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Chi-Chi giggled, breaking pose.
“Uhn-uhn!” I chided. “Fourth position!”
My baby’s eyes widened and she leaped into the air again bringing one foot in front of the other, her little palm gripped her waist with the other shooting into the air. With as much straining as she did, Chivon’s poses were off. Much of it was due to her age and some to poor instruction. When I shared with her father my intent to get her started in ballet school, he hired a woman to come in every two weeks to get her warmed up. While it was a nice gesture, the art form couldn’t be taken half-heartedly. Now that she’d be turning three years old in a few weeks, I could soon enroll her in a real dance school.
“Now, fifth position,” I instructed.
Chi-Chi struggled. Her little lips curled up, and index finger poked her cheek as she thought. That’s when I modeled it for her. Within seconds, she attempted to mirror what she saw, bringing one foot in front of the other and arching her arms aside her ears. I leaned down to position her feet outwards. My baby girl struggled for balance as I did. Her muscles were still training, so I allowed her to grab me a few times to keep from falling. Eventually, I stood and observed her with pride, even snapped a picture with my phone before Chi-Chi’s position collapsed.
“Alright!” I shouted. Then Amy and Consuela joined me in a round of applause. “You did it, my girl!”
Chivon giggled, bowing over, making silly faces. She was truly the most beautiful girl in the world.
“C’mon, Mommy.” She reached for my hand. “Biscuits.”
Teetering breathlessly, I conceded. “Okay. Let’s go wash our hands first.”
“Wait,” Amy called out as we started out of the foyer. “Didn’t you want to show Mommy your painting?”
Chivon’s eyes grew large in realization. Her head tilted back to peer up at me. “Mommy, go to Daddy office.”
“Daddy’s office?” I repeated. “Okay. That’s this way.”
Consuela and Amy giggled behind us.
“I’ll be in the playroom if anyone needs me,” Amy shared.
Consuela added, “And I’m going to set out the ingredients I know of.”
I winked at her as we headed in the opposite direction. Chi-Chi led the way; her little action of towing me behind met with determination. I obsessively studied her. In the short span, I deliberated on washing and braiding her hair before leaving. I didn’t have time to, but that didn’t seem fair. She turned into Jas’ office. The doors were open, a beautiful stream of light beaming in from the double set of patio doors. One view of the lake shone through, and the other of the winterized lawn seemed to exaggerate the size of the office.
“Look, Mommy, look!” Chi-Chi shouted, pulling me, while pointing to a corner in the room.
She had a little easel and paint spread across a white sheet. On the white canvas was a disarray of bold colors, some ill-formed shapes, but a lot of intent. In the bottom right-hand corner, the name Chi-Chi was written in black, clearly by an adult.
I crouched down next to her at the easel and gasped. “Did you do that, Cupcake?”
“Me!” She nodded with pride-filled enthusiasm while pointing to her belly.
I pulled out my phone while beaming, Chi-Chi backed away, leaning against the wall with one hand. “This is amazing! I’m gonna have Amy take a picture of all your paintings. I can look at them when I want to be with you.”
“Mommy, c’mon! Biscuits!” She jumped in the air, over her art piece already.
I laughed. “Hang on. Let me get a couple more shots. I want to capture the whole thing.”
When I was done, I stood to my feet. That was all Chi-Chi needed to begin her exit from her father’s office. Following her, I caught a glimpse of the art piece above his desk. It was huge and…new. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been in here, but I didn’t remember seeing this.
“Cupcake!” I called out, staring stock-still at the image.
“Mommy!” she answered.
“Wait.” I didn’t want her roaming unsupervised, at her second home or not. She was hardly three.
Her pattering feet grew closer, signaling her obedience. I studied the piece on the wall, identifying the signature in the left-hand corner at the bottom.Francesco Basso. Franco Basso was what the streets referred to him as when he began infiltrating social elite groups with Diddy, Jay-Z, Swizz, and the likes years ago. Similar to theMauvebrandy line, once the right stakeholders in Black culture introduced you, you were in. It didn’t matter what your existence or reputation was before then; your value had, at least, doubled once you were weaved into the Black culture.
“Jas gotBassoto recreate that?” I whispered into the air.
It was a photograph taken by Jas of me witnessing Chi-Chi taking her first steps. She was almost nine months old and Jas had been sensing the new development coming on for weeks while I’d been away working withAsè Garbin Paris. Jas made a sudden decision to show up with our baby. I didn’t demand an answer as to why, so desperate to see her. They spent a few days out there, hanging out with me in between photoshoots and recording a new commercial. Jas and Chi-Chi’s presence had been the highlight of my visit, the best and worst memories made in The City of Light.
