by Zane
I wrapped my ankles around his neck so he could go deeper and I had an orgasm almost immediately. He kept going until he was spent and I was curled up like a baby in his arms.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever made love,” I confessed, trying to regulate my breathing. “I’m glad it was you.”
He kissed me on the forehead. “I only ever want it to be me.”
I looked him in the eyes. “Are you going to pack?”
“Taking a big chance in life is very scary, but regret is even more scary. I’m not letting you go again. So yes, I’m going to pack.”
* * *
The grand opening went over great in Miami. People raved over the decor, the food, the music, and everything in between. Of course, I was expected to perform at least one song, so I sang “Surge,” the song that I had written for Jonovan. Well, actually, the first of many songs that he had inspired in me.
While I would never fully understand why I had to go through so much to get to a place of contentment, there had to have been a reason for it all. As long as I had the love of my life by my side, that was all that ultimately mattered.
PART FIVE:
CODA
One day you’ll meet someone who doesn’t care about your past because they want to be with you in your future.
—Unknown
Epilogue
Two years later and things were still going well between Jonovan and me. He had proposed, but I really didn’t see the purpose in marriage. I was actually able to make love to him on a regular basis. Gone were the times when I could only relate intimacy to pain. His magazine truly took off, in an age when a lot of other industry periodicals were dying. I even did a monthly editorial piece, and he had other famous contributors as well.
I did give up my sadist behavior. I won’t front; it was hard. Really hard. Piece of Shit took it harder than Glaze. I’d always had the sneaking suspicion that Glaze was doing her thing the entire time and I wasn’t jealous or upset about it. It was all about role-playing, and the three of us using one another to satisfy our individual needs. I never got to know either one of them well enough to understand—or even care to understand—why they had chosen to be dominated. I had enough of a challenge trying to comprehend why I was doing what I was doing. Everyone has a past, and everyone is a culmination of everything they’ve ever experienced, witnessed, or been taught. Glaze and Piece of Shit had both been through something, but that was none of my business.
Piece of Shit had a breakdown over the phone when I told him it was over. I used a burner phone, of course, just in case he snapped and started recording the conversation. I could always deny it was me, if he decided to go to the media to pay me back for refusing to continue to whomp on that ass. He wasn’t practicing the life with anyone else; that was clear. I told him that there were plenty of women who were about that life who would be more than happy to hook him up. I was really a self-taught amateur. I had read some books and watched some videos on the Internet. With such a recognizable face, it wasn’t like I could attend BDSM clubs or seminars or register for one of their “no-holds-barred”—no pun intended—weekends at hotels where they rented out the entire block of rooms and had security posted everywhere so people could get in where they fit in. Even if I could’ve pulled it off without being recognized by donning a mask, I was too afraid that someone might assume that they could fuck me, or even touch me, and I would’ve cut off some dude’s dick in a flashback.
It was what it was, and when Piece of Shit had the nerve to try to issue a threat against me, I made it clear that I was not the one. I reminded him that Daddy had long money and if he didn’t shut the fuck up, I would scour the earth to find him and make him take a dirt nap. That was enough to make him “find his center.” I wished him well and instructed him never to contact me again . . . or else. I realized Piece of Shit was not exactly normal, but I didn’t think he was a fool, either. Only a fool would come for me before I came for them. I never heard back from him.
Cherie fully recovered from her injuries. Between “the incident,” and finding out that her man was a whore, I was satisfied that she had received what was coming to her. She was the laughingstock of women in her circle, and her client base fell off as well. No one cared to be associated with her. It was a negative blemish on their images.
Michael ended up going into the porn industry, and that didn’t surprise me. He was really left with little choice at that point. The world had seen him in action; getting any work in a major motion picture, or network production, was even less of a possibility than it was before I leaked that tape. If his ass could have acted, he wouldn’t have still been carrying that bit role in New Jack City like it was an Academy Award–winning performance. I watched that flick like three more times on DVD and still didn’t spot his ass in it. I was beginning to wonder if whatever scene he was in had been left on the cutting-room floor. Both he and Cherie swore up and down he was in it.
So now he was banging out random broads while they made fake moans on camera. Porn didn’t pay like it used to, especially not for men. Everyone was making homemade nookie films, and there were literally more than a million free porn movies on the Internet on any given day. But he made what he could and, quite frankly, I’m sure he was enjoying the hell out of it. He always played the alpha male in the films, proving that his manhood was directly connected to his dick time and time again.
Herman was still in jail and had to serve at least another two years before he would be eligible for probation. His practice and career were history, and I heard that Bianca stopped going to visit him early on and filed for divorce. I was hoping his pretty-boy ass was getting worked over while he was on lockdown. It would’ve served him right.
Bianca was still putting on a lot of pretenses, in spite of everyone talking about her like no tomorrow. She managed to keep her clients, for the most part. They felt sorry for her, and I had to give it to her—she did have a good eye when it came to interior design. It was such a shame that my once best friend was now my greatest enemy. And she didn’t even know it. I decided to concentrate on my career and my relationship with Jonovan, but there was no guarantee that I wouldn’t revisit doing something drastic to her in the future.
I was still seeing Marcella once a month in New York. I was still taking all my medications. Life was far from perfect, but it was good. I had released three albums in three years, so I was on a roll. The songs and their lyrics came leaking out of my pores, once I was able to release the majority of my anger. Of course, falling in love with Jonovan had something to do with it as well. Before I had been fantasizing about the love of my life when I penned songs; now I actually had one.
I was in love. I knew that for sure. But I was still having an issue giving up that kind of power to another human being. Daddy liked Jonovan a lot, but he was skeptical about my ability to make it work. I’m sure he desired that for me but, like me, he was a realist. He was hitting his midseventies, so he was ready to start slowing down in regards to travel and exploring new business interests. It had long stopped being about making money and had become more about remaining active. I could tell that he was growing weary, but he had lived ten lifetimes in one.
Jonovan’s father died in the spring of 2014. He took it extremely hard, but I was there for him every step of the way. I helped him pick out his father’s casket and suit and sang “Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton, a song written about the tragic death of his own son, Conor, after he fell from a fifty-third-story window in New York in 1991. The funeral was well attended and it was when a lot of the media found out that we were dating. Up until then, since I wouldn’t go to that many places, not that many people knew. It wasn’t a secret, but I didn’t feel the need to talk about my personal business, nor did I want others interfering with my happiness.
It would be a long road, but I was looking forward to my next phase of life. I had made it through the most difficult phase, which was not about other people misunderstanding me but more about a lack of understa
nding of self. Thanks to Marcella, Jonovan, Daddy, and even the somewhat of a closure that I had gotten from my mother, I had more clarity than I had ever had before. The most valuable thing that I learned is that sometimes when things seem like they are falling apart, they might actually be falling into place.
I also felt like two people were watching carefully over me.
Thanks, Grandma!
Thanks, Hannah!
Commentary by Zane
I believe everything happens for a reason. People change so you can learn to let go. Things go wrong so you can appreciate them when they’re right. You believe lies so you can learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.
—Marilyn Monroe
I felt it appropriate to start off this commentary with a quote from Marilyn Monroe. Besides, it is an awesome quote and one that I can totally relate to, especially at this time in my life. When I started this book, I was at one place in my life journey, and by the time I sat down to complete it, I had evolved into a much different and stronger person. I am still a work in progress, but I have learned to let go of the things that have limited my purpose in life. One thing that I did realize after finishing this novel during a very dark point in my life is that I am truly walking in my gift. Once I tightened up my inner circle and remained focused on my writing, everything became much clearer.
The main character in this novel—Caprice Tatum / Ladonna Sterling / Wicket—is by far the most complicated and confused character that I have ever undertaken to date. As always, I began to live and breathe her while I was locked away alone creating her story. There were times when she became so real to me that I became emotionally drained by dealing with her issues—even though they were all in my head—that I had to run out to a grocery store and snatch up some diet sodas and doughnuts. Lean meats, steamed vegetables, and water with lemon simply weren’t going to cut it. There is much truth to the term “comfort food.” I discovered that on my production sets, when frustration and the feeling of being overwhelmed were transformed to smiles and jokes once craft services passed out Popsicles, small cups of chicken noodle soup, or nachos with chili and cheese.
I only bring that up because Caprice comforted herself in other ways. By engaging in self-mutilation during her younger years, lashing out at others in angry episodes, and being a dominatrix controlling her pets. She couldn’t let go of her past, like so many people who carry a lot of bitterness and baggage to the point where they block any blessings that may cross their paths. Like her predecessors—Zoe from Addicted and Jonquinette from Nervous—Caprice’s issues were to the extreme, but that was only done to drive several points home to others who may be dealing with similar issues on a much smaller level. By writing these kind of books, I want to let people know that they can overcome their challenges if people with the same ones—times ten—can overcome theirs.
I continue to try to impress upon people that it is okay to seek therapy and medication when needed. The stigma of weakness surrounding seeing a psychiatrist, especially in the African-American community, keeps a lot of people drowning in misery for their entire lives. During the writing of this book, I also went through training to become a rape, incest, and abuse counselor. Even though I have been answering advice e-mails—many from rape and incest victims—since 1997, I was not completely aware of the magnitude of people who have endured such traumatic pasts.
According to various sources, one in four people have a mental disorder. ONE IN FOUR! On any given day, nearly ten million people are having suicidal thoughts, and suicide is the third leading cause of death. One in thirty people are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Children with any kind of mental disorders are the least likely to receive treatment. A lot of that comes from parents being in denial. It is understandable because no one wants to accept that something may be wrong with their children, or that something may have happened to their children under their watch. Again, that was the case with both the main characters in the previous novels in this series—Addicted and Nervous. In Vengeance, Caprice experiences a “series” of destructive events that leave her completely broken. It has to make one wonder how much more she can possibly take. I won’t list them here because several readers have told me at signings that they were mad at themselves for reading my commentary before reading the book, and learning too many of the spoilers because of it.
Therefore, I am simply going to say that this book is about tolerance of other people and their lifestyles. It is not only about learning to forgive others but also about self-forgiveness. It is about realizing, like the quote states in the beginning of this section, that everything truly does happen for a reason, and that sometimes things fall apart so even better things can come together. Caprice was on the threshing floor, a piece of wheat being pulled and tugged at by oxen, until the shaft was pulled away and only the purest and strongest part of the grain was left. She still has a ways to go, but she will get there. I didn’t want to end the book with a fairy-tale ending, just a realistic one.
I hope that you enjoyed Vengeance as much as I enjoyed creating it. As always, I love and appreciate each and every one of you. Let your enemies become your footstools, your tests become your testimonies, and your messes become your messages. I speak from vast experience on that one.
Blessings,
Zane
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