Authors: Linda Verji
Giving herself a mental shake, Shakira said, “Hi, it’s Shakira. Shakira Dalton.”
“Yes, Shakira.” The way he rolled her name on his tongue made her think of silk sheets, warm chocolate and tangled limbs.
Licking her suddenly dry lips, she stumbled over her words, “I… I know I… I promised to transfer the money to your account by today…” Ignoring London who was silently mimicking her stuttering, she continued, “…Unfortunately I’m having a few problems with my account. However I’ll make sure you get the money by Monday. Is that okay?”
There was a long pause on his end before he said, “Sure.”
“Okay, thanks.”To avoid further embarrassing herself, she ended the phone call.
“Shakira and Nathan sitting on a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G!”London sang teasingly
“Shut up.” Shakira mushed London’s head. However the ribbing didn’t let out until the bus dropped them at their stop. It was a short walk to
Nappy Palace
. Shakira furrowed her brow the closer they got to the salon. A pink Honda Fit was parked only a few feet from the entrance.
“Isn’t that Eve’s car?” London asked, noticing it too.
“Dunno,” Shakira answered as she craned her neck to see the plates. There was no mistaking them. That was Eve’s car. Her mother was still in town. Shakira’s heart sped up in a happy tune as her steps hastened.
Maybe Eve wasn’t as bad as she thought and had stayed behind to confront the consequences of her actions – for once.
CHAPTER 4
Even for a Saturday morning,
Nappy Palace
was booming. The moment they entered the salon, the smell of chemicals, oil and burning hair assaulted Shakira’s nose. However, the scents whirling in the large rectangular space were nothing compared to the noise level. The chattering of the multitude of clients who occupied every swivel seat was punctuated by the sound of running dryers and the latest rhythm and blues tunes playing in the background.
Though the salon was painted in an airy pastel shade of purple and had mirrors lining each wall, it still seemed overcrowded. Even so, Miss Wendy, the proprietor, spotted them immediately.
“Shakira? Is that you?” Her voice thundered over all the clamoring and drew every one’s attention towards the door where Shakira and London stood. Straight away, the commotion level increased as everyone welcomed Shakira. Given the warm welcome it was hard to believe that they’d all been at the courthouse the previous day cheering the loudest when the jury had pronounced Shakira innocent.
Shakira took it in strides. She was used to it – to them.
Nappy Palace
was the closest thing she’d ever had to a home. Her nana and Miss Wendy had been close friends and most of Shakira’s infancy had been spent toddling around the salon.
When Nana had died when Shakira was eight, Eve had come back for Shakira. Nine years later, tired of ‘touring’ the US with Eve and all her ‘friends’, Shakira had applied for emancipation and had come back home. Miss Wendy had given her a job in the salon washing hair and a place to stay while she finished high school and college.
Abandoning the client whose hair she’d been perming, Miss Wendy strode towards Shakira and engulfed her in a warm embrace. The older woman was even shorter than London, though rotund, and the strands of her auburn streaked weave tickled Shakira’s nose.
While she embraced everyone else, Shakira unobtrusively searched the room for Eve. There was no sign of her. Shakira’s heart dropped.
Maybe she stepped out for a little bit.
She tried to bolster her own hope. After all, Jeanine, as Eve called her car, was almost as much Eve’s sidekick as Shakira had been. Eve took it with her everywhere and it had more mileage on it than a seventy year old salesman.
She’s here somewhere
.
“Were those people even feeding you?” Miss Wendy clucked disapprovingly as she gave Shakira an up and down once-over.
“She needs some cornbread in them thighs,” the client Miss Wendy was working on suggested.
“Alisha,” Miss Wendy shouted out as she parted another section of the client’s hair and slathered it in white cream. “Alisha.”
A light-skinned, thick girl walked out of the storage area with a broom in her hand. “Uhn uh!”
“Uhn uh!” Miss Wendy mocked. “What you think this is? That the way I taught you to answer people?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Alisha answered obediently. She was most likely one of Miss Wendy’s kids. Miss Wendy was the resident foster mom. With many foster parents preferring younger children, Miss Wendy was one of the very few who took teenagers in and had had over thirty teens pass through her house including London.
To Alisha, she said, “Go up to the house and get Shakira some of that okra and chicken.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Oh no.” Shakira rushed to forestall the inevitable force-feeding. In
Nappy Palace
being slender meant that you obviously weren’t eating well. “She doesn’t have to. I’m not-”
“Nonsense.” Miss Wendy cut her off with a wave of her hand as she turned back to Alisha. “And tell Raheem and Dezzy that they better not leave the darn house until they’ve fixed Mr. James window.”
“What’d they do to Mr. James window?” The client turned slightly in her seat to look at Miss Wendy.
“Those little niggas!” Miss Wendy kissed her teeth before she launched into the tale of two fifteen year olds boys, a girl, a bet, a basketball and an unsuspecting window. It was enough to attract the attention of more clients and beauticians. Soon the area was a sea of ‘
Mm mm mm
’, shaking of heads and kissing of teeth as they egged on Miss Wendy. Miss Wendy only paused to get two of her girls to start undoing Shakira’s hair.
While they worked on her hair, Shakira’s gaze shifted between the main door and the rest of the salon to make sure she hadn’t missed her mother. Somehow in the commotion, London had managed to slink away without Miss Wendy noticing and was now at the sinks, apron on and washing a client’s hair. But still there was no Eve.
Finally the impatience kicked in. Turning slightly in the chair, Shakira asked, “Miss Wendy, have you seen Eve?”
“She passed by yesterday night.” Miss Wendy said. Shakira’s heart sunk. ‘Passed by’ meant Eve wasn’t here. Reaching behind her, Miss Wendy unlocked, then pulled open a drawer and handed Shakira a black pouch. “Said to give you this.”
Struggling to keep her disappointment from showing on her face, Shakira unzipped the pouch and peeked inside. In it rested a bunch of keys including one to the Honda, a rolled up wad of money and a white envelope. Her heart sunk further. The money didn’t even look close to twelve thousand dollars. Swallowing through the lump of tears chocking her, Shakira extracted the letter and read it.
Dear Shakira,
I know you got to be spitting mad at me, but I’m so sorry, baby. I thought for sure you were going in, so you wouldn’t need the house. I’m sorry. I spent most of the money, but I’ve left you a couple of thousand – actually just $1,500. But Damon (the rapper I told you about) promised to front me the rest if I hang with him for a couple of weeks.
I’m also leaving you Jeanine just in case you need somewhere to sleep. Nathan didn’t want some of the furniture and your clothes so I moved them to a container. Raheem and Dezzy know where the warehouse is.
I’m really sorry, baby. I promise I’ll get the money really soon.
Eve.
Shakira’s eyes stung with unshed tears as she tucked the letter back into the pouch. She wanted to give credit to Eve for trying to fix the trouble she’d wrought, but she just couldn’t. Most likely, this was the extent of Eve’s help.
How many promises had she made before and not come through? She’d promised to help buy supplies for Shakira when she’d come back to finish high school. That promise had only lasted for the first term. After that Shakira had had to fund herself.
Eve had promised to help with Shakira’s college fees. She hadn’t even come up with enough for the first semester of the first year. She’d promised rent, a car, clothing, to be a better mother…but never lived up to her word. Shakira had learnt not to expect more than what Eve gave at any particular time.
While they permed, washed and then dried her hair, Shakira plotted her next step. She was just going to add the one thousand five hundred to the money she was planning to refund Nathan.
Obviously she wasn’t going to sleep in Jeanine. She was done with that life. Spite told her to sell off the car, but the better half of her intervened. Her mother loved Jeanine and her leaving her was a sign of how badly she felt. She’d just park it until Eve came back and then hand it back to her.
“I want that weave,” the client seated next to Shakira instructed London three hours later as she admired Shakira’s hair through the mirror.
“Girl, that’s her hair,” London said before slapping Shakira on the shoulder with a hair brush. “Stop making the rest of us look bad.”
“You need to stick to your red and purple highlights because jealousy is not a good color on you,” Shakira said as she patted her hair and then tossed her head making the long cock-screw curled strands bounce and lick her upper chest.
“Keep talking, I’mma cut your hair,” London warned as she brushed then wrapped her client’s hair. The warning’s effect was however diminished by the reluctant smile tagging at the edge of her mouth.
Shakira had already shown London Eve’s letter. The plan was for them to head out to the warehouse as soon as London was done with her shift and pick up some clothes for Shakira. After settling the client underneath the drier, London came back to shape Shakira’s eyebrows.
“There!” she exclaimed once she was done. “No more jungle woman.”
“I did not look like jungle woman,” Shakira protested
“We need to show you off,” London said ignoring her protest. Her eyes lit up and excitement filled her voice. “We should go out tonight.”
“Absolutely not!” Shakira’s refusal was loud and explicit. She had too many things to do. Get her clothes, book a room…
“Check. Me, you, bright lights, some music, dancing ‘til dawn,” London listed as her eyes danced animatedly. She clicked her fingers. “It’s going to be Faaaaaabulous.”
“I said No.”
“This is going to double as your ‘Just Released’ party. I think I’ll call Enzo and the rest of the band to meet us at the club.” London solicited Shakira’s opinion, “Where’d you want to go?”
“Nowhere!”
London clicked her fingers. “There’s this new club next to our apartment called
Dirty Hypnotiq
. We’re going to rock this town.”
“London!” Shakira turned and smacked her in the arm. “Are you deaf?”
“Yes I am - to the word ‘no’.” London gave her a condescending look a she said, “Babe, you know we’re going out. Why do you even resist?”
“I am not going anywhere.”
Hours later, Shakira stood, pouting with her arms crossed over her chest as they waited in line outside
Dirty Hypnotiq
.
…a few problems with my account.
Nathan didn’t believe that bullshit for a minute. Now that he knew she was a suspected criminal, his distrust level had risen to unimaginable heights. So what if the jury had let her out on reasonable doubt? Nathan wasn’t feeling very reasonable right now. Heck, he was witness to what she and her mother’s were capable of.
Last night he’d played along with her offer to return all his money, but he hadn’t been taken in. He’d figured that come morning she’d have some excuse why she couldn’t find her money and try to string him along further. And that was exactly what Shakira had done.
Fooled once, he was a victim. Fooled twice – that would just make him stupid.
“She spent the whole day at a beauty salon in The Bronx,” the voice of the private investigator he’d hired to tail Shakira sounded over the phone.
“Did you see her mother?” Nathan asked.
“No. But her car was parked in front of the shop so she’s probably in town,” the PI said. “I’ve got someone watching the shop just in case she turns up.”
Nathan smiled as another one of his suspicions was confirmed. Shakira had been trying to divert him with talk of Mexico while Eve was living it up in New York with his money.
“When the suspect left the salon, the only other person in the car was her friend, London Pistol.”
“London Pistol?” Nathan guffawed. Pistol? The name just spelt criminal – talk about birds of a feather. “Where are they now?”
“They’re in line at
Dirty Hypnotiq
.”
Dirty Hypnotiq
? Really? They were probably celebrating how they’d roped in a new target.
Wonder what they’ll do if I interrupt their little celebration?
Nathan grinned as his plans for the rest of his night crystallized.
After ending the call with his PI, he slid the glass door that led out to the balcony shut behind him and reentered the dance studio. Several rows of lights glared down on the large rectangular space lighting on the five workmen installing mirrors on the east wall. Nathan’s shoes chaffed against the unpolished and still littered with sawdust wooden floor as he made his way towards the men.
As rough as it all looked right now, he had a clear image of exactly how the studio would look once it was done; mirrors lining all the walls except for the south wall where ceiling to floor windows that looked out to the beautiful Manhattan skyline. He could imagine the kids laughing, popping, locking and battling out in here.
Ten years ago
Extreme Expressions
had been nothing but a dream that everyone said was a pipe-dream. There was no such thing as a career as a dancer. What kind of job was dancing for a man anyway? His mother had actually laughed.
Nathan had proved everyone wrong including her. He’d stuck to his dreams despite having to spend weeks at a time broker than the mouse next door and rooming in what felt like coffins with other struggling artists. He’d worked hard on perfecting his art, saved his money and formed the right connections. In collaboration with a celebrity musician and an award winning actor, he now had two active branches to his name. This one –
Extreme Expressions 104
–would be his third.
People like Shakira and her mother irritated him. He knew exactly how much sweat equity he’d put into every dollar he spent. For someone to pick him up as easy money was a personal insult. He’d make sure they got their just deserts and this time there’d be no doubt in the jury’s mind.
“Guys, let’s wrap this up,” he said attracting the attention of the workmen. “It’s past seven and I’m sure your families are waiting for you.”