TWENTY-FOUR
SOMETIMES MEN COULD BE SO naïve.
That was Jasmine’s thought as she kissed Hosea’s cheek, then jumped from the SUV. She watched her husband hook a left turn and then head south toward the hospital.
“Tell Roxie I said hello,” was the last thing he’d said.
She was going to say hello to Roxie all right, and then say good-bye as she pointed her toward the door.
Hosea’s words remained in her head as she stepped toward the church.
“You should still work with Roxie.”
This was after she’d told him about Roxie and Jerome and it being Jerome’s voice she’d heard on the call. But Hosea’s response was that Roxie’s life wasn’t their business.
“I don’t agree,” she’d said. “They’re probably…sleeping together. And they’re not married. How can we have her working for us when she acts like that?”
Hosea had looked at his wife as if he wanted her to really think about what she’d said. “Do I have to remind you that you weren’t always saved?”
After Hosea had said that, Jasmine had stopped talking. She wasn’t about to argue when there wasn’t a word he could say or a deed he could do to convince her to let Roxie stay. She would have banned her from the Sunday services, if she could.
Mrs. Whittingham looked up when Jasmine stepped inside the church. But then the woman did what she always did. She snatched back her smile and lowered her head.
And Jasmine did what she always did—rolled her eyes and stomped right past the desk.
Usually her mind was filled with thoughts of ways she could get rid of Mrs. Whittingham, but right now all she could think about was what she was going to say to Roxie when she arrived. She swung open her office door.
“Good morning!” Roxie exclaimed.
Jasmine stood with her mouth opened.
Roxie sat behind her desk, a yellow pad in front of her. “I was making a list of all the things I want to get started on. I was thinking about—”
“I didn’t expect you until ten,” Jasmine said, moving toward her.
Roxie chuckled as she edged around to the other side so that Jasmine could sit down. “One of the things you’ll learn about me, First Lady, is that I’m very serious about whatever I do. After I thought about it, ten seemed too late. We have so much to organize—the Women’s Forum, your appreciation day, and—”
“I’ve decided that we won’t be working together.”
“What?” Roxie’s eyes blinked as if she didn’t understand. “Why?”
Because your friend is my enemy. “I really don’t feel comfortable not paying you—”
“First Lady—”
Jasmine held up her hand. “I know what you said, but this is about me and how I feel.”
Roxie peered at Jasmine for a long moment. “Is this about Jerome?”
Jasmine stared right back. “Do you know what he’s been up to with my husband?”
“If you’re talking about his trying to pressure Hosea into selling the church, yes, I know. But that doesn’t have a thing to do with me.”
“So you don’t agree with Jerome?”
“Actually, I do. I think it might be time to move City of Lights out of Harlem. But it’s Hosea’s call, and as your armor bearer, I would support you.” She paused, but Jasmine said nothing. Roxie continued, “This shouldn’t have a thing to do with you and me.”
“You’re wrong about that. Because anyone who doesn’t support my husband cannot be a friend of mine.”
Roxie folded her arms and stood steadfast, as if she planned to stay.
Jasmine continued, “Thank you, but—” And then she stopped. She’d said enough.
At first, Roxie moved without a word. Grabbed her purse, slowly slipped the strap onto her shoulder. “You know, the first thing a pastor’s wife needs to know is who’s on her side. And you don’t have a lot of friends here, Lady Jasmine.” Slowly, she switched her hips toward the door, as if she wanted Jasmine to get a good look. Then she stopped suddenly.
Jasmine rolled her eyes, not feeling the fight that was coming.
But when Roxie turned around, all she did was slip an envelope from her shirt pocket. “I forgot. This is for you. It was on the floor when I came in, looked like someone slid it underneath the door.”
Jasmine took the envelope from Roxie and glanced at her typewritten name on the front. She frowned, but when she noticed Roxie still standing over her, she tucked the envelope into her purse, said, “Thank you.” And then she folded her hands in her lap and stared at Roxie until the woman finally walked out the door.
How was she supposed to work with someone she didn’t trust?
That was the point she was going to make to Hosea when she finally told him what she’d done with Roxie. She didn’t really care how Hosea reacted. Roxie was out of the way.
Jerome may have sent his girlfriend to do his dirt, but they all needed to recognize the truth—Hosea wasn’t going anywhere.
Jasmine dismissed thoughts of her enemies when she stepped into the elevator and pressed the 3 button. As the chamber ascended, she did what she always did when she was about to see her father-in-law—said a quick prayer that today would be the day. She imagined walking into his room and seeing him awake and well. Then taking him home with her and Hosea, where she would take care of him. When the elevator doors opened, Jasmine said, “Amen.”
With hope in her heart, she turned the corner and then…
Flashback!
At the end of the hall, there was Hosea. With Ivy. And she had her arms around his neck.
The two were too far away for her to hear the words they exchanged, but when Ivy turned toward Jasmine, she jumped out of the girl’s sight until she heard her footsteps come closer. Jasmine stepped from her hiding place and blocked Ivy’s path.
“Oh, Jasmine!” Ivy giggled. “You scared me.”
“Did I?” But she didn’t wait for a response. “Let me ask you something, Ivy, why’re you always hanging around here?”
The woman’s thick eyebrows bunched into a unibrow. “I’m here for Hosea. We’ve been friends since—”
Jasmine held up her hand, her palm, barely an inch from Ivy’s face. “Save that story.”
“Well, then,” she squeaked, “you know that I’m here supporting him. I brought him a couple of sandwiches and a soda and—”
“Let me break this down for you; Hosea doesn’t need your support or your food. He’s my husband, and anything he needs I’ll get for him.”
She almost cracked up when Ivy’s eyes widened so much, Jasmine thought she might bust a vessel. But Jasmine saw only surprise, not fear. So she took another step closer.
It was a bit of a shocker when Ivy didn’t back away, but that didn’t matter. She was tired of playing; when she finished, many months would pass before Ivy stepped to Hosea again.
“So are we clear?” Jasmine hissed. “You won’t be coming back.”
A pause. Then, “And if I do?”
This time, it was Jasmine who stepped back.
“I’m not walking away from Hosea,” Ivy said, the squeaky voice gone. In its place was a deep tone that came from her throat. “We’ve been friends for a long time, and you need to find a way to deal with it.”
Then the pip-squeak of a woman moved as if she was a foot taller. Marched around Jasmine, pressed the elevator button, and got inside the chamber.
She never looked back to see that, this time, she was the one who left Jasmine standing in the middle of the hallway with her mouth opened wide.
TWENTY-FIVE
IT HAD BEEN THE LONGEST day.
Roxie and Ivy had left her with a raging headache and a rumbling stomach.
“Go on in and lie down,” Hosea said as he opened the door to their apartment.
He knew she wasn’t feeling well. The moment she’d entered his father’s hospital room earlier, Hosea had taken a single look at her and knew something was up. But when he’d asked her abou
t it, she’d lied and claimed it was headache. Or a stomachache. Anything rather than tell him the truth about Ivy.
But that was the problem with lying—God had turned her lie into her truth. And now her head throbbed and her stomach was doing somersaults.
“I’ll check on Jacquie,” Hosea said as they stopped in front of their bedroom. “Then I’ll be in to check on you.” He pressed his lips against her cheek.
“Thanks, babe,” she said. “Give her a kiss for me.”
Inside their master suite, Jasmine dumped her purse on the bed. For a moment, she ignored the keys and papers that spilled from her bag, but then her glance went to the envelope that Roxie had given her this morning.
She’d forgotten about that and picked it up now. She frowned again like she’d done the first time she’d looked at her name—Jasmine Larson—on the front. It was weird—clearly her name had been typed, not printed. And she wondered why there was no mention of her married name. Only Mae Frances referred to her that way.
She slid open the top, unfolded the paper.
Get your husband to step down from the pulpit or else everyone will know what you did in the summer of 1983.
The summer of 1983!
Jasmine could hardly stand up with the way her heart sledged through her chest.
“Darlin’?”
With glazed eyes, she looked up. She wanted to tear the paper into a million pieces before he saw it.
“What’s wrong?”
She squeezed her legs, sucked in her lips, took a breath. All to stop her trembling. All to no avail.
“No…nothing.” Gently, she folded the paper she held, praying the move made no sound. What she really wanted to do was dance a jig so that his eyes would stay on her and he wouldn’t notice the note. But fear had her fettered.
He frowned. “It has to be something; you’re shaking.”
“I just…” And then she held the back of her hand to her forehead. Closed her eyes. Took shallow breaths. Fell back onto the bed. All with the drama of one of the Young and the Restless divas. “I think…I think…I think I have a fever!” she exclaimed as melodramatically as she could.
At first he chuckled, as if he knew it was a performance. But then his eyes got small with concern—like maybe she was delirious, and it was delirium that had her acting like she was a soap star.
Jasmine held her breath when he started walking toward her. Said a prayer that he wouldn’t ask about the paper that was grasped inside her fist. Then, in case God didn’t answer her, she began to form her Plan B—a good lie.
When he placed his hand right above her eyes, doing his own check for a fever, she exhaled and remembered. This was her husband; Hosea cared only about her, not some paper. Knowing him, he hadn’t even noticed.
“You feel a little warm. Get in bed, and I’ll bring you some tea.”
“Thanks so much, babe.” Carefully, she leaned over, picked up her purse, and tucked the blackmail letter inside.
“What’s that?”
She wasn’t sure what was hammering harder—her heart or her head. All she hoped was that he couldn’t hear the sound of either crashing through her skin. “What’s what?” she asked, with the innocence of a woman wearing a halo.
“What you were reading?”
“Oh, nothing.” She turned away so that he wouldn’t see the truth on her face. She stuffed the note deep into her purse. If he wanted to see what she was reading now, he’d have to fight her for it.
He stood, waiting for her to say more.
She added to her lie. “It’s just a note from Malik. He wants me to help him with—” She turned back to Hosea, held one hand to her head again while her other hand grasped her purse strap so tight, she constricted her blood from flowing to her hand. “Do you think I might be coming down with the flu?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his concern back to where it was supposed to be. “Let me get the tea.”
She didn’t move a step until he was out of her sight, and then she dashed into her closet. What she really wanted to do was sleep with her purse close by her side. But that would be hard to explain. So she stuffed the bag deep into the darkest corner. And then she piled six shoe boxes on top.
Even when she came out, she couldn’t keep her eyes away from the spot where her secret was buried.
Who had found out? Who knew about the only time of her life that filled her with shame? Who, for God’s sake, had found out that she used to be a stripper?
TWENTY-SIX
JASMINE’S EYES WERE CLOSED AS she leaned back in her office chair. Now she knew why those memories had been haunting her for weeks; those recollections had been a premonition, a warning to beware of the dire days ahead.
Her hand began to tingle and she looked down at the letter gripped tightly between her fingers. Lifting it, she read it again, as if she hoped the twelve-hour time span that had passed since she’d first read it had somehow changed the words. But the note was the same—and her world remained in turmoil.
This was worse than drama; this was straight trauma. Enough to send her to the hospital and put her in a bed right next to her father-in-law.
But it didn’t serve any purpose to sit here now and lament. She had to figure out a way to deal. With this letter. With this blackmailer.
And with her husband. Hosea. The senior pastor.
Jasmine shook her head. She couldn’t even imagine the scene. Where she would go to Hosea and say, “Babe, I simply forgot to tell you that I was a stripper.” She couldn’t get the tape in her mind to play beyond that. She couldn’t get to the part where he’d wrap his arms around her and tell her that he believed her. That he understood. The part where he would say, “I forgive you” and “I love you anyway.”
No, to Hosea, this would be another secret, another lie, another betrayal.
And with everything that he was going through, Jasmine was sure that this time, he’d leave her—for good. Because this time, the secret wasn’t just about her. This time, her secrets and her lies put his father’s church in jeopardy.
She wasn’t going to confess to Hosea, but she wasn’t about to cede victory to the blackmailer either. She was Jasmine Cox Larson Bush, and whoever had sent this letter had forgotten that.
She pushed aside the note and centered a yellow pad on her desk. She had to begin at the beginning—she’d start with a list.
Who wanted to bring Hosea down? That was easy; that was obvious. She wrote: Eugene Wyatt, Jerome Viceroy.
But there were others—many who couldn’t wait to see her fall. She added Enid, who seemed to be the brains behind her husband. And Ivy, who would be the first in line to console Hosea if he ever tossed Jasmine out.
And then there were the saints—the board members who’d all challenged Hosea. Sister Clinton, who insisted it was time to move. Brother Stevens, who had his own arguments. Even Sister Pearline came to mind—the letter had been typed, after all. Who else but an old-timer like her would have a back-in-the-day typewriter?
Jasmine wondered about others in their circle: Brother Hill and Sister Whittingham. But although they hated her, they would never hurt Hosea.
She thought about Malik, but he was as out of the question as Mae Frances was.
The knock on her door startled her. Made her grab the pad and the letter. Stuff both into the drawer before she said, “Come in.”
“Do you have a moment?”
Seeing Roxie made her frown. She thought about the letter hidden in her drawer. The one that Roxie had given to her. She motioned with her hand, invited Roxie in.
After she sat down, Roxie began, “I couldn’t sleep last night knowing how much you really could use my support, even if you don’t think you do.”
Why is this woman so hell-bent on helping me?
Roxie continued, “Look, I was in the middle of one of these church fights when our board turned on my husband. I know what to expect; I know how to handle this. I can help you get the members of City of Lights behind you and
Hosea.”
Jasmine didn’t let a beat pass. “Does that include getting the members to see why we won’t sell this church?”
Roxie looked dead at her. “Yes, if that’s what you and Hosea want, as your armor bearer, as your support, I would agree.” It must’ve been the way Jasmine looked at her that made Roxie lean forward. “Jasmine, I don’t get anything out of this…”
Then why?
“Except for helping you,” Roxie continued. “God has placed it in my heart…”
Why are people always blaming their dirt on God?
“And I’ve known Hosea and Reverend Bush for a long time. They’ve both been good to me; this is my chance to give back.” She paused. “Whether you admit it or not, Jasmine, you need me.”
Jasmine sat still, kept her eyes on Roxie.
Roxie stared back at her. Frozen. As if she knew she was under a microscope.
Finally Jasmine said, “Maybe you’re right.”
Roxie’s lips spread into a slow, sly smile. Made Jasmine want to take back what she’d said. But she didn’t. She had to play this through.
Roxie said, “I just want you to know I understand why you were so hesitant, but this will work out. Okay, when should we get started?”
“What about now?”
Roxie laughed. “I’d love to, but I found out this morning that I have to be in court for the rest of the week. Can we start on Monday?”
Jasmine nodded. “That’ll be fine.” She waited until Roxie was gone before she slipped the pad from the desk and added another name to the list: Roxie.
Now that she had the suspects in place, she picked up the phone. She needed help, and there was only one master who knew how to handle this kind of disaster—she called Mae Frances.
TWENTY-SEVEN
IT FELT LIKE THE KISS of a prince.
Waking her from a fairy tale, although her dreams were more like nightmares.
Jasmine opened her eyes and stared into Hosea’s concerned ones.
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