Temptation: The Aftermath

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  At least, that was the way they’d made me feel this morning. As I tapped my fingers against the banker’s desk, all I could think was — this is ridiculous. Not only had Hosea and I been banking at this branch of New York Financial Services forever, but they handled most of our City of Lights investments, too.

  So why did the branch manager — Felix Winsome — who was a member of City of Lights make me feel like I was robbing the bank instead of taking out just a small portion of my own money? “Are you sure everything is all right, Lady Jasmine?” Felix asked me.

  I wanted to tell him that his asking the question a dozen times wasn’t going to change my answer.

  “Yes, everything is fine. Why do you keep asking me that?” “It’s just that twenty-five thousand dollars,” he shook his head, “is a lot of money.”

  “And?” I gave him a stare that was meant to shut him up. It didn’t.

  “And you want it in cash.”

  “Yes, I told you that.” I paused and let my eyes roam around this Fifth Avenue branch of one of the largest banks in the world. “And you have that kind of cash here, right?”

  It was as if this man just couldn’t hear me. “Are you sure? A cashier’s check is much safer.”

  “Mr. Winsome.” I hadn’t shut him up, but now I said his name in a tone that let him know I was shutting him down. I wasn’t going to talk to him about this any further. I glanced at my watch. “I really don’t have a lot of time. I have an appointment at ten.”

  But even with that, the banker blinked at me, as if he were trying to give me a code. Finally, he stood and I shook my head. Taking out twenty-five thousand dollars was definitely not as easy as putting it in. It still took another thirty minutes (at least) before I was given the stacks of cash. I piled them into the clichéd attaché case, then locked it.

  “Thank you,” I said to Felix.

  He nodded and asked, “How’s Pastor Bush?”

  My eyes narrowed. “My husband is fine. He’s on his way to an event in Philly.”

  “Oh that’s nice.” His words were normal, but the way he still stared at me was not. He studied me as if he were trying to see through me, but I needed him to understand that one: there was nothing to see here and two: what had just happened in this bank had better stay in this bank.

  I told him, “I would appreciate your complete discretion about this. This is my money. No one needs to know.”

  He nodded, then stood when I stood. And even though I didn’t look back, I knew he watched me as I stepped through his door, then walked through the lobby that had few customers at this early hour on a Wednesday morning. He watched me until I spun through the revolving doors and walked into the madness of Fifth Avenue.

  But once I was outside the bank and Felix Winsome’s eyes were no longer on me, I panicked.

  I was walking around the streets of New York with twenty-five thousand dollars. I gripped the handle of the briefcase like all the answers to life were inside. Moving to the curb, it only took about fifteen seconds for a cab to pull over. I jumped in, gave the driver Mae Frances’s address and now, I cradled the briefcase like it was a newborn baby.

  Still, I wasn’t sure how safe I was. Supposed the cab driver had found out that I had this money and he had a grand scheme to kidnap me and take me to his home … in Nigeria. Or maybe someone in the bank had seen me and they were following me and planned to snatch the bag the moment I got out of the car.

  “Really, Jasmine,” I said to myself, shaking my head as I looked out the window. “It’s only twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  The moment the words were out of my mouth, I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t believe I’d said that out loud. Glancing at the rear view mirror, the taxi driver’s eyes stared straight back at me.

  Dang! I was on my way to Nigeria for sure.

  By the time the car rolled to a stop in front of Mae Frances’s apartment building, I was in the middle of a full-fledge panic attack. Not that I’d ever had one, but surely, this was how that kind of breakdown felt.

  When I finally knocked on her front door, all I could do was stumble inside when she let me in.

  “Jasmine Larson, what is wrong with you?”

  I didn’t say anything at first. I just lurched toward her grand dining room table and placed the case on top of it.

  “What are you doing?” She grabbed the briefcase from the table. “Do you know how expensive that Cherrywood is?”

  “Just … look … inside.”

  She eyed me like she thought it was some kind of trick before she returned the briefcase to where I’d laid it. In true Mae Frances fashion, she took her time, dramatically, unhooking the locks then slowly lifting the cover.

  At first, I thought the sight of all of that money had done something that no one had ever done to Mae Frances — frozen her vocal cords. But once she gathered herself, every curse word known to man, and a few new ones that she’d made up, came out of her mouth. She finally settled on,“What the hell is this, Jasmine Larson?”

  I plopped onto her cashmere sofa. Yes … cashmere. This was what she’d done with her money from the reality show. She wasn’t even one of the stars of First Ladies since she wasn’t married to any kind of pastor. But she was one of those scene stealers and the producers kept encouraging Mae Frances to become a regular, finally paying her, and even thinking about offering her a solo show. So with the money she’d earned, she’d taken all the new furniture that Hosea and I had brought for her (okay, it was about twelve years ago, but that was still new in furniture-life) and given every piece … to the Salvation Army!

  There was still a little bit of pissivity inside of me about that. But I couldn’t think about the cashmere sofa nor the real Persian rug nor any of the other fabulous pieces in her apartment right now.

  “Jasmine Larson,” Mae Frances called, bringing me out of my thoughts, “don’t mess with me. You’d better start talking.”

  But I didn’t say a word. Like with the money, I could show her better than tell her. So, I reached into my purse, pulled out the envelope and handed it to Mae Frances.

  “Look, I’m getting tired of opening stuff,” she said, even as she unfastened the envelope. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s ….” And then, that slew of curses spewed from her mouth again as she glanced at the first picture of Lola and Jefferson.

  The only problem was — Mae Frances’s moans of shock had too much glee. She didn’t seem disgusted at all. Nowhere near where I wanted her to be. She seemed like — she kinda liked what she was looking at.

  “Is that your friend?” she asked with a grin that was much too wide on her face. “Damn.”

  When she started turning the pictures to the left and to the right and then upside down, I stood, snatched the photos from her and stuffed them back into the envelope.

  “Really?” I tossed the envelope onto the couch, out of Mae Frances’s reach.

  “What?”

  That big ole grin was still spread across her face and I wanted to smack her. The problem was, Mae Frances would smack me back. “I’m coming to you with a major problem, probably the biggest one that I’ve ever needed your help with, and you’re ogling my friend?”

  “Oh no, Jasmine Larson.” She held up her hands and sat down in her traditional Queen Anne chair. “You don’t need my help. You have this all worked out.”

  “I don’t have a thing worked out.” I plopped back down on the sofa.

  When she raised her eyebrows at me, I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d raised my voice or because she knew that I’d done something with the information she’d given to me.

  We were both quiet for a moment and then, she said, “So, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Sitting back, I sighed. Then, I started talking, telling her everything, from going over to see Lola, to not believing Lola and calling her bluff, to receiving the pictures last night.

  “I’m telling you, Mae Frances, when I got those pictures, I couldn’t sit t
here in that church.”

  “Well, I can understand that.” She leaned forward to grab the envelope, but I got to it before she did and shoved those pictures back into my bag.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Yes, I am, Jasmine Larson.” She eyed my purse as if she were going to snatch it away from me.

  “I was talking about Bible study. And how I ran out of there.” Her eyes finally left my bag and returned to me. “Dang, I wish I’d been there to see that.”

  My eyes narrowed. Was she really making fun of me in my hour of need?

  “I was supposed to be there, you know I never miss Bible study.

  But Bubba called and ….”

  I rolled my eyes. “Can you just try ….just focus on me for a second.”

  “Focus on you?” She gave me a blank stare. “And what can you do for me?”

  “Mae Frances,” I whined her name, “I really need you.” She gestured with her hands. “Okay, okay, go on.”

  I blew out a long breath. “Well, that’s the whole story. Now that I know she wasn’t lying and she was having an affair with Jefferson, I’m going to pay her off.”

  My friend’s eyes went from me to the money on the table, then back to me. “Wow, you’re a good friend.”

  “Let’s just say that I owe Kyla and Jefferson this. And since I have the money ….”

  “So tell me again, why you need me? ‘Cause it seems to me that you have it all worked out. You went to see her, she’s blackmailing you, you went to get the money.” She shrugged. “You don’t need me at all.”

  “That’s not true.” When she folded her arms, I said, “Look, I’m so sorry that I didn’t wait for you, but I couldn’t. Once I had her name and address, what was I supposed to do? Just sit there? You know me; if you’d wanted me to wait, you shouldn’t have given me the information.”

  Mae Frances leaned back as far as she could in her chair. “Are you kidding me? The way you begged me, interrupting my time with Bubba. I had to give you something or you wouldn’t have shut up.”

  I didn’t like what she said — even if it was the truth. I wanted to argue her down, but since I needed her help, I pressed my lips together and forced everything I wanted to say back inside.

  She lectured on, “I thought you had more self-control, Jasmine Larson. I thought that was one thing you’d gleaned from me over the years.”

  Gleaned? When had Mae Frances started talking like that? Did that come from hanging out in Smackover?

  When she remained silent, I realized she wanted an answer. “Well, I didn’t wait … and I’m sorry for that. But now, I really need you.”

  “Why?” She shrugged.“You’re gonna pay her the money, right?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “Well, you need to be careful with that because a blackmailer is just like a cheating man. They keep doing it, again and again. She’ll be back for more.”

  “Exactly.” I slapped my hands against my lap. She had finally gotten to the point that I was trying to make. “And that’s why I need you,” I told my friend. “I know that she’ll be back for more, but I can’t figure out a way to stop her from doing that. But,” I gave her a smile, “I’m sure you can.”

  She did that eye-brow raising thing again; my words hadn’t hit their mark … she was not impressed.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” I drew out those three words into so many syllables, I sounded like Jacqueline when she was trying to get me to submit to her will. “I don’t know what else to say except that I’ve really learned my lesson.”

  She folded her arms. “Have you?”

  I held up my right hand as if I were about to take an oath.“I will never go ahead of you again. I will always wait for you.”

  She nodded as if she at least accepted my promise. But then, she said, “How about we just close this chapter here? How about you don’t get into anymore messes where I have to come behind you and clean it up. Because I have a new life, Jasmine Larson, and I ain’t gonna have time to be running back to New York every time you call with another one of your disasters.”

  “Okay. We have a deal.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She shook her head.

  “It’s not like I’m trying to get into trouble; I just can’t help it. But it’s almost like it’s not my fault. It’s like there’s some person out there writing my life story and he … or she … keeps writing these awful situations that I can’t get out off.”

  “Well if that’s the case, let’s hope this is the last book on the life of Jasmine Larson. Because I’m telling you, I’m not letting anything come between me and Bubba. It’s not like he has that much time left, and the way we go at each other ….”

  She smiled, I grimaced, sickened by that image. I was beginning to think that Mae Frances was just playing with me, enjoying making me squirm.

  “Well, can you help me out this one last time?”

  “This is what I’m talking about.” She looked at her watch. “Time. I was expecting a call from Bubba. He called me at nine and he always calls back.”

  “Mae Frances, it’s ten. Was he calling you back this soon?” “Yeah, girl,” she said as if she were nineteen years old. “We try not to let an hour go by without checking up on each other.” Now, they were acting like they were nineteen. Really?

  With a sigh, she pushed herself up from the chair. “But if you need me, I guess, I can text Bubba and tell him that I’ll talk to him later.” Then, she paused. “I have an idea.”

  My eyes brightened until she said, “Let’s go to the police.” “No!” Mae Frances stepped back like she was shocked at my tone, but I knew it was an act. With all that she’d seen, with everything that she knew, nothing shocked this woman. “I thought about going to the police, but if we do that, then, they’ll go to Kyla and my whole purpose for doing this is so she won’t find out.”

  She glanced at me through the corner of her eye. “You care an awful lot about this woman.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “A friend you never mentioned to me.”

  “Actually, I did. A long time ago. But you don’t remember.”

  A beat passed, and then, “Oh, I remember, Jasmine Larson. You know I remember everything. And what I don’t remember, I find out from the dossier I keep on you.”

  I laughed, she didn’t.

  She said, “This was the chick that you met in kindergarten, but then, got jealous of her life and slept with her husband.”

  I frowned. Even if I had told her about Kyla and Jefferson and me, I wouldn’t have said it like that. Where had she heard that? Or had she gleaned that information some other kind of way?

  She waved her hand. “I’m just kidding. You told me. You’re the one who forgot.” Now, she chuckled. “Okay, Jasmine Larson, let me get my purse, and my phone, ‘cause I don’t want to miss a call, and then, we’ll get going.”

  She was still chuckling when she walked out of the room, but I wasn’t laughing anymore. Had Mae Frances really been checking out my background? I mean, she did that to everyone else — but me?

  “Nah,” I said, and then sat back. “She wouldn’t do that.”

  But then I remembered this woman that I called my friend, and I knew for sure that with her, all things were possible.

  I couldn’t worry about that now, though. I had to focus on getting this money to Lola Lewis and ending this nightmare for Kyla and Jefferson.

  chapter 28

  Jasmine

  I still held onto this briefcase as if it contained all the gold the world possessed, though I wasn’t so concerned this time. Mae Frances stood just a breath behind me as we walked up the steps to Lola’s brownstone. And even though I didn’t know her age (I put her somewhere between seventy, eighty, ninety and one hundred) having her with me felt like Secret Service protection.

  “I think this is her buzzer,” I said to Mae Frances as I pointed to the first bell.

  She nodded. “It
is.”

  I gave her a backwards glance over my shoulder before I pressed it. “I hope she’s home.”

  Again, she nodded. “She is.”

  Now, I did a full turn and faced Mae Frances. But she didn’t look at me. “Turn around, Jasmine Larson,” she said. “Face the door. Never turn your back on a snake.”

  The moment I did what she told me, Lola opened the door. And for the first time, she wasn’t wearing one of those spandex-blend body huggers nor one of her signature hats. Today, she wore a robe, at least, that’s what I guessed she called it, although the hem of the satin barely covered her butt and did nothing to hide her cleavage. She didn’t look a bit surprised to see me. “I guess you got my message.” With a smile, she held up a glass of wine, once again, toasting me … and it wasn’t even noon.

  “If you’re talking about the photos that you sent to my husband’s church last night ….”

  “Oh, I’m sorry about that.” She pouted before she took a sip of wine. “But I didn’t have any other way to reach you. And it was like you were ignoring me and I refused to be ignored, so I just had to have that package delivered to City of Lights. I’ve always loved that church.”

  When she’d called my name on Sunday, I’d known then that she’d done her intel on me. She knew about City of Lights and I had no doubt that she knew even more — including where I lived — which was another reason why I wanted this done. I didn’t want Lola Lewis coming anywhere near my children because if that happened, this would go to a whole different level and by the time the police got involved, it would be a whole ‘nother case.

  In the moments that I’d had those thoughts, the ends of Lola’s lips drooped a bit when she got a glimpse of Mae Frances. “Who is she?” With her glass, she motioned toward my friend, but spoke to me.

  “She’s my insurance agent.” I held up the briefcase. “I’m sure you don’t want to handle this business out here in the open with all of this money and you dressed … or not dressed … like that.”

  She made no move to cover herself, just opened the door wider so that we could step inside. We followed her, as she sauntered into her apartment, and Mae Frances closed the door behind us.