“What’s up, girlfriend?” She slapped Olivia high-five.
“You were hurting ‘em, girl.”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Grace batted her eyes.
“You definitely did your thing up there,” Saint said.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Where are my manners,” Olivia said. “Grace this is Clayton. And Clayton this is Grace.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Saint said, shaking her hand.
“You’s a cute fella, and smooth. Don’t be trying to talk to my friend. You see that big rock on her finger, right?”
“He knows about the ring.”
“Damn, girl, did you give him your social security number and bank account numbers, too?”
“We were just making conversation.”
Grace looked Saint up and down. “You know how to fight?”
“Grace…” Olivia said, embarrassed.
“Why?” Saint asked.
“If you plan on getting with my girl, you better know how to fight, because her brothers are overprotective.”
“Brothers?” Saint asked.
“All four of them.”
“It’s not that kind of party, Grace,” Olivia said.
“I just figured I put the brother on point. Let’s not forget what happened to the last one.”
“The last one?” Saint asked.
“Okay, time for us to mingle,” Olivia said, as she stood up and grabbed Grace by the arm. “Nice to have met you. And thanks again for earlier with that creep.”
“Not a problem. Take care of yourself. Hey, I might even stop by your barbershop.”
“Barbershop? No he didn’t just call your salon a barbershop.” Grace said, as Olivia pulled her away. Saint watched them as they disappeared into the crowd of the rich and powerful. He heard Glenn announcing that the swimsuit segment was next. He was so engrossed in Olivia’s looks and personality that what was supposed to be the highlight of his evening was nothing more than a blur of women walking back and forth. Olivia was a small woman, the type that would fit snug under his arm, petite, but not boyish. She had the body of a lean, but shapely gymnast. For the rest of the night, he watched her work the crowd. She blushed, she smiled, she laughed, and her business cards seem to magically find their way into the hands of those who stopped to talk to her.
She reminded him of a woman in his past life. A fast talker, a shot caller. I’m a tax paying, working stiff, he said to himself. I love my boring life. I… love my boring life. He finished the last of his champagne, and admitted to himself that he hated his boring ass life.
At the end of the show, Glenn closed out with a teary dedication to all those who believed in him and gave him the chance to showcase his gift to the world. As fate would have it, Saint and Glenn bumped into Olivia and Grace while waiting for the valets to bring their cars around.
“Thank you again, for letting me model for you tonight,” Grace said, hugging Glenn and kissing him on the cheek.
“The pleasure was all mine, girl. You brought out the sass in everything you put on.”
Grace looked over at Saint. “You’re a fashion designer as well?”
“He’s an accountant,” Olivia said.
“He’s a wh—” Glenn started to say.
Saint slapped him on the shoulder. “Yo, that show was definitely what was up.”
“Yeah,” Glenn said, rubbing his shoulder.
The valet pulled up Olivia’s smoke grey Mercedes S-Class.
Saint stuck his chest out when the valet pulled his BMW Z4 along side Olivia’s ride.
“Nice wheels,” she said.
“It gets me from point A to point B,” he said humbly.
“Take care of yourself, Clayton.” Olivia waved at him as she climbed into her car. Saint waved at her as he got into his and pulled off.
“It gets me from point A to point B,” Glen said mockingly.
“So, what’s the deal with Miss Olivia?”
“She’s a good girl, Saint.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. She’s just not your type.”
“And what’s not my type?”
“She’s an honest girl.”
“And what’s your point?”
“My point is, it didn’t take you more than five minutes before you lied to her. An accountant, Saint?”
“I told her that I work with numbers.”
“You teach Math at the Adult Learning Center!”
“So, you’re saying that she wouldn’t be interested in a math teacher?”
“Not one who told her he was an accountant.”
“I never told her I was an accountant.”
“I didn’t see you breaking your neck trying to correct her wrong assumption.”
“I didn’t see the need. Outside of these shows, we’re never going to see each other.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?”
“Like you said, she’s not my type. She’s honest and rich. The total opposite of me. I’m eating at McDonald’s and Pizza Hut while she’s having dinner at Justin’s. If it wasn’t for your fashion show, our paths would’ve never crossed.”
“There was a time when you were eating at Justin’s,” Glenn said with a smile.
“And that time will come again. You’re about to be the next hottest thing, and like the good friend that I am, I’m going to be leeching off you.”
“I owe all of this to you. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve never gotten this far.”
“Remember that when that loot starts rolling in. And for the record, I can be honest.”
“Yeah, and I got a goose that lays golden eggs.”
Chapter 2
Olivia hadn’t opened up for business a hot twenty minutes before clients started filing in. Anyone who walked into Butta Cutz for the first time couldn’t help but take notice of the cherry wood floors, the exquisite oil paintings, and the decorative beige and brown color schemes. Men from all walks of life, from drug dealers down the street to businessmen from Wall Street, would come to this little piece of heaven to get their minds right, and their heads tight. There were two large lounge areas. The one up front had a fifty inch flat screen HD TV mounted to the wall where the newest movie releases on DVD were shown. The lounge in the back was dubbed “The Boardroom” by the male clients. It was where the “serious-minded” would get together and network. Shelves ran across the Boardroom’s right side wall, replete with books ranging from self-help, to urban fiction. There were also two computers in the far corner with internet access.
The first person you saw when you walked in was Miki, the receptionist. Miki was Japanese. She was born in Japan and raised in America. She was the type that could eat a cow and not gain an ounce of fat on her tight, tantalizing, hundred and twenty pound frame. This morning, she wore a pair of daisy dukes and a halter top. She wore her waist-length hair up in a tight bun.
“How’s that coffee coming?” Olivia asked, as she walked behind the reception desk and checked the appointment book.
“It should be done in a few minutes,” Miki answered.
“Baby!” Olivia called out to her head manicurist.
“What up, Ma?” Baby was a sexy ass tomboy. This morning, she managed to squeeze her 34-25-36 structure into a pair of her favorite overalls. The left suspender seemed to always hang off her shoulder, exposing part of her extra tight tank top.
“When the coffee’s done, bring me a cup, I’ll be in my office. You know how I get when I don’t get my caffeine.”
“I got you, Ma, anything to keep you from cracking that whip.”
Olivia walked into her office and played the messages on her answering machine. A few minutes later, Baby walked in with a cup of double espresso.
“Thank you, Baby. What would I do without you?”
“You’ll be getting your own damn coffee.”
“Hey, Olivia…” the last message on her machine started, “It’s me, Byron Turner from the fashion show. The good loo
king brother with the Green eyes…”
“He clearly doesn’t have low self esteem,” Baby said.
“Ill, how did he get my number?”
Byron’s next sentence answered her question. “I didn’t get a chance to get one of your business cards, but lucky for me, I was able to copy down your number from one you gave to a friend of mine at the show. Anyway… I was just wondering if we could hook up for lunch, strictly business, of course…” Olivia looked like she wanted to vomit. “I think we can really take your men’s salon to the next level. I’m talking having one in every major city. With my connections, we can’t go wrong. Give me a call.”
“He must not know that you get men coming in here everyday trying to sell you a dream so they can sample a piece of your pie.”
“I swear, when I told him I was married, he started getting a hard on right then and there.”
“Well, you got nothing to worry about. If he shows his stalking-ass up in here, Jon-Jon and Mike are a phone call away. You know they ain’t going to let anything happen to their baby sis.”
“If dude walks up in here, I’m going to round-house kick them green contacts out of his eyes.”
“You go, girl. All the money you be spending on them kick boxing classes, you need to get your money’s worth and start kicking some ass, for real.”
Olivia’s intercom beeped, it was Miki. “Baby, if you’re in there, you’re ten o’clock appointment is here.”
“Sit him in my chair, I’ll be right out,” Baby said loud enough for Miki to hear.
Olivia took a long sip of her coffee. She balled up her fist and slammed it on the desk. “Damn that’s some strong-ass coffee, Baby. Just the way I like it. Remind me to give you a raise.”
“I’m still reminding you about the raise you promised me three months ago.”
“When I get around to giving it to you, remind me to double it.”
“Yeah, I won’t hold my breath on that one.”
“Knock, knock,” Grace said, peeking into Olivia’s office.
“C’mon in, girl, Baby was just leaving.”
“I’ll kick it with you, later,” Baby said to Grace. “You know you got to let me know how the show went down.”
“Girl… It went down. Olivia hooked up with a man.”
Baby’s mouth dropped open. “You mean to tell me that I was in this office for ten minutes and you didn’t tell me you hooked up with someone?”
“I didn’t hook up with anyone, you know how Grace exaggerates.”
“She told him the truth about the rock on her finer,” Grace said.
“Oh hell no, I know Grace ain’t exaggerating, now. Gimme the rundown.”
“Don’t you have someone sitting in your chair, waiting for you?” Olivia asked.
“That ain’t nobody, but Sam. He can wait.”
“We don’t keep our customers waiting. Drag your ass out of here before I kick it. I’ve been dying to use my kick boxing in a real life situation,” Olivia said, smiling.
“I’ll be back in an hour, and I want to know every single detail.”
“GO!” Olivia said, crumpling up a piece of paper and throwing it at her. “You see what you started?” she said to Grace.
“The girl is happy for you. I’m happy for you, and in about ten minutes, everybody in the salon is going to be happy for you.”
“You think it will take Baby that long to tell everybody my business?”
“You’re right. Everybody probably knew the second she left the office.”
“Which means Jon-Jon will be knocking on my door with the third degree.”
“Tell your brother, Jon-Jon that you’re grown and that you can fuck whoever you want, whenever you want.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“What? You scared of him? What happened to all that Tae Bo, kicking ass for real shit you were just spitting?”
“Don’t you have somebody’s hair to cut?”
“I just came in to tell you that Glenn asked me to accompany him to a Black Tie event at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas.”
“That’s great.”
“The top designers from all over the world are going to be there, and of all the models, Glenn asked me to showcase one of his dresses. Do you know what that means?”
“That means you’re on your way to a modeling career.”
“No, silly. Do you know how much business Butta Cutz will get if we can get these guys to drop by and get a touch up or a manicure?”
Olivia couldn’t help but smile. This was the break Grace had been looking for, and all she was concerned about was bringing in business.
“So you’re coming, right?”
“Grace—”
“Grace, nothing. I’m not taking no for an answer. You think you got money pouring in, now. Wait ‘til the hood finds out who our new clientele is.”
“How can I say no to you Grace?”
“That’s my girl.”
“What’s the square root of 144 Mr. Reed?” Saint asked, as he stood in front of the Teenager’s desk. “All you have to do is think of a number that when you multiply it by itself it equals 144.”
“What the fuck do I need to know square roots for? This shit don’t help me count my paper. This is some bullshit. Fuck a GED.” Reed swiped his text book off his desk and stood up. Everyone in the class stopped what they were doing and watched him head toward the door.
“Hey Reed,” Saint called after him. “You’re right, fuck a GED. A GED is nothing but a test you bust your ass studying for. And if you pass, all you get is a piece of paper. A piece of paper that doesn’t guarantee you a job, success, or even a better life.”
“Mr. Andrews, you must be psychic, because you’re reading my mind.”
“No, Mr. Reed, I’m reading the script.”
“What script?”
“The script that has been carefully laid out for you to follow. A script that you know nothing about.”
“You bugging, Mr. Andrews, there ain’t no script.”
“Oh, no?” Saint looked around the room as he spoke. “How many of y’all know of someone who has not one but two bachelor degrees and is working at Pathmark or some thrift shop at the mall?” He continued when he saw heads nod. “All those years of schooling, thousands of dollars they have to pay back in student loans, and what do they have to show for it? Where do you think they went wrong, Mr. Reed?”
“Not looking for a better job.”
“They went wrong by looking for a job. From when we were in public school, we were taught to get good grades, graduate high school, go to college, and then get a job. Right or wrong?”
“Yeah,” Reed admitted.
“You bust your ass for close to sixteen years in school, only to bust your ass for the next twenty five years at a job that feeds you crumbs while the CEOs feast on cake. That’s the script, if you were brought up that way. But for the decision you’re about to make by walking out of here, the script is drastically different. You walk out of here with the mind-set that you’re going to get your cake by any means necessary. Whether it be selling drugs, hustling people or any other “get money” scheme you can come up with. And it will only be a matter of time before you get knocked. And when you go to prison, guess what? The state gets thirty five grand a year, per inmate. How much of that do you think they’re spending on an inmate? Either script you decide to follow, Mr. Reed, makes them no difference.”
“And who’s them?”
“The one percent that make billions a year from people like you who follow their script.”
Reed looked at him for a moment and then cocked his head. “So, what script are you following, Mr. Andrews?”
“My own.”
“Your own? You’re working a blue collar job, making forty five thousand a year, maybe? What makes you so different from the motherfucker working at Pathmark?”
“What makes me different is… I choose to do this. Look around you,” Saint said, spreading his arms wide. “This classroom is
the last rung on the ladder. If you and I’m talking to all of you, don’t reverse the direction your lives are headed, then your next step is a fall. A fall that many never come back from.” Reed wasn’t inching his way toward the door, so Saint took that as a good sign. “It’s not about money for me, trust me, this job doesn’t pay no where near forty five thousand a year.”
“Then what is it about, Mr. Andrews?” A Spanish woman in her thirties asked.
“It’s about me trying to make a difference. If I can get you to trash their script and write your own, one that improves the quality of your life and those in your circumference, then that’s worth more than forty five thousand dollars a year.”
“And the only way you can show me how to do that is for me to get my GED?” Mr. Reed asked.
“A small price for what I’m offering.”
Reed looked into the faces of the fifteen men, women, and teens, mesmerized by the dialogue between him and Saint and could see the motivation Saint’s words had given them. He slowly walked back to his desk and picked his GED book off the floor. With a huff, he sat down and opened up to the page he was last on.
In his peripheral, Saint saw someone standing at the entrance of his classroom. It was Glenn trying to get his attention. Saint addressed the class. “I’ll be back in a second. In the mean time, do questions 13–20.”
“That was a deep spiel you gave in there,” Glenn said, as Saint accompanied him into the hallway. “Did you believe any of it?”
“They believed it, and that’s all that matters.”
Glenn shook his head. “The man with the golden tongue.”
“Can you remind me why I’m out here in the hallway talking to you?”
“I need a favor.”
“What else is new?”
“Friday night. MGM Grand in Las Vegas.”
“I got plans.”
“Plans?”
“Yeah. Friday night, in my bed, sleep.”
“C’mon, Saint, don’t do this to me. This is my biggest gig, yet. Designers from Europe, France, Italy, you name it, they’re going to be there. I asked Grace to come along so she could show off one of my creations.”
“You and Grace are going together. Why do I need to be there?”
In The Cut Page 2
