Fortune & Fame: A Novel (10 page)

“Bwahahahaa,” Mae Francis busted out laughing.

Rachel ignored her as Melinda said, “Oprah is kind of busy right now.”

“And this is really
my
show,” Natasia said, “if you want to get technical.”

Rachel glared at her. “Look, lady. I don’t know who you are or what rock you came climbing out from under. But this is
my
show. It’s called
The First Lady.
I’m
the
First Lady.”

Natasia actually had the audacity to look as though Rachel was starting to irritate her.

“Actually, the show will be called
First Ladies,
Rachel,” Natasia said. “
Ladies
is plural, as in more than one.”

“She wouldn’t know that because she only has a sixth-grade education,” Mae Francis cackled.

Rachel didn’t even look her way as she snapped, “And please explain to me why Miss Jane Pittman is here.”

Natasia looked at Melinda, and Melinda’s eyes shifted.

“I’m supporting all y’all First Ladies,” Mae Francis answered for her.

“Whatever.” Rachel didn’t want to waste another moment of energy on Mae Frances. She spun back to face Mary. “How did you even get out of jail?”

Mary flashed a pleasant smile. “Rachel, I’m a different woman now.”

“Oh, so you’re no longer a conniving, low-down, home wrecking snake in the grass?”

“No, I’m not. I found the Lord,” Mary said without losing her smile.

“Oh, give me a break,” Rachel said. “I guess you Muslim now, too?”

“You can make a mockery of my faith, but I speak the truth,” Mary said.

Rachel didn’t know what kind of con Mary was running, but she knew this woman was up to no good. There wasn’t that much changing in the world. Mary Richardson was a con artist to the tenth degree.

“My husband,” Mary motioned to a man standing in the corner, grinning like he was enjoying the unfolding scene as well, “Rev. Nathan Frazier from Pleasant City Missionary Baptist Church can attest that I’m a woman of God now.”

“So, not only are you out of jail but you really are a pastor’s wife?” Rachel was stunned. “This is unfreakinbelieveable.” She looked at Melinda again. “Did you know anything about this?”

Melinda shrugged innocently. “No. I gave Natasia carte blanche to run her show. I can’t possibly have my hand in everything.”

Rachel couldn’t tell if she was lying. She and Melinda went way back—her niece was one of the girls Rachel mentored back in Houston. But Rachel knew when it came to ratings, TV execs would sell their soul and it looked like her friend was no exception.

“Well, I’m not doing a show with her,” Rachel announced. “Jasmine, I might be able to deal with because I’m used to her trying to steal my limelight.”

“Excuse me!” Jasmine called out from her booth.

“Well, it’s the truth,” Rachel said.

Jasmine actually lost that smug smirk. “Little girl . . .” Mae Frances put her hand on Jasmine’s arm to keep her quiet.

Rachel continued. “I can deal with Jasmine, but this heffa
right here”—she jabbed her finger in Mary’s direction—“not going to happen. I will not be in the same zip code as her.”

“Well, I really hate to hear that.” Natasia pulled out a manila folder, then removed a stack of papers. “You might want to take a look at section twenty-three point one of your contract.”

“I don’t need to look at anything.” Rachel folded her arms defiantly.

“Okay, how about I refresh your memory.” Natasia started reading. “According to the contract that you signed, Client—that would be you—understands that the producers have the discretion of bringing on board additional cast.” She looked back up at Rachel. “And according to your contract, if you choose to abandon the project you will repay all monies advanced—”

“And?” Rachel cut her off. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t need your little funky money.”

“And you will be in breach,” Natasia continued, “facing potential lawsuits.”

Melinda stepped toward Rachel and gently took her arm and led her to the side. “Rachel, let me talk to you real quick.” She pulled her into a corner. “Come on, Rachel. It’s not that serious. And do you really want to bail on the show and let Jasmine be the star? Yes, you may have costars, but all that’s going to do is make you look better. If you bail, then Jasmine will be the one who has to be the bigger woman, and then ultimately, the one who becomes the star.”

That made Rachel’s blood boil. Every time she tried to give that troll, Jasmine, the benefit of the doubt, allow Jasmine into her friendship circle, she wanted to turn around and stab Rachel in the back.

“Fine,” Rachel said, then raised her voice to make sure Mary could hear her. “All I know is you need to keep that so-called saved scallywag, Mary, away from me.”

“I thought we had made our peace,” Mary said, walking over to them.

“We had, when I thought you had twenty-five to life,” Rachel replied.

Although Lester and Rachel had worked through their issues, Mary’s presence on this show meant the whole world would know their drama and Rachel wasn’t having that! No, Mary had caused Rachel months of grief. She would never be cordial with this woman.

Natasia closed her folder and walked over to where they stood. “Rachel, I understand you have issues with our newest cast member, but this show is all about growth. It’s about serving as an example of a Godly woman who finds forgiveness in the most difficult of situations.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want fighting on this show,” Rachel said to Melinda.

“And we don’t. I am serious about that,” Natasia said. “We will not be that kind of show.”

“Then, I suggest you keep her”—she pointed at Mary, then cut her eyes at Jasmine—“and maybe even her, away from me. Ya feel me?” she added with serious attitude.

“Oh, Lord, now she’s jacking lines from Lil Scrappy,” Mae Frances muttered.

“Who is Lil Scrappy?” Jasmine said.

“From
Love & Hip Hop Atlanta,
” Mae Francis said.

“I’m mad that you even know that,” Jasmine replied.

“Me and his mama, Mama Dee, used to have this beef—”

“Ugh!” Rachel screamed, interrupting them, “and especially keep her away from me!” she shouted, pointing at Mae Frances.

Rachel composed herself, fluffed her hair, smoothed down her burgundy BCBG wrap dress, then turned back toward the cameraman. “Let’s just get back to fil—” She stopped when she saw the red light on the camera. This fool had been filming the whole time!

Rachel inhaled, balled her fists, then exhaled. She was definitely going to need Jesus to help her get through the taping of
this reality show. But Melinda was right, she didn’t need to let anyone—not Jasmine, not that Gremlin-fur-coat-wearing Mae Francis, not Natasia, and definitely not Mary—knock her off her game. She wouldn’t be ratchet, but if any of them stepped to her the wrong way, they were definitely going to see a different type of First Lady. She was on the cusp of fame, and none of those bootleg chicks was going to take that away from her.

“I’m ready,” Rachel announced. “Let’s get this show on the road!” She turned directly to the camera. “You can bring on all the support staff you want. It’s my world, my rules! Get it? Got it? Good!”

N
atasia rolled over in her bed and for what had to be close to the millionth time that night, she raised her head and glanced at the digital clock. 6:17.

Good! Morning had officially arrived. But even though day had finally broken through the night, Natasia let her head fall back onto her pillow. She had no plans to get up, even though she wasn’t supposed to still be in bed. She was supposed to be getting up and getting ready for church. And she would have been if it hadn’t been for Jasmine.

Natasia had a plan. But then Jasmine had blown it up, just like she’d done the last time. At least with the plan she’d had in New York, no time nor thought had been put into it. After all, it was just a phone call. And a call could always be intercepted, exactly the way Jasmine had intercepted her call to Hosea.

But this time, Natasia had a good plan. A sophisticated plan. A plan that was simple and obvious. Reality shows usually taped six days a week, Monday through Saturday, with Sundays off. But this was a show about First Ladies. So, didn’t it make
sense to tape a couple of segments with the First Ladies and their husbands during a Sunday service?

Not that Natasia didn’t need today off after spending the last week with these ladies. Maybe if she had watched more reality TV, she would have been prepared for the nonstop brawls. So far, the fights had been verbal, but she knew they were one eye roll, one finger in the face away from something really jumping off.

It had started on Tuesday, when Natasia thought she’d give Rachel a chance to look better on camera. Her first appearance on Monday hadn’t been so great; all about Rachel’s temper tantrum after finding out Jasmine and Mary had been added to the show. So, Natasia had come up with an idea to do a little damage control.

Of course, Natasia had an ulterior motive. It had only taken her about five minutes to figure out that she didn’t like any of the women chosen for the show, but she could say she liked Jasmine the least. And as the EP, she wasn’t about to let Jasmine come off as the shining star.

But when Natasia took the idea to Rachel, she hadn’t cooperated.

“What do you mean you want me to apologize to Jasmine?” Rachel had said with her head seemingly twisting in every direction. “I don’t have to be sorry for nothin’ and I’m not sorry.”

If Jasmine hadn’t been standing right there, Natasia would’ve clearly laid out her plan, but instead, all she could say was, “We’re just trying to make sure that the people watching the show will get a fair view of all of you.”

It seemed like Rachel got the hint, but then the cameras started rolling. Jasmine sauntered into the restaurant like there were no cares in her world. A minute later, Rachel stomped in, slid into the seat across from Jasmine, and with a sugary smile and tone, said, “So, you wanted to meet so that you could apologize?”

Chauncey had lowered the camera and asked Natasia, “Do you want to start all over?”

Natasia shook her head. “No, let’s see how this plays out.”

If Rachel had planned to throw Jasmine off with that little flipping of the script, she didn’t. Jasmine went straight into her role. “Yes, Rachel,” and then she’d clutched the pearls she was wearing. “I am so sorry that you didn’t know that I was going to be on the show. You know, I would’ve called you if I knew that you hadn’t been told.”

“Yeah, well someone should’ve told me.”

“I agree. But I’m glad you came here so that I could apologize. I don’t want any problems with you or Mary. We’re all just women who love the Lord and we love our husbands. There should never be any animosity among any of us.”

“Oh, so you’re the peacekeeper, huh?”

“I guess you can say I am. ’Cause you know what the Bible says in Matthew.”

Rachel frowned, looking like maybe she’d never read that particular book in the Bible.

“It’s one of the beatitudes,” Jasmine said, reaching across the table and patting Rachel’s hand. “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God.”

Rachel nodded her head slowly. “Well, I guess it’s only right that you’re the peacemaker.”

Jasmine smiled and nodded.

“I mean, being that you’re the matron of the group. Were you there when Matthew wrote that book of the Bible?”

Before Rachel was even finished, Jasmine’s smile was gone.

Rachel kept on, “How old are you anyway?” Before Jasmine could answer, Rachel continued, “Never mind. No one should ever ask an old woman her age.” She chuckled just as bit as Jasmine fumed. “Just tell me this. If I were to add my age and Mary’s age together, would we come close to how old you are?”

Not a beat passed before Jasmine said, “I don’t know, Rachel . . . do you know how to add?”

Now, Rachel was the one without a smile. “Yes, I can add,” she said with major attitude.

“I’m just askin’ ’cause I know you didn’t graduate from the sixth grade.”

“Yes, I did,” Rachel shouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know you had your first baby when you were ten or eleven . . . or were you twelve?”

Rachel put her palms on the table, pushed herself up, and leaned across it. “You’d better take that back,” she threatened.

But Jasmine did not back down. She moved closer to Rachel so that their faces were just inches apart. “What? You don’t want people to know that you started having sex when you were eight?”

“Oh, my God,” Rachel screamed, looking at the camera. “Cut! Cut! I don’t want her lies on TV!”

“That wasn’t a lie. I was only telling the truth. ’Cause that’s what divas do . . . and I’m done!” Jasmine stood, pirouetted, and then glided out of the restaurant.

Natasia sighed and told Chauncey to turn off the camera.

It didn’t get any better on Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday. After a week on this show, all Natasia could say was that she’d finally found something positive about Jasmine—Jasmine Cox Larson Bush wasn’t nearly as ghetto as Rachel Jackson Adams.

But even with the pettiness and the bickering and the close-call beat downs, it was worth it because of her plan.

It was clear that God was all up in her life the way this had worked out. She’d been so worried about how she would get to see Hosea, and he was in Atlanta with his new church all along. Once she put this in place, Hosea would
have
to see her, and once she was in his presence, she’d be able to steal a little bit of his time.

But just like with the last plan, Jasmine had torpedoed this
one, even though she had waited until the very last minute to tell her.

“My husband is not part of the deal,” Jasmine had said two days ago when Natasia had finally shared the plan with her.

Natasia had been prepared for that response because while she didn’t like Jasmine, there was one thing she couldn’t deny. They were very much alike, which was probably why Hosea had loved them both. And if Hosea had been her husband, she wouldn’t let any ex-fiancées anywhere near him.