A Sin and a Shame (11 page)

I
t couldn’t have been
more than thirty degrees outside, but thoughts of Hosea warmed her. She’d asked the cab driver to let her out on Sixty-third Street, wanting to walk the rest of the twenty blocks. The fresh air helped her think, gave her time to work through the plan.

She’d walked only one block before a car eased to the curb and stopped.

“Hello, Jasmine Larson.”

Everything made her smile today. “Mae Frances.”

“Why are you walking? It’s too cold. Get in.”

This was not what she wanted. But Gerald was already out, opening the back door. She slid inside.

“Are you heading home?”

Jasmine nodded, and eyed the glass in Mae Frances’s hand.

“I didn’t know you were back from your trip,” Mae Frances said.

“I came back on Friday.” Brian’s image flashed through her head. But she shook that vision away. The only man she wanted in her mind’s eye was Hosea.

When Mae Frances saw Jasmine glance at her glass again, she said, “Just a little something to take off the chill. Do you want a drink?” Mae Frances motioned to the mini bar along the side of the car.

“Oh, no,” Jasmine said.

Mae Frances eyes narrowed. “So, you’re one of those?”

Her words took Jasmine’s smile away. “One of those what?”

“Health nuts. Thinking it’s not good to drink. But I tell you, there’s nothing wrong with a little wine.” She held up her glass as if she were making a toast.

“Oh, I’m not a health nut,” Jasmine said. “I’m a Christian.”

Mae Frances stared. Then leaned back and laughed. “Now, I would have never pegged you for one of those.” She paused and took a sip of her drink. “A Christian, huh?” She shook her head.

Jasmine’s eyebrows raised and Mae Frances held up her hand. “Don’t get offended. I just never thought that word would come from your mouth.”

“Okay,” Jasmine began through narrowed eyes, “so what are you? Catholic?”

Mae Frances laughed again. “Isn’t that the same thing? Christian, Catholic, Protestant, Baptist, hypocrite. All the same, right?”

Jasmine folded her arms across her chest, pushed back her feelings. “So what are you?”

“If you’re asking what religious group I belong to, I can tell you I’m not one of those narrow-minded charlatans. I don’t belong to any group. Unless you call atheism a religion.”

It took a moment for Jasmine to say, “You don’t believe in God?”

“Not. At. All.”

She didn’t know what to say. Jasmine thought every black person believed in God—especially someone as old as Mae Frances. Even during her wildest days when she didn’t want any part of church, Jasmine knew God existed. Had always known. From the first time her mother and father told her.

“I guess I offended you,” Mae Frances said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You didn’t.” Jasmine shrugged as if Mae Frances’s words meant nothing. But she couldn’t explain why sadness washed over her. “I’m just surprised. I don’t understand how someone can say they don’t believe in God. I mean, all you have to do is look at everything around you.”

“Child, that’s how I know there ain’t no God. Please.” She waved her hand in the air as if she were erasing Jasmine’s words. “If there were a God, there wouldn’t be all this homelessness and disease and death in the world. If there was a real God, people wouldn’t be killing one another in His name.” She paused and finished the rest of her wine. “I’m telling you, if there is a God, then He needs to be fired because He’s sure doing a piss-poor job.”

The words shocked her, but Jasmine said nothing. She didn’t know what to say, but she knew what she felt—pity. If Mae Frances didn’t believe in God, what did she believe in?

The silent minutes that rested between them seemed longer and Jasmine released the breath she’d been holding when the car stopped in front of their building. She wanted to jump out and run, far away from this woman. But she waited as Gerald opened the door, and together, she and Mae Frances stepped into the building.

“Good afternoon,” Henrikas greeted them.

While Mae Frances paused to question the doorman, Jasmine rushed to the elevator. But quickly she realized there would be no escape.

“Hold the elevator,” Mae Frances called out. Once the door closed behind them, she asked, “So, Jasmine Larson, does this mean we’re no longer friends?”

“No,” she said. But it wasn’t like Mae Frances was a friend; she was just a neighbor with some good chicken and a limousine.

“Good, because I think the best friends are ones whose opinions differ.” As they stepped from the elevator, she added, “And maybe I can teach you a thing or two about that God you believe in. Turn you in the right direction.”

I don’t think so,
Jasmine thought. She may not have been the best Christian, but she certainly knew what she believed. All she had to do was look at how her life had changed since God had become part of it. She was in New York and she’d met the man she was going to marry. No one could change her mind about God. She paused at her door and turned to her neighbor. “Thanks for the ride.”

Before Mae Frances could respond, she wobbled, then fell against the wall.

Jasmine ran to her side, helped her to stand. “Are you all right?”

It took a moment for Mae Frances to nod. “Yeah.”

“I’ll help you inside. Give me your key.”

“No, I’m fine.” Seconds later, Mae Frances pulled her body erect, like nothing happened. “It’s just the wine. Probably had a bit too much.” She took the few steps to her door slowly, and inserted the key. “Thank you, Jasmine Larson.” Then, she was gone.

Jasmine waited a moment, then stepped into her own apartment. Her thoughts stayed on Mae Frances, and her words about God. And all over again, she felt sorry for the woman.

She lay on her bed and clicked on the television. As a Lifetime movie played mutely in front of her, thoughts of Mae Frances faded—making room for ones of Hosea Bush.

With her eyes closed, she imagined. Took herself to next year at this time. Having a new husband. Living a new life. Being in New York couldn’t be any better than this.

Jasmine was eager
.

Not so much for the man, but for the plan. But it was only because she would never show it that she waited until ten to make the call; he needed to believe that her day was filled with more than just thoughts of him. He answered on the first ring.

“Talk to me, Jasmine,” he answered.

She couldn’t help herself; she smiled. “How did you know it was me?”

“It was either you or my pops since you’re the only two people who have this new number. And, I just hung up from him.”

“It could have been your father calling back.”

“True, but I was sure it was you. Because I knew you’d call; you weren’t going to mess up this good thing twice.”

She laughed and, not for the first time, marveled at his confidence. Hosea didn’t fit the physical attributes of what a woman would call fine. Being kind, he was average, pleasant enough to look at. But there was something in the way he walked, even more in the way he talked that made this man as attractive as any she’d known.

“So, did you spend the day with your father?”

“Yeah, Pops and I hung out. He’s glad that I’m home.”

Jasmine wondered what words of wisdom Reverend Bush had given his son—about her. Would he tell him about her pursuit? Would Brother Hill provide insight into her psyche with his flat tire theory?

But she kissed those concerns good-bye. If Reverend Bush came close to mentioning her name in a not-so-flattering vain, she was ready with an answer that would make him look like a jealous old fool. And Jasmine knew in just a few weeks, what the senior Bush might say wouldn’t matter. Hosea’s nose would be so wide open that he’d surrender all rights to his father’s inheritance to be with her.

Jasmine giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Hosea asked.

Her thoughts had taken her far away. “I was thinking who would have thought we’d ever be talking like this.”

“I thought it! Remember I asked for your number, but you gave me some fake—”

“Okay, okay.”

“So, you admit it?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry.”

“I guess I could forgive you. A woman like you probably has all kinds of guys asking for her number. But you really hurt my feelings.” He sniffed playfully.

“Well, I want to make it up to you. Let’s have dinner.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

“At my place.”

“Not what I was thinking.”

Jasmine frowned. “I’ll have you know I can whip up a mean meal.”

“Darlin’, I’m sure you have many talents. But that’s not the way I roll. We’ll go out.”

Jasmine wasn’t sure how to play this. The plan was to get Hosea to her apartment, seduce him, then return him home begging for the next time. He needed to remember this first date, this first time.

But this twist also worked. She’d learn the depths of his pockets and how deep he was willing to go for her.

He said, “How about next Wednesday?”

Jasmine frowned. Hosea was moving as if this plan was his. Her timetable was sooner, like tomorrow. But he was talking ten days away.

He explained, “I’ve got a busy couple of weeks. I’m going out of town with my pops to one of his friend’s church’s anniversary and then when I get back, I’ll be swamped with meetings. You know the drill—producers, sponsors. The whole TV thing.”

“That TV thing has got to be so exciting.” She tried not to gush, but it was difficult. It wouldn’t be long before Hosea was known throughout the country and she was going to be part of all of that.

“At first, it was pretty cool,” he said. “But over the past weeks, it’s clear that there’s more work than glamour in this. Anyway, let’s save this talk for dinner.” By the time he told her that he’d call next week to finalize plans, he’d made her laugh again and again.

She hung up with a grin and then pulled back her cheer. This was still a mission. She couldn’t lose control. Had to keep her eyes, and every other part of herself, on the prize.

H
osea had said,
“Just wear jeans,” when he’d called last night to confirm. “Be ready for a night of surprises.”

She wanted to be annoyed that he hadn’t called her in the week that passed. But when he mentioned “surprises,” that had made her beam. Although she didn’t know what to make of his pronouncement to “just wear jeans.” After the big deal he’d made about not having dinner in her apartment, she’d expected to stroll into one of New York’s premiere restaurants—certainly not wearing jeans.

Maybe it’s because he’s been in Chicago,
Jasmine thought. Maybe casual clothes were okay there, but this was New York. She’d have to school him. Actually, that was just one of the lessons she was prepared to teach.

Even though her days had been filled with long hours working with the designers for Rio, at night she’d allowed herself the luxury of dreaming. Her plan had now moved to her wedding: the gown, the reception, the gifts. All of the images made her dizzy with excitement. The son, with his potential, far surpassed the father. From what she’d discovered on Google, NBC had big plans for Hosea Bush. And so did she.

But before they got there, much had to be done. Her number-one charge was to get him into bed, love him until he begged for more. Then, she would go about changing him, creating the man she knew he could be. The extra pounds would have to go. A visit to the dentist would fix those bottom teeth that were just a tad crooked. By the time she finished, he would be a fine specimen. And it would begin tonight.

Jasmine took a final look in the mirror. She had followed Hosea’s directions and put on a pair of jeans—designer ones. But it was the silk tunic and her mink that would get them into the restaurant if anyone denied them access. And if she had to, she’d throw out Malik’s name.

Jasmine was drunk with anticipation as she flagged a cab. Years from now, she and Hosea would talk about this, their first night together. She had no doubt, the next hours were going to be spectacular.

Spectacular was not the word
.

“You sure you’re all right with this?” Hosea asked.

Jasmine nodded, because she wouldn’t be convincing if she spoke that lie aloud. She kept her lips pressed together. Here she was, in the dead of winter, in the middle of Manhattan, standing on the corner of Fifty-ninth and Columbus Circle. The last rush-hour pedestrians dashed by, covered in weighty overcoats, heads bowed, on their missions to get anywhere quickly.

But as others scuttled past, Jasmine and Hosea stood in front of a corner stand, complete with the yellow awning, the smell of freshly baked pretzels and chestnuts filling the air.

“Thanks,” Hosea said to the man as he grabbed the cardboard tray filled with three hot dogs.

She could not believe this. Her first hours with the man she’d chosen as her husband were going to be spent eating hot dogs on a New York City street.

“Let’s sit over there.” Hosea motioned with his chin toward a park bench.

The heels of her Manolo boots clicked against the concrete as she hobbled toward the bench. She paused before she sat, eyeing the wood for stains or stray dirt that would mess up her mink.

“Wait a sec.” Hosea handed the tray to Jasmine, dumped the backpack he’d carried onto the bench, and pulled out two stadium cushions. He adjusted them in place, and motioned for her to sit down.

She sat, looked around, and wondered what she was doing here.

He sat, grinned, and handed her one of the wax-paper-wrapped hot dogs. “Are you sure you’re all right with this?”

She nodded, but this time, she didn’t even bother to look at him. She was beyond annoyed, and in her mind she told him so. But her wits kept her silent. A lesser woman would have huffed away, telling Hosea to lose her number. But she was Jasmine Larson. She never forgot the ultimate objective.

“This is my favorite part of the city,” he said before he took a bite that consumed almost half of his hot dog. “I love these things,” he said, holding up the half that was left as if it were an offering to God. “And I love this place,” he added. His eyes scanned the park behind them. “I thought this would be fun since it’s been warm.”

“You call this warm?” Jasmine pulled her coat tighter.

“You don’t see any snow on the ground, do you?” He chuckled and placed his hot dog on the carton. This time when he reached into his bag, he grabbed a blanket. He whipped it in the air like a bed sheet, then rested it on Jasmine’s lap. “I didn’t think you’d need this until later, but maybe this will help.” He paused. “Better?”

She hated the cold. Hated sitting on the park bench. Hated eating hot dogs and calling it dinner. But the way he looked at her, his face filled with concern and hope—this part she loved.

“Yeah. Thanks.” But her smile turned upside down as he stuffed the other half of the oversized frankfurter into his mouth. Then he unwrapped the second one as if it were a Christmas gift.

“You don’t like yours?” he asked when he noticed her staring.

“It’s okay.” She took a small bite.

After a moment, he said, “Okay, let me explain. I spent hours trying to think of something for us to do…”

You actually thought this through.

He said, “I was thinking no one else had ever taken you out like this before.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “You got that right.”

“So, see, at least part of my plan worked.”

She stopped her chuckles.
Plan?

He said, “At least I’m making an impression. I want you to always remember this first time.”

She thought about how similar his words were to her thoughts.

He asked, “So, are you from New York?”

“No,” she said, then paused. She wasn’t ready to give him much more. First, she wanted to know the details of his life. Then, she’d arrange her life’s résumé to be his perfect wife. But she continued, “I’m from Los Angeles, although I made a short two-year stop in Florida. I’ve only been here about a month.”

“So, I guess you haven’t seen much of the city.”

She shook her head. “Work has taken up most of my time. Not that I would know where to go, because I know about two people here.”

“Well, now you know me. I’ll show you the city and everything that makes New Yorkers sing right along with Frank Sinatra. That’ll be our second date.”

Her eyebrows raised high. “Confident, aren’t you?”

He leaned in closer. “I knew you’d go out with me all along. Even if you did try to mess with destiny and give me that bogus number.”

She laughed, even as he shoved the last of his second hot dog into his mouth. He asked, “Do you want another one?”

She shook her head, and glanced around again. They hadn’t been sitting long, but the crowd had thinned as the hour approached seven. As the nighttime wind stirred around Fifty-ninth Street, Hosea packed the cushions and blankets, took her hand, and led her to the corner where the aroma of chestnuts roasting on the open fire filled her.

As they waited at the curb, she asked, “Where are we going now?”

He shook his head. “I told you this would be an evening of surprises. Can’t tell you a thing.”

The words had barely left his lips before a horse-driven carriage stopped in front of them. The man, covered in a black overcoat and wearing a top hat, nodded.

“Right on time,” Hosea said.

Jasmine glanced at Hosea before he helped her climb the high steps. For the weeks she’d been in New York, she’d watched men and women snuggle close as wagons dragged by horses carted them around the city. It was a tourist activity that she couldn’t wait to do—but not now. Not in February when the barely-thirty-degrees day had quickly turned into frigid winter night.

Hosea sat next to her and this time, when he reached into his bag, he withdrew two blankets, resting one on her lap and the other he sprawled across her shoulders. “Okay, Franklin,” he said once they were settled.

The carriage lurched forward, then steadied as the horse trotted. “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

Surprisingly, she was. “Yeah.”

He laid his arms across the top edge of the seat. She waited for his embrace, but when he didn’t move, she leaned back, resting on his chest, snuggling close.

For long minutes, they stayed quiet, absorbing the flavor of the city.

“It’s so good to be home,” Hosea said.

“How long have you been away?”

“About ten years. Right after I graduated from NYU.” His sigh was full of memories. “But I’m back and ready to begin this phase of my life. And I want to do it in the only place I’ve ever really called home.”

Silently, she calculated. Ten years after college, that would make Hosea thirty-two, thirty-three. He was a bit younger than she expected, but she could be whatever age she needed to be.

She said, “You sound like you’re really excited about being back.”

“I am. This city means a lot to me. It’s where I learned about love—from my parents, from God. It’s where I learned about family.”

“It’s where your new show is going to be.”

“Yeah, but that’s work.” His tone dismissed her words. “All that’s really important is family, friends, and living and loving every day. I want to create the kind of life my mom and dad had.”

When his father was the object of her affection, Jasmine never wondered about his wife. But now, she wanted to know about Hosea’s mother.

“Tell me about your mom.”

He stiffened. Waited, then said, “What does every man think about the woman who gave him life? I don’t even have the words to describe her, except to say that she was wonderful and I loved her so much. I was devastated when she passed away.”

“Had she been sick?”

He shook his head. “No, died suddenly my last year in college. From a blood clot.” He paused as if he needed a moment to continue. “It took a while for me to recover. I was pissed at my pops.”

Hmmm.
She filed that information away.

“That’s why I went to Chicago. Wanted to put as many miles between me and my pops as my bank account allowed.” He chuckled. “Only got me to the Windy City.”

“You’ve been there ever since?”

“Yup, thought I could hide from Pops and God.” He chuckled again. “I didn’t see Pops often, but God,” he shook his head, “He never went away. Before I knew it, I was working with one of my pops’ seminary buddies in Crystal Lake. Became a minister and then ended up hosting that TV show.”

“Christian Times,”
Jasmine said, glad that she’d Googled him.

“Yeah.” She heard his smile. “So you know a little something about me?”

“A little something-something,” she kidded. “Would you have come back to New York if you didn’t have the TV show?”

“Definitely. I was on my way back. God just opened this door with NBC.” He paused as the carriage rounded the corner. “I need New York. I need to be closer to my pops and strangely enough, this is where I feel closest to my mom. When I’m here, I feel like I saw her yesterday.”

“I just lost my dad.” Those words were out before she could stop them.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Coming to New York was good for me. Gives me a chance to start over.”

“I want to start over here too.” He paused, and added, “Just like you.”

When she rested her head on his shoulder, it wasn’t part of her plan. She’d expected him to put his arms around her this time, but still he didn’t. Not that it mattered—with the plans she had for him, he’d be holding her soon enough.

For long minutes, the urban hum entertained them: cars honking, pedestrians chatting, engines revving, music blasting—the melody of New York.

She asked where he lived. He told her that he was staying in one of the houses that his father owned on Long Island. “Haven’t had time to look for a place,” he said. “Need some time to think about where I want to be in the city. But the most important question,” he said, “is where do you live?”

She smiled, knowing what those words meant.

At the entrance to her building, Hosea jumped from the carriage, then lifted Jasmine down. She took her time getting her balance, wanting to keep his arms around her.

He followed her into the lobby, but when she looked behind her, the carriage was still at the curb.

“It’s too cold for your friend to wait out there.”

“He’s fine. He knows I won’t be long.”

She chuckled inside. She didn’t know what he expected, but her plan called for Hosea not to leave her until the dawn’s early light.

At the elevator, she said, “I had a great time,” really meaning her words.

“I’m glad.”

It was supposed to be his cue, but when he didn’t kiss her she wasn’t surprised. He’d already shown that he preferred to display his affection in private.

She stepped inside the elevator; he didn’t follow and her expression questioned him.

“I’m going to say good night.” He looked around the lobby. “I think you’re safe.”