The interior of the Crowned by Curls salon bustled with activity Saturday morning as Hadley entered through the glass doors, with Belinda close behind her. Taking off her sunglasses and tucking them into her purse, Hadley wove her way across the carpeted waiting area to the reception desk.
“Damn, it’s jumping in here today. Good thing we made appointments.” Belinda ran her hand over her close-cropped hair. “I need my waves redone, like, yesterday.”
Hadley chuckled. “Nobody tries to walk in here on a Saturday. At least, nobody who lives here.” Only vacationers, operating on the assumption that a Black-owned salon in a small resort town could never be crowded, tried this.
Lisa, the desk clerk, smiled as the two women approached. She wore the hot-pink scrubs and black apron that constituted the salon’s uniform. “What’s up, Hadley? How you doing, Belinda?”
“We’re good, girl.” Belinda rested her elbows on the counter. “How the kids doing?”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “Girl, they’re as rambunctious as ever.”
“Y’all ready for us?”
Lisa winked. “You know how we roll here. You come on time for your appointment and we’ll be ready. Go on back—they’re waiting for y’all.”
Circling around the desk, Hadley and Belinda passed through the beaded curtains to the back area of the salon, where the stylists maintained their stations. The fuchsia-painted walls of the salon were dressed with framed images of famous Black women. There were singers, actresses, educators and other luminaries of the race. The black-and-white tile floor hosted the ten stations for hairstylists, as well as four for nail technicians.
Sandra Jackson, the salon’s owner and Hadley’s personal stylist, waved her over to her station. Sandra, whose long, thin blond-highlighted dreadlocks were piled atop her head, ran a tight ship. “Hadley, come on over, girl. I’m ready for you.”
Hadley waved to Belinda, who’d already slipped into Tammy’s chair across the room, and climbed into Sandra’s chair. “Hey, Sandra. How you doing?”
“Good, girl. Business is booming, and I can’t complain.” Picking up a wide-tooth comb, she attempted to sweep it through Hadley’s loose curls. “Maybe I can complain. Girl, haven’t you been detangling your hair?”
Hadley sucked at her bottom lip. “I have, but I didn’t do it last night. And I fell asleep without my silk bonnet.”
Sandra shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. I told you if you don’t want to take care of your hair between visits, we can always shave your head.” She gave Hadley’s shoulder a gentle jab with the end of the comb.
Feeling properly chastised, Hadley shook her head. “No, no. I’ll do better. I just want my usual wash and set. And I probably need a trim.”
Sandra ran her fingers through her hair. “Yes, you do. Your ends are looking a little raggedy, girl. Let’s get you to the shampoo bowl.”
Once Hadley’s tresses had been washed, trimmed and set on rollers, she sat underneath the hooded dryer. No sooner than she opened a magazine to pass the time, Belinda was ushered over and put beneath the dryer next to her.
The moment she was seated, Belinda spoke. “So, tell me. What’s going on with that fine Devon Granger?”
Thanks to Sandra’s investment in ultraquiet hair dryers, Hadley couldn’t pretend not to have heard Belinda. Odds were most of the people in the back of the salon heard her, as well. “Pertaining to what, exactly?”
Belinda rolled her eyes. “Come on, girl. Did you ask him about Captain Vicious coming back for DD3?”
Hadley glanced around and noticed more than a few sets of eyes on her. Apparently, she and Belinda weren’t the only ones curious about what to expect from the next film in the trilogy and the villain everyone loved to hate. “I did, but he’s under a contract that says he can’t tell anyone.”
“So much for getting the scoop on that.” Belinda leaned to her left a bit, as if trying to get closer to her friend. “Did you get any juicy Hollywood news out of him?”
She shook her head. “No filming and no premieres until after the New Year.”
“Sheesh.” Belinda popped her lips. “Well, let’s get down to the real deal, then. Have you made your move on him yet?”
“Nice segue, B.”
Belinda shrugged. “I do what I can. Now give me the dirt.”
Hadley cocked her head to one side, hoping to redirect the hot air to a spot where her head felt more damp. “There’s no dirt. At least, not yet.”
“What are you waiting on? You had better make your move on him before some other woman does.” Belinda tossed one leg over the other. “Remember, Sapphire Shores is a resort town. That means your competition is bigger than just the local girls. It’s all the women traveling here as tourists, too.”
Hadley sighed. She had history with Devon, and not just the past five Christmases spent seeing to his needs at the town house. They’d known each other since childhood, and while they’d never been more than friends in the past, she liked to think their long association counted for something. “True enough, but Devon and I have history.”
“History, indeed. Your history is as the pip-squeak little sister, and his is as the hot friend of your older brother.” Belinda chuckled. “Yeah. Y’all go way back.”
Hadley stuck out her tongue at her friend. She loved Belinda like a sister, but sometimes she could do without her plainspoken honesty. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, B. If you feel that way about it, then why are you pushing me to go after him?”
“It’s like I said. If you don’t, someone else is going to move in on him.”
Hadley fixed her with a glare and waited.
Belinda sighed. “Fine. Look, I’ve known you how long now? Approximately forever, right?”
“That’s about right.” They’d been the tag team of terror for more than a decade.
“In all that time, I’ve never known you to be into anyone the way you’re into Devon. The way I see it, y’all are soul mates. I get that he’s all famous now, and that makes it harder to approach him. But you’re in a unique situation that gives you total access to him.”
With her chin resting on her fist, Hadley nodded. “I suppose that’s true. I even have a key to the town house...but I would never infringe on his privacy by using it without his permission.”
“I’m not suggesting you do that. But I think it would be pretty stupid of you to let the opportunity to make your feelings known pass you by.” Belinda’s expression changed, becoming more serious. “I just want you to be happy, Hadley. You work so hard at MHI, picking up the slack for everyone else. You deserve to be happy, girl.”
Despite her earlier annoyance, Hadley felt the smile tipping her lips. “That’s really sweet, B. Thanks for caring so much.”
“Hey, somebody’s got to look after you.” Belinda playfully punched Hadley on the arm, an accompaniment to her teasing. “You’re too busy looking out for everyone else.”
Mulling her friend’s words over, Hadley turned her attention back to the magazine still lying open across her lap. She continued to flip the pages and read some of the text, but her mind insisted on playing out possible ways she might approach Devon. She didn’t want to come off as desperate or pushy or do anything else that would lead her efforts to crash and burn before they even got off the ground.
Her interactions with Devon so far made her aware of how much he valued his solitude and privacy. As much as she wanted to get his attention, she knew he wouldn’t go for being openly pursued. No, it was best to bide her time and wait for the right moment to let him know exactly how she felt.
Somehow, she knew that moment was coming.
* * *
With his tablet in hand, Devon slid open the glass doors leading to the back patio. The stone courtyard, with its resin-and-glass dining set, gas grill and comfortable resin love seat, was one of his favorite features of the town house. The location of the property, near the southern tip of the island, meant he could enjoy ocean views from both the front and back of the house. He eased onto the cushioned love seat and settled in. Just beyond the five-foot powder-coated iron fence surrounding the patio lay a wide band of sand that gave way to the blue waves of the Atlantic.
He turned his attention to the tablet, adjusting the screen brightness for easier viewing in the sunlight. The day was temperate, in the midfifties, and he’d donned a pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. Usually at this time on a Saturday afternoon, he’d be working out, but his injury prevented him from doing much in the way of exercise other than walking. The prescription he’d gotten from Dr. Stinger did a lot to ease the pain, but he didn’t want to risk making matters worse by hitting the gym.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air. As he exhaled, he made sure to force the air out from his diaphragm. Despite his inability to do his usual number of sit-ups, he was determined to maintain his core strength. He was no doctor, but he knew that abdominal strength and stability would only help his back.
He tapped the screen, intent on opening the web browser, but an incoming video call interrupted his effort. Seeing the face of his old friend and mentor on the screen made him smile. Swiping across, he answered the call. “Rick! How the hell are you?”
“Great, great. How are you doing, young buck?” Rick Rollingsworth, a consummate actor who was considered Hollywood royalty, smiled from across the miles. The man was in great physical shape, and the only hint of his nearly sixty years of living was the small streak of gray hair running across his hairline. “Enjoying your vacation?”
“Yes. It’s beautiful down here. And far more quiet than LA could ever be.” Devon raised the tablet, turning it so Rick could see the water. “Look at that ocean. And barely a soul out here to disturb my peace.”
Rick chuckled. “I’m jealous. I’m still on set for the Teddy Pendergrass biopic.” He panned his camera around, showing Devon the bustling activity going on in the studio. An outdoor backdrop, depicting a city street, hung behind Rick. People rushed back and forth through the cavernous space, carrying props, chatting noisily and pushing carts. “They’re moving equipment between soundstages right now, then they’ll set up the next take.”
Devon shook his head. He admired Rick’s work ethic, and he knew a large part of Rick’s success as an African American actor in a less-than-hospitable film industry could be traced back to it. “Jeez. It’s little more than a week before Christmas. When are they gonna wrap this thing up?”
“Hell if I know.” Rick shrugged. “Filming is going to continue in the New Year, probably. But I expect they’ll let us go for a holiday break in the next couple of days. Even if they don’t, I’m out by the twentieth. My wife isn’t going to have me staying any longer than that.”
“How is Odetta, anyway? I haven’t seen her in a while.” Devon was particularly fond of Rick’s wife, who loved to bake and often sent cookies, pies and other homemade sweets to the film sets they worked on together.
“She’s great. She’s out shopping right now, no doubt. Between her and Richelle, I gotta take most of the roles that come my way.” He laughed as he spoke of his twentysomething daughter, his and Odetta’s only child. “They’re both spoiled as hell, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Devon chuckled. “We both know that. So, what’s up? There’s got to be a reason you’re calling me from on set.”
Rick snapped his fingers, as if remembering something. “Yes, there is. I’ve been called to consult on a new film project. The screenwriter wants to put together a whole new team of up-and-coming talent. You know, a new director, producer, actors at the beginning of their careers, the whole nine.”
Devon’s ears perked up. “Really? So, what’s the project about?”
“It’s a romantic thriller, exploring the Black Panther Party in the ’60s. I’ve seen the script, and it’s pretty impressive writing. The man’s got a gift, and if he can pull the right team together, he’s got a hit on his hands.”
Scratching his chin, Devon thought about what he’d just heard. The film’s premise was intriguing, and he always sought out roles that allowed him to tell stories he thought were important. “How are the Panthers portrayed?”
“Pretty objectively, from what I can tell. You won’t find any of that manufactured lore about them being a criminal organization, but they aren’t painted as saints, either.”
The more Devon heard, the more he liked the project. “So, I guess this means you’re ready to deal me in, then?”
Rick nodded. “Yeah. I thought you might like to step in as one of the Panthers’ enforcers. The role is available, and you’ve definitely got the body type.”
Devon sucked in a breath. “Okay, Rick. I’m interested in participating, but not as an actor.”
Rick’s thick brow rose a few inches. “Then what, pray tell, would you be doing?”
“Directing.” He kept his expression even, hoping to convey his seriousness.
It was to no avail, because Rick immediately burst out laughing.
Devon sat there, watching the screen and waiting for Rick to recover.
When he finally stopped laughing, he said, “Okay, Devon. I’ll let the screenwriter know that everyone’s favorite action hero wants to direct.”
Devon frowned. “Come on, Rick. I’m serious.”
That only started the laughter again. “I hear you, man.” Rick inserted his words between guffaws. “Look, I’ll let you go. I’ll get back to you on your directorial debut. ’Bye, Devon.” His image faded from the screen as he ended the video call.
Setting the tablet on the cushion next to him, Devon folded his arms over his chest. He’d put himself out there, made his aspirations known, only to be laughed at by the man he looked up to.
He shook his head ruefully. This was precisely why he hadn’t told anyone of his aspirations. Moving behind the camera wasn’t some fly-by-night idea he’d come up with on the plane ride. He’d been thinking about it for the past two years, at least. He loved acting and loved his fans even more. But the stunt work side of things only became harder and more physically taxing as the years went by. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d stay young and able-bodied forever. Even though he kept himself in excellent physical shape, his efforts hadn’t prevented his recent injury.
All he could do now was wait and hope Rick put in a good word for him. With no information on the project other than the general premise, he’d be hard-pressed to find out any more about it on his own.
His face tight with tension and worry, Devon closed his eyes and set his focus on the sound of the rolling waves.