“Cool.”
“I tried to get a read on them, Jagger, but it was hard during all of the commotion and then the cops came, so I had to stop. I’ve got these mothafucka’s wallets, though. I want you to do your shit on ’em for me.”
“Consider it done and Lawrence can do all the research and find out all about these guys for you, just like he did the mole, and I can go from there.”
“Thank you. See you in the morning, man.” Saint disconnected the call, and started the car to drive home.
Whoever sent your ass is going to wish he was Felipe and Todd by the time I get done with them. That will look like a damn amusement park ride in comparison. And you, whoever you are… Saint gripped the steering wheel hard, raring to rip the damn thing off as he drove out onto the main drag. …I can’t wait to tear you the fuck apart…
~***~
Xenia hid her smile. Henry held Isis close in his arms, and the baby girl grinned at him, thumbing his nose. She laughed hysterically as he tickled her fat, bare feet, making her squirm in delight while beads of glistening sand covered her golden skin. Xenia hadn’t been to the park in a while, and it was such a perfect day. The show was over, and the boys loved coming, so she brought them to one of their favorite hangouts. While on her way, Henry called and asked to see her and his grandchildren. She responded that she just so happened to be with them at Juntos Family Park, enjoying a picnic while the boys played Frisbee and Isis enjoyed the swings. He said he was on his way, and before she’d taken more than a few bites out of her chicken salad sandwich, the man pulled up in his shiny blue Cadillac. He pulled on his t-shirt sleeves, as if trying to cover his long line of faded dark tattoos from his days of gangbanging and earning his flesh ribbons.
“A, baby girl!”
Xenia smiled, and pointed to Isis. He shook his head.
“No, Xenia, I’m talking about you.” He grabbed her and wrapped his arms so tight around her she almost lost her breath. He released her and plopped down close. His loud laughter seemed to rock the picnic table. He appeared pleased to just watch his grandsons tossing the red Frisbee back and forth between each other.
“Whoever misses three times in a row will have to clean the other one’s room.” Xenia cracked up. “That’s the bet they have right now.”
“And who put that bet on?” Henry grinned, his brow lifted.
“Dakarai. Of course, Hassani accepted. He can never say ‘no’ to a challenge and Dakarai spends most of his time plotting and scheming.” She smiled and shook her head.
“Smart boy.” Henry laughed as he grasped Xenia’s hand, holding it. They were quiet for a while, then shared bits and pieces of their day.
“So you just got back from downtown?” she asked as she handed him a sandwich.
“I already ate.” He handed it back to her.
“Chicken salad?” She winked at him.
“Now you know damn well I can’t turn down any chicken salad.” He laughed, snatched the sandwich back, unwrapped it, and took a huge bite out of it. Xenia passed him a diet soda.
“Yeah, Mama had told me years ago it had been your favorite.”
The man nodded in agreement, downed the meal in seconds, and waltzed over to the boys.
“Hey, little man!” He smiled at Hassani as he approached him. “Let’s do a triangle.”
“Uh triangle?” Dakarai asked with attitude.
“He is sayin’ we pass it to him after our turn, Day-Day. Henry, I got a lot riding on this.”
Xenia lowered her head and grinned.
“Yeah, I heard,” Henry said, trying to look serious though the side of his mouth tilted upward.
“Alright, we can do a triangle, but if you miss, Day-Day’s room becomes my chore. If he loses, he has to leave me alone all night.”
Xenia shook her head as she glanced at Isis who held up her magenta pink pail and turned it over in frustration. She got up, slid off her white flip-flops and dropped on her bare knees in the soft sand with her daughter to show her how to fill the sand bucket up with her tiny scoop and make a castle, while keenly keeping her ear on the nearby conversation.
“You got it,” Henry promised as they each handled Frisbee with expert precision. Xenia watched that Frisbee move back and forth, back and forth—it left one hand, but returned to another, just like her father into her life. She quickly wiped a tear away, and took Isis’ tiny hand.
“Okay sweetie, let’s make a biiiiig castle with lots of rooms for the whole family!”
“Da mole bamlee!!!” Isis repeated, causing Xenia to burst out laughing and poke her in the belly.
“That’s right, honeybun…the whole family.” She glanced back at her father and the boys, all of them laughing as the man jumped in the air and caught the damn thing much to everyone’s surprise. “Yes, family. That’s all that really matters…”
~***~
“Pop! How can you do this to me?! I’m driving to the damn airport in, like, five hours!” Saint gripped the steering wheel of his Escalade, which he’d just parked in front of the Rainbeau Knights of the Round Table meeting center.
“I’m sorry, Son, but it just came up at the last second!”
“I think you’re stalling!” Saint yelled. “I can’t believe you’d something like this! I even had a healing and cleansing done on me, partially for you, from Krishna.”
“I know, you told me. I’ve yet to meet that wonderful man. Lawrence is blessed to know him.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Saint anxiously dismissed. “Don’t try to change the topic. Now, it’s not that I didn’t need it,”—Saint shrugged—“But that shit was painful as hell, and I did it sooner rather than later so I’d be better prepared for you. You mean to tell me that science conference can’t wait? We are talking about your health here. This is the second time you’ve changed the original date, Dad, and I’m sick of this shit.”
“Saint.” His father sighed impatiently. “I have to go to this. I told you that to help keep busy, I wanted to start teaching again. It’s important. I will pay you back the flight money.”
“Dad, it isn’t about the money, you know that! Look…” Saint tried to calm down. Closing his eyes briefly, he ran his hand over his face. “Give me another date, and we’re not changing it. I don’t care if King Tut rises from the mothafuckin’ grave himself, and tells you he wants to meet you and tell you all of his secrets. This shit is final!”
He didn’t miss his father’s slight snicker.
“This ain’t funny!”
“I know,” his father said with a laugh. “I’ll make it up to you. Okay, how about two weeks from now?”
“Fine. And I don’t care what happens, Jagger and I will be there… This makes no damn sense!”
“I understand and again, I apologize. I will see you soon. I love you.” He could still hear the smile in his father’s voice. At least the old man was in good spirits.
“I love you, too…” Saint disconnected the call. “Shit!” He grabbed his laptop and briefcase and headed inside the building. Pushing the upsetting news aside, he sighed with relief when he spotted Jagger and Lawrence standing by the elevator, their game faces on…
~***~
Osaze pushed his glasses up above his nose. Letting out a long exhale, he swallowed as he gingerly turned the pages of the yellowed science periodical, 21st Century Science and Technology. He glided his hand slowly over his thin, tan wrinkled pants, then ran his fingers through his silky salt and pepper hair. In the vast library, the only sound detectable was the occasional shuffling of feet, a clearing of someone’s throat and the slight buzz from a cell phone or mp3 player as a student worked. This had become his favorite afternoon ritual for the past six months, and he was now keeping a secret. There was a lovely sixty-year-old librarian named Kyung Mi. She’d been transferred from the Manhattan branch, much to his pleasure. Osaze had done his typical rounds that rainy afternoon, and made his way up to the front desk. There she stood, clicking her shiny, clear nails against the keyboard
as she peered over her black-rimmed glasses, not paying him any mind. He’d never seen her before, and he blushed ten shades of red, he was certain, when she turned to him and smiled. The woman looked somewhat like his Ming Jae, and though he didn’t consider himself an expert on such matters of ethnicity, he was betting that she, too, was Korean. Saint had teased him years ago, saying that his father had an Asian fetish. He denied it, but he knew deep down there may be some truth in that. Osaze had a strong attraction to Asian women, especially Korean and Cambodian. He’d been that way since his family had moved to America and he never gave it much thought. This woman took his breath away, with her light and sweet perfume. Before he could backtrack or talk himself out of it, he asked, “What’s your name?”
“Kyung Mi…” He smiled with satisfaction. Yes, he was right. She was Korean. He cleared his throat nervously and asked her out for coffee, apologizing if that was too forward after checking to ensure there was no ‘hardware’ on her left hand. She accepted, and they’d been inseparable ever since. The woman was a widow of almost five years, had three adult children—two sons and a daughter—and five grandchildren. Independent, well-mannered and intelligent, she had just moved into a small apartment nearby, finally ready to start afresh. The woman got his blood boiling and to boot, she could cook delicious food, using recipes passed down from her grandmother, that she’d bring into work and let him sample. Standing about five foot four, she looked like a dwarf next to him, but he didn’t care, and he affectionately nicknamed her his ‘little lady.’
They went out to dinner at small bodegas and diners that served the best deli sandwiches and Caesar salads in town. They would sit shoulder to shoulder in his home, reading to one another, just like he used to do with Ming Jae. Sometimes the books would be about outer space, and the conversations would change to life on mars, causing whimsical and engaging conversations. Sometimes they’d read about computers and the latest technical gadgets, especially since neither of them could make heads or tails of their own cell phones. This was a running joke amongst the two. And then, much to his embarrassment, Kyung Mi finally spotted a stack of books he thought were well hidden on the bottom row of his bookshelf…books by a man named Saint Aknaten…
She knew that was his son’s name, and when he’d returned from the restroom, he found her cradling two of the damned books to her bosom, a beautiful smile on her face. She caressed his cheek and said, “You should be proud of him. He is smart. He is writing to help people. That’s good.”
He agreed and he admitted that he was very proud of his son, but the subject matter of his son’s teachings was not something he wished to delve in and discuss with his lady friend. Just like Ming Jae would have more than likely done, she begged to differ, and tore his heart straight out of his chest as she nonchalantly flipped through Saint’s book, “Pussy Power”.
“Oh no!” He turned away in embarrassment as she started to read the passages aloud.
She read so matter-of-factly, as if she’d been saying ‘cock’ and ‘ass’ her entire life. It amused Osaze, and in reality it turned the temperature up inside of him to know that the woman was sexual and didn’t shy away from the topic; she invited it, played with it, even while he squirmed in his seat feeling uncomfortable. Saint had been right; the dry spell was killing him. When he was married, he and his wife, Saint’s mother, shared a loving and frequent sex life, but once she was gone, so was his passion and desire. He never even looked at another woman for years on end. Then, as he started to heal and move forward, with Saint’s help, he felt himself come back alive. One late Wednesday evening, he even went as far as wandering into an adult bookstore and perusing the extensive array of adult videos. He’d never stepped foot in such a place, a place of ill repute, and it was against his beliefs, but as he got off the subway, the flashing sign beckoned him. He purchased one DVD, almost pissing himself with embarrassment, and kept it tucked under his arm like a bird wing as he scampered home. It took days before he drummed up the courage to watch it, to stick the damn thing in the DVD player Saint got for him some years previously. He’d cursed, trying to figure out the remote control, pushed menu several times, then suddenly, an Asian woman took over the screen, live and in living color, shoving her finger inside of her pink creamy hole, lips parted and long black hair falling to the side as she gave herself the time of her life. He was horrified, but couldn’t look away…
He’d looked down at the cover of the DVD and read the title once more, “Asian Pussy Persuasion”, and tossed it to the side. Swallowing deeply, he leaned back on the couch and found himself breathing harder and faster. Before long, his hand was running over the front of his pants and the shame seized him like a mother does a child who has wandered away. He grabbed the remote, fumbled with the damn thing, causing the volume shoot up sky high. The woman’s orgasm rang raucous and loud, and could surely be heard up and down the street. Osaze was horrified, certain that the neighbors would think he’d hired some streetwalker to give him a mighty good time…
He finally managed to place the video on mute, but he kept watching and his excitement continued to grow.
Now, he could replace her face with Kyung Mi’s…and enjoy the experience more than ever. Nevertheless, he realized he had a situation on his hands. He was attracted to a woman intimately, intellectually, and sexually. He hadn’t felt that way in over a decade. When he and Kyung Mi shared their first kiss, it was clumsy but sweet. He did the best he could. They both looked at one another afterward and burst out laughing. He’d smeared her bright red lipstick everywhere, and couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how to kiss properly. He used to be a Casanova, proud of his intimate skills. He never told Saint, but he felt his son got his perversions honestly. Osaze loved making love to his wife; it used to be one of the highlights of his day, and he couldn’t wait until Saint as a little child would finally fall the heck asleep, so he could do just that.
Yes, Ming Jae… The woman that had stolen his heart, his soulmate. He had a few guilt pangs for weeks on in. But then, he had a beautiful dream, and the woman had come to him, smiling, letting her husband know she approved of his Kyung Mi and wanted him to see her, to be with her. She said it very clearly—she knew how to speak to him and though it was a dream, it came across as real, tangible.
He knew in his heart it was really her. The woman had a habit of visiting him from time to time. Still, he couldn’t get himself to take her shrine down. Luckily, Kyung Mi said nothing negative about it. In fact, she didn’t show a jealous bone in her body and remarked at how absolutely beautiful Ming Jae was. That was what people typically noticed first, her unbelievably good looks. She was beautiful. The woman would cause car accidents, literally. There had been instances of drivers rear-ending others to take a gander at her and the greatest thing of all about her was that she walked around as if she were simply average. Her heart was big, her smile bigger, and he had loved the woman with all of his being. No one could take her place, but he did meet someone who could help curb the loneliness…a new friend. A confidante he could see himself with, perhaps—if he dared think it—even as a life partner…
Coming out of his daydream, Osaze gently closed the periodical and sat straighter. Today, Kyung Mi was out of town, visiting her daughter in Arizona. He missed her so much. And, he was ready. He wanted Saint to meet the woman. The science conference had come up and derailed everything, but she’d be back in town soon, just in time to meet his son. That was why he chose that date for Saint’s visit. She’d been a saving grace when he got the bad news about his health. She made him meals, brought them over, and even tidied up his humble home. She wanted to meet his son, as well. She’d taken the liberty to read all about him, and was greatly intrigued by him. Although Osaze would go as far as to call him odd, Saint was brilliant and dynamic. The boy had gotten the best of both worlds—starting with his mother’s good looks, though Osaze had been told by many he was nothing to scoff at. Regardless, he likened himself to an intellect, and Saint had also i
nherited his love of science.
Osaze gathered his belongings and left the library. He took it easy walking to the subway, and finally made it back home. After preparing a bowl of raisin oatmeal, he switched the TV on CNN and made himself comfortable. When he was done, he picked up his cell phone and dialed Kyung Mi, his ‘little lady’.
“Hi, Osaze!” she said cheerily, as she always did, no matter her actual mood. She had a much thicker accent than Ming Jae.
“Hello, Kyung Mi. How are your daughter and grandchildren today?” he folded a newspaper beside him.
“Great, everyone is fine. We just got back from the beach. Very nice!”
“That sounds relaxing and fun. Um, you stated you’d be back in about a week, on Sunday, correct?”
“Yes, I have a noon flight, back on the 14th.”
“Okay, perfect because my son and a friend of his are coming to town, and I’d like for you two to finally meet.”
“Ahhhh!” He could hear her excitement over the phone as she laughed. “Oh, yes! I’ve been wanting to meet him. I told my daughter all about him!”
“I hope not all about him,” Osaze teased.
“Oh, don’t be a prude, Osaze. I can’t wait. Maybe I can cook dinner?”
“Yes, that would be nice. Saint loves Korean food. His mother made sure he had home cooked meals all the time and I never quite did it as well as she did. I’m sure he’d appreciate it. Like me he doesn’t eat pork, though, and Saint doesn’t eat red meat at all.”
“No worries! I make a good fish stew and chicken dish! Then it’s settled. I will cook a feast for him and his friend.”
“Well, all right. I look forward to seeing you and I will talk with you soon. Take care.”
“Same here.” She blew a kiss over the phone, drawing a smile before he hung up.
He picked up his leftovers from the couch and placed the bowl and spoon on the kitchen table. He thought about his situation and sighed. He’d picked the woman’s brain for months during all those times of reading to one another. Asked her about spirits, angels, and religion—the whole nine. He’d taken for granted that he never had to explain any of that to Ming Jae—she was just like him—but Kyung Mi wasn’t an Angel Child at all, merely human, which made this difficult. She’d have to be told. He couldn’t risk her seeing something that may startle her and as they got closer, that possibility was almost certain. Osaze was not afraid to tell her, however, for the obvious reasons. The issue in his mind was more complex.
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