The House of BeautyShort Story – Part 1: "Edges and Enemies"

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The House of Beauty
Short Story – Part 1: "Edges and Enemies"

The curling irons were already sizzling at 8:01 a.m., and Ms. Darlene hadn’t even taken her coat off.

“Turn that flat iron down, Trey! You tryna fry this girl’s scalp off before I can even clock in?” she barked, tossing her leopard print coat over her chair.

Trey rolled his eyes but turned the heat down. “She said she wanted it bone straight. I’m just giving what needs to be gave.”

The salon smelled like coconut oil, acrylic powder, and secrets. It was Thursday—walk-in day—and that meant the tea was about to overflow.

Chanel strolled in late as usual, nails freshly done and sunglasses on, even though the sun wasn’t. “Good morning, peasants,” she said with a smirk, sipping her caramel macchiato like she owned the place.

“Morning,” Bri mumbled from the shampoo bowl, but nobody answered Chanel. They were still mad from last week when she posted a TikTok calling herself “the only boss baddie in the building.”

Meanwhile, Miss Gladys was already in chair three, under the dryer, bonnet in her lap, and two pieces of hot gossip tucked behind her ears like earrings.

“I saw Deacon Harris at the Red Roof Inn with Sister Loretta,” she shouted over the dryer.

Trey stopped mid-swoop. “Not the Red Roof, chile.”

“Mm-hmm,” Miss Gladys nodded. “And they wasn’t praying.”

Everyone howled—except Bri, who kept her head down while rinsing out a client’s conditioner. Nobody knew much about her, except she came from “down South,” had a thick accent, and once told a client she wasn’t allowed to talk about her mama.

Ms. Darlene finally grabbed her flask and took a discreet sip. “Lawd. Lemme get through this day without whoopin’ somebody.”

But just as the laughter died down, the front door flew open.

Standing in the doorway was a woman in all black, oversized sunglasses, and an attitude that could melt a lace front.

“Where is Trey?” she demanded.

Trey froze, flat iron mid-air. “Uh-oh…”

Ms. Darlene narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

The woman whipped off her shades. “I’m Tasha. And I’m here to find out why this man been texting my husband at midnight talkin’ bout 'come through for a quick fade.'”

The salon went dead silent. Even the dryer stopped humming like it was listening.

Trey smirked and crossed his arms. “Tell your husband to stop requesting the deluxe service… and bringing his own body oil.”

“OOOOP!” Chanel shouted, nearly choking on her drink.

Ms. Darlene grabbed her comb like a weapon. “Y’all ain’t about to turn my shop into an episode of Cheaters. Not today.”

Tasha stepped forward, but Miss Gladys blocked her like a linebacker. “Girl, sit down and let Ms. Darlene do your edges before you lose your man and your hairline.”

Trey turned back to his client, calm as ever. “You know what they say, baby—what happens in the chair, don’t stay in the chair.”

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