Lady Jasmine

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Get your husband to give up his position or else at the next board meeting, Mr. Smith will be there to tell everyone about ’83.

  Jasmine’s hands shook as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She checked the FedEx slip—the package had been addressed to her, and in the return address was her name and home address!

  Her heart pounded even more as she pushed herself from her chair and rushed to the front of the church.

  “Where’s Roxie?” she demanded to know.

  Mrs. Whittingham turned away from her computer and glared at Jasmine over the rim of her glasses. “She’s your assistant.”

  “Where is she?” Jasmine growled.

  Mrs. Whittingham frowned, but this time she answered, “She just left.”

  “Did you give this to her?” Jasmine waved the FedEx packet in her face. “Where did you get it?” She was trying not to sound frantic, but the look on Mrs. Whittingham’s face told her she wasn’t succeeding.

  The woman sat back, eyes wide, as if she wondered if Jasmine’s hysteria was dangerous. She gripped her desk and kept her eyes fixed on Jasmine, ready to make a move if the mad-woman in front of her did something crazy. “The man,” she began, “from FedEx gave me the FedEx package.”

  “This came as a delivery?”

  “Yes, that’s what FedEx men do. They deliver packages,” she said slowly, as if that would help Jasmine understand and maybe calm down. “That one came for you and this,” she held up another package, “came for Hosea.”

  Now, it was Jasmine’s eyes that widened. The envelope Mrs. Whittingham held was identical to the one in her hand. It was the blackmailer—exposing her!

  She snatched the packet from Mrs. Whittingham and rushed away before the woman could yell “Hey!”

  Inside her office, she slammed the door shut and took a closer look at the envelope she’d just hijacked. It was addressed to Pastor Hosea Bush, with a return address from First Presbyterian Church.

  But that was only a trick, she was sure. She ripped the package open and quickly read the letter inside. Twice. Just to make sure.

  It was an invitation from the anniversary committee at First Presbyterian Church for Hosea to attend the celebration of Reverend Godfrey’s fifty years in ministry.

  Jasmine let the envelope and letter slip from her hand to the floor; then she slumped into her chair.

  She’d been so scared that the blackmailer was contacting Hosea. Telling her husband all about her secret life, all about her secrets with the man she came to know as Mr. Smith…

  The man with the money and the flower came to the club every day for the first seven days Jasmine worked at Foxtails. But after each of her sets on the stage, he’d vanish.

  Then after her first week, he was gone altogether.

  It was hard working and not seeing the twenty dollar bills falling at her feet, but still Jasmine danced every night that Buck let her—usually four times a week. And the money that rolled in was more than she’d been making at her internship position at Sony.

  But although she averaged about five hundred dollars a week at Foxtails, it wasn’t going to be enough to totally pay what she needed with the four weeks that were left in the summer. Still she danced—it was her only option.

  It didn’t take many days for Pepper Pulaski to become the club favorite. It was her hips that brought her infamy.

  But Jasmine knew that she would need more than her body to make the kind of money she needed. So she worked to perfect her craft.

  She found an adult video store ten blocks away from Sony, and each day during her lunch breaks, she walked to the shop, and paid three dollars to sit in a booth and watch videos. The porn stars became her teachers; she measured it all, studying their gestures, their facial expressions—all the things they did to make men happy.

  Then at night, she took her lunchtime lessons to the stage. And she slowed down her music. While the rest of the girls loved all that up-tempo, new-style hip-hop music, she stayed with the R&B hits of the day—especially the slow ones—like Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing.” She became the sensual stripper.

  On her one-month anniversary, Jasmine had almost clapped with glee when she sashayed onto the stage to the rhythm of Prince’s new release, “Do Me Baby” and swung around the pole. That’s when she got her first whiff of the flower. Her eyes rapidly searched the chairs at the edge of the stage and there he was—her man, with the money and the flower.

  She turned it up once she saw him. Rocked and rolled her hips, dipped into splits, swirled upside down and around on the pole. By now, she was used to the cackles and the hoots from the crowd, but it was this man’s sweat and gasps and tears that she wanted.

  This time, she took no chances, and when Prince belted out his final, “Do me, baby!” she jumped off the platform, leaving the clothes she’d stripped off right there on the stage.

  It was against the rules, and Buck would have a screeching fit—but she’d apologize, promise never to do it again, and Buck would leave her alone. He had to. She was his top moneymaker—the men drank and drank, in anticipation and appreciation of getting to stare at Pepper’s ample apple-shaped behind.

  “Hey, there,” she said in a voice that came from her throat. She’d learned that from her porn teachers, too.

  She leaned against the stage, pushed her long hair back so that it fell behind her, and kept her hands at her side. She wanted to make sure that he could appreciate every inch of her full glory. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said.

  His small round eyes wandered over her nakedness. Finding his voice, he spoke softly, “Have you?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ve missed you.”

  “Could you…would you…have a drink with me?” New perspiration popped onto his bald head.

  She smiled, hearing the shyness inside his gentle tone. It had probably taken great effort for him to ask that. “Of course,” she purred. “But you know, I can’t sit down.” She leaned closer to him, inhaled the fragrance of his flower, and smiled at the way his head glistened. “Why don’t we do this?” She watched his chest rise and fall, more rapidly with every word she spoke. “You drink, and I’ll dance,” she said, knowing that he could feel the heat of her breath. “I’ll dance just for you. Will that work?”

  He twisted in his seat, adjusted his pants. “Oh, yes!” His head jerked in a nod so many times, she worried that he might break his neck.

  Jasmine motioned to one of the bartenders, and then she danced. She used her hands more than she did on the stage—touching herself, touching him, knowing that Buck would look the other way like he always did.

  More than once, she grabbed his tie and allowed the expensive silk to slip through her fingers. She pulled him close enough for a kiss, but their lips never met. And even though she had her hands all over him, he never touched her.

  Forty minutes later, he gave her two hundred dollars. And she wanted to kiss him for real.

  He said, “I want…I want…you to dance for me.”

  “Okay.” She frowned a bit and wondered what he thought she’d been doing. Turning her back to him, she rolled her hips in a wide circle motion.

  For the first time, he touched her with the tips of his coarse fingers. She was surprised; his hands felt like he worked in construction. But that was totally contradictory to the rest of him. Although he was a slight, shy man, he was dressed well in a top-shelf suit. Jasmine didn’t know the names of many designers, but she’d learned quality from the men who visited the club. And his suit had to cost hundreds.

  She faced him when he touched her.

  “Not here,” he whispered.

  Jasmine’s eyes moved toward the back of the room, to the red door that led to the VIP Lounge. In the month that she had worked the club, she had managed to stay out of there, where, for a price, anything could happen. To Jasmine, the girls who took clients in the back were nothing more than whores. But she didn’t get down like that—she wasn’t about to give her body to anyone. Not for an
y price. After all, she had a boyfriend, and she really did love Kenny.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “Not back there. You’re too good for that.”

  She exhaled a long breath of relief.

  “I want you to go with me.”

  “I can’t leave,” she said, shaking her head. She already had her excuse—it was the same one she’d given the others who over the weeks had tried to coerce her into giving them an extra-special VIP treat. “They penalize us for leaving early, and I can’t afford those fees.”

  “I’ll take care of that for you.”

  She paused for a moment. No one had ever offered that. But still, he wanted her to go with him. Outside of this place. She knew what that meant. And she was not a whore.

  He said, “I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.”

  “Five hundred?” she asked, thoughts of whoredom fading. He’d already given her two hundred, and with her other tips, this could be her first one-thousand-dollar night.

  He nodded. “Plus your fees,” he said softly. And then he added, “At a hotel. You’ll be safe; I know I have to leave my card with Buck,” he said, as if he’d done this before and knew all the rules. When he saw the hesitation still in her eyes, he reassured, “Just to dance. That’s all.”

  There’s a big difference between dancing and whoring, she thought as she agreed.

  She’d rushed to the back to change while the man took care of the business with Buck.

  And that was the first night she left with the man she later came to know as Mr. Smith…

  Jasmine looked, once again, at the letter that threatened to expose her. Threatened to introduce Hosea to Mr. Smith.

  Detective Foxx said the blackmailer would leave a clue. Her eyes searched the note—there was nothing to reveal the face behind the words.

  But Jasmine began to put her own features on the blackmailer. It was inside her gut—she was sure this had come from either Jerome Viceroy or Pastor Wyatt, although it seemed unlikely that one of them could have found out so much about her past.

  She had to get to Hogeye Creek and get what she could on Pastor Wyatt. And she had to up her game with Jerome. Then, pray that Mae Frances found something on Roxie and Ivy and…in the next instant Jasmine’s thoughts came to a screeching halt. It could all be such a waste if none of her suspects was the blackmailer.

  But then she took a deep breath, inhaled fortitude, and shook those doubts away. What other choice did she have?

  Her hands were still trembling when she clicked back onto the travel Web site. This time, she didn’t review all her choices—the decision had been made: she had to get to Hogeye Creek now.

  She selected her Saturday and then Sunday flights. Once those plans were taken care of, there was only one more thing to do.

  She picked up the phone and called Mae Frances.

  Tonight, they were once again on their knees at the edge of Reverend Bush’s bed, and Jasmine felt as if she could stay here for hours. She was praying for her father-in-law, but even though she talked to God about Reverend Bush, she could feel that God heard more than her words—He heard her heart, too. He knew all the trouble she was in, and through soft whispers, she was sure she heard Him saying that it was going to be all right.

  Her eyes were still closed when she felt Hosea move next to her and help her stand. She’d just rested her head on his shoulder when they heard the gentle knock on the door.

  “Pastor Bush?”

  Both Hosea and Jasmine frowned at the young guy in the leather bomber jacket and jeans.

  “I have a delivery for you.”

  Jasmine gasped. This was just like earlier; the blackmailer had come to the church, and now he had followed her to the hospital.

  “I need your signature,” the man said.

  Jasmine wanted to rip the package away from her husband. Tell him that he could never read it. But the envelope was securely tucked under his arm as he signed.

  It’s over! her mind screamed as she paced back and forth. She needed to confess—tell Hosea right now that she had been a stripper before he read those ugly words. Then she could drop to her knees and beg for his forgiveness.

  “I wonder what this is.” Hosea slowly peeled back the lip of the packet. “And why would anyone send a messenger here?”

  Before he pulled the letter out, Jasmine breathed, “Babe…”

  He stopped. Looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

  Her heartbeat accelerated. She wanted to tell him, needed to do it. “I just…I just…I love you.”

  He squinted, as if he was confused. “Okay. I love you, too.”

  Jasmine closed her eyes. Waited for him to start screaming.

  Lord, if you will just get me out of this…

  He shouted, “I cannot believe this!”

  Her eyes were already filling with tears.

  With a glance at his father, he motioned for Jasmine to follow him as he stomped into the hall.

  “Look at this!” he said, the moment they were outside. He shoved the letter into her hand.

  She trembled, swallowed, then took a breath. Looked down and faced her fate.

  This is to inform you of an emergency board meeting to be held in ten days for City of Lights at Riverside Church. The purpose of the meeting is to hold a special vote for the chair of senior pastor….

  There was more, but the water falling from her eyes blinded her vision.

  “Oh, darlin’,” he said, taking her into his arms. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’m not upset,” she sniffed. “I get emotional about everything these days.”

  He nodded, understanding. “Can you believe this?” he asked, taking the letter from her.

  No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t believe that God had answered her prayer.

  “They want to vote you out,” she said. “Can they do that? What about your father’s letter?”

  “I don’t know.” With a sigh, Hosea lowered himself onto a bench. “Wyatt wouldn’t have called this meeting unless he had talked to everyone he needed to on the board. Obviously, he left out Brother Hill, Sister Whittingham, and Malik, of course. But everyone else was fair game.” Hosea shook his head. “He must have the votes to move me out.”

  And if Pastor Wyatt did, what would that mean for her? If he had enough votes to make Hosea step down, would the blackmailing stop? Would the threats of exposing her and Mr. Smith end now?

  “What are you going to do?”

  He looked down at his hands, went into deep thought before he turned back to his wife. “I’m going to fight—that’s what Pops would want.”

  Jasmine exhaled—it was not over. That meant that she had to fight, too.

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go say good night to Pops and then get out of here.”

  The March night was cold as Jasmine and Hosea walked out of the hospital. Still, they strolled to their car, both lost inside their own thoughts. In her mind, Jasmine focused on the unwritten script that she’d prepared, practicing in her head the words she was about to say.

  And as Hosea helped her into the SUV and closed the passenger door, she set her plan in motion.

  She waited until he slipped inside, and then she pressed her turned-off cell phone to her ear.

  “Oh, hi, Mae Frances,” she said. She paused, listening to nothing. “Yes, we’re leaving the hospital now.” Another pause.

  Hosea tapped her leg. “Tell her I said hello.”

  She nodded. “Hosea sends his love.” She paused again. “Oh, no!” And from the corner of her eye, she watched her husband’s expression metamorphose to new concern. She spoke quickly, “Mae Frances, you know I would do anything for you, but I can’t leave New York right now.”

  Hosea whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “Hold on, Mae Frances.” As Hosea edged the car away from the curb, Jasmine told him the story that she and Mae Frances had concocted that afternoon. “Her mother has to go in for more tests this
weekend, and she’s afraid to do it alone.”

  “Mae Frances, afraid?” Hosea frowned.

  Jasmine covered the mouthpiece as if someone was really on the other end. “Babe, you know it’s hard on her. She tries to be strong, but this is her mother.”

  Slowly, Hosea nodded. “Yeah, I understand that.” When he paused, Jasmine knew thoughts of his father were going through his mind. “She wants you to go down there?”

  “Uh-huh, but I told her no.”

  “Go on. It’s just for a day or two, right?”

  Jasmine nodded. “But I don’t want to leave you.”

  “It’s okay. Here,” he reached for Jasmine’s cell phone, “let me talk to her.”

  Jasmine froze.

  “Give me the phone.”

  And then, her angels came—New York’s finest. A patrol car rolled up next to them and rescued her. “Babe, you can’t talk to her right now.” She motioned with her chin toward the police. “You don’t have your earpiece.”

  He nodded. “Thanks! That’s the last thing I need—a ticket tonight.”

  Quickly, she held the phone back to her ear. “Ah, Mae Frances, sorry ’bout that. Hosea said I should come.” She stopped. “Okay, I’ll fly in on Saturday, and come back home on Sunday. Okay. Love you.”

  She couldn’t click off the phone that was already turned off fast enough.

  “Her mother’s having tests over the weekend?”

  “Ah…yeah…I guess. Mae Frances said they were special tests.”

  Hosea nodded. “I’m glad you’re going. She needs you.”

  Tears burned in Jasmine’s eyes when she looked at the man who had given her more love, more grace, more forgiveness than anyone ever had in her life. “I love you.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Spoken like a wife.”

  She was glad that he had lightened the moment. Glad that he hadn’t tried to dig deeper into the reasons for her sadness.

  She said, “I’m a wife who’s so in love.”

  When he smiled, she prayed that he would remember this moment and the many others they’d shared in their years together. She prayed that it would all be enough to make up for the great despair that was coming—for both of them—if she couldn’t pull this off.