The Beginning

It is always hard to start at the beginning, especially when you aren’t sure where that beginning is or how everything actually began in the first place. A good rule of thumb is to start with what you know for yourself to be the truth, not what has been learned thorough second hand conversation or lord forbid gossip. No, the beginning should always begin with a first hand account of the facts and then comes the second hand accusations and rumors. Well, let’s just start with the facts and see what lies and deception we can get into. Don’t frown like that…the best stories always are those of lies and deception. Now, I know you aren’t big on gossip and would never want to caught wind of someone’s dirty laundry, but I love it and that my dear is why the facts of our story begin in a place where most lies and rumors get started…the beauty salon.

Sheer Inhairbitions was just like any other mid-scale salon specializing in everything from acrylic nails to fusion weaves. You could get your highlights done and fake lashes applied all in the same setting. There were all of the usual characters one finds in a salon. An eccentric owner named Qualisha, who was college educated but prided herself on being ghetto. The stylist to die for, Monique, whom stayed booked two months ahead with an extensive list of clients. Tisha, the salon, gossip, who kept constant trouble stirred up with her word of mouth news that she spread throughout the salon like fire through a bush. The token gay guy, Will and the token male whore Mark, both of whom were masters of their craft. Typical salon, but let’s not get too focused on them, we are here to start our story and that is what we will do.

It was a Tuesday morning when Nicolette Williams strolled through the front door of Sheer Inhairbitions with a business proposal and a smile. Nikki, as she was known, was what most women strive to be, young, beautiful, and smart, a body to die for and self acquired wealth. She still had a model’s strut though she hadn’t graced the catwalk in years. She had retired from modeling at the ripe old age of twenty-two and invested her money in some housing development projects, the city’s hottest night club and various other business deals. She smiled as her designer heels clicked across the floor of the reception area. She warmly greeted the receptionist who took her information and asked her to have a seat, which she did with a polite smile, while crossing her long freshly waxed legs.

At first glance, it was easy to both envy and hate Nikki simply for the life she lived, but looks can be deceiving when judging the life of a woman who had been blessed in so many ways. Was her life really as picture perfect as it seemed? There were certainly enough rumors circulating around town to suggest that it wasn't. As she got up and made her way to Qualisha’s office, located in the back of the salon, she made sure to smile and greet each of the stylists by name as she passed. She was after all one of the nicest people you could ever want to meet and very down to earth. She went out of her way to make others feel welcomed and was always willing to give you the designer shirt off her back. In fact, she was so nice she was unknowingly sharing her husband with Qualisha. Somebody please give this girl a medal and a clue.

This is where the facts end and the speculation begins, it is a known fact that Nikki casually sashayed into Qualisha’s office on a Tuesday morning and confidently strolled out ten minutes later, with a yelling and screaming Qualisha dead on her heels. It is pure speculation as to what occurred on the other side of the door, but in the dead center on the shop the conversation was loud and clear. For now, the conversation went like this:

“You WILL be hearing from my lawyer, Bitch!” screamed an irate Qualisha, all of her poise and grace down the drain, as she stormed behind a smiling Nikki. “It’s not my fault that you can’t keep your husband at home.”

Nikki stopped dead in her tracks and spun around quickly on her heels to face Qualisha, never losing her composure. She smiled the smile of a woman holding all of the cards, “Alienation of Affection, dear…it’s called alienation of affection. If you spent more time researching the consequences of sleeping with a married man and less time screwing them, then you would know that the law says IT…is your fault. So, this is about to be mine,” she continued as she made a circular motion with her finger, “so, I hope the sex was worth it.” She paused for a second and then shifted all of her weight to one side and continued “but I’ve sleep with my husband, so I know he’s not worth a happy meal.” She turned to the other stylists and said, “You all have a good day!” And with that she strutted like the runway diva she once was out of the salon leaving behind only the sound of awkward silence.

Well, that little incident sent pandemonium throughout the shop and the gossip of the morning happenings shot out east, north, south and west. The embellishments of what had occurred ranged from a physical altercation to Qualisha begging Nikki not to take her shop. The only part of the story that had remained in tact was that Nikki confronted Qualisha about sleeping with her husband. He got the privilege of finding out about his wife’s visit via a frantic phone call from Qualisha. Ending in his insisting that he would handle the whole situation and reassuring Qualisha that she was not going to lose her shop, something he was in no position to do.