My Boo Read online

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  CHAPTER 1

  Another night on the club scene. It was eleven o’clock, and I was out with my roommate, Bianca. We were all early at a Philly club called Azure, trying to make our rounds. If one party wasn’t doing it, then it was on to the next. It was always the same ole same. Men trying to pick up women, and women trying to get picked up. Tonight I was one of those women, looking for someone to say hi to me. I had cracked a smile at a few guys, but I wasn’t about to approach anyone. I still believe a man should approach a woman. Plus, I’ve got a boyfriend, but my man is three states away. I wish I could be with him right now, but since I can’t I’m waiting for a good-looking brother to look my way and invite me to breakfast. Then, who knows?

  I had on my quarter-length black mink jacket, faded blue jeans, black pumps, and bag. Bianca was standing right next to me, looking like summer and winter at the same time. She had on a short white fox fur coat with white rhinestone-studded sandals to show off her fresh pedicure. Underneath she wore a white wife-beater and a pair of my jeans. I had to remember to get my jeans back at the end of the night.

  At five foot six, Bianca and I are the same height. I have about ten pounds on her, and we both have the same honey complexion. We’re both twenty-three and people always mistake us for sisters. But that’s where the similarities end. I have always made my own money. I’ve been doing hair since I was eleven. Bianca, on the other hand, is always getting money from her parents.

  We have been sharing my apartment for the past seven months. Before that, she was living with some dude. Her mom kicked her out for allegedly sleeping with her aunt’s boyfriend. Bianca said she didn’t do it. I believe she did. She’s always had a thing for older men, even when we were young. Older men and other women’s men.

  Back in the day we used to sit on her porch and daydream. It was always about turning eighteen and being grown. We were going to be hairdressers and clothing designers. She was my right-hand girl back then. Today, I’m on the verge of kicking Bianca’s ass out of my apartment. Bianca keeps too much traffic in and out of my place, always bringing home men she just met.

  But back to the club. I followed Bianca to the bathroom. “Hold my bag, Gina. I got to go bad,” she said as she handed me her bag and rushed into the stall. There was tissue everywhere on the floor, empty glasses with stir sticks, water on the floor, flooded sinks, and girls trying to beautify themselves in the mirror. Bianca came out the stall and washed her hands. She then lit a cigarette and began to smoke.

  Blowing smoke out of her mouth, she said, “Gina, this place sucks. Did you see the way these guys are dressed? Their shoes are cheap. Their pants are too tight. I see, like, five guys with their shirts all tucked in, like they were about to go to church. And these cheap-ass bitches.” I laughed nervously, looking around the bathroom to see who was listening. Bitches were looking at us like “Who the fuck she calling cheap?” I pushed her drunk ass out of the bathroom before we had a problem. I couldn’t tell if she was feeling her drink or just being rude as usual. Bianca’s always talking shit, and can’t fight worth a damn. I looked down at my cell phone to see the time. It was just after eleven thirty and I was so tired. I had been up since like five in the morning. I got caught up in the hype of Black Friday sales. The lines were crazy and people were pushing, but it was well worth it. I was one of those crazies at the mall before it opened. The good thing is I got a jump start on my holiday shopping, but now I’m paying for it. I knew she was going to be upset, but I was about to break the news to Bianca that I was leaving and going home.

  “Uhmm, Bianca, I go to work in the morning,” I said, as I positioned my bag on my shoulder.

  Bianca turned around and said, “No, you can’t leave. Stay just a little longer. Please, girl, I need to meet somebody.”

  “I’m out of here,” I said, as I began to walk away.

  “Okay, hold up. Let’s go one more place,” she said.

  “Where else is there to go?” I asked.

  “I want to go someplace where there are some thugs,” Bianca said.

  “Thugs?” I repeated as I looked over at Bianca.

  “Yeah, thugs! I need somebody that knows about the street. Them soft-ass dudes in here don’t even know what shoes to wear!”

  * * *

  We left Azure and went to a bar near 52nd and Market. I really didn’t want to be there. As we walked from the car to the raggedy bar, I asked, “Who could possibly be in here?”

  “It be some jawns in here. Don’t let the outside fool you.”

  “In this dirty place?” I yelled over the bass heavy music coming from the speaker by the entrance. We were about half a block from the bar.

  “You know how dudes like to stay in their element and don’t like to get dressed.” Almost immediately, guys started walking up behind us.

  “You see those guys?” Bianca asked.

  I nodded yes.

  “I think they want to steal our coats. Just keep walking. I think one of them got a gun. I just saw him reach for something in his jacket.” Bianca began to walk real fast in the direction of the bar.

  “You sure?” I turned around to look at the guy starting to walk faster. He had on denim jeans, brown shoes, and a gray trench coat. I jumped when he tapped my shoulder, and Bianca screamed.

  “Damn, honey! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  “Sorry if I scared y’all. I wanted to give y’all my card. I design clothes. Y’all sharp in those furs!” he said snapping his fingers.

  “Thank you,” I said, as I took his card. Not only was he not a stick-up kid, he was gay. Bianca was so stupid. I took his card and turned my back to him. He got the message and walked away. Talking about a thug. As soon as Bianca saw a thug, she was ready to run.

  Turning to Bianca, I said, “I don’t think you really want a thug.”

  “I wasn’t scared.”

  “Yes you were. You were talking about, ‘He’s going to stick us up.’ You ain’t even from the hood.”

  We walked into the bar, where there were a bunch of old heads sitting and drinking. Aretha Franklin was playing on the jukebox.

  “I can’t believe you brought me to this hole in the wall. I’m about to get out of here. I have clients in the morning,” I said. I pulled my bag over my shoulders, ready to leave. On cue, a light-skinned man walked over to where we were. I noticed he had pretty eyes, and full, perfect lashes that any woman would pay big money for.

  “How you doing?” he asked.

  I thought he was talking to me, but Bianca answered, “I’m fine, how about you?”

  He looked at her and back at me. Then his friend approached me and got all in my face. Disappointed, I tried to pay attention as the friend of the cute guy began asking me questions.

  “What are you about to do?” he asked

  “I’m going home.” I turned to leave but he caught my arm.

  “Can I call you?” he asked.

  “I have a boyfriend,” I said, looking at my watch.

  “I can be your special friend,” he said, smiling.

  “No,” I said.

  “How about breakfast?” he asked.

  “No. I have to get up and work tomorrow.”

  “Where you work at?”

  “I’m a stylist
at Unique Designs.”

  “Really? My man, John Simmons, owns that spot,” he said.

  “Oh, okay,” I said, as I looked around him for Bianca. Yeah, whatever, I thought. Everybody wanted to be down with John. John’s brother used to be a boxer, and he gave John the money to start the salon. Dude was not worth giving my number to, so I told him I’d be right back. I pulled Bianca to the side and told her I was ready to be out. She said she was going to breakfast with the cute guy so I went home alone.

  * * *

  I drove home in my milk-colored Honda coupe, listening to one of my mixed CDs. Our apartment was in a converted old school building and I loved it. Once inside, I hurried to unlock my apartment door. I hated coming home alone. I went straight into my room. I had an oak sleigh bed and matching nightstands. As I undressed I found myself wishing that my man, Chris, was here. We could be all nestled under the covers. But he lived three states away. I met Chris in this big warehouse nightclub in D.C. called Dream. Bianca’s girlfriend went to Howard University and she invited us down there for homecoming last year. He was deejaying that night. I walked over to him and requested a song. He asked for my number, and called me that same night. Instead of thinking there was something wrong with him for calling so soon, I knew there was something right with him, for wanting to get with me so soon. After leaving the club, Bianca and I went to IHOP and he met us there. Bianca was like “Look at you and your boyfriend, already.” The next weekend I was in D.C. visiting him. We fell in love instantly.

  This month we’d celebrated our one-year anniversary. One year in a long-distance relationship is difficult, but he’s so worth it. In the beginning, it was hard to trust Chris because he was so far away. I used to call him at all times of night just to see if he was home. I even went on the road with him a couple of times with different groups. At first it was fun going to different cities and attending album release parties with him. But after a while it lost its luster. I’d just dozed off, with visions of my boo in my mind—he looked so good, with his six-three diesel hard body and skin the color of hot cocoa—when I heard a loud moan. I sat up and listened intently. I didn’t know if Bianca had made it home or not, so I grabbed the bat I kept by the bed and went into the hallway to investigate. The moans got louder as I got closer to Bianca’s bedroom door. I almost gagged as I heard her say, “Ah ah, ah. Oooh baby. Ah, ah, yeah, like that! I can take it, Daddy.” That nasty little freak. I wondered which guy she ended up leaving the bar with. I went back to my room and turned my television up loud to keep out the noise. I settled back in my covers, put a pillow over my head, and then the covers over that. But I could still here a faint “Oh, baby.” It was like they were having a sex marathon. I had to have a talk with her. The television covered the moaning, but it didn’t do anything for the vibrating and slamming of Bianca’s bed against the wall between our bedrooms.

  After an hour, the noise stopped. I was on my way back to a restful sleep when I was awakened by the phone ringing. I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. How you doing? Uhm, I think I met you tonight.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. I think I met you. Your friend gave me your number.”

  “What?” I said. The nerve of him, calling me at four in the morning and not knowing who he was calling. I hung up on him and turned off the ringer.

  * * *

  The next morning I awoke late and sleepy. Between staying out too late and listening to Bianca’s noisy sex, I didn’t get any rest. I need eight hours of sleep and if I don’t get it my whole day is off. I called the shop to see if any of my clients had arrived yet. The receptionist Annette said I had three ten-thirty appointments but no one had arrived yet.

  I was about to take my shower when I realized my shower cap was missing. Bianca was always borrowing mine so I walked to her room to look for it. I knocked on her door and she didn’t answer. I knocked again and opened it a little to peek in to see if she was asleep. I was stunned by the room’s condition. Bianca’s lamp, alarm clock, and jewelry box were on the floor. Her dresser was bare. Her perfume, earrings, and necklaces were strewn all over the place. Her room looked like a crime scene. I immediately returned to my room and called her cell phone.

  “Bianca, are you okay?” I anxiously asked.

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because your room looks like a crime scene,” I said, as I walked back toward the bathroom.

  “Hold on. My supervisor is coming.”

  I put toothpaste on my toothbrush. I looked in the mirror and started brushing my teeth.

  Bianca came back to the phone. “Yeah, so what’s up?” she asked.

  “I can’t believe you made it to work,” I said, as I tried to talk and brush my teeth at the same time. “Why does your room look like that?”

  “That guy Khalil from last night. He was a beast!” she said in an excited whisper.

  “A beast? So what happened?” I asked.

  “He is so wild. He just kept flipping and spinning me all over the room. I know you had to hear it.”

  “Yeah, I did. You kept me up all night.”

  “I wasn’t going to fuck him, but then he ate me out while I was on his shoulders. He’s got an anaconda in his pants.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. He made me cum like five times! He knows how to work the middle girl.”

  “Okay, now you’re getting too graphic. I don’t want to know all that!”

  “Well, you asked. He is the best piece I ever had and he got his own business.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He has a tow truck company.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Well, I got to go before I don’t have a job.”

  “Talk to you later,” I said, and finished getting ready for work.

  CHAPTER 2

  I have been a stylist at Unique Designs Barber and Hair Salon for three years. There are two barbers, Ty and Chuck, and three other stylists, Stacy, Janea, and Deon. Janea is little miss petite. She doesn’t know how to do hair at all. She is always on lunch and still in hair school. But she goes with John, the owner, so he takes care of her. Deon’s an old head, like forty, and always talking about sex. She turns everybody that walks out of her chair into a clone because she only knows one hairstyle. Stacy is the best stylist in the shop. After me, of course. She is hip and doesn’t say too much. And last there is Annette, the receptionist and gossip queen.

  I entered the shop with my Dunkin’ Donuts bag in one hand and my latte in the other. One of my clients, Sharon, had already jumped her ass all in my chair.

  “I gotta get to work, Gina,” Sharon said, trying to rush me.

  “I got you. I’ll be right there,” I said, annoyed. “Damn, bitch. Can I breathe or eat my food?” I said under my breath.

  “How do you want your hair?” I asked, as I turned on my stove and sipped my latte.

  “Can you sew in a weave?” she asked.

  “When you made the appointment, did you tell Annette you wanted a sewn-in? I don’t do them on Saturdays.”

  “Well, can you just glue it in?” Sharon snapped, handing me the bag of hair she’d brought with her.

  “Sure.” I pulled her hair out of the bag and started splitting the tracks. I turned to my stove and noticed my ceramic flat iron was missing. “Deon, do you have my flat iron?”

  “Yeah, here it goes. I borrowed it last night,” she said, as she brought it over to me.

  “Put my shit back after you’re finished with it,” I said playfully, then, “Sharon, relax. I’ll have your hair finished in no time.” I draped the cape around her neck and glued the tracks in as fast as I could. Every time I completed a curl, Sharon was touching it and looking in the mirror to see if I was styling her hair right. When I finished, I gave her a mirror to let her see how cute I had made her ugly ass. Satisfied with the results, she snatched the cape off and paid me.


  Goodbye. One down and too many to go.

  My other ten-thirty clients walked in.

  “Nyree, can you start washing my client?” I asked, nodding my head toward Justine. Nyree was a part-time washer John had hired against my advice.

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. I got your lunch,” I said, turning to prepare for the next client. A few minutes later I noticed that Justine was still waiting to be washed. Nyree was playing around, talking to Janea.

  “Nyree, can you wash my client?” I asked again. This time I watched her until she retrieved my client and walked her to the washbowl. She got the message and quickly washed and blow-dried Justine, then sent her over to me.

  “Your little shampoo girl is too ghetto,” Justine whispered, as she sat in my chair.

  “What happened?” I asked, looking over at Nyree.

  “She was on her cell phone while she was washing my hair. Then she wet the back of my neck with cold water.” I looked down and saw that her shirt was soaked.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.” I went to find Nyree. I located her in the backroom, chilling, talking on her cell phone.

  “Nyree, can you come here for a minute?” I asked.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said, as she continued to talk on her cell phone.

  “No, come here now,” I demanded. Nyree told whoever she was talking to that she would call them back, and walked over to me.

  “Listen, what’s up with you? I got people waiting to get shampooed. You wet my client’s neck up. And now you are back here, running your mouth off on the phone.”

  “My bad. That was an accident. I’ll do your other people now.”

  Nyree washed my clients, acting like she might have her act together. Then she sent over my next client, Sheila. I had given her a sewn-in weave because she had hair breakage in the middle of her head. I was trying to let her hair come back in. When I parted her freshly washed hair, I couldn’t believe what I saw. My client’s hair was all different lengths! Short, long, medium. Nyree had cut her hair off when she took out the sewn-in weave. I tried not to let Sheila know what was going on. I gave Nyree the look, and turned Sheila away from the mirror so she couldn’t get a good look at her hair.