Fortune & Fame: A Novel

by Murray, Victoria Christopher

  “Well, the limo is out front.”

  Lester lowered his voice. “A limo, Rachel?”

  She leaned in. “I told you to go with it. As long as the cameras are rolling, we don’t drive ourselves anywhere. Although I did rent a gorgeous white Range Rover in the event that we do have to drive.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, OWN is paying for it,” she lied again. She actually didn’t like lying to Lester, but sometimes the lie was easier than the truth.

  Lester looked like he didn’t want to argue either, because he just grabbed his briefcase, then took Rachel’s hand. “Look, I just came to see my beautiful wife, handle some ABC business—”

  Rachel didn’t let him finish. “Great, I was thinking I could come and take part in the meeting and we could film some of that.”

  “Absolutely not,” Lester said sternly. He turned his back to block the camera. “You have your own agenda with the ABC and you’re doing a great job. This is a financial board meeting and the last thing we’re going to do is have cameras rolling.”

  She waved him off. Not a battle worth fighting. She’d just find something else to film. She scooted Lester back her side and smiled widely. “Okay, darling. Come on. I can’t wait for you to see the house.”

  “I still can’t believe you rented a house without me seeing it,” Lester said once they were in the car and on their way to their North Atlanta–area home.

  “I told you to come down and help me pick it out.”

  “Rachel, I run a national organization and I pastor a church, I’m kinda busy. I’m sorry I couldn’t fit it into my schedule.”

  “Well, you’re here now.” Rachel scooted in closer to Lester, snuggling up next to him. The last thing she was about to do was get into it with Lester in front of the cameras. “I can’t wait for you to see our new home.”

  Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up to the palatial estate. When Rachel found out Jasmine had rented a four-thousand-square-foot home, she’d had to one-up her and get a seven-thousand-square-foot home. Of course, where Jasmine was from, four thousand square feet seemed like a big deal, but in Texas you could find four thousand square feet in the ’hood. No, real homes were Texas-size. Real homes were this.

  “Really, Rachel?” Lester said as they got out of the limo.

  He looked over at the camera, which was already set up and filming. “Don’t look at the camera, baby,” Rachel said. “Everything is supposed to be natural.”

  “Oh, good grief,” Lester replied.

  “Can you get our bags, Farnsworth?” Rachel loudly told the limo driver.

  “Is his name really Farnsworth?” Lester whispered.

  Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know, but doesn’t it sound regal?”

  Lester laughed. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Love me,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him up the walkway.

  “Let us go in first,” Chauncey said, as he and the sound and lighting guys scurried ahead of them.

  Lester and Rachel waited a few minutes, then walked inside.

  Lester gasped the minute he set foot in the massive foyer. “Whoa, this is bigger than our house in Houston.”

  “Yes, and as soon as our taping wraps up, we’re going to have to talk about that.” Rachel loved her home in Houston, but this, this was how stars lived. The grand foyer with a rotunda led to a large formal living area. The chef’s kitchen featured two islands and custom finishes. The family room led to an exterior veranda overlooking an immaculately landscaped backyard and pool.

  “Did you know this home used to belong to one of Evander Holyfield’s baby mamas?” Rachel asked. “We’re renting, but I personally think we need to make an offer and make this our permanent Atlanta home.”

  “Well, we won’t permanently be here,” Lester replied as he continued to look around in awe.

  Another battle she’d deal with later, because in her short time here, Rachel had decided this definitely needed to be her second home. This was where the movers and shakers were, and since she was definitely about to be shaking some things up, she needed to be right in the mix.

  “This is nice, hon, but I don’t know why we need all this space. It’s not like the kids are even here.” He turned to face her. “I think you’re getting a little too into the high life.”

  “Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” Rachel took his hand and led him through the rest of the house, giving him the grand tour from the piano room to the guest house.

  “Well, Rachel, I must say, when you do it, you do it big,” Lester said as they descended the back staircase.

  “That’s the only way to do it.” She paused, giving Chauncey and crew time to catch up. “Well, the chef is preparing us dinner.”

  “Chef?” Lester asked.

  “What? You’re the one who just said I do it big.”

  After the crew had gotten a few more shots, Rachel knew she could no longer put off the inevitable.

  “Hey, Chauncey, you got enough?”

  “Yeah, I think we’re good.” He motioned to the rest of the crew to wrap things up. Rachel walked them to the door, then stood, inhaled, and turned to go back to face her husband.

  Rachel slid into the seat across the table from him. “Remember, I told you there were some other First Ladies that they brought in for the show.” Lester nodded. “Well, Jasmine is one of them and you’re not going to believe who the other one is.”

  “Who?”

  “It has taken everything in my power not to tell you this earlier, but I wanted to tell you face-to-face.” She took a deep breath. “It’s Mary.”

  “Mary who?” Lester asked without skipping a beat.

  “Your Mary,” she said, trying not to get angry all over again.

  “I don’t have a Mary. I have a Rachel. That’s all I have,” he said defensively.

  “You know what I mean, Lester.”

  Lester paused like he was waiting for her to burst out laughing or something. Finally he said, “Mary Richardson? That can’t be. Mary’s in prison.”

  “Not anymore,” Rachel replied. “She’s out and she got her a bootleg version of you. They have a church here in Atlanta and somehow they managed to finagle their way onto the show.”

  Lester fell back in his seat. “Wow. Rachel, that spells nothing but drama. We may need to rethink this show.”

  “Too late, we’ve already shot too many episodes and seriously, it hasn’t been a problem. She keeps her distance from me and I don’t punch her in the eye.”

  “Not good. Not good,” he said.

  Rachel wasn’t trying to hear all that. “Well, I just didn’t want you to be shocked. I’m not going to embarrass you.”

  Rachel planned to hold true to her promise. The last thing she was ever going to do was be on someone’s TV fighting. She was too classy for that. Even though those hoodboogers, Jasmine and Mary, tried to push her, she was hip to their game and knew how to play it. So, while they’d had more than their share of verbal sparring, she hadn’t laid a finger on anyone.

  “Don’t worry, Lester, everything will be fine. I promise.” Rachel truly hoped that she could keep her promise. So far, so good, but they still had four weeks of filming left to go.

  Chapter

  FIFTEEN

  Jasmine

  Jasmine paced from one end of the master suite to the other. This time, she had to have the right words. This time, she had to convince Hosea that he had to tell her what was going on. Today had to be different from all the other times.

  It had been a week and a day since Natasia had stumbled up to the altar and whispered something in Hosea’s ear. Something that was enough to drain the color from Hosea’s face. Something that was serious enough for Hosea to motion to his assistant pastor to take over while he took Natasia’s hand and swept her from the sanctuary.

  Jasmine had jumped from her place of honor on the front pew, but by the time she raced past the altar to the other side of the bui
lding, Hosea and Natasia could not be seen.

  She’d rushed to her husband’s office; the door was closed.

  She’d twisted the knob; it was locked.

  She was about to bang on the door like she was part of Homeland Security, but then suddenly the door opened.

  “I was just coming out to see you,” he said, stepping into the hallway, though he left the door open just a little bit.

  “Hosea, what’s going on?” she asked and at the same time, she tried to get a peek inside. She moved her head to the left, then to the right. She even stood on her toes, trying to peer over Hosea’s shoulder. She could see that no one was in his outer office and that made her fume. He’d taken Natasia into his private office? Why?

  She tried to take a step forward, but Hosea stood as stiff and solid as a tree, not giving her enough space to move an inch.

  “I need just a little time in here,” he whispered.

  “For what?”

  “Please, honey. I need to speak to Natasia.” Then, he paused, and finally added, “Alone.”

  It was the word that had come after the pause that set her heart pumping.

  “Why alone? You never speak to women alone.”

  Even though it had been the church’s policy for the last few years not to ever have a male pastor alone with a female member, Hosea, who always played by the rules, didn’t even hesitate when he said, “It’s all right this time. I promise you, it’s fine. Just let me do this, please.”

  Jasmine wondered which part of her expression had gotten to him—her fear or her anger. Either way, he added, “Trust me.” Then, he’d stepped away from her and shut the door before she could protest anymore.

  Jasmine had stood there, not knowing what to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Hosea, it was that she knew Natasia was a direct descendant of the snake that first came to notoriety in the Book of Genesis. She couldn’t be trusted because she was full of lies. But on the other side, Natasia also knew some truth.

  It was the truth that Natasia knew, the truth that she’d been working on the show and Jasmine had never said a word to Hosea—it was that truth that made Jasmine knock on the door. She knew Hosea wasn’t going to be happy, but he had to let her in.

  She was right—Hosea was pissed when just a second later, he opened the door.

  She was wrong—he was not about to let her inside.

  “I’m doing what God’s called me to do, Jasmine. Just take the children home, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  This time, he’d slammed the door. And that pissed her off. Not because he’d done that, but because he’d done that with that witch in his inner office.

  But without any choices, Jasmine had gone back into the sanctuary, gotten Mrs. Sloss, and together, they gathered Jacquie and Zaya from Children’s Church. But Jasmine’s thoughts stayed on Hosea and Natasia the entire time. From the time she got everyone into the car, until she finally curved her car around the circular driveway of their Atlanta home, all Jasmine could think about was what Natasia was saying to Hosea.

  It was going to be a mess, she knew that. He wasn’t going to be happy that she’d lied to him yet again . . . even if it was by omission.

  Desperation made Jasmine jump out of the car the moment she turned off the engine, and over her shoulder, she’d yelled to Mrs. Sloss to take care of the children. Then, Jasmine had hiked up her pencil skirt and she’d taken the steps two at a time, before she barged into Mae Frances’s bedroom without even knocking.

  Even though her friend was wrapped tightly under a bunch of blankets and was snoring, Jasmine shook her until her eyes snapped open.

  Jasmine asked, “Were you asleep?”

  “Not anymore,” Mae Frances had wheezed, her cough sounding as if she had pounds of mucus in her chest.

  In the eight years that Jasmine had known Mae Frances, she’d never seen this woman sick. But Mae Frances had missed a week of filming and two Sundays of church. Her friend was not playing about this because only sickness or death could’ve kept Mae Frances away from the camera or from God.

  But Jasmine also knew Mae Frances was all about being in the mix. She’d want to know what was going on, even in her sickness. So, Jasmine had jumped into the king-size bed with Mae Frances and spilled out her story.

  At the end, Jasmine said, “I knew we should’ve gotten rid of Natasia sooner.”

  With a voice that was soft and weak, Mae Frances responded, “I think you’re in trouble now, Jasmine Larson.”

  Jasmine leaped from the bed and put her hands on her hips. “That’s all you got, Mae Frances? I need some help.”

  Mae Frances released a long stream of coughs before she wheezed out, “I tried to get her fired, but Stedman wasn’t having it.”

  “You did? When?”

  Another round of coughs and then, “Jasmine Larson, I don’t tell you everything I do. I just bring you the results. And I couldn’t get the results this time.”

  “Well, then, we have to try something else. What else can you do? Who can you talk to?”

  Mae Frances shook her head, rolled over, and flopped back down onto her pillow. “I’d help you if I could, but I’m dying!”

  “Mae Frances! You just have a cold. Come on, I need you.”

  But when her friend didn’t respond, Jasmine ambled out of her room. Without Mae Frances to hold her hand, she’d been left to wait alone for Hosea to come home from church. She’d counted the seconds that turned into minutes that became hours. It wasn’t until the daylight began to fade to night that Hosea finally stepped into their house.

  His face was filled with lines as if he was frowning and exhausted and sad all at once. And his shoulders were slumped as if he carried more weight than he was used to.

  “Is everything all right?” Jasmine asked, trying to gauge the situation before she said anything more.

  He’d only shaken his head, slumped down on the bed, and looked down at his hands.

  She sat next to him and repeated her question.

  He said, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  With an inhale, she said, “Just answer it with the truth.”

  He nodded. “The truth. You want the truth.” He paused. “Well, why didn’t you tell me the truth about Natasia.”

  Jasmine sucked in air.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that she was working on the show?”

  She’d just asked him for the truth, so Jasmine decided to do something she didn’t do all that often. She decided that she would tell him the truth. “I didn’t tell you because I was afraid,” she said. “The last time Natasia came into our lives, it wasn’t very good. It almost . . . broke us.”

  The truth worked. Without saying a word, Hosea lifted his arm, wrapped it around Jasmine, and drew her close to him.

  The move surprised her; she was relieved.

  Softly, he’d said, “Nothing is going to break us, darlin’. You’ve got to know that, you’ve got to believe that.”

  “I want to believe that, but—” She stopped.

  “You can believe it. We’ve been through it all. There’s nothing that can come at us now. Nothing that can ever come between us.”

  Her worry dissipated, lifting off her like a rising cloud. She felt so good, she wanted to cry. Hosea held her in his arms, and Jasmine knew that no matter what Natasia had said, it hadn’t worked. Hosea was not upset with her; all was right with her world.

  Until he said, “I have to go back out.”

  “Okay. Where are you going?”

  It was an innocuous question. Jasmine had asked, even though she believed she already knew the answer. She expected her husband to say that he was going to meet with the assistant pastors. Or maybe even Frank Anderson, his new armor bearer.

  But Hosea didn’t say any of the names she expected. Instead, he crushed her with “I have to meet with Natasia.”

  “What! Why? You just left her.”

  He stood up, then knelt in front of her. Holding her hands, he
said, “There’s something that’s happened, something that I can’t talk to you about.”

  “Something about Natasia?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s going on, Hosea?”

  “I just told you, I can’t talk about it.”

  “You’re my husband. We’re supposed to talk about everything.”

  “But she came to me in church, she came to me as a pastor, and I would never talk to you or anyone else about anything that I’ve been told in confidence. I can’t do that. People have to trust me. Natasia trusts me.”

  As Hosea pushed himself up and sauntered into his closet, Jasmine wanted to scream some sense into her husband. She wanted to tell him that this was just a trick. She wanted to remind him of just how duplicitous Natasia was, and all the lowdown, dirty things she’d done before. She wanted to ask how could Natasia expect trust from anyone when she herself could never be trusted?

  But the shock of the whole situation kept Jasmine silent. She sat on the edge of that bed until Hosea had come out of his closet, dressed in a jogging suit and sneakers.

  He leaned over, kissed Jasmine’s forehead, then looked into her eyes. “I love you and only you,” he said as if he was sure she needed to hear that. “Trust me.”

  Those words were wonderful, but they weren’t enough. If he really loved her, he would tell her what was going on so that she could help him see that that woman was a liar and the truth was not within her, on top of her, beneath her, or anywhere near her.

  She didn’t say anything, though, and he left, leaving her to do nothing except sit and wonder and count the passing seconds until he returned a little more than ninety minutes later.

  The rest of that Sunday evening was spent as if all was normal. They’d sat together with the children as they prepared for bed. They’d prayed with their son, and then their daughter, before they checked on Mae Frances, wished Mrs. Sloss a good night, then retired to their own bedroom where they spent the next hours like the lovers they were.

  There had been no place during that time for Jasmine to interrupt their heaven and bring up the devil.

  But first thing Monday morning, she did.

  “Hosea,” she’d began, “I’m not asking you to tell me anything personal about Natasia. I just think it’s important that I know what’s going on with her.” When he’d stared at her as if he wasn’t about to have this conversation, she’d added “Since I have to work with her.”