Lady Jasmine (12 page)

Trouble was here. And it felt like it was going to stay.

T
HE SANCTUARY WAS SILENT.

That was Jasmine’s thought as she peeked into the grand room. She slipped through the door and ventured slowly into the vacant space.

It felt so different being inside here on a weekday afternoon—without the Sunday sounds of music and the chatter of the congregants. Inside the quiet, it felt as if God was here.

She lowered herself onto the front pew in the center and raised her eyes to the cross that hung behind the altar. In her mind were thoughts of all the times she’d heard Reverend Bush teach about how anyone could bring their problems to God.

Well, that was why she was here. Her life felt like the definition of trouble—not only was there the drama with Pastor Wyatt and Jerome Viceroy, but then there was the trouble that kept seeping into her consciousness from her past.

She wondered if God’s promises were retroactive. Could she bring all of her troubles, all of her mistakes from the past, to Him now? Would He erase the flashes and the dreams she’d been having from her memory?

Could He go further? Could He wipe out the day that her
trouble began? The day she’d met Viva Menendez, the woman who had helped change the course of her life…

Viva Menendez, a fast-talking, fast-walking, fast-acting, Puerto Rican–born, New York City–raised girl whom Jasmine befriended her first day on UCLA’s campus. The two were standing in line to register for freshman classes, and the girl in front of Jasmine chatted, as if her half-English, half-Spanish banter mattered.

I wish she would shut up,
was Jasmine’s thought as she twisted her body to the side—clearly an indication that she was not interested. But the girl with a chest so huge that Jasmine wondered how she didn’t topple over, kept right on. It was only when she said, “Would you look at him? I could eat that chico with a spoon,” that Jasmine perked up.

Her glance followed the girl’s…straight to Kenny.

Jasmine waved him over, and then she said to the girl, “That’s
my
boyfriend.”

The girl tilted her head, looked Jasmine up and down, and then made a face like now it was Jasmine’s words that didn’t matter.

“Hey, sweetie,” Kenny said before he kissed Jasmine on the cheek.

When Jasmine noticed how Kenny and the girl grinned at each other, she stepped in front of her boyfriend, put her hand out, and said to the girl, “I’m Jasmine Cox, and I think you and I are going to be great friends.”

The girl’s eyes glazed over with confusion. But then she shrugged and said, “
Chica,
put your hand down and give me a hug. If you’re gonna be my homey, we should at least act like it, right?”

And the friendship was born—with nothing more in common than Kenny Larson. From that day forward, Jasmine kept Viva as close to her and as far away from Kenny as she could.

But even though there were times when she wondered if
Kenny and Viva had figured out a way to hook up (since Jasmine didn’t trust anyone), her fears faded quickly. Before the autumn leaves had completely fallen, Viva had a trail of guys sniffing behind her. More than once, Jasmine had barged into Viva’s dorm room with some campus news, only to find a naked man in Viva’s bed.

“Dang, girl,” Jasmine said after their English teaching assistant staggered out of her friend’s room one afternoon. “How many guys are you sleeping with?”

“Don’t hate on me, mama. I’ve got to use what I got to get what I want.”

That had always been Jasmine’s philosophy, too, but did Viva have to act like a whore? There were ways to use guys…and do it with class.

However, it was Viva’s free-thinking, free-spirit attitude that helped Jasmine out when she needed help the most.

The day after Jasmine had gone home to talk to her father about suing the hospital, she’d ended up at Viva’s place, bawling.

“He’s already paid the hospital,” Jasmine sobbed. “There goes my money.”

“Oh,
chica,
that’s heavy. What’re you gonna do?” Viva asked in a tone filled with tears and pain that matched her friend’s.

“I don’t know,” Jasmine wailed. “I gotta keep my apartment; I gotta graduate in May with you guys.”

“
Chica,
you know I got you, right? You can move in with me.”

Jasmine nodded, although they both knew she wouldn’t do that. There wasn’t enough space in the one bedroom for Viva, Jasmine, and the men who traipsed in and out constantly.

Viva continued, “But here’s the thing: you need money. You need a job.”

Jasmine sniffed back more tears. “And where do you think I
go every morning?”

“I’m not talking about one of those corporate internships. I’m talking about something that will put some real dough in your hands, mama.” Viva grabbed her purse from the floor and took out three stacks of bills, each secured with a rubber band. Jasmine’s eyes widened. Even if all the bills were singles, there had to be a couple of hundred dollars there.

“Who gave you that?”

“Not who. What. I’m getting paid. This is what I made this week.”

Jasmine looked at Viva with doubtful eyes. About two months ago, Viva had told her that she’d found a new gig as a hostess, but Jasmine didn’t know of any restaurant that paid this much in tips.

“I didn’t feel like hearing your mouth, so I didn’t tell you,” Viva began, “but what I’m really doing is, I’m dancing. Out by the airport. At a place called Foxtails.”

“Dancing?”

Slowly Viva nodded, and in seconds, Jasmine understood—dancing was a code word.

Although it was surprising, it really shouldn’t have been. If there had been a category for Girl Most Likely to Be a Stripper in their junior class, Viva Menendez would have won in a landslide.

“And you know what I’m going to do for you?” Viva asked. “I’m going to hook you up ’cause you my girl, and right about now, you need to make this kind of money, too…

With a deep breath, Jasmine pushed herself from the pew and knelt in front of the altar. She needed to get all thoughts of that woman and that time out of her head. She needed to take that trouble to God and leave it right on the altar.

So she closed her eyes and prayed, prayed for God’s help. Long minutes passed, and she kept praying. Didn’t stop until
her knees started to ache.

When she stood and glanced at the cross, it glimmered in the daytime light. And her lips spread into a slow smile. She could feel it—God’s peace that everyone talked about.

With a deep sigh, she released her fears. And somehow, she knew—she wouldn’t have any more trouble now.

A
LMOST ONE MONTH.

That’s all it had been since the day Jasmine had walked down these hospital halls for the first time. It hadn’t been the year that it felt like.

And in that month, Jasmine had learned a lot. She knew the staff by name. Knew their schedules. Even knew whether they were married. Or had children. She knew the daily goings-on at Harlem Hospital, in the third-floor step-down unit.

What she didn’t know was how many more days, weeks, months she would be walking down these halls.

She paused outside of the room where Reverend Bush was sleeping.

Sleeping. That’s what Mae Frances called it.

“Is he still sleeping?” she asked every morning when she spoke with Jasmine.

Sleeping. A gentle word with a wonderful implication—that with a kiss from God, one day, he would awaken.

Jasmine pushed the room door open, then paused when she heard her husband’s voice.

“Pops, I’m following your wishes, but the church…You know, last week, Mrs. Whittingham asked me if this was too
much and I’m beginning to think…I don’t know. The offerings, they’re still down. I know you don’t care about that kind of thing, but I have to be concerned. We have to meet the budget. I mean, things aren’t that bad yet, but if they continue…”

With one hand, Hosea held the Bible he’d been reading to his father, and with his other, he took his father’s hand and squeezed it.

Jasmine blinked and pressed down her grief.

“I’m going to stay the course, though, Pops,” Hosea started again, this time with more strength. “I’m going to stay through Wyatt and Viceroy because this is what you want. But I’ve gotta tell you, this is definitely your calling, not mine.” A moment passed before he put down his father’s hand and tucked the Bible by his side.

Silently, Jasmine moved toward him. Softly, she rested her hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t hear you come in.” He never looked up, didn’t have to. He knew his wife’s touch. “How’s Jacquie?”

“She’s asking about her daddy.”

Still not looking her way, he said, “One day…I may want to bring her here. Maybe hearing her voice will.” He stopped, as if that was a complete sentence. “Maybe.” Another absolute thought.

He said no more, just left his hope right there. Together they stood, looking down at his father. And then, together, they lowered themselves to their knees and prayed like they always did—that the same grace Reverend Bush had extended to so many would find its way to him now.

The knock on the door broke through their quiet, and their faces stretched with surprise when Sister Pearline hobbled into the room.

Jasmine pushed herself up and moved quickly to assist the elderly woman. Even though Sister Pearline walked as if each step took effort, she still wore her bright smile.

Gently, Jasmine took the woman’s hand and led her to the chair. Her heart held a special place for this kind old lady.

“Thank you, Lady Jasmine,” Sister Pearline said. “Whew! That was a long walk.”

“Walk?” Hosea frowned. “Sister Pearline you couldn’t possibly have walked—”

“Yeah, I did. How else was I supposed to get here from the elevator?” She sighed. “That sure was a long walk.”

He asked, “But, how did you get
here
? To the hospital?”

It took a moment for her to gather her breath. “I took the train.”

“You should’ve called me,” Hosea admonished. “I don’t want you out, especially at this time of night.”

She waved her hand, as if his words meant nothing. I’ve been walking up and down these streets all my life, and I’m not about to stop now. You better believe, if somebody were to come up on me the wrong way,” she tapped her cane on the floor, “I got something for them.”

Jasmine bowed her head to hide her smile. Sister Pearline was serious—as if that little stick was going to stop somebody.

“Anyway, I needed to get here so that I could have a word with you.” She took a glance at Reverend Bush, then closed her eyes. Jasmine and Hosea stood shoulder to shoulder and waited for Sister Pearline to finish her prayer. But she stayed like that for so long that Jasmine wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

Then a soft “Amen” before she opened her eyes. Sister Pearline was still looking at Reverend Bush when she said, “You need to turn in your resignation as senior pastor tomorrow.”

“What?” Jasmine said. Surely she hadn’t heard this woman, their friend, correctly.

With more calm than his wife had, Hosea said, “Sister Pearline, let’s talk about this outside.”

“No, baby, I’m fine right here,” she said, her tone soft, gen
tle, as if she hadn’t just told Hosea to walk away from all that was important to him.

He whispered, “The doctors don’t want Pops disturbed with long conversations. And I know you wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt him.”

That got her moving, although not very fast. But the moment she was outside, she stood in front of their faces as if she was ten feet tall and repeated what she’d said. “You need to let Pastor Wyatt take over.”

Jasmine folded her arms, shook her head.
Where did this come from?
But as quickly as her question came, so did her answer. Surely it was Pastor Wyatt! Somehow that fool had said something, done something to move one of Reverend Bush’s faithful servants to his side.

“Now, Sister Pearline, why would I walk away from what my father wants me to do?” Hosea asked, his tone carrying no anger.

“Because you cannot lead a church where your wife is not even a member.” She banged her cane on the floor to emphasize her point.

“What are you talking about?” Jasmine exclaimed.

Sister Pearline looked straight at Jasmine, and the bright light of Christian love was gone from her eyes. In its place was a cold glare—as if when she looked at Jasmine, she was staring into the soul of a heathen. “I’m talking about you! And how you’re not fit to be a first lady.”

“Sister Pearline,” Hosea said, “I’m not going to let you—”

But she interrupted, “There’s nothing to discuss here, young man.” She spoke as if the decision was hers. “How can you lead our souls to heaven when the woman in your own house doesn’t love the Lord enough to take the time to become a member?”

“First of all,” Jasmine began, her finger raised and her neck rolling. All of her affection for this woman was gone. “Who are you to say that I don’t love God?” she asked. This was when
Hosea usually grabbed her and pulled her back to reason. But since he hadn’t touched her or said a word, Jasmine kept going. “And secondly, you seem to have lost your memory or your mind, because I’ve been going to City of Lights every Sunday since Hosea and I were married.”

Sister Pearline scrunched her face and looked Jasmine up and down. “Sitting in the pews doesn’t make you a member any more than it makes you a Christian. Don’t you think that when it’s time for you to meet your Maker, God’s going to ask about your membership? Don’t you think He’s going to ask if you’ve confessed Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior? Or do you think He’s gonna say, ‘Come on in, Jasmine; you’re with him.” With her cane, she pointed to Hosea. But when she tried to steady herself again, the cane slipped.

“Lord, Jesus!” Sister Pearline shouted.

With a quickness, they both moved, but Jasmine reached her first, grabbed her arms, and lifted her upright two seconds before she hit the ground.

“Whew!” Sister Pearline pushed her cane into the floor, testing its steadiness before she stood up straight. “That was close. Thank you,” she said to Jasmine, her smile back for a moment. But then, “Now as I was saying, Hosea, you need to turn in your resignation, because your father didn’t build his church to turn it over to you and a woman who isn’t even saved.”

You old coot! I should’ve let you fall.

But right when she opened her mouth to speak that thought, Hosea said, “Sister Pearline, Jasmine is as saved as you are.”

“How do you know?” Sister Pearline glared at him. “Only God knows her heart.”

“And only God knows yours, but if anyone asked me, I’d say that you were saved, too. Even if you are up here talking all this craziness.”

His words made her back hunch over a little bit more. She stared at Jasmine for a moment. “Well,” she began, softer now,
“I was surprised when they said—” She stopped, as if she’d spoken words she wasn’t supposed to say. Standing as erect as she could, she said, “Your wife’s not a member of City of Lights,” she said, sounding like she was reciting a script. “That means you can’t be the pastor.”

With his arms crossed but a smile still on his face, Hosea shook his head. “Now you—and everyone else—should know me better than that. I’m not resigning, Sister Pearline. But your point is taken, and Jasmine will become a member.”

“What?” Jasmine and Sister Pearline said at the same time.

“Well, it’s the obvious solution. Jasmine needs to go through the membership classes and take the right hand of fellowship, like everyone else.”

“But—”

He ignored his wife.

“Sister Pearline, we’ll take care of this right away.”

“Hosea—”

He kept his attention on the elderly woman. “We have daytime classes every Friday, right? Jasmine can begin tomorrow.”

“You can’t be serious—”

Still pretending that he didn’t hear a word Jasmine was saying, Hosea took the old woman’s arm and led her toward the elevator. “Now, Sister Pearline, I don’t want you out any later than you need to be. I’d take you home myself, but I want to spend a little more time with Pops, so I’m gonna put you in a cab.”

“No.” Sister Pearline shook her head. Her eyes moved from one corner of the hallway to the other, like she was searching for an escape route. She took two steps, then stopped. “I don’t…need a cab.” She walked and talked as if she were confused. As if she’d come with a plan, but now she didn’t know what to do. “I can…get home…like I got here.”

“I’m not going to let you get on any subway,” and then the elevator doors closed and Jasmine heard nothing more. But
even though they were gone, she still stood in the hallway, her mouth opened wide.

For Sister Pearline to show up like this—it was clear Pastor Wyatt was not playing. His plan was to sit in Reverend Bush’s chair no matter what he had to do.

Well, he didn’t know who he was messing with. He didn’t know that she sang the same song he did—win by any means necessary.

And she was going to win without sitting in on some stupid new-members class. How ridiculous would it be for her to show up there? She was the first lady, and everyone already knew that she was a Christian. She never missed church and hadn’t cheated on Hosea since they’d been married. She never killed anyone, never stole anything, and never lied unless it was absolutely necessary. She read her Bible when she had time and prayed when she needed something. What more was there to learn? She was probably better than half of the people walking the earth.

Jasmine marched back into her father-in-law’s room. Hosea had lost his mind if he thought she was going to sit in on any new-members class. And as soon as he came back, she was going to tell him that.