Lonely Hearts Won't Break

NINE｜SOMETHING NEW

There were many reasons I wore protective styles. Other than not wanting anything to do with my natural hair, it was simply easier choosing something semi-permanent to sport for three or four weeks, then move onto the next that would save me time and relieve me of a headache and cramped fingers.

Today, rather than have my legs go numb while I sat still getting knotless box braids or passion twists that swept down to my ass, making it a bit unbearable in the summer heat, I chose something completely out of my element and yet modish and simple.

"So, what we thinking?" Denise asked as she spun my chair around to face her mirror. She snapped her fancy schmancy styling cape from around my neck before I slowly stood up and leaned forward to preview my profile.

Just yesterday I took some much-needed time out for myself and visited some of my favorite black women in the city including my esthetician for my monthly facial, my brow lady who cleaned me up something nice and my lash lady who made sure to fill in the blanks around my eyes. It was safe to say thanks to them all, including Denise, I looked exquisite if I should say so myself. I hadn't felt this good nor looked this good in months and I'd like to think I deserved to.

Denise watched from behind me as I marveled at the sleeked down ripples she made with edge control and the help of a brush along my temple. There was not a strand of hair out of place and the parts she carved with her rat tail comb into my scalp were so precise, crafted like geometrics, that for some reason I wondered if Denise was a math whiz. Each section of my hair was placed into long braids that had been twisted and spun into bantu knots sitting perfectly atop of my head.

"I love it!" I gushed as a smile curved along my lips. "You are a lifesaver. Thank you so much for squeezing me into your schedule."

"Oh girl, it ain't nothing but a thang," she assured as I continued to gawk at myself and adjust the waistband of my wide leg tearaway pants. "You're one of my regulars and thanks to you I have four new clients on my roster."

My hands stretched upward and ironed out the kinks in the white cropped tank top lifting from the curves of my torso. "People ask and all I do is tell. I'm not stingy with the deets. Plus your prices don't break pockets and that's what we like."

"I do this for the ladies who want to look cute on a budget, but you miss thang are looking like a million freshly printed dollar bills, okay?! Budget where?" she teased and it immediately had me turning away from her scrutiny in the mirror as I bowed my head bashfully and felt heat rising in my cheeks. I clearly didn't know how to take compliments well. "Seriously, I see you all dolled up today. Who is he?"

I sucked my teeth and walked over to the empty booth beside hers where my Marc Jacobs tote sat. I rummaged through, drawing my lip gloss from a pocket and twisted the cap off.

"Now why must a man be involved?"

"Because we all tend to spice it up above and beyond when there is a fine specimen admiring, assuming he is fine. Did he buy that bag too?" As the bristle of my gloss glided across my lips I playfully rolled my eyes and glanced over my shoulder, finding Denise grinning with her arms folded over her chest. She knew what she was doing and luckily I knew when she was joking. "And what is Prince Charming's government name?"

"Sheesh, D." I chuckled. "You think he's a fraud or something?"

"With the breed of men that stray the Earth like dogs these days, he might. Seriously," she nodded toward my bag. "He's cashing out already?"

"So let's settle this with a no. My sister bought it for me, so call it a pity gift and his name is Landon Daye. We have a lunch date in thirty minutes somewhere a few blocks away. Actually," I tossed the gloss back into my tote and glanced down at my Apple Watch, noting the time. I had to start walking within the next five minutes if I didn't want to be late. "I should probably head out now."