Lady Jasmine (4 page)

J
ASMINE STARED OUT THE WINDOW,
taking in the Schomburg Center across Lenox Avenue. Even through the thick-paned windows, four floors up, she could hear the harmony that was Harlem below: horns honking, sirens blaring, the melodies of calypso, reggae, hip-hop, and old-school tunes blending together.

She hadn’t done much more than stand at this window since Brother Hill had left an hour ago. Over and over she’d read Reverend Bush’s instructions: if he was ever incapacitated…or worse…his wish was for his son to stand in his stead.

Jasmine sighed deeply. That letter meant one thing: she would be the first lady of City of Lights at Riverside Church!

She trembled with excitement.

“Darlin’?”

She was so far away in her new world that she hadn’t heard Hosea return. “I thought you were going for a walk.”

He was looking at his father when he said, “I didn’t want to stay away too long.”

“Wanna talk?”

She followed him into the hallway, where they sat in two chairs across from the nurses’ station.

“So what are you thinking?” Jasmine asked, trying not to seem anxious.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “It’s not like I’ve ever led a church before.”

“What are you talking about? What about Crystal Lake Cathedral?”

“I was on staff there and led a couple of ministries, but I never led the church. And even though Crystal was one of the largest churches in Chicago, it’s still only half the size of City of Lights. There’re eight thousand members here.”

Eight thousand?
She knew City of Lights was huge, but she never thought about the size of the congregation. She had to press her knees together to stop the shaking. She was going to be the first lady of an eight-thousand-member church!

Hosea sighed. “I want to honor Pops’s request, but…”

“What?”

“I can’t imagine it.” He faced her and smiled a little. “And it’s not like I can really see
you
being a first lady.”

He chuckled, but she didn’t.

He said, “I mean, are you really going to spend your time visiting the sick and shut-in? Or praying with a grieving widow?”

She didn’t know why he was smiling; she didn’t see anything funny. How could he not imagine her doing those things? The way she saw it, she was stepping into her destiny.

But all she said was, “Your father would never have written that letter if he didn’t want it this way.”

“I know.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. Staring at the door that led to his father’s room, he said, “Five seven.”

Jasmine looked up. Saw the numbers on the wall.

Hosea said, “God’s numbers. His grace and the number of
completion.” Sad seconds of silence sat between them. Until Hosea said, “I’m not ready to let my father go.”

“Oh, babe,” she said, putting her arms around his shoulders. “That’s not what you’re doing. You’re keeping things in order until he gets better.”

Slowly, he nodded, like he agreed. But when he faced her, she could see that he didn’t. In his eyes, she saw her opportunity of being the first lady slipping away.

“This is what your father wants,” she pushed gently.

There was more conviction in his nod this time. “You’re right.”

She hugged him, whispered in his ear, “You’re doing the right thing.” When she pulled back, she glanced at her watch. “It’s almost three. We’ve got to get going.”

“The meeting isn’t until six.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got to go home and get ready.”

When he frowned, she added quickly, “I mean, don’t you want to take a shower? Maybe even rest a little.”

“I’m not leaving Pops until I have to.”

“It’ll give you a little time to see Jacquie, and you don’t have to worry about your dad. There’s an entire staff watching out. Nothing’s going to happen.”

He shook his head. “I can’t—”

“Hey, Hosea.” Jasmine heard the squeaky voice before she saw Ivy. The woman leaned over to hug him. “How’s your father?”

As Hosea filled Ivy in, Jasmine frowned. Ivy hadn’t said a single hello to her. Looked like she’d been initiated into the band of bandits.
That’s okay,
Jasmine thought. By tonight, she would be the first lady, and everyone was going to have to step to her with some serious respect from now on.

“So you haven’t been home?” Ivy’s eyebrows rose almost to the top of her forehead.

Before Hosea could answer, Jasmine said, “But we were get
ting ready to leave.”

“Oh, Jasmine,” Ivy said, just noticing her. “I’m so rude.” She giggled.

Now Jasmine ignored her; she spoke to Hosea. “You’ve got to go home and at least take a nap before we go to the church.”

Ivy said to Hosea, “Go. I’ll stay with your father.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know how late it’ll be when I get back.”

When Ivy caressed Hosea’s hand, Jasmine’s squeezed her fingers into fists.

Ivy said, “It doesn’t matter. No matter how late, I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Jasmine hadn’t been sure if she liked Ivy before, but she definitely didn’t like her now. Not that this woman could ever be any kind of competition. After all she’d been through over the last months with Hosea’s ex-fiancée, Natasia, Jasmine could handle someone as simple as Ivy. She’d beat her down, then toss her over the side of a cliff if she even thought about pushing up on Hosea.

“Thanks, Ivy.” Jasmine snatched her husband’s hand from Ivy’s grasp.

“Let me check on Pops before we go.”

The moment he was gone, Jasmine turned to Ivy. “Thanks again,” she said, although there was little gratitude inside her tone.

“No problem.” Ivy gave her a big-tooth grin. “I’d do anything for Hosea.”

“You don’t have to do
anything
for him. I’ve got
that
covered.”

Ivy’s eyes widened. “I just meant—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” Jasmine said, looking down at the five-foot-tall woman and speaking in the same tone she reserved for scolding Jacqueline. “You don’t have to do a thing for my husband unless I ask you to.” She spun around and left Hosea’s old friend standing in the hallway of Harlem hospital
with her eyes the size of half dollars and her mouth opened just as wide.

It had taken a lot, but Jasmine had talked Hosea into wearing a suit.

“There’s no reason for me to get dressed up,” he’d protested at first. “I’m going to run in there, tell everyone about Pops’s letter, and then I’m heading straight back to the hospital.”

“But babe, you still have to look the part.”

“What part?” Then, as if he was just noticing her, he frowned as he took in her leopard-collared suit and pearls he’d given her last Mother’s Day. “Jasmine, this isn’t an audition.”

But she had relentlessly laid her case, convincing Hosea that if he walked into the church looking like a pastor, there would be less drama. She suspected it was more fatigue than agreement that made Hosea finally give in. But whatever, she’d won, and now they were on their way to taking their rightful place at City of Lights.

As their SUV snaked uptown on Central Park West, Jasmine smoothed the front of her raw silk skirt, leaned back, and pressed Play on the movie in her mind.

Her life was already filled with wonder, with Hosea being the executive producer and host of
Bring It On,
a top-rated, award-winning Christian talk show. From their apartment on Central Park South to the celebrity-studded events that filled their calendar, she was living the kind of life she’d always craved. But being the first lady of a church as large and influential as City of Lights came with a whole ’nother level of benefits. First, there was the income. She wasn’t sure what her father-in-law earned, but with a church so large, it could be well into the six, maybe even seven figures. Some of those TV pastors earned millions, not even counting all the extras—like the hundreds of thousands that came from speaking engage
ments and writing books. Maybe she and Hosea would write a book together!

The calculator was clicking in her mind as she thought about what she was going to do with the millions that would come her way. They’d keep their apartment because it didn’t get much better than Central Park South real estate. But they would definitely get a summer place in the Hamptons. And they would get rid of this SUV. Hosea needed a driver. And she needed one, too, as the first lady because surely she’d be in demand now. She could see herself flitting around the city, speaking at this fund-raiser or hosting that benefit.

The smile that had been in her mind made its way to her lips.

“Jasmine?”

Her eyes popped open. “Huh?”

“What’re you thinking about? You look like you’re in another world.”

She wiped her smile away. “I was saying a prayer…for your dad and thinking about how proud he’s going to be when he wakes up.”

Hosea reached across the console and squeezed her hand. “I know you can’t be all that excited about this.”

She forced a sigh. “It’s okay,” she said, as if she wasn’t thrilled.

“I love that you’re in my corner.”

“I love you, Hosea. I’ll always be here for you. And for your father, too.”

That was the truth. She still couldn’t believe what had happened to Reverend Bush. Her plan was to send up as many prayers as she could for him to recover quickly.

But there was no need for Reverend Bush to rush it. When he came out of the coma, he would need care and time to heal. She and Hosea would be there for him. Definitely. But he could take his time getting well.

And maybe Reverend Bush would be so proud of Hosea that
he would retire and let his son take over permanently.

Oh, yes, he would be proud of both of them because she was going to rock her position as the new first lady.

She couldn’t wait to get started.

H
OSEA EASED THE CAR INTO
the parking lot, then hesitated before he squeezed into the space next to the one reserved for the senior pastor.

After he helped Jasmine from the car, they moved slowly across the graveled lot, for the first time walking in the path where Reverend Bush almost died. She kept her eyes toward the church, not wanting to look down, not wanting to see any remnant of what had happened here on Saturday night.

But her imagination churned, and she could envision the police cars arriving, their flashing red lights breaking through the dark. She could hear the sirens of the emergency units speeding to the rescue. She could picture Brother Hill kneeling beside Reverend Bush, trembling with panic and dread and fear.

She glanced sideways and could tell that Hosea shared her thoughts. Her heart ached for him, and she squeezed his hand. But even though she knew that her husband hurt, she knew just as well that this was where they were supposed to be—following in the same steps that Reverend Bush had walked almost every day of the thirty years he’d led City of Lights. They were on their way to securing his legacy, fulfilling his will.

It was a deep breath that she released when they finally
stepped into the church, and as they approached the conference room, the melancholy that had overtaken her was nudged aside by her rising joy. But she pressed down her delight; she couldn’t very well walk into the executive board meeting with a smile while her father-in-law was fighting to stay alive.

The board members were sitting around the conference table, their voices low, their faces grave.

“Good evening,” Hosea said the moment they stepped inside.

Jasmine was glad that she was still holding on to her husband—or else the cold stares would have knocked her over.

Only her godbrother Malik smiled, stood, and gave her a hug.

“Uh, Hosea.” Brother Hill pushed himself from his chair. His eyes moved between Hosea and Jasmine.

But before he could say anything more, Pastor Wyatt piped in, “Hosea, this is a closed meeting.”

Hosea raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“That means,” Pastor Wyatt spoke slowly, as if Hosea had a comprehension problem, “only board members are invited. You’re a member,” his eyes shifted to Jasmine, “but your wife isn’t.”

“And your wife isn’t.” Hosea gave a nod and a smile to Enid Wyatt, who was sitting against the wall behind her husband.

“But my wife…this is a special occasion,” Pastor Wyatt explained.

As Hosea held out a chair for Jasmine, he said, “Then you can understand
my
wife being here with me.”

Pastor Wyatt looked around at the others, and Jasmine followed his glance to the side of the table where Brother Hill, Sister Whittingham, and Jerome Viceroy, a Harlem city councilman who was responsible for community outreach for City of Lights, sat together. On the other side, Pastor Wyatt was in between Malik, Brother Stevens, and Sister Clinton, the presi
dents of the Men’s and Women’s Auxiliary, and Sister Pearline, the head of the Silver Saints.

Malik and Sister Pearline wore welcoming smiles; the rest glared at her as if there was no way she should be sitting in the midst of such holiness.

Jasmine was pissed—especially at Sister Clinton. She expected Brother Hill and his bandits to behave as if they had no grace, but Sister Clinton? Every Sunday the woman had smiled in her face, told Jasmine how wonderful she looked, how well-behaved Jacqueline was. And now she didn’t support her sitting in on this little meeting? She had lost her mind—along with the rest of them. They needed to recognize that a change was about to come up in this place.

Jasmine took a hard breath. Calmed down. In ten minutes, Hosea would be appointed, and she would wear her crown.

When Hosea sat down and stared at him, Pastor Wyatt said, “Well, I guess it’s fine.” He turned to Jasmine and gave her one of his smiles that always made her twist. But his words were not as inviting. “I hope you understand that you won’t be able to vote.”

Before she could part her lips, Hosea answered, “Of course she wouldn’t vote,
if
there was going to be one.”

Pastor Wyatt gave a little chuckle. “I thought Brother Hill told you. We’re here to make a decision about your father—” He stopped. “You know what?” Pastor Wyatt reached his hands forward. “We need to pray, right now, for your father. Let’s take a silent moment.”

They all bowed their heads and began to send up private prayers. But not even three seconds passed before Pastor Wyatt said, “Amen,” startling everyone. “Okay, now let’s get started.” The man didn’t even try to contain his excitement.

Sister Pearline spoke first, “How’s your father, Hosea?”

“I spoke to the doctor before we came, and there’s no change.”

“Detective Foxx told me today that the investigation is going to stay open,” Brother Stevens said.

Hosea nodded. “That’s good, but I’m more concerned about Pops. The doctors said that he could wake up at any moment.”

“That’s my prayer,” Sister Clinton said.

“But the truth is,” Pastor Wyatt interjected, “we don’t know how long he’ll be this way, do we?”

Hosea looked straight into that man’s eyes. “No, we don’t. But God knows.”

Pastor Wyatt nodded. “Of course, of course. And as we all stand with you, we still have to keep this church running. City of Lights is an important institution in this city. There’ll be lots of things that need to be handled, including the media…”

“What media?” Hosea asked.

“You’ve been at the hospital, but we’ve all been contacted by the major networks—to get our views on what happened to Reverend Bush. I’m sure the radio stations and newspapers will follow. We’re going to have to put out a statement; we may even need to hire a press agent.”

Jasmine shifted. She’d always been aware that Reverend Bush was one of the premiere pastors in the city; he was often on television, responding to some reporter’s questions on his views about what was happening in New York. But she’d had no idea that his shooting had attracted this much attention.

She’d speak to Hosea—she’d take over the media. She could already see her face in front of the camera, or her words in the
New York Times
! She needed to add a whole new wardrobe to her list of things to acquire.

Hosea said, “We don’t need a press agent, Pastor.”

Jasmine wasn’t going to disagree with her husband in public—that’s not what a first lady should do. But she’d change his mind later. She
was
going to need someone to help her with all the press.

Jerome Viceroy glanced at Jasmine, licked his lips, then said to Hosea, “You don’t realize the power of this church.”

“Yes, I do,” Hosea said. “And Holy Ghost power doesn’t need any kind of agent.” Before anyone had a comeback, Hosea added, “Look, I expect my father to make a full recovery very soon. There’s no need for any big changes. We just need—”

“A new pastor,” Pastor Wyatt finished for him.

Hosea kept his stare steady. “An
interim
pastor.”

Pastor Wyatt gave Hosea a half smile. “I stand corrected.” The pastor laid his hands flat on the table and looked from one member to the next. “Of course, no one could really step into Reverend Samuel Bush’s shoes, but I am fully prepared to take on the position of senior pastor of City of Lights at Riverside Church,” he declared.

The way his wife grinned behind him, Jasmine wondered if the woman was going to stand up and applaud.

Brother Hill said, “Pastor Wyatt, there’s something—”

Hosea held up his hand, stopping his godfather. “I really don’t understand why you called this meeting,” he said to Pastor Wyatt. “It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since…” He slipped the envelope from his pocket. “My father could wake up tonight, and this would all be for nothing.”

Sister Whittingham spoke softly, “I understand how you feel, Hosea, but Pastor Wyatt is right. Your father would want someone to step in for him.”

Hosea nodded as he unfolded the letter. “This is from my father. As the founder and senior pastor of City of Lights, he’s requested that I step in. And I’m going to follow my father’s instructions.”

The hush that followed made Jasmine want to stand up and do her own cheer.

Then, “That’s not going to happen,” Pastor Wyatt exclaimed. “I’m second in line; I’m the leader of this church.”

“Obviously, you didn’t hear what my husband said,” Jasmine piped in.

Every face in the room turned to her. Every eye told her to be quiet. But Jasmine stared right back at all of them—even Malik and Hosea.

Pastor Wyatt continued, “As I was saying, that doesn’t make sense; we already have a church hierarchy.”

“This is what my father wants.”

Pastor Wyatt was frowning when his wife leaned forward and whispered in his ear. Then his eyes brightened. And when Enid Wyatt returned to her seat, her chin was raised high in the air in triumph.

Jasmine glared at her; she hadn’t liked this woman (and the woman hadn’t liked her) from the day they met over a year ago at the reception Reverend Bush held for the new associate pastor and his wife.

The rivalry started when Reverend Bush introduced the two.

“Jasmine, this is Enid Wyatt,” he’d said.

“Oh, Mrs. Wyatt. Nice to meet you. You must be really proud of your son.”

Hosea had jumped in and tried to save his wife. “Uh, darlin’, this is Pastor Wyatt’s
wife.
”

It had taken Jasmine a moment to close her wide-open mouth and apologize. She’d later learned that Enid Wyatt was three years younger than her husband, but how was she supposed to know that? The woman’s weathered skin had more wrinkles than an elephant. And she had so much gray in that old-fashioned beehive hairdo she wore atop her head that
she
could’ve been the leader of the Silver Saints.

Jasmine had shaken her head then, just like she did now. And she had the same thoughts: Why was someone as fine as Pastor Wyatt with someone who was one step below plain?

With his eyes shining like he was on the verge of victory, Pastor Wyatt said, “I have a question.” He glanced back at his
wife. “When was that letter written?”

Everyone turned to Hosea, but he didn’t even look down. “January first.”

Both of the Wyatts chuckled before the pastor said, “Obviously, this was an oversight. Your father put this in writing
before
I joined the staff. Remember, I joined last February.” He waved his hands in the air. “He probably forgot he had this little letter—”

“That’s January first of
this
year. Five weeks ago. Eleven months
after
you joined the staff, Pastor Wyatt.” Hosea let that news settle. “There must’ve been a reason why my father wrote this and then had it notarized—even if there is a
hierarchy
in place.” Hosea slid the letter in front of the pastor.

The long quiet was broken by Sister Clinton. “But Hosea, you’ve had no experience.”

“And,” Brother Stevens asked, “how’re you going to pastor with your television show?”

“I haven’t had time to think about all of that, but when my father wrote this, he knew what I had on my plate. He knew I’d figure it out.”

“Well, I have another concern.” Sister Clinton’s eyes went straight to Jasmine.

Jasmine’s eyebrows rose.

The woman continued, “What will people say when they find out that the new pastor is married to a woman who works in a nightclub?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Malik jumped in, before Jasmine could rise up from her seat. “I own that club.”

“Yes, but you’re only on the board. The pastor and his wife will be under more scrutiny,” Brother Stevens said. “I agree with Sister Clinton. This could be a problem.”

“And your wife has other problems,” Pastor Wyatt added. “If the media finds out that you’re not even the father of that child…”

Ouch, that hurt!
That was Jasmine’s first thought. But then the warrior rose up inside of her. She was ready to hike up her skirt and climb over the table to beat that man down. Who was he—or any of them—to judge her like this?

It was only Hosea’s gentle grasp of her arm—as if he knew the war she was about to wage—that made her stay in place.

“Pastor Wyatt,” Hosea began, in such a calm tone that Jasmine wondered if he’d even heard what the man had said. “I’m going to accept your apology, and then we’re going to end this right here.”

The men glared at each other, their own battle brewing.

“I was only speaking the truth,” the pastor said. “Your wife could be a liability to this church. We have no idea what else could be lurking in her past!”

That’s it!
Jasmine jumped from her chair and pointed her finger at Pastor Wyatt. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

And then, a flash of her past.

Sudden.

A shiny silver pole.

Jasmine, crouched down and swinging around the rod.

Hair, courtesy of a wig, flowing down to her waist.

A man, grinning, his fists full of dollar bills.

She gasped, fell back in her chair.

“Jasmine?”

It was her husband’s voice that snatched her away from that memory. Brought her back from a scene she hadn’t thought of in years.

“Jasmine, are you all right?”

She swallowed, nodded, glared at Pastor Wyatt. “I’m fine, it’s just that…” She couldn’t say any more.

With his hand over hers, Hosea said, “You owe my wife an apology.” His voice was calm, though stern, his anger evident.

Pastor Wyatt waved his hand in the air. “Fine. I’m sorry,” he
said, backing down. “But as one of the largest churches in the city, we have to be careful with our image.”

Hosea turned from Pastor Wyatt to the other board members. “I understand all of your concerns,” he said, leaving out the associate pastor. “But everything that you’ve raised, my father already knew. However, if it’ll help, I’ll answer your questions.” Facing Brother Stevens, he said, “My show is on hiatus and won’t be back in production until May. Pops should be back by then.”

“But what if he’s not?” Sister Clinton asked. “How’re you going to handle all of this? Not only your show and the church, but taking care of your father?”