Kendall glanced at her watch. “Shoot,” she mumbled. She had to hurry back over to Young Boss’s house. Maybe she still had time to make him breakfast.
Tamika Tolbert Lucas is a writer with a passion for contemporary fiction and poetry. She is currently working on her debut novel, A Change of Plans. She lives in the greater Atlanta area with her husband, Michael and their two girls.
Only BeWeave
By J. P. Miller
I was in my own world minding my own business when I first spotted him tucked away in a thicket of Georgia Live Oaks. I don’t know what it was that alerted me to his presence, but with my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of his slanted eyes glaring at me. His head began to rise and my heart stopped! I knew immediately someone was about to be struck by his venomous tongue. From experience, I’d learned that this type of wrath was reserved for either the one at the beginning of the pack or for the one at the end of the pack. So I darted into the middle, cutting off the little old lady next to me to get out of striking range. Don’t judge me!
I looked over my right shoulder just in time to see his massive shiny black body slither from his hiding place and onto the path I had just traveled. He quickly caught up to the pack. Every time I changed directions he would aggressively follow. Finally, he got behind me and threw on his blues. The ‘ol sneaky snake got me!
I pulled to the side of the road and tried to mask my annoyance with one of my Sunday morning “turn to your neighbor” smiles, so when the nice officer approached my car I wouldn’t draw any more attention to myself than necessary. But all I could think of was how quickly life could change. Last month this time, I would have been pissed at Officer Unfriendly for wasting my time.
My girls would have already arrived at Only BeWeave Hair Salon & Spa. Not only would I have missed out on some of the latest gossip, but it would have no doubt put me behind a couple of shampoos, a relaxer, and possibly a flat iron or two.
Officer Unfriendly tapped on my window with the butt of his flashlight, shocking me back to my current situation. I ran my fingers over the door panel controls and pushed the button for my driver’s side window. The smoke tinted window dropped slowly exposing my identity.
“Ma’am, I clocked you with my radar going 85 mph in a 55 mph zone. Is there a reason you’re driving so fast this evening?”
I wanted to tell him that one month ago today I betrayed my friends. I wanted to tell him that I filled up the tank to my Porsche Panamera Turbo S with the intention of driving until I reached the edge of the earth. But I looked into his expressionless face and simply replied, “No.”
“Then I’ll need to see your driver’s license and registration, Ma’am!”
I reached for the console to retrieve my registration when it dawned on me that ‘Sampson,’ my Glock 22 was laying there in wait. With images of Sandra Bland in my head from the recent coverage of her arrest and death all over CNN and FOX News, I knew that things could get ugly real fast if I did not address this. A sistah could never be too cautious with the police, even when driving a $200,000 luxury car and wearing a $400 Stephen Burrows original. After all, this is north Georgia!
“Officer, I need to inform you that I have a Concealed Carry Permit and my weapon is in the console along with my car registration. May I?” I asked.
I could see fear shroud his face. He immediately positioned his right hand on his service revolver and tightened his fingers around the handle. He was very deliberate with his next command.
“Ma’am! I’m gonna need you to place your left hand on the door where I can see it and move slowly with your right to retrieve your registration! No quick moves!”
I complied without hesitation.
Officer Unfriendly walked backward to his squad car to run my information. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had friends. Did he ever laugh so hard with his friends that he forgot all of his cares?
My nerves were on edge, but all I could think about was my beauty shop girls and how much I already missed them. That was the joint on Friday nights. I didn’t have that much fun when I was a student at Texas Southern University.
I had not heard of Only BeWeave Salon & Spa before I moved to Flowery Branch, Georgia and you can best believe I’ll never forget it. I remembered my first visit to the salon just like it was yesterday. During my initial consultation, Perri Buckner, owner and CEO of Only BeWeave, explained to me that she had the best weave this side of the Mississippi.
“I don’t use that synthetic hair!” she boasted while contorting her face like a skunk had just walked past us. “I only use the best! Human hair straight from Venezuela! My clients all know that they can have ‘good hair’ if they only be-weave! ALL things are possible if you only be-weave!”
AAAhhhh, hence the name of the salon! I didn’t know what was funnier, the joke itself or seeing how Perri’s play on words tickled her so.
The chime on the door indicating that someone entered the salon had caught my attention. I turned in time to see a lady who looked to be in her mid-50’s enter the building. When I tell you that she owned that moment, I mean she OWNED! THAT! MOMENT! All eyes were front and center as she made one of those Fashion Week runway turns on the balls of her feet allowing her gorgeous African Dashiki dress and hair to catch air. They both fell into place when she stopped and began to sashay down the catwalk of her mind toward the receptionist’s desk.
“Hel-looooo everybody! Ce—leste is in the houuusssse!” she hissed not missing a beat on her stroll.
Celeste’s grand entrance did not seem to faze Perri or the other clients in the shop. I, on the other hand, was still staring in amazement at her hair. Her asymmetric cut cupped her face and lined her neck perfectly.
Perri must have heard my thoughts. “That’s the type of work that I do here at Only BeWeave. But that type of hair doesn’t come cheap! A Venezuelan Weave can run anywhere between $500 to $2500 depending on the length you want.”
My jaw dropped to my knees. It was now Perri’s turn to laugh at me. She laughed so hard she could barely speak. But as quickly as the second hand moved from one point to the next, her laughter abruptly stopped.
“If you need something cheaper, you can go to Blunt Cutz in Gainesville off of E. E. Butler.” With all the laughter cleared from the air, it was confirmation to me that Perri was all about that cash money!
Now it was my turn to flex. “Did you see what I drove up in?” I said taking a sting out of Perri’s attempted insult. “Do I look like a Blunt Cutz type of gurl to you? Put me on your books for Friday night! Yvette at 6:30!” I said matter of fact like, turned and walked out of the salon knowing that all eyes were on me and feeling that I had one upped Perri. After all, it’s not costing me a penny! My job is paying for this weave!
I arrived for my first appointment around 6:15 p.m. When I walked in, Perri was putting the finishing touches on a weave set and there were two ladies under the dryer. One of the shampoo girls summonsed me to come to the back. There she began to cut out my old weave.
There were two ladies under the dryer. One was fast asleep. Most of her updo was bobbing out from under the dryer. Her mouth was wide open. At times her chin touched her chest, steadying her head momentarily. Someone had written a note and placed it on her rising chest that read:
Order what you want! Dinner is on me tonight! ~Stacie~
From that day forward I called her Sleepy Stacie!
I looked at the lady seated next to Sleepy Stacie and saw a reflection of myself. The shock of seeing my likeness sent a jolt through me and I quickly looked away. I glanced out of the corner of my eyes to get a better view.
Her face was so familiar to me. Her skin color matched mine. Her slanted eyes match my slanted eyes. It was as if I were looking at myself in the mirror. She removed a flask from her taupe Christopher Augmon handbag, twisted off the top and took a sip, all the while looking at me.
“Hi, I’m Bobette,” she said from across the room.
“Hi, I’m Yvette.”
<
br /> “Yvette, do you have relatives that live in Newtown?”
“No, I’m not from here.”
Bobette turned to Perri. “Don’t she look like my daddy’s people over in Newtown to you, Perri?” By that time everyone in the salon was checking me out. One by one, they commented on how much Bobette and I resembled each other.
“Y’all just might have the same daddy!” I heard someone say from the back. We both chuckled at that.
“See, you two even laugh alike!”
To tell the truth, I did feel a kindred spirit to Bobette. From that day forward I called her Sistah.
Without warning, the draft from a passing tractor trailer truck sucked my car in and released it so abruptly it startled me. I reached for Sampson, ready to stand my ground on any would be intruder, until I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Officer Unfriendly sitting in his squad car. I had lost track of time in my thoughts.
How long does it take to write a speeding ticket? I could feel the perspiration forming on my nose. Suddenly, I regretted ever coming back to Flowery Branch.
In the background, I heard Lil Wayne and Bobby V on V-103 making a siren sound singing “Mrs. Officer” and it took me back to my Academy days. I spent twenty-weeks of intense training and several undercover assignments too numerous to count to get to where I am today. Nothing I experienced at Hogan’s Alley could have prepared me for this. Hogan’s Alley was the mock town at the Academy where different scenarios were played out so trainees would know how to react to real world situations.
It was early spring 2010 when the Bureau got a tip from an anonymous caller alerting us to an operation in Flowery Branch, Georgia that we dubbed the Venezuelan Hacking Crime.
It was reported that the shop’s owner was involved in a black market scheme to get human hair to the States to sell in her salon Only BeWeave. It was alleged that the suspect, Perri Buckner had connections to the Spanish speaking city of Maracaibo, Venezuela where thugs would walk up to unsuspecting victims and hack off their hair. They would sell the human hair to Perri and she in turn used it to quench the thirst of her aristocratic clientele of Flowery Branch. From the Falcon football wife who wanted to look like Beyonce to the new executive diversity hires at Wrigley’s who wanted Yolanda Adams hair, Perri gave them all what they desired. The price or how she acquired the human hair was of no importance.
I started the assignment like any other mission. I learned my pseudo job as Senior Vice President, Fan Experience for the Altanta Falcons. I studied maps and became familiar with the lay of the land. I knew the demographics of the area well before stepping foot on north Georgia soil.
By the time I made initial contact with Perri Buckner, I had already visited Flowery Branch twice and lived there for two weeks. I liked the feel of the area. It welcomed me to a life of small town living and stability that I inwardly longed for. Perhaps that was my first breach.
Despite policy, the beauty shop girls became my best friends. They were the sisters I never had, the mother I lost at age eight, and the grandmother who poured her everything into me. The Sunday we all attended Friends and Family Day at Mount Calvary was an epiphany moment for me. I even warmed up to Ivy that day. What black mother would name their child Ivy?
Ivy had a standing appointment at Only BeWeave for every Friday at 8:30pm. By day she was the Chancellor of Brenau University, but on Friday nights, she would leave her sophistication at the door and immediately begin cleaning and sweeping. Doing anything to tidy up the place before the distributers delivered product. To me it was a nervous energy. But why?
On Friends and Family Sunday, I saw a different side of Ivy. It was a comical yet sensuous side I had never seen before. She leaped from the pew and began to clap and sway with the 40+ member adult all male choir at the first note from the organ. Her worry free curls trickled down her back like waterfalls and her sleeveless Athena Bride dress swayed rhythmically with her movement. She turned to me and gave me a ‘gurl you better get up and work this room look.’ I stood and began to clap, sway and lip-sync all the while laughing inside at my friend’s attempt to market herself in church. Of all places! This would be the beginning of my bond with Ivy.
It took a year for me to collect the information that ultimately led to the breakthrough in the Venezuelan Hacking Crime. During that time there came a point when I was so torn that I could not sleep. I reeked of betrayal.
It was easy for me to disconnect when I went undercover as a poacher baiting Elk in Wyoming. Or the time I was a male transitioning to a female to bring down a doctor performing surgeries without a license. I never expected this assignment to be any different.
I went in. Did my job. A damn good job I might add! Delivered the bad guy to the Bureau and kept it moving.
Only BeWeave was different. I saw myself in the ladies at every stage of life. The college students with their low maintenance weaves filled with hope and dreams reminded me of my youth. The young mothers with their let-me-get-out-the-house-quick braided weaves made me question my own maternal skills. The been-there-and-now-doing-me baby boomers dared anyone to question their sassy style or their weave. I so admired them that at times, I craved for a peep into my own future.
I had stayed to myself growing up in Brownsville, Texas with my grandmother. The beauty shop girls became the girlfriends I never had. Over the course of the year we were there for each other through life celebrations, sickness and death, and looked forward to our Friday night social. We did other things like dinner and a movie, ballroom dancing, horseback riding, Falcon games, and of course, church.
“Special Agent Suzanne Godlock?”
I heard my government name for the first time in a year. The bright flashing lights and loud sirens surrounding me confirmed what I already knew. Tears began to well in my eyes and roll over my cheeks. I could see Officer Unfriendly standing outside my car with his weapon drawn.
“Yes,” I surrendered.
“I have been ordered to escort you to the Atlanta Office of the FBI.”
I complied. What else could I do? I had run long enough!
Running was never the plan. Being AWOL was very uncharacteristic of me and the level of professionalism I brought to the agency. In my mind, all I needed was one day to see them, talk with them, explain myself and that would make things right again. The thought of losing the beauty shop girls shook me to my core. Guess you could say I snapped.
Officer Unfriendly called down the other officers surrounding my car. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought that I saw a hint of empathy in his once emotionless face.
“Do you know why I have to take you in?” he asked as he helped me out of the car.
“Yes, I violated Bureau policy by getting too involved with my case. I did not report for my debrief last month. I am within fifty miles of my last undercover assignment.” Even I hadn’t realized how deep I was in this until I verbalized it.
I saw Officer Not So Unfriendly’s Adam’s apple scale up and then back down his neck slowly as he swallowed hard and inhaled before placing me in his unit.
Our drive through Flowery Branch was surreal. Each crossroad we passed reminded me of the beauty shop girls in some way. A restaurant we ordered food from on a Friday night at the salon. The corner where Sistah and I tried to help Sleepy Stacie change a flat tire. The upscale boutique Celeste turned me on to. Even the sweet smell of gum when we passed Wrigley’s on I-985 heading south had evoked a memory of its own. I sat staring out the window watching all of my memories pass me by. I was sharing the same Flowery Branch sky with my friends for the last time! All but Perri at least.
The last time I saw the beauty shop girls was at Only BeWeave the Friday before the bust. Finally after filling her voicemail up every day with messages, I heard from Sistah. She was the one who told me that the judge handed down a ten year prison sentence to Perri and seven years each to her two accomplices “Slim” and his sidekick “Hombrecito.” For her involvement, Ivy ended up testifying against them all and w
as able to walk away without any charges.
Silence between me and Sistah was unheard of. So when the first lull occurred during our call, I knew things between us had changed. It was my guess Sistah concluded I was a “snitch” and no longer worthy to be called friend.
“We’ve been through so much. Do you think that the beauty shop girls can bounce back from this?” I had asked Sistah.
Silence.
“Do you at least think everyone can forgive me?”
More silence.
Just as I was about to end the call, I heard Sistah’s faint voice singing as the beauty shop girls had done so many times before.
“Onn-llly be-weeavvee! Onn-llyy be-weeaavvee! All things are pos-si-ble if you only be-weave!”
The call disconnected and my heart sank. I’d lost my sister girls, my friends, and my job. Never before had I felt so scared and alone.
J.P. Miller is an author who is passionate in her desire to share a message of spirituality, family, and African American History with today’s youth. Each novel in the Sally B. Lipscomb Archangel Series has the potential to tear down cultural barriers and encourage acceptance through diversity. Check J.P. out on her website at http://www.lipscombarchangelseries.com/index.html.
I Will Love You So For Always
By Dwon D. Moss
Today was pure foolery at work. I worked as a supervisor at a large insurance company and I swear I worked with pettiness every day.
“Miss Turner, can you do this, can you do that…” That was a staple in my daily conversations. I was forever putting out fires among grown folk, but right now, I was sitting in my comfortable recliner, right leg hanging over the right arm of the chair and my left leg hanging over the left side of the chair, greased up with some SassiSoul Lavender Body slush, trying to soothe this fire in between my legs.
The Ex Chronicles Page 17