take me where your heart is.

one.

;

Aphrodite (a.ka. Diety/Dot)

I remember being younger and spending countless hours in the hair salon with my mother. Whether I was getting my hair done or watching her conversate with everyone there, it always felt like a safe space for me because everyone inside looked like me. The older black women with their perm rods always gave me candy out their purse when I was getting a little antsy; and the other little girls would talk to me about anything while sitting under the dryer together.

With hair salons being a very nostalgic place for me, it's no wonder I ended up a hair stylist.

Of course, the hair salon I worked at now was a bit... different.

"Mrs. Peaches! You know that ain't right, Barb be staying out the way." I heard Shy counter from his section.

Now, Shy is the stylist across from me. He was laid back in his chair since he had no clients at the moment, brushing his waves for what had to be the thousandth time today. Those honey blonde dyed curls ran down to his sideburns, a short beard framing his brown face cutely. Shy looked sweet as pie, and he was, but messy as ever since the first day I met him. It doesn't help that we work in a salon, where plenty of gossiping takes place.

My boss and the owner of the shop, Mrs. Peaches, was sectioned adjacent to him, closer to the entrance of the salon. Now, I'm not no saint, but I've never met someone who talked about people more than her. She kept up most of the mess in this shop, and every time someone got in her chair, best believe Mrs. Peaches collected a story to tell the next. I glanced up from my client's head, seeing her face scrunched in dismay; obviously she didn't like whoever this Barb was.

"Well she don't stay out of my way, or my husband's for that matter," she added, snatching up the flat iron from her counter.

Mrs. Peaches specialized in cuts, colors, and dyes on natural hair. Right now she was finishing up a client who wanted fire red hair. And from what I could see, Mrs. Peaches did not disappoint.

"Peaches you think everybody and they mama got it out to steal yo' husband." Shy huffed.

At that I felt my eyebrows raise, glacing over at Zuriel to see them aleady looking at me.

Zuriel was the stylist to the right of me, across from Mrs. Peaches. We were the two youngest in the shop, me being twenty-three and them being twenty-seven, so we almost immediately formed a bond once I got here. Zuriel wasn't much of a gossiper, much like me, which was another reason why I loved them.

Zuri was a mean ass loctician, and everyone coming up out of their chair was satisfied.

"Here she go," they mouthed, talking about Mrs. Peaches of course. I nodded in agreement, rolling my eyes.

I swear I could hear Mrs. Peaches purse her lips across the room, "You know what Shy..."

I caught the start of her tirade, but tuned out the rest. I've learned it's better that way.

I focused my attention back on my client's head, curling the last few strands on her frontal wig. I had dyed it to the purple of her liking previously, so the installation process wasn't delayed.

"Don't mind her honey, I'm almost done." I told her, using a hot comb to flatten the part.

She giggled, "No it's fine, she's entertaining."

I shook my head and sat the hot comb down. I grabbed some hairspray off my counter, "Cover your face for me."

She did as told and I sprayed her hair quickly.