Too Little, Too Late (3 page)

J
ASMINE TUCKED
J
ACQUELINE
underneath the blanket, kissed her cheek, then tiptoed from her bedroom.

“Is my pumpkin asleep?” Hosea asked, meeting Jasmine in the hallway.

She nodded. “Your pumpkin had a long day.”

He grinned as he put his arm around Jasmine and walked beside her. “You haven’t said much about my surprise.”

Jasmine turned toward the massive living room windows that overlooked Central Park. Even in the night hours this tenth-floor view of the park’s southern border was a natural wonder. But the beauty didn’t bring her the peace that it normally did.

“So, what do you think about L.A.?” Hosea settled onto the couch. “Pretty exciting, huh?”

More like scary.
“It could be.”

“That’s not the right answer. What’s wrong?”

She didn’t have to turn around to know that his face was now creased with concern.

She pasted on a smile, took a deep breath, and faced him. “I was thinking…is it necessary for me to go to L.A. with you?”

His frown deepened.

“I mean,” she continued, “if you’re only going to be there for three months, do we need to pack up everything?”

“We’re not moving. All we have to do is take a few bags. The show’s going to pay for our place; they’re looking at apartments at the Fairmont for the staff.”

Years ago, she would have walked from New York to Los Angeles to spend one night in that five-star hotel in the San Fernando Valley. But that kind of stuff didn’t matter anymore. All she cared about was her husband and her daughter. And keeping her husband happy. She couldn’t do that if she were in Los Angeles.

“But it’s more than packing a few bags, Hosea. We’ll have to disrupt Jacquie—”

“From what?”

“From her life.”

Hosea chuckled. “Jacquie doesn’t care where she sleeps as long as Mama and Dada are in the next room.” He paused. “I thought you’d be excited.”

“I am.” Jasmine lowered her eyes. “But I can’t imagine leaving my job for three months.”

“Malik said the club would be fine.”

“Only because you put him on the spot. He didn’t have time to consider it. I run that place. What’s going to happen to Rio if I’m gone for that long?”

“So you don’t want to go to Los Angeles?”

After a moment, she looked at him. “We can do the commuter marriage thing. Jacquie and I can come on weekends. And sometimes, maybe, you could come home.”

His eyes narrowed, his mind in thought. “I don’t like this. I would miss you and Jacquie. And what about the baby?” He wrapped his arms around her. “I was thinking L.A. would be better for us. Less stress, a prolonged vacation. We’ll make a baby in no time out there.”

Inside, Jasmine sighed. It wasn’t stress that had stopped her from getting pregnant. She suspected that it had more to do with her being forty-three and not thirty-eight. Five years—not a big difference in the overall spectrum of time. A big difference—if you were trying to conceive.

“Sweetheart, first of all, three months is not going to stop us from getting pregnant. And, if you’re right about it feeling like a vacation, we’ll be fine on the weekends.”
And it will give me time to come up with some medical reason for this not happening.

“You really don’t want to go with me?”

“I
want
to go. I just think it would be better if Jacquie and I stayed here.”

He took her hand and pulled her onto the couch. It took a few minutes for him to say, “I don’t like this, but if it works for you, then I’ll make it work for me.”

She exhaled. Her wish, granted.

But only seconds, and then, “Are you sure there’s not another reason why you don’t want to go to Los Angeles?”

She closed her eyes, didn’t move. Stayed inside her husband’s arms and marveled at his discernment. He was right—she never wanted to go back to Los Angeles, the city where her sins began.

He asked, “Does this have anything to do with Brian?”

There—he’d said it. For the first time since he’d come back to their marriage, he had spoken her sin aloud and said Jacqueline’s father’s name.

She told him the truth. “Brian never crosses my mind. I only love you.”

He lifted her chin, looked into her eyes. “I know that. I don’t have any doubts.” He paused, but the way he held his lips together, Jasmine knew he had more to say. “About Brian,” he began again. “One day we’re going to have to talk about him. And we’re probably going to have to see him.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because of Jacquie. We’re never going to lie to her. When the time’s right, we’re going to tell her about her father.”

Jasmine jumped from the couch, crossed her arms, and looked down at Hosea. “You’re her father.”

“I know that,” he spoke calmly. “But we have to face the fact that when she learns about Brian, she may want to know him.”

Know what about him? Know that she was conceived in lust, not love?

Jasmine whipped her head from side to side.
We will never tell her
was what she wanted to say. But she knew her husband. He would never lie—not by commission or omission.

Hosea stood and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Whether we like it or not, Brian Lewis will always be a part of our lives because of Jacquie.”

Still, Jasmine did not agree. She loved her daughter and wouldn’t change a thing about her—except for her paternity. To her, Jacqueline was Hosea’s. That’s how it would always be. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she would make sure that Brian Lewis never got close to her family.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to L.A.?”

She shook her head. “We’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Will you miss me?”

She nodded.

“Show me how much.” He pressed his lips against hers, then lifted her into his arms.

She squealed.

“Ssshhh, you’ll wake my pumpkin.”

Their lips met again and as they edged toward their bedroom, Jasmine began the silent prayer that she’d said every time for the last year:
Please, God. Let tonight be the night. Let us make a baby.

T
HE KISSES WERE LIKE
butterflies sweeping against her cheek.

“Mama.” Jacqueline giggled.

Jasmine moaned before her eyes fluttered open.

Hosea stood over her, holding Jacqueline in his arms. “We just wanted to say good morning. I’m going to take my pumpkin back to Mrs. Sloss,” Hosea said, referring to their live-in nanny.

Jacqueline laughed as Hosea lifted her high above his head, then settled her onto his shoulders.

“By the way,” he began, “are you sure you don’t want to go to the luncheon today? It’s the last time the entire staff will be together before we go to L.A.”

She shook her head. Now awake, her “Monday To-Do List” was already scrolling through her mind. “No can do. I have a full day,” she said, scurrying to the bathroom.

Inside, she hopped into the shower, sighing as the warm spray soothed her. Leaning against the pebbled tile, she closed her eyes and relaxed under the water’s massage.

Go.

Jasmine’s eyes sprung open. She glanced through the foggy glass. She heard nothing more than the shower’s rain. She leaned back, closed her eyes again.

Go.

Gentle. Guiding.

Jasmine tilted her head. Called out, “Hosea!”

He opened the bathroom door. “Yeah?”

“Did you say something?”

“I didn’t say a word, darlin’. Watch out now, don’t be hearing things that aren’t there.” He chuckled and closed the door.

She turned off the water. Stepped cautiously from the stall onto the heated floor. She listened for a moment, then pressed the button to turn on the in-wall speakers. If she was going to hear voices, she wanted them to be real.

But even through Brent Jones singing Hosea’s favorite song, “My Heart’s Desire,” she heard it again.

Go.

Is that it?
Jasmine wondered. It was the first time that she’d heard that voice. That voice that so many others spoke about. Especially Hosea—he said that God talked to him all the time. But she’d never heard a word from above. So how was she supposed to know if this was Him?

Go.

“Go where?” Jasmine asked the air. She stayed in place for a minute, then opened the bathroom door.

“Babe, what time is the luncheon?”

Hosea stepped from inside his closet. “You changed your mind?”

She thought about the voice. “Isn’t that a woman’s prerogative?”

He laughed. “It’s in the Rainbow Room at noon. Want me to pick you up?”

She shook her head. “No need for you to come all the way downtown. I’ll call for a car.” She closed the door and wrapped herself inside her towel. She wasn’t sure if it was God she heard, but she wasn’t taking a chance. If God was talking to her, she was certainly going to listen.

“H
EY, DARLIN
’.” H
OSEA OPENED
the Town Car’s door.

Jasmine stepped out and into her husband’s arms. “I didn’t expect you to be waiting for me.”

He kissed her. “Whenever I get the chance, I walk side by side with my wife.” Slipping his hand into hers, the two weaved through the lunchtime throng outside of Rockefeller Center.

Chatter and laughter greeted them when the elevator doors opened on the sixty-fifth floor. Jasmine and Hosea mingled with the
Bring It On
team, until the restaurant’s staff directed the guests to sit for lunch.

“I’m glad they put us at a table together,” Jasmine whispered to Deborah Blue. “I thought they were going to have a dais or something.”

“This is so much better,” Deborah agreed as she sat at the table set up for four. Then she called to her husband. “Honey, you and Hosea see each other every day, but you’re worse than me and Jasmine.”

Hosea and Triage—the other executive producer of the show—turned toward their wives and laughed.

“We’re busted.” Triage kissed his wife, and as he sat, he turned to Jasmine. “Hosea just told me you’re not going to L.A.”

Jasmine stiffened. “I can’t get away right now.” She took Hosea’s hand. “But I’ll be visiting when I can.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Deborah said. “I’ll be in L.A. the entire summer recording a new CD and I was looking forward to showing you the city.”

Before Jasmine could tell Deborah that she was born in Los Angeles, Stephen Hager, one of the top executives with the network, stood at the microphone. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming today. This is an exciting time for the show. Our ratings have steadily increased, which means more advertising dollars.” He paused. “And those Emmys we got earlier this year certainly helped.”

Applause filled the room.

“This is a good time for a celebration. That’s what this lunch is about. No long speeches, just an enjoyable time with colleagues. Now, before they serve lunch, I do have one announcement.” He turned toward Hosea and Triage. “I have to congratulate you two for the wonderful job you’ve done.”

More applause.

“You’ve both expressed your thoughts about the show in L.A. and we agree with you—
Bring It On
should thrive in Hollywood.”

The crowd nodded.

“To help with that, we’ve hired another producer. An award-winning news journalist…”

Jasmine leaned forward, whispered, “Did you know they were hiring someone else?”

Hosea shook his head. “But Triage and I did request another producer after Mary Magdalene left. We wanted someone with news experience.”

Jasmine sat back. That made sense. Hosea was always saying that he wished the show had a bit more of a news/current-events focus.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the newest member of the
Bring It On
team, Natasia Redding.”

“You’re kidding!”

Jasmine frowned as her husband shouted, then jumped from his seat. A tall woman draped in a red Tadashi V-neck sheath sauntered into the room, paused at their table as if she were at the end of a runway, and then wrapped her arms around Hosea’s neck.

Jasmine’s glower deepened; she was not feeling this scene.

“What are you doing here?” Hosea asked, when he stepped back.

“Didn’t you hear?” Natasia responded in a voice that came from her throat. “I’m joining the show.”

“Hosea,” Stephen began, “we were in the final stages of the interview when Natasia realized that you were one of the hosts and a producer. We understand you know each other.”

“Yes,” Hosea said, “we do.”

When the woman slipped her hand through Hosea’s, Jasmine jumped up and stood in front of her husband.

“Oh, Jasmine,” he said, as if he’d forgotten his wife. “This is an old friend, Natasia.”

Natasia laughed, her chuckle sounding even sexier than her voice. “Old friends? Is that what you call it?” Her fiery fuchsia-colored lips spread into a wide smile as she turned to Jasmine. “Please, I’m the first woman he ever loved and I still have the engagement ring to prove it.” She held out her hand to Jasmine. “Do you work with Hosea?”

Jasmine stared at Natasia’s hand, left it dangling in the air, then crossed her arms and glared at her husband.

Hosea cleared his throat and embraced Jasmine. “Natasia, this is my wife, Jasmine.”

“Really? I didn’t know you were married.” She paused, her eyes wandered over Jasmine, up, then down, before she turned back to Hosea. “I can’t believe you came to New York and turned into a star,” she said as if Hosea’s wife didn’t exist. She hooked her arm through his. “We must catch up.”

Natasia slipped into the chair where Jasmine had been sitting and pulled Hosea down next to her. Jasmine’s eyebrows raised, her mouth opened, but before she could say a word, Deborah was at her side.

“Here, take my seat,” Deborah whispered.

“Oh.” Natasia stopped her chatting. Looked up. “Were you sitting here?”

“Yes. I was sitting next to my husband.”

“That’s okay, darlin’,” Hosea said. “Sit here.” He patted the seat Deborah had been in. “I’ll get another chair.”

“Triage just went for one.” Deborah took Jasmine’s hand and guided her into her seat.

Natasia giggled. “Isn’t that cute? You call her darlin’ too.” Before Jasmine could say a word, Natasia continued, “So tell me about the show,” she said, ignoring everyone else. “I couldn’t believe it when I found out this was you. What a coincidence.” Natasia paused, leaned in closer, the deep V of her dress right in front of Hosea’s face. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t believe in coincidences.” She paused again. Lifted his glass of water and took a sip as if the glass and Hosea belonged to her. “So, it must be fate. We were meant to be.”

Jasmine began a slow rise from her seat, but Deborah’s hand on her shoulder held her down. “Girl, don’t even worry about it,” she whispered.

“Oh, I’m not worried. I just don’t play that.”

“You know I understand, with the hoochies throwing themselves at Triage all the time,” Deborah said. “But this is business.” She looked around the room to remind Jasmine where they were. “And Hosea is going home with you.”

“So, what have you been up to?” Natasia asked as the waiters placed salad plates in front of them.

Through lunch, dessert, and speeches that followed, Natasia chatted with Hosea as if it was just the two of them. And Jasmine sat, seething in her seat.

“Darlin’, are you ready?” Hosea finally asked.

Jasmine’s eyes darted between Hosea and Natasia. “Oh, I’ve been ready.”

Natasia smiled. “It was so nice to meet you…” She paused, squinted. “What did you say your name was?”

“Jasmine,” Hosea responded for her. He took his wife’s hand. “Natasia, it was really good seeing you.”

“Oh, sweetie, this pleasure was definitely all mine.” She opened her purse and pulled out a card. “Let me give you this. I’m staying at the Ritz and they give you these.” She tucked the business card into Hosea’s hand. “That’s the number to the hotel. Call me before you stop by.”

Jasmine’s mouth opened wide. She could not believe that she was going to have to beat down this woman right here, right now.

“I won’t need this.”

“Sure you do.” Natasia grinned. “How else will we catch up?”

“We’ll do that in the office.”

“But my hotel room is much more…” she paused, looked at Jasmine, “private.”

“No.” Hosea’s voice was stern this time and he handed her back the card.

With a smirk, Natasia shrugged. “Whatever.” She smiled at Hosea, but when Natasia turned to Jasmine, all signs of her cheer were gone. “I guess we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other.”

“You can count on it,” Jasmine said before she took Hosea’s hand and marched out the door.