Taylor Made

Jackson

Chapter 1

Pamela Jones Taylor was looking at a pitiful sight nestled in her lap. When she realized she wasn’t moving, she turned her attention back to the road. She crept toward the exit of the Suburban Banking and Trust lot.

A drizzle was dampening the sign of a homeless man at the corner. It read, Hungary, please help. God bless. The misspelling was compounding the effect of the man’s hopelessness.

C’mon, she groaned out of exasperation a few moments later as a new model Mercedes Benz switched over into the lane she was about to turn into, blocking her exit from the bank parking lot. Three more luxury cars whizzed by her before a soccer mom in a stereotypical minivan, distracted and obviously yelling at several kids, allowed her access to the main road where she sat with the rest of the speed demons at the red light.

The homeless guy could hardly be seen for the Korean man with a pail of roses working the same corner. The homeless man, a wiry, dark-skinned man of fifty-something with few personal effects confined to a small duffel bag, did have a rain poncho. It was the thin, clear plastic kind with a hood that anyone can buy from the dollar store that made them feel as if they were wearing a plastic bag.

Pam remembered being forced to go into a corner store by her older sister to buy one of those cheap shields herself years ago when she was crowned homecoming queen in her senior year of high school. She remembered how embarrassed she felt encased in plastic like a couch in her Aunt Agnes’s living room. She played it off by telling people that she still wanted her outfit to be seen through the transparent shield. Other girls in her homecoming court in anticipation of the rainy forecast went out and bought matching umbrellas and the pink polka dot rain slickers that were high-priced and in style then.

In her Cosmopolitan dreams, she would have done one better and gotten the complementary designer boots. In reality though, her sister informed her that her homecoming attire was already a luxury they could not afford. Once again, she was painfully aware that there was a wide gap between the haves and the have-nots. The latter was the story of their life with their momma. Pam decided then that one day, she would not only be among the ones who have, but that she would have it all.

The memory made her sneer at the homeless man as he inched his way toward her car holding his sign at her car window. He had nothing coming. She put her hand up for added emphasis. She had her own problems. She flipped open her pink metallic razor cell phone and adjusted the ear piece. The round knob would not fit comfortably in her ear. She needed a Bluetooth in her life, like the girls at work. She also had her eye on the new iPhones with a built-in MP3 player and touch screen for texting, like Carmen’s, the salon owner she worked for. Switching phones meant switching payment plans, and since she was now married, it would be something else she would have to negotiate with her husband, Corey.

She decided to call Corey and engage him in a little game of bait and catch. He was a ground deliveryman for UPS, which made his cell phone his mobile office and made his talk time limited. When they first got married six months ago, she had to get used to their brief check-in calls at least once a day. She figured today it would give her opportunity to gauge his mood.

Everything all right? Corey asked, after greeting her.

I have to run into the drugstore. I was wondering if you need anything.

He did that kind of half sigh, half chuckle he sometimes does that she had not quite distinguished between amusement and disgust. Is that your way of telling me you’re going shopping? Knowing you, you’ll get to CVS via Macy’s, Ann Taylor, and Abercrombie & Fitch.

At least he’s got my stores right, she thought. Excuse me for being considerate of my husband. Isn’t that what they tell us in Marriage Maintenance class?

Yeah, all right, Pill, Corey said, calling her by her nickname. She would admit that she could be moody at times. Add that to her confidence that some would mistake for arrogance, and more than once, people had referred to her as a trip. Ms. Tyler, her third-grade teacher, trying her best to censor her comments about Pamela’s behavior, simply wrote in the comment section of her report card, Pamela is quite a pill. Her outbursts and overall off-task behavior is a little hard to swallow. The name stuck. She would put her own spin on it when having to explain the sometimes embarrassing nickname by saying, Whether bitter or sweet, I’m good for ya. Most people elected to call her primarily by her given name, Pamela, or a shortened version, Pam, when they first meet her. Like Corey, they soon switched off and used her nickname once they had ingested a taste of The Pill.

Keep in mind your booth fee is due today. Don’t go spending any money, Corey said.

Apparently she already had spent lots of money and just didn’t remember. Shopping gave Pill a high. Sometimes it was as if Pill blacked out after a shopping binge, much like an alcoholic who had too much to drink. She couldn’t remember what she had bought, especially when trying to hide her purchases from Corey. He had asked her time and time again to write stuff down, particularly when the money for those purchases came out of their joint account. In her mind, that kind of documentation provided evidence to her husband about her spending that could easily go under the radar. Accounting for every belt, hat, purse, jacket, and pocketbook to a man is what she refused to do.

Well, I put in three hundred fifty for us on that mink coat my mom wanted, although I don’t know what a sixty-five-year-old needs with a fur coat. I didn’t look at the ATM receipt for a balance, but I know there should be enough left in the account, Corey said.

Pill almost expelled a sigh of relief into the phone. She was so glad she hadn’t tampered with the money for her mother-in-law’s gift. Corey told her over a month ago that the two of them would go in with his dad and his only sibling, Danielle, to buy a mink jacket for their mother to show off in when she wore it to church.

There was never any denying that Pam was not her mother-in-law’s choice for Corey. Pill didn’t know what she had done to the woman, but the air of distrust was immediately apparent upon meeting her. She assumed it was just game recognizing game. Mrs. Taylor was spoiled by Corey’s father and everyone else in the family. Obviously, she didn’t want Pill to be the recipient of any generosity Corey may have inherited. Pill would have never been able to live it down if Corey’s mother couldn’t get her precious mink because they didn’t have their share of the money.

In this case, Pill happened to agree with her mother-in-law’s fashion sense. A mink coat meant she truly had it going on. Jet-black, she thought. She hoped Corey and Dani had gotten the black mink that would absolutely sizzle with her salt-and-pepper hair. Pill dreamed about flossin’ in her own mink coat one day, but for now, she would settle for a short chinchilla coat with the matching headband.

Recollection of where some of the money went hit her like a thunderbolt. She could see eighty dollars change hands between her and Ahmad, the resident hustle man at Carmen’s Epic Beauty salon. He came in the shop twice a month with two large storage tubs and a rickety clothing rack filled with trendy apparel still tagged and on hangers that, just came in. From where was never questioned.

While her fellow stylists were devouring Baby Phat knockoffs, Pam spotted a camel-colored Shearling poncho with the matching Alpine boots. It wasn’t out for public display, but she had to have it. She remembered the supermodel Giselle wearing a similar poncho while riding a white stallion in an ad in the latest issue of Cosmo. Although she knew Ahmad’s version wasn’t designer, her knockoff was definitely better than her coworkers’ knockoffs. She went into acquisition mode.

She waited until Ahmad went to the back to question him about his hidden stash. He explained that he had promised the ensemble to his lady friend, but assured her that he could get her one when his cousin went back to New York’s garment district. It was a layaway of sorts, which was not their normal way of doing business. His policy when selling was cash-and-carry, and hers when purchasing was cash-on-delivery. She had made an exception that day as she dashed to the ATM, ordering the shampoo girl to put a heat-activated conditioner in her next client’s hair and sit her under a blow dryer to stall for time. She gave him the eighty dollars plus another $100 from her smock. She figured since he was going to New York, he might find a pair of Sevens jeans she had been wanting.

If Carmen wanted her money on time, she had to stop the vendors from soliciting in her shop, Pill reasoned.

When I get paid tomorrow, the cycle starts all over again, Corey said, interrupting her thoughts.

The cycle he was referring to was their bare-bones budget that delineates his first check of the month for the mortgage on their three-bedroom town house and her earnings going to the other bills. They used his second check to pay the lease on her new Honda Accord and pay insurance, which included a policy on his Corolla that had been paid off long ago. They locked into this schedule during the last month of their marriage prep class and agreed to revisit it. Once a month, they attended the Marriage Maintenance class for newlywed couples at church that focused on the emotional, physical, and financial side of their relationship now that they have taken the plunge into matrimony.

You’re saying that to say . . .? Pill said defensively, still trying to account for the extra money she had obviously spent.

Don’t go spending any money. I gotta go. See you later, Corey said. Good-byes were not necessary.

Money from Rosetta’s weave that she did on Saturday would give her a quarter of her monthly booth fee, but subtract from her bill money. She did at least call in the digits from her debit card to pay the gas and electric on Monday. Corey had warned her against debiting the account as opposed to taking the money directly to source or mailing it out on time. You never know when they will take their money out of your account. Gosh, she should write this stuff down.

Pill laid her hand on the horn to join in with those cars in front of her showing their displeasure at an eighteen-wheeler that was unsuccessful at making a U-turn and was blocking their lanes when the light turned green. Now she would be late for the staff meeting at the salon on top of being late with her booth rental fee.

The rain hadn’t let up, and there she sat. The rose man had long since taken cover, leaving the homeless guy with a now-drenched cardboard sign in position at the base of the intersection. Pill looked down in her lap once again. She was indeed witnessing a pitiful sight. Her bank receipt read: -$152.

Chapter 2

Pill finally arrived at the shop thirty minutes late and in the middle of the staff meeting. Beauty salons were normally closed on Mondays, serving as the second day of a stylist’s two-day weekend. The first Monday of the month was the mandatory staff meeting at Carmen’s Epic Beauty, which happened to coincide with the due date of their monthly booth fees.

Pill was actually glad she was late to get a brief reprieve from Carmen’s inquiries. There was no special envelope, box, or slot in which to put the rent and allow Pill anonymity. Everyone walked the black-and-white parche flooring back to Carmen’s office to hand-deliver their rental fee. She wouldn’t. Sooner or later she would have to explain the delinquency to Carmen.

Carmen’s Epic Beauty was a full-service salon. The black-and-white flooring was highlighted with splashes of red. Mini table fountains and birdcages with fake white doves were placed throughout. It was like a Japanese Zen Garden. There were six spacious stations; three on each side that formed a horseshoe shape. Just beyond the stations were the bank of sinks and dryers. Carmen’s office and a storage room were off the back entrance.

Pill’s station was up front at station six directly across from the first chair. She placed her handbag, Spiegel catalogue, and this month’s copy of Cosmopolitan on her station. Then she swiveled her chair toward the conversation before taking a seat. Mercedes, the salon’s newest and youngest stylist, at nineteen, walked in right behind Pill. She stood off Carmen’s shoulder with an obvious grievance on the tip of her tongue. Carmen spread her arms out on either side as if to ask if there were some kind of conspiracy since they both were late. Mercedes placed a check for her booth fee in Carmen’s outstretched hand with no shame.

Do y’all have anything you want to air before I go on? Carmen said.

I don’t mean no harm, Ms. Theresa, but I’m not use to having my schedule so tight, Mercedes said. She walked across the center of the assembly to station three after securing her spot in the conversation.

It’s a lot different than being a shampoo girl, Mercedes, Carmen said.

Regardless, Carmen, I almost killed myself Saturday. I didn’t get home until after midnight on Friday and wouldn’t have gotten home at all if Candy didn’t take those two walk-ins for me.

I believe Carmen said last meeting that I was to give the bulk of the new clients and walk-ins to you, Ms. Theresa, the receptionist and Carmen’s aunt, said. She was a frail woman of sixty with a nervous disposition that appealed to everyone to get along and appeared near faint when they didn’t.

We’ve got to talk about these walk-ins, Mercedes added.

I agree, Candy chimed in. We should be able to veto a walk-in based on what’s already on our schedule and what they are having done.

Or if you have cramps and just don’t feel like it, Mercedes said.

They all laughed at her honesty. They were nearing the end of a Book an Appointment and Bring a Friend Free promotion that Carmen extended to the ladies in the new executive office building that opened up the street. What she didn’t expect was that just fifty flyers would spread throughout Richmond, bringing in the most unlikely patrons and pals.

You’d be able to move a lot faster if you didn’t talk so much, Deena said.

Candy rose from her seat and walked over to give her buddy Deena a high five. They were directly across from each other at stations two and five respectively. There was never a time they weren’t of the same opinion or cosigning each other’s argument.

I heard you tell that long drawn out story about getting your purse stolen at the club to every single client. I’m talking hand gestures, dramatic pauses, and all—to like six different clients, Deena said.

Forget y’all. Who doesn’t talk to their clients? Mercedes rolled her eyes.

It seems like you are doing more than talking. You’re having counseling sessions, Candy added.

Pill had to agree that Mercedes was talkative but talented. She almost felt sorry for her having to work for an owner like Carmen straight out of beauty school who didn’t allow her to advertise or promote for her own clients. Carmen wanted them all to build the clientele for the salon that just reopened a year ago, so that if they should decide to leave her shop, the clients would be inclined to stay at Epic Beauty. Carmen often tried to get returning customers to see different stylists according to what they were getting done, pegging her stylist as a specialist of one particular style. Deena was great with color and highlights. Candy was known for perms and wraps. Pill could do it all. The three of them had been in the business for a while and had built a reputation as well as a clientele.

I got behind when one of the walk-ins wanted cornrows. I did a section before she decided it wasn’t thick enough and she wanted hair added. Then I waited for her to go to the store and get some hair. Even though my bureau was stocked with superjumbo packs of Kanekalon, I didn’t have the color she wanted.

But, I bet you got burgundy, Candy said.

Deana cosigned, And platinum.

Mercedes flipped the members of the peanut gallery an obscene gesture. Pill just shook her head.

Let me help you out. Get only the packs of hair that are actual shades of real hair, the ones with color codes. They are blended to look like real hair, Pill said, joining in on the joke, but being serious all the same. If the pack has a color found in a jumbo pack of crayons, leave it on the shelf.

Forget you, Pill. It’s all fake hair. I hate y’all.

Hate is such a harsh word, Pill said, feeling immediately like a hypocrite as she thought of her mother, the only person she had used those words toward.

Pill reached out for a handful of freshly laundered towels and began to fold as was their custom during staff meetings. She reminded herself she was supposed to remain low-key today since she didn’t have her booth fee.

Anyway, I’ll be trying out a new stylist. Pill’s good friend Shae Bennett will be joining our staff at station four. She will be doing all natural styles: cornrows, twists, locs, and braids. She’s in class right now, by the way. She’s our natural hair care expert, Carmen added.

So if my client wants to wear a flat twist or some simple cornrows, I have to send her to Shae? How am I supposed to make any clients or money?

If you can handle it, then just do it, Mouthy. If not, then pass the client on, Deena said.

Basically, you need to prove yourself. Pill folded a hand towel into thirds on her lap. She figured no one should have to tell Mercedes that. Shae was her girl, but she was not passing on her clients to her no matter what Carmen wanted.

Carmen sighed loudly and tapped the heel of her Coach Signature loafers onto the floor out of frustration. Pill fixated on her shoes. In keeping with the boss lady role, Carmen tried to dress in classic designers. Pill liked to mix classic pieces with some high-end trendy accessories. In Pill’s opinion, her other coworkers were hopeless, perpetually pulling selections straight from the House of Hoochie. They always dressed like they were going straight to the club to snag a man. Mercedes was in perfect proportion for nineteen and could get away with it. Candy and Deena, on the other hand, with the combined age of Ms. Theresa, were just considered the old chicks at the club and didn’t know it.

Is she the one that did your braided Mohawk that time? That was fierce, Mercedes said.

Pill nodded her head with pursed lips as if she couldn’t agree more with the compliment. She always wore her jet-black hair short on the sides, tapered in the back and longer on the top. Presently, the top was spiked forward, arching toward her face with quick freeze mousse.

Well, I’m glad we are getting a new stylist. I’m hanging with Shae, Mercedes announced.

Shae was what Pill considered cool peoples, but in a bizarre way. They were alike in that she didn’t stick to the status quo. She defied categorization; in fact, she found amusement in questioning and testing the order of things. She wasn’t a tomboy, but she wasn’t girly either. She could care less about fashion. That was why it was bizarre that she was Pill’s best friend.

Shae was exactly who she would turn to for help with her booth fee if it wasn’t for their pact. They decided that they would have a better chance of remaining friends if money or the pursuit of it weren’t involved. In Shae’s words, Pill already owed her big time. Pill supposedly was responsible for turning her sweet little Pentecostal neighbor on to a life of crime, although, that was not completely accurate.

It was Pill’s mother, Sheree Jones, who initially introduced her then-six-year-old daughter and best friend to stealing food and other merchandise from the local supercenter. Unbeknownst to Pill at the time, her mom’s habit left her paying for what she wanted and literally stealing for what her family needed.

One time, her mom had been adamant about her bringing her favorite doll and toy stroller along with them shopping. Pill soon found out that the blankets used to keep the doll warm were used to conceal the stolen goods. It was like a game to Pill and Shae to hide canned goods, toiletry items, and small clothing items like socks and underwear beneath the layers.

It wasn’t until Pill and Shae got caught trying to replicate the scam without her mother at the corner convenient store that they realized how serious stealing could be. They were old enough to know better at nine years old, but they had been so successful the half a dozen times they had been out with Pill’s mother. This particular time they forgot one critical part of the scam. One of them had to be the decoy. At the supercenter, and later at the department store or any other place they could get away with it, Pill or Shae would carry a censored item out of the store the same time the loot-loaded stroller would cross the threshold. Her mom would act surprised, embarrassed, and then angry when she would appeal to store security to let the innocent kids get off with a warning.

To her mother, it was all an act, but to the girls, the embarrassment, fear, and shame of being caught and carted to the back like common criminals were enough for them.

Anyone else? Carmen asked, bringing Pill back to the present.

I would just ask that you not schedule more than one weave in a day, or at least not back to back since Carmen got me out there as the weave specialist, Pill said, thinking of a way to see more clients, thus bringing in more money. Ms. Theresa blocks off four hours for each weave when I could probably juggle another two heads.

Shoot, not me, Mercedes said, swiveling back and forth in her seat like a two-year-old.

"Is Pill still trying to get more clients? Shoot, she has more clients than anybody. Her Morning Glories roll off the Geritol train before nine

A.M.

," Deena said, cracking on several of the church mothers Pill adopted from the first shop she ever worked at when the owner and head stylist got up in age and finally retired. The ancient two-chair shop where she worked as a shampoo girl in exchange for styles was simply called Beauty. Pill wrote in her own appointments for these ladies who came in early on the weekends for a press and curl, complained about the drive into downtown, and wanted to pay the same price for a hairdo as they did with her mentor, Ms. McQueen, back in 1962. Accommodating these ladies before the shop officially opened was her only form of charity.

Pill has more energy than anyone I know. Then she goes home and has to take care of a husband, Candy said, letting everyone know just what kind of care she was speaking about by grinding her hips. At least I can send my men home.

This time, Pill swiveled her chair lazily toward her station’s styling mirror to place the folded towels on her station. She didn’t justify that comment with a reply.

Y’all done made her mad, Deena teased.

You know Pill don’t like talking about her personal business, Mercedes chimed in.

Besides class, a burgeoning faith in the Lord and a steady relationship was another thing that Pill thought separated her from the rest. Carmen was divorced, Candy was between baby daddies, and Deena wasn’t even thinking about settling down. Mercedes did have a boyfriend name Jeffery who was twice her age.

Okay, okay, if you all are finished, I want to talk to you about a new policy. Any client who enters this door should have their hair washed in the first ten to fifteen minutes. Get them out the front, Carmen said, directing her attention to her niece, LaToya, who was the only consistent shampoo girl at the salon. If Toy is busy or you insist upon washing your client’s hair yourself, then this applies to you as well. Do the math. There is twice as much dryer seating than chairs up front. A wet head is less likely to walk out the door. Got me?

Carmen passed out their current promotional flyer. She walked around the circle as she talked similar to a mob boss in the gangsta films after bringing the family together to expose a weakness or betrayal.

Pill and Carmen met back at high school where they shared the same cosmetology class junior and senior year at their vocational high school. After graduation, they completed their