Brenda shook her head.
“I don’t want to play this role. What’s the challenge in that?” Stacy started to explain her doubts, but thought better of it. She had to concentrate on what really bothered her about the project. Then she’d have to convince Brenda.
“I don’t think that I’m hearing correctly. This is a good opportunity. Different. Fun. Hip.”
“Stop saying that word to me.” She leaned forward, her frustration clearly revealed. “I don’t want to be a hip-hop anything. It’s what provided me with food and shelter, but it’s not me.”
“Do you think your fans would let you off so lightly? They would make an example out of you for betraying your roots as soon as success touches your feet.”
“My roots!” Stacy’s face flushed with all the anger and frustration that she kept barely buried.
“Yes. Whether you want to recognize it or not, your life is a hip-hop story. For circumstances beyond your control, you were shunned, rejected and abused by people who took advantage of the system. Yet, you stood in the middle of all the muck because of a strong survival instinct. You wouldn’t be denied even when you were with Antonio, who was only interested in keeping your wealth flowing to his pocket. All these facets of you have people enamored with you. You can’t turn your back on them. You’re breaking the contract you have between you and them.”
“Oh, don’t sound so dramatic, Brenda.” Stacy stamped her foot in annoyance. Brenda always managed to argue her point so well, and the eventual result was always that Stacy would fold her protests and follow along.
“Take this home. Read it over and get back to me before eight in the morning. I’m sure that you will come around to seeing my side.”
“Brenda,” Stacy began slowly, “when you encouraged me to leave Antonio, that’s all it was—encouragement. I made the decision for better or for worse to sign on with you. Over the years, I have not come to regret it. But I do have a mind of my own.” Stacy picked up her pocketbook. Her mouth was dry. Her hands shook. Her legs felt positively weak. She gritted her teeth and headed for the door. “I’m prepared to walk, if you won’t listen to me.”
Chapter 6
Stacy ignored Brenda calling her name. She wanted to escape the office, the building. She hadn’t meant to lay down an ultimatum. Brenda was everything to her. They’d never had such a volatile exchange in any of their dealings. But she felt trapped, suffocated, with no one who listened to her. Her opinion didn’t seem to matter. Stacy entered the waiting elevator, knowing that she’d have to apologize for her behavior.
Despite the nosedive to her day, she still had several appointments, including one for her hair. Pushing back her emotions was not difficult for her. She’d learned to do that most of her life. No one cared what she thought or felt as long as she didn’t disappoint. Antonio had certainly drummed that motto into her head, first with words, then with a frequent shove and finally with the palm of his hand. She remembered the first reminder that had stung for hours. He’d comforted her that it was tough love, especially since he’d consciously kept his hand opened and not curled tightly into a fist for her benefit.
When rough times tested her limits, she sucked in her feelings and pushed forward a perky, happy veneer. The facade seemed to be coming undone. After completing a couple of errands, she checked her cell phone. There were no messages or missed calls. She was a little unsettled that Brenda hadn’t called. Knowing her manager, she was in a fine temper.
“Can’t believe you’re on time,” Veronica, her hairdresser, shouted from her station where she finished the final touches to a client’s hair.
“I’m always on time.” Stacy took her seat in the waiting area.
Despite the hustle and bustle of the hair salon, this was the perfect place for her to spend a few hours. No one cared who she was. She’d joke around with Veronica, get caught up on the gossip in her life and argue about the next style for her hair. She pulled out her cell phone again. No incoming calls.
“Girl, come on back here. I’m ready.” Veronica, who stood at least six inches higher than Stacy, peered down at her head.
Stacy hadn’t bothered to do anything special with her hairdo since she was coming to the hairdresser.
“Looks like you need a touch-up. I told you about waiting until this much new growth has come in. You’re breaking your hair.” Veronica parted her hair, inspecting the roots, voicing her strong disapproval. “You’re lucky that you’ve got such strong hair. Otherwise, you’d look like a bald eagle. But keep it up and you’ll be wearing a wig.”
Stacy went through the painful process of relaxing her hair. Despite the mild version and the heavy dab of petroleum as her base, the process still stung. However, she had no desire to go natural. Brenda occasionally tried to convert her, but such a change didn’t appeal to her.
Veronica led her to the shampoo bowl. Stacy made herself comfortable and leaned back for one of Veronica’s famous hair-washing and massage treatments. The temperature of the water was perfect. She relaxed in the chair and enjoyed Veronica’s magic fingers. The water rushing down her hair and around her ears into the washbowl soothed her frazzled nerves.
“Don’t make me beg. Fill me in. Where have you been?” Veronica moved her fingers from the edges of Stacy’s hairline to the center of her head.
“Nothing to fill in. I’m back in town. Have a few pending endorsement deals. Preparing to get to work on the next album. Hoping that I can get a couple of weeks off to do some navel-gazing and contemplate life.”
“Not interested in the boring details,” Veronica quipped. “Did you hook up with any young brothers on the set?”
“Maybe.”
The rush of water stopped. Stacy opened her eyes to see if Veronica was finished. She hadn’t yet applied the moisturizing cream for the deep conditioning. Veronica’s dark eyes stared back at her. Her mouth pursed in a full pout.
“Don’t get huffy at me. I could have just not said anything.” Stacy smirked. The remark earned her a douse of cold water. She shrieked. “You are so evil.”
“Better start talking. My other client just came in.”
Stacy filled her in about Omar. She left out the forced arrangement, but shared how much she loved being the driver in the relationship.
“Sounds like a big wuss.” Veronica’s lips curled with distaste. “Me, I like my men a little on the rough side. Keep the choirboys at home.” Veronica smacked her lips and grinned.
“Whatever! My man is no wimp, wuss or mama’s boy.” Stacy took her seat under the hair dryer, prepared to spend the next twenty minutes as the conditioner penetrated the hair shafts. Chemical processing and the necessary hair therapy were long, tedious exercises.
Two hours later, Veronica swung Stacy’s chair to face the mirror. The curls hung loose and shiny, framing her face. The hairdresser had added gel to the front of her hair, sweeping it partially over her forehead. The style dropped a few years off her face. Although she wasn’t planning to hit any clubs tonight, she looked forward to Omar visiting her this evening.
Her cell rang. Figuring that Brenda might be calling, she slowly open the phone and looked down at the number. Instead, her nerves went into hyperspeed for a different reason. She hurriedly answered to hear Omar’s voice.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hey, yourself.” She giggled, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. She sensed Veronica’s stare on her head.
“I’m heading to a meeting. Not sure when I’ll come out. Wanted to let you know.”
“I’m at the hairdresser’s. I’m going to have to battle the rush-hour traffic when I head home.”
“Where are you?”
She filled him in on the address, and then her phone beeped, alerting her of another call. She excused herself and took it, recognizing her cousin’s telephone number. “Hey, Sabrina.”
“Need a quick favor. Got a date with this guy that I’ve been dying to go out with. I need someone to watch the kids. Please,” Sabrina
begged.
Stacy didn’t want to be tied up all night with Sabrina’s kids. But Omar might get caught up with work for most of the night.
“Stacy, you know I’d do the same for you.”
“I don’t have kids, Sabrina,” Stacy replied, annoyed with Sabrina’s tendency to live her life at each moment.
“Well, when you get a man and some kids, I’ll do the favor.”
“Fine!” While Sabrina was scatterbrained, leaning more on the selfish side, her son and daughter were sweethearts.
“Good. See you in an hour?”
“An hour!” Her phone clicked. Darn it, Omar had hung up. Her day had begun on the high road and spiraled down to suckville.
“Gotta run, Stacy. Whoo-hoo! Tonight is going to be a party night.”
“May I remind you that it’s not the weekend? You do need to come home at a reasonable hour. I’m not spending the night looking for you.”
“Well, take the kids over to your place. I may not come home tonight. Then I can pick them up from you. Look, this is a wonderful way to see what it’s like having kids of your own.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.” Stacy had no desire to carry on the conversation any further. With her fabulous hairdo, she was no babysitter. Instead of buying a good bottle of wine, she now had to head for the grape and peach juice, fruit cups and frozen chicken nuggets.
“I think you’d better call your man back.” Veronica held the hair spray two inches above her head and then pressed down on the nozzle. The choking cloud forced Stacy to close her eyes and hold her breath until some of the noxious fumes dissipated.
“I don’t know why you try to kill me with that toxic stuff every time. My hair will look like a hot mess by the morning.” Instead of Omar’s hands in her hair while they tussled in a frenzy of lovemaking, she was about to have two kids playing with the curls, probably rubbing applesauce in it. Then she’d fall asleep in an exhausted state to wake up with hair like the Bride of Frankenstein.
“Call that man now.” Veronica finally put down the hair spray, but didn’t back off. She stood with her arms folded, waiting for Stacy to obey.
“He was going to a meeting,” Stacy reasoned.
“Then leave a message.”
“What am I going to say?” Stacy listened to the phone ringing.
“You want him to come over.”
“With the kids?” Stacy stared at her.
“Of course.”
“That’s one sure way to get rid of a man,” Stacy protested.
“Girl, hush up. It’s a way for everyone to be relaxed because nothing heavy can take place. Kids aren’t going to judge him or want anything from him. It’s also a nice way to check him out around kids. See if he’s got a sensitive side or is even playful.” Veronica nudged Stacy with her hand. “Especially if he’s a serious thing for you.”
“Still think that he’d rather go see a chick flick than be roped into babysitting,” Stacy replied stubbornly. She’d witnessed too many dramas of single mothers in the dating scene.
“He’s a wuss. He’ll do it without a complaint since you’re wearing the pants.”
“Hey, ladies, I hope I wasn’t the topic of that conversation.” Omar grinned at Stacy’s stunned expression.
“Omar!” Stacy shot out of the chair, threw her arms around his neck and pressed her body against him. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Then she remembered that she’d told him where she was. “You’re sneaky.”
“Thought I’d surprise you. Don’t have long though.” His arms loosely lay on her waist.
“Ahem. Folks, this is a G-rated place of business. Take the steamy stuff elsewhere. Of course, that’s after you introduce me to this handsome gentleman.” Veronica sized up Omar, who was nonplussed at her bold gaze.
Stacy made the introductions. “I’ll go pay now.” Stacy headed for the cashier, expecting Omar to follow. Instead Veronica hooked an arm in his and pulled him to one side. Stacy made quick work of paying and providing Veronica with a sizeable tip. Her hairdresser had been with her for over five years. Back then she’d paid Veronica for her services on an installment plan. They’d hit it off when Veronica was a student and Stacy had decided to try her hand at being a manicurist. At the time, being an entertainer was only a dream.
“Omar, are you ready?” Stacy didn’t trust her hairdresser not to say something outlandish to Omar, although she might already be too late to stop it.
Omar said his goodbyes and walked out ahead of Stacy. Stacy followed him, grateful that they could escape prying eyes and gossipy tongues. She looked over her shoulder at Veronica, sensing her hairdresser’s watchful gaze.
Veronica gave her the thumbs-up. Stacy couldn’t stop the smile. Her man was no wimp. As he continued strutting out of the salon, many women stared over the top of their magazines at his retreating rear. One bold soul spoke up, “Girl, I ain’t mad at you. You got it goin’ on.”
Stacy couldn’t agree more with the woman’s comment. Her professional life might be a ball of confusion, but in her personal life, there was a sense of contentment. She slipped her hand in his as she guided him toward her car.
“This was a great surprise,” she said.
“Thought I’d drop in.” Omar looked at his watch. “But I really must rush back. You were so close, I couldn’t resist.” He kissed her lips softly. “Can’t wait for tonight.” He grinned, mischief twinkling in his eyes.
Stacy groaned. “You won’t believe what I’ve gotten roped into doing.” She didn’t wait for him to guess. “I have to babysit my cousins.”
Stacy didn’t like the way he studied her with open curiosity. “If you are up to it, you can join me,” she invited.
“Where will you be?”
“At my place. I suspect that I’ll have them all night.”
“What are their ages?”
“Six and eight. Boy and girl.”
“You owe me—big.”
Stacy nodded, secretly thrilled that he didn’t run for his car, never to be heard from again.
“I’ll see you tonight, then.” He pulled her against his body, resting his hands on her behind. “Guess I’d better get this in now since we’ll be in G-rated company later this evening.”
She nodded with full support from her entire body. She tiptoed up to meet his beautiful mouth. He lingered over her lips, kissing the curvature of hers with tantalizing softness. Stacy wound her arms around his neck, molding her body against his, eliminating any space left between them. She opened her mouth, welcoming his deeper kiss where their tongues connected.
A beeping sound jarred the moment. Stacy opened her eyes, lips still locked with Omar. Life’s activities flooded their intimacy. The brightness of the day, the sounds of traffic, the mixture of smells from area restaurants announced their presence.
“There’s my watch alarm. Now I’ve really got to run.” Omar kissed her forehead and then ran toward his car. “Sorry,” he yelled over his shoulder before speeding up his retreat.
Stacy smiled, touching her lips where minutes ago his mouth had stroked them awake. She got in her car and immediately turned on the radio as she pulled out of the parking lot. Her mood soared with the heavy bass thumping through the interior of her car. Hair done, body tingling with sexual energy and the steady, rhythmic beat of reggae music, Stacy was in a good mood for her babysitting assignment.
Omar returned to the office, running into the conference room a few minutes late. His boss paused in his announcement, long enough to let him know that his tardiness was noted. Omar tried to look as apologetic as possible given the remaining headiness of his shared kiss with Stacy.
Omar listened off and on to his colleagues’ status reports. He hoped that this wouldn’t be one of those meetings where his boss would get off on a tangent, and two hours later, they’d be exiting the room.
“Mr. Henderson, I’ll need an extension on my timeline for the before and after,” a coworker said.
Omar cringed. The reque
st seemed normal enough, but his boss hated to deviate from any plan unless there was a dire emergency.
“Mr. Hopkins, why are you costing me money?” Henderson asked. Omar would have treated it as a rhetorical question.
“Sir?” Lance Hopkins looked miserable. “Um…we are having a problem getting the Spelling brothers to attend. They have a public feud.”
“Then whose bright idea was it to get them in the first place?” Henderson raised his voice, his face suffused with anger.
The research team visibly shifted their bodies to tighten their cluster. The five-person team had to lean on their loyalty to the group. Omar understood their principle, but sensed that the philosophy would also be their downfall.
“Meeting over.” Henderson ran his hand through his hair, leaving it stuck up like the top of a carrot.
Everyone scrambled toward the door. Omar had planned to make a more public pitch for his idea. Given the sudden turn of events, he’d wait. Someone else was about to be beheaded.
“Mr. Hopkins and the research team, stay put!”
No one turned, although shoulders visibly relaxed. Omar looked at his poor colleagues only after he left the room and was safely in the hallway. He could see his boss in a full-blown tirade.
“We lucked out,” a relieved colleague remarked before heading to his cubicle.
Omar nodded, but didn’t enjoy the thought that one day that would be him. It was just a matter of time. The difference was that he couldn’t guarantee that he would sit quietly like a naughty boy in the dunce’s corner. The others treated this dramatic episode as a rite of passage. Only his brother, Pierce, could get away with giving him a public tongue-lashing.
Omar sat in his cubicle and pulled out his writing pad. Before long he’d scribbled more notes about his idea. He needed to launch it with a powerful topic that earned the young audience’s attention and also hand-delivered high ratings to his company. He tapped his pencil against his mouth, trying to figure out what would be the top five issues on teens’ minds: drinking, drugs, eating disorders, online dating or the definition of sexuality.
Straight to the Heart Page 8
