Leslie's Curl & Dye Read online

  The chance to go pro came at just the right time. My mom had just been diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and the insurance policy dad carried didn't cover the entire cost of recommended medication and treatments and doctor visits. I was desperate to find a way to help care for her.

  I never told Leslie about my mom. She was my best friend, somebody I knew I could confide in, but I didn't want to dump my problems on her. It wasn't up to her to solve them. When the answer came like Manna from heaven, I did what I had to do. Even if what I had to do was hurt someone that had come to mean a lot to me.

  I mean... what was she supposed to do, while I was in practice, on the road, playing games? I couldn't ask her to sit at Healy and wait for me to find time to talk to her, or to sneak back to town to see her.

  Nah. It was better if I just let her go. I thought she'd get over it.

  She didn't.

  It only took about fifteen minutes to cross the lake to the other side of town and arrive at The Curl & Dye. Leslie was running brisk business— the lot outside her shop, with its faded lines and weeds growing up through the cracks, was dotted with cars. I could hear music and female voices and laughter wafting through the front doors, which were propped open with a box fan circulating air. My mind immediately went to my shop, which was cooled by central air.

  I dipped my head to step inside, nodding at a few people who were waiting in chairs next to the front desk, reading magazines and sipping on bottles of water. Tamera and two other girls were at their stations, with customers in chairs. The air was full of the scent of hot curling irons and blow dryers. Leslie was washing hair at the worst makeshift shampoo bowl I had ever seen. It was functional, but the laundry sink cut down with a dip in one side was ugly as hell.

  I wasn't trying to down Leslie's shop... it was just so old school, from the photos of 90’s hairstyles on the wall to the low-rent air conditioning system to the busted down chairs and the dull, cracked linoleum tiles. Why she wanted to keep the place open was a puzzle to me.

  "KC," Leslie called out, loudly to be heard over the music, the dryer and the spray of water. "Come on back." She angled her head, gesturing me over to her.

  I walked through to the back of the small shop, feeling like a giant, until I made it to the shampoo bowl.

  "Grab me a towel from around the corner over there?"

  I turned, dipping my head around the corner to find a stack of folded towels. I grabbed one and handed it to her. She smiled her thanks and lifted the customer's head out of the bowl and wrapped the towel around her sopping wet hair. When it was secure, she helped the woman stand, and then pointed toward her station.

  "Have a seat at my chair. I'll be right there."

  The woman shuffled away, taking more than a few moments to reach Leslie's station. "So, what brings you to this side of town?" Leslie sprayed the remaining shampoo suds down the sink as she asked. "And don't even try that 'in the neighborhood' business. You are never in this neighborhood."

  "Nah, I came over here on purpose this time. I wanted to know if you'd thought about what we talked about the other night."

  She pulled me around the corner, in front of the tall stack of towels. She pulled one off the top and began drying her hands. "Yeah, I thought about it. Thought about it a lot."

  "Okay." I straightened, standing with my feet apart and folded my arms across my torso. "Are you coming to the meeting tomorrow? Are you bringing anyone with you?"

  "I'm coming to the meeting tomorrow. Tamera will be there and I'll be bringing a few people, my dad and grandpa for starters. But it won't be to support you or the other side of town."

  "Oh?” My brows shot up in surprise. “So what's the purpose of—”

  "The purpose would be to show the Mayor that this side of town isn't dead yet, so stop trying to kill us by bringing in modern replacements. Quincy Adams is shady as hell, and has been for a while. I think the city council is afraid of him, but if we can get any reaction on either side of our issue, it'll mean he'll be out of the picture, which will be good for my business and yours. But don't for a minute think we're marching over to that meeting tomorrow to support you. Far from it."

  "Les? You okay back here?" Tamera poked around the corner, sticking her nose in where it didn't belong.

  "I'm fine Tam. We're just talking about the meeting tomorrow."

  "And how we're not going up there to beg Mayor Adams to give him some money?" She gave me the up-and-down glare, pursing her lips into a scowl.

  "Your face is gonna get stuck like that," I told her.

  She sucked her teeth and uttered, "Boy, shut up," before dipping her head back around the corner.

  I chuckled, hiding it behind a hand. "I like getting on her nerves."

  "I see that. But please stop it, because after you're gone I have to hear her bitching about you all day and I'm not in the mood."

  "I'm surprised you don't join in with her. Y’all been singing in the 'Fuck KC Cavanaugh Chorus' since college.”

  "Don't get it twisted. I haven't spent all this time thinking about you, if that's what you're getting at. After you left Healy, life went on."

  "Ah huh. Okay, well...” I stepped back, putting some space between her and I. I sensed something stirring up and I wasn't sure I wanted to deal with it quite yet. "I appreciate that you want to approach the city council with me."

  "Alongside you. With a completely different issue. Related but not the same."

  "Alongside me, then."

  "So, if things don't go the way you want them to...”

  I raised my hands in a sign of surrender. "I'm just trying to think about one step at a time right now. Let's see what happens tomorrow and go from there."

  Leslie shrugged, which made her off-the-shoulder blouse shift. One side fell lower than the other, showing off the strap to her tank top and her light brown skin. The ring in her nose, a small gold hoop, was new but it fit her like she'd always had it. Like any respectable hair dresser, her locs were on point, as was... everything about her. I'd always thought she was the perfect match, a thick snack that was whip smart and funny as hell.

  I realized, standing in her shop and trying hard to get along with her, that I'd missed her.

  Some nights I would lay up in a hotel room in some city, or on the bus with the team, or on an overnight flight wishing I could talk to her. Wishing I'd taken the steps to turn us from best friends into something more, but I was… I don't know if scared was the word. I thought it would ruin everything, make things awkward between us if I leaned over and kissed her. She didn't make a move either, so I was paralyzed. This cutie from a campus sorority started hanging around and everything I wanted to do with Leslie, I did with her instead. I have few regrets in life, and that was one of them.

  Because when it came to actually being with Leslie, I wished I hadn’t wasted so much time with that other girl. I could have been with Leslie the whole time.

  “Anything else you need to talk about? I need to get back to my chair."

  She had dumped the towel she used in a basket next to the washer, then started emptying the basket into the machine. My gaze traveled to her small waist and generously round ass. When she turned around and realized what had my attention, she shot me a glare that wasn't as vicious as she thought it was. She adjusted the shirt to cover her skin again, then propped her hands on her hips. Which was intended to make her seem more hostile, but the pose perked her breasts up perfectly.

  And I was having a reaction.

  "Nah. Just... I'll see you. Tomorrow. At the meeting."

  I turned, rushing back through the shop, knowing I didn’t make it out of there before parts of my body made it obvious that Leslie still had an effect on me.

  Chapter Ten

  Leslie

  * * *

  "What are you giggling at over there?" Tamera asked me, finally. I had finished rolling my customer's hair and had set her under the dryer, then returned to my chair and started straightening up.

  I was
still laughing, long after KC had hightailed it out of the front door. It had been a long time since I could play with someone; that it was KC I was messing with brought me a kind of evil satisfaction.

  “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about stuff."

  "Funny stuff? Must be, the way you've been laughing."

  "She's laughing at that man running outta here with a raging semi," said Evonne.

  "A what?" Angela asked, twisting around in Tamera’s chair to ask Evonne to repeat herself.

  "A semi. You know..." Angela shook her head, her brows knit in concentration. "A semi-erection. Leslie gave the man a stiffie.”

  My skin flashed hot; I was sure I was crimson. "Evonne.”

  "What? Excuse me for paying attention. I've always paid attention to Kade Cavanaugh." She pumped a few dollops of moisturizer into the palm of one hand and rubbed her hands together, then smoothed it through her customer's hair while she talked. "My older brother played college ball with him. Everyone at Healy was so proud; we had a watch party so we could see him make his first TV appearance."

  I saw the same game, though I'd never admit to watching his NBA debut.

  “So, did you ever sleep with him Leslie?"

  I wasn't expecting that question. Not at all, and not from Evonne. I was so shocked and caught off guard, I choked on my own saliva. I coughed so hard and turned so red that Tamera had to pull me out of the chair and lead me to the front door of the shop. She grabbed a bottle of water and unscrewed the cap, then handed it to me.

  "Here. Drink."

  I coughed, hard, then sucked in a lungful of air. "So I can choke on that, too? What's water supposed to do?"

  "Girl, I don't know. Folks just always offer water. Drink it, damn."

  I gulped down water and paced the sidewalk, intermittently coughing and drinking. I glanced at Tam and she gave me the same look back. We burst into laughter, holding onto each other for support.

  "So was that a yes or a no?" I heard from inside the shop.

  "Mind your own business, Evonne," I shouted from the sidewalk.

  The first time I got drunk, it was at a frat party with KC. I couldn't even look at fruit punch anymore without thinking about that night—bass thumping from cheap bookshelf speakers, the house crawling with people packed wall to wall, too few snacks and too much of what KC told me was “Trashcan Punch”.

  I found out, when I was bent over a trash can puking up my ever loving guts, why they called it that. Hours later, I woke up with a swollen tongue, a sour stomach and what felt like a boulder on top of me. It took a few minutes to realize it was KC out cold, lying on half of my body.

  I wiggled my way out from underneath him and he didn’t move, even though he must have been uncomfortable with his feet hanging over the edge of the bed. I grabbed a clean nightshirt and my shower caddy and tiptoed out of the room. The taste in my mouth was making me sick and I wanted to wash off the smell of that party.

  When I got back to my room, the desk lamp was on and KC was sitting up, yawning, leaning back on his hands. “I figured that was you in the shower. I was hoping you didn’t drown.”

  “I’m okay. I don’t actually feel… drunk. Just worn out. You?”

  He shrugged. “Same. Tomorrow is gonna suck, though.”

  “We should drink some water. I heard it helps.” I grabbed two water bottles from the dorm fridge my roommate and I kept stocked and handed him one, then climbed up onto the bed next to him. He sucked his down so fast that I handed him mine and he sucked that one down too.

  “I never want to drink ever again,” I moaned, leaning against him.

  He laughed giving me a playful tap with his fist on my shoulder. “Aw come on Les. You held your own for like… an hour.”

  I wagged my head, wincing. “That stuff was rank. What was in that shit?”

  KC laughed and I groaned as he named off what seemed like every kind of alcohol that ever existed, plus Kool-Aid and fruit juice. “But seriously, you had a real good time. Until you didn’t.”

  “I don’t want to hear about what I did or said. I’m sure I acted a fool.”

  “So you don’t want to hear about offering to have my baby?”

  “Shut up, KC.”

  “Aight. But you was saying some nasty stuff. Downright ignorant.”

  I blanched, wracking my brain. I didn’t feel like I was that drunk. I remembered everything— including getting sick, stumbling back to campus with KC, getting to my room and collapsing on the bed. I did not remember asking KC to impregnate me.

  Though, I wasn’t against us practicing. I’d had a crush on KC since the previous year and maybe my subconscious wanted me to make a move.

  “I don’t know or remember what I said or anything, but what if… I mean, what if I was serious about that?”

  His gaze slid over to me and our eyes met. One eyebrow cocked up as he asked, “About having my baby?”

  “No. About me and you. You know, me… and you. Together.”

  “Together,” he repeated. “Like… together.”

  “Yeah. Like… together.”

  “Like… together, together.”

  “You can say it five more times and it will still mean the same thing.”

  He sat up, his back ramrod straight. The air and the mood in the room changed, just like that. “Uh… so, you feel okay, now?”

  He crumpled both plastic bottles in his fist. It was something he did all the time but the mere show of strength on top of being the tiniest bit inebriated was a one-two punch that hit me harder than the trash can punch.

  “I feel fine. Why?”

  He climbed over me, heaving his body off of the bed and slid his feet into his shoes. “So you can have your bed to yourself. But call me if you need me, aight?”

  Before I could respond, he had reached the door and pulled it open. “Night,” he whispered, then pulled it shut.

  I sucked my teeth and scowled at the closed door. “I don’t want my bed to myself,” I muttered aloud.

  I turned out the desk lamp and laid back in the bed, where KC had laid. Faint strains of his cologne reminded me that he had been there. Right there. I tossed and turned for awhile, making a huge show of pretending to try to sleep.

  Then I sat up, tossing the covers back and crawling out of bed. I grabbed my key and swung open my door, then stomped down the hall to the other side of the floor.

  Even if I didn’t know him, it was obvious which one was KC’s door. It was the one covered contact paper with a dry erase marker stuck to it. Girls had left messages for him and his roommate, Kendrick. I glared at the names, written in bubbly cursive with hearts over the i’s and shit.

  I tapped the door, very lightly. Then, figuring that KC was likely dead to the world, knocked louder. I heard a grunt and a thump inside, then fumbling and the door cracked open.

  “Leslie? What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I…” I played with the lanyard hanging around my neck, the one that held my key. The one that hung between my bra-less breasts that I made sure KC was looking at. “I can’t sleep.”

  “So you woke me up?” I heard the laughter in his voice as the door opened and he let me in. I glanced at the other side of the room, making sure Kendrick wasn’t in the other bed. “He’s gone for the weekend. You want to sleep in his bed?”

  I scrunched up my nose and groaned. KC laughed. “Just asking. I mean, there’s not much room in my bed for sleeping.”

  “Well, I… I was hoping we could stay up for a minute.”

  “You really woke me up because you couldn’t sleep?” He shook his head, then grabbed his shower kit from the closet. “Be right back. My breath is kicking my ass.”

  While he was gone, I pulled up the sheets and blankets that he’d been sleeping in and made myself at home on his bed. By the time he came back, I was curled up, my legs folded up under me, leaning up against the headboard.

  “So what’s up?” He asked, lowering himself to the bed and scooting up so he was sitting next to me
.

  I shrugged a shoulder and rolled my eyes up to meet his. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I kind of thought… maybe we could talk.”

  “About?” He asked, his tone low.

  “About what happened in my room, earlier. I came on to you and you ran away like I was a hag you wouldn’t be caught dead with.”

  He was quiet, the room full of the sounds of him inhaling and then exhaling. The scent of mint wafted to my nostrils. I never wanted to taste mint so bad in my life. “It wasn’t like that. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to, Leslie. But…”

  I shifted, moving to my knees, then climbed over his lap and sat on his thighs. By instinct, KC’s hands moved to grip my waist through the thin cotton nightshirt.

  “But… what? You don’t think I’m pretty? I’m not sexy, to you? You fucked that sorority girl— she never shuts up about it. I never get more than a hug or a back rub.”

  “Leslie, it’s not that at all. You’re… I mean, you’re beautiful. You know I think so; I tell you all the time how fine you are. I keep trying to introduce you to my friends, but you turned them all down.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to date your friends, KC.”

  I scooted up on his lap, closer and closer until our bodies made intimate contact. He wore boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt. I felt his heat— and growing hardness through the very thin pair of panties I’d pulled on. I reached out to touch him, to run my hands across his chest and down his arms and back up again. Then I cupped his face and ran my thumbs over his thick, soft lips. “Maybe I want to date you.”

  KC’s eyes closed and he swallowed audibly. A couple of times. “I… Leslie, you had a lot to drink and I don’t want to take advantage—”

  “I’m not drunk,” I assured him, tapping his cheek so he would open his eyes. “Look at me. I’m telling you. I’m not drunk. Are you?”