A Sin and a Shame (5 page)

It had been eight days since she’d first laid eyes on Reverend Bush. Not too much time in the scheme of life. But too much time for her and the reverend. It was time to get this party started.

The pointed toe of
Jasmine’s stiletto boot tapped an impatient beat.

The plan had been to walk into the church, march into the meeting, present Malik with important papers he’d forgotten, and then accept Reverend Bush’s gracious invitation to stay.

But once she arrived, she hadn’t counted on Mrs. Whittingham. The church’s secretary was a short, stout, gray-haired woman who made up in her tone what she lacked in stature. Mrs. Whittingham glared at Jasmine over gold-rimmed glasses that were set low on her nose.

“I am not about to allow you to barge into that meeting,” she said in a voice that was barely a whisper after Jasmine made her request known. “You are not a member of that committee. Are you even a member of this church? I’ve never seen you before.” The woman rolled her eyes before she motioned for Jasmine to have a seat on the couch outside of the conference room.

Now, Jasmine glanced at her watch. An hour passed—time wasted.

The double-doors to the conference room finally opened and Jasmine jumped to her feet. Pairs of men and a few women strolled through the doors, still continuing their conversations. One man stopped when he saw her and Jasmine groaned inside. Her nemesis. The usher. Brother Hill. Even though his white suit was absent he still wore his welcoming smile, although Jasmine was no longer fooled.

“Jasmine, what are you doing here?”

She turned from the usher when she heard Malik’s voice. Her smile widened when she saw the one standing next to him. “Hey, Malik,” she said, as if she was supposed to be there. “You ran out of the office so fast you forgot these.” She handed the empty folder to him and then turned toward the reverend.

“Reverend Bush, good to see you again.”

“Yes.” He smiled back at her and Jasmine was glad that she’d worn the black knit dress today. Although it hugged her body’s curves, it was still more conservative than what she’d worn to church.

The reverend said to Malik, “I had the pleasure of meeting your godsister yesterday.”

“Did you?” Malik responded, although he kept his eyes on Jasmine.

But her attention remained on the reverend. “Yes, we met right after the service. Reverend,” Jasmine said, “Malik told me a bit about the building committee.”

“Yes, we’re excited. Our hope is that the center will become a hub for this community.”

“I think that you are…what you’re doing is incredible,” she said, taking a step closer to him. “And I want to offer my services to you.”

He questioned her with his eyes.

“Did Malik mention that I’m a marketing specialist?”

“No,” the reverend said, as if he were surprised.

“Yes, I’m working for Malik and his new club. And, I’d love to…work for you.”

The reverend paused for a moment, and inside, Jasmine’s heart leapt at the way his stare seemed to penetrate right through her.

I knew it,
she thought. Yes, he was a preacher, but he still belonged to the faction of humans that was her specialty—he was a man.

The reverend said, “I appreciate that offer, but I don’t know how you’d be able to help me…or the committee right now.”

Malik said, “Jasmine, we’re still in the planning stages.” He turned to Reverend Bush. “I’ll call you tomorrow with those numbers.” Malik placed his hand on Jasmine’s elbow, and squeezed just enough to let her know he was serious. “I’ll walk you outside.” Malik nodded his good-bye to Reverend Bush.

“Have a good evening,” Reverend Bush said and paused. “Both of you.”

Her eyes widened as the reverend stepped away. She wanted to slap Malik, but that would have to wait. “Reverend Bush, I know you’re not at the stage for marketing yet, but planning is always good. How about lunch tomorrow?”

The reverend swiveled around. Surprise was etched in the lines of his forehead.

She said, “I know your calendar is probably full, but you have to eat.” The steps she took toward him left only inches between them. “And I have some ideas for you,” she said softly.

She was sure she saw a glimmer in his eyes.

He said, “I apologize, Jasmine. Somehow I’ve given you the wrong impression. I don’t need any ideas…or anything else from you.”

She frowned. “But, Reverend, I—”

“Thanks, Reverend Bush,” Malik said, this time taking Jasmine’s hand. “I’ll call tomorrow.”

Reverend Bush nodded, and then with a final glance toward Jasmine, he disappeared into his office, with the ever-grinning Brother Hill steps behind him.

Malik kept his smile as he said good-bye to other committee members still lingering, but once outside, all decorum was gone.

“What was that?” he yelled.

She jerked her hand away and tightened her coat against the winter’s air. “What’s your problem? I brought you the folder of the plans we went over today. I thought you’d want to review them tonight.”

Malik opened the folder with a smirk on his face, as if he already knew it was empty.

“Oh, well,” Jasmine said not even bothering to act surprised. “I must have picked up the wrong one.”

“Don’t play with me, Jasmine. Both of us know what this is about.”

She turned and marched toward Riverside Drive. “So what?” she asked over her shoulder. “I’ve asked for your help over and over.”

“And you think you’ll win me to your side by busting into a church meeting?”

“I waited outside that conference room for over an hour. So, I wasn’t busting into anything.” She stepped off the curb and held out her hand, signaling for a taxi.

He pulled her back onto the sidewalk. “Jasmine, what’s going on? I thought you’d put all of this stuff behind you.”

She frowned. “What stuff are you talking about?” she asked, although she knew what he meant. She was sure her sister and father had told Malik every deranged detail of why she’d left Los Angeles. How she’d become obsessed with her best friend’s husband. Serena and their father had probably made it sound as if she’d been swinging from a loose branch of a crazy tree.

But there was no way Malik could equate Reverend Bush to Jefferson Blake. Reverend Bush was not married. And there was a big difference between obsession and determination.

“Jasmine, I thought you were happy here.”

“I am,” she said looking directly at him. “Why is my wanting to get to know your pastor such a problem? I just want to spend some time with him because I like him.”

“You don’t know him.”

“That’s why I’ve been asking you to help me.”

“Jasmine, you’re chasing the wind. Reverend Bush is not interested in you.”

“And you know this…how?”

He sighed. “Jasmine, you’re almost forty years old, way too old to be going through this. I would think you’d want to spend your time learning about the city, getting set up in your apartment, and most importantly, getting settled in your job. I need you one hundred percent at Rio.”

“And I’m not going to give you any less,” Jasmine said. “My social life won’t interfere with my work. But just remember, Malik, it’s my social life. And it’s none of your business.”

He softened his voice. “I’m worried about you. It’s like you’re obsessed…again.”

There it was. She tried to contain her rising rage. “Let me break this down for you. I met someone whom I’d like to get to know better,” she said, speaking slowly. “It happens every day between men and women, Malik.”

“It happens when two people are interested in each other, Jasmine. And, Reverend Bush is not interested in you.”

What was he talking about? Twice, she’d seen how Reverend Bush looked at her. Yesterday it had been a look of disapproval, but still, his glance had wandered. And today, she saw the glimmer in his eyes. She knew she could have the reverend any time and in any way she wanted him. “It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said to Malik. “I’m going to spend some time with Reverend Bush. One on one. Man to woman. Not. A. Big. Deal.”

They stood toe-to-toe. Then Malik backed away and raised his hand, motioning for a cab. When the car eased over, he opened the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as she slid into the backseat.

That was the extent of their good-bye. Jasmine gave her address to the driver and then leaned back against the cracked vinyl seat.

That was ridiculous,
she thought. The way Malik had spoken to her. All because of one minor mistake she’d made in the past. She didn’t know why everyone still made such a big deal over Jefferson Blake. It wasn’t like she’d had an affair with her best friend’s husband. It was just sex, just once. And Kyla and Jefferson were still together, living happily in that nirvana they’d created. So if they were able to move on, why was she being defined by her past?

Reverend Bush was nothing like Jefferson Blake. Reverend Bush was a free man. Grown and free. And so was she.

I’m worried about you. It’s like you’re obsessed again.
Her sigh was filled with anger at the memory of Malik’s words. As if he were some kind of doctor. As if he were qualified to give her a diagnosis.

Actually, she’d felt this way when she
had
seen a doctor. To appease her father, Jasmine had visited a psychologist when she first moved to Pensacola. It had been a surprise to her when her father had insisted. All her life she’d thought black people didn’t go to shrinks—black folks went to church. God took care of anything that ailed anyone.

But her father thought it best if Jasmine turned to God—and Dr. Reade. She’d made the promise to do both. Although she went to church every Sunday, she’d seen Dr. Reade twice. Stopped right after he told her that she suffered from autophobia.

When she’d searched the Internet for the definition, she’d spent twenty minutes laughing at how that psychologist had lost his mind—and needed to lose his license.

“I don’t have any fear of being alone.”

“You say something?” the driver shouted over the strange fusion of sounds that screamed from the car’s speakers.

She didn’t bother to respond. When he eased the car to the curb in front of her building, Jasmine tossed seven dollars into the driver’s hand.

“Good evening, Ms. Larson,” Henrikas greeted as he opened the cab door. “I hope you had a good day.”

With barely a nod, she made her way to the elevator. Everything annoyed her—Henrikas’s grin, the clicking of her heels on the marble floor, even the glare from the overhead chandeliers. By the time Jasmine entered her apartment, she was ready to be alone.

Autophobia? I don’t think so.

She tossed her coat and briefcase onto the couch, tugged off her boots, and sauntered into the kitchen. She stared at the five bottles of water that sat alone on the refrigerator shelves, then opened the freezer. A minute later, she sank onto her couch, tucked her feet under her, and stuffed a tablespoonful of Rum Raisin ice cream into her mouth. “Malik needs to stay out of my business.”

This time when she slammed the spoon into the mound of Häagen-Dazs the utensil bent. Standing, she left the carton on the sofa table and returned to the kitchen. She tore open the package of cheddar cheese potato chips, and stuffed a handful into her mouth.

A sudden knock on the door surprised her. Henrikas was supposed to announce guests.
Malik,
she thought, as she moved toward the door.
He’d better have an apology with him.

“Good evening,” Ms. Van Dorn, her elevator partner from this morning, greeted Jasmine without a smile.

Shock kept Jasmine standing in place, her mouth stuffed with chips.

Ms. Van Dorn raised her penciled eyebrows. “May I come in?” she asked, even as she brushed past Jasmine. When she still hadn’t moved, the woman added, “Are you going to just stand there? Where do you want me to put this?”

For the first time Jasmine noticed the red basket Ms. Van Dorn carried. Slowly she closed the door, her eyes never leaving the woman.

“Well?” Ms. Van Dorn said, as if Jasmine was making her lose patience.

“What is that?”

Ms. Van Dorn blew a breath of air. “It’s your dinner,” she continued as if Jasmine should have known that.

Jasmine frowned. “Dinner? For me?”

The woman shook her head and placed the basket onto the kitchen table. “Who else would I be bringing dinner for?” She faced Jasmine. “Unless you’re telling me that someone lives here with you.”

“Ms. Van Dorn, I don’t want to be rude—”

“Then don’t. Just say thank you.”

Jasmine stared at the woman. Without her mink, some of her elegance was gone. In her flowered wrap dress that seemed a bit too snug, Ms. Van Dorn looked like the many older women Jasmine saw daily, strolling the city streets. But although Jasmine didn’t know her story, she suspected there was nothing ordinary about Ms. Van Dorn. Not living in this building, not being carted around in a limousine, and not wearing the diamond stud earrings that glittered from her ears.