Fortune & Fame: A Novel (22 page)

“I just got nervous and I was caught off guard,” Rachel protested. “Jesus taught in parables and that’s what I was trying to do.”

“Is that what you were trying to do?”

“Whatever, Jasmine. The godly may trip seven times, but they will get up again.” Rachel cocked her head at Jasmine. “Proverbs 24:16. Bam!”

“Well, someone has been on
BibleGateway.com
,” Jasmine quipped.

Rachel rolled her eyes. She was done with Jasmine. All she knew was that fiasco today could not air. She was better than that and her gut told her that wasn’t a good look.

Rachel glanced around and spotted Natasia near the door. She was just about to march over there when Sonny announced, “Ladies, stand by. We’re about to roll in five.”

“I need a minute,” Rachel told him.

“No can do,” Sonny said, stepping out of the way as Chauncey began filming.

Rachel exhaled in frustration. She’d have to talk to Natasia later. She plastered on a smile as women started filing into the room. Rachel and Jasmine—Mary had disappeared—smiled as they greeted the women.

After a few minutes, Rachel saw Mary standing in a corner looking nervous. Why was she over there? But then, a tall, thin woman in a navy business suit stepped in front of Rachel.

“Are you Rachel Jackson Adams?” she asked.

Rachel stared at her, and out of the corner of her eye, noticed Chauncey zoom in. In fact, two of the cameras were positioned in her direction and the third was pointed at Mary.

“Ma’am, are you Rachel Jackson Adams?” the woman repeated.

Jasmine stepped up next to her. “What’s going on?”

Rachel didn’t answer her. For some reason, her stomach was in knots. Finally, she said, “I am.”

The woman handed Rachel a brown envelope. “You’ve been served.”

Rachel took the envelope, stunned. It seemed the room had grown silent and every eye was on her. Rachel slowly opened the envelope.

Petition for Sole Custody.

“What the . . . ?”

She scanned the document, not fully comprehending what she was seeing, but the words
Mary and Nathan Frazier, sole custody, and Lester Adams, Jr. aka Lewis Adams
stood out.

. . . Petitioners seek full custody of minor child . . .

Suddenly, Rachel forgot she was in church. She forgot cameras were rolling. She forgot all the progress she’d made in her walk with God. And she screamed as she bolted across the room toward Mary.

“I’m going to kill youuuuuuuu!”

J
asmine had no idea what happened. One moment, she was still chuckling inside about Rachel’s little
Saturday Night Live
sermon, and the next, she was watching Rachel take flight—almost literally. Rachel leaped across the room with the ferocity of a lion ready to pounce on her prey.

All Jasmine had heard was that woman ask Rachel her name, then say, “You’ve been served,” and seconds after that Rachel was screaming about committing murder.

But Jasmine had no time to think or figure it out. She sprang into action, knocking aside the pastor’s wife to get to Rachel. She grabbed the hem of her jacket, right at the moment when Rachel’s fist made contact with Mary’s jaw.

Jasmine was impressed—Rachel didn’t fight like a girl. She had socked Mary with an uppercut that would’ve had Floyd Mayweather shouting, “Well done.” But Jasmine didn’t stay around to admire Rachel’s handiwork, nor did she stay to see just how much damage she’d done. At least Mary was crying, which meant that Rachel hadn’t knocked her out cold.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Rachel still hollered, even as Jasmine dragged her away.

Jasmine was breathing hard, using all of her strength to hold on to Rachel as she screamed, and kicked, and squirmed.

“I’m gonna kill you, you two-bit ho!”

Jasmine weaved through the churchwomen, ducking and dodging past the big hats with brims large enough to cause an eclipse of the sun. No one made a move to help her. They all stood frozen, staring and in shock.

And the cameras . . . still rolled.

“You ain’t nothin’ but a trailer-park tramp. And you think you’re gonna get away with this? You’re one dead slut!”

Oh, lawd,
Jasmine thought. She had to get Rachel out of there before she incriminated herself any further on national TV.

“Please!” Jasmine felt like she could hardly take another breath as she looked at the women surrounding her, standing like statues. “Bathroom!” She had to yell over Rachel’s screams.

At first, no one said a thing, then Reverend Woodruff’s wife, whom Jasmine had just knocked aside, stepped forward. “This way.” She pointed toward the hall.

“Let me go,” Rachel screeched.

It would’ve been easier if Jasmine had just knocked Rachel out. But then there would’ve been two violent acts in one scene. Jasmine shook her head. This was going to be some reality show.

It was a blessing; like Reverend Woodruff’s wife said, the bathroom was just two steps across from the room. With her right foot, Jasmine kicked the door open, then tossed Rachel inside.

“What are you doing?” Rachel hollered.

“I’m saving your reputation and your life.” She gave Rachel a gentle push, keeping her away from the door. “Get over there!” She pointed toward the corner and it must’ve been her tone that made Rachel do as she was told.

The bathroom was small, only three stalls. But like Rachel had taught her just a few days ago, Jasmine checked every one. When she was sure they were alone, Jasmine leaned against the door so that no one could get in and Rachel couldn’t get out.

Rachel huffed and puffed like she was about to blow the whole church down. “You need to let me out of here ’cause I have a murder to commit.”

Jasmine folded her arms. “Really? Haven’t you had enough of murder? I mean, that was last year’s story.”

“I’m not playin’, Jasmine, this is serious. Do you know what this is?” she cried before she tossed the papers in the air.

Jasmine caught the papers before they fell to the ground, and then scanned the pages to see what had set Rachel off.

“Oh, my God!” Jasmine exclaimed after a couple of seconds. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Rachel said, and then the floodgates opened and tears poured from her. “That gutter-punk trick is trying to take my baby!”

For a moment, Jasmine thought about mentioning that Lewis wasn’t really her baby, but this was not the time to get technical. “Can they do this, though? I mean, didn’t Mary sign over her rights to you?”

Rachel nodded and wailed, “Yes! But I know plenty of people who’ve adopted children and then had to fight the biological parents when they changed their minds. Oh, my God! I cannot believe this is happening.” She sobbed so hard, she began to choke.

“Okay, Rachel, you’ve got to calm down,” Jasmine said as she put her arms around Rachel.

But Rachel jerked away from her embrace. “How can you tell me that?” Her eyes were red from her fury and her fear. “How would you feel if someone tried to take Jacquie or Zaya from you?”

Jasmine stiffened, and that fire in her belly that she felt only
at times like these began to rise within her. When Jasmine’s fingers curled into fists, Rachel noticed.

She frowned at first, then, covered her mouth with her hand. “Jasmine, that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t talking about . . . what happened with Jacquie.”

Jasmine had to take a couple of deep breaths before she responded, “I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I get what you were saying.”

“So, that means you understand, right?” Rachel asked as she grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser.

“I do, Rachel, I really do.”

“Lewis is our son,” she said before she wiped her tears and then blew her nose. “I can’t lose him, I just can’t.”

“And you won’t.”

“How can you say that? How can you be so sure?”

Jasmine paused for a moment. She’d just gone to Rachel asking for her help and Rachel had talked about needing to think about it. She could stand here and do the same to Rachel, but this was different. This was about a child, Rachel’s child. And as much as she sometimes, kinda, sorta, really hated Rachel, she sometimes, kinda, sorta, really liked her, too. Jasmine wasn’t going to let anyone get away with doing this to her friend.

Her friend.

Yeah, that’s what Rachel was to her. It was hard to admit, but they were more friends than they were enemies.

“Jasmine!” Rachel called her name. “I asked you, how can you be so sure that we won’t lose Lewis?”

“Because,” Jasmine began, “You’re Rachel Jackson Adams and I’m Jasmine Cox Larson Bush and together, has anyone ever been able to stop us?”

There was hope in Rachel’s eyes when she looked up. “Really? You think we can stop Mary and her pimp-of-a-preacher husband?”

“Come on, Rachel. Look in the mirror.” Rachel turned her head and stared at her reflection. “Don’t forget who you are, and don’t forget who I am. You’ve never let anyone get away with anything. Hell, you’re always trying to go up against me and you know I can beat you anytime, any place.”

“You wish,” Rachel said, with just a hint of a smile.

“See what I’m talking about?” Jasmine said. “That’s the attitude I need from you now. Okay?”

Rachel nodded tentatively, as if she wanted to believe what Jasmine was saying, but she wasn’t quite sure.

Jasmine placed her hands on Rachel’s shoulders and turned her so that they were face-to-face. “We’re gonna take care of this. We’re gonna take care of Mary . . . and we’re gonna take care of Natasia.”

Rachel nodded. “Yeah, Natasia, too,” she said, suddenly all in with Jasmine’s plan. “So, what are we gonna do?”

“First, we’re gonna get you cleaned up,” Jasmine said.

“Okay.”

“Then we’re gonna walk back out there with our heads held high, but we’re not gonna talk to anyone!”

“Okay.”

“And finally, we’re going to see Mae Frances!”

R
achel fought back the tears, held her head high, and opened the bathroom door. It helped that Jasmine was by her side, her arm draped through Rachel’s. Although she didn’t say a word once the door opened, Rachel felt Jasmine’s support and it gave her strength. It reminded her that she was a First Lady. It reminded her of how far she’d come.

“Is everything okay?” Reverend Woodruff’s wife said as she scurried over to them. She looked genuinely concerned. Rachel saw Natasia standing next to Chauncey, that smirk still across her face. Mary and Nathan stood in a corner. He looked cocky. She looked afraid. She should be because war had been declared and Rachel was ready to battle.

Rachel brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, composed herself, and said, “Yes, First Lady Woodruff. I’m okay now.” Out the corner of her eye, she noticed Chauncey, who had moved in close to her and had the camera pointed directly at her. “My sincerest apologies for the scene that just unfolded. By no means did I intend to mar your Women’s Day festivities,” Rachel continued, not focusing on the camera. She was sincere
in her apology and she didn’t want to diminish it by angling for the camera. But she did want Chauncey to get a good shot of her.

“What happened?” the First Lady asked.

“As a mother, I hope that you can understand.” Rachel looked over at Mary. “The papers I received were from my co-star, Mary Richardson Frazier, and her husband Rev. Nathan Frazier, announcing that she was suing me for sole custody of my son.”

“What? How is that even possible?”

Rachel saw that a second camera had moved in and was getting her from another angle. She knew that nothing she said, no threat she made, would keep that fight off the air. So now, she had to clean up the mess she’d made.

Rachel took a deep breath. “A long time ago, my husband had a brief affair with Mary. She came into our church, seduced my husband during a difficult time in our marriage, then proceeded to try and take over my life. Through the grace of God, my husband and I moved past that indiscretion because I was pregnant. Only we found out Mary was pregnant, too.”

The room was deathly quiet as everyone stared at Rachel in shock. Several of the women in the room were First Ladies themselves, so Rachel knew they could relate to her pain. The rest were most likely mothers, so Rachel hoped they could relate on that level as well.

“Mary said that she was carrying my husband’s child,” Rachel continued, to more gasps. Several people directed hate-filled looks in Mary’s direction. She cowered behind her husband, who just stood there with that snarky grin on his face.

Reverend Woodruff’s wife clutched her pearls in horror as Rachel continued. “Mary tortured me, made my life a living hell, to the point that I went into labor early. It turned out the baby was not my husband’s, but when Mary was arrested for being a con artist, my husband and I adopted her child and
raised him as our own in an effort to keep him out of the foster care system.” Rachel glared at Mary and Nathan. “And now, for the sake of television ratings, they want to rip my child from the only home he has ever known.”

By that point, several of the women were in tears as well. Many had gathered around Rachel and Jasmine.

“So, as you can imagine, getting those papers set me off.” She glanced over at Jasmine, who nodded her approval. Rachel knew that Jasmine would’ve preferred that she not say anything, but Rachel couldn’t go out like that.

“The devil is a lie!” First Lady Woodruff said, leaning in to hug Rachel. “You just remember that, okay?”

Rachel nodded, dabbing her eyes again. “I will.” Jasmine touched her arm, the signal that they needed to go. “Again, my apologies. But now, I must go call my husband and explain to him the battle that we face.”

Rev. Woodruff’s wife hugged her tightly again. “My, Lord. You poor thing. I will be praying for you.”

“We all will,” another one of the women said.

“You’re better than me,” one of the women to the left of Rachel said. “Because I would’ve done more than just hit her in her jaw.”

“I know that’s right. She’d be rolling into the ER right about now if she tried to take my kid,” another woman said.