Authors: Charlotte Swanpol
Chapter 1
“Trina, got room for one more today?” Ally’s voice echoed from the front.
Everything from my aching feet to my throbbing head wanted to say no, but I knew that I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I have several slots still open and I needed the damn money. Most days I loved my job. This was not one of those days, not at all.
“When?” I asked, hoping like hell it was a time that I was already booked.
“5 or 6,” her voice was agitated, as if I should be able to just say yes or no without any further information.
“I can do 6,” sighing, I resigned myself to yet another hour of being here. “But that’s it for the day. I’m out after that.”
“Gotcha!”
If the world were fair, it’d be a guy coming in for a quick trim and willing to tip well. Problem was, my world was never very fair. Hell, if it’d been fair I wouldn’t be working in this shop.
Don’t get me wrong; being a hairdresser is what I wanted. Some do it because it’s quick schooling and quick career. I mean who could imagine a day when there’d be no one paying to have their hair done? It just wasn’t going to ever happen. I did it because I love doing hair. Been doing it since I was old enough to hold a pair of scissors.
I just never dreamed I’d be just another stylist in a cheap salon filled with grumpy staff and even grumpier clients. That day alone I’d dealt with four screaming kids, two very self-absorbed women that wanted the impossible and a man that felt I should cut his hair for five bucks. No one was ever happy. Instead they spent the entire time bitching about the cost and necessity of hair care or that I had somehow messed up because they didn’t leave the chair looking like their favorite celebrity.
Whatever had happened to my dream? Rent a booth in an upscale salon and build up money and clientele so I could open my own shop. Oh that’s right. Bills.
Well, and the fact that upscale white women seemed to think a woman of color could not do their hair the same. At least that’s what the owner of the one place I’d applied had told me. She suggested I start in a place like this and have a portfolio to show before attempting to branch out into the major leagues.
There were days I wished I could respond as I’d like to. But I didn’t. I kept myself calm and presented a professional demeanor. Then I griped and moaned to my best friend Chelle and we had several drinks to calm me down.
I know it seems as though I complain a lot. I really don’t. It had just been a really rough day and I wanted to get out of the shop and try and relax. Most days weren’t like this.
Making a quick call to Chelle, I let her know that I wouldn’t make it by six as I had a new client coming in. We postponed until seven-thirty so that I’d have time to get my shit together before we met. If it weren’t for my nightly cocktails with her, I think I may be in line for a prison term.
“Trina,” Ally walked up behind me and I felt the tension building in my neck. “I was curious if you could work Saturday?”
I didn’t like Ally on a good day. She wasn’t a stylist, just a receptionist. Which somehow gave her the idea that she could act as manager and run around telling us what we needed to do. I was not as obliging as she might prefer.
“No. This is my weekend off.”
“Well Debbie is sick with the flu and we are going to be short-handed on our busiest day of the week.”
“And I have plans and will not be able to play back-up this weekend. I take one weekend a month off and this is it. I’m sorry.”
Truthfully I wasn’t sorry. She knew how my schedule worked. I seldom turned down extra days, but anytime it was the weekend I had off I would be more than happy to refuse. Yet every single time she felt the need to ask.
“It’s fine. I just knew that you needed money and so I thought that you might want to come in.”
My skin crawled as she said that and I wondered who exactly had shared my private info. Probably no one. She had a habit of listening in when she wasn’t welcomed to.
“Well, unfortunately I’m going to have to pass.” I told her, refusing to let her see that she had bothered me. “Now my station is all cleaned up and I have no one scheduled for another hour. I’m going to run next door and grab a bite to eat before my next appointment.”
Before she had a chance to object, I turned and walked away, breezing past the reception desk, waiting walk-ins and out the front door. I’d worked for six hours so far and still had three before I could leave. I was going to eat.
Chapter 2
“Markus?” Walking into the small waiting area, I called out the client’s name and silently hoped that it was the hot one of the three sitting.
“That’s me,” the gorgeous man smiled, revealing a set of the whitest and most perfect teeth I had ever seen. “Sorry for the last minute appointment.” He offered as I led him back to my ‘booth’-- which was really just a chair among the many others in a large room.
“It’s no problem,” assuring him with a smile, I was grateful that I’d agreed.
He had to be six feet tall and built like a damn model. His skin was a nice deep bronze color; clearly the result of tanning, and his eyes a soft brown. Even through the snug t-shirt I could see how muscular his body was and wanted to ask if he worked out regularly.
I could see Abby watching us from the front and I turned and offered her a smile. Yes, I can be a bitch.
“So what are wanting today Markus?” he had already sat down in the chair and been prepared.
“Nothing major,” he shrugged. “A trim, neaten it up a bit and maybe fix my fuck up in the back?”
Looking at his neck I could see what he was talking about. Someone had been trying to do their own hair and been very unsuccessful. An uneven line and three different lengths were the only result he achieved.
“You might wanna stay away from the clippers my friend,” I laughed. “Lucky for you, it wasn’t worse. I can remedy this problem without having to drastically alter the length.”
“Thank God,” he replied again with that smile.
I had a feeling this dude could have asked me to carry him across the country on his back and if he’d done so with that smile I’d have given it my best. We didn’t often get guys that sexy in our salon. Most of them paid higher rates to feel they were getting a more elegant experience.
“This your first time here?” Making conversation was a part of the job. Customers felt more comfortable and the tips were typically higher. This time, however, I was doing it because I really just wanted to talk to this man. “Who normally does your hair?”
“My wife,” I could feel my heart sink. Well damn, that figures. “But she passed away last year and I haven’t replaced her yet.”
“As a wife or as the one that cuts your hair?” Once the question had come out, I regretted it. I just knew he’d find it rude, though that wasn’t the intention. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
“You’re fine,” he laughed. “It was funny. I guess the answer is both?”
If he’d smile at me like that I’d take both positions. I couldn’t wait to tell Chelle about this one. Nothing ends a horribly no good, bad day like staring into the eyes of the perfect man for a while. I wondered if I could get by with stretching out his appointment just so I didn’t have to watch him leave-- though I imagined the view would be good.
“Well I can offer my service; as the stylist I mean,” smiling I pulled out the clippers and immediately began working on the mess he’d made.
“Not up for the wife challenge, huh?” I liked the way his humor allowed him to be comfortable joking about a serious topic. “That’s disappointing.”
I felt my stomach do flip-flops even though I knew he was likely just joking. It wasn’t like I could ask the man. Are you serious? Do you want me to marry you? How utterly insane would I sound then?
Besides, I had no intention of marrying anyone. Not even the stud in my chair. But I certainly wouldn’t discount the idea of maybe a romp in the hay or two. Perhaps even a dinner.
God, I was a mess. If Chelle were there, she’d just shake her head and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.
“My humor must be slipping,” he added when I never responded. “Usually stuff like that gets a laugh and a response. I didn’t even get a smile.”
“I’m a tough crowd,” I teased. “It takes more than that to get a smile out of me.”
“Want to give me a hint?”
“So that’s your goal now? Get me to smile as I do your hair?”
“Maybe,” his eyes showed signs of mischief. “Perhaps that’s my mission in life; make pretty girls smile.”
Once again I felt the flip-flops. Was this man for real? If not, he was one hell of a flirt.
“Well then I’d suggest you step up that game Markus,” I offered, sitting down the clippers and grabbing scissors. “So far the only thing that’s made me smile is this whack job you did on your hair.”
“Ouch,” he laughed. “That was harsh.”
Something told me this guy was going to be in my dreams later. Smile or not, I liked him. Probably more than it was safe for me to admit, even to myself.
Chapter 3
“No way,” Chelle laughed as she sipped on her margarita. “How the hell does something like that even happen?”
“Luck?” I suggested. “I mean I’d say it’s about time I had some that was good, don’t you think?”
I had just told my best friend about my experience with Markus, including the fact that he’d asked me out for the weekend. After he’d walked out of the shop, I’d had to pinch myself. I did not believe it one bit.
By coincidence, I had been the one to take the appointment with the tall, dark and handsome stranger. It was me that was privileged enough to spend damn near an hour with him, though his cut would have only taken ten minutes on anyone else, and enjoy his humor and that kill me smile. Not only that but in a salon full of cute, thin bubbly girls; he had chosen to ask me out?
“I don’t know girl,” Chelle developed her protective mother voice. “What if he’s just lonely and looking for someone to keep his bed warm?”
“Honey if you’d seen the man YOU would offer to keep his bed warm.”
“I highly doubt that,” she laughed.
We both knew the chances of that were slim to none. Chelle was already involved and had never been the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. I, however, alternated between being the one night stand and the friend with benefits; both by my own choice.
“What is it with you and your thing for white guys?” she asked, reaching for some salsa.
“I don’t have a thing for white guys. I don’t have a thing for any specific guys. Just sexy ones and sweet ones and ones that make me melt with a look. Just so happens a lot of sexy sweet delicious white guys are interested in me. Doesn’t mean I’d pass up a man of color.”
“I think it’s more that you have a thing against commitment. So you go for any guy that you know is safe.”
“Safe? From what?”
“From the commitment thing.”
“You think too much Chelle,” I laughed, signaling the waiter to refill our drinks.
“I just know my best friend. I haven’t been by your side all these years and not picked up on a thing or two.”
I wasn’t going to argue with her. She was right. I did not tend to give much attention to guys that I felt were attainable permanently. There was nothing in me that wanted to be tied to any man for any reason. I mean when I was involved with someone I was faithful; it wasn’t about that. I just didn’t want to think that I’d have to consider someone else before myself when it came to life decisions. I most certainly didn’t need a man to take care of me and I didn’t want to have to do that for him.
Not to say I’d never been serious. I’d dated Will for three years. We’d lived together for six months. Bastard had cheated on me with one of his co-workers. It went on for three months before I found out and told him to go move in with her. That was about the time my views on men changed.
Relationships complicated things. Seriously complicated things. Emotions complicated things. I preferred to keep it simple.
I would never find myself having to move unexpectedly because I could no longer afford the expenses. I would never again feel the pain as I realized I’d put my trust and faith into another and they’d let me down.
Chelle and I continued to snack on chips, salsa and margaritas while discussing life. I told her of my shitty day, she told me about bagging a big account at the bank. It was what we did. We would get together, discuss our life, bounce ideas, solve problems and generally de-stress before heading home to sleep and start again the next day.
Her man sometimes got super jealous of our nightly ritual, but he had learned to deal with it. It was something that was not going to change, ever.
“How’s Derek,” thinking about him reminded me to ask.
“Same shithead he’s always been,” she laughed. “He’s been talking about marriage lately.”
“Oh God,” I moaned. “Surely you aren’t?”
“I’m not you, Tri,” she reminded me with a smile. “I actually want the white picket fence, 2.3 kids and a dog.”
“Why? What’s wrong with being single and independent?”
“When have I ever been independent?”
She was right. Chelle had never even lived alone. Not for one moment in her life. Roommates, boyfriends, family; everyone had occupied her home. I wondered at times if she might die of sadness should she ever be forced to spend time alone.
“Maybe you should try it,” it was recurring suggestion that she continuously ignored. “It’s fun.”
“You don’t ever think you are missing out? I mean really, just between us? Do you never wonder what it’d be like to come home to someone?”
“Yep,” I admitted. “Then I remember when I was coming home to someone who was plowing his friend on the desk at his office. I was making dinner and he was taking her out.”
“They aren’t all like that,” she spoke softly. “There are men that would love you completely, never looking at another.”
“I’ll skip taking my chances on that.”
“Someday you are going to have to get over the past and Will. Give another man a chance to love you. If for no other reason than that you deserve to be loved.”
“I’m okay Chelle,” I assured her. “I’m happy with my life.”
Though I said the words, I didn’t fully believe them. Even as we were walking out, saying our goodbyes, I knew that deep inside a part of me did want to be loved. Another part didn’t believe it would happen. Turns out the part that didn’t want to be hurt again was stronger than either of them.
So I’d just have to settle for a life of dates and amazing sex with the likes of Mr. Markus. I’d say that’s a pretty damn good consolation prize.