“The beautiful bride would like another dance with a very special fellow. His name is Daiquiri—”
“No, not like the drink!” She stomped her foot in annoyance. “Da-car-reee!” Traci whispered, but loud enough to be heard.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Dakarai Aknaten, and she would like the floor for just the two of them.”
Slowly but surely, people cleared the way and Xenia popped out of her seat, taking a twisting and turning little boy with a rumpled face closer and closer to the object of his affections. There she was, standing there in her long white beaded gown that sparkled like diamonds. There were a few snickers and ‘ahhhhhs’ from the crowd as Dakarai stood there turning fifty shades of red in his tiny tuxedo, white flower lapel and long braided ponytail, his hair faded on the sides.
Traci approached him, bent her back just so, and before the song could begin, the boy clutched her thighs with a firm grip and buried the side of his head in her crotch, causing a ruckus of laughter. She slowly began to sway back and forth as Ben King crooned, “Stand By Me.” Dakarai’s smile almost lit up the entire room all on its lonesome. He was in seventh heaven as onlookers clapped and continued to pine over the sweet scene.
Jagger had returned to his seat and watched on, his hands were covered in lamb meat grease. Saint wrinkled his nose. The man ate like an animal. He pushed it aside and pulled Jagger closer, “You better watch my boy. He just might take your woman,” he teased.
Jagger laughed with a cheek full of food, then popped one shiny finger in his mouth and licked it.
“I know. You better get your child, man. That little slickster has his gum-ball covered hands all over Traci’s ass!”
Saint burst out laughing and shrouded half his face with his palm. It was true. Dakarai was taking liberties due to being vertically challenged, and getting a bit carried away.
When the song ended, Traci served a sweet kiss on the cheek of the little guy, causing his eyes to widen in sheer delight. She made her way back to the table as others piled onto the dance floor, but Dakarai just stood there, in his own little world. Saint watched him from a distance; he was on cloud nine and what began as one of the worse nights of his life had turned out to be one of the best.
Dakarai’s first love loved him back after all…
~***~
Albion Correctional Facility hosted an unbelievable library. Payton found herself perusing the periodicals, her short nails running along the hard-bound spines in colors of gold, black and tan. Since her incarceration, she’d had some time to think. Much to her surprise, she didn’t hate it there; in fact, she found the quiet a welcome reprieve. She’d never been in a position to simply stop and think. The morning of her phone call to the police regarding her involvement, she’d rehearsed in her mind exactly what she was going to say, and how she was going to say it. She admitted she’d made a mistake, but it was caught in time, thus, she should only receive a slap on the wrist. Saint had put her between a rock and a hard place—spend some time in prison for lying to the police and IRS and filing false claims, or be exposed as a female rapist and die bleeding to death in the middle of her living room, courtesy of Mr. Aknaten. She believed she was tough enough to survive a prison stint. Though it wasn’t ideal, she soon discovered her law degree afforded her all sorts of perks amongst the inmates. She became the ‘jail house’ attorney, giving legal advice in exchange for favors, commissaries, hair braiding and food.
The police didn’t buy her story and she was promptly arrested that same day. She’d anticipated it, and had sat in her home in the dark waiting for them, with one small peppermint scented candle burning. It reminded her of Saint. His hair often smelled of it, and she used to love burying her nose into those wavy, blue-black tresses. She didn’t hate him or blame him for her predicament. This was a fresh chapter in her life. She wanted to turn a new leaf, dedicate herself to something uplifting. She knew she could never practice law again, and through that realization, she also accepted that because of the demerit, she no longer had the same zest for it anyhow. This was much more fulfilling—helping those that couldn’t help themselves. While in the courtroom, she pled guilty, much against her attorney’s urgings. She was tired. Tired of running, tired of having to be cunning. Tired of hurting and hurting others. She wasn’t evil, or so she told herself, though sometimes she wondered. Nevertheless, she wanted to make amends for all the ill she’d caused others. Some would say Sinclair Grayson had ruined her life. Payton now believed he’d saved it. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be in prison, and there, she found the peace she so desired. Now, no one was calling her, banging on her door and wanting her to work her ass off for only a quarter of her previous salary after her fall from grace. She still wouldn’t call herself a sexual predator, though she knew that Saint definitely felt that she was…
He was the only man she’d ever loved, and for whatever reason, it just wasn’t meant to be. The prison psychologist told her how her issues with her father had caused her to fall into a downward spiral. Funny, she’d heard that before from Dr. Aknaten…her former therapist and lover. She now understood her unhealthy attachment to the man. Saint, in fact, reminded her of her old man. She knew he didn’t love her, and that made him all the more appealing. He was a looker, just like her high yellow father, a color struck fellow with limp hair and a paper-thin mustache. The man wore pinstriped suits, slick hats, alligator shoes and a suave smile paired with a pair of dreamy, deep-set mahogany eyes. Payton came out dark like her grandmother, and hated how the man would look at her, as if she disgusted him. She learned to hate her dark skin from him, learned to despise everything about it, no matter how many times Saint and many other men told her how beautiful she was. She hadn’t told Saint everything about her parents, but he knew enough. He felt a sense of empathy toward her, knowing her pop was verbally and emotionally abusive. Her father was a sociopath, and his daughter was cut from the same blood-soaked cloth. She wanted closure, with Saint, with everyone, so she sat on her cot in her cell, and penned a letter…
Dear Saint,
I know you didn’t probably expect to hear from me again. I want to tell you, though I know you’ll never believe me, that I now understand what you’d been trying to tell me all those years ago. I understand that my life is a reflection of trying to be someone I never was. Life could have been different for me, had I not allowed an abusive situation to define me. I’ve been an angry, hurt woman for most of my life. My intelligence carried me through. I realized, early on as a young girl, that my exceptional grades were my ticket out of hell. Though my family was middle-class, you know hell is not always monetary. My father was a tyrant, and I sought him in all of my romantic relationships. Saint, the worse you treated me, the more grateful and attracted to you I became. I suppose once I attempted to return to you, I saw that you were no longer that man. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that some men really can change. I had never seen that before. The guys that treated me poorly are now treating other women poorly, so imagine my surprise when I saw how you revered your wife. And then, that surprise turned into jealousy. I won’t deny it, I wanted your wife’s life. I felt it belonged to me, that I’d put in the work, but I failed to understand that you’d changed. That meant your choice in women had also changed. You no longer wanted to be with someone like me, someone who is admittedly damaged. See…I did read your books :). I know you said I didn’t love you, that I just loved the twisted sex and the dysfunction, and that may be true as well, but I did love you, Saint. I still do.
When we spoke the last time, you stated that I wasn’t sorry for what I’d done to you. Though I still tell myself I had lost my mind that night, and it wasn’t really me, apparently it was. I am sorry for violating you in that way. It was a horrible thing to do, and there is no excuse for it. I can’t live with it. The more I grow and recover and heal, I just can’t deal with it, Saint. I cannot believe I did that to someone I love. Something so horrible. All I can do is to continue to apologize
and pray for forgiveness. I know I have no right to ask you for anything, but would you please not share what I did with anyone, please? I don’t know how Sinclair got the information, but he did and if he can get it, it means others can as well. That is the one thing I just can’t seem to face, but I can face the time that I have to spend in here.
I am now helping women here in prison, especially the ones that got framed or took a bit for a man who is free in the streets, while they are in here rotting. I am giving them legal advice and taking them step by step through the process. These women could have never afforded an attorney like me, and now, they have me at their disposal. It’s rather ironic, but I’m like a celebrity in here now. You wouldn’t believe it. I have plans for when I get out. I’m going to return to New York and take the little bit of savings that I have, and start a place for girls. A place where the inner city daughters can come and talk and have a safe haven. I can’t do that if I have a sex offender rap on me. So, that’s why am I asking you to please find a way to make sure that information doesn’t get out. As you may or may not know, I pleaded guilty, Saint. I deserve to be here. Not just because of the lies I told on you but because of what I did to you and your family. I do not feel sorry for myself, no pity at all. I’ll admit, initially I was afraid. I, of all people, know firsthand on what happens to some people in prison, but maybe God is looking over me. All I want to do is better my life and be a good example.
I don’t want anyone else to hurt like I did. I remember something else you said to me. You said, ‘Hurt people, hurt people.’ I now understand what that means. That’s what I did, and now, I have to hurt again, because two wrongs don’t make a right. I hope you can forgive me eventually, but if you can’t I understand. I have three years to serve, and I may get out in two if I stay out of trouble, and God willing, I will. When I first arrived here, I was in terrible shape. The inmates asked me, ‘What did you do?’ and I responded, ‘Fell in love with the wrong man.’ That answer is incorrect. The real answer is, ‘Fell out of love with myself.’
Speaking of God, Saint, I’m not sure what has occurred with your transformation. Initially, when we had our situation in front of your home, I thought you may have been demonically possessed. I don’t believe that anymore for a demonically possessed man would have surely killed me right then and there, and even after the false allegations I’d told the IRS, you still spared my life. I won’t say that I’m necessarily grateful for how you handled yourself with me, but I will say this: I always knew you were different from others, Saint, even with all the hell you took me through while we were together. That’s why I held on. I always knew you were odd too, and that made you all the more endearing and a magnet. Whatever it is, you seem to have come to terms with it as well. I will always love you. Nothing can change that. I believe you were my first true love, and will be my only love, but I know that you’ve made your choice, and it was the right one. I have accepted that fact. I can’t give you anything, but my wish for you is eternal peace and serenity. Why? Because that’s what you always said you wanted.
God Bless,
Payton Bishop
P.S. I got baptized last week.
~***~
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Yeah, man, the party is next week,” Saint said gruffly over the phone. He yawned and ran his hand along the back of his head.
“We are packing getting ready to move, but I’m going to try to come.”
Saint could hear the familiar noise of the city while Raphael moved about. He now had a franchise, five jewelry shops that he owned, one of which was in the heart of Queens. He was damn proud of the man.
“Raphael, if you don’t bring Latrice and the kids down here for this, your ass is mine!”
“You’re not in any position to demand shit after how you’ve disappeared off the radar. We hardly spend enough time together anymore. The damn Rainbeaus can kiss my ass!” Raphael laughed heartily.
Saint smirked. “I know, I know. But I miss you, man, and I need you here. It’s been a fuckin’ nightmare, and it’s time to party. Xenia and my schedule finally jived, and we are able to throw this shindig. It’s going to be out of this world. I’m talking catering, professional fireworks, performers, the whole nine, man!”
“Oh, shit! You’re doin’ it big, huh?”
“You’re damn straight. You can stay in the guesthouse, don’t even have to pay for a hotel. Oh…and guess who is getting married?”
“Who?”
“My dad, man.” Saint laughed.
“You’ve got to be shitting me! I’ve got to call him and tell him congrats. When is the wedding?”
“Not until next year, but I’m so happy for him. He called me and told me. You would have thought he was eight years old. He sounded just that excited.”
“Has he bought an engagement ring for her? I could hook him up.”
“Maaaan, you know my dad is too cheap to buy anything that you might have! You have a diamond ring for ten dollars?” Saint burst out laughing. “He probably found a piece of twine tied into a knot and said, ‘Here.’”
Both men hollered loud into their respective phones, their laughter blending as if they were face to face. After a while, they said their goodbyes and Saint glanced at the clock. It was almost seven at night. He still needed to look over some details regarding the next Rainbeau conference. He stretched his legs and before he knew it, he dozed off. A few moments later, he woke abruptly, looking around wild-eyed. His computer had made a loud ‘bing’ noise, startling him out of a series of odd dreams, alerting him of a new email.
Isis’ vision…
He grinned as he opened it up and saw the sender’s name: Fernando “Bomb” Martinez.
“Holy shit…” Saint covered his mouth, as if to tell himself to be quiet while he read the email:
Little Pharaoh!
This is the one and only, your big brother, Bomb. I believe you may have called to check in on me last week, but I was out. Anyway, things are going quite well. I did have one relapse. It is important that I’m honest with you. I had it two weeks after the last time I saw you. I don’t know why I did it, but I got sick right afterward and I was really disappointed in myself. But, I immediately turned around and got myself straight, man. I saw how you looked at me before you walked away. You were depending on me to not fuck up. You are one of the few people in the world I don’t want to let down but I know that I have to stay clean for myself, too. I hated you when you did that shit to me, locked me up in there. But after how good I feel, I know it was the only way. I had a tough, hard habit, and the only way for me to stop was for the treatment to be the same. I don’t type too much, so this has taken me like thirty minutes and I only got a few sentences down.
Saint smiled.
Anyway, the guy I’m training, his name is Juarez Quiroga. The man is a beast! You were right, he’s got raw talent but he is undisciplined. I think I can make him into a star. I fixed up my apartment here real nice. I haven’t had a decent crib like this in forever. It’s kinda small, but it’s clean and roach and rat free. Thank you for helping me get on my feet with all the clothes and food and everything. It helped a lot, especially since I didn’t get paid right away. I had to prove myself and I did. If you ever get the urge, you know where to find me. I’d love for you to see my guy fight. He has a bunch of them coming up. I attached the schedule to this email as well as a short video of me training him. One of the guys here had to show me how to do all of this. I don’t know anything about sending out any emails. I suppose I would have learned it fast if this was the only way cocaine could be bought. LOL
Saint shook his head.
I love you, man. You saved my life. You say that I saved yours, maybe I did, I don’t know, but it is really strange to be clean and sober this long. I see things in a whole different way. I thought it would be scary, and it is, but it ain’t so bad. It’s a good thing to be able to think clearly for a change. I still can’t bring myself to stay in counseling. One step at a
time, I suppose. He wants to do like you did, the one guy I went to. He wants me to talk about my mother. I’m not ready for that. I’d rather just leave it in the past, you know. That’s over with. Anyway, I’m leaving my cell number for you here, I just got it today. Please call me on it, no need to call the main office. Let me know how you are doing.
You will always be my little brother.
I love you, Little Pharaoh.
Sincerely,
Bomb
Saint rubbed the moisture away from his eyes and sucked his bottom lip to stop the slight tremble. He pulled up the video clip and sat back in his seat. Bomb looked amazing. He was still a thin son of a bitch, but he’d bulked up and had clearly defined muscles. His eyes were clear, not reddened and dull. His hair was silky and clean. His facial hair was trimmed up and Saint detected a new small tattoo on his right forearm. He zoomed in on it and paused the video. It was his name. ‘Little Pharaoh’ written in thick, black italics for the world to see…
Saint’s eyes brimmed over, but he managed to watch the whole six minute clip. The way Bomb commanded attention and demonstrated the punches, his ponytail bouncing around as he hit the bag so hard—it was like spitfire. He blocked all of Juarez’s punches and the old fart was still cooking with gas. This was what this man was supposed to be doing, directing all that fire and pain into something constructive. Bomb felt he’d only taken baby steps, but these were gigantic leaps of faith for the one person Bomb never trusted. Himself…
~***~
Xenia propped her feet up and crossed her ankles. She’d thrown one of the pillows toward the bottom of the bed and felt her body relaxing, finally, after a long day. The big party would happen tomorrow, and she’d spent most of the day going over the last details with the caterer, about twenty million times in her opinion. Saint was just as tired, if not more so. Raphael and his father had gotten into town, and he decided he’d take them all around, being Mr. Show-Off. Now it had caught up with him and he was sleeping so hard, he was actually snoring.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 82