Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Three hours later, she turned to view herself in the mirror.
Her stylist had showed up and showed out on her hair.
She looked like a dark-skinned version of Beyoncé as she rode that horse into the football stadium, her curly extensions brown instead of the singer’s platinum choice.
She smiled, imagining what Rashad would think when she opened the door.
The new hairstyle paired with the short sweater dress she planned on wearing with nothing beneath it, would probably leave him speechless.
“How did I do?”
“When it comes to this hair business, you’re the truth!”
They walked to the cash register. Jamilah put in her card, her pin numbers, and added a big tip.
“Ooh, wow, sis. Thank you,” the stylist said.
“I love it. Wish I could give you more.”
Jamilah waited for the transaction to go through. She watched the stylist push a few buttons.
“Everything okay?”
A moot question, Jamilah knew. In a rare act of using business for personal reasons, she’d used the Side Chic’k account specifically because her personal account was running on fumes.
“It’s declined.” The stylist’s voice was apologetic. “I tried three times.”
“That’s strange. No problem. It might be some type of fraud alert. My bank is good about that. Hold on.”
She rifled through her high-interest highway-robbery credit card choice selections and selected one she prayed wasn’t maxed out.
The stylist beamed. “There we go.”
Jamilah took the receipt. “Thanks again. Happy holidays.”
“You’re welcome. Same to you.”
Jamilah couldn’t wait until getting home for answers. As soon as she reached her car, she tapped her bank app and pulled up the business account.
Her jaw dropped.
The balance that only a few days ago showed a healthy five figures now showed $102.
18. There had to be a mistake. She called her personal banker.
Ten minutes into the conversation she sat stunned.
There’d been no mistake. The Side Chic’k business account had been garnisheed by a relative… good old Uncle Sam.
Still numbed to the point of a zombie state, Jamilah drove toward her father’s house on autopilot. Doing so wasn’t a conscious thought but rather a knee-jerk reaction. Dad’s was where she always went when there was trouble. He opened the door with a frown on his face.
“Jamilah?”
She remembered her hair transformation and managed a weak laugh. “It’s me, Daddy.”
He backed away to allow her entrance, shaking his head.
Glad for the disaster distraction, Jamilah reached the living room and hid growing anxiety behind a model turn. “Like it?”
“What was wrong with your own hair?”
“Nothing. Just thought I’d switch it up for the holidays.”
His look was skeptical. “That the only reason?”
He sat in his favorite recliner. She sat on the couch. “Don’t act like me changing hairstyles is different. Remember when I turned thirteen and you let me get my ears pierced and hair braided with those waist-long extensions?”
“I took you out for steak and lobster, your first date. Will never forget it.”
“Me either. The picture of us from that night is one of my favorites.”
They both sat silent, cherishing the memory.
“We’ve been through braids, crochets, weaves… I think everything but a full-blown afro.”
“Don’t tell me that’s next.”
“Can’t promise, Dad. I hear they’re making a comeback!”
This got a laugh from him. For the briefest of moments her problem faded, and the friction-causing lion they had yet to discuss loped out of the room.
“What brings you by? Don’t get me wrong. You’re welcome anytime. But we just had dinner the other night.”
Jamilah took a fortifying breath and then jumped off the cliff.
“The restaurant is why I came over, Daddy. Remember that problem I had with the IRS two years ago?”
“Yeah, you set up payments to handle what the accountant missed.”
“Well, I’d fallen behind in those payments, and unfortunately the government didn’t want to wait for its money.
They garnisheed my bank account.” She paused, gathered her frayed emotions.
“The business is broke. I need your help. It’s only temporary,” she quickly insisted.
“Like I said, business is up. We were already thinking about adding Thursday back to the schedule. I’m cautiously optimistic about being back to full schedule by summer.
I also had the website revamped to pull in more catering clients like the ones during Thanksgiving. So…this would be a temporary loan.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Five thousand would keep us from having to close the doors, though ten or fifteen would provide a cushion for anything unexpected. I feel safe in saying we could start paying it back in ninety days and return whatever we didn’t use.”
“You keep saying we, as in you and the chef, as you call him?”
“As in the team—Rashad, Ed, Shasta, Everett.”
“What about a bank loan?”
“I tried that a few months ago.”
“Before the account got garnisheed.”
“And before business picked up. Now that it has, and with these plans in place, we’re all excited about getting back to a full-time business. We all want Side Chic’k to win.”
“So do I, baby girl. And I might be able to help you.” Her father’s demeanor changed.
“But not as long as you’re working with a felon.
I get why you might not understand or agree, but I still don’t trust that joker.
” His voice softened. “If you want me to lend you my money, then you have to be ready to take my advice. I have to have a say about where I’m investing. And you have to accept my terms.”
“What are the terms?”
“You’re not going to like it, but it’s time for you to make a tough decision, baby girl. That smart cook you’ve got over there or a loan to make sure you have a business to cook for. Because I have to follow my conscience. My mind is telling me that you can’t have both.”
Jamilah sat stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her daddy had silenced the lion’s roar.