Leslie's Curl & Dye Read online

  “I guess I see it. But… why?”

  “Who cares why? Let’s make this money.”

  “Well, okay but what if… what if he loses? Won’t he want his business back?”

  “You know it pains me to say it, but this is why we have to work extra hard on this campaign. I’m not KC’s biggest fan, but him being Mayor means he’ll be too busy to put us out of business.”

  She hopped into her car and pressed a button that folded down the canvas hood. “And not that I wish ill on his salon, because he has employees and whatever, but… that’s just fine with me. See you at the Kat later.”

  I lifted a hand to Tamera and watched her back out of her parking space and roll through the parking lot, out onto the street. I had been so preoccupied that I hadn’t even noticed what she pointed out; the increase in clientele, from people we didn’t know and hadn’t seen before.

  And, curiously, it had begun right after I agreed to help KC with his campaign. Maybe he was trying to make up for the past. Maybe he was just being nice. Either way, I didn’t want to be in his debt. Nor did I want to be at his mercy. Tamera was right about another thing— we had to get KC into office. Otherwise everything would fall apart.

  I had a few errands to run before I could go home and get fine, as Evonne put it. I swung into the parking lot at Potter Lake Community Bank and stood in the short line to deposit the day’s receipts. My favorite manager, Jamilah, was working, so we chopped it up for a few seconds while her fingers flew over the keyboard to enter my deposit.

  “I heard that fine ass Kade Cavanaugh was at Curl & Dye today. I wish I had the day off, I would have come to get my locs tightened. Or my brows done. Or… something. Shit, I just wanted to be in the same room.”

  “Don’t let Dwayne hear you talking like that. He’s liable to break something if there is a chance you’re looking at someone else.”

  Her fiancé, a former NFL fullback, was now running sports education programs for Potter Lake School District. In addition to a full, illustrious career in professional football, he earned a degree in Sports Management and had recently graduated from Healy with a Masters in Education. He was approximately the size of a monster truck and was serious about Jamilah; so serious that men didn’t even chance looking at her if he was around.

  “Ain’t nobody thinking about Dwayne and his mean ass. He’s settled down some since we got engaged. I told that boy I’m not going anywhere. I just like to look.” She slid the receipt from the deposit across the counter to me. I grabbed it and slipped it into my wallet until I could get back to the shop to file it away. “Okay, I like to touch, too. A little. Don’t tell D.”

  I laughed, turning to go. I was the last patron before the bank closed. Jamilah almost always worked on Saturdays and tried to stay open late so I could make my deposit. “I’m introducing KC to the Kat tonight if you two feel like coming out.”

  “The Kat? We haven’t been over there in ages. I’ll talk to Dwayne, see if he wants to come hang out.”

  “Good. I want Dwayne to help me talk KC into coaching for the rec center. And I’m hoping they can talk about KC finishing his degree.”

  Jamilah nodded deeply. “Dwayne says he doesn't regret going back at all. It was hard work, but he saw so much value, he went on to get his Master’s. The School Board offered him a position.”

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “Sure is. I’ll be able to quit this job in time for uhm…” Though she was dark skinned, I swore I saw Jamilah’s cheeks flush red. She smiled as her gaze swept down to her belly, which she was gently cradling.

  “Shut up!” I squealed. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah,” she said, beaming. “We will be married before I start to show, thank goodness. As much money as my mama spent on my wedding gown, I had to peel her off the ceiling when I told her we were pregnant.”

  “That’s amazing, J. I’m so happy for you two! But are you sure you should come out tonight? You’ll probably be tired and the atmosphere is— ”

  She waved me off with a flick of a wrist. “I’ll be good. We haven’t been out in a while and won’t stay long. We have church in the morning. I’m going home to eat some dinner and power nap. We’ll see y’all down there.”

  I left the bank with a bounce in my step and joy in my heart. I truly loved to hear about couples coming together and falling in love and starting families, despite my failure to make it happen for myself. I thought Dexter would be the one for me. I’d moved away from Potter Lake and set up house with him, threw all my eggs in one basket on that hope and prayer.

  And even when it was obvious that wasn’t going to happen, I had to be dragged back to Potter Lake to face my reality. I thought about all of the older, single women I knew around town and groaned. Was I going to end up like them?

  Not that remaining single would be a bad thing. I could rock it like I’d rocked everything else in my life, but those visions of KC and Leslie replicas that danced through my head days ago were so damn tempting to wish for.

  I pulled into the driveway at home and parked next to Mama’s car. I’d stopped to pick up Pops’ insulin and grabbed a few things for her at Kwik-E-Mart, so instead of going up to my apartment, I went into the house through the kitchen door. Mama was in the kitchen, as usual. It was where she loved to be. Cooking was her love language and I loved that about her.

  “Hey, Les,” she called over shoulder. Her fingers were wrapped around grandy’s wooden rolling pin and she was applying pressure to a ball of dough to flatten it out. The kitchen smelled like roast chicken and vegetables and the crock pot was bubbling. My stomach rumbled in anticipation of her special pot pie recipe. She’d ladle big chunks of chicken, broth and vegetables into ramekins and cover them with dough, then bake them until the buttery crust was so flaky, it broke apart in the soup.

  “Hi, Mama.” I slid up next to her and leaned in, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “I’m putting Pops’ insulin in the refrigerator. And I picked up the stuff you wanted for Grandy. It’s on the table.”

  “Okay, thank you. How was the day at the beauty shop?”

  “It was good. Real good.” I sat at the kitchen table and pulled out my phone so I could scroll through it while we talked. “We had a lot of clients today, more than we’ve had in a long time.”

  “Heard you had a handsome guest today. Folks probably dropping in just to lay eyes on him.”

  “It’s not like he hasn’t lived here over a year. People can go to his shop and lay eyes on him.”

  “You know how folks over here are about the shops on the other side of town.” Mama huffed, rolling the pin back and forth, making the dough flatter and flatter. “They don’t step foot or rubber tire on that bridge unless they’re going to Healy. I guess it was your idea to bring him across the way. Part of his campaign.” She spit out the word like it was a curse word. Lee Baker did not believe in coarse language.

  “It was my idea. I told him there was no way folks over here would vote for him without meeting him first.”

  “And how did it go?”

  “I guess it went pretty well. He met a few people, learned a lot about Potter Lake today. If nothing, he understands a little more about why this place means so much to us. And why we need to keep it afloat.”

  “I wish you young folk put as much faith in the people that set this town up and got it running as you do in a man that can make a basket from the… whatever line that is, they call it.”

  I giggled. “Mama, you didn't go to that meeting. The Mayor was adamant that he’s gonna do whatever he wants, so long as he’s in office. I know you support him now, but wait until he threatens something that actually means a lot to you.” Not that the near-closing of the Curl & Dye had been enough to turn her away from Quincy Adams.

  “Just make sure to pick up my ballot ahead of time so I can fill in that circle next to Quincy Adams. That boy KC is nice and nice looking, but I need a leader who has more going for him than a flashy salon and some basket
ball money.”

  With a loud humph, she reached for her cutter and started making the round forms that would be the tops of the pot pies.

  Some people, like my mama, were opposed to change and loved things the way they were. They would support the Mayor no matter what. Little did they know, the die had been cast and change was already coming. Nothing would ever be the same again.

  Tamera and Evonne were already at the Kit Kat when I pulled up, each of them with their faces in a compact mirror while they added final touches to their looks for the evening.

  Tamera’s long legs were on full display in leather shorts, fishnet stockings and stiletto heels. Her oversized, off-the-shoulder blouse was a weave of mesh and lace and showed off a black bra underneath. She finished off the look with huge hoops that picked up glints of light from the illuminated sign that flashed Kit Kat Lounge.

  Evonne wore a mini skirt and over-the-knee boots, paired with a midriff baring, sleeveless sheer blouse. Long, dangly, sparkling earrings hung from her ears and a matching choker circled her slender neck.

  I had to dig way into the back of the closet for something to wear. I wanted something that accentuated my curves and thick hips but also made me feel like I looked good. I grabbed a white slashed sleeve bodycon dress that I’d only worn once, on the last New Year’s Eve I’d spent with Dexter. It was a hot little number that hit me mid thigh and clung to all the right curves.

  I braided and twisted my locs into an updo and accented my look with big jewelry— white leather teardrop earrings and leather cuffs and strappy sandals I wore with the ties wrapped up my legs for extra drama. I dropped my keys, phone and a tube of lip gloss into a small clutch.

  “You’d think we never went anywhere, with how we went all out tonight.”

  “We really don’t go out much,” Tamera said, then pressed a tissue against her lips to blot extra lipgloss. “We should change that. We do too much sitting at home yelling at the TV about some dumb dating show.”

  “You know I’m game,” said Evonne, tucking away her compact and smoothing down her short bob, a lace front wig she was evaluating for a new black hair care company. Her side-gig, a youtube channel called Hair by E, reviewed black hair care products and showcased hair styles. She was still small time, but quickly gaining popularity. Adding her to the staff at Curl & Dye would benefit us both— she’d been bringing a younger crowd to the salon and it gave her a place to practice and show off her skills. Only her favorite hair creations made her website.

  “Have y’all seen KC or his crew yet?”

  Tamera opened her mouth to answer, but the glare from bright headlights and the thump of bass from a high quality sound system interrupted. KC maneuvered his jet black Escalade into a spot next to mine. A line of cars followed and pulled into spots next to him.

  The rumble coming from KC’s truck stopped, the lights went dark and the driver’s side door opened, then slammed shut. For a tall, well muscled man, KC had a light gait as he came around the front of the truck and stopped to wait for his friends to get out of their cars.

  KC looked… amazing. Well put together in a button down shirt, dark jeans, sneakers and a blazer. Tamera’s cut looked even better hours later, as did the great edge she’d given to his goatee. The matte black studs he wore in his ears were understated and perfect with the rest of his look. He was close enough to send a rugged, sharp, masculine scent in my direction. It washed over me in waves, driving my attraction higher with each hit.

  My breath caught in my throat, which made me cough a little. Tamera must have sensed what I was feeling, because she appeared next to me to pat me on the back and mumble in my ear. “Steady, girl. You alright?” I nodded and gave her a small smile of thanks.

  “Ho. Lee. Shiiit,” Evonne muttered, appearing on my other side. “Why is he so fine? Damn!”

  “Evonne, honey,” Tamera warned. “Breathe. You’re going to explode.”

  In response, she gave us a guttural grunt and smoothed her hair down again. “If I don’t get a drink, like right now, I’ma jump somebody.”

  “In a second,” I told her, then approached KC, who had propped an elbow on the hood of his truck and was watching me watch him.

  “Leslie,” he said, giving me a nod that was more like a lift of his head. “You’re looking…” He paused and licked his lips, then laughed. “I was going to say something that I really shouldn’t. Suffice it to say, I’m really into this side of you.”

  “What side is that?”

  “The grown and sexy, you don’t even know what kinda ruckus you causin’ side.”

  I laughed, almost choking again. “I wasn’t aware I even had that side, but thank you. I think. It sounds like a compliment.”

  “It is,” he said softly. “All day, every day, Les.” He stood up straight and made a turn for me, so I could see his entire outfit. “So how did I do with not ballin’ outta control?”

  “Very good. Very… very good. You look nice, KC. So does your crew.” I nodded to the small group that had gathered near us. TC and Monica had already enveloped Tamera and Evonne into their crowd and were chatting amongst each other.

  “We clean up nice. Are we ready to go in?”

  “We are. I called ahead and reserved the best table in the house. I guess we should lead the way, since this was our idea.”

  KC held out arm and I tucked my hand into the bend of his elbow. We stepped around the group and KC called over his shoulder, “Let’s go have some fun, ya’ll!”

  The Kit Kat Lounge was Potter Lake’s oldest drinking establishment, a holdover from Prohibition, which was repealed in 1935, but the county stayed dry and the lounge didn’t serve alcohol (at least openly) for many years after that. It wasn’t until nearly thirty years later that lawmakers lifted the ordinance that kept Conrad Chase, owner of the Kit Kat, from serving alcohol.

  Though other bars and lounges existed in Potter Lake, the Kat was definitely the most iconic with its brick walls, leather furniture, wood floors and long bar with vintage beer taps and cash registers that were still in use. On one end of the lounge were tables for two or twenty. In the center of the lounge were groupings of leather couches, chairs, low tables surrounded a fireplace that was usually lit in the winter. The walls were decked, from one end to the other, with African paintings and artifacts as well as prints and paintings depicting black history and culture. The other end of the lounge held a large, empty space that served as a dance floor. Normally, the playlist was pre-arranged but on Saturday nights, a DJ from a Healy radio station would come and play music.

  I’d been to the Kat a time or two for a Saturday night Old School Party, but it was disappointing to see the music mix coming from a laptop and not a turntable.

  The entrance to the lounge was bathed in a red glow from the overhead lights installed in the high ceilings. Sheila, the assistant manager and Conrad’s daughter, waved from behind the bar, where she was switching out drawers in the cash registers.

  “Hey, Les! Good to see you. How’s your mama n’ them?”

  “Everybody’s good, Ms. Sheila,” I called to her. “Nice of you to have us this evening.”

  She laughed, her voice raspy and ragged from years of having to yell above music and the sounds of a lively bar. “Anytime you wanna bring some folks in here to spend money, these doors are open. You know what section y’all are in, in the middle? The grey couches.”

  I led our small crowd past the bar and through the restaurant full of people enjoying plates of the cook’s specialties: fried catfish, barbecue ribs, smothered chicken and all the sides, with an enormous square of buttery cornbread.

  I detected a dull roar as we wove a path through the tables. KC was hard to miss and not many people were missing him.

  Our section was at the center of the lounge, with the fireplace giving us a little bit of cover from the rest of the place. Music from the dance floor was piped in through speakers that hung in each corner of the room, turned low so that conversation was possible
. A grouping of large furniture took up most of the space— two long couches on either side of a low table, love seats and chairs intermingled, a few chairs and tables on the perimeter.

  “This is a nice spot. I was expecting something a little more… rough.”

  I laughed. “Well, it’s Saturday night. They try to behave.”

  “Wait until after eleven,” said Tamera, “when the restaurant closes and the liquor is pouring heavy. It gets live in here.”

  Sheila happened to walk by and turned into our section. “Everything okay? Can I start y’all off with anything?”

  “Uh, I guess a round for everyone but preggo over there.” KC laughed and nodded in Monica’s direction, which earned him a show of her middle finger. “What do we want? Vodka? Patron?”

  “We got something we call the Absolut Bitch— it’s got vodka, Bailey’s, Kahlua, some brandy…”

  “That!” Tamera decided. “Absolut Bitches all around. And uh… something virgin for mama-to-be over there.”

  Sheila said she’d be right back with our shots and disappeared around the corner again.

  “Les, I know you know Kendrick and Monica, but you haven’t met Erik— he’s one of my barbers. He’s been volunteered to help me with this campaign. He’s got a lot of energy so I want you to work him hard.”

  KC pointed to a handsome young man with smooth skin the shade of a pecan hull. His eyes were dark but lively and his smile was easy as he nodded in my direction.

  “Hey. Good to meet you. Looking forward to this campaign, man. I’ve never been this close to politics before.”

  “It’ll be good to have you on board.”

  “Hey, Leslie,” said Kendrick, leaning forward and around KC. “Uh... I’ma need to steal Tamera from you. KC’s line-up and fade are tight. I need that kind of skill.”

  “Man, you know how long it took her to do this cut? Like, a half hour.”

  “Yeah, but... it looks good.”

  “Yeah, but... I’m not paying Eric to take thirty minutes on a head. In the chair, out of the chair.”