Fortune & Fame: A Novel (11 page)

Natasia knew that she’d stand a better chance of seeing Hosea by just walking into his services on Sunday. But she couldn’t do it that way. Her production team needed preparation time. Plus, whether she liked it or not, she needed the approval of the pastor. So, the door to Hosea had to be opened by Jasmine.

But Natasia’s plan was multilayered. Anticipating Jasmine’s reaction, she’d drawn out the big guns.

First, after Friday’s filming, she’d had one of the production assistants ask Jasmine to stay behind, which had almost turned into an ordeal because of Rachel.

“Nobody asked me to stay,” Rachel had pouted. “What do you want with Jasmine? What’re y’all trying to pull here?”

Jasmine had shaken her head, rolled her eyes, and watched as the production assistant had pulled Rachel to the side. Then, the assistant told Rachel the words that Natasia had given her. The assistant whispered, “All I know is that Natasia isn’t happy. That’s why she wants to speak to Jasmine alone.”

From across the room, Natasia had watched a grin fill half of Rachel’s face. She’d jumped up and before she rushed out, Rachel said, “Bye, bye, Jasmine,” with a laugh that let Natasia know Rachel hoped to never see Jasmine again.

If Rachel’s hope was that Jasmine was going to be fired, she was going to be one disappointed First Lady on Monday afternoon when they had their brunch. Instead, when they were alone, Natasia asked Jasmine to join her and Melinda at one of
the tables in the restaurant where they’d just finished filming. That was when Natasia had gone into her plan.

“It’s time for us to bring your husband into this,” Natasia had said, purposely not mentioning Hosea’s name.

Jasmine had stared at her as if she had two heads that were speaking two different languages. “No,” was all she said.

Natasia had sighed, rubbed her hands together, and then held them up, surrendering and turning the conversation over to Melinda.

“Jasmine,” Melinda said, “this is a show about First Ladies. How are we gonna have a show about pastors’ wives and not have the pastors be part of it?”

“That sounds like your problem, not mine. You knew the deal when I signed up for this. I told you, my husband is very busy building his new church. I told you that he wouldn’t have time”—Jasmine paused and looked straight at Natasia—“for any foolishness.”

“Foolishness?” Natasia and Melinda said together. And then Melinda added, “Well, you were the one who contacted the powers that be so that you could be a part of this . . . foolishness,” Melinda sniped.

Natasia was surprised at Melinda’s snarkiness. Usually, she seemed to bend over backward, forward, and sideways to please Jasmine and her mongrel-wearing sidekick. But Mae Frances hadn’t been with Jasmine on Friday, apparently too sick to show up for the filming of a show that she wasn’t supposed to be a part of. And without Mae Frances, Melinda was aggressive and Jasmine backed down, just a little.

“Look,” Jasmine began again, a bit calmer this time, “I’m just telling you what I told you before. Hosea can’t do this.” She spoke as if Melinda was the only one sitting at the table with her.

“No, that’s not what you said,” Melinda told her. “I believe your actual words were, ‘If we can work out the timing and the scene is right, I think he’ll be glad to do it.’ ”

But no matter what, Jasmine still said no.

It had been a devastating blow to Natasia because this was the plan that was supposed to work. So, what was she to do now? The question had kept her up all of Friday night. But then yesterday, Jasmine had really slashed Natasia’s heart.

After they’d wrapped the day’s filming, Jasmine had walked up to Natasia, grabbed her arm, and jerked her around to face her.

“I know your game,” Jasmine snapped.

Natasia looked down to where Jasmine still held her elbow, and then her gaze rose to meet Jasmine’s. It was only when she stared Jasmine down that Jasmine finally let go. Still, Natasia took a few steps back from Jasmine before she asked, “What game, Jasmine?”

Her eyes had narrowed as she said, “What you’re trying to do. How you’re trying to get to Hosea.”

Natasia sighed as if she thought Jasmine’s words were so middle school. “Paranoia is so unattractive, and such a character flaw. You really should have that checked out because all I’m doing is my job.”

“Yeah, right.” Jasmine folded her arms and peered at Natasia as if she was searching inside her, trying to read her motives. “Why did you decide to do this reality show anyway?”

“It’s none of your business, but if you must know, I’m not doing it because of you. The world doesn’t revolve around you and Hosea.”

“Well, your world seems to because you’re always trying to find your way into our lives.”

“Always?” Natasia laughed. “Please; I’ll say it again, I’m just doing my job.”

“I thought your job was news. I thought you were a serious newswoman.”

“I am.”

“Well, reality TV doesn’t seem to be the place for you,” Jasmine said. “You can’t even handle me and Rachel, not to
mention Rachel and Mary. I think you need to go back where you came from.”

“See, there you go again, Jasmine. Thinking . . . it doesn’t work for you, so maybe you should just give it up. Give up thinking for Lent or something.”

“You
think
you’re funny, don’t you?” Jasmine didn’t wait for Natasia to respond. Instead, she took a step closer and warned, “Stay away from Hosea.”

Natasia hadn’t even blinked.

Jasmine said, “When I told him that you were here—”

Natasia blinked. “You told him?” she asked. Natasia had never been sure if Jasmine would or wouldn’t talk to Hosea.

“Of course,” Jasmine said, with wide eyes. “He’s my husband. I tell him everything. I told him the day I saw you at the OWN offices. And when I told him you were here, he was as disgusted and as furious as I was.” She paused and lowered her eyes, then bit the corner of her lip as if a new thought had just come to her mind. “In fact, you’re the reason why he won’t take part in the show.”

“What?” Natasia asked, unable to hide her shock.

“Yeah. Melinda was right. I did say that Hosea would do it, but when he found out you were part of it, he decided against it. Because he knows what I know . . . that this is just a trick to get next to him.”

Just those words had weakened her knees.

“So, give it up, Natasia, once and for all. Hosea and I have been through a lot together. You . . . and then . . .” Jasmine had stopped, but Natasia knew what she was thinking about. Their daughter, Jacqueline, and the kidnapping.

Hosea had contacted her during that time. She’d still been so angry at him for having her fired that all she’d done was hang up on him. If she’d only known then what she knew now.

“We’ve been through a lot,” Jasmine repeated. “And we’re still together. And we will be, no matter what you try to do.”

Natasia had chuckled lightly, then walked away from Jasmine, as if nothing she said mattered. But she’d had to pray that her knees would hold up and not betray her. Not show just how much Jasmine and her words had shaken her.

She’d been rattled for real. Natasia had seen every hour go by last night, and now it was—she lifted her head again—6:24 and she still had not closed her eyes.

It was the battle that was going on within that had kept her awake. During the first hours of the night, Natasia had started to believe that maybe she should do what Jasmine had said. Maybe she should go back to Chicago and not even try to bring Hosea into this.

But by the time the clock had ticked past three in the morning, her heart overcame her thoughts. Why should she go away without seeing Hosea when she didn’t have any other choices? She could never go through this alone.

Then, it came to her. The solution was as clear as this new morning seemed to be.

When Jasmine had said no to a crew coming to her church, Natasia had settled on sending the cameras to Pleasant City with Mary and Nathan. But just because she wouldn’t be filming Hosea, that didn’t mean that she couldn’t go to his church.

Natasia pushed herself up and swung her legs over the bed. Another quick glance at the clock told her it was 6:32. She was moving much slower these days, but getting up this early meant that she didn’t have to rush. Two and a half hours. That was enough time to make it to the Sunday services at City of Lights–Atlanta. Two and a half hours was all that separated her and Hosea.

*  *  *

There were so many signs that this was where Natasia was supposed to be. Like when the usher escorted her to the seventh row, on the right side of the church. That’s the row she used to
sit in when she’d first met Hosea at Crystal Lake Cathedral in Chicago during his early days as a pastor.

Then, the praise team came out and sang her favorite song, “My Help,” written by a childhood friend, Jacqueline Gouche. Natasia had raised her hands and proclaimed the words of the song. “All of my help cometh from the Lord,” she’d sang.

But the most powerful sign was Hosea’s message.

It had been hard enough to listen to him. From the moment he had strolled onto that altar, with all of that Godly swag, he’d taken her breath away. She’d stared at him, mesmerized as if she’d never seen him before, but of course, she had. She’d known Hosea in the most intimate ways. And if she’d had her way, she would’ve grown old with him by her side.

But somewhere in the middle of their wonderful relationship, not too long after he’d given her an engagement ring, he’d told her that all that they’d had; that the life they’d lived together, the love they’d shared, had been a lie. He’d told her that she wasn’t the woman God provided for him.

That was the biggest lie of all. Of course, she was the woman he should’ve been with . . . and now, there were all these signs to prove it.

“And the peace I give,” Hosea’s voice boomed through the cathedral, “is a gift that the world cannot give. So, don’t be troubled or afraid.”

The tears were already in her eyes, but now they flowed like a faucet as Natasia wrapped her arms across her chest and rocked back and forth.

“No, church,” Hosea shouted. “There is no reason to let your hearts be troubled. There is no reason to have fear in any part of you! I’m telling you what I know, the Lord will handle it if you give it to Him.”

Natasia had to hold her breath so that she wouldn’t begin to sob outright. That was the only way she could hold back all of this emotion.

She couldn’t believe that Hosea’s words were getting to her like this. After Hosea had left her, she’d left God. But the recent developments in her life had driven her back to the Lord’s house, and God must’ve been pleased. Because in church in Chicago, she’d been receiving the strength she needed to make it through the days.

But though she’d heard many great messages over the last few months, nothing compared to Hosea’s, which was music to her ears now. He had just preached from her favorite chapter in the Bible—John 14.

They had studied that chapter word-for-word when they’d been engaged, and whenever Hosea read any of those words aloud while holding her in his arms, she knew there was not a more spiritual place to be. She was with God. And she was with the man she loved.

That had been a long-ago feeling, but sitting in Hosea’s new church, she felt that today. She felt that Hosea had reached out into the congregation and put his arms around her even though he didn’t know she was there. Or maybe he did know. Maybe because they had once been so connected, he knew in his heart that she was there.

“And now, saints,” Hosea said, “I feel like I need to open up the doors of the church right now. I feel like there is someone here who really needs to know that his or her heart must not be troubled. They should not be afraid.” Hosea took two steps down from the altar and held up his right hand, beckoning the congregation. “Come to me,” he said. “I want to pray for you. I want to pray and let you know that the Lord is with you. The Lord will give you a gift that the world cannot give.” He paused and peered out into the sanctuary. “Come, let me pray with you and for you.”

Then, Hosea stood silent, though his hand was still raised. He motioned to the director of music and before the first three notes were played on the keyboard, Natasia stood and stumbled
over the three people to her left. Now, she was sobbing—it was hard to walk and hold her breath at the same time.

But her tears, her snot, her bawling did not shame her. Because this was where she was supposed to be.

Even though she was almost completely blinded by her tears, she could see Hosea waiting at the foot of the altar for her. And she was halfway to him when she saw the recognition register on his face.

His one arm was in the air, but now he raised the other, holding both arms to her, summoning her to come closer, letting her know that he was waiting for her. By the time she staggered to him, Natasia’s cries were louder than the music that filled the sanctuary and she fell into his arms.

Behind her, Natasia was sure that many in the congregation were standing, holding out their hands, reaching toward her and praying. But it was the gasp that was almost as loud as a scream behind her that let her know there was one among them who wouldn’t utter a single prayer on her behalf.

She hadn’t thought about Jasmine since she’d walked into the church. And really, she wasn’t thinking about her now.

“Natasia,” Hosea whispered into her ear, even as he held her. “What are you doing here?”

She trembled and he held her tighter.

“Natasia,” he called her name again. It wasn’t until he put his gentle fingers under her chin and lifted her face that she looked at him once again. He was so close, this felt so personal. She stared into the face of this sweet, gentle man.

“Hosea,” she gulped out his name. “Hosea, I need you to pray for me,” she cried.

“All right,” he said. “You know I always pray specifically. So, what is it you want? What is it you need? What prayers do you want me to speak on your behalf?”

“I need to you pray, I need you to ask God . . . to give me peace. Because Hosea . . . I’m dying.”

N
athan’s plan was falling right into place. Mary still didn’t feel good about this whole scenario, but the look on her husband’s face told her that for Nathan, this was the next best thing to Heaven.