CHAPTER 32

“Mama, is it wrong to be in love with someone at work?” Yolanda asked, chopping up potatoes for her mother’s famous potato salad.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“Oh, a lot of things. Stuff like that can get complicated. I like things as simple as I can get ’em.”

“What if it’s too late?”

“It’s never too late to do the right thing,” her mother said, putting more flour on the pie dough she was rolling out.

“I tried to kiss a guy at work yesterday.”

Her mother kept rolling out dough, waiting for Yolanda to continue.

“Well, not just a guy. Technically…he’s my boss.”

“What? Yolanda…”

“I know, Mama, I know. But I couldn’t help it! I’ve had this thing for him for ages and when the opportunity presented itself, I don’t know, I just went after it.”

Her mother stopped rolling the dough and looked at her.

“What? Oh, Mama, we didn’t kiss, okay? He wasn’t having it, and we didn’t do anything.”

“What you did was enough.”

“Awww, Mama—”

“You fall in love way too fast. You never try to get to know the person first.”

“I do know him! He’s smart, sexy, kind, nice…”

“What’s his middle name? His favorite food? His hobbies?”

Yolanda stood there dumbfounded.

“You take all the fun out of everything, Mama.”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t want you rushing into anything. I don’t want you to get hurt like last time.”

“You mean with Russell? It’s okay, Mama, you can say his name.”

“Yeah, with that Russell. It takes you so long to heal, Yolanda. I just don’t want you getting your hopes up too fast. Just take things slow.”

Her mother’s cautionary words took Yolanda back to her first real boyfriend. Her first true love.

She had been twenty-three years old and had just started working at Behave. She had been on the waiting list for four years and, after several interviews, she had got her dream job. Or what she thought was her dream job. Her hair styling skills were subpar compared to all the cutting edge styles at the salon, and for the first time, Yolanda felt inadequate at her job. At her previous salon, she was a master stylist and often helped other co-workers who struggled with the latest styles. Now she was the fledgling stylist who couldn’t comprehend the new techniques Behave used. On top of that, she had to fend off rumors of an eating disorder, despite the way she devoured huge lunches at the salon café. The only friendly face had been in Natalie Morrison, a fellow stylist who showed her the ropes around the salon and defended her against nasty and hurtful rumors about her weight. Her calendar was filled with hair classes where she had to learn up and coming haircuts, color and celebrity hairstyles that would expand her hair knowledge. Dee Dee also required each new stylist to take a technical exam upon arrival to her salon to make sure they were on the level where she deemed a cutting edge stylist should be. It was followed by a practical exam, to see if you had mastered the Behave way of styling hair. Both of Yolanda’s exams were set for the next day, so she sat at the Starbuck’s a block from the salon and studied her manual. She was on a lunch break, and didn’t want to sit in the salon café and cloud her mind with comments about her weight. She had been studying so hard she didn’t even hear him sit down next to her at the wrought-iron table.

“Looks like you need a refill,” he said, handing her a Styrofoam cup emblazoned with the Starbuck’s logo.

“Excuse me?”

“Tall, white chocolate mocha, right? Extra whipped cream,” he said, sliding the cup across the table. His dark hair looked like spilled ink on his pale skin, and his blue eyes twinkled waiting for a response.

“How did you know—”

“Forgive me for sounded forward, but I’ve been watching you. You come here a lot and you always order the same thing.”

“Really?”

“No, but that would be cool, huh? Having a secret admirer? Seriously, I was standing behind you in line and heard your order. I saw you had run out of coffee and thought you could use a refill.”

“Well, that was, nice of you. I guess,” Yolanda stammered.

“You work at that big salon down the block?”

“Yeah. How did you—”

“Your shirt,” he said, pointing to her chest. “That’s a dead give-away.”

“Oh,” Yolanda said looking down at her shirt. Since she was still in training was required to wear a black T-shirt with BEHAVE HAIR SALON written across the front in big white letters.

“So what do you think about my hair? Think I’m due for a haircut?” he said smiling, showcasing a perfect row of white teeth.

“Your hair? It looks fine. I mean, you could get a hair cut if you want, but you really don’t need one.”

His dark eyebrows furrowed. “You mean you wouldn’t use the excuse of giving me a hair cut to get to know me better? Honestly, I’m shocked!”

Yolanda stifled a smile, enjoying the easy banter with this stranger. She looked at her watch and closed her books. Lunch was almost over and she needed to get back to work.

“What, leaving me already?”

“It’s been nice, but I need to get back to work.” Yolanda said, scooping up her books and coffee. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, leaving.

The next day, she walked up to the reception area to greet her next client and saw the same charming blue eyes looking up at her.

“Well, I must say it wasn’t all that hard to find you. Your reputation precedes you.”

She stiffened. “What have you heard?” She wondered how word could have spread so quickly about her mediocre styling skills.

“That you are the most beautiful stylist working here, of course.” He pulled out a white rose from his dark suit jacket and handed it to her. “Name is Russell Steinfeld. Yolanda, are you ready to get started?”

She gushed over the effort he had taken to learn her name; that showed real initiative—something no man had ever showed her. She led him to the spacious shampoo area and got to work. Over the course of thirty minutes, she found out he worked near the salon at his father’s law firm, Steinfeld and McGregor, and like her he was just starting out. He was twenty-six years old, no kids, never been married, and had just bought his first home. He made Yolanda feel at ease, and for the first time in her life she didn’t think about her small boobs or flat butt—she was herself and centered her thoughts on his conversation.

“There,” she said, whipping off a styling cape from his shoulders. “You’re all done.” She handed him a gold-leafed hand mirror so he could check the cut in the back. “What do you think?”

“What I think is that you did a remarkable job, Yolanda.” He handed her back the mirror and slid a fifty dollar bill into the palm of her hand. “Thank you,” he said, holding her hand longer than necessary.

Yolanda pulled her hand away. She looked down at the money in her hand. “You need to give this to Michelle up front,” she said, offering the money back to him.

He shook his head. “That’s for you; your tip.” He gave her a bright smile and walked up front to take care of his bill.

Natalie walked up. “I don’t normally go for white dudes, but if you don’t get him, I will.”

Yolanda walked away, knowing she would never see Russell again.

On his third visit to the salon, he offered to take her out to dinner. She accepted.

Their love was new and fresh. They were like children eager to learn more about each other. He taught her how to use chopsticks, introduced her to sushi, and to helped her understand computers. She introduced him to her soul food. But more than that, she introduced him to her family her, her cat, her life.

She never had anyone, especially a man, make her feel so beautiful, so special, so loved. She imagined a three-carat engagement ring, a huge wedding, bi-racial children with blue eyes and honey skin, summers in the Hamptons, late nights of deep conversations.

What she got was a wake-up call.

“Yolanda, this past year has been wonderful. My father has been hinting that I’m on the fast track to becoming partner. But I need to settle down, get married, have kids. You know, all the things we talk about,” Russell said, reaching for her hand across the table. They were at her favorite Italian restaurant, Maggiano’s.

Her heart started racing.

He’s gonna propose. He wants to marry me.

“So, I need to stop playing games and get serious in my life. I’m not getting any younger…”

This is it! I’ve been waiting for this all my life…

“So, I need to find a wife. It’s been fun, Yolanda, really, it has. But in the grand scheme of things, you’re not what I’m looking for in a wife. We need to part ways—”

“Part ways? Are you—”

“Breaking up with you? Yes.” He squeezed her hand. “You didn’t really expect for us to get married, did you?”

“Of course I did! I wasn’t in it for fun! I thought we were, were something serious.”

Russell dropped her hand and sat back. “Yolanda, sweetie, what drew you to that conclusion? You’ve never been to my job, you’ve never met my family, I’ve never hinted that this was more than what it is.”

“And what is this?”

He shrugged. “Good fun, nothing more.”

Her stomach lurched and she ran from the table to the restroom and vomited. Down the toilet went the three-carat ring that would have sparkled on her left hand, the wedding she never got to plan, the kids she never got to have. She vomited all her dreams away.

“But you said you loved me, Russell,” Yolanda whined on the car ride home.

“I know, sweetheart. That’s what makes this so difficult. I’m so sorry, Yolanda.”

She stopped eating, she couldn’t sleep. She lost much-needed weight, which made her look more pathetic.

Six months later she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw his photo in the Houston Chronicle. His engagement photo. That photograph sent her into a deep, dark spiral of depression that took her over a year to recover from.

If she ever recovered.

“You know his wife is pregnant again?”

“Really? What is this, their third child?”

“Fourth.”

“How’d you find out?”

“Saw it in that Houston Society magazine.”

Well, folks, Houston socialite Veronica Steinfeld is pregnant again! Guess her husband, hot-shot criminal defense attorney Russell Steinfeld, is keeping busy, but not in the courtroom!

Yolanda shook her head as if trying to erase the words from her memory.

“It’s okay to feel sad, Yolanda. Just don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I’m not sad! Who said anything about being sad?”

“Okay, maybe sad is the wrong word. You’ve got a fabulous life, Yolanda, with or without a man. Remember you’re the meal; he’s just the dessert.”

“I know, Mama, I know. It’s so easy for women with a man to say stuff like that.”

“That’s because women with a man would pay any kind of money to get rid of him.”

“Yeah, right. Then how come I get all these women coming up to me telling me I need to get married, and how wonderful marriage is?”

“Liars. All of ’em. Misery loves company. They just see you have potential for happiness and they tryin’ to ruin it. Any woman who tells you marriage is bliss got a cheatin’, alcoholic loser at home. The women who tells you to take your time? Now those the ones who got some sense. Those the ones who are happily married.”

“So what should I do? Should I talk to Maxwell or what?”

“I can’t tell you what to do, but…”

“Aww, come on, Mama! What should I do?”

“Talk to him. But don’t expect a relationship. You’re only twenty-nine, Yolanda, always trying to rush your life away. Just take your time.”

“So I guess you’re happily married?”

“Bingo,” her mother said, laughing.