have made this year's the best one yet. For Ivy."

Taylor felt the sting of approaching sadness behind her eyes, though she didn't want to cry. Instead, she felt her mind transport her back to a time that she and Karlie had gone out to dinner in the East Village. It was an early December night, wickedly cold. The restaurant was packed to the gills with weekend tourists who had visited the tree in Rockefeller Center and shopped for gifts. It would have been the perfect opportunity to avoid eating out, except Taylor had just gotten back to the US from Melbourne after her final shows for the 1989 tour, and her body clock was upsidedown. She couldn't even recall where the spatulas were in her kitchen, let alone what day it was.

Taylor had glanced at a table next to theirs as she sipped from her glass of wine. There was a family, mom and dad, with four kids. The youngest looked no older than two or three, while the oldest could have been a preteen. They were loud and had a naturally chaotic presence that a family of that size would create. It was a fascinating possibility to think about.

"Do you ever think about your future kids?" Taylor asked.

Karlie had stopped mid-sip of her Merlot, laughing uncomfortably. "Is that what's next on your agenda? What about the next album, what's it called?"

Taylor ignored her, deciding this was the topic they would stick with, at least until the bread came to the table. "You've never imagined the kids you might have? What they'd look like? Their names?"

"I'm twenty-four," Karlie said.

"Lots of people think about kids at twenty-four. Lots of people have kids at twenty four," Taylor said.

"Are you saying it should be on my agenda?" The model laughed.

"I just think it's weird that you've never thought about it," Taylor clarified. "Not even what season they might be born. Or even celebrating Christmas? Getting to pretend Santa's real again!"

"I have thought about it," Karlie chuckled. "The kids. Not the Santa part. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn't?" She shrugged.

Taylor stared at her, baffled. "So, if you never had kids, you'd be okay with that?"

"What can I say? I'm okay with taking the selfish approach. Besides," Karlie said, her voice low as she leaned across the table, "I think we can both agree that there are benefits to inconsequential sex."

But sex was never inconsequential. While Karlie may not have been able to get her pregnant, she would always have a piece of Taylor and Taylor would always have a piece of her. It didn't matter how many relationships and years passed between them.

Which is why she shouldn't have been suprised that she posted the photo.

There was no caption other than a white heart emoji. She had tagged Gigi and Martha, as well, but not Selena. Figures. The two were never that close, especially when Taylor had gotten closer to Selena. Karlie had a jealous side and so did she. Taylor had felt it emerge, like opening an attic box covered in dust and cobwebs, when she encountered Sophie that night in London. That same, sickly green-eyed rage is what drove her to dump Karlie's belongings on the curb outside her TriBeCa place, the night she discovered she was being cheated on.

"Is that Gigi?" Dorothea hummed, craning her neck to see the photo. "And wait—That's you! I remember that outfit!"

"It was definitely a memorable one." Taylor laughed uneasily, clamping her hand over the smartphone and sliding it towards herself.

"You looked like you won the Super Bowl, holding that award," Dorothea chuckled.

"Trust me, it felt like I did." Taylor laughed. "Maybe even more dramatic than that."

"Ah. So I guess this ego of yours isn't a recent development?" Dorothea teased.

"Wish I could say it was," she sighed, "but the industry thrives off of monsters."

"Well I wouldn't say the photography industry is an exception," the brunette admitted. "Although, I'm not sure who's worse. The person behind the camera or the one in front of it."

Taylor let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Aside from Gigi and Martha, I'd say models are the most souless of all."