Forgive Me (19 page)

“There you go! When have I terrorized, frightened, intimidated or threatened Sheer, Onnie, Momma, or anyone else? Since when
did sitting in someone's yard constitute stalking?” she asked herself in the mirror.

A young man tapped lightly on her window, terrifying her. He held a tray of items in one hand as he leaned in with concern. She let her window down.

“You okay, Miss? I saw you talking to yourself and I wanted to see if everything was all right.”

“I'm not talking to myself. I had my phone on speaker talking to my dad.”

She held up her phone and sucked her teeth.

“Oh. I didn't see your phone.” He rubbed his goatee, shifted his tray of items to the left, and presented them to her. “I got incense, DVDs, and CDs. I do purses on Fridays and Saturdays, but this is Thanksgiving week, so I'll get back on my purse grind next weekend. Whatchu need?”

He's cute in a roughneck kinda way.
“I'm good. Thank you.”

She stepped out of the car and headed toward the salon.

“You are good and fine!” said the young man, and slapped his free thigh as he watched Tawatha switch her massive hips. He ran behind her. “Let me give you my card so you can call me if you need something, Ma.”

She looked at his card, blushing at his advances. She read his name and responded, “Waylon, I'll call you if I need anything.”

“I gotchu! Whatever you need, I gotchu!” he said and licked his lips.

She entered the salon, taken aback by the elegant surroundings. The last time she was in this location was the night she revealed herself to her lover's wife. She crashed the window with a brick, walked into the opening, and interrupted their candlelit dinner. She assumed the building had just been christened that night,
because it was still under construction and contained unopened boxes of products, equipment with tags, and wine bottles plastered with James and his wife's photos.
Time brings about change.

A receptionist approached her. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes, I'm a guest of Shandy Fulton. I made an appointment a few days ago.” She fished in her purse for the certificate. “My name is—”

“Dana, right? She's said you'd be in today and to take extra special care of you. Follow me.”

Tawatha read the young lady's nametag and said, “Sure thing, Gala.”

She followed Gala to an area beyond the impeccably decorated reception area.

“May I take your coat?”

She gave Gala her coat and waited for her to hang it up. A few women looked up from their services at her outfit and gave her a sour look. “Humph,” said one, and glued her eyes to
In Style
magazine.

In an attempt to please her onlookers, she slowed her gait, putting extra emphasis in her stride.
Take that, tricks.
Millie had unwittingly upgraded her look from trashy to elegant, and she liked it. The red cashmere body dress went just past her knees. This dress would have been Amish garb in her old days, but she loved how it made her feel like a woman. A silver buckle gathered the dress on the side, leaving enough room to highlight her curves.

A fan in the pre-relaxer process called out, “Girl, you are wearing that dress! The whole outfit suits you.”

The other ladies gave the fan fiery eyes, daring her to say anything else.

“What? She does look good!”

She addressed her admirer. “Thank you for the compliment. I wish more women were kinder to each other,” said Tawatha, speaking to the young woman but eyeing the other women.

They dropped their heads and went back to their activities, some gossiping, others reading.

Unaware of the commotion, her stylist of the day, Penny, approached her with an outstretched hand. “You must be Dana. How are you? I'm Penny. My chair is over there. The blue one. Have a seat.”

She sat in Penny's chair. She'd pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Her hair grew longer in prison and extended to the middle of her back thanks to Faithia's braiding skills. Today, she wanted a new look. Millie's clothes were a great start. The hair had to follow. Penny came toward her, smock in hand, and wrapped it around her.

“It's always great meeting new clients. I'd like to tell you a little about myself.”

She nodded, giving Penny the green light to continue.

“I'm Penny Murphy, and I've been with Dixon's two years. I do it all: natural, relaxed, the Devachan, braids, blowouts, and even warm presses if that's your thing. You name it, I do it. I am punctual, so if you continue with me, know that I give clients a fifteen-minute grace period. If you know you'll be late, call me within an hour of your appointment. If you can't make it at all, please cancel within a twenty-four-hour period. Time is precious, so I don't believe in wasting mine or yours. Is that a deal between you and me?”

“Yes.” Pleased with Penny's matter-of-fact nature, she asked, “How long have you been doing hair?”

“I've been making magic professionally about ten years now. I started at my dad's feet in his barbershop, and I did unofficial hairdos in high school. I moved to Durham, North Carolina, after
high school to attend Dudley, then came back home. The South is beautiful, but the Midwest is my home. I went from shop to shop and made my way to Dixon's about two years after I kept seeing the TV commercials and hearing the radio ads.”

“What's so special about Dixon's?”

“Dixon's is a five-star enterprise. Professional service, continuing education, plus, the owner, James, believes in giving us all a stake at personal growth and development. My booth rental isn't too crazy, and he encourages us to branch out on our own and have our own shops. I'm putting together a business plan right now. I hope to go out on my own in about five years.”

She blushed at the mention of James's name. “He sounds like a great owner. Does he do hair here?”

“He's out of town handling business right now. As a matter of fact, I've been meaning to ask Shandy when he'll return.”

“Oh, that's too bad. I'd like to meet him some time.”

“Well, if you remain in my chair, I'm sure your paths will cross. So, tell me about yourself, Dana.”

She had rehearsed her new spiel in the mirror along with other personal conversations. “I'm Dana Marin, and I just moved back to Indy after living in Texas five years. I have a seventeen-year-old-daughter, and I'm living with my uncle until I get back on my feet.”

Penny eyed Tawatha. “You do not look old enough to have a seventeen-year-old daughter!”

“Thanks, Penny.”

“Shandy mentioned you might be renting her old place. How are negotiations going?”

“My boyfriend thinks it might be too much room for both of us, but we're still trying to decide.”

“If the two of you entertain, it's a fabulous house for parties. I
attended a few parties James and Shandy threw, and I had a ball!”

“Oh, I didn't know Shandy and James were married.”

“They're not. They dated for a few years and broke up recently.”

“Sound like an ideal couple. I hope they get back together.”

Steering the conversation back to business, Penny asked, “What look do you want to achieve, Dana?”

“I'd like a nice shoulder-length cut. Something eye-catching and sexy. Maybe something asymmetrical with highlights or tonal color. Nothing crazy, though.”

Penny swiveled her around in the chair. “I think a mild blonde or auburn would bring out your beautiful skin tone.” She rotated the chair a quarter turn and ran her fingers through Tawatha's hair. “Are you a fan of Keri Hilson?”

“Ms. Keri, baby? I sure am.”

“We can go in that direction if you'd like. I think you'd be gorgeous, and the look would accentuate your eyes, nose, and full lips.”

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. The question is, do you really want to cut all this hair?”

“Yes. I'm changing my life in all aspects.”

“I like the sound of that, Dana! I think we'll get along fine. It's hard servicing clients who are afraid of change. I'll start with your relaxer. We use all Dixon products here, so I hope you're okay with the product line.”

“I'm open to new things. Please, don't burn all my hair out.”

They laughed as Tawatha held her head back, allowing Penny to section her hair in four parts. If James had four locations, his own product line, and was away “on business,” that meant he was doing
very
well. It also meant he could take care of her, Aunjanue,
and Jamesia in their own place. It would take some time to learn hair care lingo and get acquainted with what he did, but she was up for the challenge. She'd make sure this time they stayed together and flourished as a couple.

“Penny, can you answer the phone?” asked another stylist.

Penny grabbed the nearest phone, continuing Tawatha's service. “James, how are you?”

Tawatha craned her neck to listen to the conversation.

“The shears arrived yesterday. We haven't had a chance to complete inventory, but we'll be unpacking everything before next Tuesday. How's everything in Georgia?”

So, he's in Georgia.

“How's your family?”

He'll be back home to me soon. He's just hanging out with my future in-laws.

“I know you've got a lot on your plate, but you have been doing a wonderful job with the Facebook updates. I love the photos of the Georgia clients. The hairstyles are nice. I'm glad you whipped out your clippers and shears again.”

I didn't know he had a Facebook page. I'll definitely get the goods on that before I leave.

“I'm doing a new client now, so I'll talk to you a little later.”

“Did we talk him up or what!” said Tawatha.

“Yes. I'm sorry for taking the call over your head that way, but we all try and talk to James when he calls. He's down South right now with a family emergency, but he flies back from time to time to handle business here. Dixon's Hair Affair has a Facebook page, and he's been updating photos of the clients he's been servicing there. Shandy updates photos here, so he thought it would be nice to showcase work being done in Georgia, too.”

“I have relatives in Georgia. Exactly where is he?”

“He's in Augusta. He's at a salon called Shear Heaven.”

“Hmmm, I'll look him up the next time I'm down there. Unless he gets back here, first.”

“You should. He's a really nice guy.”

“Turn it up!” yelled a client, pointing to the television.

The breaking news flooded the screen on WTHR News 13. Everyone's eyes were glued to the unfolding scene. Bruce Kopp, poised at the news desk, followed the developing story.

“Look at 'em go!” said one client.

“Like they can outrun the police. And on the highway to boot!” said another patron.

“Hold your head still,” said Penny to Tawatha. Everyone's attention was drawn to the screen.

“The driver has eluded officers for several miles now,” reported Kopp.

The women watched in horror and amazement as a blue Nissan Altima weaved in and out traffic, passing cars at rapid speed. The aerial view of the scene from Chopper 13 mesmerized everyone. Cars drifted to the side of the road to allow the offender and the cops space to continue their journey.

“I bet it's some raunchy juveniles in a stolen car,” said an older woman. “Kids don't value freedom worth nothing these days.”

“Oh!” The collective gasp came from everyone in the shop as the car hit a guardrail and spun around twice, landing in the opposite direction of the chase. The cops stopped as well. One police officer exited his vehicle, gun drawn, and raced toward the vehicle. He opened the door, and a leg propped out from the driver's side. A young woman staggered from the car. She held her hands in surrender, tottering as if drunk.

Ignoring Penny's admonishment, Tawatha leaned forward. A grounds crew arrived on the scene, and the cops seemed to give instructions to the woman, obviously in a drug-induced haze. Her disheveled appearance couldn't conceal her identity. Tawatha knew Lasheera anywhere. The police officers yanked her hands behind her back, handcuffed her, and grazed her head as they put her in back of the cruiser.

A sick satisfaction overtook Tawatha as she said to no one in particular, “Pot, meet Kettle.”

A
unjanue arrived home just after the CPS van parked in the driveway. She watched a man and woman get out of the van and knock on the front door. Frightened, she ran to them. Lake opened the door, anger etching his face.

“Sir, we are here from Child Protective Services to pick up Zion Anderson.” They gave Lake a court order drawn up earlier in the day. “Based on an anonymous hotline tip, reports from Zion's school, and the unfolding news story, Zion is in an unsafe environment.”