Fortune & Fame: A Novel (26 page)

Margaret was quiet for a minute, then said, “Oooh, I don’t know if I’m supposed to be giving out that information.”

“Really, Margaret?” Rachel said, making sure she sounded super irritated. “You can call Melinda yourself.”

“But I thought she was getting on the plane?”

“She is.” Rachel paused. “Then, fine. Don’t give me the address and when Oprah asks why I missed our very important meeting, I’ll say because Margaret wouldn’t give me the address like her boss asked her to.”

Rachel could hear the fear through the phone. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just being careful,” she quickly said.

Rachel heard some ruffling of papers and Melinda rattled off the address.

“I’ll make sure and tell Melinda you did a good job. You’re a doll.” She disconnected the call.

“Buckhead Tower,” Rachel mumbled, reading the address Margaret had given her. Of course, Natasia would be living it up in one of Atlanta’s most exclusive long-term hotels.

Rachel made a U-turn and headed toward Buckhead.

Twenty minutes later, she was getting off the elevator and heading to Natasha’s apartment. She had just turned the corner when she heard the scream for help.

Rachel raced to the door where the scream was coming from. Her eyes blinked in shock when she saw the apartment number and realized it was Natasia’s apartment.

Rachel pushed the door open and eased inside. A woman in a maid’s uniform was pressed up against the wall, her mouth open in horror.

“Oh, my God, she’s not breathing,” the woman cried.

Rachel’s eyes eased toward the floor, where Natasia was sprawled out like she was dead.

Visions of the last time she’d happened upon a dead body immediately began to fill Rachel’s head. That’s why her first instinct was to turn and get the heck out of there, but the cleaning lady was a basket case and Natasia might still be alive.

“Did you call 911?” Rachel asked, dropping to Natasia’s side.

“N-no . . .”

“Well, call them,” Rachel snapped as she took Natasia’s arm and felt for a pulse. A flutter of relief ran through her when she felt one.

Minutes felt like hours, but Rachel soon heard footsteps racing toward the room. Soon, paramedics and security personnel filled the apartment.

The paramedics immediately went to work and Rachel actually exhaled when she heard one of them say, “We’ve got her stabilized.”

Natasia moaned as they rolled her out of the room on the stretcher.

“Ma’am, can I talk to you?” a man in a too-small gray suit asked Rachel. He had on a name badge so Rachel assumed he was hotel security. “Do you mind if I ask your relationship to the victim?”

“Victim? She’s a victim?” Oh, Lord, Rachel didn’t need
anyone thinking she’d done something to Natasia. Rachel glanced around the room. Where was that cleaning lady? She needed to get over here and tell these cops that Natasia was like that before Rachel arrived. The last thing Rachel needed was to be accused of yet another crime that she didn’t commit.

“Maybe that’s the wrong choice of words,” the security officer corrected. “She’s stabilized, but we’re trying to ascertain what happened.” He pulled out a notepad and a pen. “So, again, you are?”

“I work for her. We, uh, we had a meeting. I just arrived and she was like that. But the cleaning lady is the one that found her. Talk to her. She’ll tell you, I came in later.” Rachel looked around frantically. “Hey, Cleaning Lady! Where are you? Come tell them you found her.”

The officer held his hand out to settle Rachel. “Ma’am, we’ve already got her statement. We know she’s the one who found her.”

Rachel’s shoulders relaxed just a little. “Good.” She pointed to the man’s notepad. “Make sure you write that down. Rachel Jackson Adams was not the one who found her.”

“Ma’am, we got this.” The security officer spotted an open bottle of pills on the nightstand and said, “Are those hers?”

Rachel shrugged. She could cooperate now that they were clear that she wasn’t involved in whatever happened to Natasia. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, Jay,” another investigator called out from the bathroom, “there’s a lot of medication in here that may give you an idea what happened.”

Rachel’s mouth fell open as he appeared in the bathroom doorway with an armful of pill bottles.

The man held up one bottle. “This medication is for lupus. The only reason I know is because my sister is on some of this stuff. And the milligrams? This is heavy duty. She might be advanced.”

Jay looked up at Rachel. “Did she have lupus?”

Lupus? Advanced?
Oh, wow. Was Natasia sick?

“I told you, I don’t know. I just came here for a meeting.”

The security guard sighed, resolved that he wouldn’t get anywhere with Rachel. “All right, ma’am.” He closed his notepad. “We have your info. We’ll be in touch if we have anymore questions.”

That was her exit cue. Rachel couldn’t wait to get out of there. Not just because the whole environment made her stomach turn, but now, she couldn’t wait to tell Jasmine what she’d found out. The question now was, exactly what were they supposed to do with that information?

O
kay, babe, I’ll just see you later. Love you.” Jasmine pressed End on her cell and then frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

She turned to look at Mae Frances, who sat propped up in her bed with her arms folded across her chest. It had been weeks since she’d seen her friend this way—up and nosy.

But she was so glad that her friend was not only awake, but up to talking, that Jasmine was going to tell her whatever she wanted to know.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, sitting in the chair next to the bed. “That was Hosea.”

“I figured that was Preacher Man. I didn’t think you’d be saying ‘I love you’ to anyone else, at least not this early in the morning.”

“Mae Frances! I’m not like that and I haven’t been like that for years. You know that.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. But don’t change the subject; what’s wrong with you? What did Preacher Man say?”

Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t know. He just landed, but
he told me that he’s not on his way home. He said he had to take care of something important. And then he said, ‘Trust me.’ ”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Whenever he’s said that recently, it has something to do with Natasia.”

Mae Frances shook her head. “You waste a lot of time thinking about that woman and I already told you—”

“I know, I know, you had a dream.”

“Don’t be poo-poohing how the Lord chooses to talk to some people. I’m telling you, she can’t take him away from you.”

Jasmine shook her head, thinking how much she missed the Mae Frances who would’ve shut Natasia down. Natasia Redding would’ve been living in the caves of Afghanistan by now if the old Mae Frances had taken over.

But then Jasmine had to pause and think about Mae Frances’s words. Natasia had been here for weeks and if she was trying to get Hosea back, she didn’t have much to show for her efforts. There were no late nights when Hosea was gone for hours. There were no Saturdays when he was gone all day. There were no early morning disappearing acts—except for today.

Something was going on, but like Mae Frances said, it didn’t feel like Natasia could do anything. It didn’t feel like she was in a battle for her relationship the way she’d felt back in 2007.

Still, Natasia was a low-down, dirty trick, and a liar, and a cheat, and could never be trusted. So, Jasmine wasn’t about to turn her back, especially because Hosea did love Natasia once. That’s why she needed to be gone. For good!

“Well,” Jasmine finally answered Mae Frances, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe she can’t get him. But I’m just tired. Tired of trying to figure her out. Tired of trying to figure out what’s
going on. Tired of trying to figure out what she’s gonna do. It’s too much. I have to think about her at home and on the show. What if this goes on for another season?” Jasmine shook her head. “I just need her out of our lives for good.”

Mae Frances gave Jasmine a half-nod as if she only kind of agreed. “Okay, I get that. So, what’re you gonna do? Have you and the hoochie come up with any plans?”

Jasmine chuckled. “Why she gotta be all that? Why you gotta call Rachel names?”

“I forgot; y’all girls now. Okay, I apologize and I’ll rephrase . . . have you and the hoochie mama come up with any plans?”

Jasmine shook her head because she couldn’t believe Mae Frances, and because she hadn’t spoken to Rachel since she’d left last night.

Then, her cell phone rang and “Hoochie” showed on the screen. Jasmine jumped up so that Mae Frances wouldn’t see the name that she’d had for Rachel.

But when she glanced at Mae Frances and saw the way her lips were twisted, Jasmine knew she hadn’t moved quickly enough.

“What’s up, Rachel?”

“I’ve been trying to call you all night!”

“Oh, I ended up having a slumber party with Jacquie in her bedroom. Kind of a girl’s night in since Hosea was away.”

“Well, I wish you’d had your cell with you ’cause I have some news.”

“I hope it’s good news.”

“Depends on your definition of
good
. But it’s about Natasia.”

Jasmine perked up. “News that will get rid of her . . . finally?”

A pause, and then, “Yeah, you could say that,” Rachel said softly. “I’m gonna come over.”

“Why don’t you just meet me on set? We can find someplace to talk.”

“You haven’t checked your emails? What have you been doing all morning? I know Hosea is in New York, so you got some other man over there?”

Rachel laughed, but Jasmine didn’t. “I told you; I’ve been hanging out with my children like you were probably doing—oh, wait. Your children are not with you.”

“You know what?”

“Look Rachel, we shouldn’t be fighting each other when we have so many people to go up against. Let’s just handle our business, okay?”

“Well, you started it. But anyway, I’m going to come over to your house ’cause our taping has been canceled this morning.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“That’s what I was saying before you went in on me. Melinda sent out an email early this morning canceling the shoot and telling us she’ll be in touch.”

“I wonder what’s going on?” Jasmine asked.

Rachel sighed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“So, tell me,” Jasmine said, hardly able to hide her curiosity now.

“I’ll see you in a little while.”

Rachel hung up and Jasmine stared at the phone. That girl was evil. Just pure evil.

But Jasmine needed her right now. And she even liked her a little, ’cause what Rachel just did—hanging up without giving anymore information—was something that Jasmine would’ve done.

“What’s going on?” Mae Frances asked.

“That’s what I was trying to find out. Rachel’s on her way over. She said she has some news but that’s it.”

Mae Frances was quiet for a moment. “Bad news.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Well, whatever, I just pray that Natasia will be dead to us soon. Once and for all!”

*  *  *

Jasmine stared at Rachel with wide eyes, as Mae Frances just shook her head.

“What is it with you and dead bodies?” Mae Frances asked as Rachel finished telling the story of finding Natasia in her hotel last night.

“I told you, she’s not dead. She just looked that way.”

“Oh, my God!” Jasmine held her hand to her pounding heart. “I’ve been wishing . . . I just prayed that she was dead!”

“Well,” Rachel said, plopping down in the chair next to Mae Frances’s bed. “God almost answered your prayers.”

“Please, God doesn’t work like that,” Mae Frances said in a tone that sounded like she’d always been a sanctified saint. “The Lord don’t pay attention to that kind of foolishness.” She paused. “But I told you she wasn’t going to be a problem anymore.”

Jasmine’s eyes opened wide. “You did say that!”

Mae Frances nodded slowly. “But what I want to know is what’s wrong with her? Is she pregnant?”

“How she gonna be pregnant when she ain’t got a man?”

“Well, you’re the one who’s been doing all the talking about her having yours.”

“I never said that!” Jasmine snapped. “You need to stop—”

“Do you two wanna hear what I have to say?” Rachel jumped in.

Jasmine rolled her eyes at Mae Frances, but then nodded at Rachel.

“Dang! I do all this work and y’all act like you don’t want to hear it.” When Jasmine and Mae Frances stayed quiet, Rachel said, “Thank you.” she sat back, crossed her legs, and said, “To answer your question, Mae Frances, no, Natasia is not pregnant, she’s sick. She has lupus.”

“Lupus?” Jasmine and Mae Frances said together, both sounding as if the word was foreign to them.

Rachel nodded and pulled her iPad from her tote bag. “I did some research and though I don’t know what kind of lupus she has, it’s serious. The medicine that was in her apartment was for advanced stage.”

“Oh, my God,” Jasmine said.

“Yup, she may not have been dead last night, but that chick could be dying.”

“I can’t believe it,” Jasmine whispered. “I don’t like her, but . . .”

“I know,” Rachel nodded.

“Hey!” Mae Frances growled, making Jasmine and Rachel sit up. “There’s no need to be sitting here worrying about her. Nothing you can do to save her. The thing now is, how are you going to use this against her?”

Rachel shook her head and Jasmine said, “Mae Frances, we can’t do that.”

“Why not? This is perfect. Obviously she didn’t want anyone to know; she’s been hiding it. And since you’ve been so worried about her, Jasmine Larson, you can use it as blackmail. Tell her that if she doesn’t move to Timbuktu, you’ll release the story to the
National Enquirer.
And by the time they finish with the story, lupus will be contagious, Natasia would’ve infected the entire set, and everyone associated with
First Ladies
will be dying.”

“Really?” Rachel said. “Is that what you really want to do? You want to go after someone who’s really sick? Who could be dying?”

“Well, she ain’t dead yet,” Mae Frances said.

“Dang, old lady. You need to have a little compassion,” Rachel said.