Temptation: The Aftermath Read online

  If I couldn’t hang out with my husband, at least I could see my friend who I’d missed so much. And Mae Frances would give me something to focus on besides Kyla and Hosea. Really, I was looking forward to hearing about her antics in Smackover and wherever else she’d been since I’d seen her last.

  But not even thoughts of hanging with Mae Frances could keep my brain from shifting back to my husband … and Kyla. I couldn’t explain why I was tripping. Of course, Kyla needed someone. Of course, she would gravitate to my husband who was strength and power personified. Of course, my husband would be there for her. Hadn’t her husband been there for me? After my divorce, I counted on Jefferson to help me with everything: from carrying heavy packages into my home to fixing my garage door.

  It was my garage that started my plan to trap him all those years ago. Knowing that Kyla was away for the weekend, I’d asked him to come over, then met him at the door wearing nothing but the tiniest of slips. Even though I’d kissed him, he hadn’t fallen then, but it was easy to see that he was ready to be plucked. It was in the way his eyes had lingered on me, the way his voice had filled with lust … and the way, that he had kissed me, tongue-to-tongue. But even though he was more than attracted, he was tempted … he’d run away, telling me he was sorry about the kiss and that I’d have to find someone else to help with the garage door.

  I’d followed him to his house. There, I’d apologized, made some excuse about being out of my mind because of my divorce, then appealed to his Christian heart.

  It was because of that heart, that he had opened up the door to his home and let me in. Mistake number one. At first, it had been innocent enough

  Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, we watched a movie together. But the whole time, I seduced him. I kept my focus on the TV screen, but from the corner of my eye, I saw him watching me as I ate the popcorn one kernel at a time. And each time after I swallowed, my tongue lingered on my lips, sliding across the skin as I licked off every grain of salt that remained from the popcorn. For the whole ninety minutes of the movie, I teased him without ever looking his way. I teased him with my tongue, taunted him with my laughter, and by the time the movie was over, Jefferson was so ready.

  “That was really good,” Jefferson said, then stretched into a yawn. “I can’t believe this, but I’m really tired. I’m going to take a rain check on the rest of these movies.”

  “You’re not going to watch them? I was looking forward to The Sky Below.”

  “Well, I don’t have to return them to Blockbuster until tomorrow if you want to take it with you.”

  “Okay . . .” I hesitated, then was careful to keep my eyes away from his. “Jefferson, I have a favor to ask.” I paused, for effect. “Would you mind . . . if I stayed here tonight . . . please?” His frown was so deep; it almost gave me a headache. I added as quickly as I could, “Please don’t think I’m going to try anything. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. The only reason I’m even asking is because my house . . . it’s so scary sometimes. I hate being there alone.”

  My words did not move him. “I’m sorry, but since Kyla’s not here . . .”

  “I don’t know if Kyla has told you, but recently . . .” I bit my lip … that effects thing again, “I’ve been getting calls . . .”

  “What kind of calls?”

  I sniffed. “Threatening calls. From a man saying he knows that I live alone. And I’ve been so afraid. That’s why Kyla lets me stay here with you guys so much.” I tilted my head. “I can’t believe she hasn’t told you.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes, but they said there’s nothing they can do until he tries something . . . like breaking in or attacking me . . .”

  Jefferson winced.

  “I’m having an alarm installed when I get the money.”

  In the silence that followed, I could almost hear Jefferson’s brain turning and churning. I heard his questions: how could he let me stay while Kyla was away? But on the other hand, how could he turn me away with that threat out there?

  It was time for me to push him to the edge. “I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t scared,” my voice trembled. “I wouldn’t ask if I had anyone else I could depend on.”

  That was it, that was what took him out. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to me. He said, “Okay, the guest room is yours ….”

  That had been mistake number two. Jefferson never had any kind of chance once I was in that house with him. The rest of the night had been too easy. Now, I closed my eyes. Twenty years had passed, but I remembered every moment. I remembered the way I had slipped into Jefferson’s bed. The way he’d taken me into his arms and made love to me like I was his wife.

  Even now, I could feel him, smell him. I could see our faces …. My eyes popped open.

  The faces. Not our faces.

  Those sheets in my mind were being heated by Kyla and Hosea. “Really, Jasmine?”

  The smile that the Uber driver had been wearing faded fast and in its place was the deepest of frowns. He looked concerned — as if he had never had a passenger in the back of his car talking to herself.

  Please. This was New York. What woman didn’t talk to herself? I returned his frown with the fakest of smiles and went back into my world where Kyla was stealing my husband. Except it was such a make-believe place. In no part of this universe would Hosea betray me. And no way in this world would Kyla do that, despite what I’d done to her. She loved her husband as much as I loved mine.

  But then, as I thought about that night, I knew revenge was not only powerful, it was tempting. So powerful and tempting that God had even sent us a warning through His word.

  Revenge is mine.

  Maybe Kyla was remembering that night, too. Maybe revenge was too tempting for her to walk away from this chance to make me pay for every transgression.

  I leaned back in the seat, but this time, I wasn’t going to close my eyes. There was no way I wanted to revisit that image. So instead, I kept my eyes on the cars that rolled along the Van Wyck Expressway with us.

  And I told myself, “You’re being silly, Jasmine. You’re being silly.”

  That became my mantra. But I didn’t feel silly, I felt sure. Something was going on. Maybe it hadn’t happened yet, but Hosea and Kyla were on their way.

  Now, the real question I needed to ask was: How was I going to stop them?

  chapter 20

  Jasmine

  I had a couple of hours between the time I arrived at LaGuardia and Mae Frances’s plane landing. So after the Uber driver dropped me off, I’d spent the time running into the little coffee shop, scanning my timelines on Facebook and Twitter, and then, ordering a sedan because after all … I was picking up Mae Frances.

  And well, she only traveled one kind of way.

  The thought of that made me shake my head and chuckle a bit. Back in 2006 when we’d met, I didn’t know what to make of the woman who caked her face with the thickest of make-up, wore a thirty-five year old mink coat that swept the floor — in the summertime — and who’d laughed in my face the first time I told her that I was a Christian, and then went on to tell me that she didn’t believe in God.

  That was the most shocking of all the shocking things she’d ever told me. A black atheist? I didn’t think that was genetically possible. But the shocker of all shockers — the way that she lived. Unbeknownst to anyone in the exclusive apartment building, Mae Frances lived behind her doors in abject poverty with empty cupboards and an emptier wallet.

  But talking about a come up … life had truly changed for Mae Frances. Her cupboards were no longer bare, thanks to the job she’d been given back then at City of Lights. There was more method than madness when Hosea’s dad had brought Mae Frances into the church. He wanted to make sure God became anchored in Mae Frances’s heart. And He had.

  And then, being Jacqueline and Zaya’s ‘grandmother came with lots of privileges since Hosea and I loved showering Mae Frances with the same l
ove that she gave so openly, unselfishly, and unconditionally to our children. She didn’t want for anything these days, and she let everyone know it.

  So that was the reason why I’d had to trade in the Uber for a black stretch sedan. Because ordinary would never do for Mae Frances.

  My cell phone vibrated and I looked down at the incoming text: JL: where the hell is my car?

  I grinned. Mae Frances was home.

  I said to the driver, “You can pull up now, she’s coming out.” As we rolled up to the door for the Delta shuttle, I saw Mae

  Frances’s luggage before I saw her — three oversized Crocodile suitcases that she told me were a gift from Al Sharpton in the 70’s or 80’s … she couldn’t exactly remember when.

  “You know we used to call him Big Al back then,” she said, telling me another one of what I called her fantastic stories. “Yup, that was all the way back in the day when he was always trying to court me. He was a cool cat and everything, but I had to cut him loose. I kept telling him, ain’t nobody had time for all of those protests and marches. I had a different kind of life that I wanted to live.”

  I rolled down the window and waved as Mae Francis plopped some oversized sunglasses on, looked around, and then pointed toward our car. The porter nodded and rolled the cart to us.

  As the driver jumped out to open the trunk, Mae Frances slid into the back seat next to me.

  “Did you give the porter a tip?” I asked.

  She did one of those lean-back moves and looked down her nose at me. “Is that the first thing that you have to say to me?”

  “I just want to make sure, Mae Frances,” I said, already digging into my purse because I just never knew with my friend. “Tips are how they make their money.”

  As I grabbed a twenty from my wallet, Mae Frances slapped my hand. “Put your money away. I gave him a tip.”

  I breathed.

  “I told him when Aqueduct reopens next month, to put one hundred on Petty Betty.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, Bubba and I are thinking about buying a horse and if we do, we’re gonna name her Petty Betty and race her at Aqueduct. They still race horses out there, don’t they?”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  She slowed down her speech like I was a little slow. “Aqueduct is a racetrack, right?” Mae Frances didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Well, Bubba raises all kinds of animals on his farm, so we were thinking why not a horse? We can train him how to run a race.”

  I rolled my eyes. “First, Mae Frances, I don’t think that’s how it works. And second,” I waved the bill in her face, “do I need to give that man this money?”

  “I told you; put that away. You know I got class now. I gave him a tip. A real one and that one hundred dollars is probably gonna be the biggest tip he gets all month.”

  One hundred dollars? But I didn’t say anything; I just put my twenty back in my wallet. Mae Frances giving away money was way better than what she used to do.

  When the driver slipped back into the car and then eased away from the curb, I twisted in the back seat and faced my friend.

  But before I could say hello, she asked, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be laid up somewhere with Preacher Man?”

  “He canceled on me.” “What?”

  “It’s a long story that I don’t want to talk about. I wanna talk about you and DC.” I leaned back in the seat. “Your trip, to DC, it went well?”

  She giggled. Yes. Mae Frances actually giggled.

  That made me frown and want to give myself one of those donkey kicks for even bringing up the subject. Though I had to admit that if black people glowed, then, Mae Frances was radiant. She was still having a serious fit of giggles when she said, “That Bubba … whew.” And then, what was worse than the giggles — she fanned herself. “I wanted to bring my boo to New York with me, but he had to get home to the farm. You know, to take care of the pigs and the goats and the cows.”

  Boo? Did she call that man who was sixty seconds from being a centenarian her boo? I couldn’t believe it. Mae Frances was more cosmopolitan than I could ever be, yet here she was acting like living in a place called Smackover with pigs and goats and cows was equivalent to Paris.

  When she started giggling again and when she said, “The memory of these last few weeks will last me for a lifetime,” I knew I needed something else to talk about. Because I was in no ways interested in hearing anymore about her … and my uncle … Bubba. Just admitting that (even only on the inside) made me throw up (a couple of times) in my mouth.

  But before I could change the subject, Mae Frances leaned back, snuggled in the seat, and closed her eyes like she was about to take a power nap. Nuh-uh … we had business to handle. Just because she hadn’t gotten much sleep with Bubba didn’t mean that I was going to let her sleep on my watch.

  “Were you able to find out anything?”

  Her eyes were still closed when she said, “You just sent it to me yesterday.”

  Dang. My hope had been that Mae Frances would have hung up the phone from me and handled life the way she always did. With what I’d been thinking about Hosea and Kyla today, I really needed to get this going. “Oh. Sorry.” My friend didn’t open her eyes. “I just thought ….”

  “And you thought correctly.” Her eyes snapped open, she fumbled through her purse, then pulled out a couple of pieces of paper stapled together. “Bam!”

  She shoved the pages into my hand.“The woman’s name is Lola Lewis. Can’t tell you where she’s from, at least not yet. But, she’s been in New York for the last eleven years. The car, which she keeps in a garage on Seventy-Seventh Street, is registered in her name, but it was paid for by some anonymous benefactor, which isn’t a good sign. Anonymous benefactors don’t just buy random women cars. So that means she’s up to some shifty kind of business.”

  As Mae Frances talked, my eyes scanned each of the pages. It was a dossier of the woman, including everything that Mae Frances was saying and even included a Google Earth photo of the brownstone where she lived.

  “She lives on Seventy-Third Street? That’s not far from you.” “Uh … no. She lives on the west side and I’m an east side sophisticated kind of girl.”

  “Whatever, those brownstones cost millions.”

  “Exactly.” She once again leaned back and closed her eyes.

  “So does she own the brownstone or does she rent an apartment inside?” I shifted through the pages.

  “Jasmine Larson, I’ve had two minutes to find out this much.

  Give me five.”

  Still I asked, “Since someone paid for her car, do you think someone paid for her brownstone? Or at least they’re paying her rent or mortgage?”

  She opened her eyes and glared at me.“Didn’t I just tell you that I needed five minutes?”

  “But you can make an educated guess. What do you think? Is she really living this high? And if she is, who’s paying for it? Do you think she was involved with Jefferson? Like, he was her sugar daddy or something?”

  Her eyes were wide and then, she just shook her head. “Well, you don’t even need me if you’re gonna come up with the whole story.”

  “I do need you. It’s just that I’m trying to figure all of this out.” “Well I gave you what I know and I can’t answer any more questions. I don’t like to speculate; I make my moves on facts and you know that. So, I’m gonna make some more calls, ask some more questions, get some more answers and then get back to you on this Lola chick.”

  I sighed.

  “But at least you have a name and an address.” I nodded.

  She asked, “So what’s your next move?”

  It was hard to believe that Mae Frances was asking me that. Like she’d just said, I had a name. I had an address. What did she think I would do?

  Mae Francis shook her head.“I see those wheels turning in your head. That means you’re about to do something you don’t have any business doing.”
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br />   “I’m just going to talk to her. I don’t have all the questions in my head, but I know she needs to tell me something. Explain what happened Monday night. What was she doing with Jefferson. At least she needs to tell me that.”

  “You need to wait until I get the rest of my information? Because if you go to her now, she can tell you anything. Tell you all kinds of lies and make up all kinds of stories.”

  “I’m thinking I have enough — at least to start.”

  “You don’t have squat and it’s always been my experience that you shouldn’t start something you can’t finish. Just wait … let’s see what else I find out and then, we can come up with a plan.” When, I was silent, Mae Frances added, “Don’t make me sorry that I gave you what I had.” She paused. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re a liar.”

  It was my turn to do a lean-back. “Mae Frances!”

  “I’m just telling you what I know and I know you, Jasmine Larson. All you want to do is run over to that Lola girl’s house. Just let me finish my work and we’ll figure it out together.”

  “Okay.”

  “Liar,” she said again.

  But this time, I didn’t challenge her. Because I didn’t know if I was lying or not. I really wanted to do what Mae Frances said, but her name and address was already burning a hole in my hand. “You know me, Jasmine Larson,” Mae Frances said. “It won’t take me long to find out more.”

  “Okay.”

  “You better listen to me.” “Don’t I always?”

  “No. You never do.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll start now.”

  “You better because you don’t need to go searching for anything that you’re not prepared to find.”

  “Okay.” I had no idea what she meant by that, but her words felt as if they were weighted with a foreboding.

  I would try to wait. I really would. I just wasn’t sure that I could.