Saint nodded in understanding. He was corroding from the inside out and didn’t even know it. He hadn’t paid much attention, but over the years, as he matured in his gift, he did notice a certain heaviness clinging to him. It wasn’t physical, his weight remained pretty consistent…it was spiritual. He couldn’t shake it but he never slowed down enough to investigate the cause. The demons had been riding shotgun…
“You needed people around you that you could trust. I’m very proud of you, Saint. You did exceptionally well. I couldn’t tell you what was going to happen beforehand. I was afraid you’d chicken out or not take it seriously, anyway.” Lawrence laughed lightly as he put on his high beams and made his way to the deserted highway.
“I wouldn’t have chickened out, but I probably would’ve thought you were exaggerating.” Saint smiled, running a hand along his chest. “I feel so strange, but good. I’m so damn tired. Is this going to wear off soon?” He looked down at the cut, already healing.
“Yes it is. I guess in about an hour or so, you will be fully alert. In the meantime, get some rest.” Lawrence waved his palm over Saint’s face, putting him to sleep.
And like that, everything slowly faded to black…
~***~
CHAPTER TWELVE
“But you hadn’t returned my calls, and the only reason we’re talking right this second is because you thought I was someone else!” Sinclair snapped as he changed lanes on the freeway.
“I was busy, and I really must go,” was the gruff response.
“When you needed my help, when nobody knew who your ass was, I wasn’t too busy. I made you! I tell you what, Clyde, you can go fuck yourself.” Sinclair disconnected the call, his jaw twitching. The tires squealed as he rounded a sharp bend. Things had gotten hairy and hectic; he tried to call in favor after favor, but could only muster a handful of support. Word had hit the street he was black-balled and in typical fashion, when the ball dropped, so did his so-called friends. He’d rebuilt himself from the ground up, and now all of that was going up in the air. He didn’t have the energy for a third go-round, and he’d be damned if Saint was going to tear his empire down, or the tiny bit he had left. Regardless, he knew he was drowning, in a world of hurt. Being fired from a daytime network show proved to be even worse than he’d imagined. All of the deals he had lined up crumbled like feta cheese on a salad and that was good for the vegetarians, but he needed some meat and potatoes, some real cheddar that would adhere to a bank account in multiple zeros. This time, he hadn’t been stupid with his growing dividends. He’d stockpiled enough away to live off of, but he could never be large and in charge without creating another stream, one that was profitable and carried him through the rest of his days.
No one had time for Sinclair and the once coveted, highly sought after producer wasn’t even invited out to plush parties any longer. He had a scarlet letter on his back…oh how quickly L.A. would turn on a motherfucker…
He went in circles, grappled at straws, trying to call in favors. He tried his luck with several ex-girlfriends, the same ones he spoke slick to, called hoes and treated like shit when his name was in the limelight and his pockets lined tight and green. But things had changed. No one gave him the time of morning, afternoon or night, not even Cammie, who once said she’d never give up on their love...
Turncoat!
He’d burned those bridges down to the motherfucking ground and his previous cruelty helped seal his fate. He blamed it on the cocaine, believing he wasn’t himself when he indulged, but maybe, just maybe, the cocaine showed who he truly was. He’d ended at rock bottom with his own rock, one white and powdery. It promised a trip to never-land but usually only delivered a journey to sludge and torment in one-way traffic. Low-grade shit, amateur night type the hoopla, nothing a true balla would be caught dead with. Racing inside of his home, he kicked shoes and trash out of the way and settled comfortably in the middle of his living room floor. He lit the pipe in preparation to make the powder dance in his system. There was nothing pure about crack, but it would have to do. He refused to touch his cash stash; he needed that as pay-offs and incentives to build his empire once again. Yes, this time around, he’d work smarter, so he wouldn’t have to work harder. There was one glimmer in the mist. He did have one faithful soul that stood at his side, and luckily for him, she stayed loyal. After waking up from a drug-induced stupor a few hours later, he clutched his phone and rang her up.
“Hey Shianne,” he slurred and sniffed, catching his nostrils between his index and forefinger. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirrored picture frame as he felt the grittiness along his thumb and a ring of white powder coating his left nostril. “Hey baby, I need you do something for me.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I need to send out a little warning to my main man while I wait on some information. With the way things are falling apart, I might be done here in L.A., but I’m going to go out blazing!” he yelled, new life in his voice as his newfangled high made him feel invincible. “I want you to arrange a little something for me. Listen closely, because I need this to go off without a hitch…”
“I’m all ears, baby...”
~***~
Xenia looked out the window at the dusky gray sky with silvery stripes. A slight breeze blew through, drawing goose bumps on her arms. Ocean Road in Malibu was unusually quiet and quaint, the perfect backdrop for a long awaited discussion with the man who’d had his hand in bringing her into the world. She sat across from her father at the elegant Lobster restaurant in Malibu. A pianist started to play light classical music in the background which, along with the tinkling of ice in Xenia’s glass, broke up the silence.
“Well…” She smiled weakly. “So…” She didn’t know what else to say. For once, she was lost for words.
Her father exhaled loudly and clasped his hands together. She looked at them—those big, brown hands. Hands that had held her as a baby as he kissed her forehead affectionately. The same hands that had counted stacks of laundered money at the kitchen table in their small house in Compton. Hands that had held the back of her bike as he taught her and Porsche how to ride it. And…the same hands she’d seen smack her mother across the face, leaving it reddened with the imprint of his palm, when Pam had said something he didn’t particularly like. Back in the day, Pam was quieter and more submissive, doing her best to keep him home, but it still wasn’t sufficient. He was an angry bull and someone had to pay…
Xenia turned suddenly away from him, hating him for yet another reason, as if she needed another. She had no idea how’d she forgotten. She must’ve buried it like the trauma it was. It had happened twice, two times too many…
“What’s wrong, baby?”
I’m not your baby… Avoiding his gaze, she picked up her fork and poked and prodded at her shrimp scampi.
“Xenia, honey, we gotta talk. You brought me here to talk. Now, no matter how it hurts you or me, let’s do it. I need you in my life and knowing you the way I do, I understood this wasn’t going to be easy,” he said. “Now tell me what the problem is so we can resolve it and move forward.”
“Daddy, you hit Mama. You left me, Porsche and Ira. You chose the gang-life over us. You chose money and whores over your wife and children. You raised other kids that were not even yours, but didn’t visit us. You had drugs in our house that you were selling. We could’ve been killed in a robbery because of that. I think…I think I blocked a lot of this mess out!” She squirmed in her seat, wanting so desperately to reach across the table and choke him with her bare hands. Instead, she was met with silence. He simply listened. His features remained smooth and calm.
“Not until you came to see me at the studio did this stuff start flooding back. I was happy with you gone, Daddy. I hate to say it, but I was. I’d made peace with it. Yeah, for a short spell we spoke, things seemed okay, but as soon as I tried to talk to you, like I am now, you disappeared again, telling me I needed to stop bringing up the past. You completely dismi
ssed me!” She promised herself she wouldn’t become emotional, but it was too late; she was coming undone.” His words got Xenia’s attention. She dared to look him in the eyes as he spoke.
“Now, you tell me you want to be back in my and Ira’s life. Porsche is already with you, and I never understood why, but that was her choice and her prerogative.”
“Xenia, I did all that you accuse me of and more,” he said in a soft-spoken voice. “I was not a good person. Matter of fact, I was a terrible husband and an even worse father. Your mother and I weren’t gettin’ along, but that is still no excuse. I should’ve handled my responsibilities. You and your sisters deserved better. I gotta hand it to Pam, she did hold it down when I wasn’t. Your mother, well,”—he grinned and shook his head—“she is a handful, always has been, but she is a damn good mother and I could never take that away from her. She changed after she got pregnant with you and Porsche.
“I didn’t want to have a family, I wasn’t ready, Xenia You gotta understand my mentality. Gang life was all I knew, being a Blood was all I knew. I’m glad you didn’t follow in my footsteps.” He took a moment, as if caught up in emotion. “Your mother and I would run around together. She was fun then, wild, free. All the guys wanted her; she was one of those women the dudes chased after. She and I got together…” He looked down at his lap. “But after she found out she was pregnant, she told me she was done with all of that racing around and living it up. I called her bluff,” he said with a sad smile. “But she meant it. She didn’t ride with me no more, quit hanging out with all of us. She kept to herself and got back in school, got her cosmetology license and got a job, made something of herself. I was proud of her, but I was still in the streets.” He shrugged.
“Daddy, I know Mama wasn’t always easy to live with, but she was faithful to you and she was a good mother.”
“I know. I mean, look at you!” He smiled, pointing in her direction. “Xenia, you’re beautiful, baby. You’re smart, you’ve made good choices. You’re famous! I’ve got a famous daughter.” He grinned, showcasing that notorious gap. “I’m proud of all three of my children. My son is in Afghanistan. Ira…” He shook his head. “I pray for his safety every day. Seems like he’s been there forever. Porsche is back in school getting her nursing degree. You all are proof of how we, as black people, can come from nothing but amount to something! You married well, too. I like Saint. I appreciate that he isn’t some hoodlum or fool. I wouldn’t want you to have ended up with someone like how I used to be and I don’t care that he isn’t black. Back in the day I would’ve, I won’t lie about that.” He smirked.
“But hell, I just want you happy and for someone to be with you that treats you right, and that’s what you got. Now, I really don’t want to think about his profession—not that there is anything wrong with it, but you’re my daughter.” He chuckled, causing Xenia to do the same. “I don’t want to think about my child with someone who speaks like that, and yeah, I made the mistake of picking up one of his books.”
Xenia burst out laughing and covered her mouth with her hands as blood rushed to her face.
“I ain’t no prude, you know that…but goddamn!”
“Daddy, stop!” Xenia laughed so hard, her eyes brimmed with tears.
“My, my, my…” he said with a wave of his hand and a wink. “I just prefer to not go there, so I’ll drop it, though those were some good tips. I got a little lady I go out with sometimes and I—”
“Daddy!” Xenia warned.
“Okay, okay!” He guffawed. “I’ll tell you this much though. He cares a great deal about you, I can see that, and Porsche has nothing but good things to say about him. Said he even paid her rent a couple of times when she was coming up short. She didn’t ask, he just did it and he paid for Gwen’s school tuition, too. She’s in that fancy school and I can’t say I blame Porsche for wanting to send her child somewhere like that. Anyway, your husband seems to be a good man, a generous man. I used to be generous when I was running high on my horse bets.” He laughed. “I guess all good things must come to an end.”
Xenia swallowed and looked down at her lap; the white linen napkin had a smudge of curry sauce from her salad earlier. She stared at that stain with all of her might, trying to keep her tears at bay. For some reason, the man’s words were tearing her apart. He actually sounded sincere, she didn’t expect this. She anticipated a bunch of excuses, grabbing her purse and storming out on him, happy to never have to speak to the asshole again. But, that wasn’t what happened at all. He was baring his soul, admitting the wrong he’d done. Like the open sea, he invited her to dive in, give him another chance.
“You did right and from what I can see, you’re a damn good mother, too. That means a lot. Pam, yeah, it was hell sometimes, Xenia. We just weren’t good for each other, you know? You understand how your mother can be. In your ear, yap, yap, yap!” He moved his hands like chomping alligator mouths. “But…she was a good mother, like I said. I agree with you wholeheartedly.”
There was a pregnant pause as Xenia took a small sip of her white Zinfandel.
“When you and Porsche were born, I remember that day like yesterday.” He smiled proudly and tapped his fingertips against his glass of beer. “October 7th, right before midnight!”
Xenia refused to show how moved she was that her father actually knew about her and her twin sister’s birthday. The man had been so far removed from their lives, she’d thought he wouldn’t have a clue. Regardless, that didn’t negate the fact he wasn’t there for their birth—but if she wanted to move forward, she had to let it go.
“I got to the hospital and saw you two. Of course,”—he shrugged, his lips turned downward—“Pam wasn’t happy to see me. Can’t say I too much blame her…more of my young, knucklehead actin’ out. I was scared, Xenia. I wasn’t ready to be no daddy, but when I looked into your and Porsche’s eyes, I just fell in love.” He slapped the table. “Right then and there. You two were the prettiest little babies I’d ever seen.”
Xenia smiled, but kept her eyes focused on the stain across the napkin.
“Daddy,” she said when she finally looked at him, pushing her half eaten plate across the table. “Why didn’t you try harder to be in my life before now?”
Henry sighed and glanced out the window. Xenia followed his eyes. The dark blue ocean waves moved like a Hawaiian woman doing a hula dance, mesmerizing and enchanting, swaying back and forth toward the shore, inviting love, and then taking it away.
“Xenia, it isn’t your fault, so don’t think I’m blaming you but—you were just so angry with me. Every time when I’d try to speak to you…” He faced her, his expression grave. “…Xenia, it was evident you had not forgiven me. I couldn’t blame you, and I should’ve tried harder. I should have gotten on my knees if I had to. Instead, I clung to the one child that was talking to me, your sister. I figured one outta three ain’t bad.”
“But now?” She rolled her napkin around her index finger, her eyes growing tired, and her faith in his words tested.
“Now, I know what’s important in life, and I’m willing to act on it. You can teach an old dog new tricks. I had an awakening, so to speak. I didn’t want this anymore, Xenia. I missed you!”
She stared at him, wishing, hoping, but keeping her expression solemn.
“This alienation, life without my family, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had grandchildren I’d never laid eyes on. A son-in-law I’d never laid eyes on ’cept for the magazines Porsche showed me of him. I ain’t getting any younger. I had to make this right and whether you accept me or not back into your life, Xenia, I at least know I tried with all my heart this time. I did it right. No one can stop me anymore from being the father you need, except for you.”
The heavy words marinated in Xenia’s mind, simmering like a pot of chili on low. While she mulled them over, she felt her father’s hand on hers. She looked down at their hands on the table and clutched that napkin a bit tighter under his grip. He reacted by holding h
er hand a bit snugger. Fighting the urge to pull away, she stayed in the moment, feeling the connection, the chance for a new beginning. She couldn’t forgive him right then and there, but she had to start somewhere.
“Xenia, please give me a chance. I love you so much, and I miss you.” She could see her reflection in his eyes, and it reminded her of when he used to tell her and her sister that they were the apple of his eye.
“Okay, Daddy. I can’t promise anything, but I will try. I really will.” With a smile, she let the napkin go, turned her palm into his and linked her fingers with his. Her father’s face softened, renewed hope in his eyes.
Inside, Xenia danced.
Hassani, Dakarai and Isis will finally be a part of his life. They won’t miss out on this experience…
I could receive the love from him that I always wanted, if he is really sincere like he claims to be. I love my father, and hell, we can’t redo the past. We can only move forward…
Xenia could finally hear those words her heart had longed for, for so many years…
“Daddy’s home, baby girl…”
~***~
Saint inhaled the scent of the citrusy fruit, ran his thumb across the pocked skin and tossed two more navel oranges in the plastic bag as the elevator music continued to play in the grocery store. It was almost ten at night, and Xenia and the children were fast asleep back home. He had a lot on his mind. Peculiar dreams were keeping him up at night and he found himself working out excessively in the home gym as he battled yet another round of insomnia. All that extra movement required more fuel. He figured it may have had something to do with the healing from Krishna. Lawrence did warn that may be one of the side effects for a while. Saint moseyed down the bread aisle, trying to find his favorite whole-wheat brand, the one with the tiny sesame and poppy seeds in the translucent orange wrapping paper. He stopped and stretched his arms; a stiff yawn followed.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 39