Jessa closed her eyes as she tilted her back and released a long, steady breath filled with all of her stresses. She hadn’t even decided if she was going to have the baby yet—if she even deserved to have the baby—but today when Jaime pushed her and she thought she was going to tumble down the stairs, her first thought had been the baby. Her baby.
Her baby by the married man who killed himself after trying to kill her because she wanted to end their affair.
My life is a fucking soap opera.
Turning from the mirror, she quickly walked back into the bedroom and snatched up the deep purple sheer demi-bra and thong she had laid out earlier. She pulled on a fitted matte jersey dress, but then changed her mind and grabbed a pair of linen slacks and button-up white shirt to put on instead. The dress said vamp. Not the image she needed for where she was going.
It took her just twenty minutes to drive to the hospital and another five minutes to find the chaplain’s office. It was late and it was hardly the spot for a confession, but Jessa knew she had to lay her burdens somewhere in order to make some hard decisions on what to do.
Taking just a moment to pause, Jessa knocked briefly on his door.
“Come in.”
She entered and smiled a bit as the chaplain, Reverend Dobbins, rose from his seat and barely looked that much taller. He was a man of short stature with a pleasant round face and not a bit of neck. His scalp and cheeks were almost as red as his hair. But his presence that night had calmed her, and tonight she sought that same peace as she struggled with all of the repercussions of her affair with her best friend’s husband.
“Hello, Reverend Dobbins,” she said, strolling into the brightly lit office, and extended her hand to him.
He nodded and smiled, causing his cheeks to rise and nearly close his eyes. “How are you, Ms. Bell?” he asked, patting the back of her hand while he warmly shook it.
Jessa settled into the seat he offered with a wave of his hand. “You remember me?” she asked, setting her clutch in her lap as she crossed her ankles.
Reverend Dobbins nodded. “Of course, and I’ve been praying for you,” he said, taking his seat. “Your story was quite unforgettable, Jessa.”
“That’s an understatement,” she joked lightly, looking down at her hands briefly. “And there’s more.” More than I am even willing to acknowledge.
“Okay.”
Jessa sat back in the chair. “I truly want to be forgiven by God—”
“You have been,” Revered Dobbins added gently.
“Without question He forgave you as soon as you asked him to.”
Jessa was confused. “And it’s just that simple?” she asked.
“Absolutely.”
“But how can he forgive me when I can’t seem to forgive myself? I honestly believe that all of my sins were the reason I was almost killed a couple of weeks ago. You know? Karma, right?”
Reverend Dobbins shook his head. “The Lord doesn’t punish us for our sins ... and you can’t continue to punish yourself. The only way to move forward and to feel better and to do better is to say I messed up, but I see where I went wrong and I won’t do it again.”
“But I am still dealing with my anger and I have done things since I was released from the hospital that were wrong, but in the moment it felt like I needed to pay back the people who hurt me.” Jessa thought of Renee’s dismissal, Kingston’s anger, and Jaime’s scorn.
“Again, you recognize your misstep, you pray for strength and guidance, and you make the correction. No one is perfect.”
Jessa fell silent.
“Have you been reading your Bible, attending a church, or going to Bible study?” he asked.
She shook her head, feeling conflicted. She understood the anger everyone had for her, but she had never been one to let anyone talk to her or treat her any kind of way. “I tried to apologize to these people, Reverend, and everyone threw it back in my face. So why should I still feel guilty if I am saying I was wrong?”
“You have to be just as willing to forgive as you are to be forgiven.”
Jessa hated the tears that filled her eyes. “But I feel like I am being punished for my sins and I don’t want that on me.”
Reverend Dobbins leaned forward and folded his pudgy hands on top of his desk. “Are you truly regretful of your actions, or are you doing what you think God wants you to do to be forgiven?”
“I want back in God’s good graces,” Jessa admitted with ease, blinking away her tears.
“But are you truly regretful of your actions?”
Was she? Jessa stood and paced in his small generic office. “This is not me. I do not feel like me,” she stressed.
“And so the change has to be with you, Jessa, and not with other people.”
Jessa crossed her arms over her chest as she continued to pace back and forth. She stopped and faced the clergyman. “So I shouldn’t think of this baby as another payback for all my secrets and sins?” she asked softly.
Reverend Dobbins’s blue eyes filled with surprise. “You’re pregnant?”
“By the man who tried to kill me,” Jessa added before he even needed to ask. She felt overcome with emotions and tears filled her eyes. “All I can think about is this baby growing up and people pointing fingers or talking about all the scandal or that their mama was a mistress. I don’t want that for this child.”
Jessa dropped down into her chair and covered her mouth with her hands as she tried to breathe through the tightness in her chest as her tears flowed freely. “I don’t want my sins on this baby,” she whispered brokenly through her tears. “And there are things no one knows. Things I will carry to my grave. But why should this baby suffer? I don’t deserve this baby.”
And there was the truth.
Suddenly, Jessa felt Revered Dobbins’s presence near her and she looked up as he took her hand in his and knelt.
“That baby, even in the midst of the darkness of your life, is a blessing. God has blessed you, Jessa, and only you can write the story of your life that will be told.”
Jessa nodded, but her doubts nipped at her.
“I’m going to give you some Scriptures that I want you to read every day. But right now I want to pray with you, child. Can we pray?”
Jessa lowered her head and closed her eyes, tightening her grasp on Reverend Dobbins’s hands as he began to pray for her strength and serenity in a low voice that was meant for just them and God to hear.
Jessa returned to her beautiful home in Richmond Hills, among the neighbors who scorned her, just as confused as ever. Was she ready to have this baby? Was she ready to take the walk to being saved? How often would her anger and need for revenge cause her to backslide? How many times could God truly forgive?
She pulled up to her mailbox and was surprised to find nothing but a business card when she reached her hand in for the mail. Frowning, she reached up to turn on the interior light as she looked down at it. “VINCENT GRANT. INSURANCE AGENT,” Jessa read aloud.
Jessa tossed it onto her passenger seat, assuming a random insurance agent was going house to house to sell premiums. When she reached up to turn off the interior light, she noticed handwriting on the back of the card that had flipped over when she tossed it. Frowning again, she picked it up.
She read aloud again:
“Perhaps this time we could dine together at the Terrace Room. Call me.”
She immediately thought of the man at the restaurant that day trying to get her attention before his wife, woman, or whatever walked up. She suspected he was also the one who sent the note to her that day. “And now he had his happy ass to my house?”
Jessa turned her car onto the driveway and grabbed her cell phone. She blocked her number and dialed his cell phone.
“Hello.”
“Mr. Grant, this is Jessa Bell,” she said, shutting off the Jag and climbing out of it to stride up the drive to her front door. “I don’t know how in the hell you got inside Richmond Hills—”
&nbs
p; “I live here. Me and my wife just moved in around the corner about a month ago,” he said.
“What the fuck ever? Didn’t you just say you were married, so why the hell are you dropping notes in my mailbox?” she snapped.
“Oh. I assumed you didn’t care—”
“You assumed wrong,” Jessa told him in a hard voice, her heart pounding just as hard.
“I just wanted to try some pussy that was good enough to make a nigga wanna kill you,” he said. “Sheee-it.”
Jessa pulled the phone from her face as she walked inside her house. “My patience is just as short as your penis, so stay the hell away from me, freak.”
She ended the call and fought the urge to throw her phone against a wall.
You brought this on yourself. You made them think you are a serial mistress. The eternal side-chick.
Kicking off her heels, Jessa jumped a little when her landline phone rang suddenly, echoing inside the spacious house. She padded barefoot into the kitchen and grabbed the cordless from its base on the granite countertop. She looked down at it and didn’t recognize the number but knew it was a New York area code.
Jessa answered it. “Hello.”
“Hello, is this Jessa Bell?” a female voice asked.
“Yes ... and you are?” Jessa asked coolly, her guard immediately up.
“My name is Myra Moseley and I am with Power Up Publicity,” she began, her voice husky and refined but with a tinge of a street vibe around the edges.
Another Aria, Jessa thought. “I’m not sure why you would be calling me, Myra?” Jessa said, sounding and feeling tired. She just wanted to go bed—well, drink a glass of wine and go to bed, but that was a no-no now.
“Well, I have a friend at the news station in your hometown there in Jersey who sent me info on your story.”
Jessa immediately tensed.
“And I thought the statement you made after you left the funeral really struck a chord with me, and I think there’s an audience out there who can either relate to your story or learn something from it. You are absolutely right. Why on earth do you deserve to be brutally attacked in your home for ending an affair that everyone blames you for anyway.”
Jessa remained quiet, still wary, but listening.
“With my connections, your story, and how well you come off on camera, I think we can really get you booked on talk shows across the country and give you a chance to tell your story. Give you a chance to put a spin on how your life is told.”
Jessa licked her lips. “Why open myself up to more attention and speculation and judgment. For what reason?” she asked, turning to set her clutch and her keys on the counter before walking to her restaurant-quality refrigerator and grabbing a bottled water.
“I’m here to tell you, Jessa—can I call you Jessa?”
“Sure.”
“Jessa, that local news station is already pushing this story to break nationally. It would be a big boost for them and that newscaster who is all over this. The only thing you can do is get out there and tell your own damn story ... especially the ex-mistress who is regretting her decision to be the other woman.”
Jessa thought the woman’s words rung so close to her counsel from Reverend Dobbins.
“Only I can write the story of my life that will be told,” she said softly, almost to herself as she remembered his words of advice as she pressed her hand to her belly.
“That’s right, Jessa. Only you.”
Chapter 5
Two weeks later
Jessa held up her hand to the makeup artist and yawned. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I am so tired.”
“That’s okay. We’ll be done soon,” the young black woman said, her dreadlocks as thick as sausage links and long enough to reach her lower back.
Jessa shifted her eyes from the woman’s face to her reflection in the lit mirror running above the long counter of the hair and makeup for The Kerry Kay Show.
Jessa was nervous, but she was determined to work this interview for everything it could bring her. Kerry Kay was no Jeremy Kyle or Jerry Springer with its edgy tone and rowdy audience. Kerry Kay was on the verge of becoming the next Oprah Winfrey or Barbara Walters.
“How you feeling?”
Jessa shifted her eyes up as Myra strolled into the room. Again, Jessa noted how the woman didn’t resemble what she imagined on the phone. The short and petite woman with the big corn-fed smile was not the overly gorgeous, supremely confidant, diva in training. Myra said she loved to be underestimated.
“I’m fine,” Jessa lied, refusing to show the nerves that had her stomach bundled in a tight knot.
Myra looked at her with eyes that could con a homeless person out of their last nickel. “Could I have a quick second with her?” she asked the makeup artist.
“Sure.”
Jessa spun in the chair to face her publicist as the woman left the room. “What’s up?” she asked, already knowing what was coming.
Myra smiled, big and bright. “Listen, I know you’re Ms. Sophistication personified, but this whole cool exterior is going to put people off and alienate you.”
Jessa crossed her legs. She knew Myra was good at what she did. Jessa did her homework and the woman handled some heavyweight New York clients. Certainly not A-list clients but was well-respected, and Jessa went with her because she was drinking the Kool-Aid the woman was pushing.
Myra had plans for her. Big plans. Jessa was on board.
But...
“I’m not going on television and crying like Jimmy Swaggart. I am apologetic. I am more enlightened since I almost died. I am willing to tell my story. I am not going to make an ass out of myself,” Jessa stressed, her eyes showing no room for debate on that.
“But you can’t come off like the cold-hearted side-chick on the come-up,” Myra stressed back.
“Side-chick? Come-up?” Jessa said with a disgruntled eye. She knew exactly what the terms meant, she just refused to acknowledge them as part of her vocabulary. Next I’ll be head bobbing, chewing gum, and saying “Nigga, please” on the regular.
“How about this? Just be real to how you feel and don’t try to hide behind the cool façade,” Myra suggested. “The point is to come off like the reformed mistress, not a spotlight-grabbing, money-hungry charlatan soaking up five minutes of fame like these reality TV chicks.”
“Okay,” Jessa agreed, just to end the conversation.
Thankfully, Myra left the subject alone after one last squeeze of Jessa’s hands before she moved to the door to wave the makeup artist back in. Jessa felt a wave of nausea hit her. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply until the moment had passed.
Morning sickness was taking its toll on her. The doctor said it should get better in the next few weeks after she entered her second trimester and Jessa couldn’t wait. She thought about the baby she was carrying. It all seemed unreal.
“Okay, all done.”
Jessa opened her eyes and nodded in appreciation. The makeup was less dramatic than her normal bright red lipstick and heavily done eyes. Myra thought a more natural look was best. That and the wide-leg pantsuit she wore that was a far cry from the form-fitting, well-tailored designer dresses she preferred on her curvaceous shape.
Jessa actually thought she looked younger. Humph, well, I’ll be damned. Maybe less is more.
One of the show’s associate producers popped her head in. “We’re ready for Jessa,” she said to Myra.
Jessa rose to her feet, trying not to feel like one of those ass backward Jerry Springer guests waiting to air their person problems on the show.
The travel, accommodations, and personal car service had been far above anything she was sure most talk shows were doling out, but still, what was she opening herself up for?
“Jessa, they’re ready for you,” Myra said, standing in the doorway.
Jessa gave herself one last perusal in the mirror before leaving the room. God, please strengthen me ...
“Jessa, you admit that you entered
into an affair with a man who was married to one of your closest friends and also a good friend of your deceased husband?”
Jessa nodded her head as she looked across the small divide at Kerry Kay sitting next to her. She was an average height woman with dark flawless skin and a beauty that was as regal as an African queen. She was pretty. She was smart. She was relatable. She was on target to fill the gap left by Oprah.
“That is true unfortunately,” Jessa finally admitted, crossing her legs in the oversized club chair in which she sat.
The audience stirred.
Jessa looked out at the hundreds of audience members as they suddenly stirred as their murmurs rose. She looked slightly pensive as she imagined one of the women jumping to her feet and screaming “Whore!” at her as she pointed.
“I think I chose to deal with the sudden death of my husband—whom I loved deeply—by turning what was a love between friends into something more ... particularly when I noticed that his attention had changed. We shared a look and I knew that he looked at me different, and it nudged me to view him in the same way. I wish now that we never had that moment.”
Kerry Kay eyed her. “Why specifically?” she asked as she settled her chin in her hand and leaned in to watch Jessa closely.
Jessa wanted to snap, “Get out of my face!” but instead she licked her lips.
“There were so many repercussions of the affair. I ended friendships because of it, and then when I told him that it was over and that I wasn’t interested in the secrecy and the lying anymore, he became ... different. He changed.”
“He stalked you?” Kerry asserted.
Jessa nodded. “Yes, he still wanted his wife and me. He wasn’t willing to take no and ... and ...”
Her words faltered as she was pulled back to that night. Eric’s erratic behavior. His cruel words. His hands on her neck. The breath leaving her body. Unconsciousness ...
She was surprised by the tear that raced down her cheek.
Kerry leaned over to press a soft tissue into her hand. “And what?” she gently urged.
Mistress, Inc. Page 6
