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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!
