Street Soldiers (6 page)

“Hey, everyone,” Nellie says, waving to the staff and clients alike. “Sorry I’m late. This is my girl, Jayd.”

“Hi Nellie and co.,” CoCo says, directing us to the waiting area. She’s working on tightening a weave and her client looks like she wants to cry.

The shop is bright with fluorescent lights and flat screen televisions on each wall. Everything from the pleather chairs to the hair tools are black, silver or pink. There’s even a disco ball hanging from the ceiling causing rainbow rays to bounce off of the mirrors. It feels more like a nightclub than a place of business.

“Is Mickey here?” Nellie asks, claiming a fashion magazine out of one of the baskets on the end table where I notice a braid magazine. It wouldn’t hurt for me to see what’s new in the business.

“I’m back here getting my nails done,” Mickey yells.

Good. I need to look her in the eye when she comes up with an excuse about why she’s tripping on her ex after she foolishly put her relationship with Nigel at risk for his ass.

I follow Nellie to the back of the shop where the nail salon is housed. Mickey and three other women are getting the works. It must be nice for my girl to be a teen mom with hood-wifey benefits. Speaking of which, who’s bank rolling all of this pampering?

“There she is, Miss M.I.A. herself,” I say, posting up against an empty station closest to my girl with my magazine in tow. I hope CoCo doesn’t mind if I borrow it; she’s got plenty to spare. And it’s not the most recent issue so I doubt anyone will miss it.

Mickey rolls her eyes in my direction as Nellie takes a seat in the spa chair next to hers. It must be nice living the ghetto fabulous life without a job. I hope Mickey knows her days are numbered living under Rah’s roof with no income. He doesn’t play that shit.

“Paula, can I get a mani, pedi and brow wax while I wait for CoCo’s chair to clear? Please and thank you,” Nellie says, relaxing into the massage chair.

The tall, black woman with blue streaks in her asymmetrically cropped hair nods her head without taking her eyes away from her client’s acrylic claws. Nellie places her oversized
Michael Kors
bag on the end table attached to the large chair and slits her eyes at Mickey for leaving her behind. Mickey shrugs her shoulders and refocuses her attention on the large television screen mounted on the wall in front of her. This is the place to hangout even if you’re not getting any services.

“So Mickey, did you get my many, many messages about your ex?” I ask, flipping casually through the colorful magazine. I could do all of these styles with the right comb and enough time.

“Yeah, I heard them but I’ve been busy with Nickey and school. You know how it is,” Mickey says, lying through her teeth. Nickey’s down for the night by eight and we all know she’s never taken any of her schoolwork seriously.

“Mickey, spill it,” I say, abruptly closing my magazine. This girl is testing my patience.

Nellie looks at Mickey waiting for the real story, too.

Mickey looks at Nellie and then me, ready to give in. “The reason I can’t go to the hearings is because G doesn’t want me there.”

“Mickey, I don’t think that’s true,” I say. “There was no one there for him at his hearing yesterday except for my family and our neighbors. I know you’re probably mad at him over Nigel blowing up, but he needs whatever kind of support he can get.”

Nellie looks away pretending to read her magazine. I know there’s something they’re not telling me.

“Okay, what the hell is going on around here?” I roll the magazine up and place it inside of my purse lest I forget to take it with me when I finally do leave. I know Mama and Netta are watching the clock.

Mickey looks down at her toes soaking in the bubbly water and then back up at me. “We’re back together, Jayd,” Mickey says. “And, G doesn’t like his family getting involved in the court system and all that nonsense. By not being there I’m doing exactly what my man wants me to do.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mickey?” I exclaim, ready to take the rolled up paper out of my purse and smack some sense into my girl. “Have you completely lost your mind, Mickey? If Nigel finds out about this he will never forgive you.”

No matter how much she may claim to like this new fool she’s seeing, Nellie can’t hide her joy about Mickey and Nigel’s final demise. The other clients around us listen without intruding, used to witnessing drama in the shop.

“Who gives a shit about how Nigel feels? He didn’t care about my feelings when he walked out on me and my daughter.” Mickey blows on her freshly painted acrylics completely unconcerned with the foulness of her actions.

“After G sent you those cryptic ‘Whore of Babylon’ letters the last time he was locked up I thought you understood how unstable dude really is,” I say, recalling the fear in Mickey’s eyes when she first showed me the red ink-stained pages. I’ve never seen her so scared of anything, and now she’s back in bed with the enemy.

“Girl, he was just mad ’cause me and Nigel were raising Nickey like he and I always planned to do with our kids. And now that Nigel’s dropped the ball, I have to do what’s right by my family, Jayd.”

“Have you talked to Nigel about this? And what about the fact that you’re living in his best friends house?”

Nellie looks at me as if to say “Shut the hell up before they end up back together!” but I won’t be silenced. My main concern is Nickey Shantae, and Mickey playing house with the notorious felon that killed Nickey’s biological father is not in the baby’s best interests, damn her hood family dreams.

“You see, that’s exactly why I didn’t tell your ass a damned thing. I knew you were going to drill me like 5.0.” Mickey sucks her teeth but I’m the one who’s disgusted.

“Hell yeah you knew I would, Mickey,” I say, heated. “This is a hot mess and you know it.”

“But it’s my hot mess, Jayd. And I’ll deal with it the way I see fit.”

Mickey’s right. I’m tired of playing everybody’s mama. I glance at the wall clock and feel Mama calling me from the other side of Compton. If I leave now I can still make it before three.

“I’ve got to get to work,” I say, exasperated with this new information. It was better when I thought Mickey was simply avoiding G. This girl’s given me a headache with her ill logic. “See y’all at school tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the ride, Jayd,” Nellie says, passing me a crisp twenty-dollar bill from her purse. “You should really consider letting CoCo hook you up one day. I think you’d look cute with a fresh cut and some gold streaks in the front.”

“Yeah, you’d look like Meghan Good with her short cut,” Mickey says, pointing to a picture of the actress in Nellie’s magazine. “Sexy for sure.”

They’re so silly even when we’re at odds. My girls mean well but can be a bit much. Mama would kill the barber and me if I ever let anyone other than her, Netta or my mom touch my hair let alone cut it.

“Bye, y’all.”

“Holla,” Nellie says. She tends to get a little darker once she crosses Central Avenue—Nellie knows her place. She can pretend to be white all she wants in the South Bay, but it ain’t too many white folks who can hook a weave up like CoCo can.

The strip mall houses about ten other businesses including a liquor store, beauty supply and clothing boutique. The parking lot is bustling with consumers ready to spend their money. On the way to my car I swear I can hear Pam walking behind me, her sandals just as loud as they were in my dream. I turn around but it’s just a stray dog dragging its leash on the ground—too weird. I need to tell Mama about my recent visions as soon as I get to the shop. The last thing I need is another meltdown, and with my head as hot as it is it may only be a matter of time before I go off.

*

Netta’s shop is the complete opposite of CoCo’s and so are her clients. Netta mostly services the church crowd, teachers, postal workers and housewives. CoCo’s clients are younger, hipper and their employment is never truly disclosed.

“Alafia, Little Jayd,” Netta says, buzzing me in. “How is our queen in training doing this afternoon?”

Mama’s sitting under one of three blow driers in the front of the shop relaxing while Netta preps the curling and flat irons. The scents of sandalwood and vanilla usher me over the threshold, instantly calming my nerves. The new fragrance for our autumn product line of hair care was my idea. And judging from the peaceful energy in the space, I’d say it was a good blend. Hopefully there’s enough of the new hair care batch for me to sample on myself.

“Hi, Mama,” I say, bending down to kiss my grandmother who’s eyeing me like I’m late, which technically I’m not. “I’m glad to see you two are taking a break from the campaign trail for a moment.”

“Yes, my dear, but only for a moment. We have much more to do to get that boy out of jail, no matter how foolish he is.”

“He’s not the only one,” I say, recalling Mickey’s relationship revelation. I walk over to Netta’s main station, kiss her on the cheek and admire her new cellophane.

Netta’s new line of natural hair glass—as she calls it—has been a huge hit. I’ve been thinking about trying it out myself. Nellie may be right about me needing to switch it up a bit, all though I’d never admit that to her. I don’t mean a complete transformation like Misty’s made, but a little more spunk in my stylo wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Netta asks. “And why to you smell like perm solution and burnt plastic?”

“It means that Mickey has decided to be the ride-or-die chick G wants by his side right now, forget about her and Nigel and their happy hood family. And I smell like this because I dropped Nellie off at CoCo’s shop.”

Mama acknowledges the strange stench already soaked into my clothes and skin. I replace my
Pink
hoody with my white work apron and reclose the cabinet door. My personal space needs to be cleaned out and probably all of the others do, too. After I wash up I’ll get to work on it and the clients’ personal beauty boxes. It’s been a while since I checked their supply levels.

*

The yellow curtain separating the front of the shop from the back where the office/shrine room and private bathroom are located is open, allowing a breeze to flow freely through the warm space. I bow to greet the shrine, taking the Florida water from the bamboo mat at its feet and head to the bathroom. Sometimes a quick head cleansing is all I need to get my mojo going.

“That girl’s gonna learn her lesson the hard way if she keeps playing with fire,” Netta says, smacking hard on her Big Red gum. The lavender face soap feels good on my skin washing all of the oil from my day away. This t-zone thing is annoying. Even Mama’s daily tea tree and aloe soap can’t stop the shine permanently.

“And that boy is pure Shango,” Mama says as I reenter the main room ready to work.

She did a spiritual reading on G last night and learned that his head belongs to Shango, the orisha of fire, passion and male virility: a bad combination in a gangster with no guidance. After spending yesterday afternoon with G, Mama’s convinced she can save his soul. I hate to doubt my grandmother’s skills, but some souls should just be left alone.

“Is he now? That’s interesting,” Netta says, walking over to her sole client for the day ready to press and curl Mama’s shoulder-length locks. She turns off the hair drier and leads Mama to sit down at her station.

“Yes it is, which explains why Esmeralda might be interested in getting to him before we do,” Mama says as she leans back in the malleable chair and allows Netta to work her magic. “I know she’s got her hands in his arrest.”

“No doubt about it. And you know she’s going to come running to his rescue as soon as she can, indebting him to her for life.” Netta moves the hot irons through Mama’s head quickly, not needing to fully straighten her already soft tresses. Mama hates it when her hair falls flat from too much heat.

“Or longer.” Mama says, meeting Netta’s eyes in the mirror. I’m used to the two of them talking over my head.

“How can G be in debt to Esmeralda, and why would she help him get out of jail in the first place?” I ask, not making the connection. I open my locker and begin to organize my stuff—my locker at school needs the same type of attention.

“Because, little Jayd,” Netta begins. “Esmeralda’s gathering an entire army of sinister soldiers to be at her beck and call. These little fools running around here selling drugs and whatnot are her top targets.”

“But Netta, why would Esmeralda need them to do her dirty work when she’s got her top dog around?” I ask, now removing the boxes from the clients’ shelves.

There are at least one hundred personalized boxes and they each need some serious TLC. Between my initiation, Mrs. Esop filing a law suit against me through Mama and Pam’s murder we’re slightly behind in our shop duties.

“Because she can, and because Rousseau needs help to do his dirty work. If you’re making vampires and zombies, why not start with the natural ones we’ve already got in the hood?” Mama’s right. She’s always said black folks don’t need to get caught up in the fictional vampires when we’ve got real ones like poverty and addiction to contend with on a daily basis.

“That reminds me,” I say, easing into my dream confession. “I had a dream about Pam yesterday.”

“That happens a lot when spirits are attempting to crossover,” Netta says, admiring her skills as Mama primps her fresh do in the mirror.

“What was the dream about?” Mama asks.

“Well, I was here alone and Pam was in the back knocking on the screen door. Rousseau was after her and she said to give you the message that only you can help her. Oh, and her eyes were pitch black and she couldn’t come inside for some reason. Too weird.”