Page 34 of New Growth
Chelsea was the hairdresser—the one with the patience to handle haircuts, hair extensions, and permanent hair coloring. She was meticulous, and her knowledge was unparalleled. A fellow salon owner Hope knew highly recommended her, and I wasn’t disappointed. We hit it off instantly when she showed up for a trial appointment. I loved her energy, and I knew her vibrant personality would be a perfect fit for the atmosphere I was building at EL’evations.
Johanna was the receptionist and my personal cross to bear—she was a recent college graduate who had issues finding a full-time job. I took her in as a temp, but she got comfortable here and has been with us for just over six months. She was…young. Reckless at the mouth, loud, and always on the phone, but the staff and clients loved her energy, so I put up with it.
Finally, Esther had agreed to be the nail tech—we both moved to California together two years ago and shared a townhouse. Unfortunately for me, her and Hope’s friendship had been on edge lately, and I was caught in the middle.
“Elliot!” Esther’s voice rang out as I walked past the nail station.
I paused, forcing a smile at her because I knew I was about to get an earful. “Yes?”
“You better get her before I do.”
I frowned. “Who? Hope?”
“Yes. I’m gonna kill her.”
I sighed, already dreading whatever had happened this time. “What did she do now?”
Esther scoffed, throwing her nail file onto the counter. “The bitch told me she didn’t feel like my work was worthy of our Instagram page.”
Woah.
I gasped. “No, she didn’t.”
“Yes, she did!” Esther exclaimed, eyes blazing. “And I asked her, ‘What makes you think you can tell me my work doesn’t belong on the business page of the place I work at?’ And you know what she said? ‘Ellie put me in charge of it’.”
I sighed.Yes, I did.
But only because she had been difficult about her position at the salon outside of bringing in her friends. I felt bad for her. She was used to being the center of attention and the one running the show, so working for me had become a bit of achallenge.
Esther says she’s being spoiled and entitled, but I think it was deeper than that. Hope needed what I needed when I started a new chapter in my life back in Phuket.Purpose.
“I told her she could manage the social media accounts, but she doesn’t get to tell you that you couldn’t be on the page,” I said firmly.
“Well, the bitch did!” Esther exclaimed again. “I swear to God! If I wasn’t saved, I would’ve—”
“Okay, okay. I get it,” I interrupted. “I’ll talk to her about it.”
Esther was not satisfied with that solution. The look on her face told me she wanted her gone. “Why did you let her run the social media accounts, anyway? Johanna was doing a great job with it.”
“She needed something to keep her occupied. You know the girl is busy-bodied. She’s still trying to find herself and her purpose.”
Esther crossed her arms. “So? Let her ass figure out what she wants to do on her own time. It’s not like she’s a child. She’s old enough to not let her personal life affect our professional one. She’s gonna ruin the salon with her bullshit.”
“Come on, Es. That’s not entirely true. She’s bringing in clients.”
Esther snorted. “Her boujee, broke-ass friends that pay in Instagram reels? We make more money from local support.”
She wasn’t wrong.
When we opened, the support was outstanding and only grew as the days went by. We were the only Black-owned salon with an entirely Black staff in the area. On weekends, the girls did workshops for young teens interested in the Beauty industry, and once a month, we provided Beauty services for the women at the local shelter.
All of this was completely free of charge, but our giving back to the community unintentionally inspired the community to support us faithfully. That, along with our renowned talents, of course.
Hope didn’t really fit into any of those spaces. She didn’t have anything of value to teach the girls, and the idea of helping the women of the shelter terrified her for some reason, so she just sat on the sidelines.
“Still, we get exposure from her, so I want her to feel valued,” I explained.
“Whatever.” Esther waved a dismissive hand. “It’s your salon and your decision, ultimately. I just hope you don’t end up regretting it.”
