Vengeance (11 page)

“No, Cherie.”

“Cherie, that’s a cute dress you have on. Not sure it’s my style, but if you want to put together a sample portfolio for me to peruse over, I’ll check it out.”

“Thank . . . thank you.” Cherie seemed relieved. She was willing to take even a slight opportunity to get some of my cash. “I’ll have it to you by next week.”

“No problem. Take your time.” I looked over at Bianca. “I’ll come back to you with some specific requests, particularly for the front rooms that my guests will see upon entry. I don’t want the wow factor. I want the ‘oh my goodness, this shit is off the chain’ look.”

“I can make that happen for you.” Bianca finished off her glass of white wine and pushed her plate away.

“You don’t like the food?” I asked, knowing that I was the one who had robbed her of her appetite like a thief in the night. “My steak was incredible.”

“No, everything was great.” She waved the waitress over to ask for the check. “Thanks again for meeting with us.”

I decided to flip the script and act polite for a moment. “It was my pleasure. I don’t have a lot of female friends and I realize that I can be somewhat harsh, but you two seem lovely.” I was lying my ass off. “Maybe we can become good friends, hangout
buddettes
, over time.”

Cherie perked up. In her mind, being able to actually claim me as a friend stepped up her game a million percent. “That would be cool. Bianca and I are both upwardly mobile here in Atlanta and—”

“Upwardly mobile?” I had to suppress a hiss. “I hear that term quite often. Define it.”

Bianca and Cherie both looked foolish, using terminology that they clearly had no clue about.

“Does it mean steadily climbing in social and financial status, perhaps?”

“Something like that,” Cherie said. “We’re constantly striving to obtain more success in life.”

“Are either of you married?” I already knew everything about the two fake broads but wanted to feign interest. “Are your husbands successful as well? What do they do?”

Bianca could not wait to brag. “My husband, Herman, is an orthopedic surgeon. He has a private practice in Buckhead with state-of-the-art surgery facilities.”

“Oh, that’s nice. He gets to play with crusty feet and toes all day.” I watched as Bianca pulled out a black American Express to pick up the tab, holding back on a snide comment that was dying to leave her lips to counteract mine. I paused long enough to give her time to swallow it. “How long have you been married?”

She sighed—weak broad. She should’ve called me on the fact that an orthopedic surgeon was not the same as a podiatrist, but she was too busy kissing my ass. “We were high school sweethearts, actually. We’ve been together for twenty-five years and married for nineteen.”

“Do you have kids?”

“Two; a boy and a girl. Twins. They’re juniors in high school this year.”

I looked over at Cherie. “And you?”

“Well, I’ve been with Michael about the same amount of time, but we’ve never married and have no children . . . as of yet.”

I whispered, “Hmm,” and gave her a sympathetic look.

It was a damn shame for her to stay with trifling-ass Michael Vinson, who was not even halfway attractive no less, for that long without a ring. She must have been hard up. In retrospect, the two of them deserved each other.

“I assume you’re at least shacking.” I did not wait for a response. I knew they were. “And what does your man, Michael, do?”

“He’s an actor.” For once, her face lit up. “He’s exceptional, too.”

“Oh, what’s his last name? Maybe I’ve seen him in something.”

“Vinson. Michael Vinson.”

I frowned and said more as an insult than a statement: “Never heard of him. Is he a
working
actor? When was the last time he was in something?”

Bianca seemed embarrassed for her friend. She probably wondered if Cherie was going to tell the truth and shame the Devil or go for broke and make some shit up.

“Well, the last major movie he was in was
New Jack City
. He played a drug dealer who was part of Wesley Snipes’s posse.”

“I’ve seen that several times. Did he have a speaking role?”

“Not exactly, but—”

“Baby girl . . .” I decided to stop the madness. “
New Jack City
came out in the early nineties, ninety-one if I remember correctly. If your man hasn’t done anything since then, that can’t be considered his career. That’s like me not putting out an album for years,
decades
, and still calling myself a professional singer. I’m not one to get into someone else’s business, but you need to stop being dick dumb and tell his ass to get a fucking job or stop fucking him altogether. We get what we settle for. You know what I’m saying?”

I struck a big-ass nerve with that one.

“So where’s your man?” Cherie asked with heavy acerbity. “I’ve never seen you tied to any particular man in the press.”

“And you likely never will,” I replied. “I don’t have to put my business out in the streets to get attention from the media. My talent trumps everything else. But it’s interesting to know that you’re clocking my comings and goings like that. What color panties do I have on?”

Bianca’s mouth flew open, but no words came out, and Cherie had to make a drastic move to hold her tongue.

“Trust and believe,” I added. “There are very few straight men on this planet who would not fuck me if given a chance. That includes
both
of your men. Look at me and look at the two of you. Be for real.”

The tension was getting thick and I seriously wanted to hurt someone at that table. It was time to end the farcical luncheon meeting.

I stood up abruptly. “Thanks for the meal. Nikki will be in touch once you send whatever it is that you’re . . .
peddling
.”

With that, I strutted out the front door like the queen that I was, with Diederik straight on my tail.

“You really went in on them,” he said as we met up with my other two bodyguards outside and headed to the limousine curbside.

“I hate fake bitches!” I replied and climbed into the backseat.

I could make out Bianca and Cherie through the pane-glass window. Cherie was going off and pounding her fists on the table, surely calling me every venomous term she could come up with. But would the hooker ever be bold enough to say it to my face? Time would tell, and I planned to enjoy every second of it. They had an option to walk away and never contact me again. Greed and a desire for a bigger social status would never allow them to do that, though. I was the closest that they had ever been, or would ever come, to actually being significant in society, and neither one of them would risk fucking it up. I was banking on that, and I was never wrong.

A
fter spouting all of that shit about not claiming something as a career if you have not done it in years, that was my cue to get back to working on my next album. Operation Vengeance in full effect or not, the rest of the world still highly anticipated the release of
Impulse
, my ninth album. I had at least three or four more tracks to lay out but had already recorded an EP in case I did not complete the rest of the songs by my deadline. An extended-play album contained more than one song but not as many songs as a traditional, full-price album. It was the latest craze for newer acts who could not afford to go all-out with at least eight tracks. Even if they landed a deal, record labels were reluctant to fund longer albums for fear that they may do a major belly flop upon release. With the digital age of music taking over, the true money was in touring and being the ultimate entertainer. That was why I was who I was. Outside of talent, it was like playing a game in someone else’s body. No one knew that I was Caprice Tatum. Caprice Tatum disappeared off the face of the planet and, just like I had assumed, no one ever even gave a damn.

As I waited for my recording engineer to get everything together to do a take of “Shame on It All,” I could not help but chuckle at the irony. Here I was enticing the world with love ballads about sex and being in great relationships, or club tracks about how to get your freak on, and I was doing none of the above. I will admit that I went for the jugular when Cherie inquired about my nonexistent man. Granted, even if I did have a man, I would not have wanted him splayed across every magazine cover with me, or being featured weekly on
TMZ
when we walked out of restaurants. It would be difficult enough to simply get to know a man, rather less have the entire world scrutinizing everything about him concurrently. What man would want to deal with such madness? He would have to be someone already used to the limelight and I had yet to meet a celebrity male who I would have fucked with someone else’s pussy. Most famous people traded lovers all over the place, mostly to remain newsworthy. Or both parties would actually be gay and putting on pretenses to cover up the truth. No sir, none of that was for me. All of that was besides the fact that I was incapable of feeling those kinds of emotions in the first place.

I had done a very bad thing when I left the restaurant that day. I wanted to hurt someone so much that I hurt myself. I had not resorted to cutting in well over a decade. Yet, I found myself that night in my Jacuzzi making slight slits under my knee, where they would blend in and look like the normal folds on my legs.

“Ready whenever you are,” Brian, my engineer, said, breaking me out of the zone of deep thought that I found myself in. “By the way, ‘You Can Lick Your Breakfast’ is on fire. I predict it hits number one on the Billboards the first week.”

“Thanks, Brian. We think alike.”

We both laughed. Brian was cute: Irish with red hair and freckles. He had a boyish look and I often wondered if he had freckles on his dick. I started to ask him to masturbate with me one night while we were working late, but he seemed like a blabbermouth or the type that would try to sue the label if I even mentioned it.

Suddenly, a feeling came over me, so I excused myself. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.” Brian started messing with and adjusting buttons on the console while I headed to my private bathroom.

Once inside, I stared in the mirror for a few seconds. “You really have a problem.”

I opened up the medicine cabinet and removed my battery-operated toothbrush. I had on a dress—easy access—so I slipped off my sandals and placed my right foot up on the sink counter. I moved my panties aside and put the toothbrush inside of me, inverted, but not before I pushed the on button. The bristles of the brush bounced back and forth over my thick clit while the bottom part shivered inside of me.

I started feeling my own breasts and rubbed my nipples through my dress until they were rock hard. I managed to get myself off in a matter of minutes and then went back out into the studio to get busy. One day, I yearned to feel what actual intercourse felt like, outside of being brutally raped, but it would not be that day. And the question remained: Who could it possibly be with? There was no man who I felt like I could be completely transparent with, no man that I felt would even understand what I had been through. Instead of crying my eyes out, I did the next best thing; what I always did. I went into that studio and left it all there in my music. Everything I ever desired, wanted, or needed.

The next morning, I was scheduled to do an interview with
G-Clef
magazine. I would have preferred to run with the bulls than do it. Sometimes interviews became so redundant that I struggled to find innovative responses to the same damn questions the last five reporters had asked me. At least there was no photo shoot involved. I had done one recently and the label was going to give them exclusive use of some of the images. I had to start promoting the new album, even though it was not scheduled to drop until the end of the year. They were apparently a smaller magazine, but it was recommended that I do the interview.

Nikki came into the theater room to tell me that the reporter was waiting outside on the veranda. She also added, “He’s some serious eye candy. Just a heads-up.”

I smirked. “I’m surrounded by eye candy, Nikki. Speaking of which, where are KAD?”

“Diederik and Kagiso are off today since you have no plans to go out, and Antonio is in the garden posted up where he can see you without being intrusive.”

“Thanks.” I sighed. “Might as well get this over with. What’s the writer’s name?”

Nikki looked down at the legal pad she had in her hand. “Jonovan Davis.”

I froze in place, like I had seen a ghost.

“Are you okay, Wicket?”

“Wha . . . what did you say his name is again?”

“Jonovan Davis. J-O-N-O-V-A-N. You know him or something?”

I quickly gathered my composure before Nikki saw right through me. “No, never heard of him. I thought you said Jonathan Davis at first. I’ve run across someone by that name, but it’s a common one. I don’t know any Jonovan.”

“Oh, okay.” Nikki stood there, hesitating. “Are you still coming now?”

“Actually, I need a few minutes. I need to shoot a couple of e-mails out before noon. Tell him that I’ll be right out.”

“Cool beans.”

Nikki left the room and I almost collapsed on the floor. I had not heard the name Jonovan Davis in decades. It seemed like several lifetimes ago.

Jonovan Davis saved my life the night that everyone else was seemingly determined to take it. He had always been nice to me at Powers High School, but I was too shy to ever take his kindness for genuine interest. Besides, he had back-to-back girlfriends all throughout school. A lot of it had to do with his incredibly good looks and charm, and the fact that he had a 4.0 GPA. He was voted the most likely to succeed as well. So he was a reporter now? Interesting! I wondered if he was still as attractive. Nikki had made it obvious that he was fine, but was he still
that fine
?

Suddenly, I was concerned about my appearance. I ran upstairs to my bedroom and threw open the doors to my humongous walk-in closet. I picked out a red skintight pantsuit to slip in and opted out of a blouse so I could show off my cleavage. Then I slipped into a pair of five-inch black pumps and a black jade necklace and bracelet to adorn the outfit.