Chapter
THREE
Ahhh, the wonders of the Wonderbra. Rachel smiled as she adjusted her now 38 DDs, compliments of the most fabulous bra in the world. She hadn’t known for sure if the bra would come in handy, but she’d worn it just in case. And judging by the sight of the overweight, six-foot-four security guard salivating at the mouth, she’d made the right choice.
Rachel cleared her throat.
“I’m s-sorry,” the guard stuttered, his eyes drifting back up to Rachel’s face. He adjusted his shirt, trying to loosen the buttons that seemed to be screaming for release, then fumbled with his clipboard. “Wh-what did you say your name was?”
“Jasmine. Jasmine Bush,” Rachel said with an innocent smile. She knew she looked stunning in a royal blue wrap dress that accentuated her size eight frame. The bra had the twins sitting at attention and she’d allowed the slit in the dress to fall slightly, just enough to provide a peek at her thigh as she sat back in the driver’s seat of the rental car.
The guard studied the clipboard, a perplexed expression crossing his face. “But we show you’ve already checked in.”
Rachel stuck out her bottom lip in a sexy, playful pout as she toyed with her honey-brown curls. “Now how in the world would that be possible when I’m here?”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, flustered. “Do you have ID?”
“I don’t,” Rachel said casually and began digging in her purse. This part, she had already worked out. “I actually just flew in and lost my license at the airport. I do have some literature. This is what I’m coming on the show to talk about.” She handed the guard a flyer on the Jacqueline’s Hope foundation she’d printed. “I know it’s not what you need, but seriously, do I look like a terrorist?” She leaned forward seductively, making sure her cleavage was in full view.
The guard smiled, then licked his lips as his eyes wandered back down to her chest. “Hardly,” he muttered, his voice coarse. He caught himself, cleared his throat.
“Look, what’s your name, handsome?” Rachel purred.
“It’s Eugene, Mrs. Bush.”
She wiggled her ring finger, which was minus the three-carat rock she normally sported. “It’s Miss Bush, Eugene.”
His eyes lit up.
“You see my name on the list, so obviously I’m supposed to be here. Why don’t you just call Miss Winfrey and confirm? I’m sure she’s not doing anything.”
The guard looked horrified at the thought of disturbing his boss with something like this.
“At least let me call and let them know you’re coming.”
Rachel leaned back and threw up her arms. “Fine. I just really need to get inside. I’m already late.”
He smiled apologetically, then picked up the phone. “Hey, it’s Eugene down at the gate. I have a Jasmine Bush here. She says she’s supposed to be on the show today.” He paused. “Okay . . .”
Rachel’s heart raced as he stood silently. This plan had to work, because she didn’t have a backup plan—short of bum-rushing the set. She relaxed when Eugene grinned and said, “Thanks a lot. I’ll send her up.”
He hung up the phone and handed the papers back to her. “All right, Miss Bush, you’re all set. They said they were waiting on another person. You can park over there,” he said, pointing to his left.
Rachel took the papers, allowing her fingers to linger to show her appreciation. She had no idea who they were waiting on and didn’t care. She just wanted to get inside as fast as she could. “Thank you so much. This is my fault for being late and not getting here with the rest of my team.”
The man seemed mesmerized, then shook himself out of his trance. “Well, they’re aware of you at the back door, so you should be fine.”
He stole one last glimpse of her chest and Rachel gave him a finger wave as she drove off. She wanted to squeal with delight as she drove into the parking lot and parked the rental car. She’d considered getting a car service, but she didn’t want a witness to everything that could possibly go down. Besides, she might have to make a quick getaway.
Rachel parked, then took a slow stroll up the walkway. She kept her cool, flashing a smile at the female guard who buzzed the door to let her in.
“Do you want me to call the producer down to escort you in?” the guard asked once Rachel was inside.
“No, I’m late,” Rachel said. “Can you just point me to the greenroom? That’s where they told me to go.”
Rachel was hoping the woman wouldn’t question her any further. She breathed a sigh of relief when the guard said, “Okay, go down this hallway, make a left, and you’ll see the greenroom.”
“Thanks a bunch,” Rachel said, ecstatic that her plan was coming together. These folks could keep underestimating her if they wanted, but Rachel Jackson Adams knew how to get what she wanted, and how to stay poised, confident, and in control to get it.
Rachel made her way around the corner and had just reached to open the door when she heard a voice say, “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Rachel said, panic setting in. She couldn’t get kicked out, she just couldn’t. Rachel slowly turned around, bracing herself for the worst. But the woman stopping her looked a little young, with stringy blond hair and too-small glasses; not the least bit threatening. Rachel relaxed and said, “Yes, I’m scheduled to be on today’s show and the security guard told me to go into the greenroom.”
“Well, you definitely don’t want to go in there.” The young girl laughed. “That’s the archive room and the lock is broken. That door closes and you’re stuck. It’s soundproof, too, so you could be forever trying to get out of there.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow in shock. “Well, I definitely don’t need to go in there.”
The young woman smiled warmly. “You want that door, the last one on the right,” the woman said, pointing down the hall.
“Thank you so much,” Rachel replied. “Are you a producer?”
“I wish,” the woman said wistfully. “I’m an intern. Just delivering some scripts to the studio.” She held up a stack of papers.
“Well, I’m on today talking about Jacqueline’s Hope.”
“Okay, if you’ll just wait in the greenroom someone from hair and makeup will be in shortly to get you.” The young woman scurried off.
Rachel had no idea how she would finagle her way from here. Truthfully, she hadn’t even been sure she’d be able to get in, so she hadn’t thought much further than that. The one thing she did know? Jasmine wouldn’t cause a scene in Harpo Studios and Rachel would take advantage of that fact and calmly sit her behind right down next to Jasmine on Oprah’s couch.
She made her way down the hallway, taking in the hundreds of celebrity photos that lined the wall. Oprah and Will. Oprah and Julia. Oprah and Danny. Oprah and Michelle. A small smile crept up as Rachel envisioned her picture up there this time next year. Yeah, the season was ending but she’d heard Oprah was going to keep the studio for OWN, her new network. Rachel’s picture would be the perfect addition.
Rachel shook herself out of her daydream and proceeded to the greenroom. She eased the door open, half expecting to see Jasmine poised up, sipping a latte as she waited for her national debut. But the room was empty. Rachel paused to take in the beauty of the room. Just being here gave her goose bumps.
Rachel heard a toilet flush, then glanced up just as the door to the restroom opened.
“What the—?” Jasmine said, losing her smile when she saw Rachel. “What in the world are you doing here?”
Rachel immediately went on the offensive. She didn’t know how Jasmine would react so she had to be prepared for anything. “You didn’t possibly think that the American Baptist Coalition would be represented on Oprah and you’d be the one doing the honors?”
Jasmine took a step toward her. “I didn’t think anything. I can’t help it if I’m the one Oprah wanted to talk to.”
“Well, Oprah will just be talking to us both,” Rachel said matter-of-factly. Rachel would ne
ver admit it, but her run-ins with Jasmine had proven the old hag was a formidable opponent. Still, Rachel had to remind Jasmine that she wasn’t one to be played.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m going to get Yvette.” She pushed Rachel aside and stormed toward the door.
Maybe Rachel had pegged Jasmine wrong. Maybe she would start a scene in Harpo Studios.
Think, think, think.
“Look,” Rachel said, moving to block Jasmine from leaving, “I’m not trying to cause any drama. As the first lady, I am above that now.”
Jasmine snickered as she folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, so you’re above kidnapping kids now?”
“Why you always gotta be bringing up old stuff?” Rachel snapped. Jasmine would never get over Rachel’s “borrowing” her daughter for a play date. Just because Rachel didn’t tell anyone, Jasmine wanted to say she’d tried to kidnap the little girl. “Besides, I didn’t kidnap your daughter,” Rachel continued. She caught herself and lowered her voice. “But I will admit I did some dirty things to win the election, and you have to admit you did, too.”
Jasmine raised an eyebrow like she didn’t have to admit anything.
“Well, I’m a different woman now,” Rachel continued with an air. “And my point is, there’s room at the top for us both. I think Jacqueline’s Hope is a fantastic idea and I am all for it getting the attention and accolades that it deserves. But it is an extension of the American Baptist Coalition, for which I am the spokesperson.” She tried to keep all trace of arrogance out of her voice. She wanted to get through to Jasmine, and copping an attitude was not the way to do it.
“It’s not my fault that they asked for me to come on the show,” Jasmine said.
She had a point there and Rachel made herself a mental note to remind Yvette who she really worked for.
“Look, I’m not here to steal your shine,” Rachel continued. “I’ve done enough media on my own.”
“Oh yeah, you did do that local access cable show,” Jasmine said with a snicker.
It took everything in Rachel’s power to ignore Jasmine’s condescending tone.
“Well, of course there is nothing bigger than Oprah,” Rachel said. “That’s why I feel like we need to maximize this opportunity at exposure. Think about it—Jacqueline’s Hope will get the attention it deserves and I will get to talk to Oprah about the overall goals of the ABC.”
“That’s not what the show is about,” Jasmine protested. “It’s about organizations making a difference. And besides, how do you think you’re just going to bogart your way onto Oprah’s show?”
“You of all people know what underestimating me can lead to. I know you think I’m some hick-town diva—”
“Umm, I don’t know that diva is a word I’d use to describe you,” Jasmine interrupted.
Rachel had to inhale. She’d tried so hard to leave her over-the-top ghetto ways behind her. And she’d done a pretty good job, until she met Jasmine. Jasmine made her revert back to the conniving, backstabbing woman that she once was. Since she’d taken over as first lady, Rachel had hoped that those ways were gone for good, but Jasmine was determined to make her take a detour with the devil once more.
Rachel released a frustrated sigh. “Jasmine, look, I know you don’t particularly care for me.”
“Well, that’s the understatement of the decade.”
“Trust, the feeling is mutual.” Rachel glared at her, all niceness gone. Finally, she managed a smile. “But again, the ABC is bigger than the both of us. We just need to learn to work together. Oprah is huge; think about what she can do for the Coalition. Now, Lester is inclined to only do one term as president.” Rachel was lying through her teeth but she’d say whatever she needed to. Lester was going to ride that presidency for as long as term limits would allow. “It’s natural that Hosea would take his spot, continue the legacy that he’s building.”
Jasmine let out a laugh. “Hosea doesn’t need to continue to build on anyone’s legacy!”
“All I’m saying is Lester is laying a foundation upon which Hosea can come later and build. I just want us to find a way to work together for the betterment of the ABC.”
Jasmine looked on pensively as if she were weighing Rachel’s words.
“Okay, fine,” Jasmine said. “But Yvette is the one that set this all up, so we need to talk to her. We don’t need to mess up her contact. I’ll go get her.”
Rachel suddenly felt a flash of panic as Jasmine walked out of the room. What if Yvette did start trippin’? What if she was adamant that Jasmine do this appearance alone? No, Rachel couldn’t risk that.
Think, think, think.
“I saw Yvette go in there,” Rachel said, pointing to the large door at the end of the hall.
Jasmine headed down the hall, then swung the door open. “Yvette . . . ?” She stopped in the doorway. “What is this?” she said, looking around the small room.
“Happy reading!” Rachel said, as she pushed Jasmine into the room and pulled the door shut. Rachel smiled at her quick thinking. She hated that she had to resort to such junior high antics, but hey, this was Oprah they were talking about. All was fair in love and Oprah.
“Hi, I was looking for you!”
Rachel turned toward the high-pitched voice. It was the intern.
“They sent me to find you. We gotta get you into hair and makeup because Miss Winfrey is almost ready for you.”
“And I am ready for Miss Winfrey.” Rachel smiled, brushed her dress down, held her head high, then followed the intern so she could go get beautiful for her national debut.
Chapter
FOUR
Jasmine’s knuckles were aching, so she switched to the palm of her hand. She banged against the door—one, two, three, four, five more times.
“Help!” she shouted again, though the urgency that had been in her voice just minutes before was replaced by hopelessness now. “Help, please!” This time, her words were barely a whisper.
Breathless, Jasmine twisted around and leaned against the door. It was time to give up the screaming and the banging. Her throat was already sore and now the palm of her hand was red and tender from beating against the solid steel. She couldn’t use any more energy that way—after all, she was about to make her appearance onstage with Oprah. She couldn’t show up looking beat up.
Jasmine glanced down at her watch. “Oh, God!” she moaned. It was 8:37. In twenty-three minutes, the show was going to start—live. If she wasn’t out there, what would they do?
Her eyes widened. If she wasn’t there . . . and they had to do a show . . . would Oprah invite . . . Rachel . . . in place of her?
That thought made Jasmine spin around and rattle the doorknob once again. She’d rather have Cecelia King on that stage than Rachel. But she knew Rachel would be the one who would take her place.
She shook the knob again. Nothing. She banged on the door one more time, only now, she imagined that her fist was knocking Rachel right dead in the middle of her chicken-nose face for pulling this Sesame Street stunt. Who did this kind of thing? It was ridiculous. It was childish. And it was going to work if she didn’t get out of here.
She banged and yelled until she was out of breath once again, then stepped back and imagined that the door was Rachel’s head. Going for the goal, she swung her foot like she was on the U.S. soccer team.
“Damn!” she yelped, and hopped across the room on one foot. Now, she was really pissed. She’d probably broken her Louboutins and her big toe at the same time. Her toe throbbed, but she couldn’t afford to focus on that. Time was passing; she only had a few minutes to get out of there.
Think, Jasmine, think!
Taking a deep breath, Jasmine’s eyes slowly scoped the room. This was nothing like the plush greenroom where she’d been waiting. This room was smaller and filled with nothing but shelves stacked high with rows and rows of videotapes and five-drawer file cabinets pushed against the walls.
Limping over to one of the cabinets, Jasmine g
lanced at the label on the outside—Transcripts. This had to be some kind of archive room. Which explained the steel door. Which explained why no one heard her. And, as she glanced around, which explained why there were no windows.
Think, Jasmine, think!
How was she supposed to get out of here? She stood in the center of the room and did a slow turn, taking in every inch . . . there had to be a telephone somewhere. But there was nothing.
The throbbing in her toe had risen through her body and was now in her head, too. Her thoughts had gone beyond the show. How long would it be before someone found her in here? Suppose no one came for hours, for days? She could die in here.
Thoughts of death took her right back to Rachel. She was going to free the earth of that vermin and kill her for real this time. That wasn’t a threat, this was a promise. She’d done it before . . . not by her own hands. But she’d had someone murdered. It wasn’t something she was proud of, it wasn’t something that she ever thought about. But Rachel brought out the witch in her and if that’s what Rachel wanted, that’s what Rachel was going to get.
Rachel was going to die.
But first, she had to get out of this windowless, steel-door, soundproof, broken-lock room.
Maybe she could find some kind of letter opener, or a pair of scissors. Then she could pick the lock and once she was free, the scissors would serve double duty: She’d use them to stab that scarecrow right in her heart.
Jasmine paused. She couldn’t use up all of her energy thinking about Rachel and her timely death. No, if she did that, she wouldn’t be able to hear God. That was something that Hosea and her father-in-law had taught her. There was no way God could bring blessings if you held malice and unforgiveness in your heart.
So she took a breath, leaned against the door, closed her eyes, and prayed for God to take away thoughts of Rachel’s death—at least for now. Next, she prayed for salvation from this situation.
God, please. I don’t know what this is all about, but You know my heart. This is about Jacqueline’s Hope and all I want to do is give missing children a chance. Being on Oprah, that’s our best chance. Well, Oprah and You—I don’t want You to think that I’m leaving You out. So please, God. Please show me how to get out of here.
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