“Uh-oh. Sounds like you started off in a cipher that was nothing but a catch-22. I think I’ve heard enough. Let me tell you what my trained ears heard,” First Lady said pointedly, turning toward Corey. “Mr. Man courted you. He was giving, maybe overly so, to compensate for him not, as he put it, ‘ballin’,’ or being where he wanted to be financially. That made sister girl here mistrust his intentions. She took what I can only guess were tangible gifts as proof of his affections since you weren’t having sex, and she was waiting for the ball to drop anyway. The more you gave, the more she mistrusted.”
Corey wondered what Pill was thinking because that illustration didn’t seem at all like the whirlwind romantic courtship he had with his wife. It sounded like it was deceptive and doomed from the beginning coming from the first lady’s perspective.
“Marinate on that. Start praying. We’ll meet back next Monday,” First Lady said matter-of-factly, scanning her desk calendar.
Corey wasn’t feeling at all hopeful. Once again, he knew he and Pill wouldn’t be able to find any answers without the right questions. What were their directions for the remainder of the week? “Um, I guess, but she—”
“Don’t look like that, dear hearts. You’ll be okay,” First Lady said, scanning both of their faces. “I told you I pray for an epiphany each session. I think you just had one. Why were you so mistrusting, Ms. Thang? And what were you compensating for, Mister Man? Pray that God shows you yourself. Talk about it. Next Monday?”
“I’ll be away at a hair show next Monday. I can’t meet then.” Pill’s voice had hollowed out and was not at all energized as it had been at the beginning when the two ladies talked fashion.
First Lady Rawls sighed heavily. “We’ll push it back a week, but you will lose a session. You also have no excuse for not having the past resolved when you return.”
Chapter 20
The weekend was proving to be of epic proportions, and it had just started. Anyone who loved fashion and beauty and could claim heritage in the African Diaspora was in the nation’s capitol. Pill was truly in her element among the models that were competing in fashion shows and a pageant later on in the week, pop stars providing the entertainment, and B-list reality TV stars that took any PR they could get.
Carmen wasn’t well-versed on the hair show rule book, which left Pill and the rest of her stylists totally unprepared. As it turned out, the team from Epic Beauty had to leave a day early to do demos and compete in the preliminary style-off to boost their position in the Classic Hair Wars competition. More than the monetary prize, Carmen wanted bragging rights and a chance for her brand to be featured in all the trade magazines.
They pulled out all their tricks, transforming each other the first night there. Candy dramatically pinned up Carmen’s extensions. Shae revised her braided Mohawk on Deena. Pill, being the most daring of them all, let Mercedes take scissors and an electric razor to shave the sides and chop off most of her bangs that had been dyed a blue-black hue and spiked into a pixie cut. All the synchronized scissor work and minor makeovers was enough to win recognition in the early session, but left a void in their competitive concept for the following day. Carmen was tapped out of ideas and panicked that they’d have to go home before the big day, humiliated.
It was Pill to the rescue. They had not come all the way to D.C. with newly embroidered Epic uniforms to concede defeat. Their competition concept came to Pill as a dream the first night there. She walked the runway multiple times, styled from head to toe as a legend in Black Hollywood glamour. She was Dorothy Dandridge from Carmen Jones, Pam Grier in Foxy Brown, and Diana Ross from Mahogany. Because the runway in her dream was actually the aisle of Dominion Baptist Church, she knew it was a vision from God. And she knew she would bear no expense to bring it to pass.
She had her colleagues up early the next morning and prepped them for a marathon of activity. Everyone agreed to pick a more modern style icon and complete the look, all except their fateful leader, Carmen. Pill knew she was fearful of her eroding ability to style on the spot, but knew she would flourish announcing and boasting her brand from that same spontaneous spotlight.
Saturday night was all about the Fantasy division, but Sunday, everyone came back down to earth for the Classic Hair Wars. They had scarcely a day to find photos of various style icons and have them blown up into posters, comb the thrift stores for similar costuming, and buy poster-sized frames and beauty supplies. They didn’t pool their money together. Pill, Candy, Deena, and Mercedes were so into each other’s pockets for this weekend they decided to call it even—uniform shirts and all. They had to get everything else they needed on their own dime.
As always, Pill threw caution to the wind and rode all over the district upon her trusty steed, Silver Sliver. He never cautioned her or complained. He never told her no.
Now they were cruising for available African Diaspora models at the Fantasy Hair Wars afterparty. They wore their Sensational Scissors and Styling medals from the preliminary round the first night as badges of honor. Pill and Shae broke away from the pack as the wayward trio picked up more and more free drinks rather than featured models. Deena led the pack. Although she nursed just one drink, Candy still hadn’t found a better way to self-medicate herself from the pain of another unplanned pregnancy than to party.
Pill had too much riding on her credit card and the success of this event to lose focus. If they won, Carmen would be indebted to her for a change. She had to make this happen. They had to come out with a win.
Pill loved the ambience, the excitement, and the elitism of it all. She had not hob-knobbed with the self-important since she briefly dated Rico. She remembered accompanying him to two backstage events where she made sure no groupie, actress, or supermodel could compare to her in sexy sophistication. He paid for her outfits, but nothing was free. She couldn’t believe that was almost three years ago. It seemed like decades now. That was who she was, and who she occasionally still longed to be.
Pill spotted a honey-colored Amazonian, stripped of her fantasy drag, but not the fantasy hair, surveying the crowd. She hunched Shae and whispered, “There goes your Alicia Keys right there.”
“I kinda of feel weird, approaching girls and saying, ‘Hey, you wanna work for me?’” Shae said.
“Girl, please, models are used to being sized up. Did you see how that young model from Sierra Leone jumped at the chance to be my Mary J.? Don’t you watch America’s Next Top Model? This whole week is like a walking go-see for them, getting exposure and landing that next job,” Pill said from their stakeout position at the walk-up tables on the perimeter of the posh club.
Pill egged Shae on with her elbow so they could retire for the night. She wished she was rooming with Shae instead of Mercedes. In order to save money, Shae opted to stay with the classmate that she always stayed with while attending the Walker Nubian Braid and Barber School. Shae forgot to mention the classmate was a dark chocolate, deep-dimpled man, Morris.
Shae was smitten, and Pill was suspicious. Shae grew up on the high praises of the Lord at a Pentecostal church around the corner from their old neighborhood that seemed to be open 24/7. She slacked off from church when her momma took ill, and left altogether when her momma died. Pill knew her friend was still hurting five years later. She also knew that rent wasn’t cheap and brothers didn’t take in borders to be courteous, no matter how pro black or pro au naturel they claimed to be. If he hadn’t collected any compensation, he would before they both graduated from the school.
Pill ignored the inkling to be Li’l Big Sis and get all deep and spiritual. She didn’t know why those urges hit her when she was having problems in her own relationship. Her session with First Lady Rawls made her leave the subject alone and just enjoy her best friend. Maybe this guy was a gentleman like Corey was in the beginning. Why am I so mistrusting?
She’d have to agree she didn’t relish the idea of approaching another amazingly beautiful female living the life she wanted, but she followed Shae over to the lone mo
del who was eyeing them suspiciously as they approached. She looked confused, almost scared, as if she didn’t know what this midsized chubby chick in cutoff jeans and a Michael Jackson tee and her petite partner in a paisley Simply Vera sheath belted at the waist over leggings would do to her.
“Hi, I’m Shae, and this is my girl, Pill. We work at Epic Beauty in Richmond,” Shae said, extending her hand.
“I’m very familiar with Richmond.” A slow, enchanting smile crossed the model’s face at the reference. Pill didn’t detect an African or French influence to her voice like the other models and wondered if she was a Diaspora model imposter, wannabe, or immigrant homegirl.
“We’re competing in Classic Hair Wars, and as the rules state, this year we have to incorporate Diaspora models. You wouldn’t happen to be one, would you?” Shae asked, trying not to notice the way the young woman tore at her scalp under her weave that looked like a misshapen pompadour.
“I am. My parents were both from South Africa, but I grew up here in D.C.,” she said, extending a delicate hand to both of them. “My name is Mahogany Rose—Madge. My publicist said I should shorten it.”
Pill could hear her friend mumble, “How the heck . . .” She imagined her friend’s mind was on to the brainwash of Western culture again. Pill suspected with this girl’s features and that name she could get her more work. She was a chameleon. She could photograph and pass as many different ethnicities. To look at her she was far from Mahogany, and to talk to her, she was far from a Madge; she was Monique from around the way.
“I just worked with Monte Moorau from Buffalo. Have you heard of him? And I thought working in Paris was interesting! It was a pretty wild experience—bird feathers, a beak, birdcage, the whole bit.”
It was hard not to know Monte who wore more heels and pitched more fits than any female owner-slash-stylist there. He was Mr. Fantasy Man, which was why Pill was surprised at how messed up Ms. Mahogany’s weave attempt turned out.
“What’s your theme?” Madge Rose asked.
“It’s a museum of classic styling called the Epic Gallery. Shae and I are working together. We’d basically transform you into a young Alicia Keys when she used to sport the cornrows, except I’ll attach a big ’fro in back to save time. The whole style has to be done in seven minutes or less. Then you pose like a picture in a gallery holding a poster-sized frame,” Pill explained her vision.
“Unless you’d rather be Beyoncé. In that case, we will have to bedazzle you like on her Dangerously in Love CD cover. I would cornrow you beforehand, and I guess Pill here would do a loose sew-in and style you.”
“Actual lace fronts are expensive, unless she has one I can press into service. Celebrities keep their money by keeping their lace fronts in between looks, especially if they are the good kind,” Pill said.
They continued their shopspeak for another few minutes, which was obviously over Madge’s head. She didn’t even know her hair type. Poor thing probably hadn’t run her hand through her own hair since grade school. Pill wished she could see the top of the statuesque beauty’s head to really know what she was dealing with. From appearances, they sewed in a traditional wig and it had been pulled like an elastic waistband.
Pill blew a puff of air as she thought of the bags of hair in her hotel room. All her platinum blond was silky straight and devoted to the Mary J. blond bob. She added up the amount of prep versus stage work that had to be done. Forty percent of the style had to be done on stage; 60 percent could be done beforehand. She already had her hands full.
“We really need you to be Alicia Keys,” Pill pleaded.
“It doesn’t matter as long as you can help me out of this thing,” Madge said, pointing to the beehive on her head. “When the show is over and the prize has been awarded, the show’s stylists go home. Most models turn to their glam squad, especially if they have another engagement. The novice that I am, I only have a publicist but no stylist I trust. I’m at the mercy of any fool with a comb and a pair of scissors. No offense.”
Pill shook her head to indicate no harm, no foul. “Weren’t you in Cosmo?”
“Yeah, that was my big break in print.” She unzipped a sleek clutch purse with a smile that quickly turned to a frown when she peeked at her hair in her compact mirror. “I’m supposed to meet my man, and I’m sure we will hit another party after this one.”
Pill noticed the zesty emphasis she put on the words my man and became intrigued. If she didn’t consider her a third wheel, maybe after they settled her hair emergency, Pill could hang out with them VIP style, she thought. She was sure Shae would abandon her, especially since she had tall, dark, and dimpled leaving the porch light on for her.
“Sure, no problem. My room is right upstairs. We could take this monstrosity down and let Shae start on your cornrow design, which will cut down on the hustle and bustle tomorrow,” Pill said, leading the way.
“If you don’t mind, I need some length, like a straight weave for tonight. My man wants my hair like that every time we go out. He’ll think I switched up on him or something. He’s very particular.”
This time it was Pill who thought What the heck? as Madge’s comments gave her pause. She wished Corey would fix his mouth to suggest how she should style her hair. She’d kindly tell him to stay in his own lane.
They caught the elevator just past the lounge and rode it to the sixth floor. Pill felt Madge’s countenance drop as she checked her cell phone two times on their ascent. Her glance fell on Pill, and it took a moment for Pill to recognize she was admiring her wedding ring. That made Pill, in turn, check her watch. It was 11:45 P.M. on a Saturday night. She didn’t know where Madge and her boyfriend were going, but they would be getting a very late start.
Pill wondered what Corey was doing. She imagined him cuddled up with the remote watching TV Land, and it made her smile. She had called to let him know she had arrived, but hadn’t called back for fear he’d ask about the bottom line: How much had she spent?
It was like a sleepover once in Pill’s suite. Madge spilled her secrets while Pill cut out the bird’s nest and Shae started a cornrow pattern from her hairline to her crown. Madge looked at her profile from different angles in the hotel mirror. They could tell that she was loving the ethnic, more natural look. She wouldn’t take a stand and sport the flattering style though. Alas, they decided to cover it with a flesh tone cap and let her sport one of the jet-black Chinese bob wigs they had lying around in the carnage of hair they had on hand.
Pill and Shae found out Madge Rose was quite talkative. They learned that she and her mystery boyfriend were introduced through their publicists, and that he was quite famous himself. Although at first they went out to see if their combined fame and party hopping could earn them a combined name like Bradjolina, Madge had grown to love him. She just wasn’t sure he felt the same.
As time wore on, Pill was beginning to feel that he didn’t. The woman had spent three hours in a silk dress and four-inch Minola Blahniks, waiting and texting her evening-turned-early morning companion. Pill knew the sacrifice, but had long since kicked off her heels. Shae had left to get some rest, but not before Madge offered them both a spot on her Glam Squad. She vowed to never be left between a bob and a bird’s nest again. One call to her publicist, and they had backstage passes to the African Diaspora Fashion Week that extended past the hair show weekend. Pill was elated. She didn’t know if Carmen and Corey would be.
“What I wouldn’t give to put on a pair of jeans and just chill for one night. That’s it. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to tell him that,” Madge said with determination, reclining now on Pill’s hotel bed, her fingers furiously typing out her frustrated declaration on the keyboard.
Pill yawned as Madge’s phone sounded almost immediately. She read the screen, then tossed the phone on the bed in front of her.
“You need to crash here until morning?” Pill anticipated.
“I wish. I told him I was going to stay in, and he told me I had better get my
tail up and make sure my glam matched his swag. He’ll be here in five to ten minutes,” Madge rolled her eyes before reluctantly standing up and checking herself in the mirror. “Why is it that we can never spend a quiet evening in? We can’t have a decent conversation ’cause the music is blaring and we got his entourage with us. I don’t know where we’re headed, but it ain’t the altar if all he can do is lie down with me, yet he’s ready to jet and be alone when he wants to chill. Couples chill together, don’t they?”
Pill didn’t know whether she was expected to speak. Something inside of her wanted to weep. Who was she to say this man didn’t sound like he had her best interest at heart, or say, “You really shouldn’t be doing any laying of any kind with a man that’s not your husband.” She was M. Rose, amazingly beautiful, confused, and miserable. Once again, Pill felt Madge’s glance rest on her wedding ring. All of a sudden she didn’t feel much like toting along or leading a life remotely like Madge Rose’s. She felt something she had never felt before. She felt homesick.
Pill was surprised when she heard a loud knock on her door. Madge had apparently typed in the hotel room number. Pill jumped up from the hotel lounger to answer the door. She was even more surprised to see who was on the other side.
“What’s up, Cuz?” came the charismatic voice of Rico Jr.
Chapter 21
Corey was browsing an online catalog for a local university that handed out free credits for life experiences and boasted quick and easy online degrees. He realized two things. He would have had his degree by now if it wasn’t for Pill, and he would have had his stuff worked out with Pill if it wasn’t for Crystal. There was nothing free, and nothing was quick and easy. His life was full of choices that he narrowed down to two.
It was that last decision that made him doubleminded. Right now, his choice was either he tighten the family financial belt some more and enroll in the spring semester or defer his career plan again.
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