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    Tales From Sha-Hair-Azad

    By Najya Yasirah


    Not All Black People Sell Drugs - Chapter 10


    “I hope this place isn’t going to judge me by my appearance,” said Reyjah.  She and Sheila walked into a boutique called Bellissima. “What would make you think that?” said Sheila. “Look around, this place screams ‘snooty’, said Reyjah with no remorse. “You are East Coast home sick, you know that?” said Sheila. “Look at that?” she said. Sheila pointed to a gorgeous, lapis lazuli blue gown on a very slender mannequin. It was made from satin. Reyjah marveled at the sapphire and diamond-like straps. The neckline was squared, and the shaping was very formfitting with a side slit just for walking. A matching shawl was included. “It’s perfect.” Said Reyjah.  “Excuse me, miss?” said Sheila to a rather uptight looking sales woman.  “Yes?’ she said in an annoyed voice. Sheila was taken aback, but she stood her ground. “My friend would like to try on that dress over there, she said pointing. The sales woman noticed that Reyjah was black, beautiful and well dressed, but still black. “Tell your friend that I don’t think that she can afford it- its $300 dollars.” Said the saleslady. Reyjah sensed a problem. She walked over to Sheila and the saleswoman. “Is there a problem?”  she asked in her NY drawl. “Yeah, she thinks you can’t afford the dress you want.” Said Sheila, giving the saleswoman a dirty look. “You don’t think black people have money, is that what that is?” said Reyjah. “Dear it’s not money, it’s the type of money that it is. We don’t accept drug money here.”  “For your information, my money is legitimate, and who are you to place stereotypes on me?’ she said strongly. Reyjah pulled out her wallet and dropped it open, showing off her credit cards ranging from gold to platinum.  “Now, I would like to try that dress on…now.”  The saleslady was embarrassed. “What is your size, an 8?” she asked walking over to a rack. “No, I wear a 2,”said Reyjah.

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    “Reyjah, it looks so pretty on you,” said Sheila. Reyjah looked at herself in the three-way mirror. “I love the color,” she said. “Yeah, it’s great against your skin,” said Sheila as she slumped in a beige sofa. “You were right about this place,” she confessed. “See why I hate the West Coast?” said Reyjah.  “What kind of shoes should I get?”  “Either Manolo Blahniks or Jimmy Choo’s?”  “Jimmy Choo’s”. “They don’t act stank over there!” Sheila said it loud enough to be heard throughout the boutique. Reyjah laughed.   A woman in her late 30’s came over to them. “Excuse me ladies, is their a problem?” she asked pushing her glasses on her nose. She had red hair and an abundance of freckles. “Yes, ma’am.  That bitch right over there, yeah, she tried to say that I had drug money, and that people like me can’t wear dresses like this!” said Reyjah pointing to the woman at the register.   “Oh, my, that is a problem.” The manager gave the offending woman a dirty look. “Just wait until I tell Antoine about this,” said Reyjah to Sheila. “Antoine-Antoine Laconte?” said the woman. “Yeah, him.” Said Reyjah with a strange look on her face. “My goodness…Ma’am I apologize on behalf of the store and I will be more than happy to discount that dress for you.” “Okay,” said Reyjah.  Sheila laughed. When the woman walked over to the register, they snickered.
    At the Jimmy Choo store, Reyjah was up to her ankles in rhinestone- studded shoes. She finally found a pair that had stones even on the heels. “What kind of underwear are you wearing tonight?” asked Sheila when they were driving out of Beverly Hills. They had stopped at the WrapWorks for lunch.  “I have a Victoria’s Secret strapless bra and a g-string.” Said Reyjah. “I refuse to show any lines of any kind.”  “I wonder why that manager was so uptight when you mentioned Antoine’s name,” said Sheila, taking a bite out of her grilled chicken Caesar wrap. “Who knows?” Reyjah said, shrugging. “Aren’t you in the least little bit concerned?” asked Sheila in disbelief at her friend’s nonchalance. “Nah,” Reyjah bit into her steak and cheese wrap. “Why not?” said Sheila. “Because this is just dinner, it’s not like we are gonna get married or anything. I don’t really give a damn what he does, y’know. He can screw other women for all I care.”

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    Antoine had collected yet another $6,000. Colleen was feeling very generous.  “Thank you, Sir Hump-A-Lot,” she said coyly. Colleen was an overly bleached, overly nipped and tucked blonde. “I’ll call you next week when I need ‘Excalibur’ again, and thanks for that hairdresser’s number, Antoine,” she replied upon leaving the hotel room. Antoine waved her off.  He collapsed onto the bed. Three women in one day-damn he was tired. Thank God for Trojans. He looked at the digital clock. It was 4:30. “Damn, I have to go pick up my tux,” he said. “I can’t screw up, tonight, I refuse.”

    “Girl, you better get your ass in my chair!” said Derrick fussing at Reyjah. “You know it takes me about two hours until your hair is perfect, and I still have to do your makeup!” She plopped into his chair, “Well, get on it, baby, I can’t screw up tonight, I refuse.”

    Tales From Sha-Hair-Azad - Chapter 11