Chapter 3
THREE
“Oooh, finally you’re going to let me work my magic!” CeCe exclaimed as I extricated the scrunchie from my knotty hair.
“Well damn, Ce. I didn’t realize you’d been feeling so stifled.
” I winked at her, having already braced myself for what I knew would be an unrestrained reaction to my first-ever request for a silk press and highlights.
CeCe had been doing my hair for the last three years, and since hairstylist years are like dog years, she now understood me better than most people.
In all that time, I’d only ever allowed her to give me a dusting, not even a proper trim.
We’d never shaped my curls, and we’d certainly never blown them out.
“So why the change of heart, boo?” she asked while clipping my split ends.
CeCe looked radically different every time I saw her, and that day she was wearing a green vinyl miniskirt, white go-go boots, and a cropped silver sweater that barely covered her bra.
Her thick box braids were in a high ponytail, revealing enormous silver hoops that touched her shoulders.
Every time CeCe stopped to make a point, she waved her shears emphatically in the air, coming dangerously close to those swinging earrings.
“Joseph wants to see my hair straight,” I told her. “I think he’s getting pretty sick of the pony.”
CeCe caught the slight edge in my tone and briefly put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s just a blowout, Nik. Fling it around a little for him, then you can rinse out my brilliant work and go right on back into your ol’ curly pony.”
She was right. No need to make this more than it was.
I closed my eyes and tried to calm down as I inhaled the pungent smell of relaxers and dye mixed with perfumed shampoos and musky candles.
It was Saturday morning, prime time in CeCe’s Studio, and the place was packed.
From the outside, the studio looked like any other storefront Black hair salon.
Then you walked through the reception area, climbed a flight of stairs, and entered CeCe’s imagination.
The second floor was a loft space, tricked out to look like a Middle Eastern lounge with red walls, Turkish throw rugs, scattered beaded pillows, and intricate colorful lanterns hanging from the ceiling.
I would not have been surprised if one day gyrating belly dancers offered me a hookah pipe while I sat under the dryer.
The décor was a sharp contrast to the R underneath, Charli was in a long fur coat, lying on a king-sized bed with a glaring purple duvet and matching pillows.
The tagline read: “Fashion and Beauty, Baby!” My eyes met CeCe’s in the mirror and we both chuckled.
“Well, I like the name,” I said.
“And it is kind of a good idea,” she said with a shrug.
“Why so?”
“Well, there’s no magazine for us, you know.” CeCe drew the brush through my hair.
“What? Ce, this magazine is not for me!”
“And StyleList is?” CeCe raised an eyebrow.
She motioned with her chin at a small stack of StyleList issues on a side table.
“I got a subscription out of loyalty to my girl, but I can’t get my clients to pick them up.
Don’t nobody in here want beauty tips from Gwyneth Paltrow.
” She paused to glance at my motionless face in the mirror.
“Girl, you okay? I didn’t mean to be rude. ”
I barely registered her voice as Lucinda’s offhanded pronouncement “Black girls don’t sell magazines” scrolled like a prime-time news chyron across my mental field of vision.
I thought about a features department meeting earlier that week in which I’d pitched a profile on Bobbie Washington.
With her long blond locs, full heart-shaped mouth, and hourglass figure, Bobbie looked like a gorgeous peach, and her new single was in constant play on R along with the up-and-coming talent, Brandy and Monica were supposed to show up, and I was dying to see if the frenemies would make it to the stage to sing “The Boy Is Mine.” I’d managed to duck Alonzo until after the performances when I saw him threading his way through the crowd in my direction.
I spun around and quickly made for the door, but our close encounter had left me breathless with fear.
I was startled out of my reverie by CeCe loudly declaring, “I have outdone myself, Nik! Ta-da!”