The ringing phone grabbed her away from Good Morning America, and when she checked the caller I.D., she snatched the handset.
“How did you know I was here, sweetie?” she asked as soon as she answered.
“I called the office; Tina said you were sick.” Hosea’s voice dripped with concern.
“I’m fine. Just wanted to stay home and bask in the anticipation of our evening.”
“Well, I hope I’m the first to wish you a happy, happy day.”
“Yeah, you’re the first,” she said. She kept her grin, even though this would be the only call she’d get—at least until Serena got home from work. “Thank you.” She paused and softened her voice to almost a whisper. “But can you do me a favor, sweetie?”
“Aw, darlin’, when you talk like that, all I can say is, whatever you want.”
“Please give me a little hint—what time, what to wear. Give me something,” she whined.
He laughed. “I’m going to hang up now, darlin’. Enjoy your day.”
He was gone before she could moan more, but before she could dial him again, her concerns were interrupted by a knock on her door. Sure that it was Mae Frances, Jasmine stayed in place, not wanting to face her neighbor. But when she heard the knock again, she rushed to the living room. Maybe Mae Frances needed her.
“Ms. Larson?” A thirty-something-year-old black woman with spiked hair wearing a winter-white coat greeted her when she opened the door. Behind her, two younger men, both dressed in jeans and leather jackets, balanced boxes piled high in their arms.
“Yes?” She wondered why Henrikas hadn’t called. She’d have to talk to him to make sure he announced all her visitors.
“My name is Leslie Winslow,” the woman said. “I’m a personal shopper with Lord and Taylor. We have a few packages for you.”
Surprise kept Jasmine in place. But the woman marched past her, followed by the men.
She asked, “What is all of this?”
“Mr. Bush wanted to make sure you had everything you needed for tonight. Where can we put these?” she asked, pointing to the boxes.
“Right here,” Jasmine said with the cheer of a child at Christmas. The boxes tumbled onto the couch and Jasmine didn’t wait. She ripped the top off one package. The strapless, tea-length black lace dress made her gasp. “This is gorgeous.”
“That’s a Calvin Klein. It’s Mr. Bush’s favorite, but he wanted to give you a choice. So we brought several outfits.”
With glee, Jasmine tore through the packages. There was a floor-length cream satin sheath from Vera Wang and a red two-piece from Oscar de la Renta. Each dress had matching shoes and a purse.
“I cannot believe this,” Jasmine said as she laid each outfit across the couch. “How did he know my size?”
“I’m one of the fashion consultants on his show, and after working with him for a few weeks, I can tell you that Mr. Bush has his ways.” Leslie laughed. “When he wants something, he gets it.”
Those words made her happy. “I can’t decide,” Jasmine said.
“You don’t have to. I’m leaving everything here so take your time. Then, just send back the other two.”
Leslie motioned to the men who’d sat silently. “Here’s my card. Call if you have any questions.”
Once alone, she lifted the black dress, and searched for a price tag. There was none. She inspected the other two. Same thing.
Jasmine giggled, and with the black dress in hand, ran into her bedroom. In front of the mirror, she held it against her. “So, this is your favorite, Hosea.” She twirled like a dancer. “Well, if it fits, then it’s my favorite too.”
With care, she laid the dress on the bed, and slipped from her robe. Then, she stopped. She really should call Hosea, thank him, tell him that now, she absolutely loved him. But, she flung that thought aside. That could wait until after she had a chance to see how fabulous she looked.
Not bad for a third date, she thought. And she knew that her plan was working.
“Wow.”
Jasmine beamed. “You like?” She spun so Hosea could get a 360-degree view.
“You’re gorgeous.”
She stopped spinning and took in all of him. His charcoal shadow-striped tuxedo was exactly what she would have chosen for him.
Without a thought, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said, enjoying the feel of him. “Hosea, this dress is fabulous. I’ve never had such a wonderful birthday.”
“And we haven’t even begun.” He stepped further into her apartment. “This place is nice.” He bobbed his head in approval, then looked at his watch. “We gotta get moving.”
A limousine waited in front of her building and it took Jasmine a moment to realize that the car was for them. Inside, he held her hand as the driver pulled into traffic. “How am I doing so far?” Hosea asked.
All she wanted to do was kiss him. All she did was smile. “If the night ended now, I’d be happy.”
He laughed. “We have a few more hours.” Only minutes passed before the car pulled into a long line of limousines. “Don’t,” Hosea warned before Jasmine could ask. Their car stopped in front of a glowing-like-it-was-the-middle-of-the-day Metropolitan Museum of Art. A tuxedoed man greeted their car, and then they followed other formally dressed couples up the museum stairs. More hosts guided them to the Sackler Wing where Hosea checked her coat and they were directed to the reception line.
“You’ve got to tell me something,” she whispered. “What am I going to say if I don’t know what this is?”
“Okay.” He chuckled. “This is a special benefit for the museum. My pop’s a member of the President’s Circle. But the benefit Chairs are old friends of the family, so I thought we’d start our night here.”
“Hosea,” the petite, bright-blond woman exclaimed. Jasmine stood aside as the woman air-kissed Hosea’s cheeks. “It is so good to see you. How is your father?”
“And why is he not with you?” the lanky man standing next to the woman asked.
Jasmine knew nothing about these people, but she could tell they reeked of old money. The lilt of their speech. The design of their clothes. The gestures they made. Their ancestors were probably the first off the Mayflower.
“My dad sends his apologies,” Hosea said. “He’s working.”
“I’m going to have to give him a call. He does much too much of that.” The woman laughed.
“Speaking of work,” the man jumped in, “it’s good to have you back in New York. We lunched with your father a few weeks ago and he is so very excited about your show.”
The woman turned to Jasmine. “And who is this lovely lady, Hosea?”
Hosea introduced Jasmine to Charlotte and Lovell Hollingsworth, but the line behind them didn’t allow for further chatter. Hosea took her hand and led her into the room where a harpist played a soft melody and waiters wandered through balancing trays with flutes of champagne and designer desserts.
“Do you have any sparkling cider?” Hosea asked a passing waiter. The man nodded, then stepped away. “I’m sorry,” Hosea said to Jasmine. “Do you want champagne?”
“No, I don’t drink. Not that I think it’s wrong, it’s just not for me.”
He smiled and she did the same—inside. She’d planned that response. Scored points, she was sure.
As they strolled through the exhibit, Jasmine was surprised at the number of patrons who greeted Hosea, asked about his father, congratulated him on his show. Reverend Bush was obviously more than a common pastor, and Hosea was more than a talk show host. The Bushes had elite New York connections.
An hour later, Hosea led her back to where their car waited. “Now on to our second adventure.”
When the car stopped again, Jasmine peeked through the windows. Lights shined bright from the Garden State across the Hudson River when she stepped from the car. The whispering wind stirred, but Jasmine didn’t feel the cold. Her eyes were on the helicopter sitting just feet away.
It was only
because he nudged her forward that Jasmine moved. Excitement made her tremble as she climbed the metal stairs and then strapped herself into her seat.
“You wanted to see New York,” Hosea yelled above the revving engine. “Sit back, darlin’.”
Jasmine held her breath as the helicopter swept down the Hudson River. Almost immediately, she was face-to-face with the Statue of Liberty and then they swooped over Wall Street. As they soared over Manhattan, Hosea pointed out the monumental skyline: the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, and the United Nations. They whizzed over Central Park, before swinging north and sharing a perfect aerial view of Yankee Stadium.
Fifteen minutes after they began, the helicopter hovered, then touched ground.
“That was amazing” were the first words Jasmine said when they settled back into the limousine.
“Now, are you hungry, darlin’?”
By nine o’clock, they were seated at A Quiet Little Table in the Corner.
“I’ve never heard of this place,” Jasmine said as she slid into her cushioned chair. Curtains surrounded their table, just like every other one in the restaurant, giving each party privacy.
The waiter handed them menus, but Jasmine put hers down.
“Why don’t you order for me, sweetie.”
He smiled; she’d pleased him again.
First, they shared an oversized salad, and Jasmine asked, “Did you always want to be a pastor? Like your father?”
Hosea chuckled, shook his head. “Not at all. Although I was always proud of my pops and the way he turned City of Lights around, I didn’t want to do anything that would have me standing in some pulpit.”
“But you turned out to be a minister anyway.” She continued her fact-finding mission.
“Not my will, but when God says it, it is. When I graduated from college and went to Chicago, I worked for a newspaper—Blessings.”
“A Christian paper?”
He nodded. “But, it was only because that was the first offer I got. If anything else had come through, I wouldn’t have been there. After mom passed, I didn’t want anything to do with God. But if someone was willing to pay me…” He shrugged. “I had no problem taking the loot.”
“So, how did you get from the newspaper to television?”
“I went from columnist to editor to a small cable show that was a spin-off of the newspaper. And then the show blew up. Next thing you know, NBC came knocking.”
She shook her head. “An overnight success. You know you’re incredibly lucky.”
He took her hand. “I know I’m incredibly blessed.”
Dang, Jasmine thought. She had to remember to use the right words.
He continued. “All that happened is that I finally let Jesus take the wheel, and the blessings flowed. But enough about me.” He leaned toward her. “I want to know about you. What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” she said before she sipped her sparkling cider. “I just want to be happy.”
“Is your family still in Los Angeles?”
Again she sipped, gaining time. She wasn’t ready to divulge too much; she wanted to know more about him—to become what he wanted.
She said, “My mom passed away years ago.”
His lips drooped and he took her hand. “So, you’ve lost both your parents?”
She nodded sadly. “It’s been hard, but I do have my sister.”
His smile returned. “Tell me about her.”
She gave him the details of Serena, staying as close to the truth as she could, knowing one day they would meet.
“I’ve always wanted a brother, or a sister. I think that’s why I really want to have children now. Lots of them.”
Jasmine kept her smile, although his words almost made her choke on her cider. Lots of children? At her age, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to get pregnant at all. But even if she was able to have a child, she had no intentions of having more than one. Today was her fortieth birthday. How many children did he expect her to pop out?
“So, Serena’s been married, but what about you?” he asked, after the waiter had brought their dinners. “Why weren’t you ever married?” He paused. “Or were you?”
She stuffed her mouth with her pasta and chewed slowly. She hadn’t expected this question, wasn’t ready with the answer. She scrolled through all she knew about Hosea. If she was going to be his wife, there could be only one answer.
“I don’t know why I’ve never been married,” she lied. “I guess I’m just waiting on God.”
His smile told her that she’d scored one hundred points. “That’s the only way to do it.” He squeezed her hand.
Her mouth opened wide when the waiter surprised her with a piece of raspberry cheesecake holding a single candle in the middle.
“Now, I know a man isn’t supposed to ask,” Hosea started as he took a bite of the dessert, “but—”
“I know you’re not asking me how old I am?” she interrupted, placing her hand over her chest in mock indignation.
He nodded. “Although it doesn’t matter to me. You could be one hundred, and I’d still ask you out to dinner tomorrow.”
She smiled because she was ready. She’d been expecting this question. “I’m…thirty-five…today.”
“An older woman.”
She kept her smile although her heart began to pound. Had she gone too high? She’d almost said thirty-two, but thirty-five would be easier to keep track of. “So how old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
Close enough, she thought.
He asked, “Does my age bother you?”
She shook her head and took his hand. “Not at all. If you were one hundred and asked me to have dinner with you tomorrow, I’d say yes.”
He laughed. “So, who’s older, you or Serena?”
That was not a question she expected. At thirty-five, she and Serena were the same age. She couldn’t say they were twins.
“Uh,” she hesitated. “I’m older,” she said deciding to keep at least that part true.
“Are you two close?”
“Yeah, Serena’s a great sister. She’s always looking out for me.”
“Is that why you left L.A.? To be closer to her?”
The memory of her escape from L.A. tore through her mind. “Something like that,” she said. “But I wanted to ask you something about the museum,” she added, needing to get away from talk of Los Angeles. “I was on the board of the Cultural Arts of Florida, and I’d like to become involved here in New York.”
“Really, darlin’, that’s wonderful.”
Jasmine had no idea if there was a Cultural Arts of Florida, but it worked. Hosea chatted, and she nodded as if she was listening, but her mind was far away.
This day, and night, proved it. She was going after the right man. Hosea knew how to live. Knew how to play. This was the life she wanted. And the way Hosea looked at her in between his words confirmed that she was on her way.
Chapter 23
By the time the first employees sauntered into Kincaid Enterprises, Jasmine had been working for three hours. She’d just approved the final menu when Malik strolled into her office and closed the door.
“Hey,” she said, not able to hide her joy. It had stayed with her, even after Hosea ended their spectacular night by escorting her to the elevator, handing her a single white rose, kissing her cheek, and promising to call first thing the next day. She’d floated into her apartment, then the ringing telephone had brought her out of her fairy tale.
“It’s first thing tomorrow,” Hosea said the moment she answered. She’d glanced at the clock. It was midnight. He continued, “Just wanted to tell you how wonderful this night was for me.” He hung up before she spoke a word.
Memories of the night rocked her to sleep, and were still with her when she awakened before the sun made its debut. With an energy that she hadn’t had in months, she jumped from her bed and rushed into the office.
“Looks like you’ve recovered,” Malik
said, before he lowered himself into a chair.
Jasmine frowned.
He said, “Last time I saw you, you were buckled over in pain. I think you said it was your stomach.”
“Oh.” She’d forgotten. Last Thursday, Los Angeles, Brian, all seemed like light years in the past.
“So, what’s up?” Malik asked.
Jasmine looked at the pile of folders on her desk. “I’m catching up on everything—”
Malik held up his hand. “Not talking about work. Talking about how you’re feeling. You told me you were sick in L.A., remember?”
“Oh, that. It turned out to be…nothing.”
“I guess that’s why you rode off with Brian Lewis.”
Her eyes widened, and all the possible lies she could tell jogged through her mind.
“Don’t bother denying it. J.T. saw you.”
“Brian gave me a ride to the hotel,” she said, trying to keep a smile.
“Just dropped you off?”
“Yes.”
“So, why did I see him stepping out of your room in the middle of the night?”
She wanted to tell him that he hadn’t seen what he saw. But she didn’t feel like going through that line of dialogue.
“Jasmine,” Malik said leaning forward. “Brian Lewis is married.”
She stayed silent.
“And don’t tell me you didn’t know. J.T. told me you’ve known Brian—and his wife—for years.”
Her first thought was that it had to be a man who spread the rumor that women were gossips. Because J.T. was better at this than any woman she knew. Her second thought was to ask Malik why he was all up in her business. But the sensation of cotton balls stuffed inside her mouth kept her from speaking.
“Jasmine, I thought you were past this. You’re always saying that married men are not an option for you.”
“You’re right,” she said contritely.
A Sin and a Shame Page 14
