Chapter 3 #2
I’d been facing her while she added the finishing touches, so she spun me around to the mirror.
My lightened silky hair swirled around my shoulders while the highlights seemed to shimmer under the chandelier’s diffuse light.
I kept moving my head from side to side, staring at myself as if I were a stranger on the subway.
The person staring back at me now resembled my dad more than my mom, which I wasn’t sure I liked.
CeCe was waiting for my reaction, so I ran my fingers through my hair and said truthfully, “Honestly, I just didn’t process how different I would look.
” Seeing her crestfallen expression, I quickly added, “Don’t get me wrong, you did the damn thing, Ce.
No one can touch your skills. I mean, this is crazy. ”
CeCe shot me a look that said she was aware that I was laying it on a tad thick. Shaking a can of holding spray, she said, “Thanks, girl, but I know you. Let me spray this on real quick so this hair has a chance of lasting at least a few days.”
I met her eyes in the mirror. She had me pegged. I was missing my curls before I could finish paying her bill. As I left the salon, I tucked a spare copy of Sugar into my bag.
A few minutes after I took a seat at Rosa Mexicano’s bar, Teresa made her entrance, swinging a sizable shopping bag.
As a public defender, she did not get to bill at a bloated hourly rate like most other lawyers I knew, so Teresa made pennies to their dollars.
And I swear homegirl blew half her salary on shoes.
She habitually dressed in a sunset spectrum of rich reds, oranges, and purples, but her wardrobe was inexpensive—mostly Old Navy and J.Crew with a few Adrienne Vittadini dresses she’d found on the clearance rack at Lord it hadn’t been straight for an hour and I was already getting sick of it. “Yeah, it’s the new old me.”
“Is it, though?” Teresa was still watching me quizzically. “It’s more like the new white you.”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t get me wrong, you look fly as hell,” she replied slowly. “But you’ve always been more of a Denise than a Whitley. And definitely not a Vanessa.”
I searched my brain. “Vanessa?”
“Williams.”
“Well, don’t get too used to it. One ounce of humidity and it’s going back.
It might be a wrap before I get off the subway,” I joked, then let my smile ebb.
“It’s just weird how no one notices your hair until it’s straight.
So many guys were staring at me on the walk over here that it started to feel really uncool. ”
Teresa rubbed imaginary tears from her eyes and played a tiny violin. “You know how guys are. And didn’t you say that the blowout was at Joseph’s request?” I caught her not-so-subtle side-eye.
While I considered how to reply to her obviously rhetorical question, our regular bartender delivered a couple martinis to some businessmen in the corner and headed our way.
He widened his pale blue eyes, did a showy double take, and said in his thick brogue, “What have we here? Is it a special occasion or did you get dolled up because you knew you were going to see me?” He jabbed his beefy thumb into his chest. “The spicy mango ’ritas are on me today, beautiful ladies. ”
I looked at Teresa, telegraphing See? with my raised eyebrows, and we both snorted.
“From now on, imma need you to straighten your hair every time we go out,” she whispered as the bartender set our margaritas in front of us with an extra flourish. “How do you think Joseph will like the new look?”
“He’s never seen my hair like this.” I licked salt from the edge of my glass, then took a big swig.
I didn’t know how many extra shots the bartender had added, but I could tell it was firewater strong, so I ordered some nachos to soak up the alcohol.
“Joe’s always on me to wear my curls down more often, and I hadn’t processed until the other night that he’s never even seen my hair straight.
This is the first time a flat iron has touched my head since Alonzo.
” At the mere mention of his name, every sensation heightened: my denim-clad legs sandpapering together, my hair touching my back between my shoulder blades, my fingers gripping the icy cocktail.
Teresa pressed her lips into a thin line. “And I don’t ever want you to get caught up in any ridiculousness like that ever again. Which is why I like it when you do you.”
“I like it when I do me too!” I replied, a little too loudly. “But I also like it when Joseph is happy. It’s … easier.”
“He’s lucky he’s got such a patient woman. He and I would be going at it twenty-four-seven—arguing, not sex!” Teresa laughed, but she put her hand over mine on the bar.
I let out a deep breath. “He would say that I’m lucky to have such a patient man with all my annoying opinions and moody attitude. God knows what he’s doing with me.”
“Girl.” Teresa drew out the word as she turned my head to look me in the eye. “He’s with you because the stars aligned for that lucky muthafucka. You are the package, and he knows it. That’s why he keeps hinting around at marriage.”
“I am so not ready to marry him,” I protested, ignoring the first part of her statement.
“And I am so not ready for you to be married! You have to wait until you’re at least thirty before I give my consent.”
I quietly let myself into Joseph’s apartment with the key he’d given me a year ago. “What the fuck!” I heard him yell at the TV. “How did you miss that pop-up, you absolute moron?”
Damn, the Yankees were losing. Well, I was about to turn his evening around.
“Hey baby,” I called from the doorway.
“Hey,” he mumbled, not turning away from the television.
I went into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Veuve Clicquot I knew he’d been saving for a special occasion, and returned to the living room with two full flutes. I kissed the back of Joseph’s neck, handed him a glass, and said, “We’re celebrating.”
“Nicole, you know I was saving that,” he said, then went silent as took me in. Gently, he placed the flute on the coffee table, his expression unreadable.
“Well, say something, Joe,” I said, knowing he disliked nicknames. He was the only person aside from my parents and my accountant who called me Nicole.
“Man, you are exquisite, Nicole,” he finally said, rising to walk around the sofa.
He ran his fingers through my hair, which my tangly spirals had always prevented him from doing.
“I admit that I’m surprised. I was starting to lose hope that I’d ever get a blowout.
Now I really can’t wait to show you off at my client dinner. ”
Although I’d been looking forward to his appreciative reaction, it was now grating on me.
“Was it seriously that bad before?” I asked, taking a swig of the Veuve that I probably shouldn’t have opened since I was already buzzed from the extra-strong margarita.
“Now I merit an invite to a work event?”
“I’m always trying to get you to go to my work things, but you hate them. You know that!” Joseph took his own gulp of champagne. “I don’t know what else I can do to show you how much I think of you.”
“Maybe don’t say that now that I look like Whitley, you’re going to show me off!”
“Whitley? What are you even talking about?” He frowned. “I wouldn’t be thinking about a future with you if I didn’t like who you are right now. And that’s a pretty big deal.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked, my rapidly shifting mood killing my buzz. I could hear myself overreacting, but his words were hitting a painful target. “So, I should be grateful for your kind consideration?”
Joseph sighed heavily and crossed his arms. “You know what I mean.”
I opened my mouth to reply but rushed out of the room instead, not wanting him to see my down-turned trembling lips.
I closed the door to the bedroom hard, cracking the paint in the doorway in the process.
Joseph hated any damage or mess in his apartment, regularly taking baby wipes to tiny scuff marks on his Farrow & Ball–painted walls.
Joseph let me stew for ten minutes. “Can we please talk?” he asked after I ignored his second knock. “Open up, honey.”
I softened a little and unlocked the door. He handed me a fresh glass of champagne and took me in his arms before I could say anything.
“I’m sorry, Nicole. Your hair is amazing and I was just surprised by how different you look. But you were beautiful before too. You’re beautiful to me all the time.” He held me, his breath warm on my cheek. I felt his hand stealing up my back, touching the long strands.
For a mogul-in-the-making with a killer game face, Joseph had surprisingly little tolerance for conflict and hated for me to be mad at him.
He began placing soft kisses up my neck while he gently tugged on my hardening nipples.
Ah, there it was: the famous chemistry that had gotten me hooked on Joseph in the first place.
Every time I had doubts about whether he would ever really understand me, he’d touch me somewhere sensitive.
His emotional declarations and insistence on making sure I was always fully satisfied were a stark contrast to Alonzo’s fuck-me-bitch style of sexual domination.
Sleeping with Alonzo had been a thrill, but I’d grown tired of his hands pulling my hair while he insisted that he owned my pussy.
I wrapped my arms around Joseph’s neck, his fingers slipped under my panties, and all was forgotten and forgiven.