Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “Yeah.” He paused, fighting sleep harder than a prized fighter now. “I suppose I did. Won’t you tell me?” He slowly opened his eyes, and she squealed in excitement to see they were in fact still her favorite color.

  “How long will that last?” She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.

  “Mmmm.” He shrugged. “Not sure. I could force it I suppose, maybe another ten or so minutes. The burn is waning.” His voice became groggier and groggier with each word uttered.

  “How’d you do that? Command it?”

  “I know you’ll…” he yawned loudly in her ear, causing her to grimace, “…think I’m bullshittin’, but I’m not a hundred percent sure. I was just thinking about how you like purple, and how I wanted you to see what you love. I just wanted to make you happy because I know you’re worried. Didn’t know it would happen actually. I don’t think they’ve ever been purple before.”

  “I don’t think so either… You really should see this Saint, they are so gorgeous…and they glow!”

  He slowly sat up, released her from his chokehold, then got to his feet. With each stumbling step he took, his butt muscles clenched, just like they did when he would make love to her in a vigorous way. She loved his ass…

  He approached the wall with the mirrors and turned his head from side to side, running his hand over his angular jaw.

  “Yeah, that’s something else.”

  He smiled, but did not seem as impressed as she was with the whole display. She got to her feet and joined him, stood on her tippy toes and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He smiled down at her, like she was his favorite treasure in the whole world. She sure felt like it as he tenderly caressed her lower back. Reaching a bit higher, she pressed her lips softly into his while cupping his cheeks with both hands. The slight roughness of his face made her stomach jump. He had a bit of stubble, barely visible but his hair grew so quickly, her hands grew accustomed to the occasional roughness. And she liked it.

  “I’m going to be okay, honey. We’ll be okay. It’s going to be good for you and us as a family.”

  “Xenia, don’t just go saying that because—”

  “No, I’m serious. It’s time for a new chapter. Who can live their lives afraid of taking risks? We’d get nowhere. We’d never grow, experience new things. That’s no way to live. Besides, this wasn’t spur of the moment. I know you’ve felt this way for a long time. I’m in the business of pushing you forward into the light. I would never hold you back.”

  His eyes lit up unbelievably brighter, giving her a purple extravaganza, a deific spectacle, while she reveled in sweet relief when he gathered her tighter in his strong arms.

  …And besides, wherever Saint was, went and would be, that was home for Xenia…for the man had owned her heart from the moment he’d claimed her as his own…

  *

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you, mothafucka. I don’t want that shit!”

  “What’s wrong with it?!” Jagger protested as he shoved the floppy, microwaved paper plate full of food in Saint’s direction once more, offering it now for the second time around.

  “That’s a struggle plate.”

  “A struggle what?” Jagger’s brows dipped and his mouth twisted to the side, as if he were hearing gibberish.

  Saint waved his hand at him and shook his head as he moved around his office among taped up cardboard boxes and the smell of fresh cleaning that competed with the lingering scent of Cuban cigars.

  “You know.” He got down on his hands and knees, trying to find the pen that had rolled away under his desk. “Some shit people throw together when there isn’t much in the house. Like a fruit loop casserole or wieners chopped up over some damn rice with shredded cheese. Whatever the fuck that is on that damn plate, I’d rather starve. It looks like Isis’ play dough balls with little raisins stuck in it ’nd shit.”

  “But you said you were hungry! Traci made this, it was my lunch.”

  “What she call it?” Saint stood, clicked his favorite ink pen to ensure it was still in working order, and smirked. “Upchuck surprise?”

  “Shut up, Saint.” Jagger rolled his eyes. He cracked up laughing.

  “I don’t know how you can stand it, man. You know I love Traci…just keep her non-cookin’ ass away from the stove. And she had the nerve to joke about me and my lack of culinary skills at my family and friends picnic last year!”

  “The one where your mother-in-law told Xenia’s father that—”

  “Yes! That one.” Saint cut him off at the pass, having no desire to relive the dreadful experience. “Now isn’t this something? At least I know I can’t cook, her ass is in denial. What the hell is that anyway?” Saint was kinda mad about this shit. He hadn’t had a chance to go out for lunch; Jagger said his wife had thrown down and he could share and the bastard waltzed in with a plate of sautéed Mr. Bill from Saturday Night Live.

  OHHHHH NOOOOOO!

  “It’s mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, creamed corn and grilled chicken.”

  “Like hell it is! You better call an intervention, man. Everybody duck! Traci has a skillet and she don’t know how to use it!” Saint cackled, causing Jagger to grimace and roll his bright, blue eyes. “Hide ya kids, hide ya wives and ya husbands, ’cause Traci food poisonin’ everybody out here! Antoine Dodson sponsored that promo I just gave ya!”

  “Look.” Jagger waved his hand in Saint’s direction as if he were about to throw a football. “My wife can cook, alright!” Jagger defended, going down a road that Saint was more than willing to travel right along with him, for it would render nothing less than shits and giggles.

  “Can she?” Saint taunted, his eyes growing small as he continued to chortle. “Make sure next time Traci cooks, Jagger, that Hasbro sends her the well deserved royalty checks. She out here feedin’ grown ass men clay ’nd shit!”

  “It’s not clay, it’s food!”

  This only made Saint laugh even harder—just the stress relief he needed.

  “She spun this shit on one of those wheels they make in pottery class, didn’t she man?! She said shiiiiiit, let me go on ahead and make my man some food while I’m here in class.” Saint’s knees about gave in, his legs limp from picturing Traci sitting behind a pottery wheel and making dinner. “Wait, let me be fair, she made that shit on an easy bake oven, didn’t she? Wait! Wait! I know!”

  “That’s enough, Saint.” Jagger wasn’t amused.

  “Don’t they have like those little fake pasta machines where you can make play dough spaghetti ’nd shit?! Isis has one! That’s what the hell Traci did!” Saint couldn’t stop laughing; it was just too damn funny for him to let the shit go.

  “You fucker,” Jagger said under his breath as he drew closer and set the plate down on the desk. Saint looked down at it, feeling again the urge to say something smart about the shit now being on his wooden maiden, but resisted.

  “Man, all jokes aside…” Saint looked at Jagger earnestly, his heart beating a bit faster as gratitude made itself comfy in the blood-pumping vessel. “I really appreciate you makin’ this move with me. It means a lot.”

  Jagger and Saint slapped hands.

  “You know I’m there for you. I was just taken by surprise is all. I don’t like surprises.” He smirked. “Anyway, I’ve got your back, Saint. This is what we’re about.” He rolled his thick, muscular neck and cracked his knuckles.

  “Yeah, that is what we’re about, and I’m glad you’re in my camp.”

  “Your clique.” Jagger grinned. Saint had played Kanye West’s song, ‘Clique’ in honor of him and Lawrence one evening when the three had an after work private meeting in his office. Jagger stated he didn’t care for rap music too much, but that song really got his head bobbing.

  “Yeah,” Saint nodded. “My clique… I love you, man.”

  “Yeah?” Jagger smirked. “Then try Traci’s food.”

  “Awwww hell naw!” Saint looked down at the damn thing in disgust. “You’ll just have to t
ake my word for it!”

  “I have a confession. She really wanted you to try it, and I need you to at least taste it. Come on, Saint!” Jagger offered a taunting grin. He picked up the plate and moved around the desk, forcing Saint into a corner.

  “Get it away!” Saint screamed in a shrill voice, covering his face with both arms as if he were under attack. “I need some crucifixes, some garlic and oregano, a stake, some holy water ’nd shit for that damn struggle plate!” Both men burst out laughing. “I rebuke your wife’s cookin’ in the name of Chef Boyardee!”

  “You’re a lost cause.” Jagger laughed and let him go, returning to where he was standing moments ago.

  Saint took a look around the place. He wouldn’t be in L.A. much longer; New York demanded he come home. When mamas called their adult children to the house after a long hiatus, it was for one thing, and one thing only—someone important was sick. In this case, he wasn’t sure what or who was ailing, but he knew he was expected to be the elixir. Only problem was, he wasn’t that kind of doctor, but nevertheless, he’d be on call…

  *

  The entire situation was rather surreal. Saint stood before the front door, in a fog. The hardwood floor beneath his feet mirrored his stiff-muscled reflection as he watched walrus gray painter-suit clad men from the moving company haul heavily draped items from their L.A. home, everything swathed in layers of thick plastic and twisty ropes with latches. The guys carefully navigated huge chairs and long imported sofas past him, through the foyer, then to various rooms as directed. Xenia pranced around inside, dressed in a light blue jogging suit and her hair in one of the most adorable kinky buns he’d ever seen her wear. She’d wrapped a silk bandana snugly around the dark mass, and ringlets hung right above her right eye as she bounced about, telling the movers where to put this and that. Her voice echoed in the high-ceilinged, empty rooms—carried around like a bird with a sweet tune.

  Taking another swig from his glass bottle of chilled root beer, he breathed in the fragrant air.

  I’m really here… I’m home.

  Getting off the front stoop, he grabbed his cell phone from his jeans pocket. He nodded at a man passing him by, a big bear of a guy hugging one of Xenia’s beloved Tiffany lamps, then took a seat out of the way near a stack of cardboard boxes with hand-written stickers detailing their contents. Picking at one, he peeled the corner slowly from one container and drifted into a myriad of daydreams, until the phone rang.

  “Yo Jagger, what’s up, man?” He sank back in his seat and stared into space.

  “At the juice bar, it’s breakfast break. How is the move going?”

  “I miss those smoothies already, man. Damn.” Saint shook his head, resolving himself to the title of ‘unsatisfied.’ “This root beer is kinda flat.” He set the bottle on a nearby box with a look of disappointment, as if let down by a close friend. “Things are pretty damn good, actually. I believe I found a place for you guys, for the Rainbeaus.”

  “Oh really?” Jagger said, his tone piqued.

  “Yeah, there is this nine story building over on Lexington Avenue that has come up for purchase.” Saint leisurely scratched his ankle. The elastic from his sock was leaving indentations, offending his sensitive skin. “It used to be a department store. There is a rent option as well but we don’t want that, because then people could come inside that we don’t approve first. The more private areas, would be too far out of the way for you guys to get to, so this is a compromise. Like I said, the rules are a bit different here, and there is a lack of complete seclusion. I found out that if we were designed as a credit agency versus a bank, we’d be better off here. The rules are more lax for the agency. The L.A. set up will stay as is, but this will work well for the new location.”

  “So now you own a bank and a credit agency?”

  “Of course…someone has to.” Saint chuckled. “Anyway, my mother-in-law should be here soon. She has the kids and is bringing them tomorrow. We wanted to get their rooms at least half way set up first, you know, so they’d have an actual bed to sleep in.”

  “Yeah, I can understand that. That was awfully nice of her.”

  “Yeah, it was. We were going to bring them, but she volunteered, so…” He shrugged. “We figured why not? Plus, she said she wanted to visit New York again. She hasn’t been here since she was in her twenties. Porsche is coming down with her, too. There isn’t any way she could handle all three of them during travel by herself.” Saint grinned.

  “You sound more New-Yorker already,” Jagger teased. “Oh, it’s my turn, hold on. Yeah, let me get a mean, green banana machine, please… Yeah, the one with kale, banana and green apple…thanks.”

  “Oh, you on your healthcare kick again, huh? Those green smoothies are the bomb! I gotta make sure we have a smoothie and juice bar here, too… I’m spoiled now. I went to this one damn place, man, tryna get some, thinking it would be up to par. Man, the stuff tasted like a shit soufflé.” Jagger burst out laughing on the other end.

  “This is the only reason I come to work,” Jagger joked as he slurped nosily through a straw.

  Saint heard the big man’s footsteps against the floor, the surrounding voices growing quieter and quieter as he no doubt made his way back to the elevator. “You okay?” The strong, sucking noise came to an abrupt halt when the unmistakable sounds of Jagger punching in his code to get to his floor came through.

  “I feel a bit out of sorts I suppose.” Saint sighed as he glanced towards the vast bay window, devoid of window treatments as of yet. A few people walked the sidewalks, their steps quick and urgent, their faces full of determination. “Today is bittersweet. When you and Lawrence get here, I want to take you around.”

  “I’d imagine it is a bit emotional for you, Boss. I’d like to see where you grew up and all of that. I’ve been looking at houses online, so has Lawrence.”

  “Good, just keep in mind what I told you both about some areas. My real estate agent is ready for you.”

  “Yeah, Traci has her eye on this brownstone in Brooklyn, so we’ll see. Can you believe Donna actually wants to move there?” Jagger clucked. “That was an unexpected turn of events, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yeah, it worked out well, didn’t it?” Saint was distracted by Xenia shuffling towards him, tossing a large, white garbage bag down by his feet. “Hold up, Jagger.” Raising an eyebrow, he pushed the phone away from his ear and covered the receiver with his palm. “Baby, what are you doing? What’s this?”

  “This is yours,” she huffed, out of breath, her hands on her hips. A small sprinkling of sweat beads lined her exposed hairline. “It’s a bunch of laundry that had been in the dryer on the day of the move. I didn’t have any more time to get it packed up, so I just tossed it in here.”

  Saint peered cautiously in the bag, as if a serpent may be inside, catching several pairs of socks, white tank tops, and jeans. Xenia had gotten into the spirit of practical jokes as of late, but this time, he’d be prepared. He soon discovered the woman was telling the truth.

  “Why didn’t you just have the guys put it in our bedroom?” he asked.

  “Because I wasn’t even sure you were keeping these. You said you wanted to drop some things off at the free store…didn’t know if you were just washing them first.” She turned away from him, her eyes now focused on the scenes playing outside the window. “Mama called, she’ll be here tomorrow around two.” Then, before Saint could say much more, Xenia disappeared, leaving the bag at his feet. She appeared distracted, lost in a world of thoughts. He made a mental note to get her alone soon, have a little chat.

  “Hey Jagger, sorry about that. Well, I don’t have much else to say…” He ran his hand over his face, exhaustion making him contemplate a quick catnap, right then and there.

  “Alright.” Jagger slurped loudly through the straw. “Oh, one more thing. Remember how you said the city called you, pulled you in?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, I know you thought it was just lip serv
ice from me, especially after the three of us got into it in the conference room a while back, but not only do I support you, I believe you now.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Well, I’m feeling it, too. It’s you though, man, you’ve got to do it, but I know I’m supposed to be there with you. I know it in my heart, no doubts. What I don’t like is that if you need me there, how I am picking it up now? It means we are going to get into some serious shit, something is about to go down. Regardless, I’ll be there…and together, we’ll take care of business. I won’t let you down.”

  “Thank you so much, Jagger.” Saint ran his hand anxiously over his knee, the words giving comfort and apprehension, all at once. “That really means a lot.”

  They’d now had two conversations in which the man vowed his support. That surely had to mean something, and whatever it meant, it worried Saint something awful.

  Is this going to be so bad that… never mind.

  “Well, I’m in my office now and will be here for most of the day. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will, thanks.” Saint disconnected the call, exhaled and pushed the plastic bag open a bit further. There, in the middle of it, was one of Isis’ shirts. He reached down and clutched it, running his thumb over the teal and hot pink material. He smiled ever so slightly, and then a bit more as he continued to feel the thin cotton between the grasp of his fingers, missing the little girl so much. In that moment, he felt compelled to carve out some special ‘father-daughter’ time for her once she arrived.

  I’ll take her to the park…on the Ferris wheel. I can take her to the Metropolitan Children’s Museum of Art, too…just me and her. That might be too grown for her though… I’ll take Dakarai there instead. Yeah… We can end the day at the toy store and ice cream parlor. Or maybe, she can finally have the city ice cream truck experience that I used to live for as a kid. Yeah…just me and my little princess.