A Sin and a Shame (8 page)

S
ome things were going
to have to change.

Jasmine zipped her suitcase, threw her mink over her shoulders, and then rolled her luggage into the hallway. As she rode in the elevator, she thought of the list she was going to give Malik once the club opened. First, she’d need a car service. Calling for cabs had been fine—until she noticed how many people in New York had drivers.

At least I’m flying first class,
she thought, although she wondered why Malik didn’t have his own plane. If he had, she wouldn’t be up so early.

She yawned and pushed back thoughts of Reverend Bush that had kept her tossing much of the night. She refused to yield to the feelings his words had caused. She was above that. She was above him.

“Good morning, Ms. Larson,” Henrikas said the moment she stepped off the elevator. It was barely six o’clock, but Jasmine was no longer surprised to see him at every hour. “Do you need a cab?” he asked with his ever-present cheer.

Jasmine nodded. “I’m going to LaGuardia.”

He nodded, but just as he opened the door, Mae Frances sauntered from the elevator.

“Good morning, Jasmine Larson.” She eyed Jasmine’s bag. “Looks like you’re going on a trip.”

Jasmine’s eyes roamed up and down her neighbor. Mae Frances was wrapped again in her mink.

“Well?” Mae Frances said, exasperation in her tone as she waited for Jasmine’s response. A diamond glinted from her ring finger.

“I’m going to Los Angeles on a business trip.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun.” Mae Frances turned to Henrikas. “Put her bags in my car, please.”

Jasmine frowned. “What?”

Mae Frances raised one penciled eyebrow. “You’re going to the airport, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“But what? Don’t you need a ride? Or would you prefer to take one of those…cabs?”

Jasmine wasn’t sure if she liked Mae Frances—not the way she talked, not the way she took control. But her curiosity about the woman was tying itself around her neck.

“Well, are you coming?” Mae Frances asked with impatience.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, thinking riding in a limo was better—even if she had to ride with her.

“How are you on time?” Mae Frances asked once the car pulled from the curb. “Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

Jasmine hoped this woman wasn’t about to take her on some drive through the city. “My plane leaves in about two hours, but I like to get there early.”

“No problem.” Mae Frances said to the driver, “Starbucks, Gerald Davis.” When the car stopped, Mae Frances said, “I hope you like this place.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Good. My treat.” Mae Frances opened her purse. “Get whatever you like,” she said as she pulled out her wallet, “and bring me back—” She stopped. “Oh, shoot. I forgot to stop by the bank.”

“No problem.” Jasmine opened the door. “I’ll get it.”

“Thank you,” Mae Frances said, then asked Jasmine to buy her a venti coffee and two pastries. “I have a sweet tooth,” she added.

In minutes, Jasmine was back, and Gerald sped toward the airport. “Thank you, Mae Frances. I really appreciate this.”

Mae Frances’ smile was so warm it disarmed Jasmine. “I told you the other night, I’m just being neighborly.”

Jasmine sipped her latte. “I have to admit, I’ve never had a neighbor quite like you.”

Mae Frances leaned back and laughed so loud, it startled Jasmine. “You’re not the only one in our building who feels that way. I’m sure for years some of those old fogies have held meetings trying to figure out how to get rid of me.”

“How long have you lived there?”

As fast as it came, the woman’s laughter went away. “Sometimes I feel as if I’ve lived there as long as that building is old.” She sounded as if she was weighed down by years. “My husband and I settled there in nineteen sixty-four. I was the first Negro to live in that building.”

The word made Jasmine flinch, but she said nothing at first. Wondered why Mae Frances had said “I.”

“Wow, that’s forty years.”

“I was a young bride.” Mae Frances sounded gruff again. “My husband had his medical practice on the first floor of the building when he first started.”

A doctor?
That explained the limousine, the mink, the diamonds that she sported.

“What kind of doctor is your husband?”

Her eyes flared, then softened. “Let’s talk about you. Where are you from?”

“I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but I just moved here from Florida.”

Mae Frances nodded. “And your family?”

Jasmine’s face stretched with surprise. She was the one who was supposed to be doing the questioning. Still she answered, telling Mae Frances about her parents and Serena. And the next question came; Mae Frances asked if she were married. Then asked where she worked. The queries continued until the car eased in front of the Delta terminal. Only then did Jasmine realize that Mae Frances knew much about her, but she hadn’t uncovered too much of anything about her neighbor.

“Well, Jasmine Larson,” Mae Frances began once the driver stepped from the car and opened the door. “Have a nice business trip.”

“Thank you again.”

The woman nodded. “By the way,” she began, “how did you like the dinner the other night?”

The memory made Jasmine smile. “It was great. Thank you for that too.”

“Then we can have dinner together when you get back. My treat since you treated me this morning,” Mae Frances said, holding up the Starbucks bag.

Her first instinct was to say no, but then she looked at Mae Frances sitting so regally, head held high, back pressed against the seat. And when she peered a bit closer, there was something in the woman’s eyes that Jasmine hadn’t seen before. Sadness, loneliness, she wasn’t sure. “Dinner would be nice, Mae Frances.” She stepped from the car and took her bag from Gerald.

Mae Frances pressed the button, lowering her window. “Let me know when you get back.”

Jasmine paused for just a moment. “Yes…yes, ma’am.”

Mae Frances’s eyes widened. She leaned back and laughed. Jasmine could still hear her laughter, even as she turned into the terminal.

J
asmine was on top
of the world.

That’s the way she felt as she gazed out the tenth-floor window overlooking Doheny Drive. At first, Gabriella had booked her into a no-name hotel in the Valley. But she’d changed that. That was not the way she was going to return to Los Angeles.

The ringing of the phone interrupted her thoughts.

“Ms. Larson, your car is here.”

“Thank you,” she said to the concierge.

With a quick glance in the mirror, she smoothed the black dress over her hips, grabbed her shawl, and gave a smile of thanks for the warmth of a Los Angeles winter.

In the elevator, she once again dismissed thoughts that had plagued her all day. The thoughts that tried to convince her she’d been a fool with Reverend Bush. It didn’t matter because she was already over him. Already looking forward to the payback that would be oh, so sweet.

Before she took a step from the elevator, a voice greeted her. “You look wonderful as always,” J.T. said.

“I thought I was meeting you at de Janeiro.”

His lips slipped into a smile that looked more like a leer. “I was just about to come…up to your room.”

In spite of herself, she chuckled. “The concierge called. My car is here.”

He reached out, gesturing for her to hook her arm through his. “That would be me. Did you think I was going to let you walk into the club by yourself? If I have my way, you won’t be alone at all tonight.”

Jasmine took his arm, although she was not about to take his offer. Not even Reverend Bush’s rejection was going to make her go back to bedding a married man.

She slipped into one of the many Town Cars waiting in front of the Four Seasons. As the car accelerated down Wilshire, J.T. chatted. “The salsa contest begins sometime between nine and ten; we just go with the crowd. But this contest put us on the map.”

When the car turned onto the 405 Freeway, it was difficult for her to focus on J.T.’s words. Her thoughts took her to the past, her years in Los Angeles. Her life with her ex-husband, ex-lovers, ex-friends.

J.T. said, “We thought we’d attract the thirty-, forty-year-olds who were outgrowing hip-hop. But you’ll see as many twenty-year-olds in the club as anyone else.” He rested his hand on her leg.

With a smile, she slid away from his touch.

“Don’t you like me, Jasmine?” he asked as if he were offended.

But Jasmine knew his tone was just a ploy. He was playing the same games she once mastered. “You’re married.”

He raised one eyebrow. “And?”

She matched the look on his face.

“I’m not talking about divorcing my wife,” he said.

She chuckled under her breath.

“I’m just saying that since we’re going to be working…closely together,” he slid across the seat until he was almost on top of her, “we should make the best of this relationship.”

“I agree,” she said before she pushed him away. “And I promise you. This is going to be a good
working
relationship.”

He leaned back against the seat and laughed. “You’re a hard one. I can’t say that I’ve had many turn me down.” He shook his head. “I would never have taken you for one of those kinds of women.” She frowned, and he said, “I don’t mean to offend you, but you look like a woman who knows how to have a good time. Like a woman who goes after what she wants.”

Jasmine chuckled. If he only knew. “And you know all of this just by looking at me?”

He nodded. “It’s a compliment, really. You just don’t seem to be someone who plays by the rules.”

“I don’t. Not anyone else’s. But I do have my own rules.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “I don’t give up easily.”

Jasmine gave him a smile and was relieved when his cell chirped. As he barked orders into the phone, Jasmine turned back to the window. The car whizzed by the Getty Center as they navigated north on the freeway.

She’d been surprised when she’d first learned de Janeiro was in Thousand Oaks. When she’d lived here, she never ventured far from the city’s excitement. It seemed L.A. life had changed.

The limousine eased off the freeway and two blocks later, slowed. De Janeiro shone in bright lights that illuminated the entire width of Ventura Boulevard.

J.T. slid out and took Jasmine’s hand. He held her as they maneuvered through the Thursday night crowd that swarmed outside.

At the glass doors, J.T. shook hands with the linebacker-looking man standing in front of the velvet rope. They stepped inside, and the club was brilliant with excitement. Salsa music bounced off the orange walls of the massive room. The club was packed with women clothed in bright tops and flowing skirts, and men with festive shirts and black pants. A few suits were sprinkled through the crowd.

The gleaming parquet dance floor was empty, but almost all the small round tables that surrounded the perimeter were filled with patrons sipping colorful concoctions and snacking on finger foods from the evening carte du jour. The circular bar that commanded the center of the room was crammed with customers.

“I’m going to the back,” J.T. said. “Need to check on a few things,” he yelled over the music. He was so close, his lips grazed her earlobe.

She shivered.

“You can hang out here,” he said, then paused, “or you can come with me.”

His lips, his hands, his invitation made Jasmine remember Reverend Bush. His words. His rejection. Then, she imagined how J.T. would feel—on her, in her.

“I’ll wait right here,” she said, pointing to the bar.

He chuckled. Like he knew something she didn’t. Like he knew she wouldn’t last for long.

She scooted onto an empty round stool.

“Hey, Art,” J.T. yelled to one of the bartenders. “This is Jasmine. From Malik’s club. Take care of her.” The bartender nodded and she ordered a Coke, no ice.

When she turned around, J.T. had already begun his passage toward the back, pausing every few steps to bask in the admiration of his fans.

Jasmine sipped her Coke, swung the bar stool around, and surveyed the space. She felt like she was in the middle of Ipanema. From the beach murals on the wall to the palm trees that filled the space, no one could have convinced her that she was not in South America.

Her glance paused at a group of men in suits, standing in a small circle. One turned to meet her eyes, and raised his glass toward her. When she realized she was staring, Jasmine turned away from the familiar man.

Her mind scanned her memory. He wasn’t someone she’d bedded. Although there’d been many she’d shared her body with, she remembered every man.

Behind her, a voice wrapped in silk said, “Hello.”

She didn’t have to turn to know who it was. She felt him—and the voltage he carried. She smiled her hello, then said, “I know you, don’t I?”

He laughed. “That’s supposed to be my line.”

A current flashed between them and the way his eyes shined told her he felt it too. She couldn’t stop staring. “Where do I know you from?”

He sipped the golden liquid in the glass he held. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

“I used to live in Los Angeles. Maybe we went to school together.”

He shook his head. “I just moved here a few years ago.” He paused. “So, you don’t live here now?”

She shook her head. “I live in New York.”

His glance inched up her body. “Too bad.”

Jasmine’s eyes wandered to his left hand. Long, manicured, bare fingers curved around his glass. She held out her hand, eager to touch him. “I’m Jasmine Larson.”

He laughed. Took her hand. “Jasmine. What are you doing here?” he asked, still holding onto her.

She frowned. “We do know each other.”

“Well, not really.” He leaned in closer. “But we’ve met.” He dropped her hand, and took another sip of his drink.

She frowned. “Well?”

“I’m Brian. Brian Lewis.”

It took a moment. “Jefferson Blake’s best friend.”

“Yup, and you’re one of Kyla Blake’s best friends.”

“Used to be.” She looked down into her almost empty glass and took a final sip.

“That’s right. You slept with her husband and she ran you out of town.” He chuckled.

“I don’t think so.” She did not share his humor. “How are Doctor and Mrs. Blake?”

He shrugged. “You know them. Living their perfect life.” He took the empty glass from her and placed it on the counter. “Let me get you another one. What are you drinking?”

“Just Coke, no ice.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s all you want?”

She bit her lip. “For now.”

As Brian got the bartender’s attention, she used the time to study him. She remembered now—Dr. Brian Lewis. They’d met years back at Jefferson’s fortieth birthday party. She’d been impressed and had tried then to get his attention. But as she recalled, he only had eyes for Alexis Ward.

Her eyes narrowed at her memory of Alexis, Kyla’s other best friend. Her archenemy.

Brian handed Jasmine a glass. “Let me know when you want something more,” he said with a smile.

“So,” Jasmine began. She glanced at his hand once again, this time checking for a tan line on his ring finger. “I guess things didn’t work out for you and Alexis.” Satisfaction filled her tone. When she’d left Los Angeles, Brian and Alexis had been quite an item. It did her heart good to know that not even the gorgeous Alexis could hold onto this man.

He asked, “You remember Alexis?”

“Of course. She was Kyla’s best friend, remember?”

“Still is. She’s also my wife.”

Jasmine was glad her back was against the bar’s counter or she would have fallen off the stool. “You married her?”

He chuckled. “Well, yeah. Why not? She’s smart, funny, gorgeous.”

Jasmine held up her hand. “There is no need to give me a litany of Alexis Ward’s attributes.”

“Alexis Lewis,” he corrected her.

She took another sip of her soda, wishing for a moment that it was mixed with a bit of rum. “So, if you’re so happily married, where’s your wife?” Before he answered, it occurred to her that Alexis could be here too—lurking in the background, readying to jump out and ruin her day.

“My wife is home.”

His tone made her twist her entire body toward him. He stood so close she could feel his heat. “She lets you go out and play without her?” Jasmine whispered.

He turned his glass upside down, finishing what was left. “I’m not that kind of cat. I do what I want to do.”

Jasmine slid one leg off the stool, brushing against Brian as she moved. “And so,” she asked, “what is it that you like to do?”

His tongue grazed his lips, but before he could answer, J.T. interrupted, “Hey, Brian. What’s up, man?”

They exchanged greetings and Jasmine stepped to the side, studying Brian once more. Even in the darkness of the club, she could see the sharp angles of his jaw, the square shape of his chin, the fullness of his mouth—lover’s lips. She licked her own as she tried to remember what kind of doctor he was; she’d ask once J.T. left them alone.

She took another sip of her drink. Yes, there were a couple of things she wanted to remember and new things she wanted to learn about Dr. Brian Lewis.

J.T. finally turned to her. “I have some things I need to go over with you.”

Brian’s glance moved between them. “You know each other?”

“Yeah,” J.T. said and put his arm around Jasmine.

She wanted to dodge his embrace, but she was pushed against the bar. “J.T. and I work together. My godbrother and I are opening a similar club in New York and I’m here to check out a few things.”

Brian’s smile returned. “How long are you here, Jasmine?”

“I was supposed to go home Saturday morning.” She twirled the glass in her hand. “But I can stay longer…if there’s a reason.”

J.T. looked between the two and frowned. “Jasmine, we need to talk before the contest begins.”

Brian pulled a card from his wallet. “Call me if you decide to stay an extra day…or night.”

She glanced at the ecru linen card. “We’ll see,” she said, although she’d already made up her mind. She would be going home on Sunday. When she looked up, he smiled. She thought,
Maybe I’ll stay until Monday.

J.T. placed his hand on the middle of her back and nudged her away. When they were alone, he said, “How do you know Brian?”

“He’s an old friend.”

“He’s married.”

“I know.”

“Thought you didn’t mess with married men?”

Jasmine shrugged, but said nothing. She didn’t. But this was the man who had exchanged vows with Alexis Ward.

She couldn’t hide her smile as she looked at Brian’s card before she tucked it into the zippered compartment inside her purse.

For hours, J.T. kept
her occupied—watching the dance contest, talking to the winners, mixing with the customers. But even as she worked, her eyes were on watch for Dr. Brian Lewis.