“Do you want to find out?”
“Hell no,” I replied quickly. “My life is fucked-up enough as it is. Why would I want to confirm some sick shit like that?”
“Well, Wicket, I’m glad that you felt comfortable enough to share what happened with me.” She stared at my face. “When did you have the scar removed?”
“Several months after I arrived in New York. Daddy paid to have my face reconstructed. It was Hannah’s idea. She realized he could afford it and thought it would make me feel better.”
“Who’s Hannah?”
That one question made me realize that our session needed to end for the day. I was not prepared to discuss Hannah, or what had happened to her.
“Can we reconvene this later?” I asked Marcella as I stood. “Even though we’re in a spa, I feel anything but relaxed.” I paused and looked down at her. “Are you willing to see me on a regular basis? Money is no object. I can pay you well for your time.”
Marcella stood up. “I would never charge you extra because of your wealth. And yes, I am willing to see you.” She glanced around the spa. “But I do have a suggestion. It would be inconvenient to make such elaborate preparations to meet here all the time. I have a hideaway cottage in Pike County, a little ways from here. Population less than twenty thousand and my closest neighbor is literally a mile away.”
I was stunned. “And you go out there by yourself.” I chuckled. “Oh, mea culpa. You probably have a nice, loving relationship with a man who adores you and goes out there with you.”
She looked uneasy. “I’ve always made it a point to keep my private life isolated from my clients, but I will say that I’m not troubled to go there alone. That’s the point of it being a hideaway. Sometimes I need to unwind and diminish the rest of the world.”
“I can dig it, but I’d have to bring KAD with me. I would be scared to death to go to sleep out there. I don’t see how you do it. I can visit but I need to get out of there before dark.”
“KAD?”
“Oh, that’s my nickname for my three bodyguards.”
She laughed. “First initials?”
“Exactly.” We smiled at each other for a moment. “Your cottage sounds lovely and I would like to meet there. What about this same time next week? I prefer to continue to arrange all of these sessions myself. Even though all of my staff have confidentiality and nondisclosure agreements, in this economy, you never know what people are capable of.”
“Same time next week. I’ll e-mail you the address.”
“Thanks, Marcella.” I reached out my hand. “Even though it was hard for me to discuss what my mother did to me, I do feel some type of liberation for having said it.”
“I do have one last question, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes?”
“Did you come here to get revenge on your mother? You’re not planning to harm her or have her harmed, are you?”
“Relax, Marcella. I don’t plan to chop off anyone’s head or have them thrown into a pool of acid or lye. And no, this has nothing to do with my mother. She’s an extremely sick and revolting woman, and she’s right where she belongs.”
“Then who is it about?”
“Might we discuss that next week?”
She seemed doubtful, but, being a professional, she recognized when to let it go. “Sure, we can wait until then.”
“Feel free to stay and experience the spa. It’s paid up for until three. You can have it all to yourself, since you don’t mind that sort of thing.”
She chuckled. “It’s tempting, but I’m going to go change and head back to the office.”
“So where is your office?” I asked, making general conversation as we headed off into the dressing rooms.
Chapter Seven
I really should have been an actress in addition to being a singer. Overall, entertainment is entertainment. But one thing was for sure. The day that I met Bianca Hudson and Cherie Thompson for lunch at Acoustix Jazz on Marietta Street, I delivered an Oscar-winning performance. I had Nikki make arrangements with Frank Ski, the owner, to have a private lunch, since they actually did not open until six for dinner service on Saturdays. The worst thing about being famous is the inability to go someplace and enjoy a meal in peace, so unless you want paparazzi all over the place disturbing your meal and everyone else’s meal in the joint, you have to get creative.
After we exchanged pleasantries and I pretended like I had never laid eyes on Cherie in my life, we settled down at a corner table and ordered. I ordered the John Coltrane, Bianca ordered the Charlie Parker, and Cherie ordered the Ella Fitzgerald, which came down to steak for me, blackened tilapia for Bianca, and roasted herb chicken for Cherie. We also did the Frank Taylor crab cakes, Cab Calloway fried calamari, and Chick Corea spinach dip for appetizers. Women tend to order a ton of food when we go out to eat, but rarely ever finish it. Americans, as a whole, order in excess when it means being able to afford to do so. But I went with the flow and even ordered two bottles of wine—one white and one red—to accompany the meals. Since they had invited me to lunch, even though I arranged the place, it was on them anyway to pay, and they wanted to prove they were affluent enough to be in my presence. Straight bullshit!