Authors: Arlene Brathwaite
“You’re not going to just stand there all night are you?” He asked, refilling his champagne glass. She moved to sit down beside him, but he held his hand up. “Whoa, I didn’t mean for you to sit down.” The last thing he needed was a woman sitting in his face while he tried focusing on the models parading up and down the runway half naked.
“I’m sorry,” she said, evidently embarrassed. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything else.”
He gave her the thumbs up and with a smile, he dismissed her.
“Enjoying yourself already I see,” Glenn said, eyeing the bottle of champagne as he walked up to the table and sat down.
“I was thirsty.”
“So you downed almost half a bottle of champagne.”
“I was really thirsty.”
“So, how’s the view?”
“This is what I’m talking about. This is how you’re supposed to treat your boy. Front row seats, private table…”
“Glenn—” a woman’s voice came from behind Saint.
Glenn stood up to greet her. “Olivia, how are you?” Saint almost choked on his drink when the woman walked around him and came into view.
“I
was
doing just fine. If you know what I mean.” Glenn saw a man walking toward them and put two and two together. “Hey, let me introduce you to a good friend of mine. Olivia, this is Clayton Andrews.” Saint hated when Glenn introduced him using his whole name. “And Clayton, this is Olivia Martin.”
“What’s good?” Saint said.
“What’s good?” Olivia arched her eyebrow and then looked at Glenn.
“I mean… How do you do ma’am?” Before she had a chance to respond, Saint felt someone brush past him. Olivia sat down at the table and drank from his glass.
“Like I was saying, Olivia…” the man started.
“Byron this is my husband, Clayton.” Olivia was lucky Byron didn’t make eye contact with Saint, because Saint was just as surprised as he was to hear those words come out of her mouth.
“Oh… I’m sorry…” He looked at Saint and stuck his hand out. “Byron Turner.”
Saint shook his hand. “Clayton Andrews.”
“Nice to meet you Mr. Andrews, I didn’t mean any harm by—” Saint held up his hand. “Do me a favor, Byron. Get lost. The show’s about to start.”
Both Glenn and Olivia were stunned at Saint’s bluntness. Without another word, Byron turned his glowing red face around, tucked his tail in between his legs and walked off.
“If you don’t mind,” Saint said to Olivia, “I was drinking that.”
She wiped the traces of her lipstick off the glass and slid it back to him. “I’m so sorry. That was rude of me.”
Glenn’s head whipped around when he heard his name. “I got to go. You two have fun. And Olivia, make sure that’s his last glass of champagne. He’s driving.”
“Hold up—” Before Saint could get his words out, Glenn melted into the crowd. Saint looked back to Olivia. Each time he looked at her, she seemed to become more beautiful. “So, Mrs. Andrews, when exactly did we get married? I must’ve been drunk out of my mind, because I don’t remember any of it.”
“Thank you for rolling with the story.”
“You’re real husband must go through hell every time y’all go out.”
“Actually, I’m not married.” She followed his eyes to the ring on her finger. “You’d figure this big ass rock would repel every man on the planet.”
“It seems like it’s having the opposite effect. Why would you want to keep men off you if you’re not married? I mean… you are beautiful, and you could have any man you want.”
“I don’t want a man, that’s the whole point of me wearing this big ass ring.”
“Oh… I see. Men aren’t your thing.”
“What? Oh hell no! I
love
men. I’m just not looking to get into a relationship right now. Speaking of relationships, you and Glenn…”
“Glenn’s my man.” Saint spoke before he realized what she was really asking him. “Whoa, whoa, he’s not my man as in
my man
. Glenn has his feminine ways, but he’s not… and I’m
definitely
not gay. Why would you ask me something like that anyway? Do I look gay?”
“I was just making conversation.”
“Well, change the subject.”
“Okay, so what do you do for a living?”
“Next subject.”
“Wow, that’s a first. I ask that question to the average man around here, and I can’t shut him up.”
Saint took a swallow from his glass. “I’m not the average man, I guess.” He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Let’s just say I work with numbers.”
“So, you’re an accountant or something?”
“Or something.”
Olivia nodded as her eyes dropped to the Omega Speedmaster on his wrist. She then looked up at the light beard and moustache contouring his face.
“So, what do you do?” Saint asked, bracing himself for her answer. He didn’t want to seem too impressed. Olivia reached into her purse and retrieved her business card. Saint took it from her. “Butta Cutz?” He read the back of the card, itemizing the services that her salon offered to men. He looked up at her. “You’re a barber?”
“Yes.”
“A barber, barber? Like you cut men’s hair with clippers and what not?”
“Yes.” Olivia could see him trying to conceal his smile. “You act like you’ve never heard of a female barber.”
“To be honest with you, I haven’t.”
“Well, you’re talking to one.”
Saint looked down at the card. “And you do manicures and pedicures?”
“And hot towel shaves and facials.”
“And dudes… I mean men actually come to your shop?”
“
You
need to come to my shop,” she said, checking out his hair cut.
“What? I just got my shit laced.”
“You just got zeeked. You didn’t pay for that did you?”
“What’s wrong with my taper?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“That’s what it’s supposed to be? There’s no blend, you can see the line going all around your head. Your points aren’t sharp, and your hairline—”
“What about my hairline?”
“It’s naturally crooked, so there’s one of two ways of dealing with it. The right way, which is, make an imaginary line or… like that.” She said pointing at his head. “Raising your points to square them off with the top of your hairline which exposes more of your forehead.”
“You trying to say I got a big forehead?”
Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “I’m saying that your barber is whack.”
Damn
, Saint said to himself.
She’s sexy as hell, speaks her mind, cuts hair, and owns her own barbershop.
He tried handing back her business card, but she shook her head.
“Keep it.”
He eyed her and couldn’t help but smile. “So, what brings you here?”
“One of my girls does some part-time modeling. So, I came to support her.”
“She’s a barber, too?”
“Don’t let her hear you call her that. She’ll go ballistic. She’s an Urban Hair Specialist.”
“And what’s the difference?” Before she had a chance to answer, the lights dimmed and a dark skinned gentleman in his early fifties walked onto the stage and stood at the podium.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Trevor Seeger, and I welcome you to my humble home for what promises to be the next hottest women’s clothing line.” Everyone applauded. “Please, welcome a good friend of mine, Glenn Lemora.” Everyone stood and applauded. Saint felt happy for Glenn. He was finally living his dream. Glenn introduced the first model. Saint arched an eyebrow as the brick house of a woman walked out in a three-piece, black lace outfit. She had to be at least six feet, two hundred and twenty pounds, but she was cute and curvy as hell.
“That’s my friend, Grace,” Olivia said, as they sat back down. Saint tried imagining Grace with a pair of clippers in her hand cutting hair. She walked to the end of the stage, strutting her stuff. She saw Olivia and winked at her. She gave Saint a curious glance and strutted back behind the stage as the next model walked out. Over the next thirty minutes, plus-sized models of every color, shape, and size showcased Glenn’s creations. Half way through the show, Grace made her way to Saint and Olivia’s table. She had on a powder blue pant and blouse ensemble.
“What’s up, girlfriend?” She slapped Olivia high-five.
“You were hurting ‘em, girl.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Grace batted her eyes.
“You definitely did your thing up there,” Saint said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Where are my manners,” Olivia said. “Grace this is Clayton. And Clayton this is Grace.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Saint said, shaking her hand.
“You’s a cute fella, and smooth. Don’t be trying to talk to my friend. You see that big rock on her finger, right?”
“He knows about the ring.”
“Damn, girl, did you give him your social security number and bank account numbers, too?”
“We were just making conversation.”
Grace looked Saint up and down. “You know how to fight?”
“Grace…” Olivia said, embarrassed.
“Why?” Saint asked.
“If you plan on getting with my girl, you better know how to fight, because her brothers are overprotective.”
“Brothers?” Saint asked.
“All four of them.”
“It’s not that kind of party, Grace,” Olivia said.
“I just figured I put the brother on point. Let’s not forget what happened to the last one.”
“The last one?” Saint asked.
“Okay, time for us to mingle,” Olivia said, as she stood up and grabbed Grace by the arm. “Nice to have met you. And thanks again for earlier with that creep.”
“Not a problem. Take care of yourself. Hey, I might even stop by your barbershop.”
“Barbershop? No he didn’t just call your salon a barbershop.” Grace said, as Olivia pulled her away. Saint watched them as they disappeared into the crowd of the rich and powerful. He heard Glenn announcing that the swimsuit segment was next. He was so engrossed in Olivia’s looks and personality that what was supposed to be the highlight of his evening was nothing more than a blur of women walking back and forth. Olivia was a small woman, the type that would fit snug under his arm, petite, but not boyish. She had the body of a lean, but shapely gymnast. For the rest of the night, he watched her work the crowd. She blushed, she smiled, she laughed, and her business cards seem to magically find their way into the hands of those who stopped to talk to her.
She reminded him of a woman in his past life. A fast talker, a shot caller. I’m a tax paying, working stiff, he said to himself. I love my boring life. I… love my boring life. He finished the last of his champagne, and admitted to himself that he hated his boring ass life.
At the end of the show, Glenn closed out with a teary dedication to all those who believed in him and gave him the chance to showcase his gift to the world. As fate would have it, Saint and Glenn bumped into Olivia and Grace while waiting for the valets to bring their cars around.
“Thank you again, for letting me model for you tonight,” Grace said, hugging Glenn and kissing him on the cheek.
“The pleasure was all mine, girl. You brought out the sass in everything you put on.”
Grace looked over at Saint. “You’re a fashion designer as well?”
“He’s an accountant,” Olivia said.
“He’s a wh—” Glenn started to say.
Saint slapped him on the shoulder. “Yo, that show was definitely what was up.”
“Yeah,” Glenn said, rubbing his shoulder.
The valet pulled up Olivia’s smoke grey Mercedes S-Class.
Saint stuck his chest out when the valet pulled his BMW Z4 along side Olivia’s ride.
“Nice wheels,” she said.
“It gets me from point A to point B,” he said humbly.
“Take care of yourself, Clayton.” Olivia waved at him as she climbed into her car. Saint waved at her as he got into his and pulled off.
“It gets me from point A to point B,” Glen said mockingly.
“So, what’s the deal with Miss Olivia?”
“She’s a good girl, Saint.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. She’s just not your type.”
“And what’s not my type?”
“She’s an honest girl.”
“And what’s your point?”
“My point is, it didn’t take you more than five minutes before you lied to her. An accountant, Saint?”
“I told her that I work with numbers.”
“You teach Math at the Adult Learning Center!”
“So, you’re saying that she wouldn’t be interested in a math teacher?”
“Not one who told her he was an accountant.”
“I never told her I was an accountant.”
“I didn’t see you breaking your neck trying to correct her wrong assumption.”
“I didn’t see the need. Outside of these shows, we’re never going to see each other.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?”