“Can I tell you something?” Yvette had asked when Hosea had stepped away from their table in the five-star restaurant of the Four Seasons hotel.
“Sure.”
“I’ve had a great time with you and Pastor.”
“We’ve enjoyed you, too.”
After a moment, Yvette had inhaled, then said, “I have a lot of contacts, but up till this point, I haven’t really taken the ABC onto the national stage.”
Jasmine shrugged. “From what you’ve told us, I think you’ve been doing a great job so far.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “I hope you won’t think I’m conceited, but I’m capable of doing a whole lot more. I can get the ABC all over television; I have contacts that will get us on major network shows.”
“If you can get them on TV,” Jasmine had chuckled, “do it.”
“I can, and I will, but . . . I’m not quite sure how to do it.” When Jasmine frowned, Yvette gently placed her fork on her plate, and looked straight at Jasmine. “There are lots of things I have to consider.”
“Like?”
Yvette didn’t even blink when she said, “Like are the right people in front of the camera?”
It only took Jasmine a second to figure out the sentiment behind Yvette’s words.
“Oh!” Jasmine had said. “The right people, the best people.”
“Exactly!” Yvette exclaimed, surprised and relieved that she didn’t have to put it all the way out there for Jasmine to understand. “I’d actually thought about calling Cecelia and asking her to step in.”
“Cecelia?”
“Cecelia King.”
“You know her?” Jasmine had asked, her forehead creased with a deep frown.
“Yeah.” Yvette had shrugged as if it was no big deal.
Jasmine had shaken her head, patted Yvette on the hand, and told her not to worry. “You don’t have to call Cecelia. She and her husband may be de facto members of the board, but technically, she’s not part of the ABC anymore.” Jasmine hadn’t bothered to mention that she couldn’t stand that woman. She really wanted to warn Yvette to stay away from anyone in the King family. But all Jasmine said was, “No worries at all. Hosea and I will be available for any appearances for you—television or otherwise.”
With a loud exhale, Yvette said, “I hope you don’t think I’m unprofessional. I really like Rachel . . . .”
Stop lyin’. But aloud, Jasmine only said, “You’re just doing your job; you need someone who’s articulate, someone who’s knowledgeable about not only the Coalition, but about world events, as well. Rachel cannot be the face of the ABC. You can’t put a trollop on TV and expect anyone to let you come back. You’ll lose all your credibility and contacts that way.”
Jasmine almost laughed now as she remembered the pure shock on Yvette’s face when she’d referred to Rachel as a trollop.
But it was true and Yvette knew it. Jasmine wasn’t talking about the girl’s looks; Rachel was attractive in a Flava-Flav-reality-show-contestant sort of way. But that was where her assets ended. There was no telling what Rachel would do if she was on camera. She wasn’t intelligent enough to speak coherently. She had no poise, no class, it was a wonder she was even able to handle her responsibilities as a wife and a mother, though if those ghetto-brats she was raising were any indication of her skills, Jasmine needed to help the county find those children a new home.
So since Rachel was clearly not the one, it was Jasmine’s pleasure to save the Coalition.
And save the Coalition she did. From that point, Yvette had set up all kinds of appearances for her and Hosea: on the local morning talk shows and even a segment on Good Morning America. But what was about to go down now—sitting down with Lady O—was on a whole other level.
Rachel and Lester may have been the first couple of the American Baptist Coalition, but she and Hosea were clearly the king and queen, and royalty always trumped peasants.
“Jasmine, are you okay?”
Her eyelids fluttered, bringing her back to the present. Jasmine had to take a quick look around the parking lot to remind herself where she was. “Yes,” she said to Yvette. “I’m more than ready for this.”
Before Yvette could respond, a freckle-faced woman who was more round than curvy rushed to the car.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bush,” she said, sounding as if she was out of breath. “I’m Jane, one of Oprah’s producers. I should’ve been here to meet you.”
“That’s all right,” Jasmine said, smiling. In the past, she would’ve had a major problem waiting for anyone. But this was Oprah; if she’d been left outside in the garage for an hour, it would’ve been all right with her.
Jane shook hands with Yvette, then led the two women into the building. “Will there be anyone else joining you?” she asked.
“No.” Jasmine shook her head. “It’s just me and Yvette.”
“Actually,” Yvette interrupted, “we will have two other people joining us. Pastor Earl Griffith and Cecelia King should be here any moment. They’ll probably be coming together.”
Jasmine spun her head around so quickly, she was sure she’d end up with whiplash. Why in the world were they coming?
“Great!” Jane said before Jasmine could ask a question. “I’ll have someone on the lookout for them, but in the meantime, we’re so excited to have you here.” Jane chatted as she led Jasmine and Yvette down a hallway lined with photographs of the famous and infamous who’d spent an hour or two with Oprah on her couch. Oprah and John Travolta. Oprah and Will Smith. Oprah and Julia Roberts. Jasmine shuddered as she imagined the new picture that would be gracing this wall soon—Jasmine and Oprah!
Jane’s high-pitched tone knocked through Jasmine’s thoughts. “When we told Oprah your story, she cried.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. To have your little girl kidnapped like that and then to turn it into something so positive. We’re excited about what you’re doing with Jacqueline’s Hope. This was just the kind of project Oprah was looking for when she had her Angel Network and that’s why she wanted you to be a part of her final season.”
There weren’t too many times when Jasmine was rendered speechless, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. The fact that her name had been part of Oprah’s conversation took every thought out of her head and every word out of her mouth.
“Okay, here we are,” Jane said as she stopped. “Please make yourself comfortable.”
The moment Jasmine took the first step into the greenroom, she sank into the plushness of the salmon-colored carpet. The room seemed like it had been set up for a small celebration, with a spread of bagels, fruit, and yogurt laid out on a lace cloth–covered table against one wall. There were seven carafes with a variety of juices and a coffee machine next to that.
The rest of the room was all mirrors, reflecting the whitewashed furniture that looked like each piece had been designed just for this space. This may have been where many of the guests waited for the start of the show, but the room could have been a featured layout in Architectural Digest.
Jane glanced at her watch. “We have an hour before we go live. You did remember that today is a live show, right?”
“Yes,” Jasmine and Yvette said together.
“Great, because that means we have to start right on time. We’ll send the makeup artist in here in just a bit, okay?”
Jasmine and Yvette nodded.
“This is so wonderful,” Jane said with such cheer that Jasmine was sure she was about to break out in a song and dance. “If you need anything,” Jane continued, “just let me know. No matter what it is.”
“We will.”
“I’m going to let Oprah know that you’re here.”
“Will Mrs. Bush be meeting Oprah before the show?” Yvette asked.
“No. She’s read up on everything and is very well prepared. But she likes to meet her guests at the same time as the audience. Is that okay?”
“Definitely,” Jasmine and Yvette said togeth
er.
When Jane left them alone, Jasmine wanted to jump up and down and do a happy-dance. But that was just the kind of thing that Rachel would do, so she certainly couldn’t do that in front of Yvette.
“Isn’t this something?” Yvette asked, spinning around slowly, taking in all four corners of the greenroom.
I guess she’s as impressed as I am. “Yeah.”
“Listen,” Yvette said as she grabbed a banana from the table. “I have to make a few calls before the show.”
“Wait, before you go, I have a question.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Cecelia King and Pastor Griffith—why are they coming?”
“Oh.” Yvette waved her hand as if it was no big deal. “You know how Oprah likes to do things. She wanted me to invite a few other people from the Coalition.”
“Well, I can understand Pastor Griffith,” Jasmine said, almost gritting her teeth as she said that man’s name. “But I told you before, Cecelia is not part of the Coalition.”
Yvette’s eyes darkened as the smile fell from her face. “Let me handle my business, Jasmine.”
Jasmine stepped back, crossed her arms and let her eyes roam over Yvette from top to bottom and then back up again. Who did this young girl think she was talking to? And what was up with her defense of Cecelia King?
“Look,” Yvette said, softening her eyes and stance as if she wanted to squelch the conflict before it got started. “I know what I’m doing. Mrs. King and Pastor Griffith are just in the audience; you are the star.”
The star. Well, at least Yvette had that part right. Up to now, she had always allowed Jasmine to be the star. And when Jasmine thought about it, it made sense that Pastor Griffith was invited since he lived in Chicago, and reluctantly she admitted that even Cecelia might be able to add a little something to the show.
“All right,” Jasmine said. “I just want to make sure that we do everything right for not only the Coalition, but for Jacqueline’s Hope, too.”
“I promise you this will work,” Yvette said. And then she chuckled. “Pastor Griffith being here is strategic. When those women get a look at that fine man, they’ll be throwing money your way for your center.”
Jasmine had to take a deep breath. Yvette was telling the stone-cold truth. Pastor Griffith was a looker, but with all she knew about him, she didn’t want him, nor his poison, nor his money anywhere near her, Hosea, and Jacqueline’s Hope.
“So, are we cool?” Yvette said.
It took Jasmine a second to respond as she wondered what Yvette would think if she knew what was really going on with Pastor Griffith. “Yeah,” Jasmine replied. Maybe one day, she’d sit down with Yvette and school her on the truth behind that crooked pastor. But for now, Jasmine would just let this play out. Like Yvette said, she was the star.
Yvette’s cell vibrated and when she glanced down at the screen, she frowned. “Look, I really have to take this call,” she said before she rushed out of the room.
Jasmine stared at the door for a moment and played over the conversation she’d just had. Then she inhaled deeply before she exhaled slowly. “Calm down,” she whispered to herself. There was no need to get worked up before her big moment. The truth of it all was she was about to go onstage with Oprah to talk about the charity that was dearest to her heart.
As she took another glance around the room, Jasmine’s lips slowly curled into a grin. She was actually in Chicago, at Harpo Studios, in the greenroom, about to meet the Queen herself.
Jasmine kicked up her heels and did a happy-dance. She swung her arms in the air, then broke into a little jig that looked something like the old-school running man. She didn’t stop until her knees began to ache and then she fell onto the sofa that perfectly matched the carpet.
“I cannot believe this.” Jasmine laughed. “Rachel Adams, eat your heart out!”
While Jasmine was absolutely thrilled to be meeting Oprah, part of the satisfaction was that she was doing this and Rachel was not.
When Jasmine and Rachel had been forced to work together during the presidential election for the Coalition, Jasmine had actually almost, just a little bit, kinda started to care for the girl. Yes, she wasn’t very bright, but it wasn’t her fault that she was country and ghetto. That had to be a hard load to carry. At one point, Jasmine had thought that she might even help Rachel, be her mentor, give her some class through osmosis.
But then, she’d received that email from Rachel just a week after the election. Even now, Jasmine seethed every time she remembered what Rachel had written:
Jasmine: Thank you and Hosea for being gracious in your loss and my victory. I want to offer you the position of being my executive assistant. Please call me so that we can discuss your salary. Best wishes and sincerely, Rachel Adams, First Lady, American Baptist Coalition.
Jasmine had read the email again; surely, there was something missing. Maybe Rachel knew another Jasmine who was married to a man named Hosea, because that mud-duck could not have seriously sent her that ridiculous request.
Jasmine had grabbed her iPad and before she had her keyboard in hand, she already knew exactly what she was going to say to remind Rachel Jackson Adams of her place and put her right back in it. That fool needed to know that her broke-down husband hadn’t even won the ABC election. She needed to understand that Jasmine had rigged the vote because she didn’t want Hosea caught up with a major drug cartel. And Jasmine wanted to tell Rachel that she hoped Rachel and Lester would be very happy in their matching jail cells when what was truly going on in the Coalition finally came to light.
But though she’d written it, of course she didn’t send it. She wanted to, but there was no way she could let Pastor Griffith (who worked double duty as one of the leaders of the American Baptist Coalition and of the drug cartel) know that she was aware of his business dealings.
So Jasmine just deleted the email, never responded to Rachel, and had kept her mouth closed and her family safe. She ignored the fact that Rachel even existed and turned her focus to building Jacqueline’s Hope. By doing that, she would be putting herself and Hosea in the position to take over the Coalition once the dealings of Pastor Griffith and his band of bandits with the ABC were exposed. According to Jasmine’s best friend, Mae Frances, that was going to happen soon and if all of her prayers were answered, she’d get to see Rachel on national TV being dragged away in handcuffs.
Jasmine pushed herself off the sofa and grabbed her cell phone from her purse. She didn’t need to concern herself with Rachel at all; that child was nothing more than a bookmark, holding Jasmine’s place until God was ready for the Bushes to take over.
She pressed the speed dial number on her cell and smiled the moment Hosea answered the phone.
“What’s up, darlin’?”
“I’m here!” she shouted, then lowered her voice. “You will never guess where I am.”
Hosea chuckled. “You just said, ‘I’m here,’ so I’m guessing you’re at the studio.”
“Not just the studio, Hosea. I’m in the greenroom that is set up just for me!” Jasmine strolled as she spoke, taking in every inch of the room that was large enough to hold a small party. “You should see this place, babe. Nothing but class.”
“Well, it is Oprah.”
“Yup, Oprah. I’m actually going to be on Oprah,” she screeched. “Remember to set the DVR.”
“Already done.”
“Are you getting ready to head over to the church?” Jasmine asked.
“Yup! I spoke to Pops just a few minutes ago and he said the sanctuary was filling up so much, he was gonna need to send someone out there to save me a seat.”
He laughed, and Jasmine laughed with him. She was filled with glee. She was about to be even bigger than she already was as the first lady of City of Lights at Riverside Church. Probably all ten thousand members would come out this morning to watch the live satellite feed that was going to be set up on several large screens in the sanctuary.
“I wi
sh you were here with me, babe,” Jasmine said.
“Me, too, but you know how much I’ve wanted to get Michael Vick on my show and this afternoon is the time that Mae Frances arranged.”
Jasmine shook her head. “You know you need to be paying her, right? With all the people she’s hooked you up with for the show.”
Hosea laughed, but Jasmine didn’t. Mae Frances knew everyone—black and white, young and old. Forget about six degrees of separation. All you needed was Mae Frances’s number and she would hook you up.
Jasmine said, “I still wish you were here.”
“Well, you tell Oprah I said hey,” he joked as if he and the talk-show star were friends. “Tell her to save a seat on her couch for me for next time.”
“Oh, I’m sure she will. After today, she’ll definitely want me back; we’ll probably end up being great friends.”
“Gayle King, watch out.” Hosea laughed again and Jasmine wondered what did he find so funny? Becoming good friends with Oprah was part of her plan.
A knock on the door stopped her from explaining that to her husband, and a young woman with long, auburn braids that hung down her back peeked in. “Mrs. Bush, I’m here to do your makeup. Is that okay?”
Jasmine nodded and waved for the woman to enter. “Babe, I gotta go,” she whispered. “I gotta get ready for my close-up.”
“Okay, I love you, darlin’. Have a great time.”
She clicked off her phone, then turned to the young African-American woman.
The girl introduced herself, “I’m Cherise,” and then she motioned for Jasmine to sit in the chair in front of the mirror. “This won’t take long at all,” she said. “You’re already fabulous.” She smiled.
“Well, I want to look better than fabulous, so see what you can do.”
Cherise giggled. “All right!”
Jasmine leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, and imagined what life was going to be like now—now that Oprah was about to become her best friend.
Oh yeah, Rachel could have the position of first lady of the ABC—for now. Jasmine was about to be far bigger than that.
Friends & Foes Page 2