The Dirty Divorce (5 page)

I shook my head. “No, it was one of Rich’s “baby I love you, I’m sorry” type of gift. You know how men are. I’ve been saying the same shit over and over.”

“Shit, girl I know that’s right. I wouldn’t ever trip off what that nigga, Rich did if I was you, especially if you get gifts like that. Every time you come in here you got some new shit on. Rich that nigga,” she said with a little hate in her voice. She then picked up her phone and started texting.

Yeah, he’s that nigga alright, I thought. Although Trixie was loud, ghetto, and known to be out there with lots of men, she was still a good friend with a heart of gold. Ever since meeting her ten years ago, I knew I could count on her whenever I needed anything.

“You’re crazy.” I began to look around. “Damn, the shop looks like you ran into some major dough. Tell me all about it,” I said sitting in her chair.

I tried to focus on Trixie’s life because I never liked to talk about Rich at the salon. I would share things with her privately, but didn’t go there in public too much. Besides, Trixie loved attention, so I let her get her shine on. She told me about Mike, her latest boyfriend and how he hit the number and surprised her with an early Christmas present, remodeling her salon. The shop looked amazing. The décor was very modern with cherry wood stations and black and white paintings of various female artists hanging throughout. The waiting area was comfortable with plasma T.V.’s and plush brown leather sofas and chairs. There was even a dining area with vending machines and café style pedestal tables with bar stools.

“What the hell? Did you let Jermaine from Hairsport do your hair? When you were ready to cut off those locks, you should’ve let me do it,” Trixie said pulling off my baseball cap.

“Girl, no. It’s a long story, and something I don’t want to talk about.”

There had always been competition between Trixie’s shop, Natural Potions, and Hairsport. I’d been going to Hairsport ever since we moved to Upper North West four years ago. Not only was it easier to get to, but Jermaine did such a great job. Trixie knew damn well that Jermaine wouldn’t have cut my hair like that, so I felt like she was trying to come at me with an insult. Then again, I didn’t know if it was just my insecurities of being used to long hair. My jet black hair always fell down my back and I just didn’t feel like myself. Searching through the December Edition of Black Hair magazine, I was undecided on how I wanted it cut.

Staring out into thin air, I began to notice how much the salon had been upgraded since the last time I was there. Christmas decorations laced the place inside and out, with a Bose sound system blasting Christmas carols. A shop that was once a hole in the wall; somewhere you went because you were dedicated to your stylist, now felt like a palace. With the complimentary champagne and chocolate covered strawberries being passed around, it was obvious Trixie had a come up. Her new man, Mike, must’ve thought he had him a good girl, and I wasn’t mad at her game. He never came around, but she spoke of him often. I probably would’ve thought he didn’t exist if I hadn’t seen her ass pregnant. At the moment, I saw her youngest daughter running past us. She had to be around three years old.

“Oh my gosh, Trixie that’s the baby. Look how big she is now. Come here, cutie,” I said holding my arms out. “She’s so pretty.”

“Thanks. Come here Nita, and say hi to Miss Lisa,” Trixie instructed.

I smiled. “Hi, Miss Nita. How old are you?” When I placed her on my lap, she put three fingers up.

“You’re not three silly, you just turned two,” Trixie answered for her.

“She must look just like her father Trixie, because she looks nothing like you. I mean she has your eyes, and your complexion but that’s it.” I figured the guy Mike was the father, but didn’t want to say his name just in case he wasn’t. Trixie definitely had a lot of men.

“Yeah, she does, but it’s okay because her father is fine.” Trixie looked at her daughter.

“That’s Mama’s baby.” She looked at her oldest daughter, then pointed across the room.

“Toya, come get your lil’ sister and take her in the lounge.” Once they finally walked away, she turned her attention back to my hair. “Speaking of daughters, how’s Denie?”

“A handful. She acts just like her damn father,” I replied. “Actually she’s supposed to be on her way up here.”

“I haven’t seen her in so long. You never bring her up here to get her hair done.”

I was too embarrassed to tell her the real reason why Denie and I weren’t allowed in the salon. Before I could continue, I saw Marisol and Denie walk into the shop. “Speak of the devil, there she is right there. Marisol, Denie, I’m over here.” I motioned for them to come toward us.

“Well damn, if that girl don’t look just like her father. She’s growing into a little woman,” Trixie complimented. “She got those deep dimples like him and everything.”

I looked at Denie’s light cinnamon complexion. “Yeah, she’s definitely Rich’s daughter. He can’t deny that,” I replied. “Hey, Denie,” I said. Denie of course didn’t acknowledge me at all. Instead, she sat down and immediately began watching television.

“So, I haven’t seen you in weeks, and you can’t even say hi?” I asked. Denie and I had a rocky relationship. It had been that way ever since Rich got locked up a few years ago.

“Is there a problem, Denie?” Marisol finally asked. She didn’t tolerate Denie’s disrespectful ways.

“Hi,” Denie responded in a nonchalant tone.

“What’s up, Marisol? Are you getting your hair done?” Trixie asked.

Trixie looked Marisol up and down. Of course Marisol walked in the shop like she’d just stepped right off of Rodeo Drive. She had on a chinchilla fur bomber with some Robin’s jeans and Alexaner McQueen boots. Her makeup was flawless and her hair was highlighted with blonde streaks. She never removed her oversized Chanel sunglasses.

“Trixie, why the hell do you always look at me up and down every time I come in here?” Marisol questioned. “And no…you know I get my hair done in Cali.” Marisol gave Trixie much attitude, which she did every time they saw each other. They could never get along for some reason. Even though Marisol lived on the West Coast most of the time, when she was in town, she stayed far away from Trixie.

I tried to smooth over the situation and asked Marisol how I should get my hair done. Before Marisol could answer, Trixie interrupted.

“Girl, we need to get some weave in this head.” Trixie held my hair up as if it was some type of bad experiment, then ran her fingers through her own untamed weave. Although she was a hairdresser, her own hair never seemed to be in place.

“Please, Rich doesn’t like weave girl. He would have a fit if I came home with that,” I responded.

“Lisa, why didn’t you just go to Jermaine? If Trixie has been doing your hair this long, she should know that Rich doesn’t like that shit,” Marisol interjected. “Especially if it’s gonna end up looking like hers.”

“Marisol, I don’t know what your problem is, but this is my shop and you will respect me. I ain’t never done shit to you. Not yet, anyway,” Trixie added.

“Sweetheart, stay in your lane, because you don’t know who you’re fucking with,” Marisol countered.

All I could do was shake my head. This was the normal back and forth cattiness that took place between the two women.

“Denie, let’s go to the nail salon. We can come back to meet your mother.” Marisol looked toward me. “Lisa, call me when you’re done,” she said in a very calm, but chilling tone.

Females would test Marisol all the time because she was a pretty woman. Thick in all the right places, she had 36D breasts, a small waist, and a beautiful smile to match, but she could be cold and would blast somebody in a minute. She was definitely a ride or die chick and had no problem with pulling a trigger. Even with three kids all under the age of five, that still didn’t stop her from being ruthless. She definitely wasn’t a soccer mom.

To avoid anymore drama, I got up and immediately asked Marisol if we could talk outside, and she agreed.

“Marisol, what’s wrong. Stop acting like that before Trixie fucks up my hair on purpose. What’s your issue with her anyway? You all have never gotten along.”

“Lisa, I love you and you know you’re my girl, but I just don’t trust that bitch. Never have.”

“But you’ve never even tried to get to know her. Trixie’s cool. We’ve been friends for years. I mean she’s got a lot of issues, but who doesn’t.”

“Whatever. I’ll never forget what that bitch did when we were in Vegas for All-Star a few years ago. Remember I told you about when me and Carlos were at a party at the club Pure and she kept being disrespectful trying to come at him right in front of me.”

“Refresh my memory, what happened?” I tried to play along even though I remembered Marisol telling me about the entire incident. I just didn’t want her to think that I’d written the whole situation off.

“Remember, I said we were at the party doing our thing; sipping champagne, partying, and that bitch came up to the table and started trying to come at Carlos right in front of me. After he told her he was good, the bitch told him that she bet her pussy was better than mine.” Marisol bit down on her bottom lip. “If it wasn’t for Carlos pulling me away that night, I would’ve wiped the floor with her ass.”

“Yeah, now I remember. Girl, you’re still tripping about that. When you pulled her card the next day, she told you she was drunk.”

Marisol swung her long cinnamon brown hair over her shoulder. “Trust me…it wasn’t the liquor. I can tell in her eyes that she meant that shit. The only reason why I haven’t beat her ass by now is not only because of you, but I’m really trying to watch my temper. Besides, I don’t need no bitches pressing charges on me and fucking up my bread, so I’m trying to avoid the bullshit.” Marisol was definitely a go-hard type of chick; straight from the Bronx with thick Spanish roots.

“Well, try and let it go…for me. Maybe she really was drunk. Otherwise, I don’t think she would’ve disrespected you.” I hated to make up excuses for Trixie, but I just wasn’t in the mood for anymore drama. I had enough of that shit going on with Rich.

“I can’t stand to be around her. That’s why me and Denie are going to the nail salon across the street. Hit me on my cell when you’re done.”

At that moment, Denie walked outside. “How long are we gonna be here, because I need to see my Dad?”

“I’m not sure Denie, but it will be a while,” I answered as pleasant as I could.

“Well, Aunt Marisol can you drop me off at home, because I don’t have time to wait while she gets her hair done. I got things to do,” Denie replied.

“Denie, didn’t we talk about you showing your mother some respect,” Marisol interjected before I could respond.

Instead of creating a scene in front of the salon, I told Marisol after she and Denie finished at the nail salon, she could take Denie home.

“Are you sure because you know Denie don’t run shit around here?” Marisol gave Denie a look that said, I dare your ass to say something else.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m not in the mood for Denie today,” I said folding my arms. The chill in the air gave me an indication that it was time to go back inside.

A few seconds later, I sat back down in Trixie’s chair.

“Girl, I was giving you three more minutes before I moved on to another client,” Trixie said popping some gum.

“I’m sorry. I had to get some things straight with Marisol. I apologize the way she came off.”

Trixie rolled her eyes. “Please…I’m used to it. Chicks hate on me all the time girl, so it’s all good.”

It took everything I had to hold my laugh in. Although Trixie had what most men would call a video vixen body, her eyebrows were entirely too thick and the fake gray contacts she wore were completely over the top. However, the girl could put together an outfit. Speaking from someone who had Neiman Marcus on speed dial, we had the same expensive taste.

“Now, what kind of weave do you want? Trixie questioned. “We can do it straight and maybe cut some bangs or I could layer it.”

“No, I don’t know how Rich will feel about weave. I mean he loves long hair, but a weave Trixie.” The moment I mentioned Rich’s name, all eyes in the salon were on me for some reason.

“Girl, you need to get a Beyonce look for the holidays. I know you used to having long hair, so how you gonna go home with a short cut, knowing your man was obsessed with that hair. Besides, you never told me what happened,” Trixie pried again.

“It doesn’t matter what happened. Okay go ahead and do your thing, but don’t make me un-beweavable.” We both laughed.

I finally let Trixie convince me in to getting a complete weave. I needed a new look anyway so I figured it probably wasn’t such a bad thing. Since my husband was obsessed with Beyonce anyway, Trixie figured he’d like the look she was going for. Little did she know, it was no longer about what Rich liked. I was finally living for me and I needed a change.

This new process of a hairdo was never what I expected. I had no idea that a weave took as long as it did. From the main wash and conditioning treatment, back and forth sitting under the dryer for color processing, then getting a trim, braiding, sewing the weave in, cutting and styling, the process was well over four hours. This wasn’t the norm for me and I was beyond restless. Not to mention, I had to constantly listen to Trixie talk about how her baby’s father had just bought her the new 2009 Mercedes convertible SL 500 and how I had to come out to their new house in Ft. Washington for her holiday party. Needing to see what her new man looked like before she kicked him to the curb like all the rest, I gladly accepted her invitation. Hell, I needed to get out of the house for a drink anyway. I knew Rich wasn’t going to tag along and that was fine with me.

Leaving the shop, I felt better and my new hairdo looked fabulous. It was very different for me, so I knew it would take some getting used to. The braids from the weave were so tight that it made my head ache, but I loved the long layers, and loose curls. With its jet black color, I looked like one of those Kardashian sisters instead of a mother, but anything beat that chopped up hair style I had before. After the valet brought my BMW around, I jumped in feeling confident. Fumbling through the radio stations I landed on 93.9. They were playing Keyshia Cole’s song, Should’ve Let You Go. Listening to the lyrics of the song made me really feel that what Rich and I had was gone, and that it was really over. I just needed to find a way out of my dead end marriage.