All About Eva (11 page)

After lunch with Kyle, I went back to Vance's apartment and took a long, hard look in the mirror.

Tired of random cracks about the state of my raggedy-ass weave, I wondered just what to do to remedy the situation.

Should I spend my last few coins on a nice lace-front wig, or take my chances and go to Supercuts. Hell, does Supercuts even do weaves?

I used several of my pay-as-you-go cell phone minutes to call Helene for an appointment for a full weave. No, I still did not have the funds to afford her services, but she owed me one. I remembered how she was always saying that because of all the clients I had helped bring into the salon by way of referral that I was entitled to a complimentary hairdo—free of charge.

I do not know if it was just something for Helene to say at the time, thinking that I would never actually hold her to it, but it was time for her to pay up.

“I'm sorry, Eva, but Helene is booked solid for the next three months, but we will definitely call you if an unexpected opening comes up in her schedule,” said Liz, Helene's receptionist and right-hand woman.

“What? That's new! Since when has Helene ever been too busy to squeeze me in?” I asked. “Hello?”

I didn't get an answer, because Liz had hung up on me, which was also a first. What the hell was going on?

If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that I was being blackballed from the salon, but I gave Helene the benefit of the doubt since she had been doing my hair for years. Not only was I a good, paying customer, but the total sum of money that I had given her over the years was more than enough to have paid for that new shiny Lexus that she recently bought.

Convinced that it was all just a misunderstanding that would be cleared up once I got to the salon, I borrowed Vance's car once again.

Helene Lamar's Hair Studio is a loud, lively place, but when I walked in all the chatter came to an abrupt halt. Including staff and clients, there were about thirty women in there, most of whom I had chatted with on several occasions, and they were all giving me the stank-eye as if I had personally done something wrong to each and every one of them.

“Nobody speaking today?” I asked jokingly, and I could have sworn I heard crickets.

The tension was so palpable, you could dip it with a spoon.

Liz was manning the front desk, and became so nervous when she saw me that she spilled her coffee all over her work area. Liz averted her eyes and wouldn't even look me in the face as she mopped up the mess she had made. She was an older woman in her late fifties and brought to mind one of those fraggles from the
Fraggle Rock
show that was on back in the day.

“How are you today, Liz,” I asked cheerfully. “Is it the coffee that has you so jittery?”

Finally, Liz forced herself to smile and meet my gaze head-on.

“Oh, Eva, hey . . . !” she said as if she had just noticed me standing there. “I'm sorry you made a trip up here for nothing, but like I told you on the phone, Helene is booked up so far into the future that I have no idea when we can get you in.”

“I understand that.” I smiled. “And that is exactly why I want to speak to Helene myself.”

Without further ado, I marched back to the private room where Helene works her magic and walked in to find her with needle and thread in hand, sewing hair into Zoë's head.

“I told you that she was the type of bitch who couldn't take a hint.” Zoë sneered, looking up at me through the weft of hair dangling in her face.

“You're damn right, Zoë, and since we're all here why don't you tell me what it is you think I need to know.”

“Okay, cool! I think you're a basic, bottom-feeding bitch, and I can't
wait
until you and your shyster-ass boyfriend get everything you deserve!” Zoë said, practically foaming at the mouth. “I should have known better than to let some common, trashy bitch like you infiltrate my clique.”

“Let me tell you something, you shallow, idiotic bitch! I considered you a friend, and there is no way that I would have allowed you to invest with Donovan if I had known what he was up to. The truth is, you made a bad business decision and now you're looking for someone else to blame besides yourself and Donovan,” I said, taking note that everyone in the salon was ear-hustling, and some women had even come out from under their dryers to listen to the exchange I was having with Zoë. “For the record, I didn't have anything to do with that shit, and I'm as shocked and pissed off as everybody else. Now, all you nosy, backbiting heifers go run and tell that!”

Zoë jumped up and swung at me, barely grazing the side of my cheek with her fist. It didn't hurt. Love taps is what we call them back in Chi-Town, but it did make me angrier. I grabbed a handful of Zoë's hair, twisted it around my hand, and pulled for all I was worth.

Helene is a big, strong woman, so she was able to break up the tussle single-handedly. Without breaking a sweat, she pinned my arms behind my back like an arresting officer and hustled me out of the salon and onto the sidewalk.

As a teenager, I was kicked out of school a couple of times, out of movie theaters, and even a city bus for being too rowdy with my little friends, but this was a new, embarrassing low.

“Look, Eva, I'm sorry about all this because I believe you, I really do, but you have to understand that this situation that your boyfriend is involved in is deep. It's like September eleventh, where if you weren't affected personally, then you at least knew someone who knew someone else that was,” Helene said. She went on to say that not only had Zoë invested and lost her entire trust fund to Dorsey Capital Management, but that Zoë's parents also invested heavily with Donovan and have also been so financially ruined by this that they refuse to discuss it publicly and have quietly put Zoë's grand apartment in Manhattan's Turtle Bay on the Sotheby's auction block.

“That's absolutely horrible,” I said, “because I love Zoë's parents and I love her too, but this is some bullshit, Helene. You mean to tell me that I can't even come here to get my fucking hair done?”

Helene sighed, looking like she was literally stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“Unfortunately, that's just the way it has to be right now, because I can't afford for my business to be tainted by having fights all up in here like what just occurred,” said Helene, parting my scalp with her fingers to access what was going on with my head.

“It's a mess, right?”

“Mmm-hmm . . . but listen, maybe when things settle down and are all sorted out, say in about a year or two, then you can come back and I'll welcome you with open arms, because you know, you my girl!” Helene laughed, trying to bring some humor to the situation that was anything but funny.

Helene gave me a farewell hug and left me standing on the sidewalk. I felt lost and alone, like a little girl abandoned in rush-hour traffic. Figuratively speaking, it was like yet another death. Helene and I had been more than just hairstylist and client. We confided in and supported each other through our ups and downs, highs and lows.

I had dutifully brought Helene organic chicken soup from Whole Foods after both of her fibroid removal surgeries, supported her through the death of her father, and was a shoulder to cry on when Luis, her Latin lover, maxed out all her credit cards and then left her for Kitty, who had been one of her top stylists at the salon.

No worries. My stress levels were at an all-time high, and my self-esteem was at an all-time low, but I was not going to cry, and I damn sure wasn't going to let these people break me. I jumped back in the Benz and drove over to Essence Hair Salon, a Dominican spot up on Flatbush Avenue and Eastern Parkway, where I had heard that Liza, the owner, was legendary for whipping hair into a frenzy.

She did not disappoint.

After a lengthy consultation, I told Liza to do what she does best as far as cut and style goes, and she immediately went to work.

None of that sitting around leafing through magazines for an hour before Helene even bothered to touch my head.

It cost me fifty bucks and two hours of my time for Liza to take down my old, busted-up weave and to wash and deep condition my natural hair and cut it into a bone straight, asymmetrical side-swept bob that was tapered in the back, which was a look I would have never asked for but was glad she decided that's what was best for me. My new hair was a mixture of contemporary rocker chic and was reminiscent of Salt-N-Pepa in the “Push It” video. It was low maintenance, but still cute and stylish.

It was freeing for me. One less thing to worry about and I loved it!

I felt good after getting my hair done, and was excited about my party-hosting debut at Visions later that night, but the feeling did not last long. I pulled Vance's Mercedes into his building's parking garage and was horrified to see that the white Nissan truck that he used as his everyday vehicle was parked in the empty spot that the Mercedes should have been in.

I was so busted.

Vance worked long hours and usually did not make it home at least until around eight
PM
, and it was only a little after six o'clock. I didn't know Vance that well, but I figured something major must have happened to cause him to come home early.

I let myself into the apartment and walked in on Vance pacing back and forth, furiously waving a magazine around, and yelling into his cell phone. “That's not my problem, Roger, it's yours. You know as well as I do that this story on Donovan is full of lies and half truths, and I want a retraction in next month's issue, or you can expect a lawsuit.... You're damn right I'm going to file it on my client's behalf!”

Vance handed me the magazine he had been holding, and I immediately saw what all the fuss was about.

It was the latest edition of
Black Enterprise Magazine,
hot off the presses with the cover story “The Rise and Fall of Donovan Dorsey.”

There was a nice photo of Donovan on the cover, one the magazine had obviously taken from a photo shoot with Donovan a year before for a feature named “Leaders in Business.” In the photo, Donovan was dressed in an immaculate black cashmere suit with a lavender tie.

His crossed arms portrayed confidence, and he stared into the camera with a cocky, one-sided smile that some people could have interpreted as condescending. And they would have been right, because it was.

While Vance raved and ranted on the phone, I sat down on the sofa and read the article from beginning to end.

It was all standard stuff, and it all seemed pretty factual to me.

“What's the problem with this?” I asked Vance when he had finally finished with his phone call.

“Nothing, but it wouldn't have looked good for me to sit back and not say anything,” Vance said. “Donovan has the deck stacked high against him right now, so the best way to create doubt of his guilt in people's minds is to deny, deny, deny, and object to
everything.
”

“Good strategy,” I said, even though I was thinking that lawyers were some shrewd, two-faced sonof-abitches. Mama Nita always said that they could not be trusted as far as you could see them.

“So, how was your day?” asked Vance in a way that let me know he was about to lay into me about taking his car without permission.

“Hey, I'm sorry about not asking to use your car before taking it, but an emergency came up and I had to get there as quickly as possible,” I said, which was the complete truth, because my hair emergency really was quite critical.

“Okay, well, this is a good time for us to set some ground rules since we are roommates, in a sense. First, no more borrowing any of my cars without permission, and second, all closed doors are to be knocked on
before
entering.”

“Gotcha!” I said, “But you should know that I did knock on your bedroom door this morning, but I evidently knocked harder than I intended to, and it just flew open.”

“Yeah, that door doesn't catch all the way sometimes, but from now on, I'll make sure that it's closed all the way, and locked on top of that.”

“Same here, but it's not like I'm going to sneak into your room in the middle of the night and molest you.”

“Well, one can never be too sure,” Vance said cheekily, which cut the tension and made both of us laugh. “By the way, I like your new haircut. It becomes you.”

I ran my hand over my newly shorn locks, and smiled. “Why, thank you,” I said. “And since you're in a much better mood than when I came in, can I borrow your car tonight for my first day of work at Visions?”

“Visions, the nightclub?”

“Yeah . . .” I said expectantly.

“Oh, no, that's out of the question. I don't even drive my cars to nightclubs because that's when they are more likely to be stolen or damaged in some way,” Vance said, always the lawyer. “As a matter of fact, can I have my car keys, please? I need to go check Lola for any dents or scratches.”

“Lola?” I raised an eyebrow as I dropped the set of keys in his hand.

“Yeah, I name all of my cars. The Mercedes coupe is Lola, because she's hot and sexy. The Nissan truck is Brenda, because she's so dependable, and the old-school Chevy is Pauline.”

“Men and their damn cars,” I said, shaking my head.

“It's no different than women and their hair. Especially black women,” Vance said. “Now that's an obsessive, love–hate relationship right there!”

“Touché!” I said. “Well, while you go check on Lola, I'm going to go rest up a bit before my shift. Do you mind if I take a catnap in the princess room? It looks so much more comfortable than that cramped little couch—no offense!”

“You mean Sydney's room? Yeah, I guess it's okay, as long as you don't wet the bed.”

Vance's cornball lawyer humor was wearing me out even more than I already was. The first half of the day had been very eventful, starting with my fight with Zoë, and then getting kicked out of Helene's hair studio and pretty much banned for life. That was enough to put anyone's energy levels on low.

“I assure you, I'm housebroken,” I told Vance before he walked out to go check on his precious car.

Just as I was about to go down for my nap, the house phone rang so loudly that it almost quite literally scared the shit out of me. There was no way that the phone call could be for me, but I picked it up on the second ring, just to get the noise to stop. “Hello?” I said, trying not to sound hostile, but failing.

“Hi, who is this?” chirped a friendly female voice on the other end of the phone.

“This is Eva; I'm a friend of Vance's. . . .”

I heard the woman taking in a long, deep breath as if she were trying to keep herself calm. “Are you now?” she asked, her voice no longer friendly. “And just how good of a friend are you to him?”

I knew where this was going. I had had the same conversation with other females in the past, but this was Vance we were talking about, so I couldn't help but laugh. “Oh, no, it's not anything like that!” I chuckled. Vance had a body like Terrell Owens and was a good catch for someone, but . . . come on! The guy had zero swag as far as I was concerned. “Vance is just being a sweetheart and letting me live with him temporarily until—”

“Wait a minute,
live
with him? And whose fucking idea was that?”

Me and my big mouth. I had said way too much, and I didn't even know who I was talking to. “Look,” I said, “I really think you need to talk to Vance—”

“I damn sure will be talking to Vance about this!” she said, before hanging up in my face.

I clicked the off button on the handset, thinking that whoever that chick was, Vance had his hands full dealing with her. Whoo! Attitude and drama times ten! I didn't know if she was his girlfriend or what, but Vance had my sympathies, because in just the short amount of time I had talked to her, she had managed to irritate the hell outta me and give me a throbbing migraine.

I could only imagine what it was like dealing with her face-to-face for more than two minutes.

Afterward, I went into the room fit for a princess, where the bed was as comfortable as I had hoped it would be, and fell fast asleep shortly after my head hit the pillow.

I don't know how long I had been asleep, but when I woke up there was a mean, angry mug standing over me shouting, “Vance, I knew you were lying! I thought you said she looked like Forest Whitaker with a bad weave!” I could tell by the voice that it was the same snitty chick I had talked to earlier on the phone, and I thought
here we go again!
As if I hadn't already had enough drama for one day.

It would be my third physical altercation in less than a week, and none of them were fights that I started. Well, except for Mama Dorsey, and I am sure we can all agree that one was completely justified.

“Think about it, Candace,” Vance said. “If anything was really going on between Eva and me, don't you think she would be lying in my bed instead of Sydney's?”

“And that's another thing!” shouted crazy Candace. “Why the fuck is she laying bare-ass naked in
my
daughter's bed? Oh, you best believe that I'm burning these sheets!”

Oh, so she was the baby's mama. Poor Vance, having to deal with her deranged ass for the next fifteen-plus years.

I had taken my jeans off and was standing in front of those two wearing just a thong and a T-shirt, so technically, I wasn't bare-ass naked.

“Listen, Candace,” I said. “Vance is a really great guy with a big heart but we are not physically attracted to each other, and believe me, there will
never
be anything between us on that level.”

Candace must have believed me, because she smiled and said that she just did not want Sydney coming over to visit an unsafe and unwholesome environment. “A mother can never be too careful, you know,” she said.

“It's all right, all is forgiven,” I said, “but if you two will excuse me I have to get ready for work.”

It had been a while, and I didn't realize how much I missed saying those words until I said them. It felt good. I was about to start raking in some major cash, so hopefully it wouldn't be long before I was able to get my own place. That in itself would be a dream come true, because the only real security there is, is that which you can provide for yourself.