Fortune & Fame: A Novel

by Murray, Victoria Christopher

  She laughed as she thought about the look on Rachel’s face once she heard the news that she wasn’t going to be the only First Lady of reality TV.

  There was a new First Lady in town. And this one had class.

  Chapter

  TWO

  Rachel Jackson Adams

  Get it. Got it? Good.”

  Rachel Jackson Adams frowned, knitting her eyebrows together as she studied her reflection in the floor-length mirror. “No,” she mumbled, then said, “Google me, hun.”

  She shook her head, trying to keep her frustration from overpowering her. “No. That doesn’t work either.”

  Rachel took a deep breath, wagged a finger at her reflection, and said, “I’m about to situate the situation.”

  “What in the world are you doing?”

  Rachel spun around to see her husband, Lester, standing in the doorway of their massive bedroom. He was sweating profusely. Why her husband continued to go running in this brutal Houston heat was beyond her.

  “I’m trying to come up with my catchphrase,” Rachel replied.

  Lester walked in and began removing his T-shirt. “Your what?” he asked.

  Rachel sighed. She was really not in the mood to explain Reality TV 101 to her husband, but she knew he wouldn’t get it any other way. “My catchphrase,” Rachel said, walking over to her husband. She leaned in to peck him on his lips, but backed up when she noticed just how sweaty he really was. “Every reality star has a catchphrase. Like Sheree says, ‘Who gon’ check me, boo?’ Tamar says, ‘Bomb.com.’ Mama Dee says, ‘In that order.’ ”

  “Who are these people?” Lester asked, looking confused.

  “From the popular reality shows.”

  Lester released a small chuckle as he walked into the bathroom, stepped out of his shorts, grabbed a towel, and began wiping his face. “See, I can’t with you today. I will never for the life of me understand why you watch that foolishness.”

  Rachel jabbed a warning finger in his direction. “Don’t judge me, Lester. Me ‘watching that foolishness’ is why I landed my own show.”

  He wiped himself some more, then wrapped the towel around his waist.

  “Well, I still don’t support that,” Lester said, heading to his closet. “I am head of the American Baptist Coalition. The last thing I need is to have my wife on TV looking crazy,” he called out from the walk-in closet.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. She liked her timid husband better, the one who let her run all over him. But Lester was feeling himself now that he’d gotten a little power as president of the ABC. Beating the esteemed Hosea Bush had given him some “oomph” and made him a little cocky. Add to the fact all the flak he’d caught because of her behavior this past year, and now he was trying to get all caveman on her. Well, he’d better recognize. She may have evolved from the slash-your-tires preacher’s daughter. But she was still a forge-her-own-path preacher’s wife.

  Lester walked out of the closet holding a dress shirt and tie. Rachel couldn’t help but notice it was his Valentino tie. Hmph, when she first met him, he didn’t even know how to spell “Valentino”!

  “Number one, I’m not going to be on TV looking crazy. I’m too classy for the trashy.” She smiled. That had just come to her. She would definitely have to use that phrase.

  Lester didn’t bother trying to hide his exasperation as he laid his shirt and tie on the bed. “Is there even such a thing as classy reality TV?”

  “If there wasn’t, there is now,” she replied.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “I worked out and ran two miles, so I know I’m real tart right about now.”

  Working out. Something else the new and improved Lester had started doing. Rachel followed him into the bathroom.

  “So, you’re not behind me on this?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest.

  Lester inhaled and turned to face her. “Rachel, you know I try to support you. But I just don’t understand the need to do this show.”

  She released a long sigh. She’d already had this conversation with her father, Simon, who was completely against her “airing all her business.” Now here Lester was giving her a hard time. This had been a dream come true that had fallen into her lap. No, Rachel and Oprah weren’t exactly the best of friends. But Rachel’s friend Melinda, a former reporter in Los Angeles, did just get hired as OWN’s vice president of programming, so when she shared the good news with Rachel, Rachel had suggested her reality show. Melinda had set up a meeting and Oprah loved the idea (which was a shock in itself because of the disaster Rachel and Jasmine had at the Oprah show last year). But the reality show—The First Lady—had been fast tracked and here they were. It was divine intervention.

  “Lester, it’s not like I went out looking for this. It fell into my lap and I would be a fool not to take advantage of this opportunity,” Rachel protested. He didn’t need to know that she had actively pursued her own show.

  He leaned in and turned the shower on. “As long as this doesn’t make us look bad. No fighting, hair pulling, and all that other stuff.”

  Rachel had to convince Lester to get behind her on this. She didn’t want to go to Atlanta, where they were filming, if her husband wasn’t completely on board. She would go, but she didn’t want to.

  “Of course not,” Rachel said. “It’s not like I’d get caught up in some mess like that anyway.”

  He smiled. “Don’t act like it’s beneath you.”

  “See, why’d you have to go there? That’s the old me. I don’t fight. Anymore. I’m above that. You’re always talking about spiritual growth, but you don’t want to believe that I’ve grown spiritually.”

  He leaned in and gave her a big kiss. She ignored his pungent smell and let him kiss her. “I believe you have, honey,” Lester said. “I’m just concerned.”

  “I’m serious, Lester. This is a great opportunity and I plan to take full advantage of it.” Rachel had put her foot down when Lester first said he’d been called to preach. But ultimately he’d called her bluff and did it anyway. She’d caved that time, but there would be no caving this time. Not where Oprah was concerned.

  “I just can’t believe Oprah gave you another shot,” Lester said.

  “She knows all of that drama wasn’t my fault. That was straight Jasmine.”

  “Why are you putting all the blame on Jasmine? I thought you two were girls.”

  “We are. Kinda sorta,” Rachel replied. “I mean, since I lost my mother, it’s great to have a mother figure like Jasmine in my life.”

  Lester laughed. “Mother? Really, Rachel?”

  Rachel frowned. “You’re right. Grandmother.”

  Lester laughed as he stepped into the shower. “Some things will never change,” he said over the running water. “I thought you all were over taking digs at each other.”

  “We are. But you know, with Jasmine, you just never know. You have to keep one eye open. Like Ephesians 24:7 says, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ ”

  Lester paused and frowned like he was thinking. He leaned his head out the shower. “Rachel, that’s not in the Bible. And Ephesians only has six chapters.”

  “I know, baby. I was just testing you. You know I was raised in the church. I know all the bible verses.”

  Lester laughed as he leaned back under the water. She could tell that even though he wasn’t feeling this reality show idea, he wasn’t going to fight her on it, which was a good thing because that was one battle he would not win.

  Rachel made her way downstairs just as the front doorbell rang. She peeked out the window and saw her best friend Twyla’s car. There went her peaceful evening. Rachel’s brother, David, had taken Rachel’s sons—Jordan and Lewis—to a baseball game and Twyla had taken the girls to a ballet performance at The Ensemble Theater. Now Rachel was going to have to listen to Brooklyn’s exciting recap for the next hour.

  Rachel swung the door open. “Hey, my—”

  “Shhh,” Twyla sai
d, motioning toward Brooklyn, who was sound asleep in her arms. “She’s knocked out.”

  Thank goodness, Rachel wanted to say.

  “Where’s Nia?” Rachel asked as Twyla walked in.

  “I hope you don’t mind. My niece is at my house and Nia had a fit to stay, so I let her stay. I’ll bring her back in the morning.” She laid Brooklyn down on the sofa in the living room. “But this one, she’s a handful.”

  Rachel laughed. “That she is.”

  “Well, she’s all yours now,” Twyla said, setting her little backpack down. “I need a bottled water.”

  Rachel motioned for Twyla to follow her into the kitchen.

  “Oh, yeah, I caught your interview on Access Hollywood earlier. Girl, you rocked it,” Twyla said as Rachel handed her a bottle of Oasis spring water. “But umm, why were you looking straight at the camera? Weren’t you supposed to be looking at the reporter?”

  “Supposed to, but when has Rachel Jackson Adams ever done anything she was supposed to do?” Rachel replied. “You know I wanted to be a reporter so I know how the game is played.”

  “Then, educate me because it looked crazy.”

  “Are you talking about it?” Rachel asked matter-of-factly.

  “Well, yes . . .”

  “I rest my case. I know how an interview is supposed to go, but the reality stars who are successful are the ones who are over the top. That’s going to be my thing. I’m going to be Gone-With-the-Wind fabulous. I have to be dramatic. That’s what the whole purpose of looking at the camera was. Get people buzzing.”

  Twyla released a small chuckle as she sipped her water. “I should’ve known you had something up your sleeve. What did your new BFF say when you told her about the show?”

  Rachel waved her comment off. “First of all, Jasmine is not and never will be my BFF. That’s reserved for you. Second, I didn’t tell her.”

  Twyla’s mouth fell open. She’d never personally met Jasmine, but she knew all about her and she definitely didn’t care for her. “So, she doesn’t know?”

  “She probably knows now if she was watching TV. My agent told me to keep it under wraps until we went public with the announcement.”

  “So, you got an agent now?” Twyla raised an eyebrow like she was really impressed.

  “I told you, I’m big time, girl. Anyone who doesn’t recognize needs to exit to the rear!” Rachel pointed over her shoulder.

  “Huh?” Twyla frowned.

  “I’m trying a few catchphrases.”

  Twyla laughed. “You are silly. But I still think your girl is gonna blow a gasket.”

  “Jasmine and I are cool now but you know, with her backstabbing history, I have to keep one eye open. Even if she tries to do right, Harriet Tubman might start planting some ideas in her head.”

  “Who?”

  “Mae Frances. You know I told you about Jasmine’s decrepit old friend/nanny/maid/lover, I don’t quite know what that old woman does. But she knows everybody and I don’t need her or Jasmine trying to pull any strings and get my show canceled.”

  “Why would they try to get your show canceled?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  Twyla shook her head. “Honey, just let me have a front-row seat when she finds out because something tells me she’s not going to take too kindly to this news.”

  “I’m not worried about Jasmine,” Rachel responded. “All I have to do is keep being friendly with her. She helped me out in Chicago so she thinks we’re all buddy-buddy now. I just need to keep making her think that and we’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. I guess you know what you’re doing.”

  “I do. I’m not trying to trip on Jasmine now. We seriously are in a much better place. As long as she stays cool, I’m cool.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that she is so not going to stay cool?”

  “Whatever. I’m the head diva in charge. I think she’s finally realized that.” Although Jasmine and Rachel talked only occasionally, Rachel thought Jasmine really had gotten over her jealousy at Lester’s winning the presidency of The American Baptist Coalition, which made Rachel the top First Lady. So, they were in a good space. And since no one was buying Jasmine’s claim of how she threw the election and let Lester win, Jasmine had finally let that ridiculous notion go and the two of them were getting along just fine.

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Twyla said, heading toward the door. “Because neither you or the ABC can stand anymore drama.”

  Rachel followed her best friend out. “Oh, I’m done with the drama. This will be smooth sailing. After all, it’s my world. My rules.” She snapped her fingers. That was it. That was her catchphrase!

  “I like that,” Twyla said.

  “Me, too.” They hugged and said their goodbyes.

  My world. My rules. That’s what her signature phrase would be, Rachel thought as she made her way back inside.

  Now that that was out of the way, Rachel was ready to get this show started and show the world the real First Lady of reality TV!

  Chapter

  THREE

  Natasia Redding

  Divine intervention!

  There was no other way to explain it. All it could be was God and His hands all up in this.

  “So, I take it that’s a yes!” Melinda said.

  “It’s a definite yes.” Natasia laughed. But then, she coughed.

  “Are you all right?” Melinda asked.

  “Yes, yes. Something caught in my throat.” She coughed again this time putting her hand over the phone, and when she found her voice, she said, “And yes to the job, too. I thought about it,” she continued, then added, “and, I prayed about it. I’m on board for First Ladies. Again, I have to thank you for thinking of me.”

  “You’re welcome. There are so few of us in this business; we have to stick together. And I’ve been a fan of yours since we met at the Emmys.”

  “Well, I’m a fan of yours, too,” Natasia said, and once again raked through her memories to find one of this woman. From the moment Melinda had called her last week about being the executive producer on her new reality show, to this minute, Natasia couldn’t ever remember meeting her. Even when she’d Googled her, Melinda’s face wasn’t familiar. But as Natasia had researched the new VP of OWN, she’d found Melinda’s accomplishments impressive, though not nearly as impressive as her own.

  But with the way Melinda kept raving about her, Natasia wasn’t about to tell her new boss that she wouldn’t even be able to pick her out of a police lineup. She may not have remembered the woman before, but from this point on, she’d always remember and think of Melinda as her angel. Natasia was riding Melinda’s angel wings right back to Hosea Bush.

  “So, we have a contract ready for you,” Melinda said. “I can email it to you and after you review, you can print out four copies, sign, and get it back to us.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll want a couple of days to go over it with my attorney.”

  “Of course. But if you can expedite this, I’d really appreciate it. Like I told you, we’re ready to begin filming within the next few weeks. So, we’ll relocate you down here to Atlanta as soon as it’s a go on both ends.”

  Natasia frowned. “Atlanta? Aren’t we filming in New York?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I thought I told you Atlanta. That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  “Uh . . . no,” Natasia stuttered, as all kinds of questions galloped through her mind. “I just thought . . . you said Jasmine Larson Bush was the First Lady on the show, correct?”

  “Yes, but she’s not the only one. I just mentioned her because I knew you’d worked on her husband’s show years ago.” Melinda paused for such a long moment that Natasia wondered if there was something more behind Melinda’s wanting her on the show. When Melinda first called, she’d mentioned Jasmine’s name as if she was just an ordinary First Lady in America. But now, Natasia wondered if Melinda knew any of the dirty details that were part of N
atasia and Jasmine’s history.

  Melinda continued, “The show centers on Jasmine and another First Lady, Rachel Jackson Adams out of Houston.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

  “Yes. And we’re looking for a third person, but we want someone out of Atlanta so that we won’t have the expense of relocating her. You’ll be involved in helping us choose the third one.”

  “So, that’s what you’re going to do? Relocate Jasmine and her family?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if she’s bringing her whole family. We have to sit down with Jasmine and Rachel to discuss that. Sometimes husbands, especially ones who are as prominent as Hosea Bush and Lester Adams, don’t want to have anything to do with these shows. But whatever, both Jasmine and Rachel will be relocated to Atlanta for the six weeks of taping. We figured that would be neutral territory.”

  Natasia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her cherrywood desk. The lines in her forehead deepened. If they weren’t going to tape in New York, what would this mean? Would Hosea actually leave his church for six weeks to film a reality show? Natasia couldn’t imagine that happening. So, if he wasn’t going to be in Atlanta, how would she make contact? He was the reason she was getting involved in what she anticipated to be nothing but a hot mess. A reality show? Really? Total madness!

  Maybe she could convince Melinda to tape the show in New York. She said, “I don’t get it, Melinda. Viewers surely know that Jasmine is married to Hosea Bush. And if they know that, then they know that he’s the pastor of one of the largest churches in New York. So, what’s he doing in Atlanta? How are you going to explain this to the viewers?” Even though Melinda couldn’t see her, Natasia shook her head. “That won’t work. The viewers will never believe it.”

  Melinda laughed like she’d just heard a good joke. “Obviously, you’re not a reality TV fan. The viewers don’t care where these people live or where they lived before. They don’t care if their husbands are there or not. These viewers just want the drama. And the more ratchet, the better.”

  Natasia groaned inside. See? Definitely madness! There was no way that she would ever lend her name to such a show—except, she had to do this. This was the doorway she needed.