Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“Nothing.” He chuckled. “Long story. So, you’re asking me out?”
“Yeah. Is that too forward?” she stated a bit shyly, though he had a feeling it was all a front. This woman didn’t have a timid bone in her body.
“No, it’s not too forward. I’d love to have lunch or dinner with you.”
“Okay, great. I—”
Just then, the dentist walked in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wilde. Nice to see you again.”
“Afternoon, Doctor. Genesis, we can—”
“Don’t worry. Enjoy your visit. I’ll get your information from up front. Have a good day!” She skedaddled away before he had a chance to respond…
The sounds of Saweetie’s, ‘Is It the Way’ played through pulsing speakers as Genesis entered the braiding shop. Ropes of hair were scattered all over the floor as if the linoleum was wearing a fur coat. Red, blue, straight, curly and ombre hair hung for display by large mirrors and framed posters of models sporting the latest looks. Her usual braider, Awa, was nowhere in sight.
“Hi, can I help you?” A Senegalese woman with a rich accent approached wearing a wraparound brown skirt and white top.
“Hi, how are you? My name is Genesis. Is Awa here? She usually does my hair. I’ve been coming to her on and off for two years.”
“Oh, she’s not here today. Sorry. What do you need?”
“I just wanted a take-down but was going to come back in a few days for maybe some Goddess braids.”
“Ahh, I see. So, usually we do take down and new braids same day.”
“Right, but I just need them taken out today. I could do it myself, but it would take forever, and last time I did it myself, I accidentally cut some of my own hair off.”
“’Kay. Hold on, okay? Let me see. I will call her. If she doesn’t answer, I will text her and get her price since you’re her customer.”
Genesis nodded. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
She took a seat towards the front of the busy shop, then picked up one of the crinkled hair magazines and flipped through it, reviewing the various braided styles. Other customers sat around in worn-out chairs, many of them on their phones as one to three African braiders worked their magic on their tresses. She bobbed her head to the music as she turned the pages of the magazine, a few styles catching her eye. The African women were speaking French amongst each other. After a few minutes, she stood to try and get their attention for the price of the service she wanted, and to figure out when they could start. She began to approach the two women closest to her when she heard one of the women say, “Ils sont tellement ingrats et stupides. De toute façon, elle a de cheveux horribles. Faites-la payer plus pour tous ces ennuis. Je veux allez rentrer chez moi et me détendre devant la télévision.”
Huh? Did they just call a customer stupid and ungrateful? Said they had horrible hair? Not just that, they were suggesting they charge her more money because, as one of them said, she wanted to go home and watch television. Mothafuckas.
The women burst out laughing. Genesis checked out the customer in the chair whom they were referring to—horrified. The African American woman was completely oblivious, as shown by her smiling down at her phone as she scanned her social media feed.
Suddenly, one of the women hooked eyes with hers.
“Oh, can I help you?”
“Yes, the other woman who greeted me when I first came in said she would give me a price for how much a take-down would cost. Is she the manager?”
“Fatou? Yes. She’s in the back. Fatou!” The main culprit who’d been talking shit called out. The two women who’d been gossiping looked at one another and burst out laughing again, as if the joke was ongoing. “Regardez-la, debout là, voulant qu’on l’enlève ses tresses. Trop paresseuse pour les sortir elle-même. Les femmes américaines sont gâtées. Elle est jolie, okay, mais paresseuse. Probablement, elle veux le tissage blond pour ressembler à une femme blanche.”
Look at her standing there wanting her braids removed, she’d said. Genesis fumed. Too lazy to take them out myself, huh? American women are spoiled? At least she called me pretty, not just lazy. And no, bitch, I won’t want blonde weave to look like a White woman.
The other woman responded, commenting on her uniform, pegging her for a nurse. At least she had recognized her from past appointments, said Genesis was nice and that she tipped well.
The complaining bitch, however, was not convinced. She thought we were all ‘the same’. “Ils sont tous pareils. Intitulé. Fatou! Customer!” Entitled, even.
Fatou came from behind a curtain, her phone in hand.
“Hi, sorry about that, Genesis. It’s Genesis, yes?”
“Yes. That’s my name.” A fire burned in her soul. She fisted her hands and swallowed venom.