I had tried to put the pictures out of my mind, but they were still there. They were there in my mind when I went to sleep, and they were there in my mind when I woke up, as well. Every time King kissed me or we made love, I wondered if those pictures had been real. Was he having an affair?
There was no way I was going to ask him. No way that I was going to ruin this wonderful time for him. But still, I needed to talk to someone about them.
But who?
Donovan was out of the picture, so all I had was Leslie.
So here I was again, feeling uncomfortable, the way I always did when I first arrived at therapy.
“So how are things?” Leslie asked me.
I shrugged. “Fine.”
Leslie frowned. “That’s all you have to say?”
All I did was shrug again.
“I would’ve thought that you would have told me about King’s Academy Award nomination.”
“Oh, you know about that?”
She chuckled. “Who doesn’t? That’s all that’s been on the news. The son of Hollywood royalty finally stepping into his own.”
“Yeah, I’m happy about that.”
She frowned a little before she asked, “Is there anything in particular that you wanted to talk about today?”
The pictures! “Yes,” I said. “I want to talk about . . . Donovan.”
“What about him?”
“His being mad at me is really bothering me. I miss his company.”
“Why don’t you expound on your relationship with Donovan?”
I shrugged. “What about it?”
“How did you two meet?”
“I told you. We were friends from the time we were kids. We grew up in Ohio together. We met in the first grade and have been best friends ever since. Our parents are good friends too.”
“So you go way back.”
I nodded. “I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t in my life. He’s always been my friend, my rescuer. When kids would pick on me at school, Donovan was always there. One time I slipped into the deep end of the pool at the community center and almost drowned. But Donovan was right there. He didn’t even really know how to swim, but he got me out of there before the lifeguards could do a thing.”
“So let me ask you something. Did you ever see yourself with Donovan?”
“You mean like a couple?”
Leslie nodded.
I shook my head. “I think there were a lot of people who thought we would be together, including our parents. But I don’t see him like that.”
Leslie nodded, but something made me think that she didn’t really believe me. “Okay, so have you written in your journal?”
I was surprised that she changed the subject. I wanted to talk about Donovan just a little more. I wanted to know how I could fix things with him.
“No,” I lied. I had written in my journal. From the first day. But I was afraid that she might ask to read it or something, and I definitely wasn’t ready for that.
I’d written too much in my journal, including about how it was King’s fault that I lost my baby and about those pictures. I wanted to keep that journal to myself . . . at least for now.
“I’m telling you, Heiress, writing your thoughts and feelings down is really a great exercise.”
I nodded.
She said, “Why don’t you go home and start with this? Start with writing your feelings about what’s happened between you and Donovan.”
“Okay.”
“Writing it down just might help you find the answers you’re looking for.”
Those words actually made me feel a little better. Maybe I was like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Maybe I did have the key to how I could fix this thing with Donovan already inside of me.
I left the session with Leslie feeling better than when I went in, as always. And just like before, I did what she told me.
I went home and wrote in my journal.
Chapter 35
Our house was aflutter with excitement, and it was only noon. That was because we had to be ready when the limousine came at four to take us to the Kodak Theatre for the six o’clock taping of the Academy Awards.
So there were hairstylists and makeup artists and even a seamstress here to make sure that my gown was perfect, even though I’d had about five fittings. King wanted me to look fabulous, and he’d hired all these people to take care of me. While I sat in the chair in front of the vanity in our bedroom, King stood in the doorway.
“Which would you prefer?” Drake, the hairstylist, asked me. “An updo or letting curls fall on your shoulders?”
King and I spoke at the same time. I said, “An up-do.”
King wanted just the opposite. “I always like your hair down, baby,” he said. Then he motioned to Drake to do exactly what he’d said.
When the seamstress came in our bedroom with the two dresses I’d chosen, King made the decision for me again. “She’s going to wear the gold one,” he said. “She’s going to match the Oscar when I win tonight.”
Everyone in the room laughed, and I did too. After that, I just sat back and enjoyed the way King took care of me.
Four hours later I was ready. King’s choices had been right. My hair looked fabulous the way it draped my bare shoulders. And the Yves Saint Laurent gown . . . Even I had to say, “Wow!”
No matter what, I didn’t look as good as my King! He wore a classic tuxedo, but there was nothing ordinary about him. It had to be his air; he exuded confidence.
“I’m going to win this, baby. I can just feel it.”
He tried to kiss me, but I turned so that his lips would touch my cheek. I didn’t want to mess up the fabulous, flawless job that the makeup artist had done.
The moment we slid into the limousine, King’s cell phone rang.
“What’s up, Marty?” he said to his manager.
From the rest of the conversation, I could tell that King was on a three-way call with his manager and publicist, going over the logistics of the night and his acceptance speech if he won.
“I’m going to win this thing,” he told them, just like he told me.
I was disappointed that King and I didn’t have this time alone. I’d wanted to bask in these moments, holding King’s hand, giving him encouragement, and letting him know that I loved him no matter which way tonight turned out. But I didn’t want to say anything, stress King out in any way. So I just sat back and enjoyed it all, taking in the moments.
It was nothing but madness when we pulled into the long line of limos leading to the Kodak Theatre. The streets were lined with fans trying to get a peek through the tinted windows. Once our car finally pulled up and we stepped out, the fans screamed. King slid out first, then turned to help me out, and for the first time since we’d been together, I felt like a star. Cameras were flashing, including those belonging to the media who’d been approved for the event and to the fans who stood far away but were still trying to get a picture.
Sherri, King’s publicist, met us at the limo and led us down the red carpet. The media called out to King, but Sherri chose who he stopped to speak with. Even though it was February, I was hot with all the excitement going on around me. All I did was stand by King’s side and smile as he spoke to one journalist after another. And for just a moment, I wondered what it would be like if I were on the other side, if I were a journalist covering this event. But I pushed that thought aside. It was much, much better being on this side.
I’d been to lots of Hollywood affairs with King, but truly, this was overwhelming. Inside, we were seated just two rows from the front, with King on the aisle.
“That’s what they do in case he wins,” Sherri explained. “Then he won’t have to step over anyone.”
“Great, ’cause I’m gonna win this thing,” King said.
I just smiled.
I’d watched the Academy Awards on TV for as long as I could remember, but nothing had prepared me for sitting here live. All around me were stars who knew my name
. . . because of King. And who spoke to me . . . because of King.
And the show . . . it was like being at an elegant comedy event with Billy Crystal as the host. I laughed and clapped, but I noticed that King didn’t. I guess it was hard sitting there. Especially if you were waiting for the winner of the award for best actor to be announced. It was one of the last categories.
As the time passed, I could feel King’s tension. But I tried to ignore it and focus on the show. I didn’t know how many times King and I would ever be at the Academy Awards, and I wanted to enjoy this as if it was our last time. Finally, Meryl Streep came out to announce the nominees for best actor.
“And the nominees are . . .”
To me, time slowed down. Meryl seemed to drag out all the names. And then she took her time opening the envelope. And finally, she called out the winner.
Only, it wasn’t King Stevens.
Around us, people applauded, and I did too. King didn’t. I could feel it as if it was my own spirit; I knew that King’s spirit had been crushed.
I was glad that best actor was one of the last categories, because I wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to sit there. Not very long after the show ended, King took my hand.
“Come on,” he said, kind of jerking me a bit.
I kept the smile on my face, hoping that King would be in a better mood once we got to the Vanity Fair party. But the moment we stepped outside of the theater, he told me that we were going home.
“Really?” was all I said. I wanted to ask him why, I wanted to encourage him to go to the party, and I wanted to tell him that he didn’t want to look like a sore loser. But I said none of those things. I just followed him to the curb to wait for our limousine.
Inside the limo, I put my hand over King’s, but he snatched his away. Leaning forward, he pulled out a bottle of scotch from the bar on the side panel, and without using a glass, he swallowed a swig.
“King . . .”
“What?” he snapped.
“I just wanted to say—”
“Save it, Heiress. Just save it.” And then he took another swallow.
I scooted away from him to the other side of the leather seat, trying my best to stay out of his line of fire. But I kept my eyes on him, watched him wallow in his emotions.
I wanted to tell him to snap out of it. He was a grown man, and at least he’d been nominated. How many actors—especially black actors—could say that? But I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut.
I’d hoped that things would be better once we got home, but King stomped into the house, then marched to the den and slammed the door.
I knew not to follow him.
All I did was stand outside the door to the den and sigh.
Chapter 36
Talk about a loser’s funk. The next day King was still acting the same way. Drinking, snapping at me, moping around the house. He was like a kid throwing an extended temper tantrum.
I tried everything I could think of. I had our chef make King’s favorite breakfast, but King wouldn’t eat a thing. I put his favorite Sade CD into the stereo, letting it play through the house, but he took it out and broke it in half.
There was nothing I could do. And there was nothing anyone else could do. King wouldn’t answer calls, and I kept hearing the text alert on his phone go off. But he didn’t respond to anything or anyone.
After breakfast I turned on the television, not wanting to leave the house, not wanting to leave him alone. But then King came into the living room, where I was watching The View. They were talking about the Academy Award winners.
King screamed, “Turn that damn TV off!”
I grabbed the remote and turned the power off. I was surprised when King stayed standing in the doorway.
Finally, I said to him, “Baby, do you want to talk?”
“Talk about what?”
The way he responded should’ve been my clue to leave him alone. But I loved him and wanted to help him through this. So I said, “About what happened last night.”
He stood still for a moment, as if he was pondering my words. As if he might want to talk. And then he said, “You want to talk about last night?”
I nodded.
“You want to talk about the way I lost?”
“You didn’t lose, baby. Not really. You were nominated.”
“You want to talk about the way I lost because of you!”
My head snapped back. “Because of me? King, I . . .” “Yeah. Because you’re a fat cow and because you’re a loser.”
“What?” Where were these words coming from?
“You lose everything. You lost our baby, didn’t you?”
Oh my God! I couldn’t believe he’d said that to me.
“I lost because I’m with a loser. No one gives awards to losers.”
“King!” I cried.
He shook his head. “I don’t even know why I’m with you. If I’d married Marlaina, I would’ve won last night.”
I had never been so grateful to see him stomp away. I tried to breathe and to remember that he was drunk and he was hurt. And hurt people hurt people.
But I couldn’t find any words to justify what he’d just said to me.
Our baby? He’d really gone there, when it was his fault?
When the front door slammed, I turned the television back on. I watched every single show that talked about last night’s winners and losers.
And I cried the entire time.
Chapter 37
It was time. After what King had said to me last week, I needed to talk about it. I needed to talk about my miscarriage and the way I’d lost my baby.
So here I was, back in Leslie’s office, and ready to talk this time . . . for real.
“It started when King left for his trip,” I said. “We didn’t talk much while he was away, but then when he came back . . .”
I kept talking, laying it all out for Leslie: how King returned after being away for three weeks and treated me like he’d just come back from the store. I told her about the fight, about how I left and planned to leave for good.
And then the hard part. How he’d tossed me down the stairs. To this day King said it was an accident. And I didn’t really think that he pushed me on purpose. But in my mind, I saw it as being tossed.
As I told Leslie about it, I could actually feel the way I rolled down those stairs, hitting every single step. I was crying, once again, when I got to the part about being in the hospital and hearing my new truth. I sat silently, just sobbing, when I finished; and Leslie stayed quiet for a while too.
Finally, she said, “You know, what you just did was really important.”
I didn’t know what she was talking about.
“You just had a breakthrough moment. That’s a good thing.”
If it was so good, why did I feel so bad? It was the first time I’d ever said all those words out loud. The first time that I’d ever put this whole situation together.
“So how are you feeling about this now?” Leslie asked me.
I wondered what she wanted to know. Here I was, sitting here, crying, even though this had happened months ago.
“I mean,” Leslie explained, “how do you feel about King?”
“I love him.”
“Do you realize that’s what you say all the time?”
Wasn’t that what someone was supposed to say when they were in love?
Leslie clarified her question. “How do you feel about King as he relates to this situation? Your miscarriage?”
“I still hold a lot of anger toward him. And, really, I thought about leaving him because of it.”
“But . . . ,” Leslie said, then stopped, as if she wanted me to finish her sentence.
“But . . .” I didn’t want to say it, but it was the truth. “But my love for him is greater than wanting to leave him.”
“Why do you think you love him so much? Even after all that the two of you have gone through?”
“Because he loves me. Even t
hough I may not be able to have children, it doesn’t matter to King.”
“But he caused that.”
“Not on purpose. And, anyway, is there another man out there who would want to be with a twenty-six-year-old woman who can’t have children?”
“Definitely. There are plenty of men who would accept that and who would love you. Plus, you have so many other options. You could adopt. . . .”
“What?”
“Or use a surrogate.”
“You mean, have someone else give birth to my baby?”
“Yes.” Leslie nodded. “It’s a perfectly legitimate way to have a baby and—”
“No!” I screamed. “No!”
“Why?” I might have been screaming, but Leslie was as calm as she always was. “Millions of women do this. Millions of women are happy with these other options.”
“I want children of my own.”
“Heiress, these children would be yours.”
I didn’t understand why Leslie was saying this to me. Wasn’t she hearing me? Didn’t she understand?
I shook my head. “They wouldn’t really be mine. They’d belong to someone else. And if I married anyone else, he might cheat on me just so he could have children,” I cried. “He might cheat on me the way King is cheating. That’s why I think King cheats. Because he wants children and . . .” I stopped, wishing I could take back my words. Had I really just said that out loud?
After a moment of silence, Leslie said, “King’s cheating on you?”
I folded my arms. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“But you should, Heiress. A lot of your issues might be wrapped up in this.”
I shook my head.
“Heiress . . .”
“No!”
“All right, all right. We’ll stop here,” Leslie said. “That was a lot for today.” She paused. “You did good, Heiress.” She smiled.
I guess her smile was supposed to make me feel better. It didn’t.
“So I’ll see you next week.”
I half nodded, half shook my head as I pushed myself up from the couch. Leslie didn’t know it, but I was never coming back to this place. Not after today. Not after the way I felt.
Strange Addiction Page 20
