A Sin and a Shame (15 page)

J
asmine sat on the
bed’s edge for a few minutes before she picked up the phone and dialed.

“Talk to me,” Hosea said as soon as he answered.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Darlin’, I’m on my way.”

“Hosea, I’m not feeling well. I don’t think I can make it to church.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think my resistance is low since I’ve been working all these long hours.” She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push back the image of the sprawled sheets. Trying not to see, feel, Brian Lewis.

“That trip to L.A. probably didn’t help.”

Her eyes shot open. “What…do you mean?”

“It’s a long ride and then to come right back, it’s exhausting. My darlin’ must be tired.”

She let out a long breath. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said, hoping her heart would return to its normal beat. “So, you don’t mind?”

“Nah, take care of yourself. But I’ve gotta tell you, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re avoiding me. First dinner last night, now church.” He chuckled, but she didn’t laugh with him. Couldn’t laugh at the truth.

Yesterday, she was sure all she needed was to see Hosea. But when he’d called and said that his father wanted to join them for dinner, Jasmine wanted to throw up. She’d lied—told Hosea that she’d been called in for an emergency work meeting.

But this morning, she
had
awakened sick. Sick with the thought of how she was going to face Reverend Bush. She’d heard stories of ministers who could see things—look at a person and know what was going on in their life.

I’ll be watching you.

She shuddered at the memory of the reverend’s words. Suppose he possessed that gift?

Hosea said, “I hope this is just a twenty-four-hour thing. You’ve got to be one hundred percent for tomorrow.” When she was silent, he said, “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

Still nothing.

“It’s your birthday and I have something special planned.”

She knew for sure that Brian Lewis had messed her up. Forgetting her birthday—or Valentine’s Day, or Christmas—it just didn’t happen.

“I’ll be okay by tomorrow.”

“I’ll call when I get out of church. If you’re up to it, I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Okay,” she said. She tossed the phone onto the nightstand and lay across the bed.

Missing church this morning made it official. In just three days she’d broken her three promises to God; sinned in ways she had vowed she never would.

She stood and looked into the mirror. “It was just one time,” she reminded herself. “It’ll never happen again.”

But as she returned to her bed and pulled her knees to her chest, she knew that making a vow—to herself or to God—didn’t seem to mean too much anymore.

T
his morning, Jasmine awakened
with a smile. Her dreams had been filled with thoughts of Hosea and all that he had planned for her today. Even now, she recalled his call last night.

“Just checkin’ on you because I don’t want a thing to interfere with your birthday,” he’d said.

“What do you have planned?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Inside, she’d moaned. She prayed this wasn’t going to be another disaster-at-Fifty-ninth-Street date.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said before she could question him more. “But, haven’t I more than made up for that minor, little, tiny date mistake?”

For the first time since she’d returned from Los Angeles, she’d laughed. “Okay, but you’ve got to tell me something. What time should I be ready? What should I wear? Where are we going?”

“I’m the host of
Bring It On,
not
Twenty Questions.
Relax. You be you and let me be me.

“But…”

“This is all you need to know, darlin’. By midnight tomorrow, you’ll be calling all your girlfriends telling them just how wonderful Hosea Bush is.”

She hadn’t bothered to mention that she had no friends, but that didn’t dull her excitement then, and she wasn’t going to let anything dull it now—not even work.

She called the office, told her assistant that she wasn’t feeling well, retrieved her messages, and then sank deeper under the bed covers as she flipped through the morning shows. It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself the luxury of staying in bed past seven, but she needed this time. Even though the cloud of guilt had lifted, it had left her exhausted. She needed this time to prepare for tonight.

The ringing phone grabbed her away from
Good Morning America,
and when she checked the caller I.D., she snatched the handset.

“How did you know I was here, sweetie?” she asked as soon as she answered.

“I called the office; Tina said you were sick.” Hosea’s voice dripped with concern.

“I’m fine. Just wanted to stay home and bask in the anticipation of our evening.”

“Well, I hope I’m the first to wish you a happy, happy day.”

“Yeah, you’re the first,” she said. She kept her grin, even though this would be the only call she’d get—at least until Serena got home from work. “Thank you.” She paused and softened her voice to almost a whisper. “But can you do me a favor, sweetie?”

“Aw, darlin’, when you talk like that, all I can say is, whatever you want.”

“Please give me a little hint—what time, what to wear. Give me something,” she whined.

He laughed. “I’m going to hang up now, darlin’. Enjoy your day.”

He was gone before she could moan more, but before she could dial him again, her concerns were interrupted by a knock on her door. Sure that it was Mae Frances, Jasmine stayed in place, not wanting to face her neighbor. But when she heard the knock again, she rushed to the living room. Maybe Mae Frances needed her.

“Ms. Larson?” A thirty-something-year-old black woman with spiked hair wearing a winter-white coat greeted her when she opened the door. Behind her, two younger men, both dressed in jeans and leather jackets, balanced boxes piled high in their arms.

“Yes?” She wondered why Henrikas hadn’t called. She’d have to talk to him to make sure he announced all her visitors.

“My name is Leslie Winslow,” the woman said. “I’m a personal shopper with Lord and Taylor. We have a few packages for you.”

Surprise kept Jasmine in place. But the woman marched past her, followed by the men.

She asked, “What is all of this?”

“Mr. Bush wanted to make sure you had everything you needed for tonight. Where can we put these?” she asked, pointing to the boxes.

“Right here,” Jasmine said with the cheer of a child at Christmas. The boxes tumbled onto the couch and Jasmine didn’t wait. She ripped the top off one package. The strapless, tea-length black lace dress made her gasp. “This is gorgeous.”

“That’s a Calvin Klein. It’s Mr. Bush’s favorite, but he wanted to give you a choice. So we brought several outfits.”

With glee, Jasmine tore through the packages. There was a floor-length cream satin sheath from Vera Wang and a red two-piece from Oscar de la Renta. Each dress had matching shoes and a purse.

“I cannot believe this,” Jasmine said as she laid each outfit across the couch. “How did he know my size?”

“I’m one of the fashion consultants on his show, and after working with him for a few weeks, I can tell you that Mr. Bush has his ways.” Leslie laughed. “When he wants something, he gets it.”

Those words made her happy. “I can’t decide,” Jasmine said.

“You don’t have to. I’m leaving everything here so take your time. Then, just send back the other two.”

Leslie motioned to the men who’d sat silently. “Here’s my card. Call if you have any questions.”

Once alone, she lifted the black dress, and searched for a price tag. There was none. She inspected the other two. Same thing.

Jasmine giggled, and with the black dress in hand, ran into her bedroom. In front of the mirror, she held it against her. “So, this is your favorite, Hosea.” She twirled like a dancer. “Well, if it fits, then it’s my favorite too.”

With care, she laid the dress on the bed, and slipped from her robe. Then, she stopped. She really should call Hosea, thank him, tell him that now, she absolutely loved him. But, she flung that thought aside. That could wait until after she had a chance to see how fabulous she looked.

Not bad for a third date,
she thought. And she knew that her plan was working.

“Wow.”

Jasmine beamed. “You like?” She spun so Hosea could get a 360-degree view.

“You’re gorgeous.”

She stopped spinning and took in all of him. His charcoal shadow-striped tuxedo was exactly what she would have chosen for him.

Without a thought, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you,” she said, enjoying the feel of him. “Hosea, this dress is fabulous. I’ve never had such a wonderful birthday.”

“And we haven’t even begun.” He stepped further into her apartment. “This place is nice.” He bobbed his head in approval, then looked at his watch. “We gotta get moving.”

A limousine waited in front of her building and it took Jasmine a moment to realize that the car was for them. Inside, he held her hand as the driver pulled into traffic. “How am I doing so far?” Hosea asked.

All she wanted to do was kiss him. All she did was smile. “If the night ended now, I’d be happy.”

He laughed. “We have a few more hours.” Only minutes passed before the car pulled into a long line of limousines. “Don’t,” Hosea warned before Jasmine could ask. Their car stopped in front of a glowing-like-it-was-the-middle-of-the-day Metropolitan Museum of Art. A tuxedoed man greeted their car, and then they followed other formally dressed couples up the museum stairs. More hosts guided them to the Sackler Wing where Hosea checked her coat and they were directed to the reception line.

“You’ve got to tell me something,” she whispered. “What am I going to say if I don’t know what this is?”

“Okay.” He chuckled. “This is a special benefit for the museum. My pop’s a member of the President’s Circle. But the benefit Chairs are old friends of the family, so I thought we’d start our night here.”

“Hosea,” the petite, bright-blond woman exclaimed. Jasmine stood aside as the woman air-kissed Hosea’s cheeks. “It is so good to see you. How is your father?”

“And why is he not with you?” the lanky man standing next to the woman asked.

Jasmine knew nothing about these people, but she could tell they reeked of old money. The lilt of their speech. The design of their clothes. The gestures they made. Their ancestors were probably the first off the
Mayflower.

“My dad sends his apologies,” Hosea said. “He’s working.”

“I’m going to have to give him a call. He does much too much of that.” The woman laughed.

“Speaking of work,” the man jumped in, “it’s good to have you back in New York. We lunched with your father a few weeks ago and he is so very excited about your show.”

The woman turned to Jasmine. “And who is this lovely lady, Hosea?”

Hosea introduced Jasmine to Charlotte and Lovell Hollingsworth, but the line behind them didn’t allow for further chatter. Hosea took her hand and led her into the room where a harpist played a soft melody and waiters wandered through balancing trays with flutes of champagne and designer desserts.

“Do you have any sparkling cider?” Hosea asked a passing waiter. The man nodded, then stepped away. “I’m sorry,” Hosea said to Jasmine. “Do you want champagne?”

“No, I don’t drink. Not that I think it’s wrong, it’s just not for me.”

He smiled and she did the same—inside. She’d planned that response. Scored points, she was sure.

As they strolled through the exhibit, Jasmine was surprised at the number of patrons who greeted Hosea, asked about his father, congratulated him on his show. Reverend Bush was obviously more than a common pastor, and Hosea was more than a talk show host. The Bushes had elite New York connections.

An hour later, Hosea led her back to where their car waited. “Now on to our second adventure.”

When the car stopped again, Jasmine peeked through the windows. Lights shined bright from the Garden State across the Hudson River when she stepped from the car. The whispering wind stirred, but Jasmine didn’t feel the cold. Her eyes were on the helicopter sitting just feet away.

It was only because he nudged her forward that Jasmine moved. Excitement made her tremble as she climbed the metal stairs and then strapped herself into her seat.

“You wanted to see New York,” Hosea yelled above the revving engine. “Sit back, darlin’.”

Jasmine held her breath as the helicopter swept down the Hudson River. Almost immediately, she was face-to-face with the Statue of Liberty and then they swooped over Wall Street. As they soared over Manhattan, Hosea pointed out the monumental skyline: the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, and the United Nations. They whizzed over Central Park, before swinging north and sharing a perfect aerial view of Yankee Stadium.

Fifteen minutes after they began, the helicopter hovered, then touched ground.

“That was amazing” were the first words Jasmine said when they settled back into the limousine.

“Now, are you hungry, darlin’?”

By nine o’clock, they were seated at A Quiet Little Table in the Corner.

“I’ve never heard of this place,” Jasmine said as she slid into her cushioned chair. Curtains surrounded their table, just like every other one in the restaurant, giving each party privacy.

The waiter handed them menus, but Jasmine put hers down.

“Why don’t you order for me, sweetie.”

He smiled; she’d pleased him again.

First, they shared an oversized salad, and Jasmine asked, “Did you always want to be a pastor? Like your father?”

Hosea chuckled, shook his head. “Not at all. Although I was always proud of my pops and the way he turned City of Lights around, I didn’t want to do anything that would have me standing in some pulpit.”

“But you turned out to be a minister anyway.” She continued her fact-finding mission.

“Not my will, but when God says it, it is. When I graduated from college and went to Chicago, I worked for a newspaper—
Blessings.”

“A Christian paper?”

He nodded. “But, it was only because that was the first offer I got. If anything else had come through, I wouldn’t have been there. After mom passed, I didn’t want anything to do with God. But if someone was willing to pay me…” He shrugged. “I had no problem taking the loot.”

“So, how did you get from the newspaper to television?”

“I went from columnist to editor to a small cable show that was a spin-off of the newspaper. And then the show blew up. Next thing you know, NBC came knocking.”

She shook her head. “An overnight success. You know you’re incredibly lucky.”

He took her hand. “I know I’m incredibly blessed.”

Dang,
Jasmine thought. She had to remember to use the right words.

He continued. “All that happened is that I finally let Jesus take the wheel, and the blessings flowed. But enough about me.” He leaned toward her. “I want to know about you. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” she said before she sipped her sparkling cider. “I just want to be happy.”

“Is your family still in Los Angeles?”

Again she sipped, gaining time. She wasn’t ready to divulge too much; she wanted to know more about him—to become what he wanted.

She said, “My mom passed away years ago.”

His lips drooped and he took her hand. “So, you’ve lost both your parents?”

She nodded sadly. “It’s been hard, but I do have my sister.”