Fortune & Fame: A Novel (8 page)

Reality show?
Nathan had lost his mind. When she was locked up, her TV watching had been limited, but she hadn’t missed the explosion of those stupid shows. A lot of the inmates watched them, but she wasn’t one of them. She was trying to better herself and watching a bunch of ratchetness on TV wasn’t the way to do it.

“We’ll begin filming here in Atlanta next week so get ready, Pleasant City is about to go to the next level! And if you’re doubting that we’re going to the next level, let me add that my wife will be on the show with one of the premiere First Ladies in the country. You all know her as the First Lady of the American Baptist Coalition. That’s right, folks, my wife will be starring with Rachel Jackson Adams.”

Several people applauded and Mary felt sick to her stomach. Now she knew Nathan was working with half a brain cell. He knew her history with Rachel, so why he thought this was a good idea was mind numbing. Mary had been the submissive, obedient wife since she’d gotten out of prison, but he’d gone too far with this move and the minute he set foot off the pulpit, she would let him know. Mary had worked too hard to grow as a woman. Rachel was taking care of her child now and Mary had prayed long and hard to get over the hatred she felt for that woman. God had answered her prayers, so she needed to leave well enough alone. Rachel brought out the worst in Mary and she’d come way too far to turn back into the conniving, scandalous chick she once was.

After service, Alvin went with his grandmother and Mary headed straight to Nathan’s office to wait for him. Twenty minutes later, his door opened and he must’ve known that she was about to go clean off, because before Mary could utter a word, he said, “Babe, hear me out.”

“How could you do that?” she said.

“Look, I told you, everything I do, I’m doing for us.” He took a step toward Mary and took her hands. “For the betterment of us and our family.”

“Nathan, a
reality show
?”

“First of all, we need the money. Do you know how much money those people make?”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” Mary replied. “They’re getting money to make themselves look like fools on national TV.”

He dropped her hands like he was disappointed in her. “This isn’t about you, Mary. This is about building up our church.” He removed his robe and draped it across the chair. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Don’t do this,” Mary said.

He pulled her close to him. “Come on, sweetie, you told me how you wanted the nicer things in life.”

“Yeah, but I’m perfectly content now.” Something else she never thought she’d say.

“But you don’t have to be. You have a golden opportunity right here knocking at your door.”

Mary let out a long sigh. “How’d this even come about?”

His eyes started dancing again. “I heard about the show, and I worked my magic. I had a friend make some calls. He knows the executive producer, Natasia something, and he got me into the studio. Once I met with her, told her our story, she was in.”

Mary folded her arms and glared at him. “So, you gave her my history with Rachel?”

He smiled as he nodded. “I did. That’s what sold her on it.”

“Nathan, putting Rachel and me together is going to be toxic.”

“And toxicity makes for good TV,” he said matter-of-factly.

“But I’m not the same person. I’ve grown,” Mary protested. “And Rachel, she’s the mother of my child now.”

Nathan pulled back, then walked around his desk. “I’m glad you brought that up.” He reached in a folder on his desk and
pulled out what looked like a Christmas card. “Here,” he said, handing it to Mary.

Mary took the card and her heart dropped.
Happy Holidays from The Adams Family
was embossed across the top of the card. Below those words was a picture of Lester, Rachel, their two daughters, their son, and Mary’s precious baby boy. Seeing Lester Jr. brought tears to her eyes.

“They’re touting that baby like he’s theirs,” Nathan said sternly. “He’s not. He’s
yours.
” He stepped closer to her. “He’s
ours.
And he belongs here with us.”

Mary didn’t look up from the card. “I signed away my rights.” She sniffed, touching a finger to the image of her baby’s face.

“There is nothing the right amount of money can’t undo.” Nathan wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do this show. We’ll drum up support, get people behind you, make some money for a good attorney, and make it a public relations nightmare for the Adamses. Then, we will convince a judge to return Lewis to you—his mother.”

That gave Mary pause. Could it be? Could she really get her son back?

“You paid for your mistake. It’s time for our son to come home,” Nathan said.

“How are we going to get him back?” Mary said, her voice soft and filled with hope.

“You leave that to me. You just do your part. Get the people”—he brushed a tendril of hair away from her face—“to fall in love with you. Give the camera what it wants, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Mary glanced down at the card again. She’d never in a million years thought she had a shot at getting her child back. But now that it was a real possibility, she’d be willing to do whatever it took to make that happen—including star in a ratchet reality show with Rachel Jackson Adams.

J
asmine rushed down the hall, but then paused right at the landing. She stood at the top of the steps and surveyed the sprawling foyer below.

This was the life, their temporary Atlanta home, or “baby mansion,” as she’d been calling it for the last week. When Hosea had told her that the church had found a house for them, she’d been leery. Her plan had been for her and Hosea to make the trip to the Peach State and find their own home. But Jasmine had to admit that Mrs. Whittingham and Brother Hill, two of Hosea’s father’s most trusted assistants, had done the doggone thang.

This five-bedroom, six-bath, forty-two-hundred-square-foot home with a family room, library, backyard pool, and jacuzzi not only had enough space for Jasmine, Hosea, and their son and daughter, but their nanny, Mrs. Sloss, and Mae Frances both had their own bedrooms, too.

Jasmine placed one Gucci pump on the step below, then the other, and slowly descended down the curved stairway. This was exactly the home she’d dreamed of when she was growing
up in that little two-bedroom cottage in Inglewood, California. Jasmine, her mother, her father, and younger sister, Serena, had been squeezed into eleven hundred square feet that had felt like a closet. She’d been so jealous of her best friend, Kyla’s, Ladera Heights home that she’d vowed long ago to live a grand life. And she’d made it!

Jasmine so wished that Kyla could see her now. But of course, that wasn’t possible. She and Kyla hadn’t really spoken since Jasmine had slept with Kyla’s husband. Jasmine didn’t understand why Kyla couldn’t just let that go. After all, she’d been so different then; coveting everything that Kyla had. But now that Jasmine had more than Kyla (and everyone else she knew), she’d been delivered from coveting.

Letting go of that sin was probably the reason why God had bestowed so many blessings on her—including this upcoming one. Jasmine was so ready to become the million-dollar-a-week reality TV star that she was born to be.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jasmine decided that they would definitely have to shoot a few scenes here at her home. And every time, she’d have to make her grand entrance just this way. Of course, they would only be able to do that when Hosea was away. It had been easy enough to convince him that her doing this show was fine, but she hadn’t told him about Natasia—and she didn’t plan to!

Jasmine’s heels clicked against the foyer’s marble floor, but then she quieted her steps when she pushed through the French doors that led to the family room.

“There you are, darlin’,” Hosea said, jumping up from the sofa. “I was beginning to worry.” He glanced down at his watch. “You’re running late.”

“Sweetheart, don’t you know that every star has to make an entrance? We cannot be the first ones there.”

Hosea chuckled. “I still can’t believe you’re doing this.” He looked over his shoulder at Mae Frances, who was sitting in one
of the burgundy wingback chairs. “Nama,” he said, calling Mae Frances by the name that Jacqueline had given her when she first learned to talk, “was just trying to talk me into going to the restaurant with y’all.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened when she looked at her friend. Was Mae Frances really starting to lose it? Her talking to Hosea about this made Jasmine think that maybe she really was coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.

Mae Frances’s face was masked with innocence when she said, “Yeah, I was telling Preacher Man how that Melinda VP lady kept asking about him.”

“Yeah, I told you that, honey,” Jasmine said to Hosea. “But I told her that you were quite busy with the church and probably wouldn’t have time—”

“I won’t have time. I’m not going to be on the show, but I would’ve gone down there with you today to check it out,” Hosea said, making Jasmine hold her breath. “If I didn’t have to watch the kids.”

She exhaled. “That’s right, the children,” Jasmine said, not able to recall a time when she loved her children more. “Someone has to stay with them. Speaking of that, Mrs. Sloss’s plane lands at seven in the morning.”

Hosea chuckled. “I know that’s way too early for you, but don’t worry. I’ll be there to pick her up.”

“I was just going to send a car.”

Before Hosea could respond, his cell phone rang. Picking it up from the side table, he glanced at the screen, then said, “I’ve gotta take this.” Kissing Jasmine on the cheek, he added, “Have a good time and don’t hurt nobody. Between this house and our place in New York I don’t have a dollar left for bail, so behave yourself.”

When Hosea strutted out of the room, Jasmine whipped around to face Mae Frances. With her hands on her hips, she hissed, “You were trying to get Hosea to come to the
restaurant?” She didn’t give her friend time to answer. “You know he can’t be there.”

Mae Frances pushed herself up from the chair. “Why? ’Cause you haven’t told him about Natasia?” She grabbed the lapels of her mink and pulled the coat tighter around her.

Jasmine rolled her eyes, grabbed the chained straps of her purse, and stomped from the room. She had a few things to say to Mae Frances, but Jasmine didn’t say another word as they passed through the hall, to the kitchen, and then out the back door to the garage. She didn’t open her mouth until they were both seated in her rented BMW and she’d driven several streets away from her home.

Only then did Jasmine say, “You know I haven’t said a word about Natasia being on the show. So, why would you invite Hosea? If he saw her—”

“Jasmine Larson, when are you going to learn the rules of deception.” Mae Frances shook her head and sighed. “I’ve been trying to teach you all these years, but you always operate on emotions.” She leaned forward, pressed the button for the air conditioner, then blasted it on high.

The air conditioning made Jasmine shiver right away since it was a cool sixty-two degrees outside. In her mind, Jasmine screamed,
If you’d take off that daggone mink . . . it’s June, for God’s sake.
But she said nothing. Saying something about the coat that her friend loved so much would set Mae Frances off and right now, she needed Mae Frances’s help.

When the temperature in the car was probably about fifty, Mae Frances said, “Okay, that’s better.” She leaned back in her seat and continued, “So, about Preacher Man. First of all, I knew he had to stay home with Jacquie and Zaya today, and I also knew that if you weren’t bugging him to come, he would get suspicious. He would think you didn’t want him at the restaurant.”

“I don’t.”

“But if he knows that you don’t want him there, he’ll wonder why. And if he wonders why, he’s gonna ask questions, and if he asks questions . . .”

“Okay,” Jasmine relented. “Good point.”

“But you’re gonna have to say something about Natasia sooner or later.”

Jasmine was shaking her head before Mae Frances had even finished her sentence. “My plan is to have her fired before Hosea finds out anything.”

Mae Frances raised one of her penciled-on eyebrows. “And you think that’s gonna keep her away? How do you know she hasn’t tried to call Hosea again?”

Jasmine had to admit there was always that chance and that was always her fear.

The day she’d seen Natasia at the OWN offices, Jasmine had rushed home, taken Hosea’s cell from their home office where he’d been working, and answered it for a couple of hours. There was that one hang-up, which she knew for sure was Natasia, but after that, nothing. Of course, she’d had to sneak the phone back to Hosea and then just leave it up to God. But she’d been pretty sure that Natasia wouldn’t try to reach Hosea again . . . at least not that way.

Knowing Natasia, she would go for the gold—forget about calling and try to see Hosea in person. Jasmine had no idea how she would prevent that, but she was going to try. That snake was back for a reason, and this time, Jasmine had to make sure that she chopped off the head so that Natasia would never appear again.

“So, what’s your plan?” Mae Frances interrupted Jasmine’s thoughts. “When are you gonna tell Preacher Man that the first woman he ever loved is back?”

“Why you gotta say it like that? He doesn’t love her.”

“I said
loved
. He
loved
her. He
loved
her first.”

“Dang, Mae Frances . . .”

“He had to really love her since he gave her that big ole engagement ring. Yup, it had to be true love. The kind that lasts forever.”

“Mae Frances!”

“What?”

“I’m Hosea’s wife. There’s no need to talk about his past. We all did dumb stuff back in the day. What I need to be concerned with now is the future. You have to help me figure out a way to get rid of her.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Mae Frances grabbed a folder from the tote that was still on her shoulder. She shifted through a pile of papers. “So, I made a few calls and found out that Melinda offered the position to Natasia
after
you were put on the show.”