The People vs. Cashmere 2

by Karen P. Williams

  “I guess you think I should feel bad but you shouldn’t be in this bitch anyway. And as for your bitch-ass daddy, I never liked that nigga anyway. He was too fucking emotional and too pussy whipped by your mama,” he said between pants.

  He was breathing harshly. And I continued to cry. He covered my mouth with a hand so no one could hear me.

  And no one did.

  I was screaming inside.

  Chapter 26

  Cashmere

  Bev. She was what kept me going in the midst of all I was dealing with. Like clockwork, she resumed driving to my house, and getting me out of bed and back to work. In fact she didn’t even give me a chance to go back to my not getting out of bed ritual.

  When I would be at the shop, I told her to give me all the clients who needed sewn-in weaves. I knew eventually I’d have to go back to the shop in Inglewood. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t need anyone in my face asking me if I was okay or feeling bad for me. That would bring me right back to my husband. Here no one really knew me except for Bev because I never came there too often. All the old heads had been long gone. And plus, I still needed to be close to Bev because if ever I was having a moment where thoughts of Demarco or thoughts of the miscarriage came, I could just slip away and she would finish up the client. Or no matter how many times I whined about Demarco being dead and how fucked up it was Bev never got tired of lending an ear. She never rolled her eyes or snapped like my mother did.

  While I worked I listened to music. And other times I listened to Bev’s clients. They told me all about what was going on in their social life, with their kids and husband. A lot of times they wanted my advice on what to do about their husband cheating and whatnot. It was funny; when I gave them my advice they always seemed to respect it. Whereas I didn’t because of all the stupid choices I had made in my life. Another thing I was glad of was the fact that my aunt didn’t bring her fat ass in here. Since her cancer she didn’t have any hair. If she ever came her ass to the shop, I wasn’t going to do that “turn the other cheek” shit like I had done when I was younger. The way I felt, I was looking to vent some frustration and her ass, trust me, she could get it.

  “So what do you think I should do?” the young client in my chair asked zapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Run that by me again?”

  The client gave me a gentle shove. “You weren’t listening,” she said laughing.

  “I heard the beginning then I zoned off. Start from him calling you.”

  The last time the client was here she told me that her fiancé had caught her cheating. “Well my boo took me back. We been back together since the last time I was here.”

  “Oh good.” I attached the closure hairpiece to the top of her tracks. “How has it been?”

  “Well thing is he said the wedding is still on but my baby, he is not being the same toward me.”

  “How is he being different?”

  “It’s just not the same. When I’m around him sometimes he snaps at me out of nowhere. He never did that to me before. And when we’re in bed, even after sex, he scoots away from me. It’s like he hates me sometimes. Why do you think he is acting that way?”

  “Because you fucked someone else,” I said bluntly.

  “But he took me back. He forgave me.”

  “Doesn’t matter and no, he didn’t. Obviously he is not over the fact that you slept with another man. He may have told you that he is but he’s not.”

  “Well what should I do about it? You know that’s my boo.”

  “Well in all actuality, if he continues this way, angry, I wouldn’t go forward with a marriage that’s for sure. Because the husband you just might get is more than likely not the man you fell in love with but the man you see right now. Would you want to be married to that person?”

  She looked sad. “No. Can this be fixed?”

  “Maybe. You can sit him down and have a talk with him and even go to therapy. But what you have to understand is that he may never be able to get over you cheating and things may never go back to the way they were. If you choose to stay with him you’d have to accept what he becomes. Or if he continues to make you unhappy you can leave. He just might straighten up if he sees you are not going to put up with his bullshit because you made a mistake.” I stitched the last inch of her closure.

  “What would you do?”

  Her situation and her question brought me back to how it was with Demarco. I wondered if I had left Demarco if he would have hung. And if I left and he didn’t change or fight for me back what other man did God have in store for me? Looking back, I also asked myself would I have done things differently. I couldn’t say that I would have although I knew that deep down I should have. I should have left.

  “Why don’t you—”

  “Hey, Caesar!”

  I looked up surprised as Bev walked toward Caesar who was standing in the front of the shop and gave him a kiss on his cheek. They then embraced. When they separated I saw he had three young teenage girls with him.

  “So you brought three clients. Okay.” Bev looked around while saying, “Let me see who is available.” She spied me standing there frozen wondering why Caesar was in this bitch and how he knew Bev.

  “Cash. How much longer do you got on that weave, baby?”

  Surprised when my name was called Caesar looked my way. He gave me a nod but I ignored him and responded to Bev. “I’m going to put some layers in, flatiron it, and I’m done; why?”

  “I have a client for you. I’ll do the other girl and whichever one of us is done can do the last girl. Is that all right with you?”

  I nodded wanting to ask a ton of questions but said nothing.

  Then suddenly there was a twinkle in Bev’s eye. “Matter fact. Let me introduce you two.” She guided Caesar forward by one of his hands until he was standing in front of me. “This is my goddaughter, Cashmere. Cash, this is Caesar.”

  “I know who he is, Bev. I just don’t understand why the nigga here,” I said hoping the client didn’t hear, but by the smile that cracked on her face, I saw she did.

  “Oh you two know each other?”

  I ignored her comment. So she went on.

  “Cash, Caesar started the nonprofit out here that helps young girls stop prostituting. When he gets new girls they come here to get their hair done and he buys them a new wardrobe. The program helps them get drug treatment, their GED, and even a job. God bless this man! ’Cause Lord knows we need this out here. One drive down Compton Boulevard will shell shock someone who is not from around these parts. And it is hard as hell to get those girls to leave their pimps. Did I mention he is single?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. Although I had to admit that I was surprised and impressed with what he was doing. Who knew?

  “That’s good what you’re doing, Caesar,” I said without looking up. I grabbed my scissors. “Bev, give me ten minutes and I’ll start on her.”

  “Okay, babe.” But as she smiled, her eyes bored into me like she was trying to figure out where the negative energy was coming from. I knew Bev. She read for sure.

  She walked away toward her station and said, “Come on, baby. I’ll get you now.”

  Caesar remained standing near me. “So how have you been?”

  “Fine,” I said dryly. I cut some layers in Jeanette’s weave. “What side you want your bang on?”

  “The left,” Jeanette said.

  I cut a swoop bang smoothly.

  “I didn’t know you worked here,” Caesar said.

  “I don’t. I’m just helping Bev out. Not that’s it’s any of your business.”

  Jeanette chuckled. So did Caesar.

  “Her hair looks really nice.”

  “Thank you. Now you are going to have to move so I can finish what I’m doing.”

  “Right.” He walked back over to the chairs and sat down.

  “How you want it styled?” I asked Jeanette.

  “Can I get Shirley Temples? Roy likes those.”


  “Shirley Temples it is.”

  “Damn how do you know him? ’Cause dude is”—she snickered—“on you. You gave him the panties and he sprung? Keep it trill?”

  “I ain’t gave him shit.”

  She busted up laughing at this point. “Now back to me. You didn’t tell me. What do you think I should do?”

  “Talk to him. Go to therapy. Give it six months after that. That’s enough time to see if he is going to get over it. Is he doesn’t, leave him and don’t look back.”

  I started curling her hair. When I looked at her face her eyes got watery. Probably how mine would have gotten if someone had told me that about Demarco when he was alive. But it was the best thing to do for her and would have been best for me. Sometimes what’s best hurts to hear.

  “But I don’t think I can do that even if he doesn’t change.”

  Damn she sounded like me. But it was the best thing to do if a person couldn’t get over their pain or anger and love you like they did before.

  “Do you really think the therapy will work?”

  Truth was I doubted it would. Her man would probably always hold the cheating over her head but I told her, “If it doesn’t you have to be strong enough to walk away. Give it a shot though; if you love him try. Anything is possible right?”

  She smiled at my words and seemed more confident about her situation. I was sure she ignored the first part of my sentence about walking away if it didn’t work.

  “Cashmere, you give such bomb advice. I bet you have a perfect marriage.”

  “How do you know I’m married?”

  “You rocking a big rock that’s why.”

  I looked down at my hand and thought, if she only knew how bad things were in my household. I finished one last curl, sprayed her hair with oil sheen, and took off her cape. “Your hair looks cute. Take a look at it.”

  As she looked at herself in the handheld mirror, I glanced up and caught Caesar watching me. I looked away.

  “Thank you, girl.” She gave me a hug. “For my hair and the advice.”

  “You’re welcome. You can pay up front.”

  “Okay.” She walked off.

  I turned my attention to my next customer, the young girl who had arrived with Caesar. “Come on, sweetie,” I said to the young girl sitting next to Caesar. When she came to sit in my chair. I asked her, “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “How long you been in the game?”

  “Two years.”

  That meant she started when she was thirteen. Which was not surprising at all to me since I started when I was only thirteen. That was the average age when most got started. And the men out there, although they acted like they didn’t know, they knew they were having sex with young underaged girls. The police knew as well. But still, the Johns all got slaps on the wrist. And the pimps rarely got caught. It was crazy. Back then, I was doing something against my will. And I was at more of a risk of getting locked up than the one forcing me to do it and the one benefiting from it. Crazy.

  Them motherfuckas knew.

  “Are you done?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m tired of this shit.”

  God I wanted to ask her more. Tell her my story. But with Caesar there all up in my mouth and seeming to hear every word that came out of my mouth I kept the conversation to a minimum. “You can do it. Trust me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now how do you want your hair done?”

  “Can you take out this weave? I hate it. My daddy forced me to put it in. I have black hair underneath it.”

  When she said daddy I knew she was referring to her pimp and the hair she said she hated was a twenty-two-inch blond weave and made the girl look way older than she really was.

  “I can do that. Let’s give you you back and a new start.”

  By the time I took the weave out, washed and put a deep conditioner on her hair, flat-ironed it, and trimmed her edges she looked more like the fifteen-year-old girl she really was. But still, there was something old about her eyes. Probably how my eyes looked at that age and would probably always would look. I mean that’s what that life will do to you. And if it didn’t change you on the outside it for sure changed you on the inside. That person you were before. Man, that person dies and not enough therapy or prayer could get it back. You are forever changed. For me I knew that my past would always and forever haunt me.

  By the time I finished with her hair, Bev had done the other two girls hair because the work on theirs was less complicated.

  “I love it,” she said looking in the mirror. I had flat-ironed her own long hair bone straight and gave her Chinese bangs.

  “Reminds me of how I used to look before . . .” She shook her head and looked down.

  “I understand more than you think I do,” I told her. Her eyes narrowed at me and I thought she got it. And the fact that I was standing there in front of her at a shop as opposed to being on the track with her said it all. It said she could be done too. That it didn’t have to be just words.

  She gave me a smile. “Thanks again.”

  She went off to where the other two girls were standing and Caesar approached me again. I cleaned off my station not giving him eye contact.

  “Her hair looks really nice. The other young lady’s hair looked good too. You really are talented, Cashmere.”

  “Thanks,” I bit out.

  “You know, I probably won’t give up until you have at least one final conversation with me. I’m a cop. I know where you live. I can show up there. Pop up at your job.”

  “That’s stalking, motherfucker. Cop or no cop I’ll have your ass thrown in jail,” I said in a quiet yet threatening tone.

  He chuckled. “Same ol’ Cashmere. I was just messing around.”

  That comment made me crack a partial smile. Because it brought me back to us being young and me being so in love with him. But shit, I was only thirteen back then what the fuck did I know about that? It probably wasn’t even real love.

  “But seriously can you give me fifteen to twenty minutes of your time?”

  “Why, Caesar? What is so damn important?”

  “If you give me just that time, I’ll tell you, Cashmere,” he said calmly.

  “If I agree to meet you just this one time and entertain your bullshit conversation will you then leave me the fuck alone?”

  “Once you hear what I have to say, Cashmere, you won’t want to leave me alone.”

  I grimaced at that comment. “Okay! I’ll meet you on Friday at Sweet Tooth Café.”

  “You still remember that place?” he asked.

  “Yes. It’s down the street from here. I see your boogie-ass mom sold it to some Koreans.”

  “Yes. Yes, she did. She sold it not long after I went away to college. I’ve never been back there so it would be nice to see how it . . .” His voice trailed off when I looked away. “What time, Cashmere?” he pressed calmly.

  “Noon.”

  “Okay. Well I’ll get going. I’m going to go buy them some clothes. I’ll see you then.”

  I ignored him and went back to straightening up my counter.

  By Friday, the day I was to meet with Caesar, I had gone into the shop to work with Bev for a few hours. At noon, like I promised, I walked down the street to the café. In all actuality, nothing had changed about it other that the owners were no longer black. When I got there, Caesar was already seated and waiting for me. I had to admit to myself that my reason for going was to really find out what he meant when he said that if we talked I would feel different. I chuckled to myself, thinking of all the moments we had shared there. It didn’t seem that long ago at all. But it was. Back then I was a young, innocent girl. Not long after meeting Caesar, my innocence was destroyed.

  His head was down when I approached him. But when he saw me he stood, smiled, and pulled my chair out for me. I let him and sat down facing him. He sat back down as well.

  “So how are you feeling?”

  “I’m
all right.”

  “You sure?”

  “What did I say?” I snapped.

  “You hate me, Cashmere. Still. After all these years.”

  “Should I not? Time doesn’t take away the wrong a person does you know. I don’t care how long it’s been.”

  “I know it doesn’t if they’ve actually done wrong. But just maybe, just maybe . . .” He paused. “You know what? More importantly, I’m concerned about you. I mean you were in a hospital. And your mother said you had a miscarriage…”

  I looked away. I was trying to block that shit out. But before I could stop myself, tears started spilling from my eyes and down my cheeks. Why the fuck did he have to bring that up? Those past two weeks were weeks I wanted to forget in their entirety and he just had brought them all back to me. Without a moment’s hesitation, Caesar grabbed a hold of my chair pulled it closer to his and pulled me out of it with a strong grip on me. Then he placed me on his lap and wrapped his arms around my upper body like I was a baby. And, yes, I hated him. But in that moment he provided the comfort I needed to where I wasn’t looking at eighteen-year-old Caesar and what he had done. I was looking into the eyes of a thirty-seven-year-old man. And his eyes offered so much damn comfort.

  I’d never forget the words he continued to say to me while I sobbed. He said, “It’s okay, Cashmere. You’re safe. You’re safe.” I mean he said it over and over again and I cried my eyes out. After a couple minutes, once I gained my composure, I got out of his lap and sat back in my chair.

  “I honestly feel so stupid for letting you hold me. I mean you fucked my sister when you knew I—” I paused.

  “When I knew what, Cashmere?”

  “You knew back then that although I was young, I was in love with you. That was fucked up!” I frowned and looked away.

  “Hey. Look at me.” Once I did his eyes locked with mine. “What if I told you that I couldn’t have willingly had sex with your sister? What if I tell you that we never, ever had sex?”

  “I’d tell you that you’re a motherfucking liar. I saw both of y’all naked and her on top of you.”