Chapter Twenty-six
Jasmine
I lay awake in the guest suite down the hall from my bedroom all last night, replaying every single word exchanged between me and my husband. Not only had I come to the conclusion that King really probably never loved me, but I also reached the revelation that I was a joke to my best friend. Her nephew and niece were my motherfucking stepkids. That bitch Stacey had to know King was fucking around on me with her sister. For God’s sake, Prince was four years older than Jordan, and Princess was six months younger.
My mind raced as I reminisced about the times we went on shopping trips or girls’ weekends out of town. She was keeping my ass busy while her sister was probably over here playing house up in my shit. “That dirty trick,” I said aloud as it finally hit me. The reason Tracey’s ass was mini balling was because of King. My husband was the one footing her bills. He was either breaking her off or paying child support. That was how that heffa went and spent six stacks the other day. “If I wanted King, I could’ve had him.” Her words echoed in my head. “Your gold-digging ass won’t want him when I’m done,” I said out loud to myself and laughed wickedly. I was about to make this bastard pay for all the years that I’d been living in hell.
After sliding on a black spaghetti-strap tank top and pulling on my black Juicy Couture bottoms with the gold lettering, I slipped on my gold metallic UGG boots and was out of the room in no time. I walked down the stairs and heard voices coming from the study.
“What time are we leaving for the airport?” I poked my head inside the door.
Both King and D-Bo stared as if they had seen a ghost. “Um, we?” King looked confused.
“Yeah, we. I want to ride with you to the airport since I won’t be seeing you for a few days.” I smiled and he frowned.
“Yo, D-Bo, let me holler at Jasmine right quick, big dog.” He leaned back in the oversized leather swivel chair.
“No problem, boss. I’ll be outside.” D-Bo walked his 311 pounds lightly past me like his ass was walking on eggshells. “Morning, Jasmine.”
“D-Bo,” was all I gave him along with a slight nod. I walked into the warm neutral-colored space, then pulled the French doors closed.
“Are you okay?” King scratched his forehead.
“Couldn’t be better.” I smiled, flashing all of my pearly whites. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m good.” He cleared his throat. “Look, Jazzy, about last night, I—”
“What about last night?” I waved my hand. “It’s old news, right? I mean, you did say everything you needed to say, didn’t you?”
“Um, yeah, I guess, but—”
“But nothing. It’s water under the bridge. Now what time is that flight?”
“I actually need to be leaving now.” King stood from the chair in his navy blue Sean John sweatsuit.
“Well, let’s hit the road. We don’t want you to miss it.” Quickly, I spun around and proceeded to the front door. The minute this asshole was in the sky, I was coming back here and cleaning him out.
Minutes later, we were on our way. “Damn, D-Bo, slow down before we get pulled over,” King called from the back seat. I had to admit, D-Bo was pushing it, but the quicker we got King to the airport, the happier I would be.
“Boss, you only got twenty minutes before the plane leaves. We need to get there,” he insisted.
“Arrive alive! Ain’t you ever heard that saying?” King reached up and held on to the handle we used for hanging our dry cleaning up.
“We’re almost there, boss.” We bent a few more corners, flew over a pothole or two, and blew a red light right in front of a cop.
“Damn.” I was the one who spoke up this time. Just as I feared, lights began to flash, and the sirens blared.
“Nigga, if I miss this flight, that’s your job,” King threatened. D-Bo pulled over just as the officer had instructed over the speaker. Slowly coming to a stop with the police officer on our bumper, we sat there in silence.
“Jazz, let me see your purse,” King spoke as the officer stepped from the sheriff’s vehicle.
“Why?” I asked.
“I need to put my phone in there.”
“Why?” I asked again.
“Because,” he said, clenching his teeth, “these officers will fuck with me after they recognize who I am. The last time I was pulled over, they searched the car and took my phone.”
“What’s so special about your phone?” I was still confused.
“It ain’t about the phone. It’s about what’s in it. You know how many other celebrities’ numbers and addresses I got in my phone. I got a lock on it, but nowadays people can hack into everything.”
Not thinking twice about it, I handed over my Dooney & Bourke seconds before the officer tapped on the door.
“License, insurance, and registration, sir,” he said while looking back at us. D-Bo handed over the items. Then the older African American officer reviewed them thoroughly. “Son, do you know why I pulled you over?”
“’Cause I’m black?” D-Bo responded with much attitude. Was his big ass blind? The officer was as black as midnight his damn self.
“Don’t get cute with me, son.”
“I ain’t your son,” D-Bo added. I was about to pass out in the back seat. No, he didn’t just say what I think he said.
“What’s with the attitude, and why did you run that red light?” the officer asked.
“I’m trying to get my boss to the airport, and I don’t have an attitude.”
“You realize you could’ve killed someone back there?” The officer removed his sunglasses.
“Wasn’t nobody coming when I blew that light, and you know it.” D-Bo was working my nerves and, by the looks of it, King’s too.
“Officer, I apologize for my driver’s behavior. Today is his first day, and I think he’s a little nervous.” King rolled his window down and lied with a straight face.
“Hey, aren’t you that fella from the television?” The officer peered at King.
“Yes, sir! My name is King James, but you may know me as KJ.” King extended his hand, which the officer shook.
“Yeah, KJ. My grandkids watch your videos all the time. I’ve seen one or two myself, and I want you to know that they sicken me.” He frowned.
“Excuse me?” King said.
“All you talk about is sex and drugs. It’s very distasteful, son. You disrespect our women and teach our children that it’s okay to sell and use drugs.” He shook his head.
“Old man, are you done talking? We got places to be,” D-Bo chimed in, causing me to roll my eyes. He had struck a nerve with the officer.
“Everybody, step from the vehicle now.” Right after he said that, he drew his weapon. We jumped from the car with our hands up. “Have a seat over there on the sidewalk. If one of you moves, you’re all going to jail.”
My heart damn near jumped from my chest as he searched D-Bo’s Trailblazer. I didn’t know what he was liable to find on the inside of that thing, but I was silently praying that it was nothing that would land us in jail. No one made a sound as the officer headed back over to us. I didn’t know if it was me, but he seemed to be going in slow motion as he carried my purse.
“Ma’am, could you step over here for a second?”
On wobbly legs, I took five long steps toward him. “Yes, sir?”
“This is your bag, correct?” He held it up and I nodded.
“Yes, sir, that’s my purse.” I felt a lump form in my throat.
“Please turn around for me, and place your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest,” he said with force, although his face read disappointment.
“Why am I being arrested?” I asked over my shoulder. He secured the cuffs, then turned me around to face him.
“You’re being arrested for the possession of narcotics. Does this look familiar?” He waved a sandwich bag in front of my face. It looked like baby powder and reminded me of what King was sniffing last night.
“That’s not mine, Officer,” I screamed.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, baby,” King called from the sidewalk with his cell phone glued to his ear. It was the same cell phone that he had asked to put in my purse. That was when I realized I had been set up by my own fucking husband.
After the officer read me my rights, I was placed in the back of the squad car. I looked on as he handed D-Bo a ticket along with his other documentation.
“Jasmine, I’ll be back in two days, okay? Just hang tight, baby.” With that said, I watched as my husband threw me the deuces and pulled off to go shoot his music video in Atlanta. I shook my head in disbelief. This nigga had just left me stuck with a damn possession charge.
“Ma’am, can I call anyone for you?” the officer asked. “Sometimes you’re not given a phone call until they finish booking you and processing your information. It could be hours, and you look like a nice girl. I would hate for you to have to wait that long,” the officer explained.
“Thank you, sir. Can you call my mother?” I rattled off the number to her home phone. When she didn’t pick up, I gave the officer her cell number, but she didn’t answer that either.
“Maybe your boyfriend will get a hold of her.” He made eye contact with me through the rearview mirror.
“That’s my husband, and I doubt it,” I mumbled.
“That guy is your husband?” He became wide-eyed. “And he just left you like this?” he said while shaking his head. “You young people never cease to amaze me.” He chuckled while I frowned.
“Look, I was leaving him today. As soon as he got on the plane, I was packing up me and my son, and we were out.” I didn’t know why, but I felt as if I had to explain myself.
“Is that right?”
I could tell by his tone that he didn’t believe me for one second, but I was dead serious.
As we pulled into the police station, which was about two miles from the airport, my stomach began to ache. I wasn’t sure if it was the baby, hunger pains, or the fact that I was nervous as hell. Aside from watching the show Cops on TV, I had never been up close and personal with the law. The officer came around to open my door and help me out of the car. I looked at his name tag, which read “Sheriff Johnson.”
“Okay, this is it. We’re here.”
The place resembled a small office and was a little too spiffy to be for the bad guys. The waiting area looked cozy and smelled of fresh paint. The linoleum floors were waxed and shining. There was also a fresh smell in the air. I was pleased that since I had to be taken to jail, at least it was this one.
“What’s going on, Frank?” the female officer behind the receptionist desk asked after looking up from her Sloppy Gossip magazine.
“Nothing much, Lizzie. This is Mrs. Jasmine James. She’s being charged with possession of cocaine.” Frank leaned on the counter as I cringed at what he had just said. Officer Lizzie glanced up at me then back down at her magazine.
“Are you King James’s wife?” She looked bewildered. I started to say no, but maybe saying yes would work in my favor. Sheriff Johnson was old school and by the book. Perhaps this 30-something lady would let me pass for an autograph, picture, free CD, or something.
“Yes. That’s me.” I stood tall, flung my hair over my shoulder, and tried to appear as glamorous as she probably thought I was.
“Wow. This is not your week, huh?” She turned her magazine toward me. You could have bought me for a penny. I was too done. Right there, smack dab in the middle of the page, was a picture of me on the floor being pulled by King. My mouth was wide open, my makeup was a mess, and there was a huge red star covering my exposed private part. The title of the article was YOUNG & RECKLESS.
“Not my week at all.” I was too ashamed to look her in the face, so I looked down at the floor instead.
Right after the humiliating moment, I was handed over to Officer Lizzie and taken to the back for booking. “Hold this sign and look straight ahead. Turn left. Now turn right,” she instructed.
I knew my mug shots would hit the internet by tomorrow, so I tried my best to look fabulous. After the photo shoot, I was fingerprinted, drug tested, and allowed my phone call. “Praise the Lord and leave a message.” My mother’s voicemail came on, and I rolled my eyes. Where was she when I needed her?
“Hey, Mama, it’s me. I got into some trouble, and I need you to bail me out.” I rattled off the address and phone number of the precinct before hanging up the beige desk phone.
“Would you like to call King?” Lizzie asked like she knew him and we were cool like that.
“He’s out of town,” I sighed.
“What about a lawyer? Rich people keep those on standby,” she commented.
“The only lawyer we have is an entertainment lawyer, and she’s out of Georgia,” I explained. Truth be told, even if the bitch were around the corner, I didn’t have a number to reach her at. She was King’s attorney, and I had only met her once at a fundraiser.
“What about friends?”
I looked at her and almost broke into tears as I thought about Stacey. Other than my mother, she was the only person in my life I knew for sure had my back. Up until last night, I thought she was my one true-blue friend. Boy, was I wrong.
“Nope, no friends either,” I replied.
“Okay, well, maybe your mom will get the message and call you back.” Lizzie almost looked sorry for me.
We walked down a short hallway and stopped in front of a door marked HOLDING. “Can’t I just post my own bail?” I asked, remembering hearing something like that on one of my TV shows. I needed to get the hell out of here and fast. I only had two days to work with before King was back. By the looks of it, I’d be here for at least a few more hours.
“You won’t be given a bond until tomorrow morning. You’ll go before the judge, and he’ll set it then.” Lizzie unlocked the white door.
“Tomorrow?” I repeated, and she nodded. Losing a day would really put a damper on my plans, but I was determined to leave King and teach those no-good twins a lesson before Jordan, my mom, and I left town. I needed a fresh start and a new beginning.