The People vs. Cashmere

by Karen P. Williams

  I ignored the look and asked, “How are you, Auntie?”

  Surely, after everything, she couldn’t hold on to anger for something my sister had done. But when she muttered, “Humph,” and only that. No “Fine, and you,” or “I missed you,” or “Come give your auntie a hug,” I realized I was wrong.

  Without another glance at me, she stood proudly and walked over to the dryers.

  And, yeah, I was a lot more mature than I was before, but not less sensitive, so I ended up slipping away, ignoring the whispers, and crying in the bathroom. I guess that was that.

  The shop was still busy, but I took a lunch break to get away from the whole situation, and by the time I came back in the shop, my aunt was gone. But I couldn’t shake the sadness of her coming into the shop brought me. I wanted to have some type of relationship with my family, and she was the only tie I had. And she obviously wanted no ties to me.

  Chapter 30

  The next day business was booming. I was running around like a headless chicken, which was cool with me, because it kept me busy and increased the size of my wallet. I was still, after all, making money on commission.

  I was halfway done braiding a chick’s hair for a weave when I heard a man say, “Damn, Bev! Who is this?”

  I turned around and met the gaze of a fine-ass man. He was tall as hell, buff, and had wide shoulders, and thick, muscled arms. He was a light tone, like his ass was mixed, with a set of silky curls on his head, had smooth, creamy skin, bedroom eyes, and a neat, clipped mustache over some cherry-colored lips. He favored the dude my mom used to be obsessed with, who’d acted in this funny-ass movie I saw on video, CB4, and I forgot the other one. He was dressed in a business suit. Yeah, he was fine, but he was a man, and I had no desire for any of them right now, unless they were on a dollar bill. So after I was done checking him out, I dismissed him by rolling my eyes.

  “Bev, who is this fine specimen you got here?”

  The ladies in the salon giggled.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I snapped and turned back around to continue what the hell I was doing.

  “Baby girl, I can’t help but not worry, especially when you look as fine as you do.”

  I sighed and tried to ignore the giggling from the ladies in the salon.

  He started singing, “My, my, my, my, my, my, my, you sure look good tonight.”

  I shook my head at him.

  He stepped closer to me and whispered, “Umph, umph, umph!”

  That shit was enough. I spun around on his ass.

  “You got something to sell, sell it elsewhere, ’cause, partna, whatever you got, I damn sure don’t want none of. So take your tired, wack-ass game on for the last time, fool.” I rolled my neck on the word fool.

  That got him. I know it did. He was probably not used to being rejected, especially in front of a bunch of women. But, hell, there was damn sure a first time for everything. He looked irritated that I shot his game down. He walked away and straight into Bev’s office.

  When I finished up my last braid, I asked Gee Gee, ’cause her nosy ass would know, “Gee Gee, who is he anyway?”

  “Demarco. He owns the place.”

  I had dissed the owner, big fucking deal! What was he gonna do—fire my ass? Come to think of it, I kind of wished that his ass had, ’cause every time I turned around, he was always in my grill, coming by the salon when he never came by before. Bev said that was because he was out of town for a long period of time. Whatever. He was annoying the hell out of me.

  He stopped by one day and wanted me to wash his hair. What the hell? Bev and the other ladies thought the shit was funny. I didn’t.

  “Cashmere, you got a paying customer, and his ass is paying double for this wash, and you gonna tip my poo girl twenty, D!” Bev snapped, laughing as she did it.

  Everybody in the shop watched me as I approached him.

  You know Gee Gee’s ass was the first to comment. “He likes her. She need to stop acting so sew-ditty.”

  I gave her the finger, and the other ladies burst up laughing.

  “Oh shit, Cashmere, did I say that out loud?” she said with a guilty smile.

  I ignored her.

  As Demarco sat back in the bowl, I huffed out an impatient breath and turned on the water. Once it hit his hair, his curls uncoiled and were silky and soft against my fingers. I scrubbed his head gently and admired his handsome face because, regardless of what I said, I know a fine brother when I see one and they were never really around us in juvie. So I guess I should’ve been a little more enthusiastic about seeing one now. But I was thinking about how much I had grown to hate men since I had been a prostitute. They were nowhere near as good as Daddy was to me. In my eyes no man can ever exceed Daddy’s perfection, not even half fucking way. Damn, I missed the hell out of him.

  “I’m not a woman. You can scrub it harder,” Demarco said in a husky voice. Then he placed his hands over mine to show me how.

  Something weird happened when he did that. I felt a sensation sweep through me. I snatched my hands away quickly, afraid that he would feel it as well, but he chuckled and kept his eyes closed.

  I went back to my task. If his ass wanted it scrubbed hard, that’s what his black ass was gonna get.

  He started making these sounds with his throat.

  “Can you please be quiet?”

  “Sorry. You just scratched an itch for me.”

  Gee Gee’s ass went, “Whew!”

  I rinsed the soap out of his hair quickly, not worrying about wetting and messing up his expensive-looking shirt. Then I turned the water off, placed a hand on my hip, and snapped, “Done. Where’s my tip?”

  Demarco opened his eyes and smiled at me, biting his bottom lip. “You sound real sexy when you raise your voice at me, lady.”

  “Boy, please. You got me twisted with that wack-ass shit.”

  There was laughter. Quida said in her squeaky voice, “She shot him down again.”

  “Can you style it too?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Bev.”

  Bev jerked her head toward an empty styling chair, a big-ass smile on her face. “Go over there.”

  He stood. “Ladies first.”

  I rushed past him and stood behind the chair. “What do you want done?”

  He sat down and got comfortable. “Make me look good. I have a date tonight.”

  Rona, who had been quiet up until now, asked, “Who you got a date with?”

  “Well, I was hoping the pretty lady behind me will have dinner with me.”

  I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

  “Where you gonna take her, D?” asked Gee Gee “To get some fish and scrimps?”

  Demarco chuckled and stretched his long legs. “Lobster and scrimp.” He turned and looked at me as I rubbed some glaze in his hair.

  He was serious too. “How ’bout it?”

  I once again rolled me eyes and stabbed a comb through his now curly hair. Then, when I was done, I shoved him out of my chair and went to help the next customer.

  And you would think the fool got the picture. He didn’t. He made another wrong move, showing up at my doorstep.

  “How the fuck you know where I stay?” I demanded, eyeing his ass, my hands on my hips.

  “I followed you home.”

  My eyes narrowed. “What?”

  He placed both his hands in the air. “Just to make sure that you make it home safely. You always the last one to leave the shop because you spend all that time cleaning and mopping. Then you take a chance and you walk home by yourself, so I always follow you to make sure you get in your house. Cashmere, I don’t have to live out here to know that these streets are dangerous, especially for a single woman.”

  “So now you stalking me, huh?” I hid my smile, ’cause what he was saying wasn’t bothering me at all, for some reason.

  “Me? No.”

  I studied him. “Well, it’s not night now. What are you doing here now?”

  “And I never officially got
the chance to welcome you to the shop.”

  “Every time I turn around you in my face. If that’s not a welcome, then I don’t know what is.”

  “If you weren’t so damn fine, I wouldn’t be in your face. Blame God for not making you ugly.”

  I laughed softly, my arms loosening from underneath my chest.

  Then my laughter faded when I reminded myself that this nigga was no different from the rest. He damn sure wanted something. “Boy, whatchu think you gonna get from me?”

  “Dinner, movies, wanna make you smile. You always seem so sad.”

  “You don’t—”

  He stepped closer. “No, listen, I know you pretty busy, and that’s good. You got priorities, and you got them straight, but in the midst of your life, you can’t stop living. And from what I can see, you doing that.”

  It felt good to be complimented.

  He stepped even closer. “Let me take you out, Cashmere. I’ll be a gentleman.”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “Oh God. Then will you leave me the hell alone, boy?”

  “Yes. No.”

  I laughed, despite the situation. “Which one?”

  Demarco didn’t reply, just tugged on that bottom lip again with his teeth.

  “Wait here while I throw something on.” As a precaution, I closed and locked the door in his face.

  If his ass wanted to take me out, he would have to wait. I wasn’t gonna rush for him. So I took a shower, pulled on a summer dress, some flip-flops, and threw my hair back in a bun.

  He really must have wanted to take me out because, when I stepped out twenty minutes later, he was twiddling his thumbs as he sat on the steps waiting for me.

  “Come on,” I said absently, second-guessing going anywhere with him anyhow.

  Old boy drove a Cadillac Escalade. I was no fool. I was sure he was getting plenty pussy in that bitch too. Plus, he owned a business. They was probably throwing it at him, gift-wrapping the shit. Which made me a little nervous.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Carson.”

  Then I silently asked myself, What did it matter? I wasn’t trying to make moves with this man. I just needed to get out the house.

  Demarco tapped the steering wheel. He was playing some R&B by Maxwell, the dude Mama was in love with, and blasted around the house. It was that song whenever, wherever, whatever. I laughed when he tried to mirror the crisp, smooth voice of Maxwell with his squeaky, cracking voice.

  He sped down the highway and jumped on the freeway. Once we hit this big-ass bridge, I panicked. “What the hell is this?”

  “The Vincent Thomas Bridge.”

  I stared out the window and clutched the cushion on the seat, as we descended and I saw water underneath us, and a port. Then suddenly I remembered I had been over here before with Daddy, when he’d brought me, Desiree, and Mama. A tear slid down my cheek.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded and closed my eyes for a quick moment. Damn, I miss you, Daddy.

  Once we exited the bridge, we pulled into a parking structure in a area called Ports O’ Call.

  The wind was blowing like crazy and raising my dress.

  I held it down as we walked on the pier. He grabbed my hand like I was his woman, and I yanked it away, only for him to pull it back.

  Demarco pulled me. “Let’s go on a quick boat ride.”

  I had to jog to keep up with his big-ass feet. Once he helped me on the boat, he held onto my hand, and I didn’t pull away. Fuck it! Let him get his thrill.

  The boat moved swiftly through the water, making me nervous. I saw images of me sitting on Daddy’s lap, while Desiree looked out the window of the boat, and my Mama dozed off.

  “Look at the sea lions, Cashmere.”

  I stared out in time to see one do a flip in the water and another one come up from under the water.

  “They’re performing for us.”

  “Yeah.”

  Demarco scooted closer to me and wrapped an arm around me. He was getting too close for comfort, and I wasn’t stopping him.

  After we got off the boat, he asked, “You hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grabbed my hand again, and we walked to this little seafood stand, where there was all this raw seafood, eyeballs and all looking back at me.

  “How you feel about grilled seafood, Cashmere?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t matter to me.”

  He surprised me by speaking in Spanish to the dude working at the stand. It sounded sexy as hell to me.

  The next thing I know, lobster, shrimps, and crab were being dipped in some sauce and thrown on a barbecue grill, making my tummy growl.

  Once it was done he carried a huge tray to a table, and we both sat down.

  I dug in—fuck being shy—and grabbed a crab leg. “When did you learn Spanish?”

  He popped a shrimp in his mouth and chewed. “My Mama is from Honduras.”

  “Your dad too?”

  “No, he’s from here. Where he is now, I don’t know.” His lips twisted bitterly.

  I sucked the juice off my fingers and attacked the lobster, but in my head I was thinking, I’m not the only one with issues. I’m just lucky enough to work mine out.

  He ate another shrimp. “How about yours?”

  “My Daddy and Mama are dead.” I lied.

  “Sorry to hear that.” He cracked a crab leg open and chewed on it. “How did you get that name?”

  My mouth was stuffed with pieces of the succulent lobster. I placed my hand over my mouth and asked saucily, “What’s wrong with my name? How you get yours, Demarco?”

  “You are feisty as hell, girl.” He smiled. “And I just asked because I think it’s a nice name and it suits you.” He looked back at the water at the end of that comment then back at me.

  “I don’t know. Daddy said some shit about my skin being so soft, it reminded him of Cashmere.”

  I popped a shrimp in my mouth. “Your name mean anything?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. I’m named after Mama’s pimp.”

  I almost choked on the shrimp.

  “Mama was a prostitute in Honduras. That’s why I don’t know my Daddy. She did it for as long as she could before moving out here. She opened a little restaurant, and that’s how we survived. When she died, she left it to me. I turned it into a hair salon because I thought it would be more profitable.”

  I nodded.

  “So tell me something about Cashmere. Where you from, girl?”

  “I’m from California. I grew up in Compton.”

  “With who?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said your parents were dead. So who raised you?”

  “My aunt, but we don’t talk too much anymore.” I pulled my bottom lip in, hoping he wouldn’t pry any further.

  He just studied me.

  I made a face. “Boo!”

  He smiled at me.

  “What, boy? What are you thinking?”

  “That your face has a lot of beauty on it.”

  If you only knew what that beauty did for me—Nothing. Not shit. But it still felt good to be complimented.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to go any further into your business. I probably couldn’t anyway. You on the defense. And you probably won’t believe this, but I don’t want anything from you, Cashmere. But I do like you. And, believe it or not, it’s for the right reasons. And I know these are just words, but if you will allow me to, time will show you that I’m sincere and not out to get you.” He stared at me intently.

  I smiled in return. Then I looked down at the wood planks beneath my feet, saw the water peeking through. Thinking I could have opened up about my past, this was as good as it was gonna get for confessions, but for some odd reason, I didn’t.

  That wasn’t the last time I saw Demarco. He would come by the salon almost every night and take me home, and since I was comfortable with him, I let him.

  “When can I see
you again?” he asked me one night when he was walking me to my doorsteps.

  “You seeing me right now, silly.”

  “No, I mean, like out on another date.”

  He slipped behind me and spun me around so I was all up in his arms. If the shit didn’t feel good, I would have pulled away.

  “When do you wanna see me?”

  He reached over and kissed my lips softly, and I returned the kiss.

  “Tomorrow.” He kissed me again. “The day after that.” Another kiss. “And the day after that ’cause I like you, Cashmere.” He kissed me again.

  I pulled away, still playing the “rude girl” role. “Boy, go home.”

  I woke up the next morning to find some pink roses sitting on my doorstep, so I definitely gave him a date after that, and another after that.

  Chapter 31

  I got a pretty big tip from some lady that came into the salon, so I treated myself to a new outfit to wear for my date with Demarco took me to the movies. I was looking at some skirts when I heard, “Hey, beautiful.”

  I smiled, thinking it was probably Demarco, and turned around, only for my smile to be replaced with immediate shock. It was Black. I scanned his face and stood as still as a statue. Black looked the same. He had on some slacks, a button-down shirt, and gator shoes.

  “Aren’t you gonna give daddy a hug, Cashmere?”

  I stayed immobile and shook my head slowly, but he came over and hugged me anyway. “You get out and don’t come see me, Cashmere? After—”

  “I have a new life now. I’m not hooking no more, Black.” And if you loved me like you said you did, why is it that I don’t recall ever getting a letter, a card—not shit—from you?

  “I missed you.”

  I looked away.

  “I thought you would come home.”

  “I told you. I don’t hook anymore, Black.”

  He chuckled and reached for one of my hands, but I drew back like he was poison.

  His smile dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at my coldness. “Well, you know once you get a pimp, you married to the game, right? Ain’t no such thing as retiring . . . unless you dead.”

  That shit made me shiver inwardly. What was he trying to say?

  Then some young chick yelled, “Daddy, I’m ready,” and gave me an evil-ass look. She had the same look I used to have—young and impressionable.