Page 27 of For the Love of City
“I love it. It’s probably the prettiest car I’ve ever seen. Thank you.” I was trying to keep my composure but this gift was major. Like crossing all kinds of invisible boundaries that I was sure had long stopped existing.
“Ain’t shit. I had to make sure they got that paint right or you would’ve had it sooner. Marcus’ ass was custom mixing a new batch until he got it exactly how I wanted it.” His tone was light but I knew he had probably stressed Marcus’ ass out for the last five months trying to get this color right.
“He does good work. I’m going to assume he’s your guy going forward?”
City sat up the frown on his face conveying his displeasure at my comment. I hated how he already knew what I was thinking.
“Don’t think you gone be out here trying to spoil me and shit, Pretty. That ain’t how it works.”
“Why not?” Because I was absolutely going to look for something to buy him as soon as we hung up.
“Cause I’m good. I got more in life than I ever thought I’d have so trust me. That pretty ass smile on your face? That twinkle in your eyes cause you know a nigga took his time to make you smile on the real? That’s one of the best gifts you could hand me.”
There was never a question why I was stuck the way I was. Corey was rough as hell but genuine in every interaction. I wasn’t sure what drove it but he never switched up and always moved with intention. I’d never had that in a relationship. Had I been spoiled? Yes. But it was always things people wanted me to have instead of things that I wanted for myself. Rappers sending flowers with stacks of money like that would buy access to me. Jewelry, hell, even trips. It was all a way for my appreciation to stroke their ego.
Not Corey.
This was him seeing me and my past, intertwining it with my future and putting it in a form that showed his feelings for me. That he would have me physically even if he wasn’t around. Corey was the epitome of a provider and it didn’t start and stop with money. His generosity was shown in his time, his emotion and his dick.
I might really be God’s favorite.
“When are you coming back?” I was getting emotional and on the verge of saying some shit that would change things with us permanently.
He was watching my face and I knew he could see me getting choked up because he was giving me that smile. The one I knew meant he was feeling his feelings deep as hell but was holding back. All because of me. “I got a few things going on with these damn talent searches Lyric and Trav put me up to sitting through. I’m ready to hop that flight back south though, for real.”
“My place or yours when you touch down?”
He licked his dark full lips and I was ready to hop a flight to get to him. His being was pressure and not having it close enough around me to soak up his goodness was really fucking with me.
“You can have me wherever you want me, Pretty P. Just like always.”
“I’m nervous.”
I smiled softly because I could see the fear on her face. Instead of trying to give platitudes, I hoped to make my client feel better with the truth.
“There’s no need to be. I’ve been doing this for years and I promise this environment is one that is all about making you feel beautiful. So, tell me what it is you’re looking for with your hair?”
My afternoon client had walked into the shop with shades on and a ball cap pulled over her head. I understood wanting to feel good when you left home and could see that she was going to be an extreme case. Judging by the quality of the diamonds she wore she was wealthy and that came with a whole different set of pressures. We were seated in my office having a consultation before I took her to my suite.
She looked around, despite knowing it was just the two of us in the room. She sighed and I knew that sound. It was the sound of gathering strength. Going off script from what you wereexpected to say or feel that was only there to appease societal norms. My good sis was about to code switch and I was thankful for it.
“Well, I wanted to have something that felt like me. So many of the women that I’d gone to before wanted to give me something that didn’t feel…”
“Black?”
I already knew how my competition in the area got down. They weren’t interested in caring for Black hair. Just getting Black hair to conform to their ideals so they could make easy money.
She looked relieved that I understood and I could only smile that she was being real. Too many folks were under the impression that just because this place looked good that I would be out here on some snooty shit. I was prissy, but my ass was down to earth.
“Yes! I’ve worn just about every texture of hair but at my age right now I want to feel like me without feeling like I’m putting on a performance. I think so much of what I’m going through right now is because of how much damage I did to my hair earlier in life.”
“Let me guess, you were getting relaxers and then high tension hair styles then went to wigs in order to give your hair a break but all it did was smother your scalp and then still cause damage?”
She nodded the entire time I spoke and relief filled her face. “So I’m not the only one?”
I could only smile as purpose filled me. These were the types of clients I enjoyed most. “No. And it’s hard to discuss with people who don’t understand the hatred that we as Black women have gotten about our hair for centuries. We were hated because it could reach the heights theirs could only achieve with thosepowdered wigs. Like come on, who do you think those wigs were modeled after?”
She laughed and I was thankful that my candor wasn’t too much. I wanted to help but if she was too uptight we wouldn’t be a good fit. Hair was far too intimate of a thing for you to hate your stylist.
