Sweet Nothing | Aaliyah x J. Cole

3

This nigga think I'm stupid.

Liyah pulls the brush through her hair beneath the straightener, adding volume to her long curtain bangs.

Why would I wait around for you? Look at me!

She runs her fingers through the hot section of hair, positioning it the way she likes it. In the way that always garners her compliments from men and women. There's hardly a day when out that she doesn't end up distributing at least one business card. Her own hair does all the advertising.

When done with her do, she puts lipgloss over her plump lips and spritz her favorite Gucci perfume in all the right places. Then she lowers the bottle, looking down at it in her hands. It had been a gift from a former fling. Vic was his name, pressure was his game. Until he'd shown up, she had never had a man take her to a rooftop dinner downtown or buy her flowers or massage her feet.

The bottle starts to feel heavy, so she puts it on the vanity again, and rises to a stand. Whatever happened to him? She picks up her phone and opens Instagram, finding his account.

Still fine as ever, but now his profile showcases another woman, who's just as pretty, and a little more curvy. He looks happy, she notes with a scoff.

"Of course he's happy. And look at me, stuck on fucking stupid," she rolls her eyes at herself and opens the medicine cabinet in her en suite. The cannabis oil is on the first shelf in the front, half empty. She grabs it and takes two dropper-fulls, counting down the minutes until it starts to hit.

Vic had been everything Jay wasn't: considerate, attentive, thoughtful. From a two-parent household with a mom and dad who loved each other. He'd been an ivy league graduate, and a lawyer on the Hill. And even though he was established and endowed, he never flashed jewelry and he drove a modest hybrid. She'd loved that the most about him.

She blows out the rose candles before leaving, and locks up the condo behind her. The sun is warm on her skin when she emerges from the building's parking garage in her car, but still cool enough to have the windows down along the ride.

The weather— life— is too beautiful for me to be feeling like this!

She leans her head into her hand in defeat, but quickly sits up again, checking to make sure it hasn't disturbed her hair. Why had she ever given up on Vic? All it had taken was one DM from Jay for her to lose all sense.

Sure, he was educated and established. But he was so rough around the edges. Never asked about her day, never initiated touch outside of sex. Half the time he was a ghost unless it was time to link up. Work, work, work, he always says. But Vic was a lawyer, yet he always had time for her. She missed that about him, too.

Arriving at her salon and hair boutique, Liyah tries to wash off the negativity with a short prayer:

Lord I just wanna make it through this day.

She imagines it being hard since everyone and their mama was at the salon last Thursday when one of Jay's hoes showed up, sat in one of her stylist's chair, and proceeded to talk about the best sex she ever had with someone well known.

Of course it had turned none other than THEE Jermaine Coleman, the host of everyone's favorite 95.5 WPGC. Sometimes, Liyah plays it in the salon just to hear his voice. But immediately after the woman— a true BBL baddie— left, Liyah asked a stylist to 'Please turn that shit off'.

Going inside, the stylists look up at her. It's her first day returning since that day. She and Jay hadn't been official, but she'd once been proud to say they were... something. Everyone in the shop had known. Now it's just awkward.

The smell of curling irons burning oils and a mixture of everyone body butter and perfume permeates the air conditioned salon. It's ceilings are high, walls sparkling cream and lined by faux hanging vines everywhere. Her original vision for the place was Zen. She could use that right now. But nothing made her feel less Zen than having to come to the salon in this kind of mood.

"Hey," she's greeted by Kiara, her assistant and receptionist. Liyah plops her purse on the partition between them and rubs her temples.

Kiara takes her in a second time, this time with wrinkled forehead. "Damn, you okay, girl?"

Liyah closes her eyes, her mind flashing back to hours ago when Jay had asked when he would see her again. She'd wanted to hug him, pull him back inside, and indulge him some more before he left. But then the cycle would never end.

She shrugged. "I'm here."

"He got you like that? Did you tell him about that little rat that came up in here?"

Liyah laughs, turning her head aside. "No. For what? He ain't my nigga."

"You better than me. I would've let him hear it," Kiara's lips protrude forward in disgust for a moment, and then she squints as if revelation comes upon her. "Are you still fucking him?"

Liyah rubs her lips together and stares at Kiara for a moment. She's one of the most gorgeous women she's ever seen, with pouty full lips, smooth copper skin, and the most dazzling almond Asiatic eyes. Like a real life Barbie. But this is one of those moments where Liyah wants to call her ugly.

Everybody's looking real ugly right now.

In the silence, Kiara says, "Is it really that good y'all can't give him back to the streets?"

Liyah laughs. Jay is good, sure, maybe even the best she's ever had. But she's in love with him, and after a year, great sex isn't sufficing anymore. "I'm not fucking him anymore, so there's that. He's been free to do whatever he wanna do. He don't owe me nothing. Anyway, what are we up against today?"

Kiara opens the appointment book, and gives her the rundown of stylists bookings, and one of her own. Most women coming through typically only book with the other women who have booths. Liyah hates doing hair now, having done it since she was fifteen. She doesn't have to unless money gets tight, and thankfully because her own prices are ridiculously above market average, the only women who book with her are those working downtown, those on TV, or those with popular local brands who can offer as much exposure as they can money. It helps that once or twice Jay has given her a shoutout on the radio.

Today's client is news anchor Janelle Smith: visciously conservative on TV but reportedly quite centrist behind closed doors. Cool, Liyah thinks, one more thing to do on top of fulfill orders and manage inventory for the stock of wigs in the back. She whispers the prayer again, thanks Kiara, and disappears into the back to begin a day of tedious tasks.