"For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings." - William Shakespeare, Richard II
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Cleo never thought chasing her music dreams would leave her in debt to...
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Cleo is early to her shift every day the following week. She can't get enough of the high, the rush that comes with performing. The crowd is always happy to have her, the gang is happy with the crowd. In her mind, everyone wins.
Miles had especially taken a liking to Cleo, but not in a creepy way. He was goofy, with the humor of a twelve year old boy, but he made Cleo laugh. In fact, Miles was now her newest hair client and good connections never hurt.
Cleo dips her fingers in a jar of braid gel. Her head bobs to the steady beat of the rnb song trilling out of the speaker beside her.
"And done..." Cleo says with a relieved sigh. She had been spending the afternoon on Mile's retwist. Funnily enough, he had booked an appointment the moment he found out she did hair. It came as a little shock, but business was business.
"My other guy be trippin'. Raisin' his prices and shit," Miles had explained.
When she's done, she snaps a few photos with his permission. She liked to collect as many images as possible for her ever-growing portfolio. Not bad, considering it was her second appointment of the day and it was only 2 o'clock.
"A'ight, girl... I fuck with it." Miles checks his locs out in his phone camera, nodding in approval. He chuckles and runs his hands down his pencil stache. "How you liking the night time job?"
An involuntary groan leaves her lips as she stretches out her back. Her schedule of late had been killing her. Between managing her hair business and still making it to the club to perform at night, her body was feeling every ounce of the labor.
"It's great. I love singing, so... it worked out all right." Cleo says with a genuine smile. She could never give it up, even if her body paid for it the morning after.
Miles chuckles. "Dante got you hustling."
"The pay is nice..." she shrugs. "I can't complain."
"I feel that."
He stands from her chair, fresh retwist hanging over his eyes. Out of all the members Cleo had met, he seemed the most personable. Open, at least. Not quick to irritate like Dante or guarded like Carlos. He was fun, quick to crack jokes, and he clearly liked his shoes. A pair of squeaky clean kicks hug his feet as they spoke.
Cleo chuckles and moves to clean up her supplies. "But, yeah. He's definitely something."
Miles pulls out a couple hundreds and plants them on the counter beside her. Her jaw drops. She was only charging him $80. How much was this?
