Black Beauty

BLACK BEAUTY

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eBook Published in 2012 by:

Top Shelf Publishing

Dallas, Texas

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Copyright © Elaine Garcia 2004

All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Published by Top Shelf Publishing at Smashwords

Flowers, Elaine

Black Beauty – Third Edition

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All scripture references are taken from

THE LIVING BIBLE

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Black Beauty

Elaine FLOWERS

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PROLOGUE

She ran fast, and she ran hard. She was tired of the beatings. At least she had gotten away before he got another lick in. He would beat her extra for running away—so, there was no going back.

There was a white dress blowing in the wind. She saw it when she turned the corner. The dress was clean and white, the opposite of her. Pretty, brown lady. Not black and dirty. She must have a daddy that loves her. Her dress is bright and it’s blowing in the wind.

The lady leaned over the baby buggy. She kissed her baby and then went inside of the store. The buggy was sitting outside the door, and it was big. She wanted to see. Big eyes and lots of hair. Slowly, she picked up the baby. The brown lady won’t mind. She got another one that’s just like this one. She walked. Fast and then faster. She ran through trees.

She ran hard. My baby, she mumbled over and over as saliva ran from the sides of her mouth and blew back from the breeze. She ran through the trees for miles. She ran along the side of the road, through some cotton fields. Ain’t no going back. She ran until she fell. She thought her breath would never catch her. The baby was still. She lay there and her mind left and went to another place. When she came to herself, she stood, wiped the sweat from her face, and brushed off the baby. She looked through the trees, and there was another town. She could hear the train whistle. She walked. She entered the town. The streets were busier than at home. She held the baby close.

Rushing behind a building she then stopped to rest. She kissed the baby’s forehead just like the lady had done. She smelled it. She hugged the baby, tighter and tighter. The baby cried. Oh no! She walked around the building and stood on the platform. There were lots of people going to and fro. She mingled as the baby cried. There was a big trash bin. She walked to it and stood there. The baby cried loudly. She wanted the baby to be quiet. She stood there in front of the bin.

Excuse me, Ma’am; I need to cart this off. Do you have something you need to throw away? a porter said, holding on to the waste container. She shook her head and walked off. The baby stopped crying.

What a beautiful baby, a woman said, waiting to board the train.

Can you hold her for me so’s I can go to the commode?

Sure I’ll hold this pretty, big-eyed baby. I knew it was a girl ’cause she’s too pretty to be a boy. The girl was gone. Oops. Yo’ mama must have really had to go bad. She held the baby and waited.

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PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE ~ ESTRALITA

I had been inching on Interstate eighty-five for twenty minutes, and I’d been trying to change lanes for I don’t know how long, but no one would let me over. Each lane seemed to be moving a little faster than the one that I was stuck in. I really wanted to get from behind a slow moving mini-van. So instead, I just sat there and switched the radio stations back and forth. Missy Elliot was telling me how far her and Timbaland went back on 107.9 hip-hop, and the O’Jays were telling me to board the love train on 102.5 old school.

The traffic in Atlanta was the worst. Finally, there was a small break, so I moved my Honda Prelude over and finally started making progress. Thirty-five miles an hour was better than just standing still. I’ll make it on time after all. Smokey Robinson and the Miracles came on. I reached down to switch stations again.

When I looked up the cars had stopped abruptly in front of me. I slammed on the brakes and burned a little bit of rubber. That was close. All of sudden I heard this loud screeching. It wasn’t me because I had already stopped. I looked into my rearview mirror and before I could focus in... Blackness... Calmness... Total peacefulness. At first I wasn’t sure what had happened. I was in denial.

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When I laid eyes on Terri Webb for the first time I knew exactly who she was. It seemed as though I had lived my life hoping for that day. I had no idea what her response would be toward me, but I was not afraid to find out. Her friend, a beautiful woman whom I later came to know as Naomi Daniels, noticed me first. Naomi apparently had gotten herself into some trouble. I’ll get into all that a little later. Now that I can see things clearly and dwell in a state of knowing, I am aware of details that before I couldn’t even fathom.

Terri had been living in the Midwest practically all of her life. She and Naomi worked together for about four years in a city too large to be considered a small town, but too small to be considered anything else.

Once I came to know Terri, I became consumed with learning as much about her as I could. I needed to know if all of the feelings I had over the years were because of her. And I wondered if she had any of the same feelings. All of my life I was so lonely for her but as difficult as it was knowing what was missing in my life, it must have been even harder for her knowing that something was missing but not knowing what it was. I have become so absorbed with Terri’s life that sometimes I forget that I wasn’t there when everything took place. But I certainly feel like I was.

It all started one day about a year ago. Mona Stewart sat nervously in her cluttered office at the rear of her salon, Black Beauty, located on the east side of town. Moments before, there was mail scattered and stacked, opened and unopened on her desk. On the floor were outdated Ebony, Essence and Jet magazines that she refused to throw out for nostalgic reasons. In one corner stood an old roller caddie with a broken wheel, and on top of it laid old faded and worn-out towels that had long been replaced by new ones. And on top of the towels were old and dusty how-to videos for skills that were never mastered. In another corner stood a heat lamp that was supposed to substitute for a hair dryer when the stylists ran short during the Jheri Curl years. It was posed and propped with other timesaving appliances that never quite panned out.

Mona’s fist supported her chin and her elbows rested on her newly tidied desk. For thirteen years, she had interviewed stylist after stylist, after barber, after nail artist, after receptionist and still, she got butterflies and sweaty palms. Her insecurities involving her own lack of talent behind the salon chair still left her intimidated during the course of an interview. She couldn’t understand why a stylist with any talent would want to work for her when she could barely keep ten consistent clients.

Mona picked up the phone that earlier was covered by opened bills, return envelopes and supply sales ads, and rings to the front desk.

Eppie? Eppie? Mona’s voice comes in over the intercom. Eppie!

I hear someone calling me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Eppie Buchannon said goodbye to the mail carrier and rushed through the front door of the salon. She left it ajar, allowing the cool morning air to filtrate the salon, which would soon be warm, stuffy, and full of hair spray fog.

The morning was the calmest time of the day. Everyone moved in quietly, like mannequins, and slowly, as if they were being wound up, they came to life. Shortly before noon, the place would be in full swing.

The sky was pale blue, and the sun was shining bright. A cool, crisp breeze whisked through the reception area and fluttered the pages of magazines that were neatly stacked in the racks. It was a brisk morning that held much promise for a warm and sunny afternoon.

Eppie moved toward the intercom, panting. Yes, Mona? she responded.

Can you let me know when Chanel arrives, please?

Sure.

The team of stylists that worked for Mona was a group of the most compatible that she’d had at any given time. It had been a while since there had been any major drama. All of the stylists at Black Beauty were mature people minding their own and were busy trying to make the almighty dollar. Black Beauty had met its capacity only once before since it was opened. And it looked like Mona was about to fill the last chair.

Naomi had been there the longest of everyone. She had seen many hairstylists come and go. Mona treasured her loyalty and the professionalism that Naomi gave the salon. When vendors and clients came in, they automatically gravitated toward Naomi assuming she was the person in charge. The one thing Mona feared most with Naomi was that one day she’d leave Black Beauty to open her own shop.

Standing about five-nine, Naomi had the average black woman’s full figure, you know―top and bottom heavy. She’d gained about forty pounds within the last year and a half. Because of her height she carried the extra weight extremely well and could still hush a room when she entered. Her silky, light brown hair hung past her shoulders and was either worn bone straight or sometimes curly. Her caramel-colored complexion was blemish free with the exception of a few small freckles that were evenly distributed across the bridge of her nose. She had large, bright eyes, a perfectly curved sistah’s nose—not too thin, not too wide. She had caught the eye of many men, but only a few had the confidence to approach her. Since her divorce six years ago, Mona noticed that Naomi had been a little bitter and sometimes found herself in the middle of client gossip far too often and enjoying it far too much.

Terri had been with Mona for four years and had been the most dependable and drama free of anyone that she had ever hired on. So when Terri asked Mona about taking in her nephew’s fiancée, Chanel Foxx, who had just moved in town from Long Beach, she expected nothing but good. If Terri vouched for her that was enough for Mona. Not one client had ever made a complaint against Terri. She didn’t run her mouth, was young, energetic, and always willing to learn.

Hi, Mona, Terri said, peeking around the office door and snapping on a pair of plastic gloves.

Eppie tells me that Chanel is coming in this morning for an interview.

Yeah, well she should’ve been here at nine-thirty. Mona glanced at her watch.

She’s probably lost. I think she’s still trying to learn her way around the city, Terri said, leaning against the doorframe.

Maybe, Mona said, perturbed and looking at her watch again.

I’m sure she’ll be here in a sec. Terri tapped the doorframe with her gloved fingers and smiled. Well, let me get back to work.

Just as Terri left, Mona’s intercom buzzed. Mona? Eppie’s voice came through loud and clear.

Yes.

Chanel is here.

Good. Ask her to have a seat.

Will do.

Mona decided that Chanel could wait on her just as she had been waiting. She swiveled around in her chair, ran her hands up her legs, smoothing her pantyhose, and checked her hair in the mirror that hung behind her desk.

My hair is a mess. I should’ve had Wendell do it yesterday, she murmured to herself as she ran her fingers through the wiry crop. Stress and nerves kept it from growing. It was dry, brittle, and broken in many areas. I can’t worry about my nappy head now. She looked down at her suit and tugged at the bottom of her jacket, which came just below her waist. When she looked up again the reflection of an attractive young woman standing in the doorway was in the mirror. Mona turned quickly, and her yellow complexion turned the same shade of bright orange as her suit.

Hello! I’m Chanel, she practically sang.

Oh, I was just about to call you on back, Mona said, embarrassed that she was caught doing nothing. Before Mona could invite her in, Chanel was plopping her purse in one chair and her behind in the other one.

I had another interview before this one and it ran a little over, so if you don’t mind, can we get started? I have a lunch engagement with a caterer. Did Terri tell you that I’m in the middle of planning my wedding?

Mona stared at Chanel wide-eyed, trying to decide whether she had apologized for being late.

No, she didn’t tell me―

I have been so busy, just trying to get situated and everything. I’ve had a couple of offers but Terri insisted that I come and talk to you. She said this is the best black hair salon in the city, Chanel interrupted Mona.

Well, we think it’s the―

Even though the city is not too big, so far I can pretty much tell that it probably is the best. Anyway, that’s the word on the street. Chanel purposely stroked Mona’s ego.

As Chanel rambled on nonstop, Mona eyeballed her from head to toe. She was cute with a smart haircut―a simple bob with no bang that stopped just below the ear. It was shiny black with a zigzag part down the middle. She wore expensive clothes, had short, red nails, and a blaring engagement ring. How can that boy afford an engagement ring like that? Mona asked herself. For Mona, smooth fabrics, straight lines, and solid colors were a sign of class. Mona was impressed. She thought Chanel was classy and would be an asset to the salon.

...and lots of new hairstyles and stuff. Damn! I must have forgotten my portfolio at that last salon, Chanel said, looking around.

Oh, so you have a portfolio? Mona was sucked in. This was a first. No one had ever brought in a portfolio. Yes, I do. And I’ve done quite a few stars, too. I have lots of pictures.

Mona’s eyes lit up. What about references and previous places of employment?

All of that is on my resume, which of course is inside my portfolio. I promise to get all of that to you later.

Chanel stood, smoothed the front of her long charcoal gray suit jacket, and stretched out her hand right in Mona’s face, almost touching her nose. Her diamond tennis bracelet slid down from underneath her sleeve and rested below her wrist. She raised an eyebrow and smiled.

This is a beautiful salon. I’ll take the booth.

Mona clumsily stood, causing the chair to spring back, shook Chanel’s hand, and choked out, Oh... great.

Well, I’ll be in touch, Chanel said, grabbing her purse and twisting the strap around her hand. I’ll probably want to start next Tuesday, but I’ll let you know. Chanel smoothly and gracefully walked out of the office and up the short hallway.

Mona stood perplexed and wondered what had just happened. Her mouth was hanging open, and she was full of questions that she didn’t get to ask. She hadn’t even offered Chanel the booth, nor had she gotten a chance to tell her how much the rent was. Let alone explain to her that first and last weeks rent plus a deposit were due before she could move in. Oh well, I’ll just tell her when she calls, Mona mumbled.

Mona slid her purse and deposit bag out of the desk drawer. Looking at it, she was reminded that Naomi still hadn’t paid her booth rent. It seemed as though every week she had to ask her for it. Everyone paid on Saturday except Naomi. Mona hoped Naomi had made it in, because she really needed to get the money to the bank. Every Saturday rent was due for the following week. When Tuesday rolled around Naomi was still hanging on to hers. Mona found herself waiting around the salon on Tuesday trying to catch Naomi between clients.

Mona locked the office door just as Naomi was entering through the back door, her arms full of supplies. Naomi softly panted and roughly placed the tubs of relaxer and shopping bags on the table.

Oh, I see you’ve been doing some shopping. Mona said, standing in the doorway swinging the moneybag, hoping Naomi would see it and be reminded about the booth rent.

So that was Stevie’s fiancé, huh? I don’t like her, Naomi said, sucking her teeth and ignoring Mona’s hint.

Oh, did you meet Chanel?

I wouldn’t exactly say that. I spoke and tried to introduce myself but she blew me off. Umph, I know I don’t like her. I hope Miss Hollywood don’t think she’s doing us a favor by working here. Naomi rummaged through her sacks.

I think she’s okay, just a little more ambitious than what we’re used to seeing around here, Mona said. Anyway, she’s from Long Beach, not Hollywood.

Long Beach, wherever. I don’t think ambition is the word for it. If she come up in here trippn’, she won’t last too long. Naomi’s words implied that she ran things at Black Beauty. Naomi and Mona both knew that she acted more like the owner, but it was never to be acknowledged. Mona didn’t mind that Naomi took charge of things, especially since she struggled to make decisions, but she didn’t want it to go to Naomi’s head.

Naomi changed the subject. Look at these cute Halloween decorations. I thought they could go on Eppie’s desk up front, she said, rustling through the last plastic sack.

Halloween? It’s the middle of September, girl.

It’s never too early to get ready for a holiday.

Speaking of ready, do you have a check ready for me? Mona blurted out since Naomi still hadn’t caught the hint.

Girl, I’m sorry. You waiting on me? Just a minute, let me put my things away.

Mona knew that meant another hour. She didn’t understand why Naomi was always stalling to pay. Naomi brought in more money than anyone in the salon. Mona walked up front to see if Wendell had made it in. Maybe he could do her hair while she waited on Naomi to write out her check. Mona caught a glimpse of Wendell through the front window. He had Chanel hemmed up in the parking lot, obviously sweet-talking her, and Chanel stood there with all her straight, white teeth showing and her silky, black hair blowing in the breeze. She couldn’t have been in too much of a hurry, Mona thought. Just then Chanel hopped into her black Miata and whizzed down the street. Wendell watched until she disappeared.

Wendell Parker, the only man in the salon, loved being in the company of women―big, small, tall, short, attractive, not so attractive, shy, and loud. Every and any kind of woman. Variety was exactly what he craved. Every woman had a chance with Wendell. And he tried to sleep with as many of them as he could without attachments, which of course was never easy. Wendell was tall, dark, slim, and overflowing with charisma. He’s bald on top and kept his hair cut low. He had a few specks of gray hair on his head and throughout his full beard, which was kept perfectly trimmed. Wendell was forty-one on his last birthday, but still had a baby face.

Wendell believed that people didn’t mind giving their money to people that they thought already had money, so he made it his own personal philosophy and decided to dress everyday in a suit or sports coat— something he’d read in Shoptalk years ago. He walked into the salon dressed as if he had