Free Second Chance Sister by Linda Kepner Page B

These open-air markets remind me of Virginia, where I went to university.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes. When visited the coast, we always went to the open-air markets, my friends and I.” She thought fondly of Marie Norton, her friend and head resident of the EVU grad-school housing units, to whom she’d written a letter only yesterday.
    Ceci led her to a building with a plate-glass window, through which Bishou could see the hoods and hoses of hair dryers. The front door was open. They stepped inside.
    A well-endowed black woman spoke in French. “
Oui, madame
? May I help you?” Then she saw Ceci. “Ah,
bonjour, ma petite
.”
    “Mma Jo, this is my friend Bishou. She said her hair is like mine. She wants to get it washed and trimmed.”
    “
Bonjour, madame
,” Bishou greeted her.
    If Mama Jo was surprised to see a white customer enter her shop, she didn’t show it. “Come sit down and let me look at your hair and scalp.”
    “
Oui, madame
.” Bishou sat down in the chair indicated by Mama Jo. The hairdresser then sat near her, and combed her hair.
    “Smooth. Not washed too often.”
    “I hate washing my hair.”
    “You keep your natural oils, then. Too many women wash them all away. You just wash and cut, eh?”
    “Bishou grew up in a houseful of brothers,” said Ceci.
    For the first time, Mama Jo chuckled. It was a warm sound. “And your heart brought you to Ceci, and Ceci brought you here. Let me see your hands.”
    Bishou gave her both hands, which she examined carefully. “You tend to your skin, but not your nails. You eat food that is good for you, and you drink water, but not quite enough.”
    “Ladies’ restrooms are often difficult to find.”
    “Mmph. Is this pretty blue stone on an engagement ring?”
    “Oui, madame.”
    Mama Jo deduced, “Then you are the tobacco-man’s wife.”
    Bishou admitted, “Oui, that’s me.”
    “Little fool,” said Mama Jo, patting her hand, “you could have any beautician in the city, and she would come to your house.”
    “I would rather not have an expensive beautician. I would rather have a good one. And I am not a tiny little blonde Frenchwoman, and never will be. So why should I pretend?”
    Now, Mama Jo’s smile was wide. “And here is where the other girls come to make their skin whiter and their hair straighter.”
    “That is the other girls, not me.”
    “What does your man want?”
    “My man wants someone to hold. He wants to be kissed and petted.”
    “He wants a woman,” said Mama Jo.
    “Oui, he wants a woman,” Bishou replied, wondering exactly where this conversation was leading.
    Mama Jo made a decision. “Come. I’ll wash your hair, and trim it.”
    Bishou flung her purse and shopping bag behind a chair and followed her to the sink. Mama Jo wrapped Bishou’s body in a neck-apron and tilted her back to wash her hair. The warm water made Bishou close her eyes and relax.
    “You’re not wearing makeup,” said Mama Jo.
    “I wanted to get my hair done,” Bishou answered.
    “Many women would not dare be seen without
maquilleur
, especially Frenchwomen.”
    “
Elle est Americaine
,” said Ceci, who waited nearby.
    This startled Mama Jo. “
Americaine
! And you found your way to me?”
    “
Oui, madame
.” Bishou kept her eyes shut. The shampoo and scalp massage felt so good. She hadn’t realized how tense she was, either. The tension was now vanishing. She sighed, “Oh, I want to stay in this chair. I don’t want to go back out into the world.”
    Mama Jo chuckled again. “Do you love your man?”
    “I love him very much.”
    “Then I’ll give you some massage oil for him, so he will feel like that, too.”
    “You are very kind.”
    “You will be lying with him for the first time?” Mama Jo asked.
    “
Oui
,” Bishou admitted, blushing.
    “Then I will give you a jar of cream, too, with lanolin in it, for your breasts and thighs, in case he is rough with you. Prison men are often rough,” Mama Jo said frankly,