Lady Jasmine (18 page)

“D
ETECTIVE
F
OXX
, I
REALLY APPRECIATE
your stopping by.” Hosea shook the man’s hand as he stepped through the door.

“Not a problem.” The detective shrugged off his raincoat, then glanced toward Jasmine. He nodded. “Morning, Mrs. Bush.”

Jasmine mumbled her greeting behind a yawn. It had been almost six when she finally tiptoed back into her bedroom, minutes before the alarm would awaken Hosea. And even though she had hoped that exhaustion would give her at least an hour’s worth of sleep, she’d stayed awake, praying that she’d considered everything with the prepaid phone. But she wasn’t sure. Detective Foxx had to know something about tracing these phones—what other reason could he have for coming to their home on a Saturday morning?

Fear rumbled inside of her. She could imagine the detective, taking one look at the text, then jumping up, handcuffing her, and telling her something about the right to remain silent before hauling her off to jail.

“Detective,” Hosea said, his voice interrupting her wide-awake nightmare. “I don’t want to hold you too long.” He handed the detective his cell phone.

Jasmine held her breath as she watched the man focus on the screen, scroll down, then back up. All she could do was pray.

“So you really think this came from someone at church?” Detective Foxx asked, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe that.

“I don’t know what to tell you except that it’s from someone who wants me out. But I can’t imagine anyone I know sending something like this.” He paused. “You know, if this was about me, I wouldn’t have even called you. But once they threatened my family…”

“I’m glad you called. We need to check this out.” The detective stared at the phone for a moment longer. “Let’s try something.” He punched a button. “I don’t know if this will work. Can’t imagine that someone would be this stupid, but I’ve met dumber criminals.”

Jasmine swallowed before she whispered, “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling the number.” It was the way her eyes widened that made him say, “I know, I don’t expect anyone to pick up, but you never know.”

“I tried that yesterday,” Hosea said, “But there was no answer.”

Jasmine looked at her husband with fresh eyes. Maybe he was better at these games than she was—she hadn’t even thought about his calling that phone.

There was no way she was going to be able to continue breathing. All she did was close her eyes and, inside, pray harder.

Lord, if you get me out of this…

She prayed and prayed and tried to remember if she’d turned off the phone. And then she prayed that if she hadn’t, they wouldn’t hear not even the faintest sound coming from deep in the back of her closet.

When the detective breathed deeply, so did she. “No answer.” He clicked off the cell. “I suspect that number is for one
of those throw-away phones.” He jotted the telephone number down on a pad, then handed the cell back to Hosea. “I’ll do a little searching around. Find out where this number was purchased and see if the store personnel can tell me anything.” He paused. “But I really doubt this is going to be traceable.”

Those were the best words Jasmine had heard in years.

He continued, “I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. Don’t really think this person is trying to harm you. In fact, if I had to guess, I’d say the text came from a woman.”

“A woman?” Jasmine and Hosea said together.

“Yup. I’ve done some profiling in my day, and looking at this message, the words are soft—like someone is trying to scare you, not pose a real threat. Very feminine.” He stood. “But the intent doesn’t matter. When we find them, they will be arrested.”

Lord, if you let me get out of this…

“So you think you’ll find out who sent this?” Hosea asked.

He nodded. “Blackmailers always mess up. It’ll be something small, but they get careless. They make mistakes. And the more they communicate, the greater the chance of catching them—that’s a fact.” He shrugged his shoulders back into his raincoat. “Let me know every time you get a text.”

“You think I’ll get more?”

“Definitely. This is an amateur. You’ll hear from them again and again.” Over his shoulder, he said, “Enjoy the rest of your day, Mrs. Bush.” He looked back at her and then stopped, as if he saw something. Turned around. Moved toward her.

Jasmine closed her eyes. Expected that what she would hear next was the detective telling her to remain silent and start thinking about an attorney.

But he only stood in front of her and said softly, “I can see that you’re upset, but your family’s not in any danger. Now if anything changes, you can bet we’ll be right on it. But really,
you’re fine.”

She wanted to kiss him for not wrapping handcuffs around her wrists. “Thank you,” she said before he walked toward the door.

Her plan had been to keep sending messages until Hosea stepped down, but now all she wanted to do was get rid of that cell phone. She couldn’t wait to take a ride to the West Side and dump her evidence deep into the Hudson River.

But while the detective had made every part of her tremble with fear, at the same time he’s given her hope.

Blackmailers always mess up.

That’s what he said. If her blackmailer kept sending letters, then eventually he would mess up.

That’s what she needed—one big mess-up. And she needed for this mess-up to happen real soon.

J
ASMINE TAPPED ON THE KEYS
to her computer, switching from the Word document with the church’s newsletter back to the fake e-mail account she’d created.

“I cannot believe this, Mae Frances,” she whispered, even though she was alone in her bedroom. Hosea had long ago left for the hospital. But she didn’t even want Mrs. Sloss overhearing her. “I haven’t heard a thing from anyone in five days.” Her eyes scanned through the spam that had filled her new e-mail account.

“I would think that’s a good thing.”

“How can you say that?” Jasmine switched back to the church’s newsletter. “I would’ve thought Pastor Wyatt or Jerome would have responded by now. I need something on them.”

“You think one of them was going to answer that silly little e-mail? Please. That letter you read to me didn’t fool nobody. It sounded like a setup.”

“Then why did you tell me my plan was good.”

“Because it was…for an amateur. But I told you that you were playin’ with the big boys and that you needed to let one of my connections handle this.”

Jasmine sighed. There was no doubt that Mae Frances could
probably help, but her connections always came with a bill. And without her own paycheck, it would be difficult to pay and not leave a trail for Hosea to find.

“I’m going to stick to my plan,” Jasmine said. “I’m going to be all right.” Although she wasn’t quite sure she believed that. She switched back to her e-mail account, and this time the new mail icon was up. She clicked, then sat straight up in her bed.

“Mae Frances, I’ve gotta go.”

“Why? What you gotta do that’s more important than talking to me?”

Her eyes were on the new e-mail. “I gotta…take…Jacquie,” she stuttered. “I’ll call you back later.” She could hear her friend’s protests as she hung up.

Tossing the cordless phone aside, she read the e-mail aloud.

“Thank you, Mariah, for such kind words from what I can tell is a beautiful girl. How old are you?”

That was it. There wasn’t much to work with, but at least it was a start.

Jasmine hit Respond, but before she typed a word, she clicked back over to read Jerome’s e-mail again.

“How old are you?” she whispered Jerome’s question out loud. That was not the first question a smart man would ask a woman, even though no one ever said Jerome Viceroy was smart.

After a moment, Jasmine signed off, folded down her laptop, and leaned against the bed’s headboard. There was no need to rush this; she needed to think it all the way through.

Finally, progress—contact with Jerome. Obviously, she needed another path to Pastor Wyatt and Enid. And Roxie. And Ivy.

But she was sure she’d find it. Jerome’s e-mail had filled her with confidence.

T
HIS DIDN’T FEEL SO MUCH
like the seat of honor anymore—this first pew, first seat that she had coveted for so long. It was probably exhaustion that was making her feel this way; the mental erosion from being on edge—waiting for something to happen, trying to make something happen.

Jasmine hadn’t heard from the blackmailer in over a week, but she was sure it was a trick. She’d be a fool to believe that the threat was gone when it was probably sitting in the sanctuary with her right now. All she wanted to do was to turn around and search for the culprit. Find the eyes that were watching and waiting for her to break. But she had no intention of giving anyone that satisfaction.

That’s why she’d come into the sanctuary early, taken her place as always. The blackmailer needed to know that she would not be intimidated.

As the hum of chatter rose around her, Jasmine kept her eyes fixed to the altar and the golden cross that hung high on the wall.

Lord, if you will just get me out of this…

She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and then her lids parted wide. A sweet fragrance sailed beneath her nostrils.

She frowned and for the first time noticed the potted plant in front of her, blooming white flowers that generously sprayed their scent inside the sanctuary.

Fear swelled within her when she inhaled the familiar bouquet. Her memories were as fresh as the flowers, and it was the fragrance that dragged Jasmine back to 1983…

Foxtails had been empty that afternoon when Viva had first taken Jasmine to meet Buck, but by night the hostess club was jammed like a sports bar on Super Bowl Sunday. The club pulsed with men and music.

Jasmine sat in the middle of the dozens of other girls, all primping and prancing and preparing for their show. She faced the mirror and wondered again what she was doing here, wondered again if she could really pull this off, and tried again to remember all of her reasons.

“Okay, if we’re going to share the stage, we’re going to have to put on a show,” Viva spoke to Jasmine’s reflection in the mirror.

For a moment, Jasmine wondered how her friend recognized her. With the stark-black, wavy hair that fell to her waist, the fake eyelashes that hid her eyes, and the fire-red lipstick that smothered her lips, she didn’t look like Jasmine Cox. Which didn’t bother her at all. Jasmine doubted that anyone she knew would ever stroll into Foxtails, but just in case, this costume was a good thing.

Viva said, “So how flexible are you?”

Jasmine frowned.

“You know…what can you do with your legs?”

“I guess…”

“
Chica,
we don’t have time for guessing.” Viva grabbed Jasmine’s hand and pulled her up. “Can you do this?” In the middle of the room with girls flittering around her, Viva slowly inched her legs apart until she dropped into a full split.

Jasmine shrugged, hoisted her dress a bit higher on her hips and then did the same.

“Way to go, mama.” Viva laughed and pushed herself up. “What about this?” She spread her legs shoulder-width apart, leaned forward, grabbed her ankles, and looked back at Jasmine through her legs.

Jasmine took the same stance and grasped the top of her four-inch Lucite pumps.

Her friend gave her a high five. “That’s a money shot. Raise what you got in the air like that, and it’ll be raining for sure.”

“This is crazy.” Jasmine wrung her hands together. “I should’ve practiced for a couple of days first.”

“Practice? This ain’t no Broadway show.” Viva shook her head. “And anyway, it’s not about the dance. It’s about getting naked. Just remember. Take off the clothes slowly. Drag it out, and we’ll get more money.”

Jasmine glanced down at the nurse’s outfit she wore. How was she going to take her time with this? There wasn’t anything there—just a one-piece dress that was nothing more than a long blouse. The hem rode high up on her hips, allowing the edge of her garter to peek through. And when she glanced over her shoulder and looked in the mirror, half of her butt was already hanging out.

As if Viva heard her thoughts, she added, “Unbutton it slowly. And remember, you do have your bra to play with. You can toss it into the audience, but you’ll never get it back. Oh, and remember, you have to always keep your G-string on. That’s the law.”

A roar from the front seeped to the back and a raven-haired girl (whom Viva had introduced to her earlier as Susan from USC) came traipsing through the curtain with a bunch of bills stuffed in her garter and in her hand.

“It’s pouring out there.” She waved two fists filled with money and strutted back and forth like she was oblivious to the fact that just a couple of inches of cloth covered her.

“Okay, we’re up next.” Viva grabbed Jasmine’s hand. As they waited for the cue from the DJ, Viva gave her final instructions.
“If this starts to feel hard, pretend you’re someone else. Focus on the men wearing wedding bands, and remember they all just want attention.”

The voice came from the other side of the black curtain. “Gentlemen, are you ready for our very own Double Dee!” The hoots and whistles made the DJ pause. “And Double Dee has a special treat tonight. She’s got a friend—let’s hear it for Double Dee and Nurse Pepper Pulaski.”

Viva squeezed Jasmine’s hand, then shared last words of wisdom. “Let’s make it rain, baby!”

Money was on her mind as Jasmine strutted behind Viva. As Rick James belted out the lyrics to “Cold Blooded,” Jasmine waved to the DJ just as Viva did, and then she pressed her lips into a tight smile to keep them from trembling.

The DJ said, “Oh, yeah. Nurse Pepper! She’s hot! Look at all of that junk in her trunk!”

The cheers—which were really cackles—made her feel a little bit better, but it was still the money that made Jasmine swing around the second pole, like Viva was doing, and then sway her hips from side to side as she unhooked the first button on her dress.

“Freaky, baby!” the DJ sang along with Rick.

Jasmine looked out into the darkened room. Black men. White men. Men in suits. Men in sweats. Old and young. There were even a few women in the place. But male and female—everyone was watching her.

And they were gawking. And whistling. And clapping…for her.

That was when the trembling slowly began to twist into a delicious tingling, though Jasmine wasn’t quite sure why. But in that instant, it became easier to jam to Rick.

“Because I think you’re so sexy, sexy, sexy Cold Blooded!”

Jasmine closed her eyes, swung her hips from side to side, then dropped into a squat.

Men howled.

Then something tickled her ankle.

Her eyes popped open. There were bills at her feet. That made her smile. Until she looked to the other side of the stage—there were so many bills on Viva’s side, it really did look like it was raining money.

Yeah, Viva was the veteran, but the always-had-to-be-the-winner in Jasmine kicked in.

She raised her hands high above her head, then brought her arms down, letting the tips of her fingers inch lower along her curves.

Now, her dress was completely open and when she looked down, there was more money at her feet—a twenty-dollar bill! Jasmine searched for the man who’d tossed that her way.

His eyes were like laser beams. That’s how she found him—the average white man. That was the only way to describe him.

As he sat, she couldn’t tell if he was tall or short. He was Caucasian, but he wasn’t very light, nor was he dark. And in his suit, Jasmine couldn’t see if he was thin or heavy. Nothing about him stood out.

Except for the twenty-dollar bill he’d just thrown at her feet.

And the flower he wore in his lapel.

Not a boutonniere, a flower. Like something he’d just plucked from a bush right outside.

Jasmine danced her way closer, and when she paused at the edge of the stage, the sweet, flowery scent wafted up and wrapped itself around her like a lover’s arms.

The man’s thin lips slowly spread into a small smile, and Jasmine, now wearing only the red satin bra and G-string she’d bought that afternoon, kept her eyes on the man. As she gyrated, her glance moved to his hands resting in his lap. And there, on his left hand, she saw the golden loop that Viva said was the key to a stripper’s success.

She was eager to test Viva’s theory; so she spread her legs and
pushed herself lower, lower, until she was in a full split right in front of him.

Others howled, but it was this man, with the flower and the wedding band and the twenty-dollar bills, whom she wanted to impress.

And impress him she did. This time, two twenties landed right between her legs.

She traced her lips with her tongue as she danced away from him, swirled around the pole again, but kept her eyes on him when she could. Then she edged to the front of the stage where other men waited for her.

Following Viva, Jasmine tossed her bra away and was surprised when she felt nothing but exhilaration when the men hooted and hollered. When they tucked bills into her garter. When they tossed money at her feet and cheered, wanting more.

But as she ground her hips in a circle-eight motion, she kept looking back over her shoulder. At him. And he kept his eyes on her.

She spread her legs again, reached down, touched her toes, and, through her legs, glanced back at the man with the money.

Even upside down, she could tell that she took his breath away. Not two seconds passed before he tossed two more bills onto the stage. Jasmine couldn’t see how much he’d given her this time, but the way perspiration made the top of his forehead glisten, she imagined that she had danced her way to exactly what she wanted.

“Cold Blooded” was coming to an end, and she wanted a bit more. Holding on to the pole, wearing nothing more than her G-string, she glanced over her shoulder at him and then shook every single thing that her mama had given her. Quaked her behind like she was part of the San Andreas Fault.

She almost laughed…when she saw tears in the man’s eyes. And then he tossed a couple of more twenties her way.

Jasmine thanked him with a smile. Inhaled a long breath
and took in more of the sweetness that came from his flower.

“Let’s hear it for Double Dee and Pepper Pulaski!” the DJ sang as Jasmine and Viva gathered their money from the stage.

Viva backed away, still smiling, still waving. But Jasmine was already gone, headed back toward the curtain, her brain a high-speed calculator, adding up the money.

“
Chica,
that was wicked. You were bad, girl!” Viva high-fived her. “How much did you make?”

Jasmine’s instincts set in. “I don’t know,” she lied, and looked down at the bills she held like it was too much to add up. “What about you?”

Viva flipped through the bills in her hand. “The usual—close to one hundred.”

“That’s great,” Jasmine said. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll be as good as you.”

“No way, mama.” Viva laughed. “You heard Buck; I’m the best.” Viva locked her money inside her drawer, then tossed her blond wig over her shoulder. “Okay, let’s clean up a little, and then we’ll work the floor.”

Jasmine was glad Viva hadn’t asked her again how much she’d made. Didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her friend that there was a new “best girl” in town.

Inside, Jasmine trembled with excitement; she’d almost doubled what Viva had collected—one hundred and eighty-three dollars. For a ten minute dance!

Now Jasmine couldn’t wait to get back out there. “Are we going on the stage again?”

“Not sure,” Viva said, “but what you really want to do is work the floor. If you think there’s money on the stage, there’s stupid money one-on-one. Some of these guys will get off of fives and tens when you got your stuff all up in their face.”

Fives and tens?
Jasmine smirked.

As they stepped into the front of the club, Viva schooled Jasmine, “Now, remember,
chica,
look for the men with the
wedding rings ’cause they’re willing to give you everything for a sample of somethin’ they’re not getting at home. It’s all about the money, so don’t be shy.”

Her friend must not have been watching her. Jasmine had given up shy about twenty minutes ago. And Viva was wrong about the money—it wasn’t about just that anymore.

All Jasmine could think about was the way the man with the flower had looked at her. She remembered how she had made him gasp. Made him perspire. Made him damn near cry.

And he didn’t even know her name.

She’d been able to do all of that with just her body. Yes, she still needed thousands of dollars, but she’d found something better than money here. In the middle of the strip club, she’d found power.

Jasmine followed Viva through the crowd, pausing every few steps as men stopped them. She kept a smile plastered on her face, but her eyes were on her destination. She searched the room for the only man she wanted to see.

But by the time she inched her way to the edge of the stage, her moneyman, the man with the flower was gone…

He was gone that day, but Jasmine felt as if that man was here—at City of Lights. It was the scent—of the flower he wore then and the flowers that were in front of her now.

Pushing herself from the pew, Jasmine paused to steady herself before she took the short steps to the plant. She sniffed again. Remembered more, and those memories made her tremble.

She whipped around and faced the multitude—the parishioners who’d come early to get the best seats and chat with their Sunday friends. There were already hundreds of people in the sanctuary. But who’d brought in these flowers?

Breathing deeply, she forced herself to calm down. She had to be alert, aware of everyone, every move.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and she focused first on Jerome
Viceroy. He stood, dressed today in a purple suit with pink stripes. His shoulder-length curls shined under the sanctuary lights. And in the middle of the center aisle, he was holding court—with a group of teenagers. He beamed as the girls giggled and chatted, their eyes overflowing with admiration for the man who was always on television.

When Pastor Wyatt and his wife strolled in front of Jerome, Jasmine’s glance followed them as the two moved toward Enid’s seat of honor—the front pew on the other side of the sanctuary.