42. Wyn
Wyn
Quarter Pint, my usual security, pulls into the spot right in front of the Coiffed Beauty Salon in West Kenton. The sun is barely out, fog covering the fall morning, and the street is deserted, with only a red corvette next to us.
“I’ll only be here for a few minutes, and then we need to swing by Memorial, before the studio. Today’s the day!” I grin, tapping my press-ons on his shoulder.
“You gon’ let me listen before everyone else, right?” He grins at me through the rearview as I gather my purse.
“You know it! Sheisty is gonna run through it, then I’ll have him email it to me and we can play it in the car. Don’t get drunk at my release party and start hoo bangin’ and telling niggas you got first listen! You know they be mad as fuck when they land on my detail!”
He waves me off, turning off the car to get out and open my door for me. “Onna dead homies, can’t no nigga tell me shit about my First Lady. And ‘cause of them zinc tablets and shit, ain’t gon’ be no rotating onna detail, cuz. My immune system A1.”
I slide my hand into his and let him help me out of the car.
Years of walking in heels have been upended by some balance issues from my surgery, but every day without a headache is a blessing.
It’s my first day wearing a wig over my scar; a bright orange bone straight unit that stops at the top of my ass.
My navy blue ribbed tee makes the color pop, and paired with my low rise boot cuts and white Louboutin pumps, I’m kinda proud of my casual chic outfit I came up with all on my own.
We walk up to the glass door. There’s one woman sitting in the third chair, scrolling on her phone.
I knock on the glass to get her attention. She stands seductively, her burnt orange set doing nothing to hide her amazing figure as she slinks to the door, unlocking it for me.
“Your pet dog can wait out front,” she snaps. Quarter Pint grins, flicking his nose as he closes us inside the otherwise empty salon.
I set my purse on the counter of the first station. “You’re getting ornery in your old age.”
Frankie stands a few feet away, taping her nails on her folded forearms. “I would say sorry for your loss, and sorry for missing the funeral, but I’m glad that bigoted bitch is dead, and I was happier getting my ass ate than pretending like I feel sorry about how she met her end.
” She inspects me, her painted lips curling at the sight of my lace.
“Sit down in my chair and let me get you right. You never could get your lace to melt just so.”
I grab my purse and sit in her chair. She turns the key in the door, then comes to turn me to face her mirror before gathering her supplies.
“Who’s been doing your hair?”
“Sometimes me, sometimes Dori.”
Frankie snorts, her botox-filled face not moving a centimeter. “So she’s not back in rehab.”
“No,” I smirk. “We are both holding steady on the sober subway.”
“Cheeky,” she deadpans, grabbing her glue and getting to work. I close my eyes, feeling at home in her chair.
“I had brain surgery.”
Her hand stills, before grabbing the blow dryer and effectively ending the conversation.
At least, she tries to. Once she’s done, and she starts placing my lace on the tacky glue, I continue.
“Turns out, I had a brain tumor. Noncancerous, but they still had to get it out. This is actually the first time I’m wearing a wig.
You’d be proud of me, Frankie. I didn’t take anything higher than an ibuprofen for pain. When it got too bad, my man would–”
“I don’t need to know anything about this man… A man.” She fake retches, before moving away. I feel the rat tail comb and flinch when I feel the cool melting spray being dabbed on the lace.
“Only man you ever brought up around me is that hoodlum. Tweety Bird? Bugs Bunny?”
“Luney,” I grin, my tummy expanding like it does every time I think about his toxic ass.
“Mmmhm. So you back with him? He still a menace to society?”
“No… he’s… everything.”
I open my eyes to find her frozen, wig band in hand. She ties it tightly and leans back on her station.
“Your sister asked me who my therapist is.”
“Good. She needs a good one, and yours is one of the best.”
“You are a cheeky lil’ bitch, huh?” I think she’s arching a brow, but again, whoever did her face snatched her right on up.
“Why are you here, Wynter? You’ve been back in the city for almost a year now, and ain’t showed your face or gave an apology for the last time you showed your fuckin’ ass in here. So what is it? What you need besides that tired lace glued down to that big ass forehead?”
My fingers fiddle with the straps of my purse, but I hold her exasperated gaze.
“I finished my debut album. I named it Wynter Solstice, and it’s coming out December twenty-first. I’m finalizing the tracks today.
I, uh, did it, Frankie. And I wanted you to know that the chance you took on me, on us, all those years ago, it amounted to something.
You never held the shit my mom said or did against us; shit, you never held what I said or did against me, until you had to.
You’ve always been the mother I wish I had, and I wanted you to know your daughter did it.
And to… apologize the only way the Doll takes apologies. ”
Reaching into my bag, I pull out the envelope of cash and stand.
Years ago, back when eight balls and bottles was how I accounted for the days, I tweaked out and fucked up Frankie’s salon.
She tried to kick me out because I was wasted, and I showed my complete ass, before going to another stylist. The first wig I got without her was the wig I had on when I was kidnapped, and I’m sure that’s not a coincidence.
I hand her the envelope. She thumbs through the bills before setting it on her station.
“Twenty bands. You don’t need it, but you deserve it.” I shrug, discreetly checking the corners of my eyes. “I shouted you out on one of my songs, too. Track thirteen, if the list is the same. It’s called ‘Pin-up.’”
She snorts, before standing straight. I brace myself for a slap, but she engulfs me in her arms instead.
“I am so proud of you,” she whispers into my ear. I return her hug, breathing choppy air.
At one point, Pops and Frankie were all me and Autumn had. I was always too afraid to let either one completely in, but they still made sure we were okay, as much as I’d let them. Pops taught me about family, but it was Frankie who taught me about grit.
Her luxury salon we’re standing in is proof of her constantly betting on herself and doubling it up.
“Proud enough to take me back as a client?”
Laughter bubbles out of her, and when she pulls back, her usual carefully composed face is gone, leaving all her emotions front and center.
“I think ‘daughter’ is a much better term for this relationship, Ice Princess.”
I don’t stay too long after, promising her an invite to my album release party before she sees me out. But the pep in my step is undeniable, and I need it for my next errand.
All it takes is for a couple of selfies and I’m let into the ICU of West Kenton Memorial Hospital. Thank God I’m not some secret assassin.
Quarter Pint waits for me outside of the doors while I go in. It’s not hard to find who I’m looking for, and I crack the door open and slip inside.
Slime’s eyes track me as I take the empty seat next to his bed. He’s hooked up to all types of shit, his chest bandaged up and covered with blankets. I can’t believe he’s alive, and clearly, no one else can either, since details on his condition are hush-hush.
“Can you understand me?” I ask. “Blink once for yes.”
He blinks once, and I lean back in my chair.
“I’m glad you’re alive… I’m not here for any revenge, though I still can’t believe you of all people tried to run me off the road after Reem’s wedding!
Of course, I’ve been so preoccupied with trying to stay sober and my album, I didn’t even think you would be this mad about Mars!
Not enough to kill… Gio, you’ve been a naughty boy.
” I take out a piece of gum from my purse and push it into my mouth.
“G must be in the cafeteria or something.”
“Nah, I’m right here,” he croaks, and sure enough, G shuffles his short ass in, posting up in the corner of the room.
“You are literally a chef and owner of the best restaurant in the city. There’s no reason you should be letting Slime talk you into shooting up a press conference! Both of you are tripping, and if I didn’t know for sure you’ve learned your lessons, I would chew y’all both out!”
Blowing a bubble, I pop it with my tongue before turning back to Slime.
“I racked my brain, wondering what could make you this angry for this long, and I think I figured it out, because I once had the same issue with another Alvarez brother. I need you to hear me good, Slime. You, too, G. Hear me good, and let this shit go.
“Every single person who had the pleasure of knowing Fredo, knew exactly how much you meant to him. He was in love with you, Gio. He loved you so much that he purposely put himself back in the closet because you weren’t ready.
That best friend two-man bullshit was for you and you only, and the only reason Rico didn’t know was because he wasn’t home enough to clock it.
But everyone else did, trust me. We knew Fredo was bi, and it’s not hard to connect the dots after that.
Rico never left you out intentionally. When Ju told him about all of you, he–”
“Wait,” G interrupts me. “Jupiter is Fredo’s bm?”
Slime’s eyes balloon, as he waits on bated breath for me to answer.
Shit. My eyebrows pull as I turn from one brother to the other. I mean, she said she wouldn’t reach out, but they’re acting like it’s not obvious she’s Mars’s mom. “Y’all really didn’t know?”
Slime blinks twice, very hard. “We didn’t think… I mean, Ju’s been here,” G answers for him.