by Pamela Yaye
“Mrs. Cardozo, I don’t know who your husband is, and I’ve never met him.”
“Liar!” she shouted, jabbing a finger in Karma’s chest. “You called his cell yesterday, and your number came up on his phone. That’s how I was able to track you down.”
Her pulse was racing, but Karma spoke in a calm voice. “I own a beauty salon, and sometimes my staff use my cell. One of them must have called your husband, because it wasn’t me. I have a boyfriend, and he’s all the man I need.”
Right on cue, Morrison draped an arm around Karma’s waist and held her close. “My baby’s right,” he said with a proud smile. “I’m quite the catch. Just ask my mom!”
Giggles filled the corridor, proof that the other female patrons were as enamored with Morrison as Karma was, and to prove to the blonde that he was her man she kissed him.
“I—I—I’m sorry,” the blonde stammered, casting her gaze to the wooden floor. “I thought you were my husband’s mistress, and I overreacted. I apologize for embarrassing you.”
The woman left, the crowd in the corridor dissipated, and Karma released the breath she was holding. It had been the longest minute of her life, a scary, nerve-racking moment, but she felt empathy toward the Mrs. Cardozo, not anger, and purposed in her heart to talk some sense into Jazz.
“Baby, how about another cocktail?” Morrison proposed, rubbing her shoulders as he led her through the corridor and back outside to the patio. “You look like you could use one.”
“Just one?” Karma cocked an eyebrow. “No, I could use two, so keep them coming!”
Chapter 13
“Put some more blond streaks in the front,” advised the Latina rap star. Seated in chair number one, she peered at her reflection in the oversize mirror, fluffing her spiral curls. “I want it to look full and lush for the awards show tonight, so keep at it...”
Karma disagreed, thought adding more extensions would overwhelm the rapper’s thin face, but since the customer was always right she opened another pack of Diamond Virgin Hair, and held it up against her head. “Do you want one more row, or two?”
“Use the whole pack. I want rock star hair, chiquita!”
Customers laughed, the rapper’s entourage fervently nodded their heads and Reagan snapped pictures of the queen of Spanish rap with her cell phone. Arriving at the salon an hour earlier, Karma had found the famed rapper in the waiting room, and had no choice but to drop her bags and get to work. According to one of the stylists, Jazz had called to say she was running late, but Karma knew her best friend wasn’t coming to the salon. Last night, after the trophy wife cursed her out at the Bay Kitchen Bar, she’d called Jazz to tell her what happened, and even though her friend had apologized, Karma was still upset. They hadn’t been on the same page for months, and she was tired of making excuses to her staff about Jazz. They needed to talk, and this time she wouldn’t let her bestie play the friend card, would hold her accountable for her actions and unprofessional behavior at the salon.
Energized by the spirited discussion around her, Karma chatted and laughed with her staff and customers. Watching a mother and her teenage daughter peruse the nail color tower, cherished memories flooded her mind—trying out new recipes in the kitchen with her mom, giggling with Carmelita on the bus to Karma’s piano lessons, their weekly hair and nail appointments at their favorite beauty salon in Queens—and sadness consumed her. In the blink of an eye, she’d lost everything, the most important person in her life, and six years later Karma was still struggling to cope with her mom’s death.
“I can’t go to the mayor’s luncheon tomorrow. I’m having dimplant surgery.”
Surfacing from her thoughts, Karma stared at the college student in the leopard-print blouse, white skinny jeans and suede booties. “What’s that?”
“Duh,” the redhead joked, poking a finger at her cheek. “Permanent dimples.”
“Seriously? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Get with the times, Ms. Karma. Surgeons can do anything,” she said with a cheeky smile. “My mom always says, if God didn’t give it to you just go out and buy it, and I agree!”
“My physical imperfections are what make me me and I’d never want to change that.”
“I’m with Karma.” Swiveling her neck, Poppy slid her hands along her ample curves. “I’m a hundred percent natural and a hundred percent fabulous.”
The front door chimed, and Karma glanced over her shoulder, curious to see who the new arrival was. Her next appointment wasn’t for an hour, and once she was finished doing the rapper’s hair Karma was going to her office to update her blog.
Yawning, Karma struggled to keep her eyes open.
Of course you’re tired, scolded her inner voice. All these late night dates and early morning appointments are taxing, and you’re running yourself ragged.
Morrison had called last night as Karma was getting ready for bed, and they’d ended up talking on the phone for hours. No subject was off-limits, and thinking about all of the sweet, heartfelt things he’d said about her brought a smile to her lips.
“Good morning, lovelies!” Jazz greeted, sashaying into the salon on red-heeled pumps.
Dressed in a white halter jumpsuit, she smiled and waved like a Miss Universe contestant as she breezed past the reception area. Blessed with exceptional beauty, the self-proclaimed fashionista had tanned skin, wavy brown hair and an A-plus body that made men of all ages gawk and drool. “If anyone needs me I’ll be in the office preparing for the day.”
Preparing for the day, my ass, Karma thought, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. You won’t be working; you’ll be yapping on the phone with your very married boyfriend.
“It’s super long, but I can cut it if you want.” Picking up the gold, vintage mirror from off the counter, Karma held it up for the rapper to see the back of her hair. “What do you think?”
“That I’m going to be the baddest chick at the Latin Entertainment Awards!” she shrieked, dancing around in her leather chair. “Thanks, chiquita! I love it.”
“I aim to please. Good luck at the award show tonight. I hope you win.”
Winking, a smirk curled her lips. “I will. You can bet on it.”
Karma took her cell phone out of her pocket and pressed the Camera app. “Stand still. I need to take some pictures of your sexy new hairstyle for my blog.”
Everyone wanted a photograph with the queen of Spanish rap, and several minutes passed before the staff returned to their stations, and the customers put away their iPhones.
“Reina, tenemos que irnos. Estamos atrasados...”
Stepping forward, the bearded man in the gray sweat suit dropped ten crisp hundred-dollar bills on the counter, then escorted the rap star through the salon and out the front door. Karma picked up the money and put it in her smock. Her work done, Karma told her staff she was taking a break, and headed down the hallway, massaging her aching hands.
What a day, she thought, rubbing her eyes with her fingertips. It was only ten o’clock, but Karma was beat, so tired all she could think about was going home to bed. Though she wouldn’t. Canceling on her clients wasn’t an option, and even though Karma was exhausted, she was excited about the four o’clock photoshoot for Salon Today magazine in Manhattan.
Her cell phone pinged, and Karma read her newest text message from Morrison.
Roses are red, violets are blue, you’re so damn sexy, I want to do you!
A giggle tickled her throat and fell from her mouth. Morrison was the strong, silent type, but he definitely had a humorous side, and Karma enjoyed their playful banter. Wanting to hear his voice, she decided to call him from the privacy of her office and quickened her steps. Karma opened the door, and stopped abruptly. Jazz was asleep on the couch, curled up in a beige blanket, snoring softly. “Jazz,” she hissed, shaking her shoulders. “Wake up.”
St
irring, she opened her eyes and stretched her arms in the air. “What is it?”
“I don’t pay you to sleep. I pay you to manage the salon.”
“Why are you being salty? I’ve only been sleeping for a few minutes.”
“You should be on the floor, tending to customers, helping the staff and promoting the hell out of the salon, not hiding out in the office taking a siesta twenty minutes into your shift.”
Shrugging, Jazz wore a sheepish expression on her face. “What can I say? I had a late night.”
“Funny, you couldn’t come to work yesterday, but you had the energy to attend the Black and White Gala in Harlem last night. And don’t try and deny it because I saw the pictures you posted online.”
“I wasn’t missing that gala for anything. That party was lit! The only thing that would have made the night better was meeting Mariah Carey in person, but Lorenzo thought the meet and greet was lame, so we left after dessert.” Standing, Jazz fluffed her hair and adjusted her clothes. “I’m out of here. I have some errands to do before I meet my boo for lunch.”
“Jazz, this has gone on long enough. Either you’re going to work, and do the job I’m paying you incredibly well to do, or—”
“Or what,” she shot back, moulding her hands to her hips.
Her deep, dark stare was chilling, but Karma showed no fear. She was shocked by the bitterness in her best friend’s voice, but she stepped forward, not back. “For the past few months, you’ve been selfish, irresponsible and self-absorbed, and I’m sick of it.”
“I helped you build this salon from the ground up, and if it wasn’t for me, and my celebrity connections, this place would be empty. I’m the real captain of this ship, not you.”
Is she high? Bewildered by her friend’s outrageous response, Karma frowned. Her emotions overwhelmed her, and for a moment she couldn’t speak. Needed a minute to gather her thoughts. “Our staff are responsible for the staggering success of Beauty by Karma, not you. Half the time you’re not here, and when you are here you’re texting and gabbing on your cell.”
“I quit. I don’t need this crap, and I don’t need you.” Jazz stomped over to her desk, grabbed her tote bag off the wingback chair, then hurled magazines, pictures and notepads inside. “Lorenzo’s going to divorce his wife and marry me, and when he does I’ll buy my own beauty salon, and it’ll be a hell of a lot better than this dump.”
Pain stabbed Karma’s heart, and water filled her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry. If she could survive losing her mother, she could survive losing Jazz. And, if she was being honest with herself, Jazz had stopped being a friend months ago. Only now, she knew her bestie was jealous of her success and didn’t wish her well. “Jazz, he’s playing you. Why can’t you see that?”
“Bye,” she quipped, her jam-packed bag hanging from her wrist. “Have a nice life.”
Karma wanted to tell Jazz to kiss her derriere, but remembered she was a mature, sophisticated woman, and decided to take the high road. “Jazz, I appreciate everything you’ve done the past eighteen months to help make Beauty by Karma a success. I couldn’t have done any of this without you, and I wish you nothing but the best in your future endeavors.”
The office was so quiet, Karma could hear the wall clock ticking from across the room. She met Jazz’s gaze, willing her not to leave. Not like this. Jazz was the first person she’d met when she moved to the Hamptons, and Karma couldn’t imagine them not seeing each other anymore. She could find another manager for the salon, but losing Jazz as a friend was a painful blow. One that would take a long time to heal.
Without another word, Jazz sauntered out the door, and slammed it behind her.
Her cell phone rang, and Unknown Caller came up on the screen. Karma pressed the answer button, knowing it was Morrison calling from the private line at his office. She needed to vent about her argument with Jazz, and Morrison was the perfect person to open up to. “You’ll never believe what happened—”
“This is a collect call from an inmate at Livingston Correctional Facility,” said an automated female voice. “To accept this call from Feisal Leonard, please press one now.”
No, no, no! Karma pressed the end button, and chucked her cell into her purse. Stunned, she dropped down into her leather chair, her mind racing, a knot the size of a baseball in her throat. Her heart was beating so loud it roared in her ears.
Taking several deep breaths, Karma tried to make sense of what had happened. How did Feisal get her cell number? Who gave it to him? What did he want from her? Karma weighed her options, deliberated over what to do. She considered telling Morrison her story and asking him for legal advice, but dismissed the thought. They had a powerful connection, and Karma adored him, but she didn’t feel comfortable confiding in him about her past. Wasn’t brave enough to bare her soul. No, she’d just have to handle the situation herself.
Her cell phone rang, and perspiration wet her skin. Facing her fears, Karma peered inside her handbag, and found her cell at the bottom. Her hands trembled, and her knees knocked together under the desk. Unknown Number, appeared on the screen, and Karma stared at her cell with disgust. Wanted to toss it out the window. It was bad enough Feisal had mailed three letters to the salon last week; now he was blowing up her cell phone too? It didn’t matter how many times Feisal called her. She wasn’t taking his call today, tomorrow or any other day, and nothing would ever change her mind.
Chapter 14
Morrison stood in front of the stainless steel stove in his kitchen, with his arms folded across his chest, listening to Karma diss his ideas for Reagan’s graduation party in June. She was teasing him, giving him a hard time about his suggestions, but he was aroused, not annoyed, by her jokes. Pretty, in a figure-hugging, mustard dress, her long, toned legs on display, the only thought on his mind was making love to her, but Morrison knew it wasn’t the right time or place, and exercised self-control. “Babe, you’re wrong. Reagan’s going to love it. You’ll see.”
“No offense, but a princess-themed graduation party is whack.”
“Whack?” he repeated. “Says who?”
“Says me, and since I have the final say I’m nixing the pink decor too.”
“All right, Martha Stewart Jr. What do you have in mind?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Hopping off her stool at the marble center island, Karma grabbed her handbag from one of the chairs at the kitchen table, retrieved a leather-bound notebook and flipped it open. “The theme has to be unique to Reagan. Something that speaks to who she is, and what she’s about.”
“You mean besides spending my money faster than I can earn it?”
Their banter was playful, and her touch along his shoulder gave him an adrenaline rush—and an erection. Morrison was in the mood, couldn’t think of anything better than making love to Karma, but since he didn’t want Reagan to catch them in the act when she returned home from study group at the library, he opened the oven, took out the vegetarian lasagna and put it on top of the stove to cool down. “You know Reagan well, and I’m sure she’ll love whatever you plan for the graduation party.”
Hopefully as much as I love you. Thankful he hadn’t revealed the truth, Morrison slammed his mouth shut. Needing a cold drink, he opened the wine fridge, grabbed a bottle of Zinfandel and filled two glasses. Morrison quickly downed his drink. From the time Karma had arrived at his estate they’d been planning the surprise party, but once they were done finalizing the details of the event they’d have lunch in the outside living room.
Morrison heard his cell phone ring on the counter, and knew from the Nas ringtone that it was his brother calling, but decided to let the call go to voice mail. Next Thursday, he was going with Roderick to meet with investigators at the SEC, and hoped his connections in the department came through for him. His brother was a great guy who’d made a mistake and deserved a second chance. And Morrison was going to make sure Roderic
k got it.
“This is going to be the best graduation party ever!” Talking with her hands, her excitement was evident by the light in her eyes, and the sound of her voice. “We have to go all out. Reagan deserves it. We’ll get catered food, a photo booth and props, a live band, and the best decorations and champagne money can buy!”
“Champagne? No way. Reagan’s underage, and so are her friends, so we can’t let them drink any alcohol.”
“Fine, I’ll make my tasty tropical punch, and add just a splash of wine,” Karma said, pinching two fingers together. “Surely, you can break the rules this one time.”
Morrison shook his head. “I can’t. It goes against everything I stand for.”
“Oh, really?” Cocking her head to the right, she draped her arms around his neck and flicked her tongue against his ear. “You didn’t mind breaking the rules on your boat, in the back seat of your Beemer, or at Cedar Point Park the other night...”
Shivers rocked his spine. Karma was his weakness, had been from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, and since their kayaking excursion at Coopers Beach, they’d been inseparable. They’d spent a romantic weekend at a cozy bed-and-breakfast in Montauk, went on several fishing excursions and wine tasting tours and enjoyed an afternoon at the best couple spa in Manhattan Memorial Day weekend. Karma was a fun-loving beauty who’d helped him find his spontaneous side, and every day with her was an exciting adventure. Morrison adored her, and he wasn’t the only one. Reagan loved her, Duane thought she was mad cool, Erikah was obsessed with her style and fashion, and his nephews were already calling her “Auntie Karma.”
Morrison thought about his plans for the weekend. He was having a dinner party at his estate, and was looking forward to showing Karma off to his friends and family. Though in the back of his mind he worried his parents wouldn’t like his feisty new girlfriend. In theory, introducing her to his parents sounded like a good idea, but he feared the dinner would be a bust. Unlike the women he’d dated in the past, Karma didn’t come from money, or have a prestigious, executive job, and he hoped his parents wouldn’t mistreat her because of her humble background.