by Zane
I would have loved to see the expressions on the faces of Cherie, Bianca, Herman, and Michael if they ever found out that I was Caprice. They had no reason to do what they did to me. I was always kind to them and I thought we were cool.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday, May 27, 1985
Memorial Day
4:56 p.m.
Atlanta, Georgia
I can’t believe school’s almost out!” Cherie was flipping burgers on the charcoal grill in her backyard. “Two more weeks and summer vacation!”
“You act like your father’s actually going to take time off to go on one.” Herman was playing DJ on the boom box that he had brought with him to Cherie’s customary Memorial Day cookout. “Raspberry Beret” by Prince was going off, so he pulled that cassette tape out and popped in another one. Within seconds, “Cool It Now” by New Edition was pumping through his speakers.
There were about two dozen kids there—most of us twelve or thirteen and heading to the eighth grade—and the boys were sporting high-top fades while the girls all had “big hair.” Back then, the bigger the blowout, the better. It was the age of Madonna and her pointed bras that every teenage girl wanted while they felt “Like a Virgin.” The Pointer Sisters had everyone doing the “Neutron Dance,” the Commodores were working the “Nightshift,” Phil Collins wanted “One More Night,” and Aretha Franklin was cruising on the “Freeway of Love.”
Life was so simple then, even for me. My mother had been safely tucked away in a sanitarium for years and even though the scar on my face was a constant reminder of her hatred toward me, I felt safe because I knew she wouldn’t be sneaking into my bedroom to finish killing me. For years after “the event,” I wondered why she hadn’t simply taken my life. It was clear that she was not prepared to take care of a child, and while I understood that she was forced to have sex with Uncle Donald, that didn’t give her just cause to disfigure me.
Most of us had snuck in to see Rambo: First Blood Part II over the weekend. It was the big picture for the weekend. Back then, movie theaters weren’t tripping so hard on kids seeing R-rated movies. The Breakfast Club had come out for Valentine’s Day Weekend that year and Cherie, Bianca, and I had gone to see it.
We pretty much had Cherie’s house to ourselves, as usual. Her father was indeed a workaholic. He had his own garage and worked on cars daily, even on the holidays. He only had two workers and neither one spoke good English, so he didn’t want to miss out on any possible money by leaving them in charge. They were beasts when it came to fixing cars, but giving estimates and explaining what was wrong to people was a challenge. Cherie told me that he was seeking a bilingual mechanic so he could take some time off.
Cherie’s mother was a trip. Best way for me to describe her. She was afraid to embrace her aging. She dressed young, acted young, and was completely irresponsible when it came to parenting. She rarely cooked, but she would go grocery shopping. She wanted to be in control of the finances. Cherie’s father would bring home the money, or put it in the bank, and her mother would write the checks and spend it. She was out shopping somewhere that day. She was always shopping and returning home with her Chevrolet Camaro IROC-Z packed to the brim with bags. Half the stuff ended up staying in the bags and shoved into corners and closets throughout the house.
Michael emerged from the back door carrying a twelve-pack of Coca-Cola and a bag of ice. He had made a run to the corner store to replenish our supply.
“ ’Bout damn time,” Herman said, getting the naps out his fade with a hair pick. “I thought I was going to have to come find you.”
“Man, you should have seen these honies at Quick Stop. They were phat as all get-out. They go to Mays.”
Herman smirked. “Don’t no high school babes want to roll with you, shorty.”
Michael was still short back then. Herman was taller than all the girls in school, but Michael hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. He would later shoot up within the next couple of years, but at that moment, he looked more like nine than twelve.
I got up off the lounge chair that I was sitting in, trying to stay in the shade, and decided to help out. “You want me to put ice in the cups?” I asked Michael.
“Yes, do your woman’s work,” he replied jokingly.
He ended up helping me while Bianca flirted with most of the boys there. This was well before Herman and Bianca hooked up in high school. Michael had confided in me that he liked Cherie, but she wasn’t feeling him at all. Not until he was tall and his dick had grown several inches.
“You still want to go to the pool next weekend?” I asked him. “The passes are almost sold out for the summer. I need two more dollars to get mine, but I can ask Grandma.”
“I’ve got you on the two dollars, Caprice.” Michael hit the bag of ice on the side of a picnic table to bust it up some more. “I’m doing that paper route, remember?”
“I know, but I hate to take your money.”
Michael put down the ice and then sat on the edge of the table. “It’s cool. All the rest of us have parents, or at least a mother in my case. Your grandma’s sick and all. Two dollars isn’t a big deal.”
Michael and I were actually kind of friends. Grandma started allowing me to have company sometimes, after Momma was put away. He used to come by and play Super Mario Brothers, Gauntlet, and Xanadu with me. My video game system was on its last leg—along with my television—but we still had fun. I didn’t like him, either, not as a boyfriend. Besides, I didn’t want to get my feelings hurt. Even though boys were nice to me, I couldn’t wrap my head around one of them actually believing I was pretty; not with that hideous scar.
“Thanks, Michael.”
* * *
Time slipped by while we had fun listening to music and eating hot dogs, hamburgers, and consuming sugary drinks. Before I realized it, it was dark and Grandma didn’t play that.
“Can someone walk me home? I’m afraid of the dark.”
Several kids were coupled up and slow dragging to “Smooth Operator” by Sade. Yeah, they were fast as all get-out. People think the newer generation is doing more than previous ones. Such is not the case. People were feeling all over each other, dry humping and some were even fucking in middle school in the eighties; probably the sixties and forties as well.
Michael was dancing with this loose hot tamale named Olive. He didn’t even hear me ask. Herman was also all up on some girl, and the only other boy who I ever really spoke to at the party was Jonovan. He had arrived late because he had a lacrosse game earlier that day. While other boys in the neighborhood were playing typical sports like football, baseball, and soccer, Jonovan was the most valuable player on his lacrosse team. Our school didn’t belong to a league, but his parents transported him to the better part of town to play. He was so good that the league paid all his fees. His father was of the belief that he should not have to pay to play organized sports. He was that good.
Jonovan was sitting down over by an oak tree on a makeshift bench that was actually a piece of a tree trunk that had been chopped down. People made out however they could back then. If a dead tree had to come down, parts of it were going to be utilized for one damn thing or another.
I walked over to him. “Hey, Jonovan.”
“Hey, Caprice. How are you?”
“I’m okay. Just wondering if you wouldn’t mind walking me home. My grandma’s going to sound the alarm and call the police if I don’t get back soon and I’m scared of the dark.”
“I’ve got my bike. You mind riding on the back of it?”
“How am I going to do that when you only have one seat?”
“I stand up and pedal. You’ve never ridden like that before?”
I was embarrassed to say that I really was not even good at riding bikes. I had never owned one. We couldn’t afford them. My experience was limited to taking a turn here or there on Bianca’s when we were younger.
“No, I’ve never done that, but I’m open. Can we leave now?”
“Sure. I need to be home by nine myself.”
As we were leaving together, I heard Herman say, “Uh-oh. What’s going on with you two?”
We both blushed.
“I’m making sure she gets home,” Jonovan replied.
“You coming back?” Bianca asked.
“No, I need to get home. Don’t any of the rest of you have curfews?”
Cherie said, “Bianca’s spending the night, and some of the other girls. Caprice, you want to stay? Call your grandmother and ask.”
“No, I can’t.”
There was no hesitation in my reply. I wanted to be home every night to keep an eye on my grandmother. She was in poor health, and my biggest fear was that she might fall and hit her head and I wouldn’t be around. Crazy because about two and a half years later, I would leave her for good. My biggest fear transformed into something much worse. I felt like staying would only bring her heartache and shame. She had endured enough of that. Everyone was always talking about Mrs. Alice Tatum, whose daughter went crazy and cut up the face of her granddaughter.
* * *
I was trembling all the way to my house on the back of Jonovan’s bike. “Nooooooooooooooooo!” I screamed out as he hopped a curb, dashed out into the street and then hopped another curb to get onto the opposite sidewalk.
“Calm down, Caprice,” he said.
It was clear that he was showing off in front of me. At least, that is what it seemed like. When we finally pulled up in the front yard, I was so ready to get off that Hutch BMX.
Grandma was sitting on the living room sofa staring out the window.
Jonovan waved at her and yelled, “Hey, Mrs. Tatum! Sorry she’s late!”
She waved slightly at him, but I could tell she was highly irritated and had been sitting there concerned. I felt bad, but at least I was home. Some of the kids I knew couldn’t have cared less about worrying their relatives.
I climbed off the back of the bike and straightened up my jean shorts that had been embedded in my crotch from the seat and my neon T-shirt. I had on pink jelly shoes and my feet were killing me. Some things change and some remain the same. By the time most girls are ten, they are already wearing shoes that cut into their toes, mess up their arches, or give them corns and bunions. They eventually graduate to high heels and stilettos, all in an effort to look cute for men who pay little attention to the shoes. Some men like “fuck-me pumps” but most are more concerned with what kind of tits and ass the chicks are working with.
“Thanks again for bringing me back.”
“No problem.”
“So this is how the magic happens when you deliver papers, huh?”
“Yeah, sorry if I was going too fast, but I do my entire route in less than thirty minutes. I get my money fast and then get home.”
“You like delivering papers?”
Jonovan shrugged. “I guess. It was part of the deal. My dad agreed to get me this bike if I worked off the money, so I’m working off the money.”
I giggled. “Makes sense.”
Grandma was up off the sofa and suddenly swung the front door open, staring at me through the screen. “It’s late, Caprice.”
“I’m coming, Grandma.”
“You better get in there before she comes out here and beats us both with her cane.”
We both chuckled.
“She’d never do that,” I replied. “Ground me, yes. Beat me up, no.”
Jonovan seemed like he was hesitating to say something.
“What is it?”
He zipped up his Wrangler jean jacket. It was getting cooler outside.
“Seriously, what is it?” I asked again.
“I was just thinking about something.”
I glanced at Grandma, who was standing there waiting.
“What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking that you’re a nice girl and you shouldn’t feel bad about your scar.”
“Jonovan, you know I get bullied a lot. Not by our friends but the other kids.” I started kicking through the grass with my jelly shoes. “I’ve learned to accept it. It’s been five years since my mother did this to me.”
“Well, I think you’re pretty.”
We stared into each other’s eyes for a brief moment, and I was in shock.
“Caprice, get in here now!” Grandma’s patience was gone and, to top it off, we were disrespecting an elder by not obeying.
“I have to go. Thanks again, Jonovan.”
I went inside and dashed up to my bedroom so I could look out the window and see him ride off down the street. For a few seconds, I actually thought I could get a boyfriend. Jonovan was so cool.
That fantasy was short-lived. I called Cherie to tell her that I was back home and she burst my bubble quickly after I told her that Jonovan had told me that I was pretty.
“He told me the same thing. He tells every girl that she’s pretty. That’s what boys do.”
The last sentence was dripping with sarcasm.
I wished them a good night with their sleepover. Grandma locked up the house and then came upstairs, peeking her head into my room to make sure I hadn’t climbed out the window.
“I’m still here, Grandma.”
“Just checking. I know how kids can be once they hit puberty.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m a good girl. Cherie wanted me to stay over with her and the other girls, but I came home to be here with you.”
“I would’ve let you stay.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Maybe next time.”
“Thanks, Grandma, but I’d really rather be here with you at night.”
“I love you, Caprice.”
“Love you, too.”
She closed my door. I turned on my General Electric alarm clock on low. I set the dial to 96.7 and fell asleep to “Who’s Holding Donna Now” by DeBarge.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
11:38 p.m.
New York City
So what are you really doing in Atlanta?” Daddy took a sip of his Dalmore 62 whiskey. He owned one of the twelve bottles of the sixty-two-year-old aged whiskey that was released from the distillery from Scotland in 2012.
“How much did you pay for that bottle again?” I asked, attempting to change the subject.
“Two hundred grand.”
I shook my head.
“Hey, I can’t take billions of dollars with me, you’re my only child, and you’re filthy rich yourself.”
“I’m not a billionaire.” I stressed the last word.
“Close to it, and besides, you will be once I kick the bucket.” He held his glass up like he was doing a toast. “That’s a guarantee.”
“There’s no amount of money that could ever replace you, Daddy.”
“And I know you mean that. Ditto.”
He glanced around my penthouse apartment on Park Avenue. I had put it on the market for $18 million. It would take a while for anyone to come along who could afford it—likely another celebrity. But they had to be approved by the board of the building as well. It was sometimes shocking when celebrities were denied by a group of stuck-up floozies and pedigreed old-money folks. Like who really gave a fuck about them?
“That’s why I’m concerned about you. So what are you doing in Atlanta? Really?”
I sighed. “Daddy, I came back here to celebrate your birthday with you.”
“My birthday’s the day after tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate early.”
I kicked off my black heels and put my feet up underneath me on the sofa. We had gone to a premiere of Lawless with Tom Hardy’s fine ass in it. If I’d had it in me to actually let a man blow my back out, he would have been tied with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson to rip my panties clear off my ass. God bless both of their sets of parents.
“Did you enjoy the movie? It was good to see so many of your old friends at the premiere. That red carpet was bana
nas.”
“Isn’t it always?” He took a puff of his Cohiba Behike cigar, something else ridiculously expensive. Only one hundred humidors were ever made, with forty rolls each in them. A single cigar was worth four to five grand. “You keep thinking that you can change the subject, but that’s not going to work. You know me better than that.”
Daddy owned several properties in New York City, but he’d decided to chill with me at my place so we could spend a lot of quality time together. I hadn’t been there in months and wanted to be in my own space.
“Do you think someone will take this place off my hands? Why don’t you buy it, Daddy?”
“Not a chance. I told you this was a bad investment when you purchased it. Park Avenue is getting played out. You may end up taking a loss on it. The real estate market has tanked in certain parts of town.”
I shrugged it off and took a sip of my distilled water. I was trying to get the liquor out of my system from the after party of the premiere. I had lost count at five cosmopolitans, and heavy drinking was not my thing in the first place.
“Are you really going to make me ask you again? Don’t insult me!”
“Daddy, I’ve already explained to you that I’m posted up in Atlanta because it was time. It was time for me to stop avoiding my past. I’ll be forty next month, for goodness’ sake. How long am I supposed to let them dictate my moves?”
“It’s not about people dictating your moves. It’s about you keeping your condition under control.”
I glared at him. “I haven’t gone off, or snapped in a long time.”
“Not to an extreme, that I know of, but we both know what you are capable of. Have you been taking your medication?”
“Prozac, Dilantin, Ativan, and Lithobid, the breakfast of champions!”
“I realize you hate taking all that stuff, but it’s better than the alternative.”
“Don’t worry. I have no plans to shoot anyone or run them over in the street.”
