So, So Hood

by L. Divine

  “All right then. You need to give the brotha another shot.” Even Lexi comes out of her sleep next to the back door to roll her eyes at that suggestion.

  “Bryan, please. The list of reasons why we shouldn’t be together outweighs the good so much so I’d have to get a separate piece of paper to keep count.”

  “You act like your shit don’t stank. And trust me, it does,” Bryan says, waving his hand in front of his nose. That’s one of many problems that come with sharing a bathroom with so many people. There’s no privacy.

  “Shut up, punk,” I say, attempting to sock him in the same arm I just showed love a minute ago, but he anticipates the punch and expertly dodges my advance. I have to take up martial arts with him again one day. He’s taught me a few self-defense moves and they’ve come in handy in the past.

  “I’m just saying. We’ve all got baggage, Jayd. And if a dude’s willing to carry yours you should open yourself up to do the same thing for him. Like I said before, real friends are a dime a dozen, shorty. Nobody ever said relationships would be perfect, but they’re worth the work when it’s good.” Bryan’s been steadily dating one girl for a while and she’s obviously had a positive effect on the player in him.

  “Damn, your chicks got you real sprung, huh?” I want to know her secret.

  “Yes, she does and I’ve got her equally sprung. It’s a win-win situation.” Bryan pats his chest to let me know the gangster’s still alive and well inside.

  “Whatever, fool. You need to let me tighten those braids up,” I say, pulling the ends of his frizzy hair.

  “Actually, I think it’s time for a change.” He runs his hands over his braids and smiles. “I’m thinking of locking it up.”

  “Word? I can handle that,” I say, excited about the possibility. A new project is just what I need to get my mind right.

  “Yeah, I’m not sure the wifey would like it but life’s all about taking risks and I’m ready.” Bryan begins unraveling his cornrows as we speak.

  “I say do it. If she loves you she’ll respect your hair and love it, too. If not, it’s better to find out how superficial she is now before you propose to her.” I grab a braid and begin undoing it to help speed up the process. Usually I’d charge extra for this, but I’m in need of the therapeutic exchange myself.

  “Ain’t nobody said nothing about proposing, but I feel you,” Bryan says, running his fingers through his wavy tresses. “Let’s do it.”

  “I’ll get my tools,” I say, heading to my mom’s ride to retrieve my portable hair bag. It seems like I have more natural clients than press and curls these days and that’s just fine with me. It takes all kinds and I’m going with the flow. Besides, as long as I get paid for my craft I’ll work to please the client.

  “No one man should have all that power,” Kanye rhymes. I take my cell out of my back short pocket and answer Nigel’s call.

  “Jayd’s house of hair,” I answer.

  “Jayd, I’m not coming home tonight. I’m staying with Chance for a while until I clear my head.” I think I was too cheery for my boy’s sullen mood.

  “Nigel, you know Mickey’s sorry, but she’s in a tight spot. Her ex-man is not exactly the dude you want to piss off.” I close the trunk with my bag on my shoulder. Hopefully I’ll be done twisting Bryan’s hair before Mama gets home.

  “But I’m her man now—period. She needs to start respecting that shit or we’re not going to make it.”

  “I hear you loud and clear. I’ll give Mickey the message.” I hang up the phone and cross the street looking both ways but still feeling slightly lost. How did my crew get so mixed up? Nellie’s the only one who’s seemed to separate herself from the heat of our collective drama, but she can’t live in denial with David forever. Life’s all about change and we can either grow with it or fight against it. How hard we struggle in the process is up to us.

  11

  Hot Combs

  And you not hood if you don’t know what I’m talkin’ ’bout.

  —DJ KHALED

  School’s back to normal with our early Tuesday schedule and I’m glad for it. Mrs. Bennett has been unusually cool since my mom paid a visit Friday to straighten out my residency issues. She hasn’t said anything snide to me in two days. I guess Mrs. Bennett’s too busy plotting her revenge, which means it’s back to business as usual between us.

  It’s time for Mama and Netta to get back into their routine, too. They needed a day of peace to get the shop back in shape after Netta’s event yesterday. I hope Mama’s still able to get her hair done. They close down the shop once a week to do each other’s hair—no spectators allowed. Usually I’d be there, but I still have several post-initiation restrictions that have yet to be lifted. I’m taking the early day to get some overdue pampering in and the Westside Pavilion is the perfect place to handle it. After I leave here I’ll stop by the coffeehouse to see how Keenan’s doing and get some studying done.

  “What are you doing here?” Natalia asks with the rest of her debutante hoes in tow. I hoped I’d never have to see these heffas again. No such luck.

  “Whatever,” I say, passing them by on my way to the nail shop. I need a pedicure in the worst way, not another confrontation with these girls.

  “You might as well spend your scholarship money on your nails. There’s no way you’re getting into a good college anyway,” Natalia says, catching my attention.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t have a scholarship,” I say. The four girls look at each other and then at me, smiling.

  “I guess your sponsor hasn’t informed you that you were chosen to receive the Alpha Delta Rho’s debutante gift this year. They always give the honor to a needy girl, and this year that was you, of course. We can afford our educations.”

  Money? I won money and Mrs. Esop has the nerve to not only charge me, but to also try and hide it from me. Oh, hell no. There’s no way I’m letting her get away with this bull.

  “No, we haven’t spoken about it,” I say, feigning my excitement. I can’t wait to confront my ill benefactor after my appointment.

  “Well, it’s supposed to go toward an institution of your choosing, but I don’t think Compton Community College is on the list of acceptable schools,” Natalia says, her and her groupies getting a kick out of her joke. I could give a damn about her snooty-ass comments. I’m more interested in the check.

  “How much is it for?” I ask, disappointing the chicks with my cool head. It’ll take more to get my head hot than a bunch of rich bitches laughing at me.

  “Ten thousand dollars,” Natalia says like it’s ten dollars. Goddamn that’s a lot of money. Mrs. Esop’s been holding out on me in a big way. I bet she thought she was slick with her shit, but not slick enough. Legba delivers messages in various ways and I’m glad he chose the horse’s mouth for this special announcement.

  “Why me?” I asked, shocked at the generous sum.

  “Every year the lovely ladies of Alpha Delta Rho give away a secret scholarship to some needy girl, and this year they chose you. It was a win-win situation.”

  “Ten thousand dollars,” I say, repeating my award. Whichever college I get into will be happy to see a student with money coming in.

  “It was my father’s idea,” Bridget, another debutante and drunken housewife in the making says. “He’s our accountant. Last year the money spent on the ‘special’ debutante was nearly equivalent to the scholarship, so why not combine them in one transaction, save some money and only have to deal with one beneficiary this year.”

  That’s smart in an elitist sort of way. But I don’t care. If there’s a check somewhere with “Pay to the order of Jayd Jackson” written on it, I want it in my account where it belongs.

  “Okay, so let me get this straight,” I say, making sure I heard them correctly before I get too happy about my good luck. “The night of the ball I was presented with a scholarship check and Mrs. Esop accepted it on my behalf?”

  “Damn, Jayd. Deaf much?” Nat
alia asks. This chick better be glad there’s more at stake than the pleasure it would give me to snatch her ass up for getting smart. “You won the charity check. Take the pity money and get over it.”

  “I certainly will.” I smile at my little messengers and speed-walk toward the nail shop. I can’t wait to tell Mrs. Esop to go to hell and take her bill with her—in a respectful, but firm way, of course. Tricks are for kids and I’m far from playing when it comes to my money. After I get my study on for a couple of hours I’ll work on exactly how to get my scholarship money. What’s mine is mine—damn the gown.

  As powerful as the smell of freshly ground coffee is in the quaint environment that has become my favorite study hangout, the potent funk of someone who doesn’t believe in deodorant is even more pronounced causing me to gag upon entry.

  “What the hell?” I ask aloud to no one in particular while covering my nose to prevent inhaling any more than necessary. Several of the other twenty or so customers are all wearing the same look: like they just walked into a men’s locker room rather than a swanky, West L. A. coffeehouse.

  I glance around spotting an empty table in the corner right by a window—the perfect location for me to work. Unfortunately it is also across from a table where two coffeehouse employees are rearranging the shelves. Hopefully they won’t distract me from my goal.

  I approach the table for one, noticing the stench is more potent over here. I can narrow it down to one of the two people working nearby. Is it legal to come to work when your Secret has obviously told on you?

  I set my books and notebook down on the table and approach the bar ready to order. I haven’t been here since my vision of Jeremy and Cameron kissing and me and Keenan as lovers in the past. Keenan’s behind the bar and welcomes me back with the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. Lord help me if I’m not falling for this man.

  “Large green tea and a shortbread cookie,” Keenan says, reading my order perfectly without me saying a word. I used to do the same thing for our regular customers at Simply Wholesome; it just makes them feel special and at home.

  “Exactly.” Keenan smiles at me as I attempt to pay for my order. He shakes his head, indicating that my money’s no good here and I mouth “thank you,” placing the two dollar bills in the tip jar instead. I was already glad I met the brother. Now I’m ecstatic because I’ve got the hookup, too, as long as I don’t ruin it by telling him I want to have his babies.

  “I’ll come and catch up with you on my break,” Keenan says, handing me my tea and cookie.

  “I’ll be here,” I say, heading to my seat. Rather than stay in the direct path of funk I decide to move my table over a few feet. Maybe I’ll get some fresh air this way. I place my snack down and gently slide the wooden chairs out first, then the table.

  “Excuse me, but I’m going to need to move your table back to where it was so I can clean these shelves,” says the funky chick. How about cleaning up under your arms first?

  “No problem. I actually prefer sitting by the window anyway, but was unable to concentrate there today.”

  “Oh, was there a problem with the seat?”

  “Actually, in all honesty, the problem was your not-so-fresh odor. I’m not sure if anyone else has ever told you, but you should really consider upping the power of your deodorant.”

  Keenan clocks out and heads my way. His break couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  “I don’t wear any deodorant; I can’t stand chemicals on my body.” She’s got to be joking.

  “They have several lines of natural products that are very good. As a matter of fact, the health food store across the street carries a few different brands you might want to try before coming back to work in a café, you feel me?” We stare each other down. I guess she’s banking on people being too polite to say too much about her odor, but I’m not that nice and the truth shall set me free.

  “I reserve the right not to pollute my body for the sake of smelling good,” she says like she’s taking a stand on some important issue.

  “And I reserve the right to breathe. And we’re not talking about smelling good—we’re talking about not smelling like you played a football game all by yourself, for real.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but my girlfriend doesn’t have a problem with it,” she says, obviously thinking I have a problem with her being a lesbian, but I could give a damn.

  “Then either your girlfriend is permanently congested or just as funky as you are if she’s not lying to save your feelings. You stink; deal with it.” Keenan looks from me to his coworker waiting for the next move.

  Completely offended, old girl leaves the front of the shop and heads to the back, hopefully to take a bath. The other customers smile at the interaction and take a deep breath of relief. Keenan laughs at my boldness. It needed to be said and I understand she’s his supervisor, but I could give a shit about her feelings. We’re all suffering and it’s not fair.

  “I’ve been trying to tell her about herself forever. Thank you,” Keenan says, his sexy smile still in place.

  “You’re welcome.” I take my seat and open my books to get to work. Keenan’s break can’t be much longer and I don’t want to waste any more time. Besides, I have to figure out a plan to serve Mrs. Esop a taste of her own nasty medicine. The sooner I get through to that broad that I can’t be intimidated, the sooner I’ll get my money.

  “Your cornrows are looking good. When I get off work can you finally hook a brotha up?” Keenan rubs his hands through his ebony afro, making me melt at the thought of getting to braid his crown up. Truth be told, I’m afraid to put my hands in Keenan’s hair, especially if we’re alone. I don’t know if I have the willpower to maintain a professional distance when I’m around him.

  “I don’t know, Keenan. I’ve got a lot of studying to do.” I’m telling the truth, but I always make room for new clients and the money they bring. It’s not all about the paper, but I do have a budget to meet.

  “Come on, Jayd. Why are you being so difficult when all you have to do is say yes?” Keenan takes my right hand in his begging with his eyes. When he puts it like that how can I say no?

  “Fine, Keenan. You can follow me home.” I don’t know what I’m getting myself into. Keenan smiles at my surrender and returns to work while leaving me to mine. We’ll see what happens later. My toes are done, I’m well on my way to finishing my assignments for the week and I have money on the horizon. As far as I’m concerned, it’s been a good day.

  It only took us fifteen minutes to get to my mom’s place in Inglewood from the coffeehouse off La Cienega. It’s cold and dark in the apartment when I open the multiple locks. I flip on the lights and the thermostat, inviting Keenan inside.

  “So this is where the magic happens?” Keenan asks, stepping into my mother’s living room and bringing his fresh scent of Egyptian Musk with him. He has no idea how accurate that statement is. I close the door behind him and take his coat hanging it with mine on the rack.

  “Have a seat in the dining room.” I gesture toward the glass table and four chairs off the living room and head to the bathroom to wash up before beginning Keenan’s hair. It’s been a long day and I want to make sure my Secret isn’t giving up the goods like his coworker.

  Keenan takes a seat at the table and looks around the intimate space taking it all in. There’s not much to see. My mom’s apartment’s pretty basic and she’s not into technology. If he wants to be impressed he should’ve seen my mom’s closet before she slowly began moving into Karl’s house.

  “All right, let’s get started,” I say, walking through the living room to where Keenan’s seated carefully eyeing my iron hair tools spread across the kitchen counter. I need to clean my collection before resuming my craft this weekend. Depending on how long it takes to finish Keenan’s hair I might start this evening since I no longer have plans. I can’t believe Jeremy and I are taking a break, but it’s not a bad thing I suppose. Like my mom said, I’m young, single, and c
ute. I deserve a break from being on lockdown just as much as Jeremy does.

  “You know pressing hair is reinforcing mental slavery, right?” Keenan says, still scoping the flat irons, hot combs, and curlers like they’re the devil incarnate. Mental slavery is Esmeralda and her loyal subjects, but I digress. I don’t want to spoil this brotha’s head with my own thoughts. I want to stay in this pleasant moment with Keenan.

  “I understand where you’re coming from, but I don’t think it’s that deep.” I part his soft, thick black hair and feel his scalp. From what I can tell he doesn’t need any severe treatment. He must use all natural products because outside of my regular clients his hair is the healthiest I’ve seen in a long time. I’ll introduce him to my line of hair products and see how they improve his already glowing crown.

  “How can you say that? You know black women have been oppressed through hot combs for centuries. We need to do away with all that shit in order to save our people.” Keenan yields to my gentle persuasion, moving his head with each move of my hands. It’s a pleasure to touch his locks.

  “Well, I can say it because it’s my business to know the ins and outs of my clients. And believe me, there are just as many brainwashed people rocking natural hair as there are wearing it straight.”

  “That may be true, but that’s like saying it’s all right for drug dealers to slang in the community because they’re actually providing jobs to boys in the hood. The ends don’t always justify the means, Miss Jackson.”

  “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” Keenan looks up at me forcing my hands away from his head. I’m only a quarter of the way done and it’s already after ten, making it a late night to be doing hair.

  “Look at your beautiful braids,” Keenan says, turning the tables on me and touching my freshly cornrowed strands, inhaling their sweet watermelon scent. “Natural hair is an aphrodisiac.” Keenan stands up, towering over my short frame. He kisses the tips of my braids moving from the base of my neck, kissing my skin softly before reaching my lips and going for it.