Fortune & Fame: A Novel (20 page)

They shook the doctor’s hand, stopped at the front to make an appointment, and then Natasia almost bounced out of the medical center, feeling better than she’d ever felt before.

When they were back in Hosea’s car, she wanted to ask him so bad about her staying in Atlanta. Did he want her to stay so that they could be together?

But when he turned on the radio and said nothing, she decided to do the same. It would come out soon enough. And if she could find a way to work her plan and get him on the show, she could make her dream happen right now.

By the time Hosea dropped her off at the OWN offices with promises to call her later, Natasia was floating.

But once she was in her office, and once she sat at her desk, and once she began thinking again about how to get Hosea on the show, she thought about Rachel Jackson Adams. If Rachel had just agreed to help her. Clearly, Hosea was ripe for it . . . he was so ready to be hers.

But Rachel had shut her down cold, which was so ridiculous.
After all she’d done for that girl over the past weeks. After all she’d done to make sure that Jasmine wouldn’t come off as the star. It hadn’t been easy. Rachel seemed determined to play the fool; stupid just seemed to be one of the genetic instructions encoded on that child’s DNA.

But still, Natasia had tried to help, setting up Rachel in the most positive of situations. And now, Rachel had no idea that she’d just made the dumbest decision of her life. Natasia was going to make sure that little bathroom scene would end up being the least of Rachel’s worries. She had no idea what she would do, but she wasn’t too worried about it. Dealing with someone with Rachel’s limited intellectual capacity would leave lots of opportunities for Natasia to set her up.

With just a shake of her head, Natasia pushed aside all thoughts of Rachel—for now. She had to get working on next week’s schedule.

Pushing herself up from her chair, Natasia took five steps away from her desk, when she felt it—the ache in her right leg. She glanced down. Her knee was swollen, again.

“Ugh!”

It had started out as such a good day, but once she started thinking about Rachel, she had the onset of a flare.

She stumbled back to the desk, grabbed her medicine from her purse, popped two pills into her mouth, and swallowed without water, the way she always did.

She closed her eyes and leaned back. The knock on her door made her open her eyes, but she didn’t answer. Even when the knock came again. She hoped her silence would give whoever was on the other side of that door a clue—that either she wasn’t in, or she didn’t want to be bothered.

But when the knock came again, and then again, Natasia finally called out, “Come in.”

“I was beginning to think you weren’t in.” Nathan Frazier strutted in with a swagger that looked more like a stumble.

Natasia did everything she could not to roll her eyes. As much as she didn’t like any of the First Ladies, when the right reverend Nathan Frazier was around, she felt like there were bugs crawling on her skin. He just seemed . . . what was the word she was looking for?
Slimy.
Yeah, he was slimy.

That was her thought from the very first time they’d met. He’d shown up to the OWN offices here in Atlanta, looking for “whoever is in charge of that new show for First Ladies.” When he’d been directed to Natasia, he’d told her all the reasons why she needed him.

“I have the best First Lady for you,” he’d said that day without even saying hello.

“I apologize,” she’d said. “And who are you?”

“Nathan Frazier. Reverend Nathan Frazier, to be exact. Head of the Pleasant City Church, the fastest growing church in Atlanta.”

“And how may I help you?” Natasia asked, trying hard not to scratch the sudden itch on her arms.

“The real thing is how I’m gonna help you.” The reverend grinned.

“Reverend Frazier, I don’t have that much time.”

“Oh, you’ll want to make time for this ’cause I’m the reason why your show is gonna be a hit.”

Oh, lawd,
she’d thought. Was this what she had to look forward to working on reality TV? Real people showing up at her office saying crazy things?

She reached for the phone, but before she could dial the first number for security, the reverend started talking.

“My wife, Mary Frazier, is a different kind of First Lady,” he’d said. “She’s about to be released from prison . . . and she wasn’t in there for traffic tickets.”

Slowly, Natasia had let the phone down and listened to the story of Mary Richardson, who was now Mary Frazier, the con artist who’d been sent to jail for twenty-five years after she’d
been found guilty of credit card fraud and theft. And so that her newborn son wouldn’t end up in the foster care system, she’d signed away her parental rights to none other than Rachel and Lester Adams.

“So, you see,” Reverend Frazier had said, “with my wife’s past and her history with Rachel Adams, you’re gonna have quite a show.”

Natasia had hated to admit it, but she sure was glad that the reverend had walked into her office that day. He was right; his wife was gonna make for good TV. The only problem was whenever Natasia looked at the reverend, she couldn’t stop itching.

Another problem arose as soon as they’d started filming. Nathan Frazier thought he was part of the show.

The reverend was always on the set, every single day, throwing out a suggestion here, tossing a critique there, as if he was one of the producers. The entire production team groaned when he came around. Natasia groaned, too. Groaned and scratched.

She itched right now, as the reverend settled into the chair in front of her desk, the way he had done that first day. “What can I do for you, Reverend Frazier?” she asked, as if she really cared. All she wanted to do was get this man out of her office so that she could lean back, close her eyes, and wait for her pain to subside.

“I think the real question is what can I do for you?”

You can get out of my office,
she thought, feeling like this was the same conversation they’d had weeks ago. “Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t think you can do anything for me. And I’m really busy right now.”

His lips spread into a smile. “Oh, there’s lots that I can do for you, lady.”

His words hung in the air and he grinned as if he’d just thrown out a playa-playa line.

See? Slimy!
Natasia thought, wondering how did Mary live
with this man? This wasn’t the first time that she’d felt this reverend was making a pass at her. As if. But instead of calling him the sleazeball that he was, all she said was “Reverend Frazier, I have a lot of work to do, and—”

“Are you planning the schedule for next week?”

“Yes, and your wife will receive an email.”

He held up a manila envelope. “I got your show right here,” and then he slid the envelope across her desk.

Natasia’s eyebrows pressed together. She didn’t have time for this, but she wasn’t going to play games, either. The only way to get any peace was to take this envelope and then send the right reverend on his way.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll take a look at this and get back to you.”

He leaned back in his chair as if he planned to stay awhile. Shaking his head, he said, “Take a look now,” as if he was the one calling the shots.

She wanted to scream. First Rachel and now the reverend? Somebody needed to send out a memo and let people know this was her show.

But the longer she delayed, the longer the reverend would sit in front of her and stare at her with those beady eyes. She snatched up the envelope, tore it open, then quickly scanned the papers inside. And then . . . she slowed down . . . and read the cover sheet again.

Petition for Sole Custody.

“What is this?” Natasia asked, though she was still reading.

“Exactly what it says. My wife and I are suing Rachel and Lester Adams.”

Now, she looked up. “For custody of their son?”

“Mary’s son.”

“But when we met, you told me that Mary had given up her child. That it was her choice.”

He shrugged. “That was then. This is now. Mary is out of
prison and in a stable marriage with a pastor who’s getting ready to blow up once this show airs.”

You wish,
Natasia said to herself. Aloud, she said, “Wow.” Shaking her head, she added, “I wonder how Rachel is going to react to this.”

The reverend leaned forward, placing his arms on her desk. “I don’t know, but I know that it will make for good TV.”

Natasia’s eyes slowly widened. “You want her to be served on the show.” It wasn’t really a question. She was just stating his thoughts out loud.

He nodded. “Can you imagine how good that will be?”

No, she couldn’t. But the scene started playing out in her head and if she’d had the strength, she would’ve gotten up and danced.

This was just precious. If Nathan had brought this to her yesterday, she would have turned him down. But now that Rachel had basically told her to go to . . . anyway, Nathan’s timing couldn’t have been better. Natasia was looking for a way to make Rachel pay, and this was it for sure.

The grin on her face was as wide as his. “Well, it looks like we have our scene for next week.”

Nathan sat back and nodded. “Now, I was thinking of the perfect way to film this,” he said.

There he was again, playing the producer. But this time, Natasia let him speak. Nathan Frazier had earned the right to help with staging this. Especially since she had no doubt whatever idea Nathan had would make Mary look perfect and make Rachel look like . . . well, a fool.

Suddenly, she wanted to laugh out loud. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so much pain.

She leaned forward and placed her arms on her desk the same way he’d done just moments before. “Tell me, Nathan,” she said, calling him by his first name for the first time. “What do you have in mind?”

N
athan was really beginning to worry her. As each day passed, he got more and more caught up in this reality show business. It didn’t help that several church members had expressed excitement about seeing the final product. When Winston Rivera, the Academy Award–winning producer who attended Pleasant City, had told Nathan that he would be watching because he was looking for Christian content for his new production company, well, that only seemed to fuel Nathan’s fire. So much so that Mary had arrived home a few days ago to find Nathan’s attorney sitting in their living room.

He’d basically been summoned there to discuss Nathan’s budding “entertainment ministry,” and to begin the process of filing for sole custody of her son.

“Don’t you think we should play this a little more slowly?” Mary had asked after the attorney finished his spiel.

Nathan had actually seemed exasperated as he’d replied, “When should we do this, Mary? When little Lewis is in college?”

She’d cringed when he said that. He knew that she hated
that Rachel and Lester had changed her son’s name. Sometimes Mary couldn’t help but feel Nathan called her son Lewis just to get under her skin.

“Mrs. Frazier,” the attorney interjected, “I assure you that if you hope to get custody of your son, now is the time to strike. We should get this in front of the courts around the same time your reality show airs, which of course will just generate unprecedented support.”

“Yeah, babe,” Nathan added. He sat behind his desk, his legs crossed like he was important. “We’ll paint a picture of a woman who made a mistake and is now being punished by having her child taken away.” Nathan was so excited, almost as if this move was the catalyst that would launch his career.

“Nathan . . .”

He stopped, giving her
that
look, the one that for the last month had made Mary slink back down in her seat. And so Mary did what she’d done since she’d become Mrs. Nathan Frazier—she shut up. Still, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that.

Now she had a busy day ahead. They were supposed to be filming a scene at a Women’s Day event at a local church and she hadn’t even figured out what she’d be wearing.

Mary had just put the finishing touches on breakfast when her stepson, Alvin, came bouncing into the kitchen. She’d been so happy when Nathan agreed that he could spend the night last night.

“Good morning,” he said. Alvin was the sweetest boy she had ever known. Mary couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how Lester Jr. would turn out.

“Good morning, sweetie.” Mary set a plate down in front of her stepson. “Here’s your breakfast.”

“What is this?” Alvin chuckled as he slid into a seat at the breakfast nook.

Mary smiled proudly. “I made a happy face on your
pancakes. The strawberries are the eyes and nose and the whipped cream is the mouth.”

Alvin’s face lit up, but then he said, “Aww come on, I’m eleven. This is for little kids.”

She set a glass of orange juice next to his plate. “Well, humor me. I just felt like decorating today.” She toussled his curly hair, a motion that he loved, though he would never admit it.

Alvin smiled and picked up his fork. She could tell he was trying to play it cool, but he was actually excited about the pancakes. “All right. I’ll eat them just for you. Thanks.” He stared at her.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s just cool to have someone make me pancakes.”

Mary knew Alvin’s grandparents were old and pretty much left him to fend for himself when he was in their care, and Nathan, well, he never had time for anything but Pleasant City.

Mary resumed her cooking, scrambling eggs just the way Nathan liked them. It was almost eight o’clock, so he should be down any moment. She had just turned the fire off on the stove when he walked in.

“Hey, Dad,” Alvin said.

“Good morning, son.” Nathan kissed Mary on the cheek. “Morning, sweetie.”

“I’m just finishing your breakfast,” Mary replied, hoping he didn’t get mad that it wasn’t already on the table waiting on him the way he liked.

“Don’t forget my game tomorrow,” Alvin said.

Nathan grabbed a cup and began pouring himself coffee. “Oh, Alvin, I’m not going to be able to make that.”