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“That’s good.” I glimpsed at my watch again. “I really have to go before I’m late. I wish we could continue the conversation some other time.”
Zoe took a business card out of her purse and handed it to me. “Call me.”
I scanned the card. “You’re an arts dealer, huh?”
“Yes, all African-American art.” She smiled and touched my hand. “Take care, Jonquinette, and if you ever need anything, just reach out to me. Marcella understands a lot and I’m sure she will help you get through this, but she’s never walked in our shoes.” She picked up her bag. “When you feel comfortable enough, I hope you will consider coming back to the meetings.” She eyed me uneasily. “You and your friend.”
As Zoe walked off to get into her car and I walked to the bank of elevators, I wondered about her last comment. Had she figured me out that easily?
marcella
Working with Jonquinette Pierce had turned out to be much more than I had bargained for. Just like every professional I welcomed challenges in my career, but this one had taken on a personal edge. I had only one similar experience in my entire career. When I was fresh out of medical school, I interned at a psychiatric hospital in New York State under the guidance of Dr. Michael Driggs. He was one of the most respected psychiatrists in the country and had recently succumbed to colon cancer.
Dr. Driggs had a patient named Constance who suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder. I sat in on his therapy sessions with her and it was nothing short of amazing. While Constance had already pretty much figured out that she had at least three other personalities, it turned out that she had at least forty. Day after day, month after month, we met them one at a time. Dr. Driggs introduced me to the technique of integration, where he basically had lengthy discussions with each personality to see what their individual issues—or grievances, so to speak—were and how they could be solved. Constance had been the victim of severe neglect and physical abuse as a child. Because of that, she developed various personalities to deal with situations that she could not deal with. There was Bernie, who was an older gentleman. Bernie emerged when Constance felt threatened. He spoke in a heavy tone and his body language was intimidating. Rhonda was the little child who emerged when Constance was feeling lonely and abandoned, which she had been by her parents at the age of four. She ended up in foster homes and unfortunately, each one of the homes harbored a form of evil. Her first set of foster parents used to beat Constance with a belt and lock her in the cellar for days on end. The second set used to make her eat dog food while they dined on fine cuisine, courtesy of state funding. She and the other six foster children in the home eventually ran away together, seeking help from the local police, and the state had no choice but to find new homes for all of them and press charges against the couple who had made them suffer.
The list of traumas in Constance’s life went on and on until she simply could not function in society. She checked herself into the hospital, pleading desperately for help and some form of supervision. She did not trust herself or what she might be driven to do next.
As I sat in my office waiting for Jonquinette and her parents to arrive for their first joint therapy session, I couldn’t imagine what had triggered her MPD and how Jude had been created. Other than the fact that she had been bullied as a child, which didn’t sit quite well with me, there was no other obvious reasoning behind the events that had transpired.
Jude herself didn’t realize that she was crying out for help by sleeping with various men. She assumed that promiscuity was a display of power but nothing was further from the truth. Self-degradation is no better than someone else doing the degrading. I had a general idea of how I planned to proceed with Jonquinette’s healing process, but first I wanted to meet her parents and see how they interacted with her.
Jonquinette showed up first. I was glad that she came in separately because it gave us an opportunity to chat alone.
After she came into my inner office and sat down, I asked her, “So how are things?”
“I can’t tell you how much better I feel,” she said.
“Really? Why is that?”
She leaned up and whispered, “Mason and I did it. We made love.”
She giggled with delight and I faked a smile. I wasn’t so sure getting sexually involved with Mason Copeland at that point in time was such a great idea. It might just serve to complicate matters.
“Jonquinette, if you are happy, I am happy for you.”
“Thanks!” She leaned back in the chair. “Oh, guess who I just ran into in the parking lot.”
That was a no-brainer since she’d just left my office. “Zoe?”
“Yes. She’s so sweet. She even gave me her card in case I want to talk.”
“That’s great. Zoe is a very compassionate woman and you may need to hear some of the things she has to say.”
I meant every word of that previous statement. In many ways, Zoe and Jonquinette were identical and in many others they were not. Zoe had a sexual addiction while Jonquinette, or Jude rather, used sex to make a statement.
Jonquinette glanced at my wall clock. “Humph, I wonder why my parents are late.”
No sooner had she said that when a knock came at the door. A stunning-looking couple entered and my first thought was that they seemed way too happy for two people who had just found out that the only child they shared together was ill.
Jonquinette jumped up and made the introductions. “Dr. Spencer, these are my parents, Henry and Meredith Pierce.”
I shook both of their hands. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Henry replied, “Same here. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Please have a seat,” I said, directing them to my leather couch. Jonquinette sat down on the chaise and I sat in an armchair.
Meredith said, “Sorry we’re late. Henry just got back from dropping Flower back off in North Carolina.”
