After last night, she was sure that they were bent into a permanently open position. She’d never been bow-legged, but that may have just changed.
She really wanted to go back to sleep, but she had things to do. Darn it! She gingerly rolled out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom. First order of business was a hot shower. Hopefully it would loosen her muscles. She’d used muscles last night in places she didn’t know had muscles.
After she was dressed, she stripped the linens off of the bed and stuffed them into the washer. Then she lit some vanilla scented candles. Her room smelled like Chad and sex. Even after she placed clean sheets on the bed, she could still smell him. She snatched them off, sprayed the mattress and pillows with Lysol, and remade the bed. While she was at it, she walked through the rest of the house, spraying as she went.
She’d figured out part of the problem last night. The man smelled good, too good. His scent was like the deepest, darkest, richest chocolate, the kind you looked at and just knew you were going to gain ten pounds because it was so good, and you wouldn’t be able to stop until every morsel was gone. The kind that melted on your tongue while its flavor exploded in your mouth, instantly addictive and “slap-yo-momma” good. He should come with warning labels, and the shame of it was, he didn’t even wear cologne. It was all him.
There. No more Chad. Just the clean, linen scent of Lysol.
Last night she’d been weak, but she was determined not to do this again. It would help strengthen her resolve if she didn’t smell Chad every time she rolled over. That problem taken care of, she went into the kitchen. After a quick breakfast of yogurt washed down with a glass of juice, she loaded her supplies into the car and headed to town.
Lulu met her at the door when she arrived. “Everyone, this is Tameka, Emma’s granddaughter. She’s going to be working in the shop.”
Everyone waved or nodded their greeting.
“Tameka, that’s Mona behind the register. She answers the phones, sets appointments, and handles the cash.” Tameka smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mona.” Mona was Hispanic, with long, curly dark brown hair, and big, brown doe eyes. She was also a hot Latina, so sultry and sexy looking that Tameka immediately felt inadequate.
“Over there, that’s Betty. She’s one of the stylists.” Another smile coupled with a nod. “Betty.” Betty was a black female in her early fifties. Her complexion was so light that you could tell that quite a few someones in her family tree were white. Her long black hair was liberally streaked with gray and she was bird thin. A good, brisk wind would probably blow her over.
“Go ahead and set up,” Lulu continued. “Either one of these stations are fine.”
“Thanks, Lulu.” Tameka gave her a peck on the cheek. She chose the first station on the left and commenced to setting up her equipment.
“Hey, Tameka. Glad you’re here. We need some fresh, young blood,” Betty informed her.
From what Lulu had told her, she and Mona were the youngest ones in the shop, and Mona wasn’t a stylist. “I’m glad to find a shop so close to home. I didn’t feel like driving into Colbyville each day, not with the way gas prices are going up.” They groaned at the reminder. Someone, she wasn’t sure which one, said, “Please, don’t remind me.”
“Tameka, you do extensions?” The question came from Mona.
“Depends on what you want done. I can glue and sew them in, but I don’t have the patience or experience to do fusions. I also do quick weaves.”
“What about updos? You do those,” the lone customer in the shop asked.
Tameka laughed at the excitement in the woman’s voice.
“Yes. Show me a picture of any style you want and I can do a pretty good rendition of it.”
“Oh, man,” Mona said reverently. “Wait until word gets out.
This place is going to be packed. I may need to work more hours.”
“As long as you don’t start missing school. That’s more important.”
“I know, Ms. Lulu. I’m not going miss now, not when I’m so close to graduation.” She rolled her eyes at Tameka, who bit back the smile trying to break free at her antics.
“What are you studying?”
“I want to be a Nail Artist. You know, one of those people who do all of those fancy designs on women’s nails?”
“Yes, I know what you’re talking about. If you can stand the fumes, you can make some really good money as a Nail Tech.”
“I plan to be the best. One day, I’ll work for the stars.” Mona’s voice was dreamy and her eyes had a faraway look in them.
“If that’s what you want, go for it,” Tameka encouraged.
“Lulu, I brought some hair style magazines, posters, and a few of my personal photo albums that show the work I’ve done. Is it alright if I lay them out in the waiting area?”
“Sure thing, honey. Tape those posters right up in the window. Maybe they’ll attract some customers our way. Do you have any business cards?”
“I made some new ones last night. I brought a few with me.”
“Give them to Mona. You’re going to be a big hit. Folks will be coming over from bigger towns just to have you do their hair.”
Tameka doubted it, but it was a nice thought. It’s not that she wasn’t good. She’d participated in a few shows in D.C., even won some awards for her styles, but she didn’t know how well the stuff she excelled at would go over here in the South. She kept her doubts to herself.
“Lulu, someone mentioned that the men in here have to go over to Colbyville to get their hair cut. I’m a pretty decent barber.” Actually, there wasn’t much she couldn’t do when it came to hair.
“That’s great. We sure do need one since old Bert retired. I don’t know how you’re going to handle both, though,” Betty said. She’d just returned from the bowl, washing her client’s hair.
“Easy,” Lulu answered. “We pick a day or two, depending on the volume, where Meka does nothing but barber. Or maybe a few hours each morning and the rest of the day is devoted to styling.”
“Works for me, Lulu. Whatever you say,” Tameka agreed.
Tameka climbed on top of a chair and, with Mona’s help, hung four of her posters in the large picture window, being sure to space them out attractively but still allow passersby to see inside. What she had weren’t the typical salon posters advertising products, but blown-up pictures of models sporting hairstyles she’d created.
Lulu came over to watch. “There’s a ‘Barber on Duty’ sign around here somewhere,” she muttered, looking around distractedly.
“I also have a sign announcing the types of styles I do—
braids, twists, ‘locs, as well as extensions and updos. It’s in the car.”
“Go get it and put it right here in the window. Anything that attracts more business to the shop is welcome. Make up flyers and we’ll distribute them to the businesses in town.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tameka smiled. Lulu reminded her strongly of Grandma Emma.
She stretched, taping the last poster in place. Then she, Lulu, and Mona walked outside to admire her handiwork.
“Looks good,” Mona commented. “I’m so glad you’re here.
It’s time we had some new blood to shake things up in this town.”
Tameka shook her head. “I don’t know about shaking things up, but I’ll do my best to increase the clientele.”
Mona laughed. “Oh, once word gets out that you’re here, they’ll come running. Out of curiosity if nothing else,” she assured her. “Even if you aren’t as good as I suspect you are, they’ll come just to keep from driving so far. If you’re even better than I expect, we may even pull in folks from the surrounding areas.”
She walked to her car and took out her sign, along with the business cards she printed. The cards she gave to Mona. The sign she put in the bottom right corner of the window, right next to the entrance. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning at ten. I probably won’t have any customers, but I’ll be here anyway. Do you have class tomorrow?”