Everyone was talking, one over the other, as the Bush entourage packed into their hotel suite.
“I cannot believe this.” Pastor Griffith had not stopped pacing for the entire ten minutes since they’d all rushed away from the pandemonium that had broken out from Cecelia’s announcement.
Once the nominations were closed and the meeting was adjourned, the masses had charged to the front, almost stomping over Hosea and shoving past Lester to get to Cecelia and Reverend King.
Pastor Griffith had directed the Bush group to leave—and once again, they all escaped through the side door. Now here they sat—or paced—trying to digest this news.
Jasmine sat on the couch, between her husband and her father-in-law, still stunned as much as everyone else by the events of the meeting.
Cecelia King. It was a shocking but brilliant move, Jasmine had to admit. This was something that she would’ve done. And that’s exactly why she should’ve seen it coming.
Jasmine knew never to trust any woman; that had been her life’s mantra. But she’d been so busy trying to swat that fly-faced Rachel away that she’d been distracted, and now Cecelia was trying to step into what was supposed to be Jasmine’s rightful place.
“What are you going to do about this?” The sharp tone of Mae Frances’s voice brought Jasmine back into the hotel room. “You’ve got to do something.”
“Don’t you think that’s what we’re all working on?” Pastor Griffith snapped. He waved his hands toward the others in the room. Five men were pacing, just as he’d been doing, each one with a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Cecelia cannot do this; we have got to get Hosea elected.”
Jasmine had no idea who the men were talking to, or what kind of deals they were trying to make, but they weren’t her concern right now. Her eyes were on Mae Frances, her friend, and Pastor Griffith—the man who was beginning to feel more and more like an enemy. Both of them were operating like high-octane gas was pumping through their veins. Both were overly excited. Both were overly agitated. Like it was their election that was on the line.
Jasmine squinted as if that would help her see them better. Were Pastor Griffith and Mae Frances in cahoots? Did they have some kind of partnership that no one else knew about? And if they did, what did that mean for Hosea?
“I guess no one saw this coming,” Reverend Bush said. But his voice was so gentle, so soothing, that Jasmine was sure her father-in-law was trying to diffuse some of the tension that had thickened the air.
“No,” Pastor Griffith barked. “No one saw this because Cecelia never planned to do this. I know her and her husband well. This was not supposed to happen.” He stopped moving long enough to stare Jasmine down. “But she had to step in because of what’s been going on, and now this is what we’re up against.”
As Jasmine glared back at the pastor, Hosea reached for her hand. But she didn’t need Hosea’s protection on this. She hadn’t done a thing wrong and she wasn’t going to take the blame for Cecelia King’s actions. Everything that she’d done, she’d done to help Hosea win. Everything she’d done had been effective—including the million-dollar gift that she’d given to the Coalition. And just about everything she’d done had been passed by Pastor Griffith, so why was he blaming her now?
And if he was talking about what she’d done to Rachel this morning, well, the truth was she hadn’t beat down Rachel enough. There wasn’t a woman on earth who wouldn’t have taken that skeezer out and Jasmine’s only regret was that Rachel had gotten up.
No, not a bit of this was her fault. Pastor Griffith could try to blame her if he wanted to, but they all needed to see what she saw. Cecelia and her husband had probably had this planned from day one. Jasmine was a world-champion schemer, and it took one to know one.
Two of the men stopped pacing and clicked off their cells almost at the same time.
“Okay.” It was Pastor Penn who spoke first. “This looks like it can be saved. It’s gonna be tough, but we can still win. Right now, Cecelia has the lead,” he continued, “because the folks who want King out are evenly split between Adams and Hosea.” Pastor Penn stopped and glanced over to the couch and Jasmine couldn’t help but smile at the man.
Here Reverend Penn was, working so hard at getting the man who’d been nominated instead of him elected. Even his wife, Coco, had been cordial, and even sometimes sweet since they’d arrived in Los Angeles. Jasmine had been totally wrong about those two. The distrust she had for the Penns had been misplaced and should have been on the Kings the whole time.
Henry Ruffin, who had just officially nominated Hosea, said, “So, the fact is that the Adams people are going to be Adams’s people. I don’t think we should spend too much time going after them. But some of Hosea’s folks did go with Cecelia. If we got half of them back, we’d win the election.”
“So how do we do that?” Mae Frances asked, as if she were one of the boys.
As the men discussed strategy—everything from using scripture to denounce a woman running for the presidency to promoting the idea that Cecelia was really just a cover for her husband to keep his position—Jasmine sat back and massaged her temples.
Becoming first lady of the world was not as easy as she thought it was going to be. But still, she had faith. Not only was Hosea truly the best man for the job, she was the best one to be first lady. What were they going to do if Cecelia won the election—make Reverend King the first … what? The first man? And then there was Rachel as the first lady. Please! After really getting to know her, calling her ghetto would be insulting to all the people in the world who really were ghetto. Rachel was nothing more than a slut-bucket who had found a small-time country preacher, and then married up. Who would really want her as the face of the American Baptist Coalition? If the Adamses won, Jasmine was sure that the Coalition would lose half of its membership.
No, that was not going to happen. Jasmine had no doubt that once the votes were counted, Hosea Bush and his wife would be the new king and queen.
“Okay,” Pastor Griffith growled to the men in the room. “We know what we have to do. Let’s go hit the lobby. Start talking up Hosea to some of King’s people.” He looked down at Jasmine. “You better hope that we can still pull this out.”
Jasmine’s eyes got wide, but before she could stand so that she could tell him what she really hoped, Hosea jumped right up.
“Excuse me?” Hosea said, planting himself in front of Pastor Griffith. “That’s my wife you’re talking to.” His voice was low, steady, and threatening.
“I know who she is.” Pastor Griffith glared back at him. “And like I said, she better hope we can salvage this election.”
Jasmine was ready to pounce, ready to stand by her man, but Reverend Bush put his hand on her shoulder, motioning her to stay seated. Instead, he stood next to his son.
The room was silent; no one dared to move. The tension was now off the Richter scale.
Mae Frances took a few steps toward the three men, but Reverend Bush held up his hand, stopping her. He spoke to Pastor Griffith. “Earl, I know you’ve worked hard and we all appreciate it, but let’s keep this in perspective.”
“I have the right perspective,” he shouted. “Do you know what I have riding on this?”
Reverend Bush said, “I think it’s the same thing that we all have riding, Earl. You’re no different than the rest of us in here who have worked long hours, who have worked hard and want to win.”
Reverend Bush’s tone was soft, meant to calm, but it seemed to do little for Pastor Griffith. His eyes shifted between Hosea and his father as if he was trying to determine which one he wanted to take on.
Jasmine wondered if Pastor Griffith was really that much of a fool. Hadn’t he heard about her husband? The gun-wielding pastor who’d been on trial for attempted murder because some man had dared to kidnap and abuse his daughter? The thing was, Hosea had no remorse—he would have gladly spent the rest of his days behind bars. Because it was all about family—his family, that he’d do anything to protect.
That included his wife.
Jasmine wasn’t sure if it was the way Hosea stared Pastor Griffith down or the way Hosea started to shove off his jacket as if he didn’t want to mess up his thousand-dollar suit. But Pastor Griffith finally took two steps back, shrugged his shoulders a couple of times as if he was loosening up … and then, he smiled.
“You’re right, Samuel,” he said to Reverend Bush. “It’s just that we’ve all worked hard on this.” Looking back at Hosea, he said, “I’ve worked hard to get you elected because I believe you’re the right man for the job.”
“And I appreciate that,” Hosea said, though his voice was still hard. “But no one is going to disrespect my wife no matter who they are or what they’ve done.”
Pastor Griffith nodded slightly, then glanced around Hosea to look at Jasmine. “I apologize, Lady Jasmine.”
She nodded.
Then Hosea, being the gentleman that he always was, reached toward Pastor Griffith. The men shook hands and Reverend Bush patted both of them on their backs.
Jasmine watched her husband, his hand still in Pastor Griffith’s hand, the two men nodding and smiling together.
But though the tension began to seep out slowly, this little peace treaty did nothing for Jasmine. She still eyed Pastor Griffith with nothing but suspicion.
Then across the room, Mae Frances laughed.
Never trust any woman.
But Mae Frances wasn’t just any woman … Mae Frances was her friend, right?
Jasmine wasn’t sure anymore, but it was hard for her to believe that her friend had actually joined the ranks of her enemies. She didn’t know how, but Jasmine had a feeling that she would soon find out whose side Mae Frances was really on.