Too Close for Comfort (11 page)

Celeste answered the phone. “After Effex, where the after is better than the before.” Yaya cringed as she messed the slogan up for the ninetieth time. “Yeah, she right here. Monya, phone.” Celeste lay the phone on the reception area. “Uh, can you see I'm busy?” Monya looked up from the set of hands she was working on. “My bad.” Celeste picked the phone back up. “She's busy. Can I take a message?”

Yaya rummaged through her black leather make-up cases. “FedEx still hasn't gotten here?” Running low on several supplies, she had placed an order almost a week earlier, and it still hadn't arrived. She had two big events to do this weekend, and she needed to be prepared.

Celeste hung the phone up and flipped through a magazine. “No, not yet.”

“Did you go call them yesterday like I asked you, Celeste?”

“You didn't tell me to call FedEx.” She continued reading, not even bothering to look up.

“Celeste, I did tell you to call them.” Yaya frowned. “I wrote the order number and tracking numbers down and handed them to you before I left.”

“Oh, I thought you wanted me to call M•A•C—that's who I called; they said your order was shipped out three days ago.”

“I know that my order was shipped three days ago—How the hell do you think I got the tracking number?” Yaya snapped, causing everyone in the shop to look at her. “You know what—just forget it. I'll do it my damn self.”

She closed the case and walked back into her office, plopping onto the chair behind her desk. She began looking through the mass of papers for the number for FedEx. Her stomach was aching; she hadn't felt well at all the past few days. She told herself it was just stress. Between the successes of the shop, photo shoots she had already committed herself to, and the upcoming events, she was probably wearing herself too thin. She opened her drawer and found a bottle of Aleve and popped three pills.

“Headache?”

She thought she was imagining things when she heard Jason's voice. She glanced up to see that indeed he was standing in the doorway of her office.

It was the first time she had seen him in a while. They talked a few times since then, but not as frequently as she would like. And every so often, he would come to her house for a much-needed bedroom rendezvous. She was determined not to sweat him, though. He said he needed space, and she was going to give it to him. When he did call, she was as cheerful as ever. And when she called him, she made sure not to seem as if she was concerned about where he was or what he was doing with whom, even though she thought about it constantly. She told herself to just give it some time, and they would be back together soon enough.

Now, as he stood in front of her looking like he had just stepped off the cover of
GQ
magazine, she thought,
God, he is fine.

She stood up and smoothed the front of her shirt down. “Not anymore.” She smiled and walked over to him.

He took her into his arms and pulled her to him. Her arms reached around his neck, and she held him tight as they embraced.

“You're looking good.” He kissed her cheek.

“Now, you're lying,” she told him, “but I'll take the compliment.”

“I can see you're working hard. It's a nice amount of people out there.” He nodded.

“Yeah. We stay busy, that's for sure. Taryn and I are actually about to hire two more nail techs.”

“Already? Wow! I'm impressed.”

“Yeah. We stay booked, and you know this is the busiest season for our make-up bookings. We really didn't expect to have to hire anyone until after Labor Day, but if we don't, we're gonna have to turn people away.”

“And you definitely don't want that to happen.”

“Exactly. So what brings you to this side of town?”

“What makes you think I didn't want to come and see you?”

“Because I know better.”

“No, seriously. I came to see you.” Jason shrugged and touched her hair softly.

“I'm glad you did.”

“So you have any plans for next Saturday?” he asked.

Her first instinct was to tell him no, but she decided to play it cool. “Let me check my calendar.” She walked behind her desk and flipped through her day planner to the following Friday's date, which she already knew was empty. “No, I don't see where I have anything scheduled.”

“Good.” He smiled. “Would you consider having dinner with me?”

“I'd love to have dinner with you, Jason.” She was so elated that she had to stop herself from grinning from ear to ear.
Play it cool
,
Yaya
.
Don't be pressed
.

“I'll pick you up at eight then.” He smiled, looked down at his watch. “I have a meeting in about an hour, but I will call you later.”

“I'll talk to you then. Let me walk you out.”

He took her by the hand, and she walked him back through the shop. All eyes were on them as they exited out the front door. She knew that she and Jason would be the topic of conversation when she returned.

“So I guess I'll see you Friday then?”

He opened the door to his silver Range Rover. “You may see me before then.” He smiled. He leaned over and kissed her gently, and got in.

She closed his door and walked back inside, making sure to put a sway into her hips, in case he was still looking.

“I see someone is in a better mood,” Taryn said, as soon as she stepped through the door.

“Shut up.” Yaya grinned. “You'd be in a bad mood too if you had a hair book shoot and a wedding to do this weekend and your brushes look like mine. Not to mention, I barely have any cremestick liners. Are you gonna loan me yours?”

“You know better than that,” Taryn said with the quickness. “I got three faces to do myself on Saturday for a bachelor party.”

“Then you should be a little more sympathetic to my situation.” Yaya noticed that there were empty sections of nail colors on the shelves. “Are we out of colors already?”

“No, we have stock in the back that hasn't been opened, I think.” Monya eyed Celeste, who was sitting in the same spot and looking at the same magazine that she was before Yaya went into her office.

One thing Yaya had learned quickly was that as beneficial as Celeste was in the gossip department, she was as lazy in the work department. Yaya constantly had to tell her what to do, and if she wasn't told to do it, it wasn't getting done.

“Celeste, you've gotta keep these shelves stocked. There shouldn't be any empty spots up here,” Yaya told her.

“I tried to explain that day before yesterday,” Taryn added.

“Oh, my bad. I'll go get it and restock the shelves.” She slowly rose out of her seat and trotted to the back, returning with two boxes of nail polish.

“Go ahead and replace the bottles with just a little color in them as well,” Yaya advised her.

“What do you want me to do with the old bottles?”

“Just put them in a bag and put them on my desk. I'll figure something out later.” Yaya watched as Celeste put the bottles on the shelves.

“Why do you have to do faces for a bachelor party, Taryn?” one of the customers asked. “The groom needs make-up or something?”

“No.” Taryn laughed, along with Monya and Yaya. “The entertainment does.”

“You're kidding,” the woman said. “The strippers?”

“You better believe it,” Taryn told her. “They are some of Yaya's and my best customers . . . isn't that right?”

“She's right,” Yaya told her. “They really are. And I must admit, some of my most beautiful ones.”

“I can't believe you do make-up for strippers.” The lady frowned. “What? Do they swing by here on their way to the club?”

Yaya could see the hurt in Monya's eyes and answered, “Our clients are professionals who require professional treatment, and they are paying customers just like everyone else that walks through these doors. I wouldn't be so quick to judge.”

Little did the woman know, Monya, herself, used to be a dancer at one point. It wasn't something she was proud of, but it wasn't something she was ashamed of either. That was actually how the three of them met—Monya was a dancer in a rap video that both Yaya and Taryn worked on.

“I'm just saying, I thought you all were high-class make-up artists, that's all.”

“We are,” Taryn told her. “As a matter of fact, we are the most sought-after image consultants in the business.”

“Then why did you open a salon down here rather than in some glitzy upscale place?”

“Because if we would've done that, we wouldn't be able to service our class of clientele, such as yourself,” Monya said, as she finished the woman's nails.

“And what class is that?” The woman paid Monya.

“The cheap class.” Monya smiled and held the door open for the woman to exit.

“I guess she won't be coming back.” Taryn laughed.

“Probably not. But I have twelve other people waiting to get into that chair, and they tip a hell of a lot better than she does,” Monya replied. “I'm starving.”

“Me too,” Yaya agreed. “Monya, you should go to Ochie's and get us some food.”

“I'm not going all the way down to Ochie's. Besides, I have two more appointments. You should go.”

Yaya looked at her like she was crazy. “You know I'm not going down there!
T
, what time is your next appointment?”

“Yaya, just get into your car and go get the food. It's only like fifteen minutes away,” Taryn told her.

“You're crazy, and I drove the Lex today too! Now, I could see if I drove the Honda.”

“No, you're the crazy one.”

Taryn and Monya laughed.

“What's so funny?”

They all looked up to see Fitzgerald coming through the door with a dolly, carrying a stack of boxes. He was dressed in the same brown uniform he had been wearing the first day she met him.

“What's up, Fitz?” Taryn greeted him.

“About damn time!” Yaya snapped. “These boxes should've been here two days ago. What? Have you been riding around with them in your truck for a few days because you recognized the address?”

“Hold the hell on. You need to check yourself—These boxes just got there this morning. I knew I was coming over here to get a line-up, so I grabbed them to deliver. I called myself doing you a favor because they weren't scheduled to be put on a damn truck until late this evening, which meant you wouldn't have gotten them until tomorrow sometime!”

Fitzgerald stood in front of her.

They stared at each other. Yaya was determined not to be intimidated by the intensity in his eyes.

“Thanks, Fitz.” Taryn's voice interrupted their staring contest.

“It's not a problem.” His eyes finally broke away from hers. He leaned to slide the boxes off the dolly.

“Can you go ahead and take them to the storage room in the back for me?” Yaya asked.

Fitz didn't answer her. He held out the brown electric clipboard. “Sign here.”

Yaya bit her tongue as she signed her name. She looked at the boxes and grabbed the top one and stormed to the storage area.

A few moments later, Fitzgerald was right behind her with the remaining boxes on the dolly.

“You could've brought all of those back here for me while you were trying to be funny.”

“I ain't do this for you, believe that. Taryn asked me to bring these back here, so I obliged. Where do they need to go?”

“You can leave them there because I have to go through them and get what I need out. Do you have a blade?”

“What?” He seemed offended by her question.

“A knife, a blade . . . something I can use to open these with.” Yaya sighed.

“Oh, yeah, right here.” He reached into his belt and removed a large cutter.

“Thanks.” She took it from him.

“Wow! I can't believe you actually know how to use those words.”

“What are you saying?” The sharp blade made a slick noise as she used it to open the first box, removing the invoice lying right inside and rummaging through white pieces of foam, to make sure all her items were there.

“I'm saying that you are so demanding and sharp-tongued all the time that I didn't know you could actually be appreciative about something.”

“Are you saying I'm bitchy?” She reached for another box.

“You said it, I didn't.” He slid the box over to her so she could open it.

“I don't think I'm bitchy.”

Once again, she opened the box and checked it.

“What do you call it then?” He grabbed the blade from the shelf and began opening another box and passing her the inventory sheet.

“I call it being
stern
.” She looked closely at the paper.

“I think it's a little more than stern.”

They continued talking until all the boxes had been opened. “Where is the last box?”

“This is it,” Fitz told her.

“There has to be another box. I have missing items. And the last box says it's five of six,” she said, becoming irritated.

The missing box contained the items she knew she would need most this weekend. Frustration crept into her body.

“I'm telling you, there were only five boxes for you. I double-checked myself.”

“I have missing stuff. I need my product to work with. What the hell am I gonna do?”

“When I get back to the—”