Lady Jasmine (16 page)

T
HEY WERE HOLDING HANDS WHEN
they turned the corner and saw the nurses running from the room. Jasmine and Hosea stood, their eyes wide as a doctor shouted orders.

“We’re moving him now!”

Finally, the shock released him, and Hosea ran to his father’s room. “What—”

Before he could get out another word, two orderlies wheeled his father’s bed through the door, pausing for a second to steady the frame.

The sheet was pulled high on Reverend Bush, but only to his face. And that was where Jasmine saw death…in the gray pallor of his skin. In the way his forehead was beaded with sweat. He looked like he was on his way to die.

“Pops!” Hosea yelled, as his father was rushed past them.

“Mr. Bush, we were trying to reach you.” Jasmine and Hosea spun around to face Dr. Lewis. “We’re moving your father back up to ICU.” The doctor spoke succinctly, her tone filled with more urgency than Jasmine had ever heard before in her voice.

“What happened?”

Dr. Lewis shook her head as she directed Hosea and Jasmine
away from the door. “We’re not sure yet, but his temperature has been rising all night. And then this morning, his blood pressure began dropping,” she said quickly.

Jasmine inhaled a huge breath of air. And even though she was sure of the answer, she asked, “Is he dy—”

Hosea didn’t let her finish. “What are you going to do?”

“We’re putting him on pressors. It may be that he has an infection in his blood.”

“An infection in his blood?” Jasmine exclaimed. “Isn’t that like poison? What are you doctors doing to him!”

Hosea took her hand, her signal to be quiet.

The doctor looked at Jasmine for a moment, then squared her shoulders and spoke to Hosea. “We’re not sure of the source—
if
it’s even an infection. But if it is, it could be that his catheter has given him a kidney infection. Or it could be that a bacterium from one of his bedsores has gotten into his blood.”

This time, Hosea couldn’t keep her quiet. “Bedsores!” Jasmine shouted.

“Yes,” the doctor said as patiently as she could. “Bedsores are not uncommon for a patient who’s been bedridden for so long. The skin breaks down and ulcers form,” she said, stating straight facts. “Whatever the source, your father’s condition is not good, and I have to go.”

“Doctor,” Hosea swallowed hard, “is my father going to be…is he—”

The doctor didn’t wait for him to ask the painful question. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Bush. This is life-threatening. That’s why I have to go.” With a quick glance at Jasmine, the doctor rushed away, leaving the two standing, their eyes following her until she was gone.

“Oh, my God,” Hosea finally whispered.

Those were her sentiments, but Jasmine couldn’t say a word. All she could do was turn around and hold her husband.

They were holding hands, in the ICU waiting room. Their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Even as the TV played a rerun of
The Cosby Show
in the corner overhead, even as other families wandered in and out, Jasmine and Hosea stayed committed to talking to God.

“Hosea!”

Brother Hill rushed into the room and held his godson. Then he leaned over and kissed Jasmine’s cheek, leaving her in as much shock as the news they’d received four hours ago about her father-in-law.

“How is he?”

Hosea shook his head. “We haven’t heard too much. Doctor Lewis came out a couple of hours ago to tell us that they had him on pressors to keep his blood pressure up. That’s the big problem—keeping his pressure up so that his brain gets enough blood and oxygen. They’re concerned about brain damage.”

“Wow.” Brother Hill sank into the chair next to Hosea. “Samuel was doing so well.”

“Not well, Daniel,” Hosea said. “He’s been in this coma, and we’ve been fooling ourselves that since he wasn’t getting worse, he was getting better.”

Brother Hill nodded.

Jasmine squeezed her husband’s hand. “But we’re not giving up,” she said to both of them.

Hosea shook his head slowly. “No, I’ll never give up on Pops.”

“And you know your father. He’s not ready to leave us,” Brother Hill said, as if that was his hope. He added, “I called Wyatt to let him know what’s going on. Did you know he was out of town?”

“Yeah, he had an engagement somewhere in Mississippi this weekend,” Hosea said. “But that’s fine. I can handle my father
and the church.”

Jasmine frowned. She hadn’t known that Pastor Wyatt was away. If he was gone, then maybe he wasn’t the one who’d slid the note under her door.

“He said he’ll be back on Monday.”

“Whatever,” Hosea said, just as Dr. Lewis stepped into the room.

Thoughts of Pastor Wyatt were gone as the three stood. Dr. Lewis glanced at Brother Hill and Hosea nodded.

“Doctor, I think you’ve met my godfather, Daniel Hill.”

“Yes.” Her voice was weighed down by exhaustion. “Well, we’ve gotten your father stable again. His fever is slowly coming down, and now we have him on a broad range of antibiotics—which means we’re trying to kill anything and everything before we even get his blood cultures back.”

“And his blood pressure?” Hosea asked.

“Well, if this works, by tonight his pressure should be more stable.”

“Okay, then,” Hosea said with hope, “this is good news.”

The three exhaled, exchanged hopeful glances, and nodded together. But then the little bit of relief they found was snatched away when they turned back to the doctor. Her expression said nothing about good news.

“Is there something else?” Hosea asked.

“I want to caution you. Your father’s blood pressure was so low, we don’t know what kind of damage was done. If we get him stable, we may want to do more tests.”

“Sure.” Hosea nodded. “Whatever you need to do.”

“Now, if there is extensive damage, that could mean…he could be brain dead.”

The gasp was so loud, Jasmine wasn’t sure if the sound had come from just her.

The doctor asked, “Does your father have a living will, any instructions on how he would want this situation handled?”

Hosea shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s never talked to me about that.”

“Well, if he doesn’t have one, then you’re going to have to make the decision. Depending on the test results, we may want to think about taking your father off the ventilator.”

“But if you take him off…” Hosea didn’t have to finish.

The doctor nodded. “Then nature would take its course.”

“No!” Hosea exclaimed.

As if the doctor had been in this place before, she stood, her eyes and voice steady. “All I’m saying is that we should consider everything.”

“No!” He shook his head to help convey his point.

“Think about it. It may be better—”

“You’re not hearing me, Doctor!”

This time, Jasmine was the one who had to hold her husband back. She grabbed his shoulder, gently. And, with that little bit of pressure, reminded him who he was. Reminded him he had to stay calm.

Hosea took a breath. “I’m sorry, but you need to hear what I’m saying. We’re going to do everything we have to do. The life-and-death decision—that’s going to stay in God’s hands.”

“That’s what I’m talking about Mr. Bush, letting nature take its course.”

“And I’m talking about your using every talent that God gave you. Your work and my prayers are going to keep my father alive.”

Dr. Lewis stood, saying nothing for a moment, her eyes a bit brighter. “You’re wrong Mr. Bush. It’s
my
work and
my
prayers, too.” With a slight smile, she nodded and walked away.

A
S THEY WAITED FOR
D
R.
Lewis, Jasmine squeezed Hosea’s hand. Her eyes scanned the walls, covered with platinum-framed diplomas that declared to the world that Dr. Lewis knew what she was doing.

“You okay?”

She twisted to face her husband when she heard his soft voice. She wasn’t fooled by the way his lips upturned. The story was in his eyes—his fear, mixed with his determination to stand, no matter what the doctor said. She held his hand tight, needing to garner some of his faith.

It had been two days since the reverend’s crisis, and although the color had returned to his face, Reverend Bush was still the same. Still wasn’t breathing on his own. Still needed every bit of medical technology to keep him alive.

The tension of it all had been almost enough to take Jasmine’s mind off the blackmail. Almost, but not completely.

During the day, she had Hosea and Jacqueline to focus on. But in the dark of the night, she was alone with her thoughts, traumatized by the knowledge that her past had found its way to her present.

She did have a plan, but there was no way to work it—not
until this crisis passed. She couldn’t move ahead knowing what she was about to do to her husband.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Dr. Lewis broke through Jasmine’s musings as she swept into the office.

Jasmine searched her face for some clue, but, like always, Dr. Lewis wore her mask, covering up any feelings.

“Okay,” she said, opening a folder on her desk. “I have some good news. Your father is doing much better.”

Together, they breathed a long sigh of relief.

The doctor glanced down at her notes. “You know his fever broke yesterday, and this morning, his pressure is completely steady. In fact,” she looked up, “when I checked on him, he seemed to be breathing over the vent a little bit.”

Jasmine and Hosea frowned. He asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means…that some of those prayers we’re
both
sending up,” she smiled, her mask gone for a moment, “are working. Your father is trying to breathe on his own. That’s a sign that he’s waking up.”

“That’s great!” Jasmine exclaimed.

The doctor nodded, then a shadow passed and took her smile away. “We’re going to try to wean him off the ventilator,” she said, her doctor’s voice back, “and see how he does.”

“He’s going to do fine,” Hosea said, just as his cell phone vibrated. He grabbed it from his holster, glanced at the doctor, and said, “This looks important. May I take it?”

The doctor nodded. “Make it quick, and I’ll look the other way.”

Jasmine gave the doctor a courtesy smile, then diverted her eyes, checking out the diplomas once again. Took her thoughts back to her plan. With Reverend Bush doing so much better, she could move forward now.

When Hosea flipped the phone closed, he turned to Jasmine. “That was Mrs. Whittingham. She can’t open the church
this morning, something about the pipes in her apartment. Can you get over there?”

Jasmine looked from the doctor back to her husband. “I want to be here.”

“But Doctor Lewis has already told us everything”—he turned to the doctor—“right?”

She nodded and stood up. “I’ll keep you posted if anything changes.”

Hosea turned back to Jasmine. “The serviceman is coming to repair the copier; we really need to get that done. And with Wyatt out of town and Brother Hill at another appointment, you’re it, ’cause I want to spend some time with Pops.”

“Okay.” She gathered her bag before she said good-bye to the doctor, and then kissed Hosea. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Take the car,” he offered, handing her the keys.

Outside of the hospital, Jasmine glanced over her shoulder at the blue and white building, thought once more about her husband and her father-in-law, then turned around and left all thoughts of them right there on Lenox Avenue.

Unlocking the SUV with the remote, she jumped inside, then made a U-turn heading in the opposite direction of City of Lights. Her plan was to go downtown, south of Twenty-third Street, where she doubted that she would run into anyone she knew. She had no concern about the copier repair. Now that her father-in-law was out of danger, she had to do what she had to do—and that was to get Hosea to step down.

It did sadden her that she had to give up so much. Six weeks. That was her entire reign as the first lady. How pitiful was that?

But in a small (very small) way, Jasmine wanted to thank the blackmailer. Having Hosea resign really was best. The two of them were too good for this church, these people, this drama. And the measly one hundred thousand dollars they’d decided to pay Hosea annually wouldn’t be missed. She’d go back to Rio
(where she made much more), and they would return to the life where they belonged. They would be with people who were full of style and elegance—and nothing like the folks at City of Lights.

About fifteen minutes later, she rolled to a stop in front of a Duane Reade. She glanced down one end of the street, then the other. Satisfied, she grabbed the scarf and huge glasses from her purse and secured her disguise. A final mirror check before she slipped out of the car and walked into the drugstore.

Her plan was about to begin.

It hadn’t taken long at all.

Glancing at her watch, Jasmine stepped into the church, a bit over an hour after she’d left Hosea at the hospital.

She flipped on the lights, locked the door, then walked down the hall, her mind on her plan. Inside her office, her eyes stayed on the bag she held.

It wasn’t until she walked around her desk and sat in her chair that her concentration was broken. She frowned when she felt something beneath her. Slowly, she stood. Looked down.

The rush of blood shot through her veins, taking her pressure higher. The bag she held slipped through her fingers, fell to the floor. But she didn’t move her eyes from the wrinkled envelope.

Really, there was no need to touch it. She knew what it was—nothing but trouble.

It was the way the envelope was addressed that made her tremble, made her give up any hope that the first letter, the first threat that had come four days ago, was a hoax.

The typewritten name on the envelope this time:
Pepper Pulaski.

As she stood and stared, Jasmine remembered the day that she first claimed that name…

“Come on,” Viva had said, tugging her arm so hard, Jasmine
felt like her limb might pop right out of the socket.

Viva pulled her along, but it was hard to move forward. Hard to step past the gaudy neon sign that screamed in the entire rainbow of colors:
FOXTAILS
.

Jasmine couldn’t believe the number of times she’d passed by and never noticed the pink and purple stucco building that was set several feet back off Century Boulevard.

A moment later, she was inside, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Slowly, the darkness became light and the first thing Jasmine saw was the stage; it reminded her of the ones she’d decorated when she was part of the drama club’s production team in high school.

But it wasn’t the cheap stage that made her stare. It was the act on it. The girl gyrating against the pole as if the gleaming silver piece was a man.

“Don’t worry,” Viva whispered. “It’s early. In a couple of hours this place will be jammed.”

Only then did Jasmine notice the sprinkle of men—four, maybe five guys—sitting at the small round tables surrounding the stage, their eyes stuck on the girl like superglue.

Jasmine nodded as if Viva had addressed her concern. But it wasn’t the quantity of people in the club that made Jasmine shift from one leg to another. It was the girl. Dancing. Totally naked, except for the slither of a G-string.

Jasmine wanted to cut and run. But the fact was, if she wanted to get this money, this was it.

She’d tried—she’d scoured the employment section in the
L.A. Times,
but there wasn’t much for an untrained college student who could work only a couple of hours a week. Still, she’d knocked on the doors of every hospital, every hotel, every bank seeking part-time work. There was nothing. She’d even tried to get hired as an airport shuttle driver, but she couldn’t read the
Thomas Guide.

In a final act of desperation, she’d gone to a local grocery store several miles away from her apartment. She was willing
to work a cash register, pack groceries—anything to earn what she needed.

At least the manager at Ralph’s had told her yes, they were hiring cashiers. But even they wanted full-time hours, right during the time when she’d have to be in class.

“You need to start looking at this logically,” Viva had said when Jasmine complained. “How many jobs are going to pay you what you need?” When Jasmine didn’t answer, Viva responded for her. “None! But at Foxtails, you tell Buck how many days you want to work, and I’m telling you,
chica,
the money is
muy bien.
” Viva kissed the tips of her fingers.

It was the
muy bien
that had her here now, following behind Viva, moving in step to Irene Cara screaming through the club, “I can have it all, now I’m dancin’ for my life!”

“Hey, Buck,” Viva waved to the man behind the counter, “I got a new girl for you.”

When the man turned around, his thick, shoulder-length blond dreadlocks whipped over his shoulder. His bushy eyebrows furrowed together as he peered at Jasmine through Coke-bottle glasses.

“’Sup?” he asked in a voice that belied his white skin. If she’d been blindfolded, Jasmine would have sworn this guy was straight from the hood.

“Buck, this is my girl, Jasmine. She wants to dance,” Viva said.

“Yo, how ya doin’?” Buck squeezed his wide hips from behind the bar. Standing in front of them, he crossed his arms and stared at Jasmine before he took off his glasses.

“You don’t have much on top,” he grunted. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Jasmine exclaimed.

Viva whispered, “Take a chill pill,
chica.
This is your audition. He’s checking you out; don’t blow it.”

She had to remember all the reasons: her tuition, her apart
ment, her boyfriend, keeping up her image. She had to think about what it would be like if people found out that she didn’t have enough money to finish school.

She unbuttoned her blouse, shrugged it from her shoulders, and then dropped it on the bar stool. She stood in just her bra and jeans.

Buck rolled his eyes. “So you gonna dance in your underwear? Come on,” he said, waving his hands and sounding as if she was getting on his nerves.

She closed her eyes. Remembered. Then she unhooked her bra.

“Itty, bitty,” he said, shaking his head. “You might want to get those taken care of one day.”

Jasmine’s mouth opened wide.

“Look, I’m trying to help you out, baby. You don’t have nothing that you can shake. But what you got will do, ’cause some cats like ’em like that. Okay, drop your jeans and turn around.” It must’ve been the look on her face that made him sigh. “Keep your panties on.”

She unclasped the buttons on her jeans, then slipped them over her hips.

“Turn around,” he repeated.

Slowly, she moved in a circle as Irene Cara still sang. Her eyes were squeezed tight, her heart was beating fast, and her mind reminded her of her reasons.

He nodded. “They’ll like what you’re hauling behind ya.” After a moment, he asked, “Ever done this before?”

“No!” Jasmine said as if she was insulted. She faced him and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He peered at her some more and then put his glasses back on. “Okay, you’re in.”

“So how much do you pay an hour?” Jasmine asked.

Buck stared at Jasmine, then looked at Viva, and back to Jasmine. And then he laughed. Threw his head back and chor
tled, like that was the funniest line he’d ever heard. “I don’t pay nothin’ an hour.”

“You don’t pay…” Here she was standing topless, with her pants wrapped around her ankles, in front of a dread-wearin’, calorie-lovin’ white guy who was telling her that she wasn’t going to be paid?

Jasmine glared at Viva. She was about to kill her friend.

Buck said, “This is straight tips, baby. But I don’t have a nightly fee. After you hit off the DJ and the bar, you keep everything else, and you make a dollar commission on the drinks. So with the way you look, you can make hundreds, if you stop actin’ like some kind of nun.”

Make hundreds
were the words that made her stay.

“Yeah, girl,” Viva added her part. “I know how to work it to get the big tips.” She nodded. “I can teach you how to make it rain for real. Especially with the married ones.”

Jasmine wasn’t exactly sure what her friend was talking about, but she remembered the stack of bills Viva had shown her—and she had a feeling that rain had something to do with money.

“So you in?” Buck asked.

All Jasmine wanted was to be out—but the thought of five thousand dollars made her nod.

“You eighteen?”

Jasmine nodded again.

“Got ID? ’Cause I ain’t about to catch a case for no new girl. Don’t want Five-O sniffin’ ’round here.”

“I got ID,” she said, reaching for her shirt.

“Get dressed later,” Buck said, sounding impatient. He held out his hand. “Just give me your ID so that I can make a copy and get your papers together for your permit.”

After she handed him her license, he said to Viva, “Double up with her tonight.”

“Why?” Viva whined. “She can dance.”

“You’re my best girl, and I need you to double up with the new kid,” Buck repeated in a tone that said this was his party. “It’s Friday, and I ain’t about to lose money with some shy newby,” he said, as if Jasmine wasn’t standing there. “Either you double up, or she’s out.”

Both Buck and Viva turned to Jasmine. Stared at her with her hands crossed over her chest, as if that was enough to hide her nakedness.

Buck said, “If she works out, she can work the stage after tonight.” And then he turned away, without any kind of goodbye. Leaving Jasmine standing topless and confused.

As fast as she could, Jasmine slipped her arms through her blouse, stuffed her bra into her purse, then pulled up her jeans.