“But—” Jasmine began.
“No ‘buts,’” Cecelia snapped. “This has gotten out of hand. We’ve never had this type of drama before,” she couldn’t help adding.
The officers sighed as if they had tired of the show. “Well, it looks like we’re no longer needed,” the taller of the officers said as he headed toward the door.
Rachel stepped in front of the officer to stop him. “No, you can’t leave. I’m serious about pressing charges.”
Jasmine spoke up as well. “And I want to press kidnapping charges, too.”
Cecelia threw up her hands in exasperation. “No one is pressing any charges.” She looked at the officers. “Thank you for your assistance, but everything is fine now.”
Both Rachel and Jasmine looked like they wanted to protest, but the disgusted expression on Cecelia’s face stopped them from saying anything.
As the officers and hotel security exited, Cecelia turned to the rest of the people in the room. “We have a busy day today.” She shook her head like she was deep in thought. “And to be quite honest, I have some things to assess, so it would be best if everyone just returned to their rooms to get ready for the nominating meeting.”
“Cecelia—”
Cecelia held up her hand to cut off Rachel. “Not now, Rachel. Just go back to your room.”
Rachel didn’t appreciate being treated like a child, but she didn’t want to push her luck, so she swallowed and turned to Jasmine. “I really am sorry you were worried about your daughter.” Rachel was actually sincere in her apology. She still couldn’t stand Jasmine, but seeing her still tightly clutching her daughter, Rachel imagined how she would feel if she thought someone had kidnapped Nia. Especially if Nia had endured the tragedy that little Jacquie had gone through just a little more than two years ago.
Maybe she really had gone too far with this scheme.
“I never meant to scare any of you,” Rachel added apologetically.
Jasmine took a step toward her. For a minute, Rachel thought she was going to plant another hook across her jaw, but Hosea was holding tightly to her right hand.
“As long as you are black and female, don’t ever say another word to me,” Jasmine said slowly and firmly. Then she grabbed her child tighter and walked out the door.
It didn’t take much to scare Rachel, but the look in Jasmine’s eyes let her know war had been declared. It was a good thing Lester was going to win because Cecelia had made it clear that she expected them to work together regardless of the outcome. And the way Jasmine just looked at her, it would’ve been hell working under her. Shoot, at this rate, there was no way they’d be able to ever work together at all.
Chapter
TWENTY-FOUR
It had taken two grown men to drag Jasmine away from her children. Well, not drag exactly, but Hosea and Reverend Bush had to spend long minutes convincing Jasmine that Jacqueline and Zaya would be safe while she was at the nominating session.
“They’ll be here in the suite with Mrs. Sloss and Mae Frances,” Hosea said over and over. “No one will be able to get to them.”
“We’ll even have lunch brought into the room,” Reverend Bush told his daughter-in-law. “They won’t leave until you get back.”
Finally, Mae Frances pulled her aside and said, “Snap out of it, Jasmine Larson. Remember why you’re here; we’ve put a lot into getting Preacher Man elected.” So Jasmine smothered her children with good-bye kisses and told them that she wouldn’t be away for long.
“I won’t leave again, Mama,” Jacqueline assured her. “Not even if Auntie Rachel and Nia try to come and get me.”
“That ho ain’t your auntie,” Jasmine snapped, before she could even think about her words. But in the next second, she pulled her daughter close and covered her with more kisses, trying to wipe away the look of horror on Jacqueline’s face.
Now, in her own suite, Jasmine paced back and forth, resisting the urge to call down to the children’s suite once again. The moment Hosea had left her alone to take his shower, she’d begun making the calls, checking up on the children every couple of minutes.
My children are safe, my children are safe, she repeated the mantra in her mind. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of sanity, and any little thing just might push her over.
She grabbed the hotel phone once again, but the knock on the door stopped her from calling Mae Frances and Mrs. Sloss for the twelfth time.
She peeked through the peephole, stepped back, then sighed. She wasn’t up for this, but this was the day of the nominations—he probably had some information that Hosea needed.
“Jasmine,” Pastor Griffith said, entering the suite before she’d even invited him in. “I was just dropping by to check on you, make sure you’re okay now.”
She closed the door, folded her arms, and nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, watching him as he sat on the sofa as if he planned to stay awhile. “Hosea’s in the shower; I’ll have him call you when he gets dressed.”
Pastor Griffith unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned back. “That’s okay. I came to talk to you; I’m glad we have a few moments alone.”
“I have to get dressed myself and—”
“This won’t take long.” He glanced at the other end of the sofa, as if he wanted her to sit down.
Jasmine sighed, but it was clear that the pastor was not leaving until he’d said what he’d come to say. She peeked into the bedroom, then closed the door so that Hosea would have privacy when he came out of the bathroom.
Sitting next to him, she waited for the pastor to speak. From the moment she’d met Pastor Griffith, Jasmine had been so intrigued. But that fascination had become suspicion and distrust over the last few days. Questions had started and now continued to nag her. Questions like: why was he so interested in this election? And his money … where was that coming from? He was the pastor of an average-size, thousand-member church. So, what was up with the seemingly endless supply of money?
But Jasmine asked him nothing, just waited for him to speak.
“I understand how you felt this morning—”
Jasmine held up her hand. “No.” She shook her head. “No one knows how I felt.” She shuddered. “How I still feel.” She glanced at the phone once again. Maybe she should call …
But her thoughts were interrupted when Pastor Griffith leaned closer and rested his hand on top of hers. “No, really, I do know how you feel.”
She glanced down at their hands, then raised her eyes to meet his before she slipped her hand away.
He backed off and chuckled as if something was funny. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened this morning, but I came to make sure that you haven’t lost your focus … that you’re still aware of what’s at stake.”
“And what is at stake?”
He tilted his head slightly, as if he knew there was more to her question. “Your husband’s election,” he said, as if that was obvious.
She couldn’t hold her question in any longer. “What’s in this for you, Pastor Griffith?”
“What do you mean for me? This is all about your husband being elected president of the Coalition.”
Jasmine paused for a moment, wondering if he’d give her something more. Maybe give his intentions away with his body language. But he sat casually, with his legs crossed and his arm resting against the back of the sofa. “You seem to have quite a bit invested in this,” she said.
“I do.” He nodded. “Not only all the fund-raising I’ve done, but have you forgotten about that million dollars?”
She inhaled. “No … but we didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Well, if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this meeting, because Hosea wouldn’t have had a chance of winning after that lie that you told.”
“It wasn’t a lie!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Oh? You got a million dollars in the bank?”
She stood, crossed her arms, and pressed her lips together.
He stood and moved
close to her, but Jasmine didn’t back up.
“I just want you to remember,” he whispered, “why we’re here. We’ve put a lot into getting your husband elected.”
Jasmine frowned. Where had she heard those exact words?
“So, I need you to know,” he continued, “that there will be no more tricks, no more fights … no more lies. Leave Rachel Adams alone, now. We’ll take it from here—you stay out of it.”
“So what are you saying? You want me to sit down and shut up like a good little first lady?” she asked sarcastically.
“Yes.”
His response and his smirk surprised her.
She asked, “And who’s this ‘we’ that you’re talking about? I know it’s not my husband or my father-in-law.”
He leaned his head back and laughed. “Please, your husband and your father-in-law are the least important people in this.”
His words were shocking, his tone sinister, almost threatening. But she shook only on the inside. Unless it was about her children, Jasmine showed no fear to any man.
“So, have I made myself clear?” he asked.
Jasmine stayed in place, not moving, not acknowledging his words at all.
He chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said as he moved toward the door. He’d only taken a couple of steps away when Jasmine stopped him.
Grabbing her purse from the table, she said, “No, we’re not finished … not yet.” She hadn’t even bothered to put the money that he’d given her into her wallet; instead, she’d stuffed the bills into a side pocket.
Pulling them out now, she slapped the money into the palm of his hand. “This is what you gave me yesterday—less fifty dollars for the cab.” She paused. “Now we’re finished because you need to understand that my husband and I can’t … be … bought.”
Looking down at the money, he chuckled again before he tucked the bills into his jacket. “Can’t be bought?” He shook his head as if her words were pathetic. “Lady Jasmine, haven’t you been bought already?”
He strutted toward the door, and without turning back, he left her alone.
She stood frozen, his last words more shocking than everything he’d said before. In her mind, she replayed their conversation and she wondered which part had spooked her more.
And then it hit her!
What Pastor Griffith had said. We’ve put a lot into getting your husband elected.
She had heard that before.
This morning.
Mae Frances had told her the exact same thing, had used the exact same words.
Mae Frances, her best friend.
And now, Jasmine trembled more.
Chapter
TWENTY-FIVE
I really have to go shopping.” Rachel glanced at the assortment of suits she’d laid out across their king-size bed. They were getting ready for the official nominating ceremony and the outfit Rachel had planned to wear just didn’t seem fitting. She had splurged on a few suits at Macy’s, shelling out almost two hundred dollars each. Yet none of them seemed as if they could hold up against Cecelia King or Jasmine Bush. Rachel wished that she had enough time to run over to the mall to find another suit to wear today. But not only was there not enough time, truthfully, she couldn’t see paying five or six hundred dollars for an outfit anyway.
No, she’d have to make do with what she had. Rachel had just decided on a peach Tahari number when her cell phone rang. She smiled when she saw her brother’s name pop up. Jonathan was five years older than her, yet they were still very close. Yes, like everyone else, she’d been shocked when he revealed that he was gay. Actually, he didn’t reveal it—his boyfriend popped up at their mother’s funeral, demanding to be acknowledged, and Jonathan had no choice but to come out of the closet. But when all was said and done, Rachel decided that Jonathan was still her brother and she’d love him no matter what. He could answer to God on the whole homosexual thing, but it wasn’t her place to judge.
“Hey, Big Brother,” she said, answering the phone.
“Hey, Little Sister. Are you okay? Dad told me about you getting arrested.”
Rachel shook her head. She didn’t want to get upset today, so she wasn’t about to discuss that experience. “I’m fine. That was all a big misunderstanding. I’ll fill you in on all the details later. I thought you were calling to congratulate me,” she said, trying to change the subject.
“Congratulate?” He laughed. “Girl, the election isn’t until later this week.”
“I know, but you know we’re gonna win.”
“Then I would need to be congratulating my brother-in-law.”
“I’m going to be the first lady, so I need to be congratulated as well.”
“Man, I wish Mama was alive to see this. She wouldn’t believe it,” he said nostalgically.
“I barely believe it and I live it every day. But things change, people change,” she said, laying out the jewelry she was going to wear with her outfit.
“Well, if I haven’t told you, I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks. How’s my nephew?”
“Chase is fine. He’s with Angela. I go pick him up this weekend.” Chase was the son Jonathan had had with his high school sweetheart, back when he was in denial about his sexuality. He’d married Angela after graduating from college. She’d found out he was on the down-low and naturally had gone ballistic. But thankfully, they’d made peace for the sake of Chase, who was now nine years old.
“Who’s that in the background?” Rachel asked when she heard a male voice calling out to Jonathan.
“That’s Gerald. He’s over here helping me pack.”
Gerald was her brother’s partner. Rachel didn’t know a whole lot about him, except that he made her brother happy. Jonathan didn’t like discussing his sexuality, so over the years they’d reached a comfortable place of nondiscussion.
“Pack for what?” Rachel dug in her suitcase and pulled out her BCBG pumps. Maybe if she accessorized her outfit, it would add to the classiness of it all.
“Our flight tomorrow,” he said, like it was obvious.
“Where are you going?”
“Ummm … we’re coming there.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open as she froze, and her shoes fell out of her hand onto the floor.
“You’re … coming to LA?”
“Yeah, our flight gets in at six twenty.” He sounded confused.
“Ou … our?” she stammered.
Jonathan was quiet, then he slowly said, “Umm, yeah … You’re the one told me to come.”
“What?” It was her turn to be confused.
“You sent me a text, telling me you really wanted me and Gerald there for the election.”
Rachel was speechless. As much as she loved her brother, there was no way in the world she’d ask him to show up at the American Baptist Coalition Conference with his boyfriend. She might’ve been understanding, but the members wouldn’t be, and that would all but guarantee that Lester would lose this election.
“Jonathan, I didn’t send a text.”
“What?”
“I didn’t send you a text,” she repeated.
“Hold on.” It sounded like he was fumbling with the phone. “Here it is right here. It’s from your number. It says, ‘Hey you, I know you are busy but Lester and I really would love to have you and Gerald here.’ It was sent day before yesterday.”
“I didn’t send that,” Rachel repeated.
“Well, if you didn’t send it, who did?”
“I don’t have a clue who—” She stopped. Only one person would do something that dirty. But how in the world had Jasmine gotten access to Rachel’s phone? And how did she even know about Jonathan and Gerald? The same way you know all of her business, Rachel told herself. This witch was digging up dirt on her, too.
“Rachel, what’s going on?” Jonathan said, snapping her back to the conversation.
“I didn’t send the text. I don’t know who would send it or why.” She didn’t wan
t to tell him what was going on because Jonathan was protective of her, and he would definitely be on the first flight out of Houston.
“So, you don’t want me to come there?” he asked
“No!” Rachel said, too quickly, but then corrected herself. “I … I mean, I know you have to work.”
She hated being like that with her brother, but Jonathan didn’t deserve the wrath of people like Jasmine or any of the other holier-than-thou members of the ABC.
“Ohhhh,” Jonathan said, realization setting in. “Look, sis, don’t even sweat it.”
Rachel could tell by the change in Jonathan’s voice that he knew exactly why she didn’t want him there.
“Jonathan—”
“Seriously, it’s all good, really. It’s like you said, I have to work. Not to mention that these last-minute tickets to LA were going to be an arm and a leg anyway.”
The fact that he was willing to pay it just because he thought she wanted him there tugged at Rachel’s heart.
“I’m sorry, Jon. I mean, you know, if you want to come, you can come.” She made sure to stress the “you” part. She wanted to let her brother know that while he was welcome, bringing Gerald wouldn’t be such a good idea.
Jonathan let out a small chuckle. “Don’t worry about it. You know how I feel about church folk anyway.” She knew that all too well. Some church folk had led a campaign to get him to “pray the gay away,” so he now tended to stay away from church and worshipped in his own way.
“Besides,” he continued, “I don’t know what I was thinking anyway. You know it would kill your daddy for me to show up there with Gerald. So enjoy yourselves, and call me after the election and tell me how bad Lester beat that Rev. Bush.”
That made her smile—and feel even worse. “I’m sorry, Jon.”
“Don’t be. Seriously, it’s no big deal. You know I’m used to this kind of stuff.”
Sinners & Saints Page 19