Chaunci’s six-year-old daughter, Kobi, pushed Chaunci’s bedroom door open, relaying the message from her au pair. Kobi hung on to the doorknob and swung into the room.
“What are you doing? And what are you wearing?” Chaunci looked at Kobi, who, decked out in a Cinderella gown with a towel wrapped around her neck, was spinning in a circle.
“This my freakum dress.”
“Excuse you?” Chaunci snapped.
Kobi slapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean this is my ball gown.” She curtsied. “Anty Dextra and I just had a tea party. Would you like a cup of tea, ma’dum?” she said in a playful British accent while picking up her mini porcelain teacup.
“No.”
“Why?” Kobi placed the cup to her lips and pretended to sip. “You’re going to be late to Ms. Evan’s party?”
Chaunci rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She couldn’t stand Evan, and the thought that she would have to pretend to like her for the rest of the night was unbearable. As far as Chaunci was concerned, Evan was the mistress of bitches, and the only reason Evan probably wanted Chaunci at the party was so that
Nubian Diva
would cover the event. Chaunci’s magazine was one of the hottest on the stands. It was the only African American magazine that ranked at the top with
Vogue
and
Glamour
, so anybody who was anybodywould of course invite her to their party, especially if they wanted it to be the event of the year.
She looked at the clock and realized she had only an hour to prepare for the evening. “No,” she said, her spirits dragging, “I won’t be late for the party.”
“So what are you going to do at the party?” Kobi climbed into the middle of her mother’s bed as Chaunci sorted through her closet.
“I’m not sure. What do you think I should do?”
Kobi pretended to sip again. “I think you should get us a new French-say.”
“A what?”
“Mommy, the man you’re marrying. French-say.”
“It’s ‘fiancé.’”
“I thought his name was Edmon.” Kobi looked confused. “But anyway, I heard Anty Dextra say on the phone that she doesn’t think Edmon is right for you. I have to agree with her. We need another one.”
Chaunci spun on her heels. “Who said that?”
“Anty Dextra said it. And she said that you needed a real manringo to handle you.”
“Oh, wait a minute, I know she wasn’t talking like that in front of you?!” Chaunci snapped. “Dextra”—she opened her bedroom door—“please come.”
“Mommy,” Kobi whispered, in excitement, “you’re going to get me in trouble. Anty Dextra told me to leave the room when grown folks were talking, but I liked what she was saying, so I stood by the door and listened. Don’t give my secret away, Mommy.” She folded her hands. “Please.”
“You are a little too grown,” Chaunci said, pushing the door closed, as she reluctantly decided to keep her daughter’s secret. “And whatever ‘new’
French-say
I need or don’t need is a little out of your six-year-old league.”
“Huh?” Kobi said, confused. “What does that mean, Mommy? To mind my business?”
“Forget it, Kobi. Just let me get dressed.”
“I wanna see what you’re going to wear,” Kobi insisted, pretending to sip her drink again.
While Kobi sat in the center of Chaunci’s bed, Chaunci pulled on a supertight navy blue velvet corset, which made her D-cup breasts look like an overflowing river of flesh. Her curvaceous hips were complemented by a Dolce and Gabbana eighteenth-century-inspired formal navy chiffon skirt, which draped to the floor and covered her pencil-heel Manolos.
“Mommy.”
“Yes,” Chaunci said as she snapped on her sapphire bangle.
“How come everybody in my class knows their daddy but me?”
“I’m your mommy and your daddy.”
“I told them that and they laughed at me. I had to tell Asia that I would kick her butt if she laughed one more time. And Mommy, I hate to break it to you, but you have to be a man in order to be a daddy. So do you
“What are you doing? And what are you wearing?” Chaunci looked at Kobi, who, decked out in a Cinderella gown with a towel wrapped around her neck, was spinning in a circle.
“This my freakum dress.”
“Excuse you?” Chaunci snapped.
Kobi slapped her hand over her mouth. “I mean this is my ball gown.” She curtsied. “Anty Dextra and I just had a tea party. Would you like a cup of tea, ma’dum?” she said in a playful British accent while picking up her mini porcelain teacup.
“No.”
“Why?” Kobi placed the cup to her lips and pretended to sip. “You’re going to be late to Ms. Evan’s party?”
Chaunci rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She couldn’t stand Evan, and the thought that she would have to pretend to like her for the rest of the night was unbearable. As far as Chaunci was concerned, Evan was the mistress of bitches, and the only reason Evan probably wanted Chaunci at the party was so that
Nubian Diva
would cover the event. Chaunci’s magazine was one of the hottest on the stands. It was the only African American magazine that ranked at the top with
Vogue
and
Glamour
, so anybody who was anybodywould of course invite her to their party, especially if they wanted it to be the event of the year.
She looked at the clock and realized she had only an hour to prepare for the evening. “No,” she said, her spirits dragging, “I won’t be late for the party.”
“So what are you going to do at the party?” Kobi climbed into the middle of her mother’s bed as Chaunci sorted through her closet.
“I’m not sure. What do you think I should do?”
Kobi pretended to sip again. “I think you should get us a new French-say.”
“A what?”
“Mommy, the man you’re marrying. French-say.”
“It’s ‘fiancé.’”
“I thought his name was Edmon.” Kobi looked confused. “But anyway, I heard Anty Dextra say on the phone that she doesn’t think Edmon is right for you. I have to agree with her. We need another one.”
Chaunci spun on her heels. “Who said that?”
“Anty Dextra said it. And she said that you needed a real manringo to handle you.”
“Oh, wait a minute, I know she wasn’t talking like that in front of you?!” Chaunci snapped. “Dextra”—she opened her bedroom door—“please come.”
“Mommy,” Kobi whispered, in excitement, “you’re going to get me in trouble. Anty Dextra told me to leave the room when grown folks were talking, but I liked what she was saying, so I stood by the door and listened. Don’t give my secret away, Mommy.” She folded her hands. “Please.”
“You are a little too grown,” Chaunci said, pushing the door closed, as she reluctantly decided to keep her daughter’s secret. “And whatever ‘new’
French-say
I need or don’t need is a little out of your six-year-old league.”
“Huh?” Kobi said, confused. “What does that mean, Mommy? To mind my business?”
“Forget it, Kobi. Just let me get dressed.”
“I wanna see what you’re going to wear,” Kobi insisted, pretending to sip her drink again.
While Kobi sat in the center of Chaunci’s bed, Chaunci pulled on a supertight navy blue velvet corset, which made her D-cup breasts look like an overflowing river of flesh. Her curvaceous hips were complemented by a Dolce and Gabbana eighteenth-century-inspired formal navy chiffon skirt, which draped to the floor and covered her pencil-heel Manolos.
“Mommy.”
“Yes,” Chaunci said as she snapped on her sapphire bangle.
“How come everybody in my class knows their daddy but me?”
“I’m your mommy and your daddy.”
“I told them that and they laughed at me. I had to tell Asia that I would kick her butt if she laughed one more time. And Mommy, I hate to break it to you, but you have to be a man in order to be a daddy. So do you
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