“Are you freakin’ kidding me? It was worse than bad, it was horrendous. And what if it costs you the election?”
“Then it wasn’t God’s will for me to win,” Lester said, walking over to begin picking up the broken pieces of the lamp. “I just thank God the babies weren’t in here. Jordan said they were with your dad and Brenda.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Rachel screamed. “This is not something to be taken lightly. This tramp is trying to sabotage everything we worked for.”
Lester released a frustrated sigh. “First of all, I doubt it’s that serious.” He turned and looked Rachel in the eye. “And if this election is going to turn you into this crazed woman, I will just withdraw from the race.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” She knew there was no way Lester was going to play dirty. But she wasn’t above it at all. In fact, she had just the dirt she needed. Her trump card. She hadn’t planned to stoop this low, but the game had changed. That old freak had proven she could and would play dirty. But Jasmine didn’t know dirty and Rachel was definitely about to show it to her.
“I’m going to tell the front desk that we have a lamp to pay for,” Lester said, dumping the last of the shattered ceramic into the trash. “Then, I’m going back to the budget meeting. The public praise and worship session starts in four hours and I’d like to get some rest.”
Rachel didn’t reply as her husband walked out. She didn’t have time to be concerned with him. Four hours was just enough time to put her plan into action.
Rachel couldn’t help but notice how Jasmine kept staring at her throughout the worship service. She was probably wondering why Rachel was smiling, seemingly carefree as she got caught up in the praise and worship. But Rachel was focused, her eye was on the prize, and she was ready for her plan to be unveiled—right in front of this packed ballroom.
When she had found out this little tidbit, she’d filed it away because it was a little too much, even for her. She knew what she was about to do would really make Lester mad. But he’d just have to get over it because there was no way Rachel was about to let that tramp get away with what she did at the luncheon.
“Can I get an amen?” Reverend King said as the music took on a softer tone.
Amens reverberated throughout the ballroom.
“After that powerful message from this evening’s guest preacher, Rev. Payne, I know there’s some soul that feels the need to come to Jesus.”
Yes! Rachel silently proclaimed.
“I know there are a lot of saints in the house, but if there are any sinners among us who long to know God, come, come now and share your testimony,” Reverend King said.
A couple of people made their way up front. Rachel’s smile spread as the third person stood. She looked exactly like Rachel expected her to. The long, platinum blond wig. The leopard-print spandex pants. The black crop tank that was cut too high at the bottom and too low at the top. And the makeup. Whew. The bright blue glitter eye shadow was overpowering and it looked like she’d used ruby red lipstick on her lips and her cheeks. She had to be pushing forty, but years of hard living made her look a lot older. Rachel couldn’t have picked a better representative if she had created her herself.
Rachel waited anxiously as the first two people gave their testimony. She wasn’t even sure what they had said. All of her attention was focused—like most people in the room—on the harlot standing at the end, smacking on a wad of gum like it was the last piece on earth.
Rachel sneaked a look over at Jasmine, who was sitting across the aisle with her husband. Jasmine looked like she’d seen a ghost and Rachel knew instantly that her source had been right on the money. She actually was grateful Jacqueline wasn’t here. It would be a shame for the little girl to witness what was about to go down.
“Hey, e’rebody,” the woman said after Reverend King handed her the mic. “First of all, givin’ honor to God and all that stuff. My name is Alize. Well, my real name is LaQuanta, but e’rebody call me Alize. Thank you for lettin’ me say my piece. I just happened to be here in the hotel meeting a … a … umm, a customer.” She paused and released a giggle. “But don’t worry, it wasn’t nobody from y’all’s convention,” she said to a few nervous chuckles. “Anyway, I was waiting on him, when I spotted somebody I knew from back in the day.” How she continued to chew her gum and talk was beyond Rachel, but it just added to the outrageousness of it all.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I couldn’t get close enough to her to say hi, so I followed her in here to try and talk to her because I used to really look up to her back in the day when we was stripping together.”
Gasps filled the room. It took everything in her power for Rachel not to look over at Jasmine and burst out laughing.
“Anyway, she was always one of the classy strippers down at Foxtails. And even when we used to, um, give private lessons, she was still one of them high-class h—”
“Yeah, okay,” Reverend King said, snatching the mic away.
The woman snatched the mic right back. “I ain’t done. You said you wanted to hear from people that had a testimony. Well, ain’t nobody been tested like me!” She scanned the crowd until her eyes settled on Jasmine. “And if Pepper Pulaski, oh, my bad, I guess you don’t go by that anymore. If Jasmine Cox can pull herself up and be all up in here with all you sidity folks, then maybe I can, too. Thank you, Jazzy, for showing me that I don’t have to keep turning tricks and showing my body. I’m gettin’ too old anyway. I need a new come-up, so I wanna be like you and do this church thang. You my she-ro, girl. Call me. I’m still at Foxtails, although I just mostly do private stuff and bartending now cuz I can’t shake it like I used to.” She did a little wiggle. “So drop by before you leave LA. We moved, though. We on Crenshaw now. Most of the girls are gone, but Buck is still there. He’d love to see you, so come by tonight. And bring the bishop,” she said, blowing Hosea a kiss.
Every eye in the room turned to Jasmine, including a horrified Cecelia King. Rachel tried her best to look surprised as well, but this was so absolutely perfect that she couldn’t contain her joy. Lester eyed Rachel suspiciously, but she’d already planned to lie, deny, and lie some more. This actually hadn’t even been something Rachel had discovered. This was divine intervention. Some hoochie-looking lady had walked up to her in the lobby yesterday and handed her an envelope with all the info on Jasmine’s stripper past. When Rachel had eyed her with skepticism, the woman had used Rachel’s phone (she said she didn’t want to be linked to anything) and called this Alize.
At first, Alize had been hesitant because she said it had been so long ago that she barely remembered Jasmine. But the three hundred bucks Rachel offered helped to refresh her memory. Suddenly, she recalled how “uppity Jasmine Cox was” and how she always “thought she was better than everybody else,” and she said it would be her pleasure to “help put Jasmine on blast.”
Rachel hadn’t planned to use the information, as juicy as it was, but then Jasmine had pulled that stunt this morning and the game changed. So Rachel called Alize back, offered her another five hundred to come over to the hotel tonight, and Alize had been all too willing.
“Okay, so am I saved now?” Alize asked, turning her attention back to Reverend King.
“Umm, I’m sorry, little lady. It, um, it isn’t that easy,” he stammered.
“Awww, hell. Guess it’s gonna have to wait until another time. I gotta private party with some rappers in an hour and until the Good Lord put some Benjamins in my pocket, I’m gon’ have to keep doin’ what I do. But y’all pray for me. I feel an anointin’ coming on. Hallelujah!” she sang as she strutted down the center aisle and out the door.
Chapter
THIRTEEN
Shame” and “sorry” were two words that were foreign to Jasmine; they’d never had any place in any part of her psyche. She’d never been ashamed—not of the millions of lies that she’d told, not of the humiliation she’d bestowed upon her first husband, not even of all the heartache she
’d caused for the women whose husbands she’d bedded over the years.
No, there’d never been room for shame because she’d always had a reason. And her days as a stripper? Please! That was when she had the greatest reason of all. Without that pole, she would’ve never graduated from college.
So never any shame, never any reason to be sorry.
But now, as she held Hosea’s hand and stepped down the aisle of the convention center, her head was high, though she moved humbly … with shame. Not that she was sorry for what she’d done; it was just that she’d been caught … and so publicly … and at the worst possible time.
She’d prayed last night that this revelation wouldn’t cost Hosea this election. But already, she was sure that God hadn’t been listening to her. The arena was packed. There were more people here this morning than at the worship service last night. All to see her, no doubt. All to hear what Hosea was going to say.
As she approached the front, Jasmine caught sight of Lester and Rachel holding court at the edge of the platform that had been set up as an altar.
That skank Rachel.
There was not a single doubt in Jasmine’s mind—Rachel Adams was behind this. Jasmine’s eyes stayed on the woman, glaring, willing Rachel to turn and face her.
As if she felt Jasmine’s glare, Rachel turned around.
At first, Rachel wore a smile, a grin really, her face shining with the delight of triumph. But as her eyes remained locked with Jasmine’s, her smile faded slightly, became just a smirk, then vanished. Right there, Rachel seemed to shrink before Jasmine’s eyes. Oh, yeah, Rachel still held her head up and stuck her chin out. But Jasmine could almost see the woman’s heart beating through the cheap fake silk blouse that looked like it had been purchased at a swap meet several years ago.
Good! Jasmine thought, feeling just a bit of satisfaction at Rachel’s fear. It was clear that the Adams girl had done her homework, but she hadn’t delved deep enough. Because if she had, she would’ve known that Jasmine Cox Larson Bush was not the one to be messed with.
Rachel was going to pay; Jasmine had decided it was time to finally implement the big plan that Mae Frances had been talking to her about.
But first, she had to get through this session.
At the front, Lester shook Hosea’s hands and the two men exchanged a greeting that Jasmine didn’t hear. But she didn’t say a word. Just kept her glare on Rachel, instilling more fear until the trick lowered her eyes.
At least Rachel wasn’t totally dumb. At least she was smart enough to be afraid.
Jasmine took her seat, the same one she’d been sitting in last night when the stripper had called her out. She didn’t have to turn around to see the stares; she could feel them. If she wasn’t trying to get her husband elected, she would’ve stood up at the altar and told every single last one of them to go to hell.
But that was not how a proper first lady behaved.
She would just have to endure it. If this went down the way they had planned, in an hour she would be back in all of their good graces. The men had decided how to handle this situation. It was not the way she would’ve handled it; but since she was the problem, she didn’t have a big voice in what was to be the solution.
At least they had a plan, one that she prayed was going to work. One that they’d come up with last night after they left the arena …
Never had hundreds of black people been in one place, sitting together in such absolute silence. But that was what filled the convention center as Alize handed the microphone back to Reverend King and then sauntered up the aisle, swaying her hips as if she was naked on a stage right now. The hundreds had been stunned, never taking their eyes away from Alize, not until she sashayed right out of the door.
Jasmine had been the most shocked of all. Had Alize been a stripper with her twenty years ago? Really? And she was still at Foxtails? Really?
If that was true, that woman needed to be arrested—not because she was too young, but because she was way too old. There had to be a law against anyone who was closer to fifty than to forty taking off their clothes and scaring people like that.
She had wanted to run after that heffa, call her out, call her a liar, and demand that Alize restore her good name in front of these women and their husbands, whom she’d worked so hard to get on her side.
But as the silence broke and the arena filled with shocked chatter, Hosea had pulled her to follow Pastor Griffith as he led Hosea, Jasmine, and the rest of their entourage through the side door.
“There was no reason for us to leave,” Hosea protested, though he quickly followed behind his father and Pastor Griffith. “That’s not how I operate. I stand up and face the enemy.”
“I appreciate that, but we need to regroup,” Pastor Griffith said, taking a quick look at Jasmine. “This election is too important to make the next move without thinking it all the way through.”
Back at the hotel, Pastor Griffith had given instructions to Reverend Penn and the other assistants who’d followed them while he pushed Hosea, Jasmine, and Reverend Bush into the elevator.
“Mae Frances,” Jasmine yelled.
“I have something I need to take care of, Jasmine Larson,” the woman growled. “I’ll be right up.” Then she marched away as if she were going off to war.
The elevator doors shut before Jasmine could beg Mae Frances to stay with her. There had never been a time in her life when she needed her friend more. Didn’t Mae Frances know that? Jasmine lowered her eyes, shook her head. She truly regretted never having told Hosea about her life as a stripper. It was horrible that he had to find out on this day, in this way.
What was she supposed to do now? What was she supposed to say? All kinds of lies flashed through her mind. But she didn’t have enough time to figure it all out. When they stepped into their suite, she still had no idea what she was going to say, since lying wasn’t an option. She couldn’t lie—her father-in-law knew the truth.
The moment they closed the doors behind them, though, Pastor Griffith was on it. “Is what that stripper said true?”
Without a word, Hosea walked toward the massive windows and looked down as if he was studying the traffic below. Reverend Bush stayed just as silent as his son as he moseyed toward the bar, dropped two ice cubes into a glass, and then added ginger ale.
Jasmine watched both of them—the two men whom she loved the most—turn their backs, and keep their eyes away from her. And she trembled. Was she going to lose Hosea finally? Over this?
That was when she felt it for the first time in her life … shame. And sorrow. And then another emotion—rage. Because if she lost Hosea over what Rachel Adams had just done, Rachel was going to die.
It was clear that the men didn’t plan to say a word, so Pastor Griffith turned to her. “Jasmine?” His eyes roamed over her in a way that she didn’t appreciate, as if she were swinging from a stripper pole right now.
She squirmed beneath the heat of his glare. “I need to talk to my husband first.”
Hosea turned slowly, and said, “Yes. It’s true.”
His voice was flat, without emotion, and the tears in her eyes were instant. Jasmine didn’t know what to think.
Hosea continued, “She worked as a stripper while she was in college. To pay her tuition.”
Jasmine blinked, fighting more tears.
“Her mother had just died,” Hosea continued, “and her father didn’t have any money to help her.”
“You knew?” she asked. “All of that? You knew?”
He nodded.
“But you never said a word to me.”
He shrugged and gave her a little smile. “What was there to say? Pops told me that you did what you had to do.”
She turned to her father-in-law with eyes full of gratitude, and in return he gave her a smile of unconditional love.
Hosea said, “And that’s why I wanted to stay downstairs.” He faced Pastor Griffith. “Because I don’t see how what my wife did twenty years ago affect
s this election.”
Pastor Griffith shook his head. “You’re naive if you believe that this won’t make folks jump off the Bush train.”
“He’s right, son,” Reverend Bush chimed in.
Pastor Griffith paced through the room. “We’ve got to come up with something,” he said, as if he was the one who was running for president and about to lose it all. “Something!”
Three loud bangs on the door startled them all and Jasmine held her breath as Reverend Bush moved to answer it. There was no telling who was on the other side, no telling what Rachel Adams was going to do next.
Reverend Bush swung the door open and Alize stumbled inside.
“Would you stop pushing me?” she growled as she looked over her shoulder at Mae Frances.
Mae Frances shoved the girl again. And she looked like she would have done a whole lot more if Reverend Bush hadn’t grabbed her arm.
“Mae Frances!” Reverend Bush shouted. “What’s going on?”
“I found this ho trolling the lobby looking for her next trick.”
“Troll? Who you calling a troll, old lady?”
“I didn’t call you a troll. I called you a ho.”
“Oh,” Alize said.
Mae Frances said, “Go on. Tell them what you told me.”
“What?” Alize paused, glancing around the room. Making a 360-degree turn, she scoped the room, nodded her head as if she was impressed. Her smile was wide, until her eyes met Jasmine’s. “Look,” she began. “I just told them what I knew,” she said, as if she owed Jasmine an explanation.
Mae Frances said, “Yeah, after they paid you for it.”
“Who paid you?” Jasmine and Pastor Griffith asked at the same time.
“Cynthia,” Alize said.
All kinds of thoughts and suspicions swirled through Jasmine’s mind. “You mean Cecelia?” Jasmine asked, shocked that Rachel wasn’t the one behind this. But why would Cecelia do this? Was she turning against her? It didn’t make any sense.
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