“Do you forgive me?” I was talking to her backside. “I can’t seem to control what comes out my mouth these days.”
“I ain’t paying you no mind right now because you’re hurting, but I got to get home anyway.”
“And you’re not leaving mad?”
“Naw, I ain’t mad. It’s just time for me to bounce.” She faced me. “I’ll holla at you next week.”
“Cool, be safe my sista.”
“Yeah. You too.”
I shut the door and mentally kicked myself for being so insensitive. I didn’t like Bitter Bitch. She was a personality I’d discovered since Randy had left, along with Reality Bitch and Pity Me Bitch. I really needed to get a handle on them before they became a problem for some of my clients. I prided myself on being straight up and honest, so these new personalities needed to be balanced before they shot their mouths off and pissed everybody off, including me.
* * *
I gathered our glasses, pausing to refill mine. Justus followed me with his eyes. He was a strange dog, never doing doggy things like chasing his tail or licking his privates. He seemed content just to lie in the corner, and for lack of a better description, mope.
When I had first brought him home, he paced in front of the door as if he was expecting Randy to come through the door. I told him to not waste his time, but I don’t think he understood a word I’d said. Why else would he still be standing in front of the damn door?
I didn’t understand that at first. But my Internet research told me that Mastiff’s are social animals. I thought he might need some interaction with other dogs, so I took him to the kennel to play. I thought I was killing two birds with one stone by allowing him time with his doggy buddies and me time to oversee the operations of the kennel. However, he was just as lackadaisical there as he was at home. For several weeks, I kept up this pretense, dropping him off—like a parent did a child to day care—while I went to work. Since it didn’t improve his disposition, however, I stopped.
With drink in hand, I was about to go to bed when the phone rang. Ringing phones, late at night, didn’t mean anything but bad news. I didn’t want to answer it, but I’m a nosy heifer so I did. “Hello?”
“Felicia, don’t hang up. It’s me, Randy.”
“I’ve been married to you for thirteen years; it would be safe to assume that I know your voice by now.”
“Sorry, I’m a little nervous, I guess.”
I didn’t respond. I tried to act as if my heart wasn’t beating a gazillion miles a minute or that my palms weren’t sweating, but I was only fooling myself. I still loved Randy despite what he’d put me through. I couldn’t understand how our entire marriage was reduced to seven typewritten pages. “Can you make this quick, I’m trying to go to bed.”
“How is Justus?”
I stared in disbelief at the phone. Who was this person that was speaking to me? How in the hell could he form his lips to ask me about the damn dog? What about me? Didn’t I matter to his sorry good-for-nothing ass? If I wasn’t so hurt by the obvious diss, I would’ve cussed him out, but I refused to let him know just how bad he made me feel. “I would let you speak to him but last time I checked, he’d rather piss on the phone than talk to it.” I was in so much pain. I stifled a scream that was building inside of me.
“Funny, Felicia, that’s very funny.”
“Well, if you didn’t call to speak to me, why the hell did you call?”
He was silent for a few minutes. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did.”
Sorry? You are sorry? Isn’t that a bitch? Sorry is something you say to someone when you accidentally step on their foot. He fucks up my entire life and he says he’s sorry … well, he can just go fuck a duck! “Randy, it is what it is. I’ve gotta go.”
I hung up before my sobbing gave away how I really felt about the situation. My tears blinded me as I fell across the bed. Snatching off my clothes, I threw them in the corner. I closed my eyes and prayed for understanding and peace. If I could understand how we had gotten to this point, I thought it would have been easier to digest. Things weren’t this way when we had first gotten together, but the years have not been kind to us. In retrospect, Randy had been giving me signs all along, but I ignored them.
CHAPTER 5
Felicia
A few weeks later I walked into Kenya’s salon. I had hoped to walk in without fanfare but the stupid bell over the door announced my arrival. I fought the temptation to turn around and flee as all eyes fell me. This was the first time I’ve seen Kenya since I made my pitiful confession and stuck my entire foot in my mouth about her love life. I wasn’t sure how she would react to seeing me. Although she said she wasn’t mad when she’d left, there was a distinct possibility that she would be mad now since I hadn’t returned a single call to her. So I was more than a little nervous about what she would say. Kenya had a way with words, and she wouldn’t hesitate to show her ass if she thought the situation warranted it. Dropping off the face of the earth—in her mind—just might be one of those cases worth showing some ass.
I had taken a leave of absence from work, refusing to answer my phone or emails. In fact, this was the first time I’d left the house because I didn’t want anyone to see how badly this breakup was affecting me. I’m a private person and didn’t like the spotlight my divorce was shinning on my marriage. I hated the dirty details of my life being examined by a judge that only knew me on a professional level.
“Lookie here,” Kenya said after giving me the once-over. “Look what the cat has dragged in.”
It was good to hear her joking. This could only mean that Kenya wasn’t harboring any bad feelings toward me. “Ha, ha, ha, very funny. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not in the mood to be the butt of your jokes.” Even if I did look something a cat had dragged in, I thought it was in poor taste to remind me of it. I was wearing shades to mask the black marks under my eyes and a baseball cap to cover my matted hair. I looked like shit on burnt, rye toast.
“Excuse me, but I believe in calling a duck a duck.” She shrugged.
“You know what?” I started backing out of the door. “Maybe I need to find myself another stylist because I am not trying to hear all this yang today.”
“Girl, sit your ass in this chair. You’ve got your nerve coming in here with attitude. I should knock the hell out of you for scaring me half to death. I was about to send the Po-Po over to your house to see if you were dead. You didn’t answer the phone, and you’ve missed three appointments. What the hell have you got on your head?” She snatched at my cap but missed, shaking her head in disgust.
“Can you please take this down a notch?” I looked around the shop to see who was looking at us.
“Humph, that’s the thanks I get for giving a damn about your pitiful ass?” Pissed, she started straightening up her station.
I did owe her an apology for my behavior, but her own attitude wasn’t making it easy to say. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“What, did you say something?” She pulled on her ear in a mocking gesture.
“I said I’m sorry,” I said, plopping down in the chair.
“You damn right you are.” She whirled me around in the chair, dropping a cape over my clothing. She wrapped the towel so tight around my neck, I felt like she was trying to choke me.
“Can you let this loose some? I can’t breath.”
“Serves you right.” She pulled the towel even tighter before she let it loose.
“Look, can we stop with the jabs? I’m sorry, okay? I just had some things I had to work out by myself.”
“I was not taking jabs at you. I was serious. You just drop off the face of the earth. Friends don’t do that to friends. I haven’t seen your ass in weeks. Friends take the good, the bad, and the ugly—and they stand together through the pain.”
“I’m sorry, girl. I know I should’ve called, but I just couldn’t face anyone. Every day I got out of bed determined to leave the house but it didn’t happe
n. It got easier just to stay in the house. If I didn’t have a court date in the morning, I’d probably still be lying up in bed.”
“Well, are you going to let me see you or am I supposed to work around the camouflage.” She playfully popped me in the back of my head with a comb.
I took my glasses off and placed them in my purse. I batted my eyes against the bright sun coming through the windows.
“Damn, girl. You look like a raccoon.” She laughed, drawing attention to me once again.
I started to get mad. “I knew this was a bad idea. I’ll come back when you think you’ve gotten over this comedic moment.”
“If you think I’m going to baby you, you’ve came to the wrong damn shop. You look like hell and you know it!”
“You don’t have to broadcast it to everyone,” I hissed.
“You think these people are blind? What the hell are you smoking, and where can I get some?”
I was struck by the hilarity of what she’d said. She was right: I did look like shit. And hiding behind dark glasses didn’t do a damn thing but call attention to it. I pulled off my baseball cap, and that’s when she got her first good look at my hair.
“Aw, hell no! What the fuck have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything,” I mumbled. Using my fingers, I tried to run them through my hair but it was pointless. It was so tangled, I couldn’t get my fingers through the knots.
“I know that’s right. Look at this shit.” She lifted my hair up by its scraggly ends as if they were dipped in doo-doo. Long stands fell off in her hands.
“I want you to cut it off,” I said with conviction.
“Excuse you?” She gawked at me through the mirror.
“You heard me. Cut it off, all of it. I don’t want more than an inch left on my head.” I broke eye contact with her.
“Girl, get the fuck out of here. There is no way I’m going to cut off all my hard work.”
“Either you cut it off or send over one of your other stylists to do it. It doesn’t matter to me, but I will not be taking this shit home with me.”
“Felicia, come with me.”
Reluctantly, I followed Kenya as she stomped through the shop to her private office. Part of me understood Kenya’s attitude. I had asked her to takeover the maintenance of my hair after a botched home-perm. I’d begged her to treat my hair, and I followed her advice. The results were amazing. She religiously worked on me every week until my hair regained a lustful shine and healthy ends, reaching beyond my shoulder blades. But I was tired of the maintenance. I wanted the freedom of a short, sassy cut.
“What?” I snapped after she closed the door and we were afforded some privacy.
“Don’t you raise your voice with me, Missy. I ain’t your husband.”
Ouch, that hurt. I wasn’t trying to be a bitch but trying to explain myself required too much effort. “Kenya, I honestly don’t want to fool with this hair anymore. I can’t and won’t take care of it. I grew it for my husband, and since he isn’t around anymore, what’s the point?”
“Felicia, think of what you are saying. I know you’re hurting, but your hair is your pride and glory.”
“Correction: It’s his pride and glory. He’s the one that wanted me to let my hair grow. Remember when we were in college? I didn’t give a rat’s ass about long hair. I need to get back to the basics. I have no desire to try to keep this shit up.”
“But, Felicia, with the length you have now, you can whip it up in a ponytail and be through with it. When the mood hits, you can let it hang and still be fashionable. If you whack it off, you’re stuck with the same style day in and day out. Do you know how many people would saw off their right arm to have hair like yours?”
“Then hook them up like you did me. I want it short so I can run my fingers through it and be done. Are you going to cut it or not?” My hands were on my hips; I was too serious.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” I said firmly, looking her dead in the eyes.
“Don’t you want to start it slowly and work your way into it? I could cut about two inches off and then see how you feel?”
“You’re trying my patience. If you won’t cut it, I’ll go to the Cuttery down the street and let them use my hair for a weave.”
“Don’t make me have to whip your ass with this hairbrush.” She shook a wooden brush at me.
“Then cut the hair, Kenya. I know what I’m doing.”
“Alright, I’ll cut it. If you don’t like it, I don’t want to hear no lip about it. Once it’s gone it’s gone.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a style in mind?”
“Naw, make it simple: wash and go.”
Her eyes felt like they were burning a hole in the back of my head, but my mind was made up. Part of me wanted to cut my hair to get back at Randy, another part of me was ready for a change. Kenya followed me back to her station.
“Whose clothes are you wearing?” she said, tugging on my oversized sweat shirt.
“Huh?”
“The outfit. You’re practically swimming in that shit.”
I looked down at the pants I was wearing. She was right: It did look like I was wearing someone else’s clothes, and I hadn’t even noticed. I had just grabbed the first thing I could get my hands on that didn’t need ironing. “I guess I’ve lost a few pounds.”
“You think?” She was yanking on my hair as if it weren’t attached to my head.
“Ouch. You don’t have to be so rough.” I ducked as she attempted to hit me again with the brush.
“If you didn’t let it get so tangled, I wouldn’t be fighting with it. All you had to do was comb it out and bring your tired ass in her once a week to let me care for it. But no, you choose to hide your head in the sand, having your own personal pity party because you’re having a little marital problem. Buck up, baby, life ain’t waiting on you. ”
“If I wanted the whole fucking shop to know my business, I would have walked in here with a bullhorn.”
“I’m sorry.” She lowered her voice. “You’re right, it’s your hair and you have the right to do with it as you wish. But I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“Points duly noted.” I opened a copy of Oasis’ new book, Push Comes To Shove, but Kenya was not about to let me to tune her out.
“So have you talked to him?”
I snapped the book shut. “Briefly. He called to see how his dog was doing.”
“Aw damn, that’s cold,” she said softly, patting a hand on my shoulder.
“Tell me about it. I thought he was going to say how much he missed me—no such luck.”
She swung my chair around to look into my eyes. “Are you cutting your hair to spite him?”
I thought about her question before I answered. “Maybe at first because I knew it would hurt him. Now I really don’t want to be bothered. It’s time for a change. I’m going for a whole new look to go with this new attitude I’m creating.”
“Okay, then, I’m gonna work my magic on your hair to give you the best damn cut you’ve ever had. After all, I can’t have you walking around representing my shop looking jacked up. While you’re at it, you need to whack off that bush you got growing over your eyes.”
“I intend to. In fact, I’m treating myself to a whole day of beauty, starting with you. I’m going shopping; and, after that, I’m going to finish off my day at the spa. I’m going to get the works.”
“Good.” She lead me to the shampoo bowl.
“When I go into the court room in the morning, I’m going to look like a million bucks even if I feel less than fifteen cents.”
“I feel ya.”
As she turned on the water, I allowed my mind to wander. Ever since Randy had left, I stopped taking care of myself. I hardly even looked in the mirror. That would explain how I’d missed the weight loss. Maintaining my weight had always been a battle so losing weight had never entered the equation. It seemed that—no matter
what I ate—I always gained. I had to exercise every day up until Randy announced he was leaving me. After that, I didn’t have the strength. I was shocked to see that I had actually lost weight without trying. To be honest, I didn’t even notice it until Kenya had brought it to my attention.
“How did you get your case on the docket so soon?” Kenya said, working the lather down to my roots. “I have another client who has been waiting for a divorce almost a year.”
“I called in some favors. This has been hard enough as it is; I can’t imagine having to wait it out. Plus Randy wants to get some things from the kennel, and I want this behind me before I allow him to do it.”
“Why didn’t he just go get them?” Her fingers were massaging my scalp.
“He can’t. I filed a restraining order, restricting his ability to go there without my written authorization and without the presence of the police. I’ll give him the boxes after our hearing.”
“Ooh-wee! Did he get an attorney?”
“Nope. The fool is representing himself.”
“Damn, I kinda of feel sorry for the dumb bastard.”
“Why?” I opened my eyes and watched the slow spin of the ceiling fan.
“Because you’re going to eat his lunch!” She chuckled.
“You got that right. When I’m done with him, his own momma wouldn’t want him if she were still alive.”
“Dag, you ain’t even gonna give the brotha alimony?”
“I’m not giving him shit if I can help it.”
“But wasn’t the business his?” She towel dried my hair then urged me to sit up.
“It’s one thing to operate a business, it’s quite another to own it—I own it. His dumb ass never read the contract or the fine print. He was an ‘at will’ employee. I paid his salary and the operational expenses. He doesn’t have a leg to stand on and his silly ass doesn’t even know it.”
“At will? What does that mean?” She began combining out my tangles.
“It means I can fire his ass for any damn reason I feel like and not have to pay him a dime.”
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