Page 16 of The True Garza
“Yup.”
She has undone my tight, low bun and, with a deep frown, is examining my tresses, studying the roots closely and then the ends.
Through a chuckle, I ask, “You’re wondering what I am?”
“I wasn’t sure—” She pauses. “Am I being offensive?”
“Nah.” I make to wave her off, but my hands are trapped under the plastic cape. “German mother, African American father. Mom’s a natural snow-blonde, so the hair color comes from her. You should’ve seen me and my sister as kids. It got darker as we grew, though—hence the butter-blonde. The curls, of course, are from my dad. I wash and sometimes press it once a week, then keep it pulled back in a bun because it’s just easier to handle that way.”
“You have beautiful hair,” she muses. “I’m excited to see what your curls are really like after a wash. I’ll know what to do from there. But full, wavy, flowing curls is my top recommendation for looking younger.” She takes my chin and examines my face. “You have striking eyes, but thin brows. Micro-bladed brows will easily shave five years off your face. Hmm.” She contemplates me some more. Then she claps her hands. “I’ll take care of you. Do you trust me?”
I’m deadpan when I reply, “I don’t trust anyone.”
At that, she laughs, shaking her head. “Well then, you’ll fit right in with the Red Cage men.”
~
Hours later, Iget home to Brooklyn sipping wine and waltzing with herself to classical music in the living room. Her silk, champagne-colored duster billowing around her.
My sister is the epitome of successful and unbothered.
When she eventually notices me, she spews wine all over her fluffy, white area rug. “Ah shit,” she hisses, looking down at the rug that no doubt cost an arm and a leg.
“Good thing it’s not red wine, huh?”
Her attention snaps up to me again. “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”
On a sigh, I touch the ends of the wavy, waist-length curls. My natural hair is chest-length and butter-blonde, but Jules dyed it to a warmer color and added hair extensions that I have zero clue how to maintain. “When you want to look younger, you go longer,” she’d said. After that, I was given a full facial treatment, a mani and pedi, had my eyebrows micro-bladed, and was given a “sexier and more feminine” wardrobe from the boutique.
“It’s for work,” I say with a groan.
“Are you going undercover as a Cover Girl model or something?”
“You know the rules: no discussing cases with you, traitor lawyer.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m acorporatelawyer now. I told you that criminal-law thing wasn’t for me.”
“Ah yes, ‘because I’ll get richer faster in Big Law’?”
With an unapologetic shrug, she gestures around her million-dollar house. “Wasn’t I right?”
Now it’s me who’s rolling my eyes. Yep, my sister is one ofthoselawyers—for money, not passion. I’d judged her when she switched to Big Law. But now I get it. My passion for investigative work is dead and buried, and now I’m just about the paycheck.
“Wine?” Brooklyn asks as I dump the Jules’s Touch shopping bags and begin rummaging in the fridge for something to snack on.
I grab a strawberry yogurt and knee the fridge door shut. “No, thanks.”
“Hell is freezing over,” she mutters to the ceiling, still dancing with herself. “Did you hear that, God? Lonny Bridge just turned downalcohol. First, she walks in here looking like a Barbie doll, and then she says ‘no, thanks’ to alcohol. Are you on your way down, Lord? Is time up for us already?”
After peeling the foil off the yogurt, I grab a spoon and scoop in a mouthful before asking, “Hey, what do you know about True Garza?”
“Panty-wetter True Garza?” she asks as she makes another twirl.
Panty-wetter? “Is there another True Garza?”
“Well, aside from being a smooth-operating ladies’ man, True is a well-loved guy. He’s always in good spirits, has an addictive energy, and is the only likable one out of the Garza brothers.”
“Why did you call him ‘panty wetter’?”
