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    Tales From Sha-Hair-Azad:

    These Walls Can Talk

    By Najya Yasirah


    Chapter 7: Damsel in Dis-Dress



    Reyjah   was in a deep sleep. “OOOOHHHHH Antoine!!” She slowly opened her eyes. Dammit! Not again!” she said. She covered her face with a pillow and tried her best to back to sleep. “That’s his ass,” she muttered to herself.

    “You look tired as hell,” said Arianna as she spotted Reyjah on the squat machine.  Reyjah’s ass was still sore, but she took the pain like a soldier. “You can thank my next-door neighbor for that,” she grumbled. “Are we ‘loving thy neighbor’?” asked Arianna. Arianna was Reyjah’s personal trainer and friend at Hardbodies Gym.  Arianna was from Peru. She was very pretty with olive skin and hazel eyes. Her hair was dark brown and had been straightened to perfection by Reyjah. She looked like an ethnic Jennifer Lopez. She was a lot smarter, too. “Hell no, girl he’s a manwhore.” Reyjah huffed. Her quads were killing her. “A what?” “A gigolo, paid dick, dick for rent, penis for hire..Shaft, dammit!” “You are freaking kidding me?” “Nope, swear on the hairdresser’s oath.”  “And he’s taking you to Giovanni’s,” said Arianna in disbelief. “Yep, and this is my last rep!” Reyjah said in a strained voice. After ascending, Arianna reracked the bar. “What now?” asked Reyjah taking a swig from her water bottle. “Abs, ”said Arianna, pointing to a chin up bar. “Oh, damn, leg raises?” said Reyjah. ”But my ass hurts.” “You wanna keep that definition don’t you?” Arianna hinted nudging her friend.  They stood underneath the chinning bar. Arianna hoisted her friend up. Reyjah held on tightly to the bar, dropping her legs straight down. “Now remember, no swinging,” said Arianna as she stood back. “Go!” Reyjah used her stomach muscles to pull in her legs. It reminded her so much of her gymnastic days.  She could feel her abs contracting, and her grip beginning to slip. “Ooh, this hurts!” she grimaced.  Arianna stepped underneath her and helped her back down. “That was a good set,” she commented. Sweat drenched Reyjah’s pink sport bra and black spandex shorts.  Her top navel ring was in the shape of a weightlifting barbell. It was 14k gold with diamonds on each end. The bottom ring was a simple diamond.  She guzzled down her water. “You gotta tell me about this guy,” said Arianna as they sat down on the black stretching mats. Reyjah spread her legs wide into a full split and stretched. “He’s got skin a little darker than yours, he’s got these awesome lips…he’s just so unabashedly confident.”  Arianna smiled.  Reyjah was one of the prettiest girls that came to the gym. Men would hit on her, but she would always lie and say that she was gay or a transsexual. Reyjah  stretched her arms out  in front of her. “You don’t care that he’s a gigolo?” asked Arianna as she stretched her quads. “Only when his customers wake me up at 4:00 in the morning,” said Reyjah.  She mopped sweat from her face with her towel. Arianna shook her head.


    Reyjah showered and changed into a sky blue Adidas sport bra and drawstring pant outfit. The outfit included a matching, lightweight jacket. She hopped in her dark blue, Lincoln Navigator and stopped at Sha-Hair-Azad. She honked the horn. “C’mon, Sheila!” she said to herself. She turned on the radio. Nelly Furtado was playing. She began singing to herself. She honked the horn again.  “Bring you ass, on, damn,” said Reyjah. Sheila finally appeared wearing a red, leopard skin tank top, black , low slung pants, and matching boots. “I’m sorry, girl, you know how clients are,” said Sheila apologetically. “No, your ass just likes to talk,” said a vexed Reyjah as she pulled out into the highway.  “What bit you in the ass, today?” said Sheila. “Is your period on?” “I don’t have any ovaries..hello. My damn neighbor and his damn sex life are interfering with my sleep,” Reyjah complained. “I need to beat his ass, you have been so bitchy and foul lately,” said Sheila, frankly. “He had better not piss me off tonight, I know that much,” said Reyjah firmly.


    “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. “May I help you ladies?” asked the redheaded manager. She was very pretty and about 34 years old. Her long hair had beautiful curls. “Yes, Mr. Antoine Laconte sent me here,” said Reyjah politely.  The lady studied Reyjah and Sheila. “Yes, he called me earlier. He didn’t mention that you were so...” “Black?” Reyjah said dryly. The lady stared at her hostile, blue eyes. “I was going to say ‘lovely’,“ she replied coolly. Reyjah felt like an ass. Sheila shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m  from  New York,” she apologized. The woman laughed. “I understand, dear. I’m Magdalene. What did you say your name was?” “I’m Reyjah and this is my best friend, Sheila.” They all shook hands. “Are either of you Antoine’s clients?” “Hell no,” said Sheila casually. “He’s Reyjah’s client, she’s his hairdresser.”  “Oh, yes, I love his new haircut, I saw it last night.” “I know I heard.” “Pardon?” “I’m his next-door neighbor as well.” “Did I keep you up?” “Hell yes.” “Please let me make it up to you.” Magdalene led Sheila and Reyjah to the private showroom. “My goodness!” said Sheila. There were beautifully-clothed mannequins everywhere. “These arrived yesterday, you two are the first to see them,” said Magda proudly. “Is there any particular color that you like, Reyjah?” “Blue,” said Reyjah simply. “Something simple and elegant, but sparkly” “Look at that?” Sheila said. Sheila pointed to a gorgeous, Prussian blue gown on a very slender mannequin. It was made of matte jersey.  The gown was one-shouldered, held together with several straps made from Swavorski crystals.  The shaping was very formfitting with a high side crystal studded slit.  A matching sheer  chiffon wrap was included. “It’s perfect,” said Reyjah. “We have Jimmy Choo shoes to match as well as jewelry,” said Magda. “OOH! I love Jimmy Choo!” said Reyjah to Sheila. “And today, I ain’t paying for ‘em!” Magda laughed. “When you walk in, you are going to turn so many heads.” “I wanna do more than turn heads, I wanna break necks,” said Reyjah as she fingered the fabric. “What is your size Reyjah?  An 8?” asked Magdalene as she searched the rack. “Actaully, I wear a size two.” said Reyjah.


    “Thank you for all your help, Magdalene,” said Reyjah graciously. Magda had found the right shoes as well as the perfect accessories. She handed Reyjah her bags. “This is all on Mr. Laconte’s account,” said Magda. “I suppose you’re getting a discount rate, huh?” asked Reyjah. Magda winked. “Could you just bite the pillow next time?” Reyjah asked softly.

    “What kind of underwear, if any, 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 not wear any underwear or show any lines of any kind.”  “I wonder why that manager was so helpful when you mentioned Antoine’s name,” said Sheila, taking a bite out of her grilled chicken Caesar wrap. “Cuz he’s a hoe?” Reyjah said, shrugging. “A what?” “Sheila his clients scream all hours of the damn morning. He even told me he was a gigolo.” “Damn!” said Sheila almost choking on her food. “He’s fine as hell, but I’ll be damned if I pay any man for ding a ling.” Reyjah shrugged. “Hey, if his dick rots off; so be it.” “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; he won’t screw me- up or over,” said Reyjah firmly.


    Antoine had collected yet another $15,000. 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 his house. 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: These Walls Can Talk - Chapter 8