Della had been holed up in her office for the better part of the day, something totally out of character for her, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“You seen Della today?” Misty asked, smoothing a Revlon perm into Ms. Lucille’s flaming red hair.
“Not much,” Reggie said with a huff, looking at Tanisha’s head from several angles, trying to figure out what to do with the mangled job she did of coloring her own hair.
“Well, that’s not like her,” Misty continued, wanting to stir up something.
“It’s like her today,” Reggie said with attitude, refusing to get caught up in the gossip trap of Misty’s big mouth. It was one thing to run your lips about your own business, but running it about others’ was where he drew the line. Especially when it came to Della.
Della had been the one who went to bat for him when he first applied for the job fresh out of cosmetology school. She listened to him when he’d cried on her shoulders about his love affairs, and applauded his outlandish clothes. She’d been his friend, his surrogate mom, and his employer. And he damn sure wouldn’t let the likes of this bigmouthed heifer put the badmouth on her. Even if she could hook up some hair.
“All I was sayin’, Reggie, was that she’s acting strange, that’s all.” She smoothed on the rest of the perm and combed it through in long, even strokes. “I just hope nothing’s wrong, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
As much as he didn’t want to agree with Ms. Thing, of all people, she was right, Reggie thought, squirting the last of the peroxide into Tanisha’s hair, hoping to strip away the last of that hideous color. He gently massaged it through, as he pondered what to do about Della.
She had been acting strange today. It wasn’t like her not to be right in the mix, talking with the customers, checking on the technicians, especially on a day that was as busy as the one they’d had. Usually, Della would have jumped in to do a head or two herself to cut down on the backlog. But he’d barely seen her all day.
“Come on, sugah,” he said to Tanisha, snapping a plastic cap on her head. “Sit under the dryer for ten minutes.” Reggie ushered her over to the dryer and set it on cool.
He returned to his station and took off his rubber gloves, tossing them into the trash with a flourish. He spun around, hands on hips, and surveyed the remaining group of waiting women. He had two more clients. One wanted an auburn rinse and the other blond. They both could wait.
* * *
Della’s eyes were beginning to cross. She’d looked at so many numbers and read so many letters and contracts that it was all one big blur.
She squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples with her thumbs.
The light tap on the door sounded like gunshots.
“Come in,” she mumbled, briefly looking up to see Reggie saunter in.
“You look beat down, Ms. Dee. What’s wrong?” He closed the door and came around to the side of her desk and sat on the edge.
Della shook her head as if to say it was nothing.
“Look, Ms. Dee, don’t even try it. We’ve been friends for too long for you to pull the ‘it’s nothing’ routine with me.” He folded his arms, his signal that he wasn’t budging until she spilled her guts.
Della sighed in resignation. “The shop’s in trouble.”
Reggie’s finely plucked brows arched perfectly. “What kind of trouble?”
“Big trouble.”
“Well, how do we get out of it? What do we need to do? If it’s money, you know I’ll pitch in,” he ran on, his fingers furling and unfurling as he spoke. “I have some cash stashed away for a rainy day. You’re welcome to it.”
Della glanced up at him and her heart stirred. For all of Reggie’s eccentricities and often outlandish proclamations, she could always depend on him in a crunch.
“I wish it was that simple, Reg.” She blew out a long breath, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “The fact is, the IRS is on my tail.”
His brows shot up again and stayed there. Della wanted to laugh, but it wasn’t funny.
Reggie gave a slight shudder. “Just the thought of the IRS gives me the willies. What do they want with you? The thievin’ SOBs.”
Della ran down as much of her improbable circumstance as she was aware of. She punctuated her monologue with tosses of her mane of hair or a slap of her palm on the desk for emphasis. And when she really got worked up, she resorted to the age-old sucking of her teeth that came from so far back and so strong, the suction puckered her red lips for a full minute.
“This sounds like that rainy day I was talking about,” Reggie mumbled. “Do you think you’ll have to close the shop?”
“I hope not, Reg, but it’s a possibility. And the grand opening of Della’s Place will definitely have to be postponed. At least until I get this mess straightened out.”
“Maybe Louis knows something. Have you tried to call him?”
“Louis and Elaine are on a two-month Caribbean cruise. I don’t have the faintest idea how to contact him. And even if I did, I’d never intrude on them. When Louis turned the shop over to me, he washed his hands of the business. Right or wrong, I took on the good and the bad. It’s my responsibility.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. But all that responsibility ain’t providing us with any answers.”
Della pursed her lips in annoyance at the obvious.
“I’ll figure something out,” she mumbled, none too sure of her declaration.
Reggie hopped down from his perch. “I have two more clients and then I’m done for the day. Let’s go for a drink and think.”
The right side of Della’s mouth curved. “I thought people drank so they wouldn’t think.”
“Whatever,” he tossed out flippantly. “We could both use one.” He turned toward the door. “See you in about an hour.”
“And don’t say anything to Ruthie. You know how she worries.”
Reggie ran his fingers across his lips and sauntered out.
* * *
Matt Hawkins turned off his computer, returned his files to their proper slots, and prepared to leave, cutting his ten-hour day short. He was way ahead on his client list and felt he deserved the perk.
His office was immaculate. Every pen, pencil, and paper clip was in its place. Order was a passion with Matt Hawkins. He was known throughout the department as Take-No-Prisoners Hawkins because of his relentless pursuit of tax evaders. His success record was impeccable. He’d yet to lose a case.
But as he flicked off the light switch and locked his office door, he wondered how much his zeal had cost him.
Sure, he made great money, had some solid investments, owned his own home, traveled every summer—usually alone—drove the latest Lexus, and had a Jeep. But at the end of the day, that’s all he had—things.
He’d been thinking like this a lot lately. Maybe it was midlife crisis setting in. Whatever it was, he couldn’t shake it and he realized it again today when he’d spoken with that Frazier woman. On any other case he never would have given the client the opportunity to choose when she would come in. He made that decision. This time he’d been easy on the woman and he wasn’t sure why.
He turned the key in the ignition, the smell of Coach leather enveloping him. He must be getting soft, he thought, pulling out into traffic. What other explanation could there be?
Moving along with the snail’s pace of traffic, Matt had the sudden urge not to go home. The last thing he felt like being tonight was alone. Instead of taking his turn on Malcolm X Boulevard he decided that a few hours in a smoke-filled room and some down-home jazz was just the thing he needed. He went straight down 125th Street.
But when he stopped for a red light, the momentary lift he gave himself by deciding to go listen to some music began to slowly dissolve. Who was he kidding? He didn’t any more want to listen to music in a club alone than he wanted to go home and be alone.
What had his life turned into?
“How can you look at yourself in the mirror?” his twenty-year-old daughter Lisa had recently asked him. “You seem to take some sort of pride in ruining people’s lives. What kind of man are you?”
“The same man who busted his butt at this job you hate, to put you through college, buy you that car, and send alimony to your refuse-to-work mother. That’s the kind of man I am,” he said in his own defense. “One who takes care of his responsibilities.”
“By any means necessary, Daddy?” she asked, a despondent edge to her voice.
The question had shocked as much as hurt him. He loved his daughter, blindly, and would do anything to see her happy. To realize that she thought so little of him had forced him to look at his life, at himself. He wasn’t too sure he liked what he saw.
A car horn honked behind him, snapping him out of his musings. He looked up and the light was green. The two cars ahead of him were well across the intersection. He started to pull off when movement to his right caught his eye.
Maybe it was the eye-popping green outfit and matching shoes on the tall, model-thin man. But that wasn’t what held his attention. It was the woman. She was stunning. At first he thought it was Diahann Carroll. But he couldn’t imagine the famous star strolling down 125th Street with that particular companion. Then again, you never could tell. However, gut instinct told him better. This woman was better-looking than any Diahann Carroll.
She had a head full of tumbling auburn hair that gently brushed her shoulders and blew lightly in the spring breeze. The bronze-toned trenchcoat she wore didn’t hide, but accented the cream-colored suit worn beneath it, the skirt hitting just above her knees.
And she wore heels! Real heels. Something women these days didn’t do much of anymore. But he loved them. Loved what they did to a woman’s legs. And her legs … every time she took a step they peeked out from behind the coat. Taunting, tempting.…
The horn blasted again, seconds before a white Lincoln sped around him, the driver sticking his head out of the window long enough to let go of a few words he’d never want his mother to hear.
The squeal of tires must have caught her attention and she turned briefly toward the sound. She had wide expressive eyes the color of cinnamon, and smooth, flawless skin to match.
In that instant he captured her face with the sensitivity and high speed of a camera shutter. The image would be engraved in his head forever.
The couple turned the corner and disappeared from view, but not from Matt Hawkins’s mind.
For the rest of the night and into the morning, he thought of that woman and the incredible sensation he’d felt when he saw her. It was as if something that had been dormant inside of him had finally been awakened. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, that just seeing a woman had made such an impact on him.
The following morning before going to work, he took the same route in the vain hope of spotting her. He didn’t. He felt like a fool as he cruised down the avenue, but he couldn’t help himself.
Finally, he accepted the futility of his actions and headed to his office. He was crazy to think he’d ever see her again.