bought out Good Looks Beauty Salon’s previous owner, and now ran her own establishment. But to Renee it seemed that becoming a new owner hadn’t changed Cha-Cha’s old habits. Her stylist had still not arrived on time. While she waited, Renee observed the activity around her. On this Friday afternoon, the art deco adorned salon was packed. Clients sat reading under dryers, leaning back into wash bowls, or sitting in styling chairs, getting their hair creamed, coifed, or cut by one of the other three stylists. Laughter and idle chatter mingled with a concert of popular tunes coming from the too loud CD player. Every five minutes the telephone rang and the teenager at the desk answered it, repeating variations of the same message, “Sorry, Ma’am. Cha-Cha’s not in yet. Her appointment book is full all day today and tomorrow. Try calling back to see if she can fit you in.”
You would have thought Cha-Cha was the personal stylist for a string of Hollywood celebrities as much as she was in demand. Renee scanned the customers still waiting and hoped none were there for Cha-Cha. A forty-something brownskin woman wearing a black leather jacket and clutching a Louis Vitton handbag sat on one of the cushioned chairs opposite Renee and rested a tired head in the palm of her hand. Next to her sat a plump woman in a Washington Redskins jacket who hid all her hair under a maroon knit cap.
The door chime rang and a middle-aged, stout, liverish-colored man of average height lumbered through the door and immediately made his presence known. “Did anybody request a handsome Black man?” he grinned, with outstretched arms. “Here I am, Ladies.” He then greeted everyone in the shop with a loud, “How y’all doin’?” Renee had seen him at the shop many times before. Today he sported some mustard-yellow gabardine slacks and a matching yellow, silky shirt from his ‘seventies era’ Cavalier wardrobe. Always the flamboyant dresser, Renee had never once seen him wearing jeans or looking scruffy. He stroked his clean-shaven chin, looked around and finally sat down in the only empty chair left. Whittni, his stylist, told him she’d be ready to cut his hair in a few more minutes.
“Okay, baby. Take your time, Sugah,” he said, and smoothed his gray-tinged mustache before settling down for some social and relaxation time.
Renee knew all the girls at the shop who worked with Cha-Cha—Whittni, Takara, and Nadine. She had also become familiar with some of the regular customers, including this gentleman. Whittni called him Mr. Woods but he said his name was Alonzo Woods or Al to all his friends. He always got Whittni to shampoo and cut his hair and would wait however long it took for her to get to him. Renee suspected he preferred the beauty parlor to the barbershop down the street because he wanted to be in the company of the ladies. On a number of occasions Renee heard him brag that he drove an 18-wheel tractor-trailer as a top feeder driver for United Delivery Service (UDS). She found him overly friendly to the point of being sickening. He made her uncomfortable with his flirtations and sexual overtones. Renee was glad that Whittni chatted with him as she worked on her other customer’s hair. His heavy-lidded eyes closed at times as he spoke. Alonzo Woods always looked like he needed a nap.
Whittni had a pleasant face and usually wore long braids. Today’s style was a handful of braids pulled at the crown in a ponytail while the bottom half of her braids touched her shoulder blades. She rarely made her customers wait more than ten minutes, so Renee figured she wouldn’t have to put up with Mr. Woods’ endless prattle for much longer.
“Lawd, there must be some ugly women out there ‘cause God gave you all they looks, Sistuh,” he grinned at Renee, revealing brownish yellow stains on his teeth, no doubt from years of heavy smoking in his younger days.
Renee tried to conceal her dislike for him and politely said thank
You would have thought Cha-Cha was the personal stylist for a string of Hollywood celebrities as much as she was in demand. Renee scanned the customers still waiting and hoped none were there for Cha-Cha. A forty-something brownskin woman wearing a black leather jacket and clutching a Louis Vitton handbag sat on one of the cushioned chairs opposite Renee and rested a tired head in the palm of her hand. Next to her sat a plump woman in a Washington Redskins jacket who hid all her hair under a maroon knit cap.
The door chime rang and a middle-aged, stout, liverish-colored man of average height lumbered through the door and immediately made his presence known. “Did anybody request a handsome Black man?” he grinned, with outstretched arms. “Here I am, Ladies.” He then greeted everyone in the shop with a loud, “How y’all doin’?” Renee had seen him at the shop many times before. Today he sported some mustard-yellow gabardine slacks and a matching yellow, silky shirt from his ‘seventies era’ Cavalier wardrobe. Always the flamboyant dresser, Renee had never once seen him wearing jeans or looking scruffy. He stroked his clean-shaven chin, looked around and finally sat down in the only empty chair left. Whittni, his stylist, told him she’d be ready to cut his hair in a few more minutes.
“Okay, baby. Take your time, Sugah,” he said, and smoothed his gray-tinged mustache before settling down for some social and relaxation time.
Renee knew all the girls at the shop who worked with Cha-Cha—Whittni, Takara, and Nadine. She had also become familiar with some of the regular customers, including this gentleman. Whittni called him Mr. Woods but he said his name was Alonzo Woods or Al to all his friends. He always got Whittni to shampoo and cut his hair and would wait however long it took for her to get to him. Renee suspected he preferred the beauty parlor to the barbershop down the street because he wanted to be in the company of the ladies. On a number of occasions Renee heard him brag that he drove an 18-wheel tractor-trailer as a top feeder driver for United Delivery Service (UDS). She found him overly friendly to the point of being sickening. He made her uncomfortable with his flirtations and sexual overtones. Renee was glad that Whittni chatted with him as she worked on her other customer’s hair. His heavy-lidded eyes closed at times as he spoke. Alonzo Woods always looked like he needed a nap.
Whittni had a pleasant face and usually wore long braids. Today’s style was a handful of braids pulled at the crown in a ponytail while the bottom half of her braids touched her shoulder blades. She rarely made her customers wait more than ten minutes, so Renee figured she wouldn’t have to put up with Mr. Woods’ endless prattle for much longer.
“Lawd, there must be some ugly women out there ‘cause God gave you all they looks, Sistuh,” he grinned at Renee, revealing brownish yellow stains on his teeth, no doubt from years of heavy smoking in his younger days.
Renee tried to conceal her dislike for him and politely said thank
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