Zena Wynn: Tameka's Smile

“Hey man, I’m sorry. You’re right. Ms. Emma was much too nice for me to be talking about her kin like that. She’d have been the first one to knock some sense into me had she heard.

Thanks for not saying anything to Rome. We cool?”

“Yeah.” He held out his hand to Bull and they shook hands.

“You hit the road before Rome comes out to see what’s keeping you. Keep howling and I’ll catch you on the flip side.” Bull saluted him, turned and walked off.

Chad drove off, glad he hadn’t needed to provide an excuse for his behavior. The last thing he wanted to do was explain about Tameka. It was all too new and he didn’t completely understand himself why she called to him the way that she did.

He only knew that he couldn’t back off. Couldn’t let her go.

Once she understood that she was his, he’d tell the world about them.

Tameka lifted her arms above her head, yawned, and languidly stretched herself semi-awake. The move shifted the covers down to her waist. She slumped back into the mattress.

The cool air felt good on her bare breasts.

She sleepily cupped her breasts, rubbing the nipples with her thumbs. Mmm, that felt good. She felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so well rested. Her hands slid from her breasts to her waist, gliding on smooth, bare skin. Bare skin?

She jerked to a sitting position and looked under the covers.

Her whole body was bare. Where was the big, floppy t-shirt she usually slept in? She never went to bed naked. What if the house caught on fire and she had to run out in the middle of the night?

She didn’t want to be worried about finding clothes if the worst were to happen.

Not only was she naked, but her body was all sticky, especially between her legs, like she’d recently had intercourse.

Sex. Chad. Oh lord, she’d slept with Officer Handsome. Shaking her head, she corrected herself. She’d had sex with Deputy Wilson. She smacked herself upside the head since there was no one there to do it for her. “God, Meka, what were you thinking?” She had sex, unprotected sex, with the officer who’d molested her on the side of the road. God, was she that desperate? Apparently, she was. She should have closed the door in his face when she saw who it was. But that would have been rude. After all, he brought me dinner. Okay, maybe not then, but after they’d eaten. But he was still watching Speed , his all-time favorite movie. Alright, definitely after the movie finished. She should have hustled his butt right out the door. Then you would have missed his kiss. The man did know how to kiss.

“Arrrggghh! Just face it, Meka. You were putty in the man’s hands after the first orgasm. He could have stripped you naked and took you in the middle of the road and all you would have said is ‘more, harder, please.’ You are so pathetic.” She rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, determined to wash the memory of his touch off of her body. She had things to do today and sitting around mooning over Deputy Chad Wilson was not on her to-do list.

She needed to find a job. She was a licensed hairdresser, so she wasn’t worried about finding work. She just needed a location to set up shop. Her home was located almost halfway between Refuge and Colbyville, although Refuge was closer.

She’d start with the shops there. With gas prices the way they were, she’d much rather drive the fifteen minutes it took to reach Refuge than the twenty-five minutes it would take to take to reach Colbyville.

She dressed and paid special attention to her hair. You could tell a lot about a hairdresser simply by the way they styled their own hair. Then she headed for the kitchen to pour a glass of juice and toast some bread before leaving. On the refrigerator was a note.

I’m sorry I had to leave this morning before you woke. I have duty today. I programmed my numbers into your cell and home phone. If you need me, just call. Otherwise, I’ll see you after work. Chad.

He wouldn’t. She rushed to her purse and grabbed her cell phone. He did. In the directory was three numbers: Chad cell, Chad work, and Chad home. Same thing with her cordless phone. She stared at the phone, mightily tempted to erase them, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. The man had some kind of hold over her.

Yeah, and we know right where it’s centered, don’t we? her libido whispered.

“Oh, shut up!” she told it and walked out the door.

In Refuge, she parked in front of Miss Lulu’s House of Style. Although the shop was open, there weren’t any customers.

Typical Monday. No matter what the location, Mondays were always slow business days for hairdressers.

The bell on the door tinkled when she opened it, and a voice called out, “Be right with you.”

Tameka took the opportunity to study the shop. To the immediate right of the door was a waiting area with seating for twelve. That was a good sign. It meant she got plenty of customers. To the left was the register. Behind a half-wall with plants hanging from the ceiling was where the stations were located. There were four, each with its own barber-styled chair, a huge mirror, and plenty of storage space and outlets for supplies.

In the back and to the left were two bowls for washing hair, and along the wall on the right were the dryers, of which there were five. Beyond that were three doors, one of which was closed, containing either an office or supply closet. Tameka guessed the former when an elderly, African-American lady entered the room through it.

“Hi, I’m Ms. Luella. My friends call me Lulu. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you needed any help, or do you rent out your stations? I’m new in town and looking for a place to set up shop.”

Ms. Lulu slid her glasses to the tip of her nose and gazed at her with sharp, intelligent brown eyes over their rim. “What’s your name, honey?”

“Tameka Jones.”

A big grin filled her face. “Land sakes. Meka? Give me a hug, honey-child. Me and your grandma Emma were great friends. Told me all about you. I feel like I know you myself.

Too bad you couldn’t get this way to visit while she was living, but she’ll shole be glad you’re living here now.” Tameka found herself gathered against the large bosom of Ms. Lulu in a bear hug.

“Come over here and sit a spell. Tell me ‘bout yourself. You doing hair? I thought Emma said you went to school and got some big, fancy degree? Some kind of doctor, weren’t you?” She pulled Tameka over to the waiting area, pushed her into a chair and sat beside her.

A bit overwhelmed, Tameka wasn’t sure where to start. She decided to answer the last question first. “Yes, ma’am. I got a degree in psychology and practiced for a while. I studied cosmetology in high school, got my license and used it to support myself while in school. I discovered I’d rather be doing hair. It’s less hassle, less headaches, and I still listen to people’s problems. Only now, no one’s paying me to give them my opinion and I can’t be sued if they don’t like what I say.” Ms. Lulu threw back her head and laughed while slapping her thigh. “Ain’t that the gospel truth,” she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. “When do you want to start?”

“Ma’am?” The abrupt switch of topics left her off balance.

“Not ma’am. That’s my momma, God bless her soul. Call me Lulu. Everybody does. I said, when can you start?”

“You don’t want to see pictures of my work first? I have a photo album in the car.”

“No, baby. You’re family. Of course I’ll hire you. I know you’re good and you’ll breathe new life into this shop. I can’t do a lot of the newer hairstyles. These old fingers just won’t cooperate. But once word gets out that you’re here, a lot of the youngsters that go into Colbyville to get their hair done will come here instead. You just let me know what days and hours you want to work and I’ll schedule you in.” They discussed salary and came to an acceptable arrangement. Tameka would draw an hourly wage until she built up her clientele. Afterwards, she and Lulu would discuss a price list for services and Tameka would pay her a set percentage for each. The rest, as well as any tips earned, would be hers to keep.