Read Online Rock Star by Roslyn Hardy Holcomb - Free Book Online

another one. It took some doing, but his persistence eventually won her over, especially when he offered to drive as an incentive. Callie hated driving, viewing the activity as a colossal waste of time. He smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction to L.A. traffic where it was commonplace to spend hours in gridlock each day. She’d been exasperated, and he suspected maybe even a bit uncomfortable with the idea of taking a white man to a black beauty establishment, but she’d agreed. During the trip over to Huntsville, she’d told him that he was probably the first white man who had ever been in this salon.
    He’d had no idea that watching a woman get her hair washed could be such a sexually stimulating experience. He reflected on the double shower in his home in California and imagined giving Callie a shampoo within its steamy confines. He could almost feel Callie’s coily hair against his bare flesh and became immediately aroused. He was disturbed from his reverie only when he heard the beautician ask Callie who he was. He couldn’t hear Callie’s response, but it sounded like a fairly noncommittal one. It seemed to satisfy the beautician anyway. After Callie paid for her service and they turned to leave, he heard the woman mutter under her breath, “Well, what’s the sense of having a white man if he can’t even pay for you to get your hair fixed!”
    Callie had paused and turned as if to say something to the woman, then shook her head as if thinking better of it. In his truck on the way home, Callie made a frustrated sound then said, “See, that’s why I didn’t want to take you with me! You hang out with a white guy, everybody assumes he’s taking care of you.”
    Bryan couldn’t believe his ears. “You mean people just assume that black women are only with white men for money?”
    “Exactly! Like I’m some type of whore or something. It just pisses me off.”
    “Why didn’t you say something to her about it then?”
    “What would be the point? If somebody thinks you’re a whore, what can you do to convince them otherwise?”
    His confusion evident, Bryan asked, “But, why would they assume that?”
    “Bryan, you mean to tell me you’ve read all those books about the Civil War, and you don’t know anything about slavery and the relationships between black women and white men?” Callie snapped, disbelief evident in her tone. “You know, the masters in the slave cabin?” she added sarcastically.
    “Of course I do. But what does that have to do with us, almost two hundred years later?”
    Callie blew out a harsh breath. This was maddening. “Forget about it!”
    “No, I don’t want to forget about it. I mean, I’ve noticed the looks we get, but I didn’t know that folks were thinking that you were a whore or something. I guess I’m just used to being stared at.” He thought about the ramifications of the issue for a moment, and then continued, his breath whistling between his teeth. “But now I’m pissed. How dare they jump to those sorts of conclusions?”
    Callie was in no mood to explain why this ancient history still had an impact today. “Bryan, why are you sweating this? It’s not like we’re a couple or anything, so I don’t know why it concerns you at all.”
    “Well, it does concern me. I—I care about you, and if being with me makes people think less of you, then yes, it does concern me.”
    Callie, not really wanting to think about that statement, continued as if he had not spoken. “That’s just the way it is, Bryan. In case you haven’t noticed it, white men have always had a much higher social position than black women in this country. Black women certainly aren’t the beauty standard. Most folks see us as either sex objects or baby-making welfare queens. If a white man is with us, it has to be for easy sex. Otherwise he would be with the much-preferred white woman. So they figure we’re living out some jungle fever fantasy with sex as the only common