“What’s wrong?”
“Just…a lot of work. How’re you doing?” Jasmine asked, eager to take her thoughts away from Reverend Bush.
“Well, I have some news. Carl and I made it official. We’re a couple.”
Jasmine turned off the ignition with those words.
“Serena, that’s great. It’s about time you got some.”
“Oh, it’s not like that,” Serena said in a school teacher’s tone. “We’ve just committed to dating, but we’re going to do this God’s way.”
Jasmine laughed. “When was the last time God went on a date?”
“Oh, you got jokes. I’m just saying that we’re going to date the way God intended.”
“Oh, so no sex, huh? Too bad.”
“No sex, no kissing. We won’t even hold hands if we feel it getting out of control.”
Jasmine opened her mouth wide. “How can you call it dating if you’re not even going to kiss?”
“I’m not going to try to explain this to you. You know what God desires from us.”
“Yeah, but He also knows that we’re all sinners,” Jasmine said, tucking her purse under her arm as she reached for her briefcase. “I know He doesn’t expect us to remain celibate for the rest of our lives.”
“Whatever. I didn’t call to get into this. Just wanted you to remember that you have a sister who loves you very much and who is praying for you always.”
“Thanks, sis. I need those prayers.”
“Well, you got them. Call a sistah sometimes, okay?”
“Kiss my nieces for me and tell Carl I said hello.” Jasmine was sure the next time her sister called, it would be to cry over losing the first man she’d been serious about since her husband, because Jasmine knew there wasn’t a black man alive who would date without sex.
Jasmine shook her head. Her sister and her rules. She’ll learn, Jasmine thought. That Christian stuff doesn’t work in today’s times. All you can hope for is to go to church and try to stay saved.
Jasmine motioned for Henrikas and he rushed from the building.
“Ms. Larson, I didn’t recognize you.”
“Can you pull this into one of the visitor spaces? I have to return it in the morning.”
“Sure, one of the guys can do it.”
In the elevator, Jasmine chuckled again as she remembered her sister’s words. Not even kiss? If anyone besides Serena had told her this, she would have still been laughing. But she knew her sister was serious. Serena lived life on a different plane than most when it came to God.
Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe being chaste gave Serena a direct line to God. Well, if there was anything Jasmine needed right now it was effective prayers.
By the time Jasmine stepped into her apartment she could feel her sister’s prayers, because there was already another Reverend Bush plan brewing in her mind.
Chapter 6
This time, Jasmine was a Jamaican.
“Mrs. Whittingham, my name is Patricia Jones and I’m Malik Kincaid’s new assistant.”
“Oh, hello, Ms. Jones. What can I do for you?”
Jasmine leaned back on her couch. “Malik asked me to call the reverend and find out something that he needs for a report he’s submitting to Bill Cosby.” Jasmine lowered her voice. “You know Malik is trying to get…,” she paused for a moment, “Bill Cosby to attend a fund-raiser for the building committee.”
“No, I didn’t know that,” Mrs. Whittingham gushed.
“Well, it’s still quite a secret, so I would greatly appreciate it if you didn’t repeat this.”
“Of course not.”
“Thank you, but I needed to speak to Reverend Bush about something that Malik wants me to put into the proposal for Mr. Cosby.”
“What do you need? I’ll find out from the reverend and get back to you.”
“Reverend Bush isn’t in right now?”
“He’s here, but he’s working on a project and I can’t disturb him.”
“Mrs. Whittingham, this is very important. Malik has to get this program on Mr. Cosby’s calendar right away.” When the secretary stayed silent, Jasmine added, “I wouldn’t insist normally, but this is one of the first projects Malik has given me and I would hate to go back to him and tell him that I couldn’t complete it. I promise I won’t take more than a minute of his time.”
Mrs. Whittingham hesitated and then said, “Hold on a moment.”
Jasmine was surprised at the way her heart pounded. “I’ll put you through, Ms. Jones,” Mrs. Whittingham said when she got back on the line. “And,” she lowered her voice, “I didn’t say a word about Mr. Cosby.” She giggled.
“Thank you.” First, there was the sound of dead air and then Reverend Bush’s greeting.
“This is Jasmine Larson,” she said, losing the accent.
“Jasmine?”
“Yes, and please don’t be upset, Reverend,” she said quickly, careful to add a bit of trembling to her voice. “The only reason I told Mrs. Whittingham I was someone else was because I knew she wouldn’t put me through. But this is important.”
“What is it, Sister Jasmine?”
“I…I need to talk to you. I don’t know if Malik told you, but my father recently passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And I’ve been having nightmares and difficulty sleeping.”
“You looked fine last night…and the night before that.”
She heard more behind his words and wondered if Brother Hill had told him about the knife.
“I was fine…I mean, I’m fine during the day. It’s just when I sleep at night…or try to sleep.” She paused. “My pastor in Florida had been working with me. I was much better when he counseled me, but since I’ve been in New York, I’ve tried to handle this on my own,” she quivered. “But it’s not working.”
“So you want a counseling appointment?”
“Yes.” Preferably as soon as possible, she wanted to add.
There was a long pause and then, “Sister Jasmine.” Reverend Bush sighed as if he were weary. Then suddenly, he said, “You know what? I think it would be a good idea for us to talk.”
She sat straight up.
He continued, “In fact, I have some time this afternoon. Would you be able to get here by four?”
She paused. She’d wanted a later appointment, one that would lead from the church to a restaurant, to her apartment—or his place. But she’d figure that part out later. “I’ll be there at four,” she said, keeping the tears in her voice. “And thank you. I really need this.” She added another sob before she clicked off her phone, and stretched her legs onto the coffee table. She dialed another number.
“Tina, I’m working on a project and don’t want to stop right now, so I’m going to work from home.”
“Did you forget the meeting with Malik? He wanted to go over the Web companies with you.”
“What time is that?”
“At four. He wanted to handle this before you went to L.A.”
She hesitated for just a moment. “I’m sorry, Tina, but I really can’t make it this afternoon. I’ll send Malik an e-mail and explain.”
“He’s in his office—do you want to talk to him?”
“No,” she said, knowing that she could fool Mrs. Whittingham and Reverend Bush, but there would be no way she could trick her godbrother. “He’ll keep me on the phone forever. Don’t worry, I’ll handle Malik.”
She hung up, and tossed the phone onto the table. In a few minutes, she’d send that e-mail. Make up some new project she was pursuing for the club. Then after that, she would turn all thoughts to the reverend.
She ticked off a to-do list in her head. Get a manicure and pedicure. Purchase new lingerie. Select the most fabulous outfit to wear. Something simple, but sexy. Something conservative, yet revealing. Something definitely easy to take off. Lastly, she’d pack for her trip to L.A. because she didn’t plan to be home in time tonight to do it.
She hate
d to leave New York right after this first date with Reverend Bush, but in a way, it was good. It would leave him wanting more of her.
Jasmine jumped from the couch. The chase was fun. But now it was time for the conquest.
Jasmine saw her scorn and could almost hear her growl when Mrs. Whittingham opened the church door, but she ignored the attitude.
“I have an appointment with Reverend Bush,” Jasmine said.
“I know you do.”
Jasmine shrugged off her coat, and felt Mrs. Whittingham’s stare.
“Is there something you want?” Jasmine asked, her tone filled with disdain.
“I want you to know that I don’t appreciate what you did this morning…Ms. Jones.”
Jasmine laughed inside. She was so tempted to tell Mrs. Whittingham what she really thought of her wide hips, but she already had her victory. And if Mrs. Whittingham didn’t watch out, she’d be going the way of Brother Hill. Once she and Reverend Bush were a couple, Jasmine had no intention of accepting any kind of attitude from anyone.
“Sister Jasmine, thank you for coming,” Reverend Bush said, pulling her away from her thoughts.
She jumped from her seat, pleased to see his smile. But she was careful to keep her cheer inside. The plan was to first get the counseling she needed, and then get the man she wanted. “Thank you, Reverend.” She lowered her eyes, made her voice sad.
“Oh, brother,” Mrs. Whittingham growled just loud enough for Jasmine to hear.
Jasmine wanted to choke the woman, but instead she followed Reverend Bush into his office. She snuggled into the chair, but right away sat up straight when she noticed that Mrs. Whittingham had followed them.
Reverend Bush said, “Mrs. Whittingham joins me for all of my single counseling sessions,” he explained. “It’s in our church policies, but we didn’t get a chance to go over those with you.”
There was no way she was going to allow this. “But Reverend Bush, what I have to say is…private. I don’t feel comfortable sharing—”
“I can assure you,” Mrs. Whittingham said in a tone much softer than the one she’d used to speak to Jasmine just minutes before, “this is standard. I have a degree, and although I don’t do any counseling, I am bound to the same rules of ethics as Reverend Bush.”
“Still…” Jasmine began, shaking her head. She blinked her eyes several times, as if she were trying to press back tears.
“Sister Whittingham,” Reverend Bush began, keeping his eyes on Jasmine. “Maybe this once we can do this. Let me meet with Sister Jasmine…alone.”
His secretary frowned. “Are you sure, Reverend?” she said, her voice filled with warning. “We don’t want any problems.”
Jasmine made up her mind. Getting rid of Mrs. Whittingham would be her first order of business.
The reverend nodded. “I’m sure Sister Jasmine won’t give us any problems.”
“Of course not, Reverend,” Jasmine said and then turned her glance to Mrs. Whittingham. She had to fight to keep her smirk away.
The church secretary stood, glared at Jasmine once again, and then took her time strolling from the room.
“You can close the door, Sister Whittingham,” the reverend said.
Mrs. Whittingham opened her mouth to protest, but then followed the reverend’s instructions. She had barely closed the door when Reverend Bush said, “Sister Jasmine, I am tempted to listen to your story, but I think it would be best if we just got to the point.”
Jasmine crossed her legs. I knew it, she thought. At least there wouldn’t be any games.
“Truth be told,” he said, and leaned back in his seat, “I don’t believe the reason you told me you’re here.”
“Oh, no, Reverend,” she said, loving this exchange. “You can believe me.” She smiled and edged forward. “I have been having…dreams.”
He paused as he took in her words, their meaning. “Sister Jasmine, the only way I’ve ever known to be is honest. So, let me begin by saying that I recognize all your little tricks.”
His words pushed her back in her seat.
He continued, “The call you made this morning—”
“I explained that. I did what I did because Mrs. Whittingham doesn’t like me.”
He spoke over her words. “The call you made yesterday.” He held up his hands. “And don’t bother denying it. I called the number you gave to Sister Whittingham when the magazine didn’t call me and I got your voice mail.”
What was she supposed to say? Think, Jasmine. Think.
“The times you tried to meet Malik here…” He paused and shook his head. “Sister Jasmine, these kinds of things have to stop. They’re disruptive—not only to me and my work, but to those who work with me.”
She took a deep breath. “Reverend, you’re right. Maybe I’ve gone about this the wrong way, but the only reason I did all of those things was because there seems to be this hedge around you.”
He nodded as if he understood.
“I couldn’t seem to get to you. All I wanted was two minutes with you to ask you to lunch—”
“You asked me to join you for lunch, Sister Jasmine. You asked me and I declined in the politest way I could.”
“But you had to say no because there were others around. But now,” she leaned forward again, her calm confidence returning. “It’s just us. We’re both single. We’re both attractive, at least I think you are.” She paused. When he said nothing, she added, “And we both want to get to know one another.”
He shook his head. “Sister Jasmine. I have to apologize. I don’t know what I did to give you that impression.” He stopped and made his voice stronger. “But I am not interested in going out with you.”
Her back straightened with indignation.
“I don’t fraternize with women in my congregation.”
She exhaled. “Oh, is that the reason? Come on, Reverend.” Then she asked, “May I call you Samuel?”
“You can call me Reverend Bush.”
Her smile left her face, but she kept it in her voice. “If the problem is my attending services here, that can be solved. It’s not like I’m a member.” She leaned toward him. “You’ve been honest with me, so let me do the same. I feel the chemistry between us.”
He glanced at the clock before he looked at her. “I don’t know what you’re feeling, but whatever it is…” He paused. “I’m not feeling it.” He let his words stay in the air before he added, “So, let’s make this clear—no more games, no tricks, no phone calls.” He peered at her for another moment. “I hope we understand each other.”
“I don’t understand at all.”
“I don’t know any other way to say I’m not interested.”
Her face heated under his glare. Slowly, she rose and turned away, determined not to utter another word.
“Hope to see you in church on Sunday, Sister Jasmine.”
Without looking at him, she closed the reverend’s door. She wanted to run to her car, but first she had to pass Mrs. Whittingham’s desk. The woman sat, as Brother Hill leaned over her, and the two hovered in quiet conversation. Their talking stopped when she neared. She wasn’t going to give them any satisfaction—she looked them straight in their eyes before she turned to the exit.
“Sister Jasmine, you have a nice day.”
All she wanted to do was get away. From Reverend Bush and his cronies. If he didn’t want her, fine. This was New York. The city was filled with eligible men. Men who were more sophisticated, who had more money, who were much finer, and who had much more to offer than the reverend.
Hope to see you in church on Sunday, Sister Jasmine.
Oh, yes, he would see her. He would see her every Sunday.
As she stomped to the corner, she made a vow. To make sure that the day would come when she would make Reverend Bush regret his rejection. One day Reverend Bush would be sorry that he had ever let her go.
Chapter 7
Some things were going to have to change.
Jasmine
zipped her suitcase, threw her mink over her shoulders, and then rolled her luggage into the hallway. As she rode in the elevator, she thought of the list she was going to give Malik once the club opened. First, she’d need a car service. Calling for cabs had been fine—until she noticed how many people in New York had drivers.
At least I’m flying first class, she thought, although she wondered why Malik didn’t have his own plane. If he had, she wouldn’t be up so early.
She yawned and pushed back thoughts of Reverend Bush that had kept her tossing much of the night. She refused to yield to the feelings his words had caused. She was above that. She was above him.
“Good morning, Ms. Larson,” Henrikas said the moment she stepped off the elevator. It was barely six o’clock, but Jasmine was no longer surprised to see him at every hour. “Do you need a cab?” he asked with his ever-present cheer.
Jasmine nodded. “I’m going to LaGuardia.”
He nodded, but just as he opened the door, Mae Frances sauntered from the elevator.
“Good morning, Jasmine Larson.” She eyed Jasmine’s bag. “Looks like you’re going on a trip.”
Jasmine’s eyes roamed up and down her neighbor. Mae Frances was wrapped again in her mink.
“Well?” Mae Frances said, exasperation in her tone as she waited for Jasmine’s response. A diamond glinted from her ring finger.
“I’m going to Los Angeles on a business trip.”
“That doesn’t sound like fun.” Mae Frances turned to Henrikas. “Put her bags in my car, please.”
Jasmine frowned. “What?”
Mae Frances raised one penciled eyebrow. “You’re going to the airport, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? Don’t you need a ride? Or would you prefer to take one of those…cabs?”
Jasmine wasn’t sure if she liked Mae Frances—not the way she talked, not the way she took control. But her curiosity about the woman was tying itself around her neck.
“Well, are you coming?” Mae Frances asked with impatience.
A Sin and a Shame Page 6