Leslie's Curl & Dye: Potter Lake, #1

one

Leslie

My favorite time of day was three o'clock. Especially in the summer. Especially on a hot summer Friday.

The salon's front door was propped open in a futile effort to let hot air and the scent of singed hair escape. Heavy bass from the boom box on the counter, accented by the cackle of laughter drifted out into the heated atmosphere, where the air was so still, the power lines sang. I glanced down the row of salon chairs, each occupant receiving the best hair care that money could buy. At least on this side of Potter Lake.

I'm just sayin', Earline, the town gossip, offered in not-so-hushed tones. I heard that she wasn't living in the marital home anymore.

Well, where's she living then? asked Dorothy Rae, seated in the chair next to her. In one arm, she cradled a plastic case full of grey rods, from which she fed her stylist when she received a tap on the shoulder.

Wait... she's living with him? Earline pursed her lips and hummed, glancing away. Not answering, but answering.

Ooh, she didn't wait long, did she? Went right from one house to the other. No stop in between to even get her bearings.

Well, why should she? She got a man willing to take her from her husband's house, said Earline. And a husband willing to let her get taken.

Dorothy's thin lips twisted into a conspiratorial smirk. That's how young women do these days, said Angela Evans, mid-press and curl. Her legs were crossed, a pair of pink sneakers peeking out from under the flowing smock with the peeling Curl&Dye logo imprinted across the front. They try marriage on for size and if it doesn't work right away, they leave.

Carl and Macey have been married for over ten years, though, I pointed out. And we all know Carl is a flirt. If he's faithful, I'm a pink unicorn.

The entire shop laughed at my half-serious comment on the situation. If the barber shop was where men gathered to bond with other men, chat about man things and dap each other up, then the beauty shop was the same for women. It was where we found solace and camaraderie, and a bit of gossip on a hot day in a full salon.

The conversation moved from the affair between Macey Raymond, wife of Potter Lake's most successful attorney and Thomas Cayhill, owner of Cayhill Building Supply, to the annual all-church fish fry to be held the following day. For a town that only boasted 6,900 residents, Potter Lake had a church on every corner. A person could visit a different church every Sunday and not run out of churches for a few months.

The fish fry wasn't just a fish fry. All manner of food—chicken, fish, pork chops, all the sides and famous desserts would be for sale. The annual event was a fund raiser for the town's recreation center and an unofficial competition between churches. Mount Pleasant Baptist had won every year for the last three years, bringing in more funds than any other church, but there'd been grumbling that it wasn't fair because they had three times the congregation of every other church in town.

Cheryl Ann's peach cobbler ain't better than mine, but folks show up to buy her out every year. I think Pastor Bell is bribing folks to come out and buy up all the food from Mount Pleasant tables. Earline was getting all worked up again. Her stylist, Tamera, chuckled while pulling rollers from her freshly washed and dried hair.

You think so? My client asked, her gentle voice riding just above the sound of the blow dryer. They never have any food left at the end of the day.

Pearl, I chided, leveling a strong side eye via the mirror at the woman in my chair. Do not encourage her. She doesn't have any proof for anything she's said today. Make that anything she's said in the last twenty years.

Oh hush. You just mad ain't nobody hangin' on to what you say.

I chuckled while running my fingers through Pearl's mane, coating it with moisturizer. I am not in competition with you, old lady. People buy up your cobbler too, and if I remember, Solid Rock sold clean out of food last year. Now, stay still so Tamera can finish your hair. I heard you have a date tonight. Who's taking you out?

I heard something about big mouth young people, and then the room darkened. I turned to find a tall figure blocking the sunlight.

Zeke standing in the doorway like he's expecting an invitation, said Earline, twisting around to stick her nose in some more business. Tamera tapped her shoulder and she righted herself, giving a slight smile in the mirror. Earline never missed her bi-weekly appointment. Though her hair may have turned a brilliant white, it was still thick and lustrous and she was vain about its upkeep. Truth be told, Earline was vain about everything.

Zeke, come in, if you're coming, I said, waving him inside before returning my hands to Pearl's hair. We're trying to get some air circulating through here and you're blocking the flow.

I waved him inside and, since he was so tall, he had to duck to enter the salon. Ezekiel Simmons was our resident salesman. Anything you needed, from electronics to music and movies, Zeke probably had it in his trunk. I'd scolded him about selling bootleg media and boosted merchandise in my shop, so I gave him the single eyebrow lift to let him know I hadn't forgotten about the warning.

Zeke gave me a slight head nod while a forest green backpack slipped from his shoulders. From inside he pulled various Ziplock bags, some stuffed with cords and cables, some holding devices still in packaging.

Afternoon, ladies. Any of y'all in need of— Zeke made a point of glancing at me before he finished his sentence, —legit electronics, accessories, movies, new tunes? I got some of those sticks you put in your TV for extra channels. He moved through the shop, handing out bags and giving the usual spiel. I got Amazon fire sticks, charge cords for your cell phones and your tablets. I got cell phones and tablets too! Talk to ya grandbabies from wherever you are.

There you go talking about grandbabies, Zeke, Angela chided, reaching for one of the bags. Not all of us are old and tired.

Who you callin' old and tired? Earline primped in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. She'd even had her eyebrows shaped. I'm going dancing at the senior center. What are you doing tonight? Warming up the left side of your couch?

Zeke, let me see one of those chargers, said Pearl. Is this one where I can charge my phone in the car?

Yes, ma'am, he answered, stepping right to her and squatting so he was eye level with her.

The clatter of voices and commotion in the shop was one of my favorite sounds. I inherited Curl&Dye from my mother, who'd inherited it from her mother. The salon once consisted of a kitchen chair set on a hastily built sunporch on the side of a little country house. When it was cold or it rained, Grandy couldn't do hair because the porch didn't have walls. Eventually, Pop enclosed the space and Grandy operated out of the house until the lines got too long.

Mama took over and moved the shop into town. Since she was the only beauty salon outside Healy and ladies had to get their hair done for Sunday church service, she always had a full shop. Women would wait for hours to get their hair done by Lee Baker.

I never intended to be third in a line of Baker women at the helm of the Curl & Dye. Running a salon was never going to be my livelihood, but three years ago, I had to leave my job at a Chicago investment firm... in a hurry. When you're dating one of the managing partners and he's about to be investigated for fraud, a small town is a great place to hide from the men in black suits and wingtips.

Potter Lake wasn't the kind of place where my business degree would matter, so I went to Healy School of Beauty, twenty miles west of Potter Lake. I learned the mechanics of hair care and was eager to bring new techniques and brands to a shop that was still using Dark & Lovely, Blue Magic Hair Grease and Pink Oil—products that had long since become taboo in the Chicago shop where I'd been a regular.

After Grandy's stroke, Mama wanted to dedicate more time to taking care of her. Not only that, but the shop just wasn't as busy as it used to be. The Curl&Dye was a Potter Lake institution, almost as old as the little town itself, but once the textile mill closed and townspeople lost their jobs, clientele started to drop off. If I didn't take over the shop, she would have closed its doors.

I took the bait. I plowed what I could into renovations, breathing life into dark, plain rooms. Bright paint went on the wall, Mama's old salon chairs got a good clean and polish, and I started recruiting stylists from Healy School of Beauty. The shop pulsed with new life for a while, but it's been slowly declining again. Noise, while a sign of good business, doesn't pay the light bill or the rent.

A shrill ring added to the sounds in the air. Since she was the closest, Tamera reached over the partition separating the front desk from the rest of the salon.

Curl & Dye, Tamera speakin'... hey there, Ms. Paulette. She winced, reaching for the appointment book. I can fit you in around five. Five thirty works fine. You want a full set? She scratched details across the block marked 5PM, then paused. A pedicure, too? We're goin' all out tonight. I got you.

Tamera dropped the phone back into its cradle and shot me a withering look. She's bringing her ugly feet in here around five thirty.

I tried to hold in my snicker, but it didn't work. The rule was that if you caught it, you took it, unless someone wanted to take it for you. Hardly anyone wanted to take Ms. Paulette.

Got to stop being so eager to answer the phone.

Got to stop putting me at this station right next to the phone. If I don't answer, I get the ugly eye like I'm the receptionist. She finished fluffing Earline's hair and handed her a small mirror. Ms. Earline, make a young stylist happy and tell me how you like your hair and these eyebrows.

Well, I think I look right nice, she declared after a few moments of close inspection. My date is going to like looking at me.

The entire shop erupted in laughter, to which Earline paid no attention. Tamera whipped the smock away with a flourish and Earline rose from the chair, little black purse in hand.

You never told us who you're going dancing with, Earline. I removed the smock from Pearl's shoulders and offered her a hand to help her stand.

And I'm not going to, because it's none of your business.

She's going out with that handsome Colonel Davis, the one that just moved here from Healy. He's in one of those new townhomes they built over on the other side of the lake.

Earline frowned. Pearl, I swear, your mouth is big as I don't know what. If only your brain was as big.

It's not like it's a secret. Y'all been having lunch every week for a month!

I hid my amusement at Earline being bested while she and Pearl paid their bill. Have a nice day ladies. Earline, I'll expect an update on tonight's date.

You can expect all you want. Don't mean you'll get it.

Come on here, old lady, said Pearl, pulling her friend out of the door and into the sunshine.

She sure don't like being gossiped about, but she'll tell you everything about everyone else, grumbled Tamera. Sometimes she'll get carried away and talk about you to your face.

I laughed, uncapped a bottle of water and took a healthy swig.

Now that Earline is gone, we can talk about her boss, said Angela. Did you hear that one of those big box stores is supposed to break ground later this year?

Wait a minute, said Tamera, pausing while cleaning up her station and waiting for Ms. Paulette to come in for her appointment. Every time I turn around, something new is going up over there. I thought we were supposed to be voting on which businesses were coming to Potter Lake.

Well, Angela continued, leaning forward. You know my husband, Eugene, sits on the city council. Apparently, the Mayor wasn't even going to show them the bids for construction. The contract went to some Healy Company that bid it out for less than it'll cost to build, so you know they're going to be taking shortcuts, using cheap material. Anyway, Eugene said it looks like it's going to be one of those one stop shop kind of places. You know, where you can get gas and groceries and some flip flops and a microwave all in one place.

I grabbed the broom from Tamera since she was just leaning against it. Mayor Adams is not doing what he said he was going to do. He said he wanted to prop up the economy by helping people open businesses on that land that's just sitting over there. He didn't say anything about selling it all off and putting Pinkney's Grocery and Gitty Up Gas and Ella's Boutique out of business. He didn't say anything about putting money in some pockets over in Healy and not hiring able-bodied folks right here in Potter Lake to do the building. The Curl & Dye is already suffering with that new co-ed salon over there⁠—

Guys N' Dolls, you mean? Angela asked.

I suppressed a shiver at the mere mention of the name of that shop. Nobody asked Kade Cavanaugh to bring his NBA money back to Potter Lake and throw it around. Let alone to open a salon, knowing good and well Curl & Dye is over here.

Angela chuckled. Well, I'm sure the Mayor was a little starstruck to know Kade was back in town. And then to know he wanted to invest some money? She shook her head, eyebrows lifted. He fell for Mayor Adams' scam hook, line and sinker.

I don't know how much of a scam it is. He's got a full salon and we don't.

Eugene went in there and got his hair cut last week on his way home from work. He said it was cheap; I said it looked cheap, like the barber took a weed wacker to his head. I told him not to go back in there, looking like who did it and why.

My head wagged slowly, side to side as I handed the broom back to Tamera. People like new and cheap, and unfortunately, that shop fits the bill.

We closed at 8 o'clock on Fridays, but unless I had appointments, I started cleaning up my station around seven. Tamera and I ended up tag teaming Paulette and her hammer toes. Gisela and Evonne, recent Healy Beauty graduates fulfilling their apprenticeship requirements, began their end-of-day routines as well.

It was a good day, ladies, I called out as I began to pull the day's receipts.

I wish it was like this every day, said Tamera, gliding a dust mop down the center of the room. She made a pass, then turned and made another one. Flyaway hair that sometimes missed the broom began to gather in a pile, ready to be scooped up and tossed away.

I know, I mused, adding up the day's take, my calculator making a loud clicking sound as my fingers flew over the keys. I've been trying to advertise on Facebook and Twitter, but hell if I know what I'm doing on there.

Evonne snorted, turning away from her station where she was untangling curling iron cords. Healy Beauty said this was the only shop in Potter Lake. If that's so, where are the younger people getting their hair done? I'm so tired of doing press and curls, I could cry.

Curl & Dye used to be the only shop in town, explained Tamera. Until Guys N' Dolls opened up. Like Leslie said, people like cheap. I guess they don't care how it looks.

Guys N' Dolls is a flash in the pan. You walk in there and take a number and sit. And wait. Guys get an ugly, cheap ass haircut, and Lord knows what's happening on the Dolls side of that shop. Ladies around here can't afford to look like just anything. You wait— I said, shaking my finger at them all. Somebody from Guys N' Dolls will give someone orange hair, or mess up a cut, or leave a texturizer in too long and their hair will fall out. They'll be back to Curl & Dye, pretending they never left.

I hope you're right, mused Tamera.

I don't, muttered Gisela, sucking her teeth and tucking away her mobile phone. Once my apprenticeship is up, I'm going over there to get a job. This place blows.

I glared at Gisela, willing myself to keep my response civil. She'd been riding my last nerve since her first day. She had a few weeks until her apprenticeship was over and I was counting down the days.

Oh really? Tamera, who often said what I was thinking, sauntered toward Gisela's station. If this place blows so much, why not pack up your shit and head over there right now?

Because... I...have to finish here first.

Tamera shrugged, stepping closer. Gisela took a minuscule step backward, but it was a step nonetheless. Her face had reddened and her eyes widened.

You seem like you're a girl with a lot of options. You got so much shit to say about where you're getting a job after you leave here. Just go now, since you're going.

I... can't... She stepped backward again, bumping into the cart where she stored her materials.

That's right. You can't. So if I was depending on a favorable review from the owner of this place to get my license, I would shut my trap about how I'm going right to our competition when I'm finished here.

I'm not obligated to love it here, Gisela shot back.

And we're not obligated to keep you here, said Tamera, speaking slowly, enunciating each word. I don't care that you've finished your coursework. You get no signature on your final papers, you get no license. And if it was up to me, you would be walking out of this shop for good tonight.

Gisela shot a desperate glance in my direction. I shrugged, then went back to my bank deposit slip. Tamera wasn't being completely truthful, but like I said, that girl had been getting on my nerves for months.

So, once again, if you just do your job, you'll finish out here just fine. But if you've got more to say on the subject, we can discuss throwing your shit into the street and you going along your merry way.

Tam. My tone told her everything I didn't need to verbalize. She backed away from Gisela, her eyes still shooting daggers.

I'm tired of her, Leslie. Tired as hell.

Take five. Go get some air. Okay?

She slammed the salon door open so hard, it bounced against the brick wall behind it and stormed out. I watched her pace the parking lot for a few moments before my gaze returned to Evonne and Gisela. Both were quiet and busy at their stations.

I finished the deposit, then rolled the chair away from the desk, grabbed two bottles of water and stepped outside. Tamera sat on the curb in front of the shop, squinting into the waning sunlight. In the distance, the lake sparkled as the sun sank below its banks, throwing shadows off of the half-constructed buildings on the other side. I shook my head, as I almost always did. A perfectly wonderful view, ruined by greed and commerce.

You know that was out of line, right? I plopped down next to her with my bottle of water and handed her one. She took it and screwed the cap off. Her mouth was still set in a terse line.

She's got a lot of nerve. We're in there talking about how the Curl & Dye is losing business and she opens her mouth about where she's going when she's done with her apprenticeship.

She's not obligated to stay, Tam. Neither of them are. It's a short term gig and after she and Evonne leave, we'll get two more.

It's not just that. I don't even want her to stay. She wants to leave, good riddance. But I hate how she rolls up here every day in her new car and new clothes, complaining about every blessed thing, as spoiled as week old milk sitting out on the counter. Some of us have more than clothes to pay for. My photography business isn't anywhere near off the ground. If we close...

She shook her head, unwilling to finish her sentence.

I wasn't willing to finish it either, out loud or in my head. I'm doing what I can, but no amount of specials and discounts is bringing our walk-in rate to where it used to be and people are starting to not show up for standing appointments.

Got to be something we can do, she muttered, her head dropping to rest on her knees.

Grandy would be devastated if she knew this place was closing.

I'm a little happy she can't know. Since her stroke, Grandy's health had been declining. Recently, Mama had to put her in a home so she could get better care.

For that matter, Mama won't be too pleased, either.

Oh Lord, she groaned. I can see Auntie Lee's big lips forming the words I told you so from a mile away.

I laughed, even though Tamera was talking about my mama. Our mothers were best friends and Tamera and I grew up as close as sisters. Gina always had a pot of something on the stove and a pitcher of something to fix what ailed you. That's what I loved about Potter Lake—the small town mentality. How we cared for each other. All of that would be lost if we let Mayor Adams turn Potter Lake into the next Healy. We liked Healy right where it was. Twenty miles away.

I stretched and yawned, then pushed myself up from the sidewalk. I say we call it an early night. How about you?

Hear, hear. You wanna get a drink? I'm in a mood and I need something to set it right.

two

KC

Hey, KC. What's good, man?

Yo, KC! Good to see you.

I strolled through my shop, a co-ed salon in a growing area of this little place called Potter Lake. I liked the view from the center aisle between two rows of red leather chairs with sterling silver pumps. Every seat was taken, every barber standing behind a client, the buzz of clippers joining the strains of hip hop streaming via satellite radio. On three different flat screen TVs, Sports Center was tuned in, but on mute. We only turned the sound on when we watched a game.

KC! You up for a lil' hoop action tonight?

I'd almost reached my office at the back of the shop when Kendrick, my head barber, hit me with an offer I couldn't refuse. I was a fiend for basketball and played every chance I got, especially on the league we'd set up last year. I couldn't play pro ball anymore, but that didn't mean I didn't still love the game. And it didn't mean I couldn't wipe the court with a few of my employees from time to time.

Who's playing? I stopped at Kendrick's chair to talk and to inspect the cut he was giving. It looked to be the standard $8 deal. No frills, no gimmicks, no extra time. In the chair... out of the chair. I was trying to get it through the thick heads of the other barbers that we made less money when they agreed to do specialty cuts. They took more time and time was money. And since I'd been without that pro ball paycheck for a while, I was eager to be in the money.

Kendrick named off a few players, fellas I'd played with before. Some from the league, some we knew from around town.

Are we playing street ball or rec center ball?

The only kind of ball there is, man. Street. They're holding that fish fry fundraiser at the park across the street from the house, so we figured a lot of guys will be around and we can get a good game going. Unless that knee has you tapping out.

I gave him my get outta here look, the twisted lip and the side eye, before I held out my palm and waited for him to smack, then grip it.

I have my brace in my gym bag. See y'all at the court around seven?

Bet. Come hungry. Monica is making chicken wings.

My eyes narrowed as I sucked in a deep breath. The honey barbecue ones?

The honey barbecue, the Sriracha, the Thai curry lime⁠—

My mouth watered at the mention of Thai curry lime. Sometimes Kendrick's wife got in a mood and made a batch of different flavored wings. After a sweaty game of basketball at the park courts, I'd cross the street and eat myself sick.

I need to go wherever you met her. Monica puts a hurtin' on some chicken wings.

Kendrick chuckled, flipping off the clippers and brushing wayward hairs from his client's neck before whipping the apron away. College, dear brother. That's where I met that sister.

I stepped away from Kendrick's chair and resumed the trek to my office. Oh, yeah. That's right. Kendrick had been my college roommate the year I dropped out and went pro. He met Monica the next year. No thanks. I left the classroom behind years ago, man.

I'm just saying... sometimes you gain more than knowledge when you sit in a classroom.

I heard Kendrick, but I wasn't really hearing him. It wasn't like I was against college. I stayed on the Dean's List at Healy University but I was there to play ball, so when it came down to a choice of being the star player on a small town University team and vying for a coveted internship at IBM and entering the NBA draft... I chose ball. Much to the disappointment of a few people in my life, but the money helped my family and being in the NBA gave me a life I could have only dreamed of.

I made it to my office and unlocked the door, dumping the handful of mail I'd picked up from the front desk on top of the stack that seemed to be growing by the day. I knew what they all said without even opening them: DELINQUENT. THIRD NOTICE. IMPORTANT.

I was ignoring them for the moment. I dropped into the chair behind my desk and pushed the stack of unopened mail further away.

Kendrick had run the register receipts a little while ago, and my lips pursed as I stared at them. We were running customers through Guys N' Dolls as fast as possible and still not hitting the numbers I wanted to hit. I'd sunk a chunk of my savings into the business and they weren't being replenished to my liking.

A soft knock sounded at the office door before it swung open and my twin sister, Teresa, walked in. TC got all of the personality. I got all of the height. I tended to withdraw unless I was on the court. Teresa was vivacious and outgoing, which made her role as Manager fitting for her. I belonged back in the office, crunching numbers.

'Sup, TC.

Not too much, she chirped, eyeing the stack of mail and then sliding the gold-flecked brown eyes that were identical to mine in my direction. I was over at the fundraiser; brought back some plates for the guys. She gestured toward the stack of mail on the desk. So you're building the Leaning Tower of Late Notices?

I slouched in the chair. It squeaked its argument as I tipped it back and glared in her direction. Man, T... don't start.

Guys N' Dolls is going to finish before it even gets started if you don't open up some of these bills and pay them. Some of them say final notice, KC. She rifled through the stack, which got on my nerves, so I