Sinners & Saints

by Victoria Christopher Murray

Melinda smiled wickedly. “All too well. And I told you, my family owes you, so we’re good.”

  Rachel glanced over Melinda’s shoulder to see Cecelia coming off the elevator. “That’s awesome. And here’s Cecelia King.” She smiled as Cecelia approached as if she were British royalty. She was dressed in a royal blue St. John suit and just the right amount of accessories to make her look sophisticated and smart. Jasmine was close on her heels. She, too, was camera ready in a black St. John suit.

  “Hi. Melinda Jones, KNBC,” Melinda said, extending her hand to Cecelia.

  Cecelia graciously shook it. “Cecelia King. Thank you so much for coming by to do a story.”

  “Anything for Rachel,” Melinda said, smiling at Rachel.

  Jasmine stood behind Cecelia, waiting to be introduced. Rachel gave her a terse nod, but didn’t bother with an introduction. “Well, I know Melinda is on a tight schedule, so let’s get started.”

  Melinda summoned the photographer over and a small group of people stopped to watch as she began interviewing Cecelia. That woman was made for the camera, Rachel thought as Cecelia effortlessly recited facts about the ABC, goals of the organization, and how women were working to empower the community. The crowd grew as many admired the ease with which Cecelia handled the interview.

  After about ten minutes, Melinda turned to Rachel, who had been standing to the side, watching in awe. “Rachel, why don’t you join Cecelia? I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Oh, I’m not an official,” Rachel said innocently.

  Melinda pulled her arm. “Yes, but you are a woman and we’re talking about women of the ABC. And you’ll probably be the next first lady. So, we can talk about your visions for the future and what the organization means to you.”

  Jasmine’s brow furrowed as Rachel stepped into the camera shot.

  “So, Rachel, tell us how you feel to be taking part in this event,” Melinda said.

  Rachel flashed a winning smile, then said, “I am thrilled to be a part of the American Baptist Coalition. My husband, Reverend Lester Adams, is in the running to take over for the honorable Reverend King. Regardless of the outcome, he and I are committed to making sure the ABC is a viable force in the community. The Kings have done such awesome work with the food ministries, the women’s shelter, and the literacy programs, and it is our goal to continue their good work.”

  Melinda asked several other questions, and with each answer, Cecelia smiled her approval, as did several of the onlookers. After a few minutes, Jasmine loudly cleared her throat.

  “I have something I’d like to add,” she said, raising her hand like she was in class.

  “Oh, I think I have enough.” Melinda turned and flashed a tight smile, then focused her attention back on Cecelia and Rachel. “So, ladies, your interviews were phenomenal,” she continued.

  Jasmine looked stunned, but quickly recovered.

  “I think that it’s only fair that I be interviewed also,” she said sharply, but then immediately softened her tone. “I mean, I’m sure your station has some type of equal-time rule or something.”

  Melinda turned up her nose. “Yeah, we do. For politicians running for elected office. This is a story profiling the good one religious organization is doing. Do you have a problem with that?” Melinda loudly asked.

  “Oh, no … I, I mean, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jasmine stammered.

  Rachel couldn’t even look at Jasmine, because she didn’t want to burst out laughing at the look of humiliation she was sure was on Jasmine’s face. Half the people in the lobby were staring at the exchange between Jasmine and Melinda, including Cecelia, who looked horrified that Jasmine was embarrassing her. Rachel decided to step in. “No, Melinda, it’s okay. Interview her, too. What the ABC is doing is bigger than any one person, and besides, we wouldn’t want anyone to feel slighted.”

  Melinda shrugged. “Fine,” she said, motioning for the photographer to turn the camera toward Jasmine. Cecelia definitely didn’t like having the camera taken off her for Jasmine.

  Melinda didn’t have the same enthusiasm as she put the mic in front of Jasmine. “Could you please state your name?”

  Jasmine took a deep breath, tossed her hair, and said with a smile, “Jasmine Bush, first lady of—”

  “Oh, dang!” Melinda said, cutting her off as she looked down at her BlackBerry. She turned to her photographer. “Scott, I just got a text from the station. They found a house full of starving dogs over on West Twenty-ninth. They want us to get over there ASAP. Shut it down.”

  “But it’ll only take a moment for my interview,” Jasmine said desperately.

  Melinda held up her BlackBerry. “Sorry, when the boss says move, we move. Maybe next time,” she said with a smile as she patted Jasmine’s hand. The photographer was already breaking down his camera equipment.

  “Mrs. King, it was a pleasure talking with you,” Melinda said quickly. “The story will air tomorrow, and then on TV One Saturday morning.”

  Rachel wanted to turn a backflip. That was right before the vote. This couldn’t have worked out better in her dreams.

  Melinda turned to Rachel, hugged her quickly, and said, “Good luck on the election, and if Rev. Adams wins, you know I’ll be right there to cover the celebration! Ta-ta,” she said as she and her photographer raced toward the door.

  Jasmine was seething. Soon, Cecelia and Rachel were surrounded by people showering them with praise and trying to get more details on the interview.

  Jasmine stood off to the side, eyes blazing. “Are you okay?” Rachel asked Jasmine, loud enough for several people to hear. Jasmine didn’t reply and Cecelia must’ve sensed the tension, because she stepped in.

  “Well, ladies, the car service is here. Are you ready to head to the Beverly Center? After that fantastic interview, I’m looking forward to lunch and some great shopping.”

  “I definitely second that,” Rachel said with a smile.

  “Well, let’s go!” Cecelia said, walking ahead of them.

  Jasmine still hadn’t moved. It was almost as if she was trying to process what just happened. Rachel strutted past Jasmine, then gently leaned into her ear and slowly whispered, “It’s amazing what us country bumpkins can do.”

  She popped her shades on, released a hearty laugh, then followed Cecelia out to the car.

  Chapter

  SEVENTEEN

  Jasmine sat in the front of the Town Car, seething that Cecelia had assigned her to sit next to the thin-lipped driver. Behind her, Rachel and Cecelia lounged in the back, chatting like a pair of girlfriends.

  “I still cannot believe you got us that interview,” Cecelia said, her voice saccharinely sweet. “Do you know how long we’ve been trying to get coverage like that?”

  “It was nothing.” Rachel waved her hand.

  Jasmine’s blood pressure inched higher.

  “Oh, no, give yourself credit, Rachel. That was a big deal,” Cecelia complimented her. “I know everyone in the Coalition will be so grateful for the positive press.”

  “That’s all I wanted to do—just help out the Coalition.”

  Jasmine wanted to throw up—on both of them.

  “Anytime I can bring attention to the Coalition,” Rachel began, “I’ll be happy to do it.”

  Oh, you’re about to bring attention to the Coalition, all right, Jasmine screamed inside.

  That was the only thing that kept Jasmine going—knowing that in a few hours, Rachel would be going down in the biggest way possible. Now Jasmine was sorry that she hadn’t gone along with Mae Frances’s plan before—then she wouldn’t have had to put up with everything that Rachel had thrown her way over the past few days. But there was no reason for her to look back; it was finally going to happen.

  “Do you know anyone else in the press?” Cecelia asked Rachel.

  That’s when Jasmine began to hum, under her breath, of course. Inside, she sang the Black Eyed Peas anthem: I got a feelin’ that tonight’s gonna be a good, good nigh
t!

  As she hummed each verse and as each mile passed, Jasmine calmed. Good things were about to happen for sure. The humiliation that Rachel tried to bring onto her—first with the stripper, then with the million-dollar check, and finally this morning with the TV interview—was all going to drop right back on her.

  By the time the car stopped in front of the Beverly Center, Jasmine was beginning to think that the interview had been a very good thing—and the fact that it was going to air the morning before the election … wow! It had been hard to see all the possibilities as she’d stood there in the lobby, stunned and embarrassed by another one of Rachel’s tricks. But the thing was, the way this was about to play out … she couldn’t have planned it better herself. She hadn’t thought of media coverage, but if they aired that interview, they’d have to report on what was about to happen, too.

  This was brilliant.

  And Rachel had done this all to herself.

  She shouldn’t have messed with Jasmine.

  Because Jasmine had Mae Frances.

  And Mae Frances had connections.

  “Well, here we are,” Cecelia said, all giddy, as if she was still on a high from the interview. “Ladies, after working the convention all of these days, I am ready to do some serious shopping.” She leaned over to give instructions to the driver and Jasmine eyed Rachel.

  Rachel said, “You sure are quiet. What? You don’t have anything you want to say?”

  Jasmine curled her fingers into the palms of her hands. Just one punch, that’s all she wanted. One chance to punch Rachel right in the nose! “Oh, I’ll have plenty to say real soon.”

  Rachel’s smirk was full of confidence. She leaned closer and whispered, “Why don’t you just admit that you lost? After the way you acted during our interview, trying to take the attention away from Cecelia … she’s not happy with you. And that means that my husband is all but in.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Jasmine said.

  Rachel looked down at her nails as if she was examining her gold-frost-colored manicure. “It’s such a shame. Jasmine Cox Larson Bush is going home …” She looked up, poked out her lips, and twisted her neck as she said, “A loser.”

  Just as Jasmine raised her hand to slap the little bit of sense this woman had out of her, Cecelia turned around. “Okay, I’m ready, ladies. Let’s go.”

  Cecelia had saved this little girl, but actually, that was a good thing. There was no need to go violent … no need to mess this up when she was so close to Rachel’s end.

  Cecelia asked, “Should we start with lunch or shopping?”

  Jasmine and Rachel spoke together.

  “Lunch,” Rachel said.

  “Shopping,” Jasmine said, just a bit louder. “It’s a little early for lunch. Let’s browse through a few shops, then break for lunch, and go back to shopping, since we have all day.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” Cecelia said, though she turned her attention back to Rachel. “So, do you think Melinda would mind doing another interview once the new board is in place this weekend?”

  Rachel glanced at Jasmine before she said, “Oh, I can definitely get her to do that.”

  Cecelia said, “Great, because I’d really like to stay in touch with Melinda. I have so many big things planned for the Coalition.”

  “You do?” Rachel asked with a frown. “Really? Like what?”

  Cecelia waved her hand as if she had misspoken. “I didn’t mean that I, specifically, had plans. I mean the Coalition in general.”

  “Oh!” Rachel said. “Well, I know that Lester is committed to not only helping the Coalition become more active in our communities, but helping the Coalition grow in membership as well.”

  Jasmine rolled her eyes. Rachel sounded like she was repeating Lester’s nomination speech.

  “That is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about,” Cecelia gushed. “I’m so pleased, Rachel. You and your husband understand what’s important to our organization.”

  Jasmine had to break up this lovefest now or she was going to throw up for real. “This way,” she said, leading Cecelia and Rachel toward the escalators. As the two strolled behind her, Jasmine pulled her cell from her purse and texted Mae Frances. Then she prayed that her friend would get this right.

  This whole idea had belonged to Mae Frances, but this was going to be the hardest part for her—the cell phone. Mae Frances had had a cell for a few years now, but she never could seem to master any part of it. Jasmine had practiced with her last night, and this morning Mae Frances had assured her that all was well.

  Still, Jasmine held her breath as they ascended the glass-enclosed escalators that gave a clear view of the expensive homes in the Hollywood Hills.

  By the time the three women reached the top, the text came in: he’s ready. :-).

  Jasmine had to hold back her laugh. Yesterday, Mae Frances didn’t even know how to send a text. Today, she had the nerve to add a smiley face.

  “Well,” Jasmine said, “where shall we go first?”

  It must’ve been the singsong tone in her voice that made Rachel frown. And if Jasmine could have, she would’ve broken out into a happy dance right then.

  Little girl, you are never going to play with me again.

  “Well, let’s see,” Cecelia said, glancing into Bloomingdale’s.

  “I know,” Jasmine said, eyeing Cecelia’s purse. “Let’s go to Louis Vuitton.”

  “Great!”

  Jasmine led the way, though this time there was little talk coming from Rachel. Inside the designer store, Jasmine and Cecelia perused the purses, oohing and aahing over the new designs.

  “I saw this on the runway at Fashion Week,” Cecelia said, pointing to one of the black bags.

  “You’re kidding,” Jasmine said. “You were at the show? So was I.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, I go every year, but the highlight of the week, to me, was Kimora’s show.”

  “Oh, I wanted to get into that one so bad,” Cecelia said. “But you know, those shows are all about who you know.”

  “Well, let me know if you want to go next year. Hosea and I have known Kimora … and Russell for several years.”

  “Really?” Cecelia’s eyes widened.

  Cecelia seemed so excited that Jasmine half-expected her to break out a scripture. “Oh, yeah,” Jasmine said nonchalantly. “I can get you into just about anywhere you want to go. You know all those celebrities are always calling, wanting to be on Hosea’s show.”

  “That’s right,” Cecelia said, pausing for a moment. “Hosea’s show. Just by him being the president … that would get the Coalition a lot of publicity.”

  “Definitely,” Jasmine said. “But neither he … nor I want to push our connections on anyone. You know, we want this race to be all about merit.” She paused and looked at Rachel. “It should be about who brings the most to the Coalition.” She smirked. “Speaking of connections, Rachel, when are you going to connect Regina West with Cecelia?”

  Cecelia put down the bag she’d been looking at. “I’d forgotten about that. I’d love to meet her.”

  Jasmine could almost see the color draining from Rachel’s face.

  “Well … um … Regina … she’s busy right now. You know … actors are always working and …”

  Inside, Jasmine laughed. Just as she thought—Rachel didn’t know Regina West. As if Rachel hadn’t spoken at all, Jasmine turned back to Cecelia and changed the subject. “About Fashion Week, let me know if there are any particular designers you want to see this fall.”

  “I will!” Cecelia beamed.

  Jasmine glanced at Rachel, who was sulking as she leaned against the counter. “What about you? I know you’re a fan of Kimora with all of the Baby Phat that you wear,” she said, meaning for her words to be a jab. “Have you been to her show or any of the others?”

  Jasmine was just waiting, waiting, waiting for Rachel to mention some little country fashion show that her church had put together
as some kind of scholarship fund-raiser or building drive.

  “Uh … Lester and I … haven’t traveled … you know, to Europe for the shows … because … you know, we have the kids.”

  “Europe?” Jasmine said in a tone that made Rachel sound stupid. “I said Fashion Week; I wasn’t talking about any of the individual European shows.”

  “Fashion Week is in New York, dear,” Cecelia explained. “Every September.”

  Rachel gulped. “Well, I was talking about the bigger shows,” she said with just a little too much attitude. “The ones in Europe.”

  Cecelia and Jasmine exchanged a glance, before Cecelia motioned to one of the saleswomen.

  “I definitely want to take a look at this one.” Cecelia pointed to the vintage-inspired iconic doctor bag. “I’ve been eyeing it for a while now.”

  “And I like this one.” Jasmine had chosen a monogrammed tote. Again, she turned to Rachel. “Aren’t you going to get anything?”

  “I don’t really like Louis,” she said, as if she was on a first-name basis with the designer. She folded her arms and turned up her nose. “You know, it’s not real leather.”

  The saleswoman frowned, Jasmine laughed, and Cecelia said, “Who told you that?”

  “Well, uh … isn’t it just like canvas?”

  As Cecelia schooled Rachel on the Louis Vuitton line, Jasmine handed her credit card to the clerk. Being in this store wasn’t even part of the plan. This was just Jasmine’s idea of a little payback, just a little reminder to this pickup-truck chick that she wasn’t anywhere near her league.

  As Jasmine paid for her fourteen-hundred-dollar purse and Cecelia passed her platinum American Express to cover the three-thousand-dollar bag she’d chosen, Rachel stood to the side, arms crossed, lips pressed together in the thinnest of lines.

  Jasmine almost skipped out of the store. “Let’s go to Gucci,” she said with glee.

  Again, this store wasn’t part of the plan. But by the time Jasmine and Cecelia had bought their three-hundred-dollar sunglasses, Jasmine knew that Rachel had been securely put in her place.

  Actually, the girl had much more willpower than Jasmine had imagined. She was sure that Rachel would have found something to purchase—a keychain or something—just to keep up with her and Cecelia. But she didn’t spend a dime. Jasmine was sure that the ten-thousand-dollar check Rachel had written had depleted any spending money that she’d had. Once again, Jasmine had to thank God for Pastor Griffith. She didn’t know where that million dollars was coming from, but Hosea had told her last night—although he wasn’t happy about it—that her check was already covered.