Messy Bitches Get the Shit-end in Musings

When you find out the business that you invested in is a fucking thieving money scam…

The thing about the managers I’ve hired and the owner above me is that they think that I’m just a crazy boy with money to splurge and I have no cares in the world but my Louboutins, my Birkin bags and Euro-trips and as long as all of those are still a part of my life I don’t care about anyone or anything else.

So we hired a new accountant. I never involved myself in the super back-end of the business because I trust people way too much and I don’t like to think too much. I hire people to think for me. However, I expect that when they are hired and give my okay… They will tell me I’m living outside of my means and I need to chill. I’m not unapproachable, I’m just expensive, but I’m not expensive, I’m just playing a role.

So the new accountant invited me, specifically, to the meeting. I look at the numbers he’s pulling up and I’m like ‘oh okay’ and I can feel that everyone is holding there breath around me. The fucked up part of being me is that everyone knows I’m smart but I’m very whatever about it—but I can go to the really smart part of me or I can be a really big bimbo. I can be Andy who graduated with a 4.7 GPA and scholarships out the ass or I can be Andy the cocaethelyne addict. I can be Andy the ghetto boy from the projects or Andy the prissy bitch who owns enough blood diamonds to feed a small starving town in Africa.

But as I looked at the numbers it looked like it made sense in a macro perspective. Our input outweighs our output. But in a micro perspective, I see that it doesn’t make sense that our input is always similar every month. So then I dig further… “That doesn’t make sense, I know that out workers should be a lot more than our input and we pay them accordingly” I said scrunching my face and the accountant smiled at me “yeah, just why I wanted you to join us, so why do you think that is?” And I could feel the air in the room grow thick and the owner burst out saying “Andy can we have clients to take care of, can you just rush through this?!”

“No. I’m not signing off on this. I don’t know if you think I want to go to jail or have my name and my reputation put in jeopardy because you all want to be fucking Jewish fucking thieving bastards” I said calmly, looking closer at the charts and spreadsheets. “So Ben signs off on all of these and as far as I know of our salon program, these edits are all done by him, why?” I said as I moved closer. “Guys, you can go back to work if you want, Andy and I can take care of this moving forward” the accountant said.

I fucking freaked the fuck out. Maybe I’m fucking crazy. If the business can’t support itself, then maybe we should downsize, find a cheaper space, keep our best employees and become smaller—I told Jared this and he smiled and said “Spoken like a true, honest business man. If you want me to take on your company, I don’t want to speak with anyone else but you” he said stretching his hand out to mine “and if you want to own your own business and take employees with you and start your own, I’m looking for something to invest in” he said as I shook his hand “I know you’re a fucking mess, but I can deal with an honest alcoholic or whatever it is you do, I can deal with. I don’t want jail time, you don’t look like someone who can survive jail” he said laughing. I never realized that the black man sitting in front of me was the same black man that I’ve met hundreds of times with Alex.

I want to write about it and tell the world, but it seems like I can’t incriminate myself or jeopardize anything until I have a lawyer present.

Alex flipped the fuck out and said some really angry things. I told my mother and she became so angry at me. “You’re a fucking college graduate, you should have just used your scholarships and made yourself better, go be a fucking writer you god damn little twat” she said screaming into the phone “yet you’re just here making all these white-collar mistakes” she said spewing out on the phone “You’re fucking gorgeous, you’re god damn smart as hell, you have women from New York paying you thousands of dollars for your talent and you waste yourself on those fucking nasty pills and that white bullshit you snort up your fucking nose! YOU’RE FUCKING LOST! and I’m disappointed and devastated not because you’re successful, but because you’re a fucking smart and choose to be a damn loser” She said so angrily on the phone “I fucking hate this nasty piece of shit monster that you keep making yourself to be, WAKE THE FUCK UP BABY ‘CAUSE I’M DYING AND I CAN’T PROTECT YOU AT THE HIGH YOU ARE IN! I should just fucking whip my belt off and beat the fuck out of you, knock some sense into you”

You’re right mom. I’m sorry. Fuck I’m sorry. Fuck I’m so sad. I’m so devastatingly sad. She’s right. So is Alex. So is Shane. So is everyone else who calls me a loser. I am a fucking loser.

A lawyer is being called. I need to escape this salon and whatever it takes, I will make it right. I’m not rich, but I’m surely not poor— and that’s not about money it’s about the people who believe in me… I might not have money, but I surely am too nice and trusting and allow people to just swish me around and bend me to there own type of advantage, but the people who love and believe in me are worth more than money.

I’m a New Yorker… I can never be destroyed, only re-created. The most resilient of bastards. I will re-create myself.

The people in this business don’t want to work there just because of the owner. They are hand-picked by me, every single last one of them. They are under an exclusive name for blondes in New York and then they work because they are under Andres, because of me! I’m a hot mess but I have a reputation, a following and I’m just. People fight to work with me when I’m there because they get there money’s worth and I only choose one guy to work with me because he busts his ass off and my clients love him—he’s honestly not technically talented, but he can sell and make money and that’s all what New York is about… it’s all a facade… He’s about 9 years younger than me and he looks up to me like I’m some fancy bitch—but its because he sees I have a ridiculous diamond ring from my ex-husband, I walk in to the salon and I look like a rich bitch client and I’m so cool—I throw off my Moncler and step all over it, while he’s freaking out and I drop bleach on my shoes and I’m like “Brad, calm down it’s just a shoe” when he’s hyper-ventilating wiping it off “I don’t care honey, pass me a foil, and get me more 20 vol bleach when you’re free” while he’ scurrying away and then I have dye on my diamond ring and I wipe it off and he’s freaking out “Honey, they are real diamonds, a little dye won’t tamper with its value, don’t stress” I say to him as he’s standing there idolizing me. I do realize what I’m worth superficially, but I could drop all of this in clorox and still not care.

After whatever happened today I gave Brad my flask, a blunt and a cigarette and he’s 22… he’s fucking beautiful…he’s absolutely, positively stunning and he tells me “I want to be like you Andy” as he inhaled weed. “Biiiiiitcchhh, you don’t want to be me, I’m a hot mess” I said searching through my pockets “NO! I want to be like you when I’m your age, you’re fucking perfect! You know that the front desk doesn’t let your clients book with me? They ask for me because you tell them to, but they don’t let me do them” he said. I became so angry, so fucking angry…If this is my fucking apprentice, and I amp him up to be as good or better than me, why the fuck won’t you let him highlight, blowdry, cut or whatever these girls want?! WHY THE FUCK IS HE JUST STANDING HERE?! TO WIPE MY FUCKING SHOES OFF?!

But I had to keep my composure in front of him. Not only as his manager, but as his mentor. “Brad you will never be me and I know you have your own way, but be a little more my apprentice and a little less my assistant” I said looking at him. “What does that mean?” he said as he took the blunt out of my hand. “It means stop fucking worrying about my rings and my shoes and start worrying about how you should be perfect and ready… cause I don’t think you’re ready to do clients and I’ll be super brutally honest, you’re gorgeous, you have an amazing gift for gab, but pay attention to the details. I highlight everyone exactly the same, oval face, oblong face, square face, round face, but it’s a good overall pattern and I have the gift of gab to sell them on it” I said as I sat down. “So you don’t think I’m good?” he said looking despairingly. “No I don’t think you’re technically good. I think you can talk someone into it, but your technical skill needs to improve” I said as I found my cocaine. “So I am good” he said. “Brad listen to me… if you’re my apprentice…I amp you up, it’s not because I think you’re good, it’s a business move” I said snorting up my nose “I amp you up because I know you’re not as good as me and they will come back to me and they will try you again because they assume that you learned from me and I’m selling you to them” I said. “So then where does that leave me?” he said sitting next to me. “That leaves YOU to be better than me” I said nudging him “You’re suppose to be my apprentice, when the time comes that I see my clients that you’ve done look like I’ve done them but with a fresher, newer take, I promise you…I will have the front desk book my clients with you and those bitches words will spread like wildfire” “So you don’t think I’m good?” he said frowning. “Not that I don’t think you’re good Brad… I just don’t think that you know how to merge what you know to what I know” I said. “How do you think I got here? I didn’t suck dick… I got here because I knew I was good, I merged my knowledge with her teaching and all of my clients are or were her clients, my mentor was a woman” I said standing up. “Word spreads like wildfire, ‘Andy’s assistant is good–even better than him—go to him if Andy is booked!’—I’m not the best, but I know I’m one of the best” I smiled as he took a pull of the blunt.

“So even if they want to book with me when your not there, it’s not okay?” he said standing up. “Let me tell you this way, when they couldn’t book with my mentor, they fucking forced there way to book with me. They didn’t give a fuck if I was an assistant, they wanted to see me. It was like stalkers would just burst in the door and ask for her and then they fucking threw money to see me” I said “You’re going on the right path, they want to book with you, but it’s very “oh okay”… I want you to prep yourself and learn my way and my technique so that when they come bombarding to see you, you can say ‘yeah I know Andy’s way, I got you, I’m going to give you a bonus though’” I said. “You get me?” I said.

“You don’t decide when you get to be a stylist… the demand for you gets you to be a stylist” I said hugging him. “I mean I see girls come in looking for you like you’re crack and they get so angry at the front desk” he said. “I didn’t know that, this is my first salon though” he said. “Watch me. Follow my pattern. LEARN IT, BACKWARDS, FORWARD and INSIDE OUT!…once you know all the rules, you can break them and bend them” I said as I wrapped my arm around his shoulder “You have the advantage and disadvantage of working with a gay man, I had the advantage of working with a woman… my clients adore you because you are a gay, white, blue eyed, blonde haired man”I said as I leaned on his shoulder “But you have to work a lot harder, because you’re working with–no shade–an equally gorgeous Latino man with gray diamonds and Louboutin shoes… your gift of gab is why I only like working with you, but if you want this as a career… watch me, absorb me” I said as we walked off on our floor. “Andy…but you don’t think I’m talented?” he said putting his hand around my waist. “I think you’re good—but you’re a small fish in a big tank…I’m not saying I’m the greatest… but I know I’m fucking good and I have a niche” I said. “You know I think you’re fucking amazing though?! I hate when you’re out sick or on vacation!” Brad said “I hate when I become a floater and no one wants me to help them because I’m suppose to be your assistant!” he said with his blue eyes glazed over.

“Girl I’ve been there. Back in my day, when I worked at a Madison avenue salon, and my mentor wasn’t there the stylist wouldn’t want me to do there clients, but the salon owner wanted me to do his clients… you wanna know why?” I said as I pushed him off of me “YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY?! I was a 19 year old piece of shit and they didn’t want me to take there client and no one wanted to allow me to style there client because they knew that I was trained by a woman that charged $525 a haircut and I knew what I was doing and they were charging $125 for a haircut… I had women come to me 4 times a week for a blow-dry style for $125, if that were me I wouldn’t want me to do there hair too!” I laughed
“I was the youngest person who had to train people how to do blow-outs! Like legitimately get paid extra to train people how to do blow dries” I said “Me! A bitch from the projects…I was the first assistant in that owners life that he had to ASK for me because his client didn’t want anyone else, his assistants were in there 30’s, I was fucking 19 years old and scared!” I said flapping my hands.

“If I go back to that fucking salon on fifth avenue, do you know that he still knows my name?!” I exclaimed. “Do you know that the general manager gave me a job because she was on my references?!” I said. “Do you know that the bitches that go to my mentor come to me?!” I exclaimed. “I’m good at what I do, however, I’ve left a legacy of good work all over! You can call me a coke head, you can call me a hot fucking mess, but I’m always 15 minutes early and 45 minutes over my time” I said to Brad. “If you’re good, you’re good. And I know that my clients ask for you and I will vouche for you… but you need to keep my rep up. I cant give you my clients if you aren’t up to my standards or better” I said smiling to him. “You’re good at what you do, but I want you to try better. I don’t need my level, I need 2 to 3 levels above me before I can let those bitches see you” I said smiling at him. “I see a lot of me in you, but I also see a lot of how young you are intercept” I said as I hugged him. “So you don’t think I’m good?” he said. “Bitch, I’m not stupid but you need to stop being stupid. I think your fine, but I’ve left a mark, now you need to reach it and exceed it” I said as I walked to our break room and drank water.

Alex walked into the room. Brad was excited to see him and said “I’m just talking business with him, he’s so fucking rich and fabulous, he has so much to say about my own business!!” “That’s why I married him, he’s such a genuine guy, he’s so insanely smart, but he’s so conflicted and dumb he’s all business, listen to him, he’s fucking ripping millions off of me just outta alimony!” he said as he put his arm around me. “FUCK YOU ALEX. Those fucking black and blues on my face were worth more than millions” I said snarling. “Oh fuck Andy” Brad said. “Really—“ “Andy shut up!” Alex said. “Fuck, Andy you okay?” Brad whispered. “Bitch I’m more than okay. Pay my alimony nigga, you beat me to a bloody pulp and I’ve always stood quiet” I said to Alex. “But hit me the fuck again and I promise you, you won’t make it out alive”I said calmly in his face.

The fuck you mean Alex. Millions nigga? You mean like $5235 a month. The government said and you allowed it to be that way… You owe me 5k a month for the amount that we’ve been married and that’s fucking cheap compared to how many bruises I had to cover up at work. How your own aunt in Paris calls me every week to ask me how I am after the divorce? How your fucking aunt in Paris was devastated for me after I revealed our relationship to her and was so disgusted by the fact that I never told her? How your fucking aunt in Paris told me that I was so classy and handsome that you didn’t deserve me as your spouse, lover or even your acquaintance? Why did she pay for my hospital bill when I crashed with Luiz? Why did she fucking stick up for me when the divorce attorney’s were there and said ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t know Andy, I love you like my son and I want you to be good’ and she threw money at me, when I said NO. Most of the jewelry in that safe is hers, gifts from her.

Fuck Alex. If everyone thinks I’m a prize to be won and you just think I’m something so easy to be had…You have that dirty little bastard on your facebook wall… with a picture of the Eiffel tower that I took.

If a fucking employee tells me he wants to be me. If my friends tell me I’m such an amazing person. If my best friends tell me I’m so fucking handsome and gorgeous that I shouldn’t be moping on you. If your own fucking Aunt sends me priceless stones in first class, priority mail, and your mother even calls me and said to me “you’re one of the biggest fucking disasters in my sons life, but you are the biggest blessing to our family” how the fuck am I suppose to feel? How the fuck am I suppose to cope with the fact that you would beat the living day lights out of me and I just had expensive make-up to conceal and cover up the bruises your own hands marked me with.

FUCK I feel fucking ugly because of you. I’m fucking hideous because you thought of me that way and I know I should be my own grown up MAN and move on past it… but I can’t move on past the fact that I just stood there paradoxically scared and unafraid being rammed up against a wall and being told I was a worthless, gold-digging whore and feeling your fist scalding on my temples… I just stood there, I could’ve called the cops. I could’ve let everyone know, but I was quiet. I took your beatings quietly figuring out what my concealer would be from Mac… I went to work once and a girl who loved me looked at my unconcealed face and said “what happened to your eye?” and I quickly said “Oh I just fell” and she looked at me pathetically and said… “A lot of us fall baby, but I got your concealer shade until you really get some rest” and as she dotted on the concealer in the bathroom, and I cried, she just kept saying “baby, it’ll all be over when you get your power to rest” and it was all in fucking weird innuendoes.

You fucking dirty bastard. I don’t know why I love you so much. I still will literally kiss your feet and worship the ground you walk on. But you beat me like I was getting jumped into a gang. You hated me so much for whatever reason and I was just a dog who loved you infinitely.

I signed that prenup and when I sued you for divorce… you just gave me more than half of everything. It’s so confusing to me… did you love me Alex? did you just need a punching bag? did you want to just settle out of court or did you really truly know that I would have just shambled in court?! Did you truly love me and know that I sued you for divorce because everyone told me I needed to or did you just love me on your own and know that you fucked up and you needed to pay for reparations? I don’t know. I will never know.

I will never know anything.

Fuck you. Fuck everything. Bring me the cocaine and alcohol. I’m a smart bitch to know that the addiction that brings me here is cocaethelyne. I’m dumb enough to not understand that I’m just a messy bitch with too much trust to give.

xoxo

Andy