A Sin and a Shame (14 page)

D
e Janeiro was bumping
.

The walls of the massive room reverberated with the music and couples swarmed the dance floor swinging and swaying.

This trip had been a last-minute decision.

Tonight, Jasmine and Malik were going to judge the salsa contest, and then meet tomorrow with de Janeiro’s chef. At first, the plan was for only Malik to come to L.A., but then he invited her.

“You should join me,” he’d said to her on Monday.

“I don’t think so,” Jasmine said, as she eyed the stack of papers on her desk. “I have way too much to do.” Besides, she thought to herself, things were just getting started with Hosea. She needed to stay in the city, keep an eye on her investment.

On Tuesday, when Malik asked again, right as she was running out the door for a late dinner with Hosea, she repeated that her workload mandated that she stay behind.

But on Wednesday, she’d told Malik, “I think it would be good if I joined you in L.A. tomorrow.”

“What changed your mind?”

She’d shrugged, pretending this was nothing more than a woman’s prerogative. She wasn’t about to tell her godbrother about the images that had danced through her dreams after Hosea had once again dropped her off—alone—last night.

Now, as she stepped inside de Janeiro, it took only seconds for regret to set in. What was she doing here when her desk was piled high with work? Why wasn’t she home focusing on Hosea?

J.T. greeted Malik and Jasmine the moment they entered, and she stood to the side as the friends exchanged greetings. It didn’t take long for Jasmine to tire of their chatter, and she rounded the bar, away from them.

“A Coke, no ice, please,” she ordered.

“That’ll be four dollars,” the bartender said when he returned with her drink.

A voice came from behind her. “I got that.”

Her hands shook and she took her time picking up her glass. Took even more time turning around, and focusing on the image that had made itself at home in her mind.

“We meet again,” Brian said.

She nodded and brought the glass to her lips, giving herself time to scan every bit of him; he was better than any of her dreams. “Hello, Dr. Lewis,” she finally said.

He chuckled. “Why so formal? Aren’t we friends?”

“Are we?”

“I would like to think so. But then, I could be wrong. I gave you my number, but never heard from you.” His gaze unbalanced her.

“I lost your card.”

He laughed. “That’s a good one, Jasmine.”

She smiled and tried to eject the naked vision of him from her mind’s eye. “I
really
lost it, and I came all the way back here so that I could get…another one.”

His laughter continued. “I doubt that.”

She laughed with him.
If only you knew.

“So, when’s your New York club opening?”

“In a couple of weeks.”

He leaned forward, rested his empty glass on the bar, brushed against her. She held her breath, taking in his scent. She didn’t recognize his fragrance. Only knew that she liked it.

He asked, “Does that mean you’ll be spending more time in L.A.?”

“Why do you want to know?”

He ordered another Amaretto Sour before he said, “Because I want to know how much time I have.” She frowned, and he added, “To make my move.”

In another time, that would have been her cue. To make
her
move. But she had changed. Didn’t sleep with married men anymore.

But this is Alexis’s husband.

“What kind of move are you talking about?” she flirted.

He paid the bartender for his drink, then took a sip. “Where are you staying?”

Thoughts swirled in her mind. Thoughts of Hosea. Thoughts of her plan. Thoughts of celibacy. Thoughts of her wedding.

The thoughts of Alexis made her say, “At the Four Seasons.”

“Under your name?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Of course.”

He handed her his drink and then he disappeared into the crowd.

“There you are,” J.T. exclaimed. “Thought we’d lost you.”

She said, “No, I was just…trying to find…some aspirin.” She slipped Brian’s drink onto the bar.

Malik frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I think it was something I ate on the plane.” She held her stomach. “I don’t know, suddenly, I’m just not feeling well.” She eyed the front door. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Do you want me to take you to the hotel?” Malik asked.

“No, I’ll get our driver. But I do think I need to leave. With all the work I have I can’t afford to be sick.”

J.T. said, “Aw, come on,” and smirked as if he didn’t believe her. “You can hang in there for an hour or two.” He picked up the glass that she’d put down and sniffed. “Amaretto Sour. Maybe this is what’s made you sick.”

“That’s not mine,” she snapped.

Malik said, “Jasmine, if you’re not feeling well, go on back. I can handle this tonight. What about the meeting tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there. Thanks, Malik. I’m sorry.”

“Just take care. I need you healthy in the next few weeks.” He took her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

“No,” she almost shouted, then lowered her voice. “The car should be right out front. I’ll send him back for you.” She kissed Malik’s cheek, then half-waved at J.T., not wanting to look at him.

Outside, she located their car, knocked on the window to alert the driver, but at the same moment, a BMW SUV swerved to the curb. The passenger door swung open as Brian leaned across the seat.

Jasmine waved her driver away, then hopped into Brian’s car and closed the door, a second before someone called her name.

For the entire thirty
-minute ride from the club to the hotel, everything inside of her said that Brian was just curious—just wanted to know what it would be like to be with her since his best friend had risked his marriage for her.

That should have been enough to make her turn back.

But she didn’t.

Now, those thoughts were gone. Now, all she could think about were Brian’s kisses. And his hands.

It started in the elevator, from the moment the doors closed. She tasted his lover’s lips and they hadn’t broken their embrace—not even when the elevator first stopped on her floor. Finally, they separated—for moments only—to stumble to her room.

Then they became one again, kissing, groping as if neither had done this before. They ripped their clothes off; the pieces created a path from the door to the bed. Little time passed before they were naked.

No words. No emotions. No love.

Just sex.

Tongues, lips, arms, legs moved with urgent passion. He panted. She groaned. Her head was spinning, but she couldn’t capture a single thought. Couldn’t concentrate on anything except for the lean mass of bulging muscles that lay over her. Couldn’t feel anything except for the parts of him that were pushing her to the edge.

It didn’t take long for her to cry out and Jasmine fell against Brian’s chest. They both gasped for air, as if they’d just completed a marathon, and it took minutes before their breathing rhythm was normal.

Jasmine closed her eyes and thought of Brian’s wife, and all the times Alexis had made her feel less than adequate. She wondered how Alexis would feel if she could see Jasmine now. Jasmine wanted to stand and cheer. Payback was beyond wonderful.

And then she remembered Hosea.

S
omewhere between sex and
sleep, God brought revelation.

And with this revelation, came shame. No matter how many magazines she flipped through, how many CDs she listened to, how many pages she read in her novel, Jasmine couldn’t escape the smothering guilt. It was with her when she left the message for Malik that she was returning to New York early, stayed with her through the three-thousand-mile plane ride, then lingered throughout the night. Even now, almost twenty-four hours after she’d returned home, she couldn’t flee from the memory.

“Thank you for making this for me so quickly,” she said to the woman who owned the delicatessen a block from her apartment.

“No problem. Have a good time with that special man, whoever he is.” The woman grinned.

That’s my plan.
She rushed outside, took a deep breath, and then pressed a speed dial on her cell.

“Talk to me.”

“Hey, sweetie.”

“I’ve been promoted to sweetie. I like that.” Hosea laughed. “Good to hear from you, darlin’. Just get back?”

“Kinda,” she lied. There was no way to explain that she’d returned last night and hadn’t called. Hadn’t wanted to risk him hearing her betrayal in her voice.

She said, “Please tell me you haven’t made plans for lunch. I want to see you.”

“Actually, I have a date—”

“Oh, no.”

“With my pops,” he continued. “But, no problem. Just join us.”

There was no way she could break bread with Reverend Bush. Not ever, but definitely not now.

“I’ll be watching you.”
The memory of his words made her tremble. “Hosea, I had something special planned for us.”

“Great. So, here’s what we’ll do. Lunch with my pops and then dinner, just you and me.”

She blew a loud breath.

He said, “Darlin’, I can’t cancel with the reverend. It’s business, actually.”

She looked at the seventy-five-dollar picnic basket she’d just purchased. “Okay, but I don’t want to interrupt, so call me when you finish.”

He chatted for a few minutes more, before he hung up. She sighed. She had so wanted to see Hosea. Needed to see him. And put her arms around him. And, hug him until she expelled Brian Lewis from her mind.

Now what was she going to do? She needed to talk. Explain to somebody that she wasn’t crazy. But as she strolled past Henrikas, she realized her options were few. Malik was a man—wouldn’t understand. And Serena would flip when she realized that Brian was Jefferson Blake’s best friend.

Jasmine dug inside her purse for her keys, but then, she turned toward Mae Frances’s apartment.

Not giving herself time to change her mind, she knocked. When Mae Frances opened the door, Jasmine said, “I know you’re probably still upset with me.”

“Why would you say that, Jasmine Larson?” Mae Frances motioned for her to come in.

“Because of what happened last weekend. I want you to know that I didn’t mean anything by buying that food.”

“You said that already. I understand.”

“Good, ’cause I need a friend right about now.”

Mae Frances smiled. Sat on the couch and then patted a space next to her.

Jasmine said. “And I brought this,” she held up the basket, “for us to share.”

Mae Frances took her smile away. “I told you, I’m not a charity case.” Her gruffness returned.

“Will you stop it?” Jasmine said, her tone on edge. “I just spent a fortune on this for me and the man I want to talk about. But he had plans and I didn’t want to throw all of this away.”

Mae Frances kept her face stiff.

“You know what?” Jasmine bounced up. “Just forget it.” She stomped toward the door.

“Where are you going, Jasmine Larson?”

She whipped around. “Back to my place, because I’m tired of this. I just want to be your friend, Mae Frances. I’m not trying to insult you, but that’s all I seem to do.”

In the passing seconds, her smile returned. Mae Frances stood and walked into the kitchen. “Come back in here,” she demanded. “And bring that basket with you.”

Jasmine waited a moment before she followed.

“What do you have in there?” Mae Frances peeked under the top. She grabbed the bottle of sparkling cider. “So this man you want to talk about—he doesn’t drink either?”

Jasmine knew where this would lead, and she didn’t want any part of that conversation. “No, the cider’s for me. All I can say about him is that he’s a wonderful man and I know he’s the one.”

Mae Frances smirked. “Wonderful and man cannot be used in the same sentence,” she said as she stacked the pieces of fried chicken in the middle of the table. “But anyway, how do you know he’s the one?”

“I just know it.”

When Mae Frances raised her eyebrows, Jasmine knew that she expected a better answer. But how could she explain? Yes, Hosea was supposed to be the pawn in her plan, but somehow he had become the king. It was the way he looked at her, and spoke to her, and treated her. It was the way he made her feel whenever they were together—like
she
was the one. “I just know that I like being part of his life. And I think he’s starting to feel the same about me.”

“So, if everything is so wonderful, what do we have to talk about?” Mae Frances held up a piece of chicken, but Jasmine waved the food away.

“This may take a while,” Jasmine said.

“I’ve got time.” Mae Frances broke apart a wing and took a bite.

She began at the beginning; told about meeting Hosea and the dates they’d had. Although she gushed about their times, the way Mae Frances’s eyes danced with amusement let Jasmine know that her neighbor was less than impressed.

“And then I went to Los Angeles.” She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to say here. Should she tell her that she actually slept with Brian? But then she remembered—Mae Frances was an atheist—nothing would shock her.

“You did what?” Mae Frances exclaimed when Jasmine told her about her sexcapade two nights before. “If your new man is so wonderful, why did you go all the way to L.A. to jump into bed with a man you barely know?”

“I don’t know,” Jasmine said, leaving out the part about Alexis.

“Isn’t your new man satisfying you?”

Jasmine raised her eyebrows at the question, but then she was the one who started this conversation. “We haven’t had sex.”

“Why not?”

Jasmine leaned back to get a better view. Mae Frances had to be at least in her sixties, yet she sounded nothing like the older women she’d come in contact with. Nothing like the women in the church in Florida who had so much to say about what she wore and how she talked, and what she should and shouldn’t do.

Mae Frances selected a chicken leg this time, but before she took a bite, she said, “First, this…wonderful man doesn’t drink, and next, you’re telling me you two haven’t had sex.” She took a bite of the chicken. “What is he, a Christian?”

Jasmine folded her arms.

“Oh, Lord,” Mae Frances exclaimed in between her chews. “He is, isn’t he? You’d better stay away from that man.”

“Why?” Jasmine frowned. “I told you I was a Christian.”

“Yeah, but it’s much worse when a man says it. Women usually mean it, but with men, it’s just a trick to get into your panties.”

“It’s not a trick; I told you we haven’t had sex. And he’s actually a minister.”

Mae Frances leaned back and laughed. “Now I know you’re in trouble. Listen to me. I know ministers—Jasmine Larson. I’m speaking from my own matrimonial experiences, so I’m telling you, stay away from that man.”

“Your husband is a minister? I thought he was a doctor?”

“He is. But his parents,” she chuckled bitterly, “my dear departed husband’s father is a big-time Baptist minister.” She made a face and pushed away her plate as if the food now sickened her.

Jasmine covered Mae Frances’s hand with hers. “I didn’t know your husband had passed away.”

“He didn’t die!” Her angry voice returned. “I said he departed. He left me a long time ago.” Her eyes became like glass and she stared at the wall. “Couldn’t stand up to his parents. Just became too much for him when every week they called with a new scripture to support their view that God didn’t approve of interracial relationships. Told their pure son that being married to a Negro wasn’t the Christian way.”

Jasmine covered her opened mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Mae Frances faced her. “What are you apologizing for? I’m not sorry. I said good riddance and I’ve had a wonderful life ever since.”

Wonderful life?
Jasmine tried to keep her eyes away from the cabinets that she’d found empty and from the furniture that looked as if it might not make it through another season.

“So tell me about this Brian man in Los Angeles.” Mae Frances spoke with cheer, as if her past was now forgotten. “He’s not a Christian, is he?”

“I don’t think so.” Jasmine said no more.

“Then he’s the one you should be with,” Mae Frances said. “What’s stopping you?”

Jasmine shrugged, and regretted that she’d shared this with Mae Frances. Although her sister would have blown two or three gaskets, she now wished she’d called Serena. She needed someone to tell her how wrong Brian was. Not someone who validated who she used to be.

“Well, I’m telling you, Jasmine Larson, with the way men are, you shouldn’t really care. Just go after what you want.”

Jasmine stared at the woman.

Mae Frances continued, “You don’t need to care or worry about no one else. If it feels good, then do it. Because when it comes down to it, only you can make yourself happy.”

Suddenly Jasmine leapt from her chair. “I forgot. I have to…run into the office…for something.”

Mae Frances looked at her knowing she wasn’t telling the truth. “Today’s Saturday.”

“Yes, but it’s something that I’ll need for Monday.”

She nodded as if she understood. “Then you’d better get going. Thank you for sharing with me, Jasmine Larson.” Her voice was soft, sad. Sounded as if the past really wasn’t forgotten.

Jasmine dashed into her apartment and tried to pray away the picture that had come to mind as she listened to the bitter words of her neighbor. She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away any thought that Mae Frances sounded so much like the old part of her.

“Lord, please forgive me,” she said, and then wondered if it really worked like that. She’d heard ministers say that’s all you had to do, but, “please forgive me” didn’t feel like enough.

“Lord, please help me,” she added.

Images of Brian rushed into her mind. She shot up, sat straight.

“No!”

But even as she protested, she remembered him. Remembered his lips. His hands. The feel of him. She squeezed her legs together.

“It will not happen again.”

She had to see Hosea. He had to help her—make sure that she never went back to who she used to be. Make sure that she never became Mae Frances.