“Yeah,” I nodded. “Let me know if it’s a good cushion for when you sit on my fa—“
“Nix!” Charlie snatched her hand away from me, and gave me the same scolding look I used to get from my mother. A second later, I could tell she was fighting hard not to smile. “Must you say such inappropriate things to me?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m out here trying to be a gentleman, offer you a place to rest after a long day on your feet… man, you’re tripping.”
She did laugh then, and damn the things this girl’s laughter did for my soul… five years later, and she still had my head gone.
“I’m tripping?”
“Yes, you.”
She shook her head, smiling at me as we approached the door to Fresh Cuts. “You know you need to quit, right?”
“I didn’t do anything though, you started it.”
“Uh-huh, here we go with the blame game. It’s always somebody else that made you do it, right Nix?”
Ouch.
I didn’t mean to let my reaction to that little — possibly inadvertent — jab show on my face, but before I could switch to a poker face, Charlie’s eyes had already gone wide, and she was lifting her hands to rest them on my chest.
“I didn’t mean it like that, you know that right?”
Ignoring the sudden heaviness in my chest, I grabbed her hands, bringing them up to kiss her fingers. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked, shaking my head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, baby girl. We’re good.”
She didn’t look that sure, but instead of standing outside and dwelling on it, I reached around to pull open the door to the shop. Pressing her lips together, she tossed me a last look of uncertainty before we stepped into the cool, air-conditioned shop, surrounding ourselves with the aroma of barbacide and sandalwood.
“Pretty girl!”
Charlie’s face broke into a smile at her signature greeting, delivered in unison by my Pops and his best friend — Walter and Lorenzo. They stood as she approached their reserved seats in the waiting area of the shop, and hugged both of them, blushing as they kissed her on the cheek.
“Charlene,” Lorenzo said, taking her by the hand. “Girl, where is that fine ass mama of yours?”
I chuckled at that. Since I could remember, probably going all the way back to the time we were in middle school, any time Lorenzo saw Charlie around the neighborhood, he asked her the same question, and she always gave the same answer.
“I can’t be sure, Lorenzo, you know she’s always on the move.”
From the stories I’d heard, mostly overheard from eavesdropping on grown folks’ conversations, Lorenzo had been chasing Melissa Bennet for a long time, and she curved him on a regular basis — as any mindful woman would. Lorenzo was one of those old cats that always had a woman throwing a brick through his window or acting a fool at his job, and from what I could tell, it had been that way for decades. I didn’t blame Melissa for always being out of dodge. I wouldn’t want any of whatever the hell he was putting on those women either.
“Young blood, what’s going on?”
“Not shit, Pops.” I grinned at my dad as I accepted his extended hand, shaking my head when he pulled me into a hug anyway. I made sure to take a deep inhale when he got close, giving him a nod of approval when the only thing I smelled was aftershave from his recent turn in the barber’s chair.
Charlie had moved on to talk to Carter, and was gesturing at her head with one hand while she showed him something on her phone with the other. She seemed excited about whatever she was saying to him, and smiled that big, pretty-ass smile as she sat down in his chair, and he draped her with a black cape.
I reluctantly tore my eyes away to respond to my dad’s insistent tap on my shoulder, and obliged him as he motioned for me to take the empty seat beside him while Lorenzo took his turn getting cleaned up.
“Whassup Pops?” I asked, relaxing into the chair. “I see you’re staying out of trouble these days.”
He looked at me as if I’d said something crazy. “Of course. If a man doesn’t have his word, he doesn’t have shit.”
Yeah, and you’re usually shit-deficient.
“You’re speaking the truth there.”
“You don’t have to tell me. But on to you… do my eyes deceive me, or do you have your lady back?”
I shook my head. “Eyes failing on you, old man. It’s not like that. We’re business partners, it’s not a big deal for us to be around each other.”
“Damn shame,” he said, crossing his arms as he sat back. “You know, you never would’ve lost her in the first place if—“
“Pops. Cool it, please.”
The last person I needed telling me what I’d done wrong with Charlie was Walter Graham.
He tossed his hands in the air. “Alright man. My bad.”
I cut my eyes toward Charlie, who had her head bent, holding still while Carter held his clippers to her head.
“But I’m telling you, young blood,” — I groaned — “if you’d never given that girl a ring, she’d still be yours. Shit is a curse.”
Running my tongue over my teeth, I closed my eyes for a second, trying to check myself. “So that’s what happened with you and mom, huh?”
“Damn right.”
“Had nothing to do with you kicking it like a single man, and staying too drunk to drive yourself to work, right?”
His mouth dropped open, and he sputtered for a few seconds over his words as I stood, not waiting for him to collect himself for a response before I ambled over to where Carter was finishing Charlie’s cut.
“What’s up, man?” He asked, tipping up his chin in greeting as he carefully cut an intricate tribal design into the faded part of her tapered fro. “You getting trimmed up too?”
“Just the beard today, bruh. Gotta keep Charlie’s seat in good condition.”
Carter pulled the clippers away from Charlie’s head so he could throw his head back and laugh. “Nix, you are a damn fool.”
“I agree,” Charlie said, giving me the stink eye as Carter cleaned the fallen hair from her neck and face, then pulled off her cape.
While he cleaned up his station, I surveyed Charlie’s hair, giving her a nod of approval.
“This cut is flattering on you, baby. I like it.”
“Still, with the baby, Nix?”
“Always.”
She blushed, slapping me on the shoulder and glancing around the shop to see who was looking as I sung the one line I knew of Mariah Carey’s Always Be My Baby to her. I knew, and didn’t give a shit that we had an audience. I’d tried, and couldn’t shake her — she really would always be my baby.
“You gonna wait on me?” I asked, grabbing her hand again as I took a seat in Carter’s chair.
She bit her lip, trying gently to tug her hand away. “I guess I can… since you were kind enough to give me a little company on my walk.”
“Okay lovebirds, am I cutting hair or not?”
“Alright, Carter, damn,” I said, reluctantly releasing Charlie’s hand so I could sit down. Carter had moved on to his computer business, and this was his only day of the week in the shop, so I knew he probably had appointments coming in later. I didn’t want to hold him up.
Charlie went to sit with my dad and Lorenzo while she waited, and I cringed thinking about what he might be saying to her. Hopefully not the same bullshit he’d fed me through my dating years, and kept in my ear the whole time she and I were together.
He really believed, even after me explaining countless times what actually happened, that me proposing to Charlie was part of us breaking up. Hmph. More like, his bullshit advice that I idiotically followed made me wait too long to give her the damned ring. But — there was that blame game that Charlie mentioned. When it really came down to it… my mistakes were just that. Mine.
“I think I’m gonna propose to Viv, man.”
Carter’s tone was quiet,
and I knew he was probably eying Charlie to make sure she wasn’t paying attention. She was well out of earshot, but if he was talking about proposing, it made sense to be cautious with her right in the same room.
“Do it, man. Don’t wait.”
Carter sucked his teeth. “Damn, Nix. That’s it? Just… do it?”
“Hell yeah. Whatever the fuck you do, do not do what I did. You’ve had the ring for what, months now, right? Propose to that girl before she runs off and marries somebody else.”
Chuckling, Carter carefully began touching up my haircut, to have a reason to keep me in the chair while we talked. “I see you’re on your period today, Nix. What’s up man? Charlie dating old boy got you shook, huh?”
I shot him a scowl. “Ha ha. You’re the one crying about proposing as if you wouldn’t throw your ass off a building if that girl left you. You’re being funny, but I’m just saying… you’ve put that girl through enough of your emotional shit, don’t you think?”
He pulled the clippers back and turned them off, then scratched his head. “Yeah… you’re probably right.”
“Muthafucka… duh. I’m telling you… lock her down.”
Carter nodded, then proceeded to finish up my cut. We shook hands when we were done, and then I headed to the front to pay. Charlie was waiting for me by the door, and this time, I resisted the urge to grab her hand.
Don’t wear out your welcome too soon, man.
As we started down the street, I noticed that Charlie kept looking at me — staring at me — out of the corner of her eyes. It wasn’t until we were back on our end of the street, passing Urban Grind that I finally just asked.
“What’s up, Charlene? You’re looking at me like you want me or something.”
She gave me “the look” again. “I’ve told you about calling me that, negro. And I’m not staring at you like I want you, I’m just… looking. You look good with your fresh cut.”
“I didn’t look good with my fresh cut last week?”
“Of course you did, but it’s even fresher this week,” she said, laughing as I unlocked the door to the restaurant. I let her in first, and once we were inside, she turned to me with a curious smile. “So what are you doing tonight, with your super fresh cut?”
I shrugged. “Same old. Probably hit up UG, drink a bit, chill… the usual. You?”
She averted her eyes, pushing her hands into the back pockets of her pants. “Dinner and a movie… with Trent.”
Fuck him.
“Oh, cool. Sounds like a good time. I hope you have fun.”
We both knew that was a lie, and she gave me a look that was half scolding, half amused before her expression shifted into… something else.
“What is it?” I asked, stepping in front of her as she headed toward the back.
She reached up, tugging at her earlobe for a second before she met my gaze. “Nothing really, it’s just… I guess I’m surprised that you don’t… have a girlfriend… or something.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I mean… I’ve dated here and there. Still do. Sometimes a little serious…”
“But not… big serious?”
I shook my head. “What can I say… you ruined me for other women.”
Her eyebrows shot up, and her lips parted, but she quickly shuttered that expression into impassive as she dropped her eyes. When she looked up again, she gave me a little smile.
“Oh. Well… I’m gonna… go ahead and get my coat back on. Dinner service is starting soon.” With a final nod, she took off, leaving me standing by the front doors as Jordan and Amina came in to start the second part of their shift.
“You alright chef?” Jordan asked, eying me with concern as he pulled his apron over his head.
“Yeah man. I’m good. Let’s get to work.”
seven.
charlie.
“Baby… are you there?”
What would happen if I said no?
Or better yet, just remained silent.
Or hung up.
Or just… simply stopped accepting his calls?
That’s what the lawyer recommended anyway, but there was still that little part of me that honestly felt bad for Adrian. Even if he was a lying, manipulating criminal, this was an adjustment for him as well. For a man used to $300 shirts, a prison uniform had to be a tough pill to swallow.
Three months ago.
That was the last time I’d laid eyes on Adrian, while visiting the prison for my first and only time, and it still felt surreal. Two days before his arrest, I’d made love to — had sex with —him for the last time. The only thing I gained from that was a pregnancy scare.
Even then, some part of me still hoped it was all a mistake. When I met Adrian, his energy practically screamed “good guy”. Stepping into the investment firm where he worked downtown — actually not too far from Honeybee — I’d immediately gotten a good vibe. His client that left before me seemed incredibly happy with their service. Plaques for outstanding customer service and other impressive achievements lined the waiting area — Adrian’s name was up there at least seven times. The firm even had great reviews online, many of them specifically mentioning Adrian. I sat there and waited for my appointment feeling great about potentially choosing him as my broker.
He came to the door of the waiting room to get me, and sweet Jesus he was fine. Extra smooth, extra dark brown skin, a clean-shaven face and chiseled jaw, lips that you wanted to suck on, deep onyx eyes that you wanted to dive into, and have mercy he was wearing the shit out of that suit. My legs were a little weak as I stood, accepting his offered hand as he led me to his office. He was saying something, but damned if I heard it.
By the time we made it to his office, I’d already peeped his big hands and lack of a ring, and was already wondering how likely it was that I could turn this meeting from business to pleasure.
But… business first.
I was fresh — like, four days fresh — off of my break up with Nixon. I didn’t want to see, think about, or even hear about his ass, and the best way to do that was to not be in business with him. I loved Pot Liquor like it was my child, but as things sometimes go with children, mommy and daddy weren’t working out. In my heartbreak-addled mind, I was horny, lonely, and desperate to be free of Nixon. I had the bright idea that investing would make my money grow faster, which meant I could buy Nix out of the restaurant sooner.
Throughout our meeting, Adrian was completely professional, so I assumed my can’t-you-tell-I’m-tryna-sit-this-ass-on-you vibe wasn’t working. I mentally checked myself, then actually tuned into what was happening. At the end of the meeting, I attempted to officially hire him as my broker, but he insisted that I take the paperwork he’d gone over with me, sleep on it for a few days, and get back to him. That convinced me even further that he would take good care of my money.
At his door, he took me by the hand, but instead of shaking it and showing me out, he kept it tucked in his as he ran his tongue over his lips.
“I hope I’m not misreading any signals here,” he said, drawing me closer, “But… I’d like to take you to dinner… in an unofficial capacity. I’ll gladly refer you to another bro—“
“Yes.”
I couldn’t even let the man get the request out of his mouth before I was giving him my over-eager response, but he gave me a panty-melting smile, and… things took off from there. That very night, he met me at my mother’s house — where I was staying there after the break up with Nix, since we lived together. He thought he was picking me up for dinner, but instead, I drug him inside and took advantage of the fact that my mother was out of town.
Adrian screwed me into an orgasm-induced coma, and I went to work my shared shift with Nixon the next day, wearing a smug grin that I didn’t feel. I actually felt like crap. I felt guilty for letting another man touch me just four days after I’d stopped wearing Nix’s ring. I felt like I was violating some unwritten rule of post-breakup etiquette, but then I remembered what he had done, and I felt just
ified. I felt guilty about that too.
So, with all of that swirling around, plus the fact that I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest by a man that I’d loved for six years, plus the fact that I was angry, I did what was obviously the most logical course of action.
I slept with Adrian again.
And again.
And again.
We even developed a little routine. He was a busy guy, not really looking for anything serious, and I was a busy girl, actively avoiding anything serious. Our low expectations of each other worked well, and at some point, he stopped being my investment broker, who I happened to be screwing, and started being my friend — who I happened to be screwing.
Adrian and I never really connected romantically, but we certainly looked good together. We went to a few family dinners together, and after that, we had people on both sides pressuring us for a baby. To be fair, my mother wanted the baby to be Nixon’s but she was content with a grandchild, period. Neither Adrian nor I was really that impressed by the pressure to procreate, but it did get us to thinking.
We got along well. Had great sex. Didn’t have the time or enthusiasm to look for a proper spouse. We were perfect for each other. So… for a second time, I took what was obviously the most logical course of action.
I married Adrian, then moved with him when he took a job at a brokerage in California.
For a while, it was great. Nixon’s response to my desire to buy him out of Pot Liquor was…. unfavorable. The move to California solved my “I don’t wanna see that negro’s stupid ass face” problem, and I could still be part of my “child’s” life. I had to forfeit a chunk of my earnings every month to pay the salary for a chef to replace me, but that was okay. I had a new business as a private chef, a new husband — yay, for just barely fulfilling my mother’s dream that I not turn thirty without a ring— and a new life out in Cali. It was great.
Only… it wasn’t.
I mean… I was happy with Adrian. As happy as you could be with somebody you didn’t love like that, and who didn’t love you like that either, but y’all got married anyway, so you’d better make that shit work. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being so hurt by my breakup with Nixon, — or did a better job burying it — and that cleared my mind to start thinking about what I really wanted for my future. Spoiler alert — it wasn’t this.
Fall In Love Again (Serendipitous Love Book 3) Page 6
