“Yeah, girl. He’s my baby brother.”
I fought to suppress a laugh building up in my throat. What kind of narcotics were her parents introducing into their bloodstream when they named their kids Boomqueesha and Conquesto? Boomqueesha sounds straight-up ridiculous and Conquesto sounds like a brand of salsa.
“So what’s up, Rayne, girl? Can I give him your digits or not?”
Normally, my answer would’ve been a resounding “no.” Unfortunately, times had been tight and even the numerous middle-of-the-night booty calls I’d grown accustomed to receiving from my various exes had tapered off. I was sick of going to bed with only flannel pajamas and a pair of wool socks to keep me warm.
November was banging on October’s back door and I shuddered at the thought of going through the kick ass winter weather alone. It’s okay to be celibate in the summertime, but everyone needs a lover in the winter. That’s why so many babies are born in August and September. You do the math.
“When you say baby brother, how old is he exactly?”
“He’s five years younger than me.”
That statement told me absolutely nothing, being that Boom had turned thirty-five on May 12th for the last five or six years in a row.
“Five years younger than you would make him what?”
“Girl, you know I’m thirty-five.” I rolled my eyes. She couldn’t see me because she was taking a sip of her orange Faygo soda. Out of all the vending machines in the world, From Naps to Baps had a Faygo soda machine. “Conquesto turned thirty last month. You thirty, right?”
“No, I’m only twenty-eight.” I threw that “only” in there on purpose. I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of turning thirty with no wedding bands, white picket fences, or crib mobiles in sight.
“Close enough.” Boom broke out the hair spray and started laying it on thick. As usual, I had to hold my breath so I wouldn’t choke. “He’s really feelin’ you. I think you had on some black booty pants that day ’cause he said you was a FAB.”
“FAB? What’s that?” I asked, knowing good and damn well she was exaggerating about my behind being anywhere near a pair of booty pants.
“Fine Ass Babe. Conquesto loves himself some thick women.” Boom yanked the plastic smock from around my neck and handed me a mirror. “Look, I wasn’t even gonna bring this up but I’m sick of his ass sweatin’ me ’bout you.”
I wasn’t overjoyed with Boom’s thick comment. I’d put on some weight over the previous two years and had gone from a size ten to a size sixteen. I still looked good though and my health was picture perfect. I was used to my weight going up and down; it was a battle to try to lose weight, only to find myself gaining it all back plus five pounds. I’d decided that God had blessed me with the extra weight and it was meant to be. A lot of bigger sisters had issues with their weight. I carried mine with pride because like Boom had stated, some men wanted a little meat on their bones. Still, I wasn’t feeling the word “thick.” Certainly, there had to be a better term.
I used the mirror to see the back of my hair. It was flawless and worth every dime of the fifty dollars I shelled out per week to have it done.
I got up to stretch, trying to get rid of the crook in my neck from sitting under the dryer for more than an hour, and retrieved my purse from underneath Boom’s station. I should’ve paid my money and high-tailed it out of there, but something compelled me to make one of the stupidest mistakes of my life.
“Boom, is he cute?”
“Girl, hell yeah!” Boom squealed in my ear while I pulled out my wallet. She waved a comb toward the dryer. “Gloria, I’m ready for you now. Come on over here in my chair.”
The older woman, now identified as Gloria, was obviously relieved to finally get in Boom’s chair. When she got up from the low-seated dryer, she limped over toward us like a bout of arthritis had kicked in.
Boom took another sip of her Faygo and yelled across the salon to the rear. “Yo-Yo, girl, ain’t Conquesto fine?”
Yo-Yo, the official shampoo girl at From Naps to Baps, took a break from sweeping up clipped hair off the floor with a straw broom and a handled dustpan long enough to leer at us and shrug her shoulders.
Boom moved closer to me. I could smell the sugary soda on her breath. “Don’t even trip, girl,” she whispered in my ear. “Yo-Yo mad ’cause he don’t want her.”
I wasn’t so sure that was the case. I tried to read Yo-Yo’s face, but she wasn’t giving off any valuable hints.
I handed Boom two twenties and a ten. “Boom, I’m not too sure about this. Maybe you can hook him up with one of your other clients.”
“Conquesto’s a really cool dude, Rayne,” Boom said, stuffing the money I’d given her down in her bra. “I wouldn’t front on you like that. How long I been doin’ your hair?”
I did a quick calculation. I’d moved to D.C. the day after my twenty-second birthday, the same year I’d graduated from college, seeking refuge from my drama queen mother.
“About six years,” I replied.
“Exactly! We’ve been bonded longer than most marriages.”
Boom did have a point. We’d outlasted a lot of marriages. Some women I know change hairdressers every other month.