Another middle finger thrown should have done the trick—should have.
Chloe acknowledged the lewd gesture without missing a beat. “Even your body knows what you need right now. Everything about you is stressed, uptight, and overly sensitive.”
“Chloe, leave my sex life out of this. You’re one to talk—hypocrite much?”
Chloe waved her off and continued her assertive march to make her point. “You so need to whet your wick. A good fuck might not save the world, but it fixes a lot of immediate shit.” Chloe gave her a wink. “Yes, love, you so know you need it. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Sabra refused to consider her words. No time. She had to get her life back on track and getting out of this expensive lease was the first step. “All I know is that you need to help me pack. Let it go. I’m not going anywhere until the job is done. Time is ticking, and I don’t see you whipping out your credit card to pay for a missed deadline. Fool around, and I won’t let you rummage through my inventory like you know you want to. Believe it or not, I still have a lot of emotional attachment to all this.”
“You sure as shit don’t act like it. All I’m saying is to buck it up and fight for yours.”
“Says she who doesn’t have massive legal bills or the Twitterverse turning her into memes and the newest cast member of So You’ve Been Social Media Shamed.”
“Who knew that the Mommy Mob was so gangsta?”
“Pick up something and pack. Please, Chloe, I can’t keep begging you to help all day?” was all Sabra could manage to say without giving into an episode of sloppy tears.
Twenty-eight years old, single, and a has-been business failure wasn’t how Sabra’s story was supposed to play out. As the owner and operator of Happy Ever After Beauty, Sabra had been at the top of the child pageant hairstyle game. The last seven-plus years since college graduation had been a blur of success and personal milestones. Today, she wasn’t so sure what her next step would be.
“All right, here,” Chloe brought a large empty box over and dropped it in front of where Sabra sat on the floor. “You might as well get a system to your packing. Start with this pile of hair stuff I put together.”
Despite her faults, Chloe really was a master organizer and efficiency expert. That woman could transform a pig into a goddess in mere minutes with a wig, magic spackle—her name for makeup, and half a mind to do so.
“I don’t have all day to fuss around. I have to be out of here by tomorrow. I know I mentioned that—like a whole bunch of times.”
The wave of dismissal was in line with what Sabra expected from her friend. No matter how much she fussed, though, it was good having Chloe here to keep Sabra from giving up and curling into a ball of despair.
Sabra pressed the tape down to close the packing box. She picked it up and immediately regretted cramming that heavy tray of hair accessories in.
As her friend looked around for something to occupy her interest, Sabra admired her own work with Chloe’s collage of colors mingled through a mass of thick dreadlocks. Chloe was a master at makeup and optical illusions, but there wasn’t anything Sabra couldn’t do with hair. Even if it weren’t her first love, Sabra wouldn’t deny she had a gift when it came to hair.
If only she could believe that she could have lightning strike twice—the next time with her sincere passion—fragrances.
Out the corner of her eye, Chloe twirled around in a bright fuchsia faux feather boa. The spectacle softened her heart. Chloe was true to form. Sabra wouldn’t ask her friend to be any other way.
She also couldn’t hate on her friend for being more interested in the spoils of Sabra’s failed war. In Chloe’s hands, there was no telling what anything in here could become.
She took a tentative step to gauge the possibility of crossing the space with the box. The other woman tossed a feigned look of concern her way. “Be careful with that. It looks heavy.”
“You don’t say. How about you get your butt up and help like you said you would?”
“Why didn’t you get a dolly to help you move the boxes?”
“Because I’m on a tight budget. You should know. That’s why I just moved in with you. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“No problem. As long as I’m not seriously dating, you are so welcome to stay with me. Once I land my next boyfriend victim, your ass is out. You hear me, Bitch?”
“Stop talking to me like one of your clients. I know the real you. You’re a romantic sap. I promise I’m only there for a month at the most. I can’t be all up under you like that in that small condo of yours.”
“I know sweetie. I’m just messing with you,” Chloe said, waving away Sabra’s words. “Ooh, watch out for that glitter ball.”
“Chloe, get over here and help me!”
“Can’t, I’m over here doing the most with this miniature Cher wig.”
“If I fall, it’s your ass, Chloe.”
“Yeah-yeah, Bitch.”
Chloe started out as one of her best friends in college like Tilar. The three women had become close as sisters in recent years. There wasn’t much Sabra wouldn’t give her friend, but that didn’t mean she had to let her in on that fact.
Chloe continued to eye the room looking for something else to get into as she added, “I said I’d come and support you through this move. I never said anything about actually helping you pack.”
“Chloe, I swear on my best fragrance recipe, I will put you out and never speak to you again if you don’t help me get this place packed up before the movers get here in the morning.” She ducked in time to dodge a volley of Styrofoam glitter balls Chloe threw. “Girl, stop playing around before you hit me for real.”
“Bitch, who says I wasn’t trying to hit you for real just now?”
“Me, because if you were, you’d catch a beat down like the one I unleashed way back.”
“That was pure luck. You caught me off guard.” Chloe watched as Sabra carted the heavy box over to the door. The movers would take them all to her storage unit in the morning.
“Uh-huh, all I know is you better get to work or get gone.”
“Dang, Bitch, I’m too pretty for menial labor. This is going to cost you.” Chloe went over to the opposite corner to rifle through the wigs and hairpieces. “Gah! Even I can’t use my knack for imagination to salvage anything here.”
“Who said you could have anything there? And, for the last time, don’t call me Bitch.”
Chloe arched an eyebrow that was so impeccably executed she’d give the best social media glamor makeup models a run for their money. She launched a pretty convincing pout as she said, “I’m your best friend and closest person to family. I know you don’t expect me to leave here without a box of something I can repurpose?”
“Everything over there is child-sized. Unless your head has shrunk from the last time, I colored your hair, I don’t think you can use any of it. Also, Tilar would beg to differ on your proclamation about being my only best friend.”
Undeterred, Chloe continued her deep dive into the pile. Her friend milled about the corner wading through thousands of dollars of used inventory.
Sabra still endured the pang of loss whenever she thought about that pile. She’d spent countless hours and invested vast amounts of resources creating the pieces that lay strewn about on the floor. Her copyrighted signature of the Doll Hair Whisperer label was sewn in each one. That label touted Sabra’s quality secret process. That was until a gang of Pageant moms started selling knockoffs for half the price. Sabra wanted to spit at the memory. She’d put all her talent and time into making and customizing all those wigs, pieces, and hats for clients.
Her thanks was to be run out of business by a mob of angry mothers accusing her of trying to bully them with legal action. They took to social media to proclaim her the mean villain who copyrighted “Doll Hair.”
Each day strengthened the confirmation of her big mistake. Maybe the cease and desist letters were worded a bit too harshly, but she had to p
rotect her brand and livelihood.
A thin thread of remorse wove itself into her memories.
It was the lawsuits that had drained her. Not one had she won, and she was the worse for wear and pocketbook. A reputation in tatters and no income to speak of were the results of her efforts to stand up for herself. Nah, Sabra was so done with this business.
“What a waste.” Sabra’s mumbled truth did nothing to ease the regret that etched a groove into her soul each time thoughts brought her back to this business.
Chloe stopped rummaging long enough to look her way. “What’s that?”
“It’s nothing. Just talking out loud.”
“What’s new?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you shutting it and working? That would be new. Heck, that would be a novelty or darn near miracle.”
The other woman’s voice softened as she said, “You know, Sabra, I admire you for sticking up for yourself. So, what if you lost a few battles, there’s still fight in you for the war.”
“Nope, I’m done.”
This time, Chloe didn’t press the issue. “In that case, can I have this?” she asked pointing at a train trunk of supplies Sabra had yet to go through.
“You sure cannot.” It was the nice-nasty delivery of Sabra’s voice that made Chloe stop short and look her way.
The two broke out into laughter.
Through the dying chuckles, Chloe managed to get out, “Well, at least I’ll smell delicious when you make that perfect scent you’ve been working on all these years.”
“Yeah,” was all Sabra could get out at the reminder of her major business misstep.
She should have gone with her dream to build her fragrance line and not the easy money as a hair stylist and glamor coach for mini divas in the making. Yeah, the money spent on one-time use wigs should have gone into ingredients and a test space for her fragrance formulas.
Right as the thought might be, Sabra had no time to linger on woulds and shoulds. She had an office to pack up and close down.
Chloe plucked a green pixie wig up with one of her decorative chopsticks. The chopstick had been nestled into a plump hair bun of equally colorful dreadlocks poised like a crown on top of her head. When she had Sabra’s full attention, the social media-approved purveyor of trendy fashion asked, “What kind of kid where’s this?”
Sabra laughed despite her situation. “Don’t make that face at my wig creation. As for your question? It’s the kind whose mother begs me to make a tinker bell pixie wig for a talent competition, has the kid wear it, and then conveniently forgets to pay me for my services after the kid fails to place in the top five.” She eyed the piece that had been used in a talent competition for a Young Miss pageant a few years ago.
Sabra didn’t want to think about how many hours went into crafting the custom piece. It was in that pile for a reason. She’d avoided packing up those items for long enough.
“What is this?” Chloe asked, pointing to another wig that was a child-sized replica of an Elvis pompadour. “It’s like I’m marooned on the isle of misfit wigs.”
Sabra’s laugh was loud and therapeutic. “Girl, this is why I needed you here today. You always have a way of making anything bearable.”
“Does that mean I can get a rescue out of this corner of wigs from the ghost of pageants past?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. But you have to help me with the heavy stuff.” Sabra pointed to her wig forms, dress dummies, display cases, and other traveling equipment she’d used over the last seven years.
Chloe pouted and eyed the mountain of stuff Sabra had collected over her failed career. “I can’t see how all that crap got excluded from the scope of work for the movers. Aren’t they supposed to pack?”
“It’s not part of my package. I got the one that was on the just above begging your friends to help you move option.” Sabra allowed her glare to finish the meaning of how useless Chloe was as a mover. “The movers are coming to pick up any boxes, items, and furniture that is at the entrance. They won’t pack or move anything that isn’t already over there.” Sabra pointed to the meager number of boxes next to the door of her work studio.
The chime of overly chipper bells rang again. Chloe moved faster than Sabra ever witnessed before as she snatched the phone to look at the screen. “Bitch! I’m tired of hearing that annoying ringtone. If you’re not going to answer it, how do you put it on silent?”
“Give me my phone.” Sabra swiped at the phone as Chloe jumped back in time to avoid her attempt to take the irritating device. “I still leave it on in case of emergencies. It’s probably another one of those marketing robocalls.”
Satisfied that her screen lock would keep her nosey friend out of her phone, Sabra continued to squat next to a larger box as the bells stopped. Convinced that the bottom of the box was reinforced with enough tape and packing peanuts, she piled as many binders, lookbooks, sketchbooks, and other related binders as possible.
“Are you trying to qualify for the packing Olympics or something? Huh, sis? That box is going to be too heavy to move.” Chloe moved closer. “Here, let me help you lift it.”
Sabra lifted to a standing position and moved toward Chloe to redistribute the weight. Chloe was right. The box was way too heavy for her to handle alone. Chloe’s outstretched hands retracted at the last minute as the tinkling bells filled the studio workspace again.
“No, you didn’t just do that. Come on!”
Chloe ignored Sabra as she put on her professional voice and answered the call. “Hello? Happy Ever After Beauty, how may I help you?”
Sabra ignored her friend as she struggled and trembled under the weight of the bulging box. She shuffled across the space to the door. Just a few more steps and she’d have the box by the door.
Almost there. Breathe through and take your time, she intoned in an internal, meditative chant.
The area she’d designated for large boxes welcomed her. Another few steps and she’d put the box down.
“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”
Sabra ignored Chloe. She’d take pleasure in embarrassing Chloe when she tried to get her to take the call. Under the weight of the box, her fingers might as well be slathered in oil for the amount of grip she had on it.
“SCAD? Oh, yes, she’s available.”
Don’t drop, don’t drop, don’t fall…
“Tonight at 7 p.m.? Yes, she can make it. No worries about the short notice.”
“Chloe, come help, now!”
“She’d be delighted to be the keynote speaker.”
It was her right hand that was the first to slip under the mounting impact of the weight.
That’s when it happened.
4
Doctor Colson “Cole” Kelnar
“Thank you, Bron.”
The tall man leaned in low to kiss the tiny woman on her cheek. “I should be back by eleven, midnight at the latest,” Colson said as his daughter took off running into the large room behind them.
As he placed a chaste peck on Bronwyn Kelnar’s soft cheek, Colson inhaled a deep whiff of the hypnotic bouquet that had continued to intensify over the months of her approaching delivery. His acute Dragon-sense of smell was rewarded with a delicate balance of feminine essence, fertility, and mated bliss. The concoction was heady.
“I know you’re sniffing me again,” the woman said, mirth heavy in her voice. “It’s all good. Sniff away. You and Mac are so much alike, it’s not funny. Let me know how the baby’s doing while you’re at it.”
“Busted.” He returned to full height towering over her. Big brown expressive eyes looked up at him with sisterly love. “All right then. You know I can’t deny you anything when you pull out that look.”
Her chuckle was light and pleasant. “So, get to it. I know you want to do your thing before you take off. I also know I can exploit you a bunch while I’m pregnant. Mac already let me know how Dragon-males are suckers when pregnant women are around.”
“Very true and remind m
e to make Mac take an oath to stop revealing all our secrets.” He looked at her rounded belly and made sure to keep his emotions in check as he scanned. After a quick moment, he had his analysis ready. “My little nephew is growing at an alarming rate. He’s above average in size but not taking enough nutrients to completely deplete you at the moment. I’m moving your checkups to weekly to monitor both your statuses closer. Don’t want him to completely zap your life-force.”
“Good, he’s a good baby and loves his Mommy,” Bronwyn cooed as she spoke more to her belly than him.
Dr. Colson Kelnar took in the foyer of his cousin, Mac Kelnar’s, Atlanta mansion with Mac’s very pregnant mate and wife.
Her warm tone forced his attention back to the room as she said, “Don’t rush to get back. Enjoy yourself. We’ve been planning on how to entertain and tire Ava out all day.” They both turned to look into the large open living area where Mac and Colson’s daughter, Ava, played. “You can’t imagine what Mac came up with after I found the fire-retardant bumper guards.”
“I don’t even want to know what that’s about.” Colson eyed the little girl with his heart at her mercy to see his daughter hop and jump. She played rough and hard as the dragonling that she was. From what he could surmise, the current game was tag.
Mac Kelnar crouched down behind a chair as Ava ran around looking for him. Anyone looking on could see that his older cousin thoroughly enjoyed playing with Ava. Mac had softened after mating and welcoming a wife and child on the way. As Bronwyn’s husband, the man had morphed into the best kid sitter around.
Bronwyn’s melodic voice captured his attention once again. “Don’t worry about coming to get her tonight. That’s too late for you to have that baby breaking her sleep pattern.” Bronwyn ran an unconscious hand over her expanding abdomen as she continued. She can stay here for the weekend. It’s about time you did something that didn’t include a five-year-old.”
Colson pushed the sense of envy down as he focused on his daughter. What he wouldn’t have given to be around when his daughter’s mother was pregnant.
Dragon’s Curvy Patient Page 4
