Retribution: Throat Diva 2

29

A smart bitch never lets a nigga know her next move

I turn the cold water on, then splash some on my face. I glance up into the mirror, staring at my reflection. I'm exhausted. By the time I finished up with Bianca's hair this morning, the salon all of a sudden got packed, which is always a blessing given the way the economy is. Still I had hoped to leave early today. However, as you can see, that didn't happen.

I got hit with three walk-ins. One was a wash and curl, which wasn't a problem. Another wanted a perm and cut. Then there was a baldhead chick with double E breasts that wanted a sew-in weave, but didn't want anything done with her unibrow. Whatever. I had never seen her before, but she asked specifically for me. So, I took her. But it took me almost an hour and forty-five minutes to remove the raggedy shit she had glued up on her scalp. Fucking with her ass put me behind schedule. And the one thing I don't like to do is keep any of my clients waiting any longer than they have to.

I swear, I don't know what the hell these chicks are thinking when they let some makeshift beautician slap glue all up in their shit, especially a chick who doesn't have much hair to begin with.

Anyway, I love what I do. Wouldn't change anything about it. But some days I just don't have it in me to be on my feet all damn

day, listening to a bunch of cackling, gossiping-ass bitches. But then I see the finished product, the fruits of my creativity and labor, and the smiles on my clients' faces as they strut their new looks out the door, and it's all worth it throbbing feet and all. Anyway, my last client walked up out of here thirty minutes ago. And Kendra finished her last appointment ten minutes after mine left.

Now the only two people still here in the shop are Mel and me. And all I want to do is lock up and get home so I can take off these clothes and curl up in my bed with a chilled bottle of chardonnay.

I splash more water on my face, replaying this morning's new over in my head. All day, the fires were the hot topic of the day. They appeared on every news channel and it's all clients talked about.

I bet Jasper's black ass is sick right about now! Stash houses down, street soldiers down.

Everything around you is going to crumble, nigga!

I reach for a towel and pat my face. Then brush my teeth and gargle. Finally I dig through the emergency make-up kit I keep under the sink and pull out an applicator of concealer to smooth out the puffiness under my eyes. When I am satisfied, I apply a coat of cherry wine lipstick over my lips, then a coat of lip gloss to make them pop. No matter how I might be feeling on the inside, I'll never let myself step out looking any kind of way.

I open the door, flicking off the light and stepping back out into my office. I jump.

"Ohmygod!

You scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?"

Stax gets up from the sofa, removing his Brooklyn Nets fitted from his head. "My bad. Didn't mean to startle you, Pash. I wanted to come through to check on you. To make sure you're aiight."

I rush over to my desk; an uneasiness in my stride, making a mental note to give Mel holy fucking hell when Stax leaves for

sending people to my office without alerting me first.

Mmmph. If Lamar were here, his ass wouldn't have gotten back here.

I raise my brow, eyeing him. He's wearing a long-sleeved True Religion T-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans. I glance down at his Timb-clad feet, then back up at him.

"Do I

look

all right to you, Montgomery?"

He cringes. "Oh, wow that's how you really doin' it, Pash?" No one in his personal space ever refers to him by his birth name. They either call him Monty or Stax his street name. He rubs his chin, nodding. "I know you're goin' through it right now"