Wyatt…” He bowed his head like he was about to pray. “I don’t know about that man and his wife. You know, I heard their marriage is one of convenience and—”
Jasmine moved to the edge of her seat, but before Jerome could add another word, Hosea stopped him. “Now, Brother Viceroy, we don’t need that kind of talk.”
With eyes wide with innocence, he said, “Pastor, this isn’t gossip—glory to God. But sometimes it’s important to know what’s being said in the streets.”
“If my father listened to the streets, you wouldn’t be here.”
Jasmine moved to give Hosea a high five, but then she remembered where she was and sat back in her chair.
The smile that had been on the edge of Jerome’s lips faded. “ Everything that’s ever been said about me…it’s lies, all lies, in the name of Jesus.”
Jasmine wanted to move her chair several feet away before lightning struck them all. Even she never told a lie in the name of Jesus!
And anyway, Jerome Viceroy needed to quit. The eight-termcity councilman moved from one political scandal to another. Extortion. Tax evasion. Money laundering. He’d been charged with all of that and more.
The thing was, Jerome Viceroy had earned his nickname as the Teflon Man. Not one charge had ever held. And after every dismissal, Jerome had been able to stand on the court steps, in front of television cameras, and declare that, “Once again, the government’s vast conspiracy to bring down another God-fearing black man has failed! Hallelujah!”
But game recognized game, and even though Jasmine and Jerome played different sports, Jasmine knew this man was a liar and a cheat. She suspected the people of his district knew what Jerome was, too. But that didn’t stop them from voting for him one election after another.
Jerome would tell anyone who would listen, “I got Harlem on lock!” And those words were true, because many of his constituents understood that sometimes it took someone who was smooth, someone with game, someone who could make moves to bring changes they needed in their neighborhoods.
“Every single thing that has ever been said about me is a lie,” Jerome repeated, as if saying it twice would make it true.
“Well, that’s why my father never removed you from the board, Jerome. Nothing’s ever been proven. And in this country and this church, you’re innocent until someone can prove otherwise.”
“No one will ever be able to prove otherwise, Pastor. I’m a man of God, thank you, Jesus. I walk the straight and narrow. I—”
“Jerome,” Hosea looked at his watch, “I’d like to get to the hospital before dark.”
Jasmine giggled—it wasn’t even noon.
“So…” Hosea motioned for the councilman to get on with his business.
“Oh, yes, well.” Jerome pulled a folder from the Louis Vuitton messenger bag he carried. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about this.” He handed Hosea a thick binder. Jasmine scooted her chair closer to her husband’s.
Hosea read the cover, “The Harlem Redevelopment Project. Yes, everyone knows what’s going on up here.”
Jerome frowned a little. “So your father talked to you about this?”
“Not extensively.”
“Thank you, Jesus!” Jerome’s smile was back, as if he was relieved.
Thank you, Jesus? Jasmine frowned.
Hosea continued, “The only thing my father told me was that he wasn’t interested.”
Jerome shook his head so hard that Jasmine was sure his 1980s jheri curls were going to fall straight out of his hair. “No, that’s not true. We were supposed to get together today to discuss this some more. Your father would have never said no to me, because a no to me is a no to Harlem. And your father would never say no to Harlem. Look at the plans,” he said, motioning toward the book Hosea held.
As Hosea flipped through the pages, Jerome kept talking. “Let me get to the bottom line—the developers want this church. City of Lights is right in the middle of the developers’
Jasmine moved to the edge of her seat, but before Jerome could add another word, Hosea stopped him. “Now, Brother Viceroy, we don’t need that kind of talk.”
With eyes wide with innocence, he said, “Pastor, this isn’t gossip—glory to God. But sometimes it’s important to know what’s being said in the streets.”
“If my father listened to the streets, you wouldn’t be here.”
Jasmine moved to give Hosea a high five, but then she remembered where she was and sat back in her chair.
The smile that had been on the edge of Jerome’s lips faded. “ Everything that’s ever been said about me…it’s lies, all lies, in the name of Jesus.”
Jasmine wanted to move her chair several feet away before lightning struck them all. Even she never told a lie in the name of Jesus!
And anyway, Jerome Viceroy needed to quit. The eight-termcity councilman moved from one political scandal to another. Extortion. Tax evasion. Money laundering. He’d been charged with all of that and more.
The thing was, Jerome Viceroy had earned his nickname as the Teflon Man. Not one charge had ever held. And after every dismissal, Jerome had been able to stand on the court steps, in front of television cameras, and declare that, “Once again, the government’s vast conspiracy to bring down another God-fearing black man has failed! Hallelujah!”
But game recognized game, and even though Jasmine and Jerome played different sports, Jasmine knew this man was a liar and a cheat. She suspected the people of his district knew what Jerome was, too. But that didn’t stop them from voting for him one election after another.
Jerome would tell anyone who would listen, “I got Harlem on lock!” And those words were true, because many of his constituents understood that sometimes it took someone who was smooth, someone with game, someone who could make moves to bring changes they needed in their neighborhoods.
“Every single thing that has ever been said about me is a lie,” Jerome repeated, as if saying it twice would make it true.
“Well, that’s why my father never removed you from the board, Jerome. Nothing’s ever been proven. And in this country and this church, you’re innocent until someone can prove otherwise.”
“No one will ever be able to prove otherwise, Pastor. I’m a man of God, thank you, Jesus. I walk the straight and narrow. I—”
“Jerome,” Hosea looked at his watch, “I’d like to get to the hospital before dark.”
Jasmine giggled—it wasn’t even noon.
“So…” Hosea motioned for the councilman to get on with his business.
“Oh, yes, well.” Jerome pulled a folder from the Louis Vuitton messenger bag he carried. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about this.” He handed Hosea a thick binder. Jasmine scooted her chair closer to her husband’s.
Hosea read the cover, “The Harlem Redevelopment Project. Yes, everyone knows what’s going on up here.”
Jerome frowned a little. “So your father talked to you about this?”
“Not extensively.”
“Thank you, Jesus!” Jerome’s smile was back, as if he was relieved.
Thank you, Jesus? Jasmine frowned.
Hosea continued, “The only thing my father told me was that he wasn’t interested.”
Jerome shook his head so hard that Jasmine was sure his 1980s jheri curls were going to fall straight out of his hair. “No, that’s not true. We were supposed to get together today to discuss this some more. Your father would have never said no to me, because a no to me is a no to Harlem. And your father would never say no to Harlem. Look at the plans,” he said, motioning toward the book Hosea held.
As Hosea flipped through the pages, Jerome kept talking. “Let me get to the bottom line—the developers want this church. City of Lights is right in the middle of the developers’
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