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.
I hightailed it into my bathroom and took about five to six minutes applying makeup. I was not going to put on any powdered foundation that day at all, but I made myself up to look like I was about to do a photo shoot. Actually, my dermatologist told me that I should always protect my skin with makeup. That way all the germs and elements from the day get washed off at the end of the night instead of seeping into my pores.
When I was headed back down the steps, I almost fell when I got near the bottom. My nerves were shot.
“Get it together,” I whispered to myself. “He doesn’t know who you are.”
My heart felt like it was about to hop out of my chest, it was beating so loudly. I took in three deep breaths and headed outside.
When I saw him, it was like time had stood still. He was sitting there spreading orange marmalade on a croissant as one of my maids poured him some coffee and orange juice. His dark-chocolate skin glistened in the sunlight and he was now bald. Damn! There was nothing that I was more attracted to than a baldheaded man. Back in high school, he had sported cornrows most of the time.