CHAPTER 41

Yolanda put on her hoop earrings and fluffed her hair. She applied a coat of lipstick then stepped back and looked at her reflection. Not bad. She dabbed on her favorite perfume, Ralph Lauren Romance. Not bad at all.

She looked happy, and she was. Maxwell had asked her out again tonight. Things were definitely looking up.

The doorbell rang and she was surprised he was early. She hurriedly cleared the bathroom counter of all her toiletries and yelled, “Just a minute.” She grabbed her purse off the table in the hallway and ran to the door.

“Hi,” Yolanda said.

Maxwell acknowledged her greeting with a nod; he was on his cellphone.

“Naw, man, I’m not doing that. Why? You know why.”

Should I invite him in? Or just let him stand there? She waited a few uncomfortable minutes while Maxwell finished his conversation.

“Talk to ‘ya later. Bye.” He shook his head.

“Sorry about that. You ready?”

“Sure,” Yolanda said, locking her apartment door. No “You look wonderful’’ or “You smell nice.” Just a cold “You ready?” He talks to me like I’m one of his homeboys, not his date. Disappointed, she walked silently to Maxwell’s truck.

“Looks like rain,” he said, pulling away from the building.

“Yeah, it does.”

“We better hurry then. I know you don’t want to get wet.”

“That is true. So where are we going?” Yolanda asked.

“How ’bout we get something to eat and maybe go dancing?”

“That sounds great,” Yolanda said, excited.

“After seeing the way you were movin’ at that Musiq Soulchild concert, I figured you would like that. You sure have a lot of rhythm.”

“Thanks. It’s the one talent I do have,” she blurted.

“What? You don’t think you have any talents?”

She wished she could take the comment back. She didn’t want to seem like a loser, although she regularly felt like one.

“No, no, I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

Yolanda watched Maxwell drive, his eyes steadily on the road, his long, thick fingers lightly gripping the steering wheel. He looked relaxed and cool in his designer jeans and white linen shirt.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re doin’ it again,” Maxwell said.

“Doing what?”

“Staring.”

“Oh,” Yolanda said, turning and looking out at the dark, gray sky that warned of turbulent weather ahead. “I’m sorry.”

Maxwell shrugged and exited the freeway, entering downtown. He eventually pulled into the parking lot of Gator’s, a Cajun restaurant.

“It’ll probably be better if I valet. That way you won’t get wet if it rains,” he said.

As if on cue, a loud crack of thunder was followed by torrential downpour.

They looked at each other and smiled.

“Let’s make a run for it,” he said, giving his keys to the valet. He took Yolanda’s hand and they ran into the restaurant, laughing like children.

“Whew,” she said, tucking her wet hair behind her ears. So much for an hour’s worth of curling. Maxwell’s white shirt was clinging to his body; she quickly looked away and checked out the scene. The place was wall-to-wall crowded. And noisy, with a live band playing zydeco music in the back. Patrons were eating at small tables or sitting at the bar having a drink while waiting to be seated. The crowd was a good mix of ages. A real cross-section—enough older people to prevent a fight from breaking out, but enough young people to keep it hip.

Still holding her hand, Maxwell led her through the crowd to seats at the bar.

“What do you wanna drink?” he asked loudly.

“Just get me a Corona.”

“Good choice. Two Coronas, please,” he said to the bartender.

He handed Yolanda her beer.

“Thanks,” she said, looking around the room and smiling because Maxwell was still holding her hand. She felt like a queen.

That is, until she saw Theresa watching them from the other end of the bar. Her eyes were in mean tiny slits as she sat on her barstool, men buzzing around her like bees around a flower. But Theresa’s eyes were strictly on Maxwell.

Yolanda coughed hard and took a swig of her beer, trying to sooth her rattled nerves.

“What’s wrong?” Maxwell asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “You wanna go somewhere else? This place is so loud I can barely hear myself think.”

“Well, well, well, it’s a small world,” Theresa said, coming up behind Maxwell.

* * *

First, Jackie knocked on the office door, and then put her ear to it and listened. Hearing nothing, she opened the door with her key. She walked silently across the dark room, the scent of jasmine tickling her nostrils. She sat down behind the desk and turned on a small desk lamp. She switched the computer on and took out the letter she had written. She smoothed the creases and began typing:

Dear Mrs. Hegel,

Thank you for requesting Behave Hair Salon to do the makeovers for Wake Up Houston. Due to circumstances beyond our control, we have decided to pass. Though Wake Up Houston is a great show, it does not fit the criteria for our salon in that it would not be seen in a positive light by many of our clients.

Perhaps you could contact Shear Happiness Salon and Spa? They have a good reputation and have been in business for many years. I have listed their contact information below.

If you have other show ideas that would fit Behave’s high standards, I would be happy to see them. My apologies again.

Sincerely,

Theresa McArthur

After saving the document, Jackie e-mailed it to the show. She then printed the letter up on Theresa’s personal letterhead. She found Theresa’s signature stamp in a drawer and used it to sign the letter. I’ve just sealed your future. My mother will fire you, and then I’ll be the new creative director. It shouldn’t have come down to this, Mama. You should have promoted me. I’m your daughter. You had no business promoting Theresa over me. I didn’t get rid of Sheila just to have this girl come in here and upstage me. But she’ll pay for your mistake. This job will be mine.

She was tired of doing stupid work that didn’t guarantee any respect. In meetings, her mother never called on her to handle anything. It was always Theresa this or Theresa that. She remembered how she felt listening to her mother announce that Theresa was the new creative director. The pride in her voice had made Jackie’s blood boil. It was the same pride-filled voice she had used to talk with Michael. But never me. Not once me.

This salon should stay in the family, and she let Theresa come in and break everything up. Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes, but my mother is a fool for not choosing her own daughter to run her salon! So I’ll show her the hard way. My way.

* * *

“Theresa!” Maxwell said, turning to look at her. “I knew that was you. I would know your voice anywhere.”

“So what are you guys doing here?”

Maxwell dropped Yolanda’s hand.

“Nothing really. Just out talking about business stuff.”

“Business stuff?” Theresa asked, looking at Yolanda. “Didn’t look like business to me.”

“Well, it was,” Maxwell said defensively.

Theresa smiled. “Well, if y’all were just talking business you won’t mind me joining you,” she said, sitting on a stool next to Maxwell.

Yolanda rolled her eyes.

“When did you get here?” Maxwell asked.

“About twenty minutes ago. Thankfully, I missed the rain. Looks like you guys didn’t, though,” Theresa said. “You are all wet.”

“I know,” Maxwell said, looking down at his shirt.

“Yolanda, you look a mess. You sure you don’t want to freshen up? Maybe do something with that hair?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Yolanda checked her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. My hair is looking frizzy…

She slid off the barstool. “I’ll be right back.”

She maneuvered her way through the crowd to the restroom. Or rather the line to the restroom. After fifteen frustrating minutes, she finally got into the crowded, smelly bathroom and brushed her hair into a ponytail. She freshened her lipstick and powdered her face and rushed out to get back to Maxwell. She pushed her way to where they had been sitting, but they weren’t there.

“Excuse me, sir? Did you see where the couple sitting here went?” Yolanda asked the bartender.

“I dunno know, lady. Check the dance floor.”

“Thanks,” she said. Looking toward the back of the room, she saw a large crowd gathered around the dance floor. She bullied her way toward the front to see what was going on.

And she saw them.

They were dancing to an upbeat zydeco song, the only ones on the dance floor.

People were stomping their feet and clapping their hands, cheering them on. Yolanda watched in horror as they danced together. Theresa’s blue dress twirled and moved to the beat, her body moving gracefully to the music. Maxwell was all smiles as he guided Theresa’s body, his hands on her hips. They danced as if no one else was in the room. Looking at them, anyone could tell they had history a together. And possibly a future. Yolanda couldn’t stand watching anymore and walked back to the bar, defeated.

Every time she was having fun with Maxwell, Theresa would show up and ruin it. Theresa wants Maxwell back. But I like him, too. What is he doing here with me? The choice would be easy; a man that fine would never want someone like me. If I was Maxwell, I would pick Theresa. The girl had it all: beauty, brains, body. The whole package.

Yolanda ordered another drink, a whiskey sour to match her sour mood. She sat there for several minutes nursing her drink, trying to decide whether or not she should go home.

“Whew,” Theresa said, returning from the dance floor.

“That man sure can dance,” she said, grabbing a cocktail napkin off the bar.

The girl even sweats pretty. I don’t stand a chance.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Maxwell said, standing next to Theresa.

They laughed and looked at each other, shared secrets and old memories swirling about them. Yolanda looked at them, and saw the black version of Ken and Barbie. Him, tall and protective, his dark skin shiny with perspiration; Theresa, hair bouncy as a rubber ball, looking up at Maxwell with so much love in her eyes. Yolanda felt as if she was in one of those picture puzzles that asked you to circle the object that didn’t belong. She needed a big black marker to draw around herself.

I don’t belong. Maybe I never did. I’ve been here an hour and haven’t talked to Maxwell for a decent five minutes. No one knows I’m alive. I should just sneak away and go home while I still have some sort of pride left.

* * *

Maria’s back was hurting. She tried stretching it, but that didn’t do any good. She had finished cleaning Dee Dee’s office and was on her way to Theresa’s. It felt good to be the only cleaning lady Dee Dee trusted to clean the offices upstairs. The other women were jealous, but Maria knew she had earned the trust the job required.

She pushed her cart to Theresa’s office. The door was slightly open. Who have left door open?

“Oh, excuse me Maria,” Jackie said, coming out of Theresa’s office. “I didn’t know anyone was still here.”

“I was ’bout to clean Miss Theresa’s office,” Maria said, peeping in. “Is okay?”

“Of course. Theresa just sent me in there to…to look over a few things. Go right in; it’s all yours,” Jackie said, walking past Maria.

“G’night,” Maria said. She such hard worker. Such sweet girl.

* * *

“You all right?” Maxwell asked, nudging Yolanda’s arm.

“You ready to eat?” Theresa interrupted, inserting herself between Maxwell and Yolanda. “I’m starving. Let’s go get a table,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward her.

“Okay. Yolanda, you coming?”

Yolanda nodded and smiled, not trusting her voice to speak. I know when to fold. I could never pull a man like Maxwell. I don’t have what it takes. After they walked away and disappeared into the crowd, she finished her drink, slipped the bartender a ten and made her way out the front door.

The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle. Yolanda sat on a concrete bench outside the restaurant, away from the noise and madness, and called a cab on her cellphone. She was missing Natalie more than ever. She would have to do something to make their friendship right again.

She waited for her cab to come, at the same time wishing that Maxwell would come walking through the front door looking for her, begging her to come back inside. She knew that wouldn’t happen. Maxwell had his woman by his side, so she would not be missed.