*𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧 & 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞* *Ep 1* There’s something about salons that turns even the quietest women into seasoned talk show hosts. Maybe it’s the heat from the hairdryers, the chemical fumes, or just the sacred sisterhood of shared heartbreaks and hot gossip. Whatever it is, this particular Tuesday afternoon at Salon and Barbers Tattles was destined to be historic. Janet not her real name, the self proclaimed Queen of Lace Fronts and Gospel Karaoke, had just reclined into her chair, sipping a lukewarm Fanta, when in walked Belinda, high heels clicking like she was walking into a courtroom, not a salon. She wore oversized sunglasses indoors (because drama, obviously), a scarf that screamed “my husband doesn’t ask questions,” and a look on her face like she had tea hot enough to scald a bishop. The room tensed. Even the dryer stopped whirring. Chatter the stylist lowered her comb midnbraid. Something was about to erupt. “I have something to say,” Belinda declared, peeling off her shades like a telenovela villain. “And I can’t hold it in anymore. This weave has seen too much.” Now, in any other establishment, people would politely nod and return to scrolling Instagram. But this was Curls & Swirls. Here, confessions were currency. “I’ve been… involved,” she said, pausing for dramatic effect, “with our school chaplain back in high school” Gasps. Full bodied, chest clutching gasps. Janet choked on her Fanta and screamed, “As in Father Father? The one who ends mass with a smile and a Bible verse?!” Belinda nodded, eyes gleaming with the twisted satisfaction of dropping a nuclear bomb on basic morality. “Oh, sweet Moses on a motorbike,” mumbled Chatter, now fully invested. “Girl, you’re telling us you’re sleeping with a man who baptizes people?” Belinda shrugged. “Well, technically… he baptized me too. Twice. Once with holy water, and once with... you know what, never mind.” A moment of silence passed as everyone imagined the logistics of that particular sacrament. “But why?” someone finally asked, not out of judgment, but curiosity. Like asking why someone would voluntarily eat pineapple on pizza. Belinda rolled her eyes. “Because he listens, he is romantic, smells like incense and forbidden fruit. And when he recites scripture in Latin? Whew. That man could part the Red Sea with just his voice.” Janet fanned herself with a wig cap. “That’s not lust, darling. That’s possession. We need an exorcist.” Chatter leaned in, whispering like the walls had ears. “Did you confess?” “To him? Every time,” Belinda replied with a smirk that could curdle milk. “In private. Behind the choir stands. Once during a church retreat. It’s like sin, but make it premium.” The room was now in full hysteria. Even the owner, Mama Grace, who only came out during payroll, peeked her head from the office like a meerkat sensing scandal. Belinda sipped her juice like it was communion wine. “He called me his spiritual awakening.” Someone snorted. “More like his damnation.” And just like that, the dryers started spinning again, the scissors snipped, and the salon slipped back into its regular rhythm except now, every blowout was punctuated with side eyes and quiet murmurs about Father sins. Because in the holy halls of Curls & Swirls, there’s only one commandment that matters: Thou shalt not bore. And Belinda? She had just secured her place in the gospel according to gossip. *_What other story or gossip will drop next?_*