by Linda Verji
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 d
idn’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.”
“We wanted to finish up tonight so Teddy and his boys can work on the floors tomorrow,” Ayanna, the foreman, informed Nathan. Extracting her hand from the pocket of her blue coveralls, the brawny blonde checked her watch, “It might just take us another hour or two.”
“All right! I’m heading out in a couple,” Nathan said. “I’ll ask Kasey to lock up when you’re done and to organize for the overtime.”
“Thanks, boss.”
After giving his assistant instructions on how to deal with the workmen, Nathan exited the building. Driving through Manhattan at night was distinctly different from driving in LA where he’d been living for the last five years or so.
Nathan had resisted starting a branch in New York for the better part of two years. In fact, if it wasn’t for his partners’ insistence that the fashion capital needed an Extreme Expressions he wouldn’t have been caught dead here. This city brought up too many painful memories. Once he had 104 running, he was getting the hell out of here.
It took a while to get to Dirty Hypnotiq and when he did, all he saw was the long line that started at the entrance and rounded off at the corner before going into God knows where. Nathan was half afraid that he’d have to line up too. His brand of celebrity wasn’t often recognized because he specialized in making other people more famous rather than always being in the limelight. Luckily as soon as he got to the red-rope, security recognized him and let him in.
Dance. Now everybody move
Get your hands in the air
Let the music burn you
Burn, burn, burn, burn
The words bounced deafeningly from the copious speakers held above the club by a circular railing reinforced with steel and pierced the ear. Purple, green and blue strobe-lights swooped and streaked over and between the mass of grinding bodies, agitating an already hyped up atmosphere. Nathan could barely make out the faces of the people jostling and stumbling against him as he made his way deeper into the club.
With this wild crowd and the shadowy ambience, there was no possible way Nathan was going to find Shakira without getting creative. He made his way towards the DJs booth. The booth sat slightly raised above the main club floor, cordoned off from the dancing masses by a semi-circular wall of speakers each vibrating with music.
There were four people standing next to the man on the turntables. All four recognized Nathan – probably because in the last few weeks each of them had dropped off their mix-tapes at Extreme Expressions for consideration as the house DJ. One of them exited the booth. Because of the loud music, Nathan had to shout his instructions but a few seconds later, the guy gave him the thumbs up.
Mission completed, Nathan headed to one of the tables close to the bar and waited.
Minutes later, the DJ announced over the muted music, “Shakira Dalton. Shakira Dalton. Beautiful name right there. Mm mm mm. Baby girl, you need to get to the bar cause we hear that there’s a surprise for you there.”
Nathan couldn’t help the thrilled anticipation that crawled in his blood each time the DJ repeated the message. What would she do when she saw him? Would she run? Would she stay? If she stayed he would start his seduction. If she ran, he would chase her – then start his seduction.
Shakira was screwed no matter what she did.
He almost missed her. If he hadn’t been watching the bar so intently he’d have missed the woman who leaned over the counter to talk to the bartender. There was something about her that niggled at his memory. He had a clear view of only her back and what a back it was. Long dark hair fluffed out in tight springy curls fell almost to the middle of her back brushing against the fabric of her peach dress.
The fabric of the dress molded over her tiny waist flaring out into curvy hips that cradled the most delicious ass before tapering off to end at her upper thighs. Where the dress ended, impossibly long legs continued, flaunting silky smooth chocolate skin that begged to be touched.
Nathan had to swallow as he imagined having those long wrapped around his flunks and him cradling that pert ass as he fucked the mystery woman. It was only when she turned to scan the club that Nathan recognized her.
Damn!
Shakira?
In one day she’d transformed herself from desirable ex-con to seductive siren. The curled hairstyle softened the angular features of her face discernibly. Her sexy little dress dipped provocatively between her breasts and molded lovingly to her well-toned body. Nathan almost groaned when she licked her glossy lips as she searched the club for whoever had ca
lled for her.
Emerging from his hideout behind one of the club’s pillars, he headed towards her, a smile already forming on his lips. Something – or rather his fast burgeoning cock - told him that he was going to enjoy teaching Shakira a lesson of who not to play with.
CHAPTER 5
“Are you sure no one asked for me?” Shakira yelled out over the loud music pulsing around her.
“Sorry!” The bartender shook his head as he tipped two bottles filled with clear spirits over a shot glass.
Then how the hell did the DJ know my name? She started again, “Are you-”
Her words came to a screeching halt when she felt a large hand rest on the base of her spine. Shakira whipped around to give the stranger, daring enough to touch her, a setting down. The harsh words died on her lips when her gaze clashed with Nathan’s.
His lips quirked in a wicked smile as he leant closer and said into her ear, “Hey.”
Hey. She mimed the word rather than said it.
The pounding music in the club receded into a muted buzzing in the back of her mind as she took him in. On any other man, the black hoodie and dark jeans would’ve looked casual and safe. Nathan was a different animal. He looked powerful – even dangerous. The dark clothes clung to him drawing attention to his well-built body. In the shadowy ambience of the club, his eyes were steeped in darkness enhancing their intensity. They narrowed as he too gave her an up and down once over.
His gaze skimmed the length of her body. It slid over the length of her neck, lingered over her breasts, licked her taut tummy and kissed her hips before swooping back up to meet hers. The hand he still had on her waist burned an imprint on her skin despite the fabric muting his touch. Her senses pulsed in excited anticipation for something indefinable.
