Sinners & Saints

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “I love you, thanks for understanding,” she said.

  “I love you, too. Tell Lester good luck.”

  He hung up the phone and Rachel felt a mixture of sadness and relief. Then anger. Jasmine had tried to bring her down, but once again she’d dodged the bullet.

  “Who was that?” Lester said, walking into the room.

  Rachel shook off her budding anger and turned to her husband. “Jonathan. He was just calling to wish us luck.”

  “Oh.” Lester held up a tie in each hand. “Which one?”

  Rachel took both ties and held them up under her husband’s neck. “Hmmm, Donald Trump or Sean John?”

  She cocked her head to the side and studied both ties. Lester already looked amazing in his navy double-breasted suit and crisp white shirt. But she couldn’t decide which tie would be the icing on the cake.

  “I like this one,” Lester said, pointing at the mustard-colored Sean John tie. Rachel frowned. Both men were rich, but Donald Trump was much more powerful and that’s the look Rachel was going for, so she tossed the mustard tie and began tying the baby blue Trump tie around Lester’s neck.

  “Or maybe I’ll just wear this one,” he joked.

  “There,” Rachel said, tightening the knot. “Now you look presidential.”

  “Are you sure I look okay?” Lester asked, turning around to survey himself in the mirror.

  “You look better than okay,” Rachel said reassuringly. She stepped up behind him and smiled at their reflection. “You know I wouldn’t let you go out of here looking anything less than spectacular.”

  He turned around and kissed her passionately. “Thank you, sweetheart. For everything.”

  “Hey, don’t start nothing you can’t finish.” She laughed. They’d just finished an hour-long lovemaking session before Jonathan’s phone call. Rachel hadn’t really been in the mood for sex, but she’d had to literally seduce Lester to get his mind off the whole debacle of Jacqueline’s disappearance. Needless to say, he hadn’t been happy when Rachel returned to the room and filled him in on everything. And he’d been skeptical of her claim that she never intended to scare Jasmine. Tired of arguing, Rachel had used her womanly wiles, touching her husband in the places she knew he liked to be touched. Before she knew it, they were doing the passion dance all over the hotel suite.

  Now Lester was clean, energized, and ready to receive his formal nomination.

  “You think you can get dressed today?” he said, motioning toward her body.

  “Yes, I had to get the kids situated,” she said. “They’re watching movies out front. The hotel babysitter is with them and she’s making sure they stay out of trouble.”

  “Maybe we need her to come babysit you to make sure you stay out of trouble,” he said with a sly smile.

  “Haha, you got jokes.” She stepped into her suit and headed toward the bathroom. “Now let me finish getting dressed so we can go claim our crown.”

  Chapter

  TWENTY-SIX

  Chatter filled the ballroom as they entered. Rachel wondered if folks were gossiping about all that had gone on between her and Jasmine. She shook off that thought. Today was all about Lester’s formal nomination. After finding out about that text to Jonathan, as far as Rachel was concerned, she and Jasmine were even—that is, unless that skank had something else up her sleeve.

  “There’s your dad and Brenda,” Lester said, pointing to a reserved section at the front of the room. “They’re with the other members of the South region.”

  Rachel held her head high as she followed her husband to the front. Jasmine, Hosea, and what seemed like a whole entourage were seated in the reserved section directly across from them. Rachel couldn’t help but notice the evil eye Jasmine was shooting her, but Rachel did her best to ignore her. Whatever she did, she was not going to let Jasmine ruin this moment for her.

  The Coalition chairman sat at a long table at the front of the room. Cecelia and Reverend King sat to his right. Rachel had just spoken to her family and a few other people when the chairman called the meeting to order. They went through some formalities before getting to the part that Rachel had been waiting for all week.

  “At this time, we’d like to officially certify the candidates for the presidency of the American Baptist Coalition. South region, please have your representative come up,” he said.

  Deacon Tisdale walked to a microphone that had been placed at the front of the audience. “Yes, Mr. Chairman. Marcus Tisdale, Greater Matthew Baptist Church, Houston, Texas. Regional treasurer,” he said, introducing himself. “The South region is honored to officially nominate Rev. Lester Adams as our candidate for presidency of the American Baptist Coalition.”

  Everyone on their side of the room began clapping loudly.

  The chairman waited a few seconds for the applause to die down, then said, “Are there any objections?” He paused. “Hearing none, Rev. Lester Adams is officially certified. North region, please send up your representative.”

  A tall, lanky man rose and walked to the microphone. “Henry Ruffin, Faith Cathedral, Brooklyn, New York. Regional parliamentarian. The North region is happy to officially nominate Pastor Hosea Bush as our candidate for presidency of the American Baptist Coalition.”

  “Are there any objections?” the chairman asked as Henry returned to his seat. “Hearing none, Pastor Hosea Bush is officially certified. At this time we will take any nominations from the floor.”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow. The floor? What was that about? Her confusion must’ve been written all over her face because Deacon Tisdale leaned in and whispered, “It’s just a formality. The bylaws say we have to do that but there’s never been any, so it should just take a minute.”

  “Are there are any nominations from the floor?” The chairman paused, then repeated his question. “Are there any nominations from the floor?”

  Suddenly, Reverend King loudly cleared his voice as he stood. “Excuse me, I know this is unprecedented, but I would like to nominate …” The room grew deathly silent as he turned and smiled at Cecelia. “…my wife, Cecelia King, to succeed me as president.”

  The room erupted in chatter. Rachel’s mouth fell open. Cecelia was running for president? Rachel glanced over at Jasmine, who looked just as shocked as she did. In fact, Jasmine’s whole entourage looked floored. And that Pastor Griffith looked the most disturbed. He was snarling; you would’ve thought he was the one running, not Hosea.

  “Can they do that?” Rachel whispered to Lester.

  “I have no idea,” Lester replied.

  “Please, may we have order,” the chairman said, banging his gavel. The room settled down, but it was obvious the news had stunned everyone. “Now, I know this is highly unusual, but it is well within our bylaws. So, are there any objections to adding Cecelia King to the ballot?”

  “I object!” That came from the crazy old lady who was always with Jasmine. Hosea quickly pulled her back down in her seat and flashed an apologetic look at the chairman. Rachel was actually glad that old coot had said something or else she would’ve objected herself.

  “On what grounds are you objecting?” the chairman asked.

  “On the grounds that she can’t just up and decide she wants to be in the race!” the woman quipped.

  Hosea tried to quiet her. Jasmine, meanwhile, sat stunned.

  Reverend King held up a hand to quiet the chatter. “I’m sorry—Mae Frances, isn’t it?” he asked the old woman. “My wife meets all of the qualifications. She only needs signatures from one-third of the general body supporting her nomination.” He held up a manila folder. “Which we have right here.”

  Rachel was dumbfounded. How in the world did they get signatures? When in the world did they get signatures?

  “But since you’re not even a member of the American Baptist Coalition,” Reverend King continued, glaring at Mae Frances, “you’re probably not aware of our bylaws.”

  “Hmph,” Mae Frances replied, a scowl setting in across he
r face.

  “And in accordance with our bylaws,” Reverend King continued, turning back to the chairman, “any nominee from the floor is allowed five minutes to speak. So, Mr. Chairman, at this time, I would like to yield the floor to Lady Cecelia King.”

  The room erupted in applause as a smug Cecelia stood, then graciously made her way to the podium. Rachel glared at her from her seat, but Cecelia refused to make eye contact. Rachel was definitely slipping. She hadn’t seen this one coming. She’d been so focused on Jasmine that Cecelia had broadsided her with the stealth of a night prowler.

  “Good evening, my fellow members of our illustrious organization,” Cecelia began. “As my darling husband just said, I have five minutes to present my case to you, but honestly, I don’t need the entire five minutes. I just need enough time to tell you that this decision did not come lightly. In fact, Rev. King and I were all too prepared to turn over the reins to someone we hoped would be worthy of continuing all of the good work that we’ve done. Unfortunately, these past few days have shown us that the individuals slated to carry the torch were simply not the worthy candidates we’d hoped for.”

  Rachel frowned. Was this heifer saying her husband wasn’t worthy?

  “No disrespect to Rev. Adams or Rev. Bush,” Cecelia continued, finally looking their way, “who are fine, upstanding men who have effectively led their respective churches. But leading the ABC requires not only effective leadership, but the ability to keep your own personal house in order.” She finally turned and looked right at Rachel. “And with the shenanigans of Rachel Adams”—she paused, then looked over at Jasmine—“and Jasmine Bush, well, it’s no secret that your personal houses are in shambles.”

  Rachel couldn’t believe this woman. After all of the butt-kissing she’d been doing, Cecelia had the audacity to stand up there and talk about her like that?

  “Honestly, I had no intention of running, but after watching the catfights, the bickering, the underhanded and devious behavior of these two women, I said, ‘Is this really who we want representing the ABC?’” She used both hands to dramatically point at Rachel and Jasmine. Rachel wanted to sink into her seat as several people turned and looked at her with disgust.

  “We know that while the man would’ve been the head”—she turned and smiled at her husband—“the woman would’ve been the heart of the organization. I, for one, know that we have worked too hard, put too much into the success of this organization, to have it defiled by imperfect pasts, secrets and lies, and a total disregard for the sanctity of fellowship. Rev. King and I prayed long and hard about this and God laid it on my heart to throw my name into the ring.”

  “I want to lay something else on her, all right,” Rachel mumbled, right before Lester nudged her to be quiet.

  “You all know me. You know my background, my history, my work ethic. You know that I can work with anyone.” She again looked at Jasmine and Rachel pathetically as she shook her head. “And you know that I won’t at any time embarrass you or bring any negative light to the goals and the mission of the American Baptist Coalition. I hope that I can count on your vote. But I know what God has for me, is for me.”

  Several people stood and clapped. Like Rachel, Jasmine sat with her arms folded, glaring at Cecelia.

  “Well, thank you, Lady Cecelia,” the chairman said. “If there are no other objections, we’ll officially certify Cecelia King as the write-in candidate for the ABC presidency.”

  Cecelia smiled and waved at the crowd like she’d already won the position. Rachel couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Was Cecelia really that disgusted with Rachel and Jasmine that she didn’t want either of their husbands to win? Or maybe this was something she’d been planning all along. Maybe she’d fully intended to run from the jump, but had just sat back and let Rachel and Jasmine cancel each other out. Rachel didn’t know what to think. The only thing she did know was that she wouldn’t rest until she figured out just what kind of game Cecelia King was playing, and then come up with a way to beat her at it.

  Chapter

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Everyone was talking, one over the other, as the Bush entourage packed into their hotel suite.

  “I cannot believe this.” Pastor Griffith had not stopped pacing for the entire ten minutes since they’d all rushed away from the pandemonium that had broken out from Cecelia’s announcement.

  Once the nominations were closed and the meeting was adjourned, the masses had charged to the front, almost stomping over Hosea and shoving past Lester to get to Cecelia and Reverend King.

  Pastor Griffith had directed the Bush group to leave—and once again, they all escaped through the side door. Now here they sat—or paced—trying to digest this news.

  Jasmine sat on the couch, between her husband and her father-in-law, still stunned as much as everyone else by the events of the meeting.

  Cecelia King. It was a shocking but brilliant move, Jasmine had to admit. This was something that she would’ve done. And that’s exactly why she should’ve seen it coming.

  Jasmine knew never to trust any woman; that had been her life’s mantra. But she’d been so busy trying to swat that fly-faced Rachel away that she’d been distracted, and now Cecelia was trying to step into what was supposed to be Jasmine’s rightful place.

  “What are you going to do about this?” The sharp tone of Mae Frances’s voice brought Jasmine back into the hotel room. “You’ve got to do something.”

  “Don’t you think that’s what we’re all working on?” Pastor Griffith snapped. He waved his hands toward the others in the room. Five men were pacing, just as he’d been doing, each one with a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Cecelia cannot do this; we have got to get Hosea elected.”

  Jasmine had no idea who the men were talking to, or what kind of deals they were trying to make, but they weren’t her concern right now. Her eyes were on Mae Frances, her friend, and Pastor Griffith—the man who was beginning to feel more and more like an enemy. Both of them were operating like high-octane gas was pumping through their veins. Both were overly excited. Both were overly agitated. Like it was their election that was on the line.

  Jasmine squinted as if that would help her see them better. Were Pastor Griffith and Mae Frances in cahoots? Did they have some kind of partnership that no one else knew about? And if they did, what did that mean for Hosea?

  “I guess no one saw this coming,” Reverend Bush said. But his voice was so gentle, so soothing, that Jasmine was sure her father-in-law was trying to diffuse some of the tension that had thickened the air.

  “No,” Pastor Griffith barked. “No one saw this because Cecelia never planned to do this. I know her and her husband well. This was not supposed to happen.” He stopped moving long enough to stare Jasmine down. “But she had to step in because of what’s been going on, and now this is what we’re up against.”

  As Jasmine glared back at the pastor, Hosea reached for her hand. But she didn’t need Hosea’s protection on this. She hadn’t done a thing wrong and she wasn’t going to take the blame for Cecelia King’s actions. Everything that she’d done, she’d done to help Hosea win. Everything she’d done had been effective—including the million-dollar gift that she’d given to the Coalition. And just about everything she’d done had been passed by Pastor Griffith, so why was he blaming her now?

  And if he was talking about what she’d done to Rachel this morning, well, the truth was she hadn’t beat down Rachel enough. There wasn’t a woman on earth who wouldn’t have taken that skeezer out and Jasmine’s only regret was that Rachel had gotten up.

  No, not a bit of this was her fault. Pastor Griffith could try to blame her if he wanted to, but they all needed to see what she saw. Cecelia and her husband had probably had this planned from day one. Jasmine was a world-champion schemer, and it took one to know one.

  Two of the men stopped pacing and clicked off their cells almost at the same time.

  “Okay.” It was Pastor Penn who spoke first. “This lo
oks like it can be saved. It’s gonna be tough, but we can still win. Right now, Cecelia has the lead,” he continued, “because the folks who want King out are evenly split between Adams and Hosea.” Pastor Penn stopped and glanced over to the couch and Jasmine couldn’t help but smile at the man.

  Here Reverend Penn was, working so hard at getting the man who’d been nominated instead of him elected. Even his wife, Coco, had been cordial, and even sometimes sweet since they’d arrived in Los Angeles. Jasmine had been totally wrong about those two. The distrust she had for the Penns had been misplaced and should have been on the Kings the whole time.

  Henry Ruffin, who had just officially nominated Hosea, said, “So, the fact is that the Adams people are going to be Adams’s people. I don’t think we should spend too much time going after them. But some of Hosea’s folks did go with Cecelia. If we got half of them back, we’d win the election.”

  “So how do we do that?” Mae Frances asked, as if she were one of the boys.

  As the men discussed strategy—everything from using scripture to denounce a woman running for the presidency to promoting the idea that Cecelia was really just a cover for her husband to keep his position—Jasmine sat back and massaged her temples.

  Becoming first lady of the world was not as easy as she thought it was going to be. But still, she had faith. Not only was Hosea truly the best man for the job, she was the best one to be first lady. What were they going to do if Cecelia won the election—make Reverend King the first … what? The first man? And then there was Rachel as the first lady. Please! After really getting to know her, calling her ghetto would be insulting to all the people in the world who really were ghetto. Rachel was nothing more than a slut-bucket who had found a small-time country preacher, and then married up. Who would really want her as the face of the American Baptist Coalition? If the Adamses won, Jasmine was sure that the Coalition would lose half of its membership.

  No, that was not going to happen. Jasmine had no doubt that once the votes were counted, Hosea Bush and his wife would be the new king and queen.