Pixie Barfly Part 5

Once they reached her home, she ushered Brent inside and shut the door behind them. He imagined Pixie’s home to have a lot of goth items laying around, or all the walls painted black, and a brooding atmosphere. Turns out her home was nothing of the sort, the front room screamed of femininity. Whites, muted pinks, plush cream colored throw pillows, eggshell white over-sized couch invited him to have a relaxing stay.
“You look impressed.”
“Shocked. From your appearance, I assumed I’d see a dungeon with whips and chains nailed into the walls.”
She crossed her arms in amazement and said “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He laughed. “Let’s see what the hell is wrong with me? Everything.”
“Is that right? Well have a seat, make yourself comfortable but not too comfortable.”
He watched her float to the kitchen and sank into the couch. Pixie came back minutes later with two glasses of iced tea. “I hope you like tea.”
“Not really, but I’ll drink it anyway.”
“So, now that you’re here, what do you want to do?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“I thought you said you wanted to talk.”
“I did. But now I don’t. Besides you said you’d give me two hours of your time.”
“Yes I did, after you said you wanted to talk.”
He chuckled and stared up at her ceiling.
“I just want to turn my mind off for a while. I swear I won’t bother asking you for anything.”
“Okay.” she looked at her clock. “You officially have an hour and fifty minutes left. Use them wisely.”
She took off to her bathroom to run bath water and peaked out to eye her mysterious guest. Looked like there was no movement on his behalf, so she undressed and melted into the steamy water to soak her body. Once she concluded her bath, she started fiddling with her hair until she got it the way she wanted it. Emerging from the bathroom and hour and a half later, she saw her guest sleeping. She stood over him, settling her hands on her hips and stared into his face. He looked irritated and wore a permanent frown over his face. Pixie leaned forward to tap him on the shoulder, then harder when he didn’t wake. “Hey, your times up.”
When his vision cleared he uttered, “What the hell did you do to your hair!?”
“What do you mean?”
“It was just purple and pink.”
“Oh, that. I just felt I needed a change. Red and black looks good on me right?”
“Ah ha…”
“Look, if you plan on staying around me you’re going to have to stop getting shocked by the smallest of things.”
“Well how do you think I should act when you look one way and the next you look like a different person? At least you could have warned me, Jesus.”
“Many black women change their hairstyles and color frequently. Get used to it. This this is a weave.”
“It’s a what?”
“A weave. It’s not my real hair.”
“Well just wear your real hair then.”
“Who are you?” she laughed. “I get to play around with various styles. It’s fun, really.”
“I don’t know about that.” He stood up and eyed her hair over. Hmm. It looked natural to him. He lifted a hand to touch her hair and immediately got it smacked away. “What?”
“What do you mean what? You never touch a woman’s weave.”
“Well why the hell do you have it in if you can’t touch it!”
I can touch it, but you can’t. It’s just a rule.”
“The hell with that. And how did you get you weave to stay in place? A rope of some sort?”
“What the…do you see a rope hanging anywhere from my head?”
“I’m just asking because I don’t know.”
“For your information, and file this away in your frontal lobe, women of color have options, be can glue weave in or do a sew-in. Mine is a sew in.”
“So what do you sew it to?”
Pixie laughed so hard, he almost felt the need to be embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” she said as she pulled herself together. “Ahem… you sew the track, the weave with a curved needle and black thread to your real hair, which is braided underneath.”
“So, you do have hair up under the fake?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Why go through all the trouble to put fake hair in your head, when you have your own hair?”
“Because a woman wants to look and feel different on occasions, my occasions just happen to be every three weeks.”
“And I can’t touch it?”
“Not if you want to lose your fingers.”
“Well what else can’t I not touch? Is there anything else fake on you I need to be warned about?”
“No. The hair is the only thing. And didn’t I say you’re past your time here?”
“Ah, you did. So, you’re kicking me out?”
“Kicking you out? No, I’m just showing you the door. Follow me.”
She led the way, he lagging behind. In all his time on earth he’d never come across a women who praised variety in this way. Pixie was certainly a spunky one as he noted from the way her clothes fit, she took very good care of herself. As a matter of fact she had curves a man would love to explore. Funny his ex-wife was the total opposite, she was shaped like a bean pole. The thought of his ex brought a grimace to his face. He pushed his thoughts back to Pixie and her curves. He wondered why now, all of a sudden he was recognizing a full figured woman. Interesting. He’d like to explore this woman deeper, see what he’d could learn from her.
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