Free Can't Stop the Shine by Joyce E. Davis Page B

years ahead in terms of fashion. We racked up on all kinds of gear, and of course everybody smoked a lot and spoke French. Thank God I speak French, too.”
    â€œParis! That’s what’s up. When did you go? Was it cold? Were there any black people? How was the food?” Mari was excited.
    â€œWe went last spring. Yes, it was kinda cold, but not too bad because my mama got us these beautiful Burberry wool coats, and we were chauffeured around, so we hardly felt the cold at all. The food was different—really rich with lots of creamy sauces. Paris has way more white people than black people, but we saw a lot of blacks, especially Africans. Probably because my mama was there to scout out models for Wright Touch.”
    â€œDid she find one?”
    â€œShe found a ton. I think they are going to choose one soon to do some kind of European marketing campaign. We’ve been to Jamaica tons of times and London, too. I think she’s trying to go to Brazil later on this year. I’ll probably get to go.”
    â€œThat’s really cool that you get to travel like that.”
    â€œWell, you know that’s how it is when you’re a baller,” said Asha. “One day we’ll probably have a private jet and everything.”
    â€œA lot of people wish they could have a life like yours. I mean I’ve never been out of the country,” said Mari, closing her eyes to think. “Well, I take that back. When we went to a wedding in Detroit when I was young, we drove across the border to Canada, but we were only there for a few hours. We used to go on a family vacation every summer to places like Disney World and Washington, D.C. We did go to L.A. and New York City, but I don’t think I really know any black people who live like you.”
    â€œThere are a bunch of us, just not all in one place. Maybe you can come back sometime when my mama is throwing one of her fabulous affairs. You’ll really see how the grown and sexy get down then. It’s catered, and there’s a live band and champagne flowing everywhere.”
    â€œThat sounds like a video.”
    â€œWell, there are usually celebrities everywhere,” said Asha, hopping off the swing to lean against the wood railing of the balcony.
    â€œOoh, like who?”
    â€œJust some singers, rappers and a few actors and models—the regulars. I’m going to take a shower,” said Asha, changing the subject. “I’ll use the one down the hall and you can use mine. Towels are in the closet, and just get a T-shirt and shorts out of the top drawer.” Asha grabbed a towel and some clothes and disappeared from the room.
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    After dinner, Asha took Mari on a tour of the Wrights’ home. Every room, all sixteen, not including the full basement and the four bathrooms, were just as impressive as Asha’s room. There was all kinds of art—from sculptures to paintings and state-of-the-art technology all over the house. When they entered the foyer, Mari noticed the grand piano between two sets of spiral staircases and asked Asha who played.
    â€œNot me,” she said.
    â€œI play,” said Roxie, coming around the corner, “and Asha sings.”
    â€œYou sing, Asha?” said Mari, a bit surprised.
    â€œWell, I can do a little something,” said Asha.
    â€œSing a little something for Mari, baby. I’ll play,” said Roxie, sitting down at the piano.
    â€œMama, I’m kinda tired from practice, plus, I don’t know what to sing,” said Asha, moving closer to the piano.
    â€œGirl, please. You know you wanna sing. Stop all that fake modesty,” said Roxie.
    â€œOkay, I’ll do a short something,” said Asha, grinning.
    â€œWhat do you want me to play?” asked Roxie.
    â€œNo, Mama, I don’t need accompaniment. I’ll just do something a cappella,” said Asha.
    â€œAll right, Mari. Get ready,” said Roxie. “You’re