Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3) (8 page)

“Of course.” The Kyles are Philly’s black royalty. They run the damn city just off of legacy alone.

“Well he’s a super nice guy and he’s thinking about moving to Boston after college. He thought it would be a great opportunity to come to the pageant to network. So, no, he and I are not an item.” She’s lying. “Honest.” She smiles at me before drifting her eyes back out of the window. “Now about that condo across the street. I can see being married to you, having about three kids and ascending from a town car looking svelte and carefree. The wife of a lawyer. Three kids. And a member of the Blair clan. Not bad.” She looks back at me. “I say we go see what the asking price is. Ya know, just for fun.”

“Whatever it is, I can afford it.” I say as I cut into my French toast. She’s lying. I know she is.

“Jacob, stop.” I let my fork fall to my plate, creating a small clank at it hits the porcelain.

“Jasmine, if you’re fucking with a Kyle, just tell me. Alright? I’ll understand if you are. He has the shit that you want.”

“What I want is Jacob Blair, what I’ve got is a bunch of promises that may or may not come true.” I watch her cross her arms. “I didn’t see you rushing to introduce me to your family
at your graduation. But you want me to rush and introduce you to my entire society?” I push my plate away from me. For the first time, in years, I’m too pissed off to eat a stack of sugar.

“Are you fucking with him, Jasmine?” I ask slowly as I lean into the table. “Are you fucking with Marlon Kyles?” We lock eyes; Queen Jasmine Harlow
and future Attorney Jacob Blair.

“No.” The defendant says.

She’s lying.

Jasmine

(
heart
.
beat
.
love
.)

“It’s like Shakespeare says
,” I hear Cadence say through the phone, “if music be the food of love, then play on.”

“Cadence,” Malcolm says as he makes a right hand turn onto Tremont Street. “What the fuck is this call about?”

“It’s about the bridge to Nicky’s song. Now, I heard it just now and I’m growing worried. I understand that you’ve put a lot of effort into this piece but I’m just not sure it’s up to the Jesus standard.”

             
“Listen, this is a church play, not a Broadway revival.”

             
“Yes, well, I’m sure it’s this attitude of yours that has caused Nicky’s rendition of
Little Drummer Boy
to be subpar.” Cadence says in an exasperated tone. “You never did take any interest in the arts, which is why you’ve allowed Nicky to practice the song in the key of G when clearly Jesus would have sung it in the Key of D. Normally, I wouldn’t be so dedicated to a children’s play but there’s going to be a lot of big names there and Nicholai is playing Christ. He can’t fuck up the bridge.”

             
“Cadence, I’ve practiced that song with Nicky for four weeks now and he sounds fine. All he needs is a little tea, some lemon—”

             
“You
do
realize that he’s contemplating a more feministic approach to the song and using ‘girl’ instead of ‘boy’ in the second verse?”

             
“The hell he is. Listen, I’m about to call Red.”

             
“But what bothers me along with the bridge is his pitch, which, of course, goes back to the key you’ve suggested he sing in. He needs to change that key, wouldn’t you agree? I have a reasonably good ear for music and I’m thinking—”

“Cadence, I don’t have time for this shit. Is everyone here for the play?”

“Mom and Dad should be landing from London in a moment, Lola and I are at their home now, and Carlo and Eva are flying in from DC as we speak.” Excuse me, but did Cadence just say
Carlo
and
Eva
, as in the President of the United States and the First Lady are flying into Boston for Nicky?

“President Rossi and Eva Rossi are attending Nicky’s play?” I ask Malcolm. “I thought they were coming back for a religious ceremony. That’s what the news said last week.”

              “Yeah, it’s for the play,” Malcolm whispers to me as Cadence continues on about some woman named Cynthia.

             
“So, you mean to tell me that Danielle has the President and his wife coming into town to listen to her son sing off key? Wow! Looks like she’s working overtime to make you all members of The Board if you ask me!” I throw my arms up, flabbergasted. “Why
not
invite the President and the First Lady to see her son play Jesus when Boston’s black elite is planning on coming to his Christmas play?
You
being personal friends with the President is one thing, but
her
having the President’s ear is another. I bet she plans on scooting her, Rena and Matt right into The Board without even considering taking Marlon and me along. And she plans on doing that right after her son headlines as Jesus. That
bitch
.”

“Cadence,” Malcolm says, “let me call you back.”

“Don’t forget the honey,” I hear Cadence say before Malcolm ends the call.

“Alright, Jasmine
,” Malcolm says as he cruises along with the traffic down Tremont Street, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “I’m almost afraid to tell you this, but here goes. Danielle’s already been asked to join The Board.”

“What!” I snap my head around to look at Malcolm.

“And she’s declined.”

“No!”

“Relax Jas—”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“To be honest, Jasmine, Danielle has never, and I do mean never, mentioned The Board to me before they asked her to join. It just isn’t a big deal for her. It’s the feminists she’s concerned about.”

“Wait, let’s back up here. When was she asked?”

“After we married. And she turned them down; she wasn’t ready to be seen as a sterling example of black society.” He turns and smiles at me. “Trust me on this. In the end, she said she needed to do some growing before she was considered among the ranks of her parents and yours.”

“Unbelievable
,” I whisper as I turn to look out the window again. “Danielle has manifested her own dreams
and
mine. No wonder her son is Jesus. It all makes sense now.”

“Jasmine
…”

“Why am I even alive?”

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“To watch Danielle conquer the world?”

“Relax, Jasmine.”

“What next?”

“Here we go.”

“A documentary of her life?”

“Jasmine…”

“
The Nobel Peace Prize?”

“Don’t go off the deep end
, Jasmine.”

“Why me?” I lean my head against the head rest and close my eyes. This is a nightmare! Danielle doesn’t even want to be a good person
—why does everything always happen for her? “Who asked her to become an official member?”

“Judge Carmichael and his wife. They asked us to come to dinner and explained that I couldn’t be a member, of course, but Danielle would be granted full association. They
explained everything that comes along with being on The Board. Out of all the things they said, what I do remember is that it required us to take a two-hundred and fifty question test on Boston and America’s black history. They also mentioned that Danielle’s marriage to me would have no bearing on The Board’s political leanings and should not be used as influential leverage with the black community. I mean, the meeting was intense. There was zero mention of balls and galas. Trust me.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, even though I couldn’t be a part of The Board, as Red’s husband I still had to pass the test right along with her. So she and I studied Boston and America’s black history, memorized all the goddamn verses to
Lift Every Voice and Sing
, and passed our separate tests with flying colors. I don’t mean to brag, but I scored higher than her.”

“So you mean to tell me that
she was almost a member of The Board?”

“In the end, Danielle knew her head wasn’t in the right place. She didn’t think at the age of twenty-nine
that she was mature enough to handle the obligations of being an example of excellence.”

“So she turned them down!”

“She did. It’s been five years and they haven’t approached her since. But trust me, I live with the woman; she’s still not ready. Which is fine, because she’ll admit that herself. The two of us aren’t the best examples of polite society and we probably never will be, because frankly, I really don’t think we want to be.” He stops at a traffic light and then turns to me. “Jasmine, as my client I think you should know that you have a romanticized view of life. You see balls and galas when in reality it’s mostly service and donations. It seems to me that you have a tendency to look at life through rose-colored glasses and—”

“Ex-squeeze me?”

“No offense,” he says with a smirk. “But it’s because of those rose-colored glasses that you’re mad at Danielle for divorcing Jon and marrying a Blair.”

“Why do you think I’d be mad that she married a Blair? Because
I
didn’t? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I ask. I’m not the least bit upset that I didn’t end up with Marlon—I mean, Jacob.

             
“Of course not, Marlon’s a great guy and let me tell you, he had some badass cufflinks on the other day when I—”

             
“Malcolm Blair, let me tell you something.” I turn all the way around in my seat so that I can tell him off to his face. This only makes Attorney Malcolm Blair smile. I begin, “I’m married to the Trump of Boston—”

             
“Right there.”

             
“What?”

             
“Why does Marlon need a qualifier?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you consider him the
Trump
of Boston?”

             
“Because he sells a lot of property and he makes a heck of a lot of money doing it.”

             
“He does, but Marlon is no Trump.”

             
“Well, that’s rude.”

             
“It’s not rude.” The light changes to green and he begins to pull off. “The two of them have nothing in common. Your husband came from a wealthy Philadelphia family and claims it. Trump likes to brag that he’s self-made, when in actuality his father gave him a boost. Now, while most people would make a big deal out of a self-made man, I’m partial to the ones who were born with a silver spoon, own it and still worked their asses off to create a name for themselves. It’s easy to build an empire when you’re hungry. It’s tougher to build one when you’re full. Marlon had drive despite his privilege. He moved out of Philly to make his own way here, aside from his family.

“Not to mention that Trump sells properties in order to make money. Marlon sells properties in order to make connections; sometimes a deal won’t be as much as he hoped for, but what he
didn’t
make in money, he made in favors. It’s the favors that get you around in this town, not always your money. Marlon has the trust of damn near every politico in the city because he’s bipartisan and trustworthy. That’s something Trump will
never
have. So comparing Marlon to him doesn’t do Marlon justice.” He stops at another red light and looks at me. “Neither is comparing him to Jacob. I’m going to say this to you as my client: I don’t think you fully realize the husband you have in Marlon. You’re selling him short.”

“Who says I compare him to Jacob?” I wh
isper, my heart beating faster. “Do you think I want to be with Jacob, or something? Possibly have a life with him that Danielle has with you? You know what Malcolm, let me be the first to say that you aren’t all you’re cracked up to be. If anything, I pity Danielle. I mean, who in the world would want to be married to a 6’1” white politico from Boston who’s the personal law counsel to the president of the United States?”

“6’2”.”

“Danielle’s life is a cautionary tale if you ask me. It’s what my life could have been had I not married
up
. Because trust me, Jacob isn’t fit to shine Marlon’s shoes.” How dare Malcolm! Danielle is married to a Blair; a bunch of lying, cheating, no-good Boston Danes. Who in the world would want to be married to
them
?

“Jasmine, I’m not
—”

“
You know, it really hurt Jon when Danielle left him for you. He started calling Marlon every day to talk about it, asking what he could have done differently. Wondering if the divorce was all over sushi bars and dives and if things would have been different if he wore ties without complaining.”