by J. J. Murray
Lauren squinted at Patrick. “You need a haircut.”
“Send him next door to Pro Cut,” Trula said. “They aren’t busy right now.”
“I don’t want him out of my sight,” Lauren said. “One of you can cut him, can’t you?”
Wanda turned her chair around, and the little girl smiled at herself in the mirror. “I can cut him,” Wanda said.
The little girl slid off the chair, handed Wanda a one-dollar bill, collected a backpack, and left the salon.
“Can you believe that child?” Wanda said. “Every single day she comes in and tells me, ‘I need some maintenance. ’ She can’t be older than five. I didn’t know that word when I was five.”
“She’s smart, though,” Trula said. “A dollar a day for maintenance is a lot less than redoing her whole head every two weeks.”
Wanda removed the booster seat from her chair. “Have a seat, Patrick.”
Patrick sat.
Wanda wrapped a cape around him and tied it loosely at his neck. “You got some thick hair. I could probably dread it.”
“Over my dead body,” Lauren said.
“Yeah,” Wanda said, forcefully turning Patrick’s head back and forth. “You really can’t run your fingers through dreaded hair. And some white men look so foolish in dreads.”
“I’ll say,” Trula said.
Wanda fluffed Patrick’s hair with one hand. “You want a shave, too?”
“No,” Lauren said. “I like his beard.”
Wanda rolled her eyes. “At least let me even it up. It doesn’t grow the same all over. That okay with you?”
“Sure,” Patrick said.
Wanda shook her head. “I was talking to Lauren.”
“Oh,” Patrick said.
“No offense, Patrick,” Wanda said, “but even though it’s on your face, it’s her hair. You understand?”
“I think so,” Patrick said.
Wanda laughed. “It doesn’t matter what you think about your hair from now on. You know that, right?”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Patrick said.
“Just don’t take too much off,” Lauren said. “It’s cold in Brooklyn, and Patrick is my blanket.”
“It’s cold here, too,” Wanda said. “Glad that snow missed us.” Wanda began combing through Patrick’s hair.
“Patrick,” Trula said, fluttering a cape around Lauren,
“you ain’t the first white man Wanda’s had in that chair.”
“Trula, why you acting up for company?” Wanda asked.
“His name was Albert, and we weren’t open at the time,” Trula said. “Wanda was, though.”
“I hope you disinfected your chair afterward,” Lauren said.
“That was a long time ago,” Wanda said. “Least I’ve had someone in the past ten years, Trula.”
“Oh, hush,” Trula said. She began gently brushing Lauren’s hair. “I’m still waiting for Mr. Right.”
“Ain’t no Mr. Right gonna come through that door,” Wanda said. “The best you’ll ever get is Mr. Right Once in a While.”
“I told you to hush,” Trula said. She faced Lauren and put her hands on the arms of the chair. “So Chazz is gay.”
Nice transition. Lauren nodded. “I’d like to think he’s more bisexual than gay, but . . .”
“Bisexual, gay, it don’t matter,” Trula said. “The man is confused. You’re lucky to be rid of him. Did he give you any signs?”
“Yes,” Lauren said, “but I missed them all.”
“He is an actor, after all,” Trula said. She leaned close to Lauren’s ear. “Your man is fine, girl.”
“I know.”
“Does he have a brother?” Trula whispered.
“Nope,” Lauren said.
“A cousin?” Trula whispered.
“I don’t know,” Lauren said.
“Find out,” Trula said.
“Patrick,” Lauren said, “do you have any cousins?”
“Not that I know of,” Patrick said.
“Figures,” Trula said, frowning. She pulled the brush across the left side of Lauren’s head.
“Ow,” Lauren said.
“You got a nest up here, girl,” Trula said. “We might find a few eggs, too. Well, would you look at that? My first cell phone. It still has that long-ass antenna, too. I wondered where I had lost it. And look—the battery’s still good. Not like cell phone batteries today.”
“It’s not that bad,” Lauren said.
“Yeah, it is,” Trula said. She left the brush clinging to the side of Lauren’s head. “It’s trying to eat my brush now.”
“Right,” Lauren said.
“Girl, it’s amazing I can get this brush through any part of your head, all that work you’ve been doing,” Trula said. “Work is bad for your hair.”
“No it isn’t,” Lauren said. “And I intend to keep doing it.”
“Invest in some wigs, then,” Trula said. “You know, for when you go out.”
“I’d rather stay in with Patrick,” Lauren said.
“He must be pretty good,” Trula whispered.
“He is,” Lauren whispered.
“How good?” Trula whispered.
“Good good,” Lauren said. “The best.”
Trula sighed. “Figures.” She worked the brush free. “When’d you figure out Chazz was gay?”
“Honestly, I didn’t know until I caught him with his pants down,” Lauren said.
“Eww,” Wanda said. “Were they down around his ankles?”
Lauren nodded.
“Why don’t men just take their pants all the way off?” Wanda asked. “Leaving them on makes them waddle like penguins.” She smiled at Patrick. “You take them all the way off, don’t you?”
Patrick nodded.
“I am so glad she found you,” Wanda said.
“I’m glad, too,” Patrick said.
Wanda began tidying and edging up Patrick’s beard. “I don’t know how you can stand all those reporters, Patrick. I know I would be cussing them out.”
“I feel like doing it sometimes,” Patrick said.
Trula looked toward the front window. “I don’t see any reporters out there now.”
“They know better than to come to Congress Heights,” Wanda said. “Y’all might actually have a stress-free day, and you had to come to the hood to get it.”
“It’s a shame you have to go away from your home to get some peace,” Trula said.
“It’ll calm down now that we’re married,” Lauren said. “There’s not much drama in marriage, at least not to them. We’re officially boring now.”
“Until you have a baby,” Trula said. “You two are having children, right?”
“Yes,” Lauren said.
“Well, when you do,” Trula said, “please don’t do any baby bump pictures. If you do, I will lose all respect for you.”
“I won’t,” Lauren said.
“And don’t wear any of those tight-ass dresses when you’re pregnant,” Trula said. “All them actresses trying to make pregnancy sexy. It ain’t. I know.”
“Yeah?” Lauren said. “You have kids?”
“Two,” Trula said. “Latanna and Latasia. I have twin girls.”
“Oh, show me pictures,” Lauren said.
“You only gotta show her one,” Wanda said.
“Hush,” Trula said, turning the chair toward the mirror where a series of pictures was taped along the edges. “There they are.”
“Oh, they are so precious,” Lauren said. “How old are they?”
“Twelve, and driving me insane,” Trula said.
Do I ask about the daddy? Lauren thought. Better not. “They’re gorgeous.”
“And that’s the problem,” Trula said. “These boys won’t leave them alone.”
Wanda faced Patrick as she evened up his sideburns. “You think the reporters will ever leave you two alone, Patrick?”
“I don’t know,” Patrick said. “I hope so.”
&nbs
p; Wanda turned Patrick around. “I decided not to cut much of your hair for Lauren’s sake since you’re her blanket and all.”
“It’s so cold in Brooklyn,” Trula said. “I need my man blanket.”
“Well, I do,” Lauren said.
“How’s it look?” Wanda asked.
“It looks good,” Patrick said.
“It is cold in Brooklyn, Trula,” Lauren said. “And windy, too.”
“So you won’t want your neck exposed, huh?” Trula asked.
“No,” Lauren said.
“Then why do you put your hair up under your hat?” Trula asked.
“To keep things like cell phones with long-ass antennas from falling into it,” Lauren said.
“Uh-huh,” Trula said. She pulled up a clump of Lauren’s hair. “I could do a nice sloppy updo.”
“Sloppy?” Lauren said.
“It will still look a little wild,” Trula said, “but you won’t have any hair around your neck, though. Or I could do a Grecian updo with some braids in front. I could even let the braids fly free.”
“I’d look like Medusa,” Lauren said.
“Yeah,” Trula said. “You’d look scarier than your mama does.”
“My mama isn’t that scary looking,” Lauren said.
“Yeah, she is,” Trula said. “But if I give you a Grecian, you’d have no hair around your neck. I could give you a frohawk. Tight on the sides, piled up in the middle and down the back of your head. The back of your neck will be warm at least.”
“Do I have enough hair for that?” Lauren asked.
“Once I detangle it in about three days, yeah,” Trula said.
Two hours later Lauren smiled at her reflection. This will give Patrick more of my neck to kiss. Hmm. I need some long, dangling earrings now to make my neck look shorter.
She left the chair and posed in front of Patrick, who had read nearly every issue of Hype Hair and Jet in the shop while he waited. “How do I look?”
“Great,” Patrick said.
“She looks better than great, Patrick,” Trula said.
“I’d rather not say exactly how she looks,” Patrick said.
Lauren moved closer, rubbing her knees on his. “Tell me.”
“Can I whisper it?” Patrick asked.
Lauren shook her head. “They’re practically family. Go ahead.”
“You look very sexy,” Patrick said. He reached out and stroked the side of her head. “But . . .”
“But what?” Lauren asked.
“I don’t see that lasting for very long,” Patrick said. Lauren smiled. “Why?”
Patrick sighed. “Because . . .” He sighed again. “Because I will probably ruin it when I pull on it.”
“I knew he was a hair puller the second I saw his hands,” Trula said. “Damn. I need me another man quick.”
“You got to get you some longer hair first,” Wanda said.
“That’s what extensions are for, girl,” Trula said.
After posing for a new picture for their wall, Lauren attempted to pay.
“No,” Trula said. “It’s on the house.”
“At least let me tip you two,” Lauren said.
“Let her tip us, Trula,” Wanda said. “I’ve only made a whole dollar from a five-year-old today.”
“Oh, all right,” Trula said.
Lauren used her debit card to “tip” Trula and Wanda two hundred dollars.
“Can you afford this?” Trula whispered.
“Yes,” Lauren said. “We just won’t have any toilet paper for a few weeks.”
Trula’s eyes popped. “Really?”
“No,” Lauren said. “We’re fine no matter what the media says. Thank you both for the conversation.”
“You’re welcome,” Wanda said. “Don’t be a stranger, now.”
“I was until I got here.” I may even come back tomorrow before we leave for some “maintenance,” and it should only cost me a dollar.
Lauren and Patrick drifted up the street to Malcolm X Avenue and Popeyes, where they found an empty booth near an entrance. Lauren checked the time on her phone.
“Mama should already be here. Are you nervous?”
“No,” Patrick said. “Just hungry.”
“Do you really like my hair this way?” Lauren asked.
He took her hands and squeezed them. “You could be bald and you’d still be the sexiest woman on earth.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Lauren said.
“I thought I did,” Patrick said.
“Well, you did,” Lauren said. “But . . .”
“I like it,” Patrick said.
“Only like?” Lauren asked.
“Lauren, as long as the rest of you is attached to your hair,” Patrick said, “I will love whatever you do with your hair as long as I can play with it.”
“That’s better,” Lauren said. “Oh, there’s Mama.” She waved to Pamela.
Pamela shrugged and went directly to the counter.
“Mama must be hungry,” Lauren said. “Come on.”
As they stood in line behind Pamela, Pamela turned and stared at Lauren’s hair. “Oh, now you get your hair done.”
“You like it?” Lauren asked.
“It looks better than it did,” Pamela said. “Is that all you did all day?”
“No,” Lauren said. “We went to the MLK Deli and walked around, too.”
“Ooh, you gave Patrick the grand tour, huh?” Pamela asked.
“I wanted to go to the Pizza Place,” Lauren said.
“I miss that place, too.” Pamela sighed. “It’s so hard to keep a business running with all the robberies on that street. City Beats gets it the worst.”
After they ordered spicy Bonafide Chicken combos with red beans and rice, they moved to a booth and sat.
“You two and that wedding of yours are all over the news,” Pamela said. “People told me there’s something on every channel, even BET.”
“All that will die down,” Lauren said. “You’ll see.”
“I hope it doesn’t,” Pamela said. “This is the first good news people have had to watch on TV in a long time. Your wedding is a story people can smile about.”
“It’s good to be good news, isn’t it, Patrick?” Lauren asked.
Patrick nodded, chowing down on a drumstick.
“Slow down now,” Pamela said. “Popeyes is good, but it ain’t that good.”
Patrick chewed more slowly.
“You two obviously married for love and for love alone,” Pamela said. “That’s rare. You’re giving people hope that maybe they can find true love, too. That’s good news.”
“Well, Mama,” Lauren said, “there’s an attraction, too.”
“You fell in love before you saw each other, right?” Pamela asked.
“Well, I saw him before I met him, because he sent me a picture,” Lauren said. “He was wearing coveralls. And then we used Skype, and—”
“Spare me the details,” Pamela interrupted. “I’m just saying that you fell in love with him before you really met him, and I’m saying that’s a good thing.”
“And I’m saying that there’s an attraction, too,” Lauren said.
Pamela stared at Lauren. “Why can’t you just agree with me? We’re saying the same thing.”
“It’s more fun to disagree,” Lauren said.
Pamela nodded at Patrick. “Is he always this quiet?” “No,” Lauren said. “He’s just hungry.”
“Is Congress Heights any different than Brooklyn?” Pamela asked.
“Not really,” Patrick said, wiping his lips with a napkin.
“It’s a little less crowded, I guess.”
Pamela looked around the dining room. “You don’t look uncomfortable, you being the only white man in here.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Patrick said.
“Either you’re a liar or you’re too busy getting your grub on,” Pamela said.
“He doesn’t lie, Mama,” Lauren said.
“Or you’re unaware of your surroundings,” Pamela said.
“Or his surroundings don’t matter to him,” Lauren said.
“Let him answer, girl,” Pamela said. “Does being the only white man in here matter to you, Patrick?”
“No,” Patrick said.
Pamela smiled. “I like how you try to set those reporters straight.”
“It doesn’t do much good,” Patrick said.
“Well, keep it up,” Pamela said. “One day they might actually listen to you. When do you two have to be back?”
“Tomorrow,” Patrick said.
“Some honeymoon.” Pamela said. “But it’s about the length of mine. Lauren’s father was a hardworking man.” She reached out and grabbed Lauren’s wrist, turning her hand over. “They’re getting rougher.”
“I use lotion,” Lauren said.
“It means you’re working hard,” Pamela said. “It does the soul good to work hard. That other ‘job’ of hers wasn’t work, Patrick.”
“It most certainly was,” Lauren said.
“Looking pretty and speaking lines someone else wrote, not thinking for yourself—that’s not work,” Pamela said. “Solving problems, getting dirty, going home with a backache that requires a massage—that’s work. I’m so glad you’re making my daughter respectable for a change, Patrick. I’m proud of her. I can talk to folks about her job now.”
“You weren’t proud of me before?” Lauren asked.
“Your first movie, yes,” Pamela said. “Your character had morals. I had no trouble facing folks. That next one, though . . . That girl was a mess. She was a hoochie.”
“She was not!” Lauren shouted.
“Hoochie, through and through,” Pamela said. “And don’t you be showing your tail in here.”
“Well, don’t be calling me a hoochie then,” Lauren said.
Pamela rolled her eyes. “I gotta go. I need my rest.” She collected her plate and stood.
“Wait a minute, Mama,” Lauren said. “You can’t start an argument and leave.”
“Sure I can,” Pamela said. “I’m done eating. I have to work in the morning, and you have to catch the train, so let’s go.”
“But I’m not through arguing with you,” Lauren said.
“We can continue this on the way home,” Pamela said.
The second the Popeyes door closed behind them, Lauren asked, “So after Feel the Love, you weren’t proud of me at all?”
