At Last (14 page)

             
I rolled my eyes at her invitation. There was nothing left to be worked out with Durran, “Thank you, Momma.  I really appreciate it.  We’ll be over tomorrow.  Goodnight.”

             
“Goodnight, baby.”
She said obviously not sensing my attitude.

“Okay, this is how it’s going to be…” My mother said from the kitchen as Yvette and I sat on the couch in the living room.

             
“How is that?” I asked right back smartly.

             
Yvette pinched me causing me to let out a yelp, “Quit being smart,”

             
“If you gonna stay here, you have to get a job.” My mother stated.

             
“Momma I know that, but I’ve only been back
a
month.” I reasoned.

             
I had been living at my mother’s house for about a month.  It was already Hell. The sooner I could leave the better.

             
“Well I’m just gonna tell you like this - I’m not going to take care of a grown person.  Plus you got a child to care for, so you need to get on up and get to looking for a job.”

             
“Momma, I told you I went back to my old shop and they didn’t have any booths available.”

             
“So what does that mean?  There’s a shop on every corner of Seven Mile.”

             
“I know, but I was thinking about going back to school.  You know I only have four more semesters to go.  I could finish that up while I’m here.”

             
“You have a child. You don’t have the luxury of not working, going to school, and raising a child. I’m sorry baby, but that ship has sailed.  Right now, you need to focus on finding a job to support you and your child.”

             
“I mean, I don’t know if it helps, but I saw a barbershop on Seven Mile.  It had a ‘stylist wanted’ sign in the window.  I got the number.” Yvette chimed in.

             
“How convenient, Yvette.  You shouldn’t have.” I said sarcastically.

             
“Oh, anytime, Boo. I got you.” She said handing me the piece of paper with the information on it. 

             
What else could I do?

Chapter Eleven

             
I was stuck between a rock and a hard place.  I had to pay for school for Taylor and find a place for us to live.  I loved my mother, but I’d been out of her house since I was nineteen.

             
I hated feeling like I had to depend on her. It was strange living under her roof again, and I knew I could only deal with it temporarily. Since Yvette gave me the tip on the barbershop, I decided to see what was up. 

             
I had to pay the bills. From the looks of the job, it was a sure thing. I’d spoken with the owner earlier on the phone. He seemed to be professional, but I’d have to find out in person.

             
I wore my hair straight with a slight bang.  I rocked a pair of fitted DKNY jeans, a fitted black V-neck tunic and a pair of black four-inch knee BCBG boots. A rhinestone belt rested around my waist. I wore a heart-shaped pendant around my neck and diamond studs in my ears. I brought my portfolio to show the shop owner some of my work.  It was early around 8:30 in the morning.

             
The shop was small-at least on the outside.  The front was very neat. It had been freshly swept. The shop was set up like a shotgun house. Everything went straight back. 

             
There were five stations on each side. It was very well lit.  Each station mirror had clear vanity lights
surrounding it.  The linoleum floor was black and white like a checkerboard.

             
When I opened the door, customers were already waiting.  There were a few older gentlemen mixed in with the young guys waiting around socializing.

             
The older men were playing checkers and the younger ones were shooting the shit.  When I walked in, all eyes were on me.  I felt uncomfortable, but eventually got over it.

             
As I looked around, I observed a caramel brown brother wearing a black jogging suit, a pair of tan Timberland boots, and a black Yankees baseball cap. He was tall probably around six feet four and had broad shoulders.  Even though his sweatshirt was big, I could tell that he had a nice build.

             
He sported a neat mustache and a goatee. His almond shaped chestnut brown eyes sat underneath thick, perfectly-shaped eyebrows. He had a hood look to him, and I could tell he wasn’t from around here.

             
“Excuse me; I’m her
e to see Cliff. Is he around?”
I asked the man.

             
He smiled. It was very pleasant. You know the kind that’s infectious. His teeth were perfect in every way. He could have done a Colgate commercial.

             
“I’m Cliff. You must be Keisha.” He said.
He
had
a
thick accent. He was definitely from the east coast. He extended his large hand.

             
“Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you.”  I said shaking his hand.  My tiny hand disappeared in his.

             
“Same here, Ma.”
He retorted.

             
Ma!?
What was that all about?  He’d just met me.  I hope he didn’t think he could talk to me any way he wanted. I shot him a dirty look. He shot back a
defiant smile and gestured for me to follow him, “Let’s go in the back so we can get everything straight.”

             
“That sounds good.”  I said following him to the back of the shop.  The back room was a small break area.  There were lockers for the staff and a small round table with two chairs.  A green loveseat was on the other side of the room.  He sat at the table first.

             
“Have a seat,” He requested. I sat down with my portfolio in hand, “So how long have you been doing hair?”

             
“I’ve been doing it professionally for over five years.”  I responded.

             
“Did you bring your license?” He asked.

             
“Yes I did.” I confirmed handing him my license.

             
He looked it over for a moment, “Keisha Marie Morgan, huh?”

             
“Yes,” I answered. I couldn’t front-I liked the way he said my name.

             
“Have you ever worked in a barbershop before?” He questioned.

             
“No, but I’ve worked in plenty of beauty shops.”

             
“I understand that, Ma.”

             
I was getting agitated with him and this
“Ma”
stuff. Take that east coast shit back to the east coast.

             
“You know what it’s like to be the only female in a barbershop with men every day?  Do you think you can handle that?” He asked sternly.

             
“Yes,” I replied quickly. I didn’t like his tone. He was being really chauvinistic. He cracked another smile. It was becoming apparent that he was testing me, “Will I be paid in cash? Is my booth rent free?”

             
“Nah.”

             
“I didn’t think so. So as long as I can cut men’s hair, bring female clientele into your shop, and pay my booth rent, none of that should matter.”

             
Cliff sat there with that same smile on his face. I was beginning to think this was a bad idea. He wasn’t professional at all, “Alright, let me see your book.”

             
I handed him my portfolio.  He skimmed through it and looked back up at me, “When can you start?”

             
“When do you need me?”

             
“I needed you yesterday, Ma.”

             
I was really trying to ignore him, but he was pissing me off.  What was so difficult about him calling me by my name?

             
“I don’t have my equipment, so it will have to be tomorrow.”

             
“Cool. Tomorrow, you’ll be at the first chair in the front.” He stood up and I followed suit.

             
“After you, Ma.”
He said gesturing towards the door.

             
“I got the job right?” I asked.

             
“Yeah, you got it.”

             
“Good. So while we’re still back here talking, let’s get something clear.  My name is Keisha.  You can call me Keisha or Miss Morgan.  But I’m asking that you stop with this
‘Ma’
thing. It’s not my name, and it’s very unprofessional.” I told him.

             
I don’t know what had gotten into me. I knew me opening my mouth like that could potentially cost me the job, but he was disrespecting me. What kind of professional calls you out of your name on an interview?

             
He looked down at his shoes, then up at me before giving me that infectious smile again, “I apologize, Miss Morgan.”

             
“Thank you.” I replied.

             
“Anything to please you.”
  He said with a smile.
Really?
This guy obviously didn’t pick up hints. I just decided to let it be. As long as I got my money and he didn’t cross the line, I was cool.

             
He led me out to the front of the shop to show me my station, “This is your station, Miss Morgan.”

             
A short brown skinned man walked in while we were talking, “What up Big C?”

             
“Everything is everything. Yo, this is the new barber/stylist. Her name is Miss Morgan.” He introduced.

             
I cut my eyes at him and looked at the man, “Hey, I’m Keisha.”

             
“What up. Mike.” He said as he nodded his head.

             
Cliff sat down in the swivel chair, “Tomorrow is Saturday so it’s gonna be bananas in here. 
Nothing but trash talking men and little boys.
  You think you can handle that?”

             
“You make it seem as if I’m going to war or something. I told you I could handle whatever. If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t have showed up.” I responded.

             
“I’m sorry, Miss Morgan.” Cliff said snickering.

             
I rolled my eyes at him, “What time should I be here?”

             
“Between eight and nine is cool.  We close at seven in the evening.”

             
I extended my hand.  “Thank you, Mr.…?”

             
“Andrews. Cliff Andrews.”

             
“See you tomorrow.” I said before walking off.

             
“Peace.  By the way, don’t wear
them
heels tomorrow.” He advised.

             
“And why not?”
  I asked turning around with much attitude.

             
“I don’t think the brothers can handle it.” He said chuckling.

             
I cracked a smile. I liked his laugh. He had a hearty, good natured laugh. Like his smile, it was infectious.

             
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Andrews.”

             
Humph. I’d never worked for a man before.  I hoped that he’s not on that sexiest madness; because I was not the one.  This whole barbershop thing was just temporary until I could get back on my feet. I was not trying to be here for the long haul.

             
When I got back to my mother’s house she was making Taylor’s snack.  Ever since I’d moved back home she’d been surprisingly bearable. She didn’t mention Durran as much and let me have my space.  I didn’t let on but I really appreciated it.

             
“Hey, Momma.”
I greeted.

             
“Hey, baby. How did it go?”

             
“I got the job.” I said as I plopped down on the couch and kicking up my feet on the coffee table.

             
“Good,” She said walking to the front of the house where I was seated, “Durran called.”