Retail Therapy by Roz Bailey Page A

care of it. Drink up and enjoy, my friends. My man X is coming on soon, and we want you all to be ready to laugh.”
    â€œOh, Jesus, did you see that?” Marcella said to me. “Does he mean that?” She spoke up. “What’s the matter with you, Trevor? You can’t pay that bill! My friends are prepared to pay for their own drinks.”
    â€œRelax! I’ve got it covered, short stuff.”
    â€œLet him do it,” Alana told Marcella. “It’s all part of the Trevor show.”
    When the lights went down, Marcella settled in beside me and set her focus on Alana, Trevor, and Kyle, who sat across the table.
    â€œThat was awfully nice of him, picking up my tab and all the girls from work, too,” she said. “Either he’s totally insane or the man is loaded. And since he doesn’t seem too crazy ... what, is the guy rich?”
    â€œTheir family is fairly well-off ... the Marshall-Hughs,” I said, keeping my voice low, as I didn’t think Alana would appreciate me sharing her life story. “Trevor’s mother owns a catering business—a big deal out on Long Island. And Alana’s parents are sort of prestigious. Her mother teaches at NYU, and her father is a federal judge. There’s some talk that he might be appointed to the Supreme Court one day.”
    â€œReally.” She sucked it all in, savoring.
    A few minutes later, she tapped my shoulder and asked: “But is Alana happy?”
    I shrugged.
    Marcella answered, “No.”
    â€œI’m not so sure.”
    â€œTrust me, honey. Your friend Alana is miserable. Do you know that story about the poor little rich girl? The one where her family’s got all the money, but they get separated, and she has to live in poverty at an orphanage with all that money. Then her father comes along but she doesn’t recognize him, and since he got blinded in the war he doesn’t recognize her either.”
    And critics claim daytime dramas are far-fetched?
    â€œIt’s so sad,” Marcella went on, though I wasn’t sure if she was referring to Alana or the story of the little rich girl. “Do you see how those guys tried to talk to her during the break? How they tried to get a rap going, but she turned them down flat? I’m telling you, she is more concerned with the right color lip gloss than with letting a relationship happen. And the whole point of getting the right color lip gloss is to make that relationship happen.”
    Hard to follow, I know, but I sensed an odd thread of logic in Marcella’s proclamation.
    â€œI’m going to help her,” Marcella said, folding her arms. “I am going to make our beautiful African-American princess my personal mission.”
    I lifted my cosmo glass and hid behind it. Alana was staring at us, probably because we were talking through the comic’s performance. “How would you do that?” I asked Marcella.
    â€œSimple. I’ll fix whatever is wrong with her life.”
    I shook my head. That would take a lot of fixing. Any life requires major repair work.
    I hoped that Marcella wouldn’t get stuck in a pothole.

14
    Alana
    W hen Xavier stepped on stage, introduced as X-man, I admit I was struck by his fine, real fine appearance. The lights gave a vibrant sheen to his chocolate brown skin, and when he smiled, those dimples softened the killer grin, making him a study in contradictions: bad boy meets dream date. If Hollywood is really the land of illusions, maybe X did have a shot out there.
    As Xavier warmed up the audience, I remembered that he wasn’t so bad in the looks department. If only the brother weren’t so obnoxious.
    â€œLet me ask you, we got any royalty here tonight?” He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the stage lights. “Every guy has at least one princess in his life. You know what I’m talking about, right, guys?”
    I reached for my cosmo. Slow start there,