CHAPTER 30
“Maxwell, you have a minute?”
“You’re not trying to weasel out of staying late to do inventory, are you?”
“No, no,” Yolanda said, easing into one of the chairs in front of his desk. “I just need to ask you something.”
“I was actually about to buzz you in here, anyway. Go ahead, shoot.”
“Who picked the stylists for the Essence shoot?”
“Theresa. Dee Dee makes the final decision, but—”
“Theresa suggests who gets picked. I’m sure she just goes by looks alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just that one of my friends wasn’t chosen—”
“Maybe she wasn’t qualified for the job. Look, if she has any complaints, she’ll have to talk to you or Jackie. I don’t have time to deal with somebody getting her feelings hurt over something like that. But I need you to talk to one of the stylists,” Maxwell said, handing Yolanda a manila folder.
“What’s the problem?”
“There has been a drastic change in her job performance. She’s been late for work seven times in the last month, she has several client complaints, and even though she wears the standard black and white, her outfits are too tight and too revealing,” he said.
“So you want me to write her up?”
“Exactly. Let her know that this time is just a warning, but if her subpar performance continues she will be placed on probation for three months.”
“Who is it?” Yolanda asked.
“It’s on the file,” he said.
Yolanda looked down at the file and her blood ran cold: Natalie Morrison.
I can’t do this. I can’t write her up. I have to think of a way out of it.
“Yolanda? Everything okay?” Maxwell asked.
“Yeah, um, Maxwell, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this.”
“And why not?”
“It’s just that I’m swamped with work…”
“Listen, Yolanda, I know you’re feeling nervous, but part of my job is to delegate responsibility. Now I know you can handle this; it’s in your job description.”
“All right,” Yolanda said, rising.
“Oh, and Yolanda?” Maxwell said.
“Yes?” she said, hopefully.
“Make sure you call her into your office. Always handle situations like this in private. It leaves the other person with a little dignity.”
“I understand.”
* * *
“You have a nice office. Small but nice,” Natalie said. “Who paid for the furniture?” she asked, running her hand along the edge of Yolanda’s dark cherry desk.
“Behave paid for it. We’re given a small stipend for office furniture. The amount is based on office size and length of employment.”
“Nice, nice.” Natalie said, her eyes darting around noticing the cream walls, dark office furniture and heavy silver accessories on the bookshelves. She finally sat down in the chair facing Yolanda.
“First, I want to apologize,” Yolanda said. She figured the best way to break the news to Natalie was to soften her up, and to let her know she had a job to do.
“No, actually, I should apologize to you. I shouldn’t have hung up the phone in your face. It’s just that…well, things have been hard, to say the least. I really miss having you around the salon.”
“Natalie, I miss you, too. I really want us to keep being friends…”
“Me, too! I know deep down that you aren’t responsible for me not getting the Essence shoot. Things have been happening, and I haven’t been on top of my game—”
“Well, that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I know that’s why you called me in here, Yolanda, but you don’t even have to apologize to me anymore. I forgive you. Let’s just put this whole thing behind us. I’m sure somebody else made all those fat comments. I know you wouldn’t ever say such horrible things. So pretend you’re in here writing me up or something and tell me all the juice up here!”
“Well, speaking of writing you up—”
“I mean, you should’ve seen how everybody was looking at me downstairs, like I really was up here getting in trouble. I had to put people in check, especially Tasha, and let them know that my girl would never do me like that.”
“Listen, Natalie—”
“Look at me running my mouth!” Natalie said, laughing. “Go ahead, tell me your news first. I have something to tell you, too.”
“Well, it seems like you have been having problems,” Yolanda began.
“Yeah, everybody’s got problems. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you—”
“Yes, I know, but your problems are starting to affect your job performance.”
Natalie’s eyes grew small as she stared at Yolanda.
“Like how?” she asked. Her voice, too, had changed. It was frosty, guarded, defensive.
“Well, for instance, you’ve been late several times.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you…I’ve been staying up late so I—”
“Maybe you need to start going to bed earlier and not party so much.”
Stunned, Natalie slumped in her chair, her eyes now wide with disbelief.
“What else?”
“You have gotten several client complaints.”
“I seem to remember when you were a stylist, way back when, you got a lot of complaints, too.”
“This isn’t about me right now,” Yolanda said. “Also, there’s the matter of…your clothes.”
Natalie’s eyes shrank to tiny slits.
“What about my clothes?”
“Well, we think—”
“Cut the we mess, Yolanda!” Natalie yelled. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”
“They could be a little more conservative. Right now we, I mean, I, think they are too provocative for work.”
“Provocative?”
“Yeah, um, maybe you should go up a few sizes so everything wouldn’t be so tight and then—”
“You bony heifer,” Natalie said icily.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Natalie said, her voice thick with menace. “You get promoted and all of sudden you top stuff, huh?”
“Natalie, calm down—”
“No, you calm down!” Natalie yelled. “Who do you think got you this job, huh? You would be nothin’ without me. You didn’t even know about this position until I told you! I’m thinking you call me up here so we can talk, but instead you’re trying to write me up!”
“Natalie, you know, I didn’t want to do this…”
“Then don’t! You know I’m trying to get promoted to senior stylist. If I get written up, they won’t even consider me for another year!”
“I’m sorry, Natalie,” Yolanda said, taking deep breaths. I hate this. I hate confrontation, especially with somebody I love like a sister.
“Yeah, I bet you’re sorry. Give me the slip so I can get outta here.”
Yolanda slid the white slip of paper across her desk.
Natalie snatched it and scribbled her signature across the bottom. She threw the form back at Yolanda and got up to leave.
“Natalie, please don’t be like that. This is just business, nothing personal, okay?”
“Nothing personal? Nothing personal? You must be on something if you think that you could write me up and still think we could be cool? I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with, but I am a person. And my best friend writing me up I take personal. There is no other way I can take it. But I’ll tell you one thing, since this is just business, to you, I’ll keep you as just business, too. You don’t mean anything to me from now on. Don’t call me when all this Jackie and Maxwell stuff blows up in your face. And it will, Yolanda. You up here with the big dogs, but don’t think they don’t bite,” Natalie said, walking out of Yolanda’s office and slamming the door.
* * *
“You sure you don’t want another slice of pizza? I’m gonna eat it all.”
“No, no,” Yolanda said. “You go ahead.”
“Knock, knock,” Dee Dee said, walking in. “I was just letting you guys know I’m leaving. I know this is inventory time, but don’t stay too late. Enjoy the rest of your evening—what’s left of it, anyway.”
“Thanks a lot, Dee Dee. Good night,” Maxwell said.
She nodded and left, her soft musk perfume wafting behind her.
“She’s an incredible woman,” Yolanda said.
“Yes, she is.”
“You guys must be pretty close.”
“We are, in a way. Dee Dee is very private, so you can get only so close to her.”
Yolanda nodded and returned to her paperwork. She looked at her watch. 11:10. I hope I’ll be home by one.
“So did everything go okay today?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“With Natalie. I’ve been so busy I never did ask you how that went.”
“Oh.”
“I assume it didn’t go well?”
“No, it didn’t go well at all,” she said, remembering Natalie’s furious reaction. It was as if there was a video recorder in her mind. She kept rewinding the scene over and over, sometimes in slow motion. Natalie was stubborn, and Yolanda knew she would never talk to her again. Slow, quiet tears ran down her face.
“Hey, hey,” Maxwell said, walking around his desk and sitting in the chair beside Yolanda. He put his arm around her shoulder.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, tried to be strong, willing herself to stop crying. But the tears came, flowing like a dam unplugged, and the more Yolanda tried to stop them, the more they flowed.
He gave her a tissue.
She took it and blew on it, hard and noisily. The tissue broke and some of her snot flew onto her hand.
He handed her another tissue.
Embarrassed, she took it quickly and wiped her nose gently, more ladylike this time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down.
“Don’t worry. A little snot never hurt nobody,” he said.
She looked up and smiled.
“See, I knew I could make you smile.”
His eyes were kind and warm. He hadn’t said much, but his eyes showed Yolanda that he understood. Maxwell reached over and wiped the tears off her face.
“Please don’t cry.”
Yolanda grabbed his hand and held it to her cheek.
He looked at her for a long moment. He slowly pulled himself closer.
He’s going to kiss me.
She moved in. He reached closer and closer, and right before their lips touched, he stopped.
Yolanda looked into his eyes. She could see the struggle; he didn’t want to cross that line.
She closed her eyes. Faintly, she whispered, “Please.”
It was the please that made Maxwell pull away. He couldn’t do this. Her eyes were closed, her lips pursed as if she was in a movie. But this wasn’t a movie, and he couldn’t make a move on her like that, especially seeing that she wanted, no, needed more.
Yolanda opened her eyes.
“We should get finished here,” Maxwell said. “It’s getting late.”
He watched her face crumple like a tissue as she backed away.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I should never have—”
“It’s not you, Yolanda, it’s me.”
He sighed. He was giving her the it’s not you, it’s me speech. Why was he giving her a speech at all? She wasn’t his woman; he didn’t owe her anything.
“Look, let’s just get done,” Maxwell said, his tone sharper than he intended. He kept his head down and pretended not to see Yolanda wiping away tears.