Too little too late, p.30
Too Little, Too Late, page 30
“I wanted to do some stuff over the next couple of days. I was coming back to the office to…well, anyway,” she waved her hand in the air, “I’m here, and I can take you to your hotel. Maybe we can stop and get a bite to eat first.”
He shook his head. Stepped away from her and moved toward the studio. “That’s okay,” he began, talking over his shoulder as he walked. “I’m gonna call the auto club.”
“Why would you want to do that?” she yelled to him.
He stopped, turned around. “Because.” And then he kept right on moving.
Behind him, he could hear her sigh. “Hosea, it doesn’t make sense…”
But the studio’s door closed on her words. Within minutes, he had the auto club on the line, trying to find a tow company near him. As he was placed on hold, his mind wandered back to his car, the gashed tires and Natasia’s sudden appearance.
“Nah.” He shook his head. She didn’t have a thing to do with this. What grown woman would knife tires just to get a man’s attention?
“Mr. Bush,” the operator came on the line, “it’ll be at least an hour.”
“Okay, thanks,” he said, even though he was far from grateful. He leaned back in his chair, thought again about the tires. Wondered again about Natasia. And prayed to God that she didn’t have anything to do with this. Because if she did, he was afraid of what she might do next.
SEVENTY-EIGHT
“RING AROUND THE ROSIE,” Jasmine sang and Jacqueline giggled as they jumped together. “All fall…”
“Down!” Jacqueline shouted, fell to the floor, and kicked her feet in the air.
Jasmine clapped and was still smiling when she answered the ringing telephone.
“Jasmine!”
That voice took all her cheer away.
“What do you want, Natasia?” she asked and then wondered why she didn’t just hang up.
“I’m calling to see if you’re going to be there this evening. Hosea wanted me to pick up a few things for him.”
“What?” Jasmine shook her head, trying to understand this woman’s words.
“I said,” she spoke slower, “I need to come by and pick up a few things for Hosea.”
Now she hung up. Slammed the phone down hard, then paced the length of the living room.
“Mama, all fall down!” Jacqueline clapped.
Jasmine nodded. She agreed with her daughter. She should have taken Natasia down the last time she saw her. Should have whipped that crazy woman until she was begging for a one-way ticket back to Chicago.
“Mama, down!”
“Yeah, baby,” she said, though she couldn’t turn her attention back to the children’s game. Not when she had to focus on this grown-up game that Natasia had drawn her into.
Had Hosea really asked her to call to pick up some of his things? No! Her husband would never do that. This was just another skank ploy—get the wife off balance. Get the husband and wife arguing. It was something she used to do.
Still, suppose…
Jasmine grabbed the phone, but then stopped. If she asked Hosea about this, it would just make him mad. That was Natasia’s objective. She needed to know if he was with Natasia—just had to find out another way. Still holding the phone, she dialed Mae Frances’s room.
“Hey, can you come over here right away?” she asked when her friend answered.
She returned the phone to the cradle, and then sat on the sofa, waiting. Certainly, Mae Frances had some kind of connection who could help her handle this.
Jasmine was keeping her enemy close.
That was her thought as the phone on the other end rang.
“Quimby here,” the man answered.
Jasmine paused. She hadn’t expected the man to answer his own phone. Maybe she needed a larger agency. But then she shook her head. No need to second-guess. Mr. Quimby came highly recommended. “Hello, my name is Jasmine Larson, and I’m interested in hiring you to do some surveillance.”
“Yes, Miss Larson, or is it Missus?”
“It’s Miss,” she said, wanting no connection to Hosea in this instance.
“What can I do to help you, little lady?”
Jasmine frowned. Little lady? Oh, she didn’t like this man already. But according to Mae Frances (who had hooked her up with Mr. Quimby through a connection who had a connection), he was one of the best private investigators in Los Angeles.
So she swallowed her irritation and focused on her mission. Gave the man Natasia’s name, where she was staying, where she worked, and the car service she used. “Will your company be able to do twenty-four-hour surveillance?”
“Yeah, but that’s going to cost some bucks.”
“I’m not worried about money.”
“Well, if it doesn’t bother you, it won’t bother me. How often do you want a report?”
“Anytime she does anything except go to her hotel or the station, I want to know. And I also want to know if anyone ever goes with her to the hotel.”
“Okay, little lady. Give me your credit card and I’ll scope her out on the Internet, see if we can get a photo, and we’ll get started tonight.”
By the time she hung up, Jasmine was smiling again. Tomorrow she would know if Natasia was lying or if she had really set up house with Hosea. After she found that out, she would take it from there.
She glanced at her watch. It was time to read to Jacqueline before she tucked her into bed. And then, for the rest of the night, she’d do exactly what her father-in-law had told her. She’d read her Bible and pray. And let Jesus take the wheel from here.
SEVENTY-NINE
“I AM HAPPY TO SEE you.” Pastor Ford hugged Alexis before she led her to her couch in her office.
“Thanks for calling to check on me.”
“Of course. I was just glad that you finally called me back.” The pastor chuckled. “For a while, I thought you were avoiding me.” She reached for the coffeepot. Filled one mug. “You still like yours black?”
Alexis inhaled. Lingered in the aroma of her addiction. Could feel the heat of it in her mouth. “I don’t drink coffee anymore.”
“Really? You stopped just like that?”
Alexis paused. Thought about their addictions—hers and Brian’s. “Just like that.”
“Good for you.” Pastor Ford leaned back with her cup in her hand. “I saw you and Brian on Sunday.” She sipped her java. “I was thrilled. So, all is well?”
Alexis shrugged. “Can’t say that, but Brian’s been home for almost three weeks and I haven’t kicked him out again.” She chuckled. Tried to make the truth a joke.
Pastor Ford smiled, sipped, said, “That’s good.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing.” Alexis’s eyes followed Pastor Ford’s cup as she rested it on the table.
The pastor said, “What you’re doing is huge. You’re going to be an example for so many women.”
“Believe me, Pastor, I want to do what every other woman would do and walk away. But I keep thinking about what you told us about God and divorce.”
“I’m not sure that every woman would walk away, but you’re not like other women anyway. You know what I say, true believers have a hard time fitting in with the world.”
“I just wish this walk was easier.”
“God never promised easy. Just strength.” She took Alexis’s hand. “I know you’ve needed strength. Brian told me about Jasmine and the baby.” She stopped, hugged Alexis again.
“Pastor, if you’ve got any really good prayers, I need them now, because the baby is the worst part of this.”
“That’s a big one. But remember it’s all because of his disease.”
It’s the disease. The mantra that she lived by. Pastor Ford continued, “Brian would have never been with Jasmine if it wasn’t for his addiction.”
Maybe. “I know that.”
“And the baby…what are you guys doing about her?”
She shrugged. “Brian says that Jasmine and her husband are her parents. He doesn’t want to interfere.”
“And you?”
“I’m fine with that. It makes it easier, actually. I couldn’t imagine having a child with us now. We’re not stable, we’re not sure…” She stopped.
There was no scenario where she could imagine a future with Brian and Jasmine and their baby. She couldn’t wrap her mind around every other weekend visits. Or talking to Jasmine about allergies and school projects. Couldn’t see planning joint birthday parties. And the thought of breaking holiday bread together made her want to never eat another piece of turkey or stuffing or sweet potatoes again.
“You’re handling a lot, Alexis. I’m proud of you.”
“Don’t say that too quickly. Brian’s home, but we’re not really…back together. We’re still in separate bedrooms.”
“That’s totally understandable.”
She exhaled. She’d walked in, expecting a lecture. “I don’t know how long…we’ll be this way.”
Pastor Ford nodded. “Tell me, what’s keeping you from being intimate with Brian?”
“Everything! I think about his addiction and all the women he’s been with. And now the baby. I wonder if there are any more. Pastor, he could have ten, fifteen, thirty children out there.”
“If he did, you would have heard about a few of them by now.” The pastor paused. “I think it’s Jasmine—”
Alexis cringed every time she heard that name.
“I think it’s Jasmine and your history with her. The affair she had with Jefferson. And how she went after Brian. That’s your challenge.”
Alexis nodded. “I know I’m not supposed to have enemies, but if I did, she’d be the one. Just knowing that she was with…” She closed her eyes and wished that everlasting picture in her mind of Brian and Jasmine together would go away. But it stayed during every waking hour, during every hour she slept.
Pastor Ford said, “You know, it really shouldn’t matter who Brian was with. It’s all part of—”
“—the disease,” Alexis finished. “Easy to say. Not to live.”
“Alex, do you really want your marriage to work?”
I don’t know. “I think so. Yes.”
“Then I’m going to tell you what I tell all the couples I counsel who are working through infidelity. Once you’re committed to making your marriage work, you have to get to the next level to heal. Find your way back to Brian. Get back into bed with him.” She paused. “What can I do to help?”
With a sigh, Alexis said, “This is something I’m going to have to do myself.”
“You’re right about that,” the pastor said with a slight smile. “But if you and Brian want to come in and talk this through—”
“We remember how to do it, Pastor.”
Pastor Ford chuckled. “That’s good to know. Now all you need to remember are the reasons why. Remember that no one is as bad as the worst mistake they’ve ever made. Not even Brian.”
His worst mistake. Jasmine.
Alexis eyed the pastor’s coffee again. Right now all she wanted to do was drink mugs and mugs of her addiction to take the edge away. But if Brian was leaving his obsession alone, she had to do the same.
Get back in bed with Brian. “I’m going to try, Pastor. Really try.”
The pastor’s phone rang. “Excuse me.”
As Pastor Ford went to her desk, Alexis sat back, stared at the coffeepot. Maybe if she had one cup…but then she shook her head. She wasn’t going to depend on her addiction to get her through this. She was going to handle her marriage. Do it right. No matter what it took, she was going to find her way back to her husband.
EIGHTY
“QUIMBY HERE.”
Jasmine paused, wondering again if she needed a larger agency. The man answered his own phone and he hadn’t even called her yesterday like he promised. “Mr. Quimby, this is Jasmine Larson,” she said, her tone sharp.
“Hey, little lady,” he sang as if she was his friend.
She cringed. “Do you have anything for me?”
Papers shuffled and then, “Yeah, Elliott gave me the report, but there’s nothing to tell, which is why I didn’t bother you yesterday. Ms. Redding hasn’t done much. Just goes from her hotel to the studio and then back to the Rendezvous sometime between seven and eight. That’s it.”
I knew the heifer was lying. “And she’s been alone when she goes to the hotel?”
“Yup. At least for the last two nights.”
“She hasn’t even gone out to dinner?”
“Nope. You’re paying quite a bit of money for me to tell you this lady is boring. Are you sure you want to continue the surveillance?”
“Definitely. Keep following her.”
“Okay. It’s your hundreds.”
I’d pay thousands.
“Oh, there is one little thing. She’s not using the car service you gave us. She’s rented a car.”
Jasmine frowned. Any little change with Natasia meant something, and she wondered what this was about. But as long as she had Mr. Quimby, she would find out Natasia’s moves before she even made them. “That’s fine. Just keep me posted.”
“You got it, little lady.”
Jasmine hung up. She might not like the way he addressed her, but she loved the way he did his job.
So, that call—Natasia had just made it to upset her. Probably thought she’d go running to Hosea and then Natasia would have denied ever speaking to her. Would have made it look as if she’d made up the whole thing. A typical trick that could have worked. But not on her.
Well, at least Natasia’s lie had worked in one way—it made Jasmine take more notice. Natasia was no slouch; she was a crazy skank who was not to be played with. But with Mr. Quimby, Jasmine had the control.
Jasmine laid back and opened her Bible. This reading, praying, letting God handle most of it was really working.
EIGHTY-ONE
IT DIDN’T SURPRISE HOSEA—the way God just kept on talking.
Days ago, the pounding in his head had ended, but still God spoke—through calls from his father, through guests on his show, and now, through the Bible.
All he’d done tonight as he prepared to read was say a little prayer asking for guidance. Then he opened his Bible—right to the Book of Hosea. To the verse where God told the prophet Go show your love to your wife again.
If it weren’t so sad, Hosea would have laughed. There was no subtlety here—it was clear what God expected. The problem was, although they shared the same name, Hosea Bush was not Hosea the prophet.
The love part wasn’t difficult. But the trust—he couldn’t, wouldn’t live with anyone he didn’t trust.
The ringing hotel phone made him frown and glance at the clock. Who would be calling him so close to midnight? He sighed. Jasmine. She was the only one who knew where he was staying. She’d probably tried to reach him on his cell, but he’d turned that off. After the questions he’d had about his tires being slashed, he didn’t want Natasia to have any way of reaching him.
He stared at the phone, still ringing, not wanting to answer. But then he remembered Mae Frances. And Jacqueline. He was supposed to see his daughter the day after tomorrow. He grabbed the telephone.
“Hosea, this is Natasia.” She spoke succinctly. “I’m downstairs in the lobby.”
He pushed himself from the bed. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t bother to ask how she knew where he was staying. She was a journalist. So that wasn’t the surprise. The shock was that she had actually come to his hotel.
“I have some papers I need you to sign,” she said, her tone still professional.
But he was not fooled. “Whatever it is,” he began, shaking his head as he spoke, “we’ll do it in the office, in the morning. I’ll be in early.”
“I have a couple of meetings off-site tomorrow; I won’t be in until late.” When he didn’t say anything, she sighed and continued to explain, “This is the contract for the extended use of the studio. I just left Triage, got his signature. And now I need yours before I FedEx them to New York tomorrow.”
“I still—”
She interrupted him, “Look, we need to do this,” not trying to hide her irritation. “I’ll be in and out in five minutes. What’s your room number?”
“I’ll come down.”
A pause and then, “Whatever!”
He jerked back at the sound of the phone slamming in his ear. But he didn’t care how upset she was; he was pissed too—that she would think he was dumb enough to believe this.
He slipped into jeans and a shirt, and five minutes later he was in the lobby that was furnished with only a worn plaid sofa and single table.
With her lips pursed, she slowly glanced around the small space. “Nice digs,” then she handed him the envelope without a smile.
He sat, and while he reviewed the first pages, he could feel the heat of her fury as she walked back and forth in front of him. He worked to keep his focus on the contract. Tried not to think of the times in their past when she’d lost her temper. Didn’t want to remember all that great make-up sex.
By the time he got to the sixth page, she couldn’t hold back anymore. Still pacing, she said. “You know, Hosea, I drove all the way over here to take care of business. Nothing else.”
He looked up. “If it’s only about business, Natasia, I apologize.”
She didn’t change her stance. Stayed with her arms folded, glaring at him until he finished reading and signing.
When he stuffed the papers back into the envelope, she grabbed it, then turned away without saying a word. But she’d only taken two steps before she slowed.
Hosea frowned as Natasia’s hands searched the pockets of her knee-length jacket. Then she stopped completely and rummaged through her purse.
Hosea moved behind her. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, without looking at him. “My keys…I don’t know where…”
The memory was instant—another time, another place, missing keys.
She sighed. “Where the heck are the keys?” And then just like all those years before, she said, “Maybe I left them in the car.” She marched toward the front door.
