It wasn’t until this moment that Jasmine realized this wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d expected. The sound of his voice brought back his harsh words. The sight of him brought back the desires she’d held.
“With the exception of my birthday two years ago, it’s been a long time since I’ve shared the pulpit with anyone in my family. But today is a new day.” He chuckled.
“Amen,” someone shouted.
The reverend continued, “Today, someone is back. Back in New York. Back in the pulpit,” he sang the last words.
“Hallelujah,” another voice rang out.
“What’s he talking about?” Jasmine whispered.
Malik shrugged.
“I could stand here for hours and tell you the virtues of this man.” He laughed. “But that would take too long and like any good meal, I’d rather go straight for the meat.” Most of the congregation joined in his laughter. “Brothers and sisters, join me in welcoming my son, Minister Hosea Samuel Bush.”
The cheers were instant and deafening. While most around her stood, Jasmine sat, and tapped her hands in light applause. So, his son was visiting. She had to keep her yawn inside.
Then she heard him. Heard him before she saw him.
“Hello, City of Lights,” his voice boomed from the podium.
The cheers grew louder. The drummer drummed, the pianist played a few chords.
Slowly Jasmine stood.
When the clapping ceased, the reverend’s son said, “I cannot tell you how happy I am to be back. And I’m here to stay, ready to stand by my father’s side.”
The applause began again, but Jasmine couldn’t do anything more than stare. After minutes of keeping her eyes trained on the speaker, she was sure. It was him. The man who had helped her at the airport. The man who snored. The man to whom she’d given a bogus telephone number.
Reverend Bush was back at the altar. “Now I know my son won’t tell you what’s been going on,” he said, still beaming. “But I can brag on him. Some big things are happening,” he exclaimed as he clapped his hands. “You already know that he’s become a licensed minister while he’s been in Chicago. And he’s going to be heading up the Teen Outreach Program for us with our new community center.”
Choruses of “Amen” and “Hallelujah” rang through the sanctuary.
Reverend Bush continued, “But the Lord has opened up a bigger door. Hosea was selected by NBC to host Bring It On, the new hip-hop Christian talk show.”
Applause exploded through the sanctuary again.
I’m in television, the explanation he’d given to her on the plane, rushed back to her.
The words that were spoken now from the pulpit floated over her, past her. Nothing connected. Only her eyes worked. She stared at Hosea and today saw his tailored suit that looked as expensive as the one his father wore. And in the pulpit, he didn’t seem to be as overweight as she remembered. She recalled the glint of the gem in his ear and the glimmer of the stones on his watch. Probably not rhinestones, like she’d thought the other day.
Jasmine slowly took her seat, but her mind continued to move, calculate, evaluate. Hosea Samuel Bush. He was in television. And he was a minister. And he was Reverend Samuel Bush’s son.
Her glance moved between the two men. She would never have thought he’d have a son that old, although she didn’t know his age. But age—what did it matter? She could be any age she needed to be.
Jasmine crossed her legs and smiled. How poetic was this justice? This had to be God’s way of letting her know she was on the right mission: she was supposed to be married—to a pastor—with the last name of Bush.
As the service continued through the offering and the sermon, Jasmine kept her eyes on Hosea Samuel Bush. As he spoke, she listened, needing to glean all that was important to him. As he sat, she watched his movements, his gestures, his eyes.
And when he looked into the congregation and blessed them all with his smile, her affection grew. By the time Jasmine stood with the rest of the congregation for the benediction, she was sure. This was the day she’d fallen in love—for real, this time.
Chapter 11
FEBRUARY 2004
Jasmine’s eyes were on the prize.
She stood alone in the reception line, glad that Malik had rushed to a meeting right after the benediction. Gave her time to focus on the reverend’s son, without any questions from her godbrother.
She still couldn’t fathom this. Even though she’d watched him for two hours, it was hard to believe: Hosea Bush was Reverend Bush’s son. And the new host of Bring It On. This program was the talk on all the entertainment shows. It may have been pegged as a Christian show, but it was the hip-hop factor that had everyone interested. Hosea would be hosting the show with Triage Blue, a P. Diddy protégé, and Magdalene, known as a hip-hop princess with an inspirational twist.
She wasn’t yet in front of him when his eyes met hers. At first, recognition, then confusion, next surprise. By the time his smile was back, she was holding his hand.
“Remember me?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
“How could I forget?” He paused, widening his smile. “What are you doing here?” She noticed that he was still holding her hand. “Did you come to welcome me back to City of Lights?”
She shook her head. “I just started coming here and was surprised by Reverend Bush’s announcement this morning.”
“So that’s why you’re here. I would’ve thought you’d come to apologize for giving me that bogus telephone number.”
Silently, she cursed, but aloud, she said, “What are you talking about?” She frowned as if she were confused.
“Uh, son,” Reverend Bush interrupted. “You have a line of people waiting.” Although Reverend Bush kept his welcoming expression, his eyes told Jasmine that he was not pleased with whatever she was doing.
“Jasmine, can you wait for me?” Hosea asked.
“Sure.” She was glad to have the time—to come up with some story about that fake telephone number.
Jasmine sank into the front pew and watched Hosea greeting, smiling, chatting as if he were used to that position. Almost a half an hour passed before Hosea whispered to his father and then motioned to her. Even from feet away, Jasmine could see Reverend Bush’s concern. She hoped that Hosea wouldn’t see it too, but then again, it didn’t matter. There was nothing the father could do. The son was a grown man.
Her smile was waiting when he walked over.
“So, we meet again,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
“Are you?”
“Of course. I enjoyed talking to you on the plane.”
His laugh was so infectious she laughed with him. Finally he said, “I tried to call you yesterday.”
She was too proficient in the game to even blink. “Really?” She tilted her head. “I didn’t get any messages.”
His smirk told her that he was willing to play along. “I didn’t leave one.”
“I wish you had. But this must be fate. We were supposed to meet.”
He nodded and his eyes seared through her. The intensity of his glance swept away her smile. Finally, he spoke, “I don’t believe in fate. But God’s divine intervention…that’s something different.”
His words were as strong as his glance; after only seconds, she had to turn away.
“So, are we going to get together?” he asked, breaking the silence, easing the tension.
“I’d like that,” she said, facing him again.
“What about now?”
She raised her eyebrows, surprised at his offer. Over his shoulder, she watched Brother Hill whisper to Reverend Bush and then both of their glances turned toward her and Hosea. “Are you sure it’s okay with your father?”
He turned toward the men. “Oh, I forgot.” He grinned. “You make me forget things.” He laughed again. “So, let’s do it this way.” From his wallet, he handed her a card. “Call me later and we’ll set something up.”
�
��Okay, and let me give you my number too.”
He held up his hands. “No, we tried that. This time it’s on you.”
That was fine with her. He was just making her plan easier. “I’ll call you tonight.”
He took her hand into his. “I’m looking forward to it.” He lifted her hand to his lips, then suddenly turned it over, kissing her palm. Sparks charged right through her and she hoped he couldn’t see the way she shook.
She stood in place until Hosea strolled to his father and Brother Hill, and the three men walked from the sanctuary.
It still took a moment for Jasmine’s legs to steady. Finally, with slow steps, she walked from the church. What just happened? she asked herself. She still trembled at the way his lips felt against her hand.
But by the time she stood on the corner and flagged a cab, Jasmine had gained her composure. She reminded herself that this was her pursuit, her game. And very soon, Hosea Bush would know that too.
Chapter 12
It couldn’t have been more than thirty degrees outside, but thoughts of Hosea warmed her. She’d asked the cab driver to let her out on Sixty-third Street, wanting to walk the rest of the twenty blocks. The fresh air helped her think, gave her time to work through the plan.
She’d walked only one block before a car eased to the curb and stopped.
“Hello, Jasmine Larson.”
Everything made her smile today. “Mae Frances.”
“Why are you walking? It’s too cold. Get in.”
This was not what she wanted. But Gerald was already out, opening the back door. She slid inside.
“Are you heading home?”
Jasmine nodded, and eyed the glass in Mae Frances’s hand.
“I didn’t know you were back from your trip,” Mae Frances said.
“I came back on Friday.” Brian’s image flashed through her head. But she shook that vision away. The only man she wanted in her mind’s eye was Hosea.
When Mae Frances saw Jasmine glance at her glass again, she said, “Just a little something to take off the chill. Do you want a drink?” Mae Frances motioned to the mini bar along the side of the car.
“Oh, no,” Jasmine said.
Mae Frances eyes narrowed. “So, you’re one of those?”
Her words took Jasmine’s smile away. “One of those what?”
“Health nuts. Thinking it’s not good to drink. But I tell you, there’s nothing wrong with a little wine.” She held up her glass as if she were making a toast.
“Oh, I’m not a health nut,” Jasmine said. “I’m a Christian.”
Mae Frances stared. Then leaned back and laughed. “Now, I would have never pegged you for one of those.” She paused and took a sip of her drink. “A Christian, huh?” She shook her head.
Jasmine’s eyebrows raised and Mae Frances held up her hand. “Don’t get offended. I just never thought that word would come from your mouth.”
“Okay,” Jasmine began through narrowed eyes, “so what are you? Catholic?”
Mae Frances laughed again. “Isn’t that the same thing? Christian, Catholic, Protestant, Baptist, hypocrite. All the same, right?”
Jasmine folded her arms across her chest, pushed back her feelings. “So what are you?”
“If you’re asking what religious group I belong to, I can tell you I’m not one of those narrow-minded charlatans. I don’t belong to any group. Unless you call atheism a religion.”
It took a moment for Jasmine to say, “You don’t believe in God?”
“Not. At. All.”
She didn’t know what to say. Jasmine thought every black person believed in God—especially someone as old as Mae Frances. Even during her wildest days when she didn’t want any part of church, Jasmine knew God existed. Had always known. From the first time her mother and father told her.
“I guess I offended you,” Mae Frances said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You didn’t.” Jasmine shrugged as if Mae Frances’s words meant nothing. But she couldn’t explain why sadness washed over her. “I’m just surprised. I don’t understand how someone can say they don’t believe in God. I mean, all you have to do is look at everything around you.”
“Child, that’s how I know there ain’t no God. Please.” She waved her hand in the air as if she were erasing Jasmine’s words. “If there were a God, there wouldn’t be all this homelessness and disease and death in the world. If there was a real God, people wouldn’t be killing one another in His name.” She paused and finished the rest of her wine. “I’m telling you, if there is a God, then He needs to be fired because He’s sure doing a piss-poor job.”
The words shocked her, but Jasmine said nothing. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew what she felt—pity. If Mae Frances didn’t believe in God, what did she believe in?
The silent minutes that rested between them seemed longer and Jasmine released the breath she’d been holding when the car stopped in front of their building. She wanted to jump out and run, far away from this woman. But she waited as Gerald opened the door, and together, she and Mae Frances stepped into the building.
“Good afternoon,” Henrikas greeted them.
While Mae Frances paused to question the doorman, Jasmine rushed to the elevator. But quickly she realized there would be no escape.
“Hold the elevator,” Mae Frances called out. Once the door closed behind them, she asked, “So, Jasmine Larson, does this mean we’re no longer friends?”
“No,” she said. But it wasn’t like Mae Frances was a friend; she was just a neighbor with some good chicken and a limousine.
“Good, because I think the best friends are ones whose opinions differ.” As they stepped from the elevator, she added, “And maybe I can teach you a thing or two about that God you believe in. Turn you in the right direction.”
I don’t think so, Jasmine thought. She may not have been the best Christian, but she certainly knew what she believed. All she had to do was look at how her life had changed since God had become part of it. She was in New York and she’d met the man she was going to marry. No one could change her mind about God. She paused at her door and turned to her neighbor. “Thanks for the ride.”
Before Mae Frances could respond, she wobbled, then fell against the wall.
Jasmine ran to her side, helped her to stand. “Are you all right?”
It took a moment for Mae Frances to nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ll help you inside. Give me your key.”
“No, I’m fine.” Seconds later, Mae Frances pulled her body erect, like nothing happened. “It’s just the wine. Probably had a bit too much.” She took the few steps to her door slowly, and inserted the key. “Thank you, Jasmine Larson.” Then, she was gone.
Jasmine waited a moment, then stepped into her own apartment. Her thoughts stayed on Mae Frances, and her words about God. And all over again, she felt sorry for the woman.
She lay on her bed and clicked on the television. As a Lifetime movie played mutely in front of her, thoughts of Mae Frances faded—making room for ones of Hosea Bush.
With her eyes closed, she imagined. Took herself to next year at this time. Having a new husband. Living a new life. Being in New York couldn’t be any better than this.
Jasmine was eager.
Not so much for the man, but for the plan. But it was only because she would never show it that she waited until ten to make the call; he needed to believe that her day was filled with more than just thoughts of him. He answered on the first ring.
“Talk to me, Jasmine,” he answered.
She couldn’t help herself; she smiled. “How did you know it was me?”
“It was either you or my pops since you’re the only two people who have this new number. And, I just hung up from him.”
“It could have been your father calling back.”
“True, but I was sure it was you. Because I knew you’d call; you weren’t going to mess up this good thing twice.”
She laughed and, not
for the first time, marveled at his confidence. Hosea didn’t fit the physical attributes of what a woman would call fine. Being kind, he was average, pleasant enough to look at. But there was something in the way he walked, even more in the way he talked that made this man as attractive as any she’d known.
“So, did you spend the day with your father?”
“Yeah, Pops and I hung out. He’s glad that I’m home.”
Jasmine wondered what words of wisdom Reverend Bush had given his son—about her. Would he tell him about her pursuit? Would Brother Hill provide insight into her psyche with his flat tire theory?
But she kissed those concerns good-bye. If Reverend Bush came close to mentioning her name in a not-so-flattering vain, she was ready with an answer that would make him look like a jealous old fool. And Jasmine knew in just a few weeks, what the senior Bush might say wouldn’t matter. Hosea’s nose would be so wide open that he’d surrender all rights to his father’s inheritance to be with her.
Jasmine giggled.
“What’s so funny?” Hosea asked.
Her thoughts had taken her far away. “I was thinking who would have thought we’d ever be talking like this.”
“I thought it! Remember I asked for your number, but you gave me some fake—”
“Okay, okay.”
“So, you admit it?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry.”
“I guess I could forgive you. A woman like you probably has all kinds of guys asking for her number. But you really hurt my feelings.” He sniffed playfully.
“Well, I want to make it up to you. Let’s have dinner.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
“At my place.”
“Not what I was thinking.”
Jasmine frowned. “I’ll have you know I can whip up a mean meal.”
“Darlin’, I’m sure you have many talents. But that’s not the way I roll. We’ll go out.”
Jasmine wasn’t sure how to play this. The plan was to get Hosea to her apartment, seduce him, then return him home begging for the next time. He needed to remember this first date, this first time.
A Sin and a Shame Page 9
