Dark Or Cream

Chapter 4 – Add Milk

Isis had a hair salon called Queen Hair on 73rd Street in town. It was a small shop with two other chairs she rented out to somewhat reliable stylists, but mostly she tackled weaves, braids, relaxers and natural hair all on her own. Queen Hair was where Kaja spent every other Saturday morning, getting her high maintenance hair washed and styled or getting a fresh sew-in. It was Wednesday morning, and far from time for her to sit in Isis’ chair again, but Kaja needed an ear. “Hey, sis!” She breezed through the glass door into the near empty room. After years of friendship, Kaja knew Wednesdays were Isis’ slow days, and she took a seat next to an elderly client who couldn’t hear so well. She had plenty to spill. Thankfully, the other two patrons in the shop didn’t look like the type to be interested in what she had to say. There was an unspoken rule in beauty parlors, much like barber shops, that everybody learned everybody’s business there. Some gossiped, but most folks paid no mind. Kaja was counting on the ladies present to be the latter.

“What you doin’ up in here on a Wednesday? Ooh, but that hair looks nice, Kaj. Let me see.” Isis set down a hot curling iron and leaned away from the client whose hair she was sectioning off and curling into big, fluffy loops for a body wrap. She reached her red fingertips to Kaja’s extensions and examined the silky, straight locks. “That product I told you about is really working wonders.”

“Yes, girl. I’ve got new growth out of this world! You should see these roots.”

“I thought we were scheduled to do that Saturday morning.”

“You are. I’m not here for you to do my hair. I had a little time from the restaurant and figured I’d pop in and keep you company.”

Isis gave Kaja a knowing look and a wide smile that stretched across her mahogany face. Her dreadlocks fell across her eyes and she flipped the back with a toss of her head. She pointed a finger at her but didn’t say anything, waiting to see what Kaja was really in the shop to talk about. She went back to doing her client’s hair, and Kaja made conversation, chatting about the weather and the menu at Cooking by Kaj. Isis asked how Ebony was doing, and Kaja filled her in on details about the birthday party since Isis had been tied up with work and couldn’t make it.

“You must got plenty of time off,” she said, smirking at her watch. “Wish I had a day off.”

“Isis, all you need to do is hire you some girls that do hair that you can count on to be here at least three times a week. You could take off more.”

“Girlfriend, between Tate, Rasheeda, and Marco, I can’t afford to take off work too much. Besides, my clients are special. They trust me to do their hair, not everybody.”

Kaja rolled her eyes and hid a smile. Isis was a tyrant. Half the women who came in to rent a chair left soon after because she was a hard boss to work under. She had demands about how things were done down to the letter, and she expected stylists to adhere to her guidelines. Isis had grown up at her mother’s side when Ms. Hattie was doing hair in the ’70s and ’80s, different times than now. Kaja tried to impress on her the changes between workers back then and workers now. The younger generation, Kaj had found after hiring teens and young adults to work in her restaurant, had a much more cavalier attitude towards doing a job; forget about a job done well. As long as they did just enough to get a paycheck, they felt like they were doing all that was required.

“Back when your mama did hair out the kitchen, remember how we used to try to make money sweeping floors for her? I’ll never forget how Ms. Hattie gave me my first job. She’s the reason I became an entrepreneur,” Kaja nostalgically replied, mind flitting back to ages ago when Isis, Ebony and she were scrawny prepubescent girls darting around Hattie’s kitchen, inventing work so they could earn a nickel. Secrets had been shared and hearts broken together. They’d been closer than peas in a pod back then. Now that the women were older, they were busier. Ebony had her family, and Isis and Kaja had their businesses, but they were still pretty close in the distant way adulthood makes friends.

After years of knowing her, Kaja could tell Isis anything and get an honest assessment. She knew she was stalling, and finally she blurted out what she’d come there to say. “I’ve got two different dates this weekend with two different men, and I’m feeling some kinda awful about myself right now, even though I told them both about each other. Isis, please, please tell me I’m not being a hoe.”

Isis had a big, round brush she was sweeping through her client’s hair to take the shoulder length auburn, tresses around and round the woman’s head in the style of a wrap. She pulled a handful of hairpins out of her mouth and said to Kaja, “A what? Uh-uh, baby, rebuke that. Seeing two men at once does not a wh*re make, or bless my heart for being the worst kind. Ha! At least they both know about each other. What’s the problem?”

“Ice, you and I both know I’ve never dated two men at one time. That’s not how we do, so stop fronting. Now I’m making my debut back onto the dating scene with double the trouble. “

Isis shrugged, looking mysterious. “You don’t know all my secrets, sugar. It’s just one date, Kaja. Well, two dates, but who’s counting? Look, it’s not like you’re playing the field, running around with five or six different men. You can be a lady, but girls want to have fun, too. Don’t sleep with both of them, problem solved. Or, you could cancel one of them, if it will make you feel better. Or, is that the real problem—you want to date two different men? Does Ebony know about this?” She let out a loud whoop of laughter, drawing the attention of the woman who was hard of hearing, and Kaja shushed her around giggles of her own. “Girl, this don’t even seem like your life! When did you get so scandalous?”

“No, I’m not scandalous. And, yes, Ebony’s ass knows. She’s the one who got me into this mess.”

“Nah, I ain’t gonna let you do that to my homegirl, now. That’s not like Ebony, either.”

Kaja’s mouth dropped open, and she gasped in mock surprise. “Why isn’t it?” she asked with a laugh. “My sister is so meddlesome her middle name oughtta be Meddling—Ebony Meddling Crenshaw. I don’t know how I let myself get dragged into her grand scheme to get me happily coupled up, but somehow she convinced me to set up a dating profile online, of all things!”