Of course, the assholes were the initial ones to start yelling shit like, “You need to sit down, bitch!” “Get that slut off the bar! No one wants to see a whore stripping!” and “Did it suddenly get a little fishy in here!”
I ignored them all. I was waiting for that one person who defended me because I knew he would be the one open to what I had in mind. Sure enough, right before the song ended, I heard someone yell out, “Leave her alone! Let the diva do her thing!”
The strobe lights on the ceiling were irritating and I shielded my forehead with my hand so I could make out someone in the back. The only thing I could see was that he was extremely tall and dark-skinned. The song ended and no one applauded but one smart aleck said, “Great! Now get the hell out and go to a club where people like kitties!”
I played it cool and sat back down at the bar. Within five minutes there was a tap on my shoulder and it was him. Men are so damn predictable. It turned out that Hugh, which I’m quite sure wasn’t his real name, was married with four kids and trying to find himself. He said that he had experimented with men in college and had never gotten his curiosity out of his system. I asked him did he take it up the ass or give it. He said give it and that was cool with me because I had no intention of fucking a man who would take one up the ass. I made sure he had a condom, invited him to step in the back into a bathroom stall, and then I let him experiment with a freak and give it to me up the ass. Poor Jon was going to wake up the next morning wondering what the hell!
36
jonquinette
When I arrived in the parking garage at Marcella’s office building, it was difficult to find a space. There was a convention meeting at the hotel across the street so a lot of people had used Marcella’s building as an overflow parking area.
I had to go all the way up to the sixth level and park on the roof. It was nippy, even for mid-October, and I went to search in my trunk for a jacket. I found one and was closing my trunk when I heard someone say from behind me, “Well, hello again.”
I didn’t recognize the voice but when I turned, I was face to face with Zoe. “Hello.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” she said. “And I’m glad we ran into each other here. I take it that means you decided to use the card that I gave you.”
I smiled uneasily. “Yes, I did. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“It’s not a problem.” She came closer and sat a shopping bag that she was carrying down on the ground. “I just finished up a session with Marcella.”
I glanced at my watch. “And I’m next up to bat.” We both giggled. “Marcella really is wonderful and she’s helping me out tremendously.”
“That’s good.” She offered me her hand. “We’ve never formally been introduced. I’m Zoe Reynard.”
I shook her hand. “I already knew your name, from the meetings and all. I’m Jonquinette Pierce.”
“Beautiful name.”
“So is yours.”
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment and then Zoe said, “I’m not trying to get into your business but I feel like I have to say something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Life throws us a lot of curveballs. We can run from them or we can catch them and throw them back.”
“I never thought of it quite that way,” I said. “Curveballs, huh?”
“I don’t know if you’ve ever heard me actually give a testimonial at a meeting, but to make a long story short, sex almost killed me: literally.”
I lowered my eyes to the ground to avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I fought back. I was determined not to give up my life that easily, even when everything seemed hopeless. Looking back on it, I can’t believe how many people were hurt, some even killed, because of my actions.”
“Killed?” I asked in disbelief, looking back up at her to see if she was serious.
“Yes, killed, because of my issues with sexuality.” She leaned on my trunk. “I used to blame myself. I just couldn’t deal with it.”
“But you’re okay now?”
“Most of the time. I won’t sugarcoat it. The memories will never go away, not ever. If I have to eventually pay for my sins, then so be it. I’ve come to terms with that. For now, though, I just intend to live life with my husband and kids. They give me all the love and encouragement that I need.”
I didn’t want to be nosy but I felt like I just had to ask. “What caused you to be like that? Addicted to sex?”
“Are you really addicted?” she came back at me.
“My situation’s a little bit more complicated than that,” I responded. “I wouldn’t say that I’m addicted to sex. It’s more like someone else that I’m extremely close to is addicted to it or rather uses sex to prove a point.”
Zoe seemed confused. “I won’t ask you to elaborate. To answer your question, there were some incidents dating back to my childhood that triggered everything after that.”
“Incidents?”
“Yes, incidents that I had buried. We often bury things in our minds. The human body is a very intricate thing, an amazing thing, and sometimes we are things and have done things we can’t remember.”
I laughed. “In my case, that’s definitely true.”
“Did you have something happen in your childhood?” she asked me.
“I had a ton of things happen in my childhood. I was bullied, tormented, teased, and treated like crap by all the other kids.”
“What about your parents?”
“I have two loving parents, but they had issues because of me. In fact, something I did made them divorce.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah, well, they are meeting me here today.” I thought about Daddy’s car being at my place overnight and added, “I’m hoping that there may be some chance for them to reconcile; even after all these years.”
“If it’s in God’s plans, they will,” Zoe said, looking up at the sky.
“So you’re religious?” I asked.
“I didn’t used to be, at least not much, but I am now. My husband and I take our children to church every Sunday and pray together every night.”
“That’s good.” I glimpsed at my watch again. “I really have to go before I’m late. I wish we could continue the conversation some other time.”
Zoe took a business card out of her purse and handed it to me. “Call me.”
I scanned the card. “You’re an arts dealer, huh?”
“Yes, all African-American art.” She smiled and touched my hand. “Take care, Jonquinette, and if you ever need anything, just reach out to me. Marcella understands a lot and I’m sure she will help you get through this, but she’s never walked in our shoes.” She picked up her bag. “When you feel comfortable enough, I hope you will consider coming back to the meetings.” She eyed me uneasily. “You and your friend.”
As Zoe walked off to get into her car and I walked to the bank of elevators, I wondered about her last comment. Had she figured me out that easily?
marcella
Working with Jonquinette Pierce had turned out to be much more than I had bargained for. Just like every professional I welcomed challenges in my career, but this one had taken on a personal edge. I had only one similar experience in my entire career. When I was fresh out of medical school, I interned at a psychiatric hospital in New York State under the guidance of Dr. Michael Driggs. He was one of the most respected psychiatrists in the country and had recently succumbed to colon cancer.
Dr. Driggs had a patient named Constance who suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder. I sat in on his therapy sessions with her and it was nothing short of amazing. While Constance had already pretty much figured out that she had at least three other personalities, it turned out that she had at least forty. Day after day, month after month, we met them one at a time. Dr. Driggs introduced me to the technique of integration, where he basically had lengthy discussions with each personality to see what their individual issues—or grievances, so to speak—were and how they could be solved. Constance had been the victim of severe neglect and physical abuse as a child. Because of that, she developed various personalities to deal with situations that she could not deal with. There was Bernie, who was an older gentleman. Bernie emerged when Constance felt threatened. He spoke in a heavy tone and his body language was intimidating. Rhonda was the little child who emerged when Constance was feeling lonely and abandoned, which she had been by her parents at the age of four. She ended up in foster homes and unfortunately, each one of the homes harbored a form of evil. Her first set of foster parents used to beat Constance with a belt and lock her in the cellar for days on end. The second set used to make her eat dog food while they dined on fine cuisine, courtesy of state funding. She and the other six foster children in the home eventually ran away together, seeking help from the local police, and the state had no choice but to find new homes for all of them and press charges against the couple who had made them suffer.