Fortune & Fame: A Novel (5 page)

“You know how we do this thing, Jasmine Larson. I have your back and you . . . well, you just live off the benefits of knowing me.”

Jasmine grinned. “Thanks, Mae Frances, I can always count on you to help me with everything.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to help you with something else, too,
’cause if you’re really gonna do this show, then, you’re gonna need a catchphrase.”

“What the heck is a catchphrase?”

“A catchphrase is what’s gonna help us get to that million dollars an episode.”

“Then start talking.”

“You’re gonna have to come up with something cute and catchy, and then all the little followers out there in TV land will start walking around and saying your catchphrase . . . and voilà, you’re famous and you’ll have a fortune.”

“So, I say something on TV and then other people start saying the same thing?” Jasmine frowned as if she just didn’t get that concept. “Why would they do that?”

Mae Frances shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe they don’t have lives. Maybe they can’t think of anything to say themselves. Whatever the reason, if you say what I’m gonna tell you every chance you get, we’re gonna be well on our way to making that million dollars.”

It was the second time that Jasmine noticed Mae Frances had suddenly changed the earning of a million dollars into a group effort, but that didn’t bother her. In the years since they’d met, Mae Frances had become part of their family. She was the only grandmother that her children knew, and so any money that she and Hosea had would always belong to Mae Frances, too.

“Okay, so what am I supposed to say that’s going to get
us
a million dollars an episode?”

Slowly, Mae Frances pushed back her chair, stood, and then made a show of straightening her mink. She glanced over her shoulder at Jasmine, batted her fake lashes and said, “That’s what divas do and I’m done!” Then, she whipped around and strutted toward the door, swaying her hips in a way that Jasmine had never seen before.

At first, Jasmine sat there, staring blankly, waiting for
something more. When Mae Frances turned around with a grin that stretched to her ears, Jasmine said, “That’s it?”

Mae Frances pouted. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? That little catchphrase is gonna take you to the top. Just watch. Listen to me, Jasmine Larson, you’d better say that over and over again.”

Before Jasmine could tell Mae Frances that none of that made any sense to her, the conference room door opened and an attractive, petite, cinnamon-colored woman stepped inside. Jasmine rose from her seat with a frown.

“Hello, Jasmine,” the woman said as she walked to the end of the table.

“I know you.” Jasmine almost sounded like she was growling.

“We’ve met before.”

Jasmine folded her arms. “Yes, we have.”

Mae Frances’s glance moved back and forth between the two like she was a spectator at a tennis match. “You know each other?”

“Like she said, we’ve met,” Jasmine snarled. She spoke to Mae Frances, but she glared at the woman. “This is Rachel’s friend Melinda. I told you about her, Mae Frances, when we were in L.A. This is the . . . lady who worked for the TV station and who wouldn’t give me equal time after the interview she did with Cecelia and Rachel.”

Melinda’s eyes narrowed. “I told you then, equal time only applies in politics.”

Jasmine ignored her. “She tried to embarrass me,” Jasmine said as if Melinda hadn’t spoken. “At first she wouldn’t interview me, and then after I’d barely said my name, she turned off the cameras and said she had to leave for another story.”

“Yes,” Melinda said, putting her finger to her head, as if she was trying to recall. “I think we had to get to a story that was much more relevant . . . there was a house full of starving dogs
that just couldn’t wait.” Melinda contorted her lips into something that was supposed to resemble a grin before she sat at the head of the conference table.

Jasmine stayed standing, still glaring.

“Well, let’s get started,” Melinda snapped, as if she hoped this meeting wouldn’t last longer than two minutes.

“So, you’re the Melinda I spoke to on the phone?” Jasmine asked.

Melinda blinked as if she didn’t understand the question. “Yes, I’m the VP of Programming at OWN.”

“Well, the person I spoke with was cordial and professional. But now, you seem different. Like you still have some kind of problem with me from L.A.”

Mae Frances spoke up. “Oh, yeah, she’s got a problem, Jasmine Larson, but it has nothing to do with L.A. This here attitude is due to the top.”

Jasmine and Melinda turned to Mae Frances.

“What are you talking about?” Jasmine asked.

Melinda glared at Mae Frances as if she wanted to start a fight.

Mae Frances stared right back and with a smirk, said, “She got her orders from the top. Straight from Oprah. She was told to put you on the show and now she’s pissed. Now, she knows that she ain’t as important as she thinks she is.”

Jasmine could almost see the heat rising inside Melinda as she asked Mae Frances, “And who are you?”

Jasmine said, “This is—”

But before she could finish, Melinda said, “Your mother. I can see the resemblance.”

The smirk on Mae Frances’s face turned upside down. “I am not her mother,” she barked.

“You’re not?” Melinda asked too innocently. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

There was nothing Jasmine wanted to see more than
Melinda getting a beat down. Especially a Mae Frances kind of beat down.

But even though this woman was quickly making her way to the top of her enemies list, Jasmine didn’t want to mess up her chances of being on the show.

“Mae Frances is one of my dearest friends,” Jasmine said, “though I have an idea you knew that already.”

“No, I didn’t know. It’s just that you look like you’re about sixty and Mae Frances looks like she’s eighty.” Melinda sat back and chuckled as Jasmine and Mae Frances stared, shocked into silence. “Adding those numbers up, I just figured you were mother and daughter.” Melinda pressed her lips together as if she was trying to hold back laughter, as if she’d just shown them who was truly in charge.

Jasmine couldn’t believe this grown woman was coming at her like this. Mae Frances had to be right. Melinda was pissed about being forced to have her on the show. But to insult her like this? About her age? It seemed juvenile and over the top, especially for someone who was barely five feet two inches tall, and about one hundred pounds. Jasmine could take her out just by blowing her down.

Melinda was all wrong about that age thing anyway. Everyone knew Jasmine was much closer to forty than sixty, depending on how you did the math.

She had to think of something . . . something that would make Melinda scurry out of the room in complete humiliation. But before she could organize a thought, Mae Frances spoke up.

“Don’t mess with me, little girl,” Mae Frances whispered. “You don’t want to end up like Paula Deen.”

“Paula Deen?” Jasmine and Melinda said together.

Mae Frances nodded slowly. “You know what happened to her.”

Jasmine tried her best to decipher what her friend was talking about. Everybody knew what had happened to Paula Deen.
Her empire had fallen because of long-ago words she’d spoken and beliefs she’d had. But what Jasmine couldn’t figure out was why was Mae Frances talking about Paula Deen now?

Mae Frances said, “Who do you think destroyed Paula?”

Neither Jasmine nor Melinda said a word or blinked an eye.

Mae Frances added, “I did.” She sat back, giving them both a moment for her words to settle in. Then, she explained, “I knew her years ago and last month, she stole my grandmother’s banana puddin’ recipe. That was when my friend became my enemy. She messed with me, and ended up on the
Today
show crying her eyes out.” Mae Frances paused just long enough to lean forward and put the threat in her body language as well as in her voice. “So, don’t you mess with me, little girl, or you’ll find yourself on the
Today
show and
Good Morning, America.
”

At first, Jasmine had the same shock on her face as Melinda. But then with a smile she turned and faced the VP. “So,” Jasmine began as she settled back in her chair. “I guess
now
we can get this meeting started.”

For a long moment, Melinda sat still and in silence, as if she was contemplating Mae Frances’s words. As if she was trying to figure out if Mae Frances was telling the truth. Then, the way her shoulders slumped, Jasmine could tell that Melinda knew she’d just made an enemy and now was trying to figure out if there was some way to turn that enemy back into a friend.

“Well,” Melinda finally said with so much defeat in her tone, Jasmine almost felt sorry for her. Almost. “As you know, we’ll start filming in the next few weeks. Will that be a problem?” Melinda spoke to Jasmine, but looked at Mae Frances as if she wanted to make sure Mae Frances was fine with it, too.

“No problem at all,” Jasmine said, her pre–Mae Frances-beat-down-of-Melinda excitement returning.

“Like I told you on the phone,” Melinda said, “we want to do something totally different with reality TV. We want to show smart women, women who have lives and their own
things going on. Of course, we want the show to be hip and witty and entertaining overall, but each week, we want to leave the viewers with a message. We want to show First Ladies in a good light.”

Jasmine was impressed. Melinda had recovered quickly. Her tone was once again professional, nothing but business, though the tightness of her expression and the stiffness in her voice let Jasmine know that Mae Frances’s threat still rattled around in Melinda’s head.

“We want a classy show,” Melinda continued.

“Classy?” Mae Frances interjected. “Isn’t that Rwanda chick going to be on the show?”

“Rwanda?” Melinda frowned. “The country? We’re not filming in Africa.”

“No,” Jasmine waved her hand. “She means Rachel. Your friend Rachel Jackson Adams.”

“Oh! Okay, yes,” Melinda said. Then, she glanced at Mae Frances, but pressed her lips together as if there was so much more she wanted to say. As if she wanted to ask the old lady if she was coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs, but was smart enough not to say such a dumb thing to Mae Frances. Finally, all she added was, “Rachel is on the show, and it will be classy.”

“That Adams girl and ‘classy’ together in one sentence?” Mae Frances laughed out loud.

Melinda continued as if Mae Frances were not cackling. “If we do this right, we’ll be unique and we’ll be able to ride this for several seasons.”

Beneath the table, Jasmine slid her hands along the sides of her legs, trying to stop herself from shaking. She didn’t care how much Mae Frances laughed; Melinda was already talking about several seasons and several seasons was exactly what she wanted to hear. Just enough seasons to get her to that million dollars an episode.

“There is one other thing I wanted to ask,” Melinda said.
She paused and looked at Mae Frances as if she needed permission to proceed.

Mae Frances nodded and Melinda cleared her throat.

“I know you work with Rachel with the American Baptist Coalition. . . .”

Jasmine didn’t have a good feeling about where this was going.

Melinda continued, “Well, Rachel doesn’t know that you’re gonna be on the show. We’re not sure how we’re going to play it yet, but if you can . . . if you don’t mind . . .” Melinda glanced at Mae Frances again and Jasmine realized her friend had traumatized her enemy. Now, Jasmine did feel sorry for Melinda. A little.

“We want to keep this a secret from Rachel. We want to get the two of you together during our first taping. Sort of as . . . a surprise for Rachel.”

The reality of reality TV. Jasmine had read that most of the time, the scenes were scripted or set up by the producers. Well, she didn’t mind this setup since it was Rachel who’d be on the receiving end of the surprise. In fact, this would be perfect, and play right into what Jasmine wanted. Rachel would be shocked to see her, would act like a fool since that was part of her DNA, and Jasmine would come off as the classy First Lady who deserved her own show or a million dollars an episode—whichever came first.

“That sounds good to me,” Jasmine said. And then just to make Melinda feel a little bit better, she added, “In fact, I think that’s a great idea.”

Melinda smiled . . . kind of.

“Okay, then, I don’t think there’s anything else. As I told you on the phone, the contracts are almost completed and we’ll get them over to you in a couple of days.”

“That’s fine.”

“And you said no problem with the timing, right?”

“No, none at all.” Jasmine paused. “I’m very excited about this, Melinda,” she said, deciding that it was best for her to be cordial. She would have to work with Melinda for at least this season, so she might as well make it as bearable as possible. “This is going to be a great opportunity for me and my husband. I don’t know if you’re aware, but my husband is well known in the Christian community.”

For the first time since Mae Frances had slammed Melinda’s face to the ground, Jasmine saw a genuine smile on Melinda’s face. And that made her frown.

“I know your husband,” Melinda said. “Who doesn’t? I’ve been following him and his father for years; I’m such a fan.”

Maybe this cordial deal wasn’t going to work out so well. Jasmine made a note-to-self: Don’t let Melinda anywhere near Hosea.

“We’re actually hoping to have Pastor Bush on the show, too,” Melinda said.

“Well, Hosea and I haven’t talked about the specifics of the show,” Jasmine hedged. In fact, she hadn’t said a word to Hosea since she hadn’t quite figured out how to convince him that this reality show was as important as the new church.

He wouldn’t be impressed with a million dollars the way Mae Frances was, so she’d have to think of something else to get him to say yes. Jasmine continued, “But Hosea and I will talk and we’ll see. I can’t promise anything, though, because he’s really quite busy.”

“I totally understand that,” Melinda said, “And the fact that we’ll be filming in Atlanta won’t help, I guess.”

“Wait a minute.” Jasmine held up her hand. “Atlanta?”