Page 34 of Not My Type
People who dem call Nick, their right names are usually Nicholas. Right?
I try Nicholas.
Nothing.
Nicardo?
Nothing.
To how him bad, him nah use him real name. That a if him even have an Instagram.
What about his brother?
I search Jordane Jacobs and I don’t find anything. I look up at the women in the shop, laughing uncontrollably. The man is wining his waist to a souls song, while looking flirtatiously at Clova. His eyes then turn to me. His waist still rotating.
“So you a the woman mi a go risk it all for?” he inquires and the women laugh even more. I stare at him blankly. Cya me him a talk to enuh. “There’s no place I’d rather be in this world!” He points at me as he sings out Bruno Mar’s song.
A you him a talk sista gyal.
“ So, you see pretty girl so you left me now?” Clova jokes.
“She pretty fi true mon,” he compliments. “Nice, chocolate melanin with her coolie hair. Pretty pretty empress.”
I still don’t smile. The sound of a car grabs our attention and it’s not just any car. It’s a red Porsche.
Looks
“A mi baby this a come,” the man says looking out.
“Top the noise, everybody a yuh baby?” Clova chuckles as she tilts my head, giving me feed in braids with my natural hair—Alicia keys style, adding a little extension here and there.
A light skinned girl steps out of the car, looking like she had just walked out of Instagram. Wow. She affi be an influencer. She’s clad in Dior from top to bottom. From her one shoulder top, to the track shorts to the designer shoes... The lady look good. No wonder everyone is looking at her. There’s a Dior bucket hat in her hand, and her long hair is done in a loose ponytail.
The inebriated man opens the door, waiting for her to step in.
“See the client yer weh mi a tell unuh bout,” Clova whispers as she approaches us. Why is everyone so silent?
She steps in—her perfume fills the room. I can’t help admiring her makeup. It’s clearly done by a professional. Her eyes are dark brown. Her face is complete with a celestial nose and plumped bow shaped lips. She looks like a Latina.
If she looks so good and har hair nuh comb yet. Imagine when it done.
She smiles— she wears braces too. A when mi can have money so?
“Hola,” she greets us. We respond warmly and watch as she hugs Clova.
“What’s up baby?” Clova twangs.
“I’m in a rush. Can you give me a sleek ponytail?” her pleading eyes fixed on me. She a ask me? Well, at least she nuh rude and a order people. Clova is almost finished with my hair and I’m not rushing, so I guess it’s okay.
“Alright Clova do it,” I slowly get up.
“Thanks Mama,” she says in a thick Mexican accent before she sits.
Clova starts combing her hair and I sit in the sofa, watching quietly. Then my phone rings. It’s Nick. My heartbeat races. I still don’t know what to tell him. Lawd God. It rings out then he calls again. I have to put some thought into it. With a faint sigh, I turn on do not disturb and focus on Clova doing the ponytail. I feel so bad for ignoring him. But, Chro.
“You me wah married,” the man says to her and she looks up at him. Her brows knitting together.
“Shut your ass up,” she snaps, her tone sassy.
