Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! My bad.” She smiled, a sound veiled in a slight show of embarrassment. “I didn’t see a ring.” He looked down at his hand and sure enough, he’d forgotten to put his band back on after his shower.

  She blushed a bit, like a child who’d bent over and accidentally showed her panties to all the boys on the playground.

  “Nah.” He waved to her. “Forget about it!” He grinned sincerely. “No problem.”

  “Well, she…or he is a lucky person.” She winked.

  “I’m the lucky one, and she is as beautiful as that painting of yours that I just bought.” He pointed towards it once more. “Actually, it reminds me of us, and that’s why I want it.” He was up to conversation after all—hell, anything to remove him from pondering his dilemma was a sudden lifesaver. “Plus, it’s black and white…and so well done. You know, my nine-year-old son draws and paints, too. He’s really good. The funny thing is though, he doesn’t take it as seriously as he should. It’s like he has this talent, but doesn’t seem to really care. My wife and I didn’t even know how good he was until a couple of years ago when we found some sketches of his tucked away in his closet.”

  “It’s not his passion then.” She smiled as she drew a bit closer to him, her sweet perfume wafting past his nostrils, toying with him, making him inhale the air a bit harder on the sly.

  Saint nodded as he looked at the melted cityscape once more, temporarily disappearing from himself before he became even more tainted. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Whatever we love, we can’t help but be demonstrative about it,” she further explained. “No one has to remind us, or tell us, because it’s our second nature; it’s what we as artists do. Now sure, we may get burnt out or tired from time to time, but we never abandon it. It is in us to be attached at the hip to it, you know?”

  He loved how this woman spoke. She was definitely a true artist, down to her paint splattered covered core. What he treasured most was how she smelled. No, not her perfume, but her aura. She was a good person…seasoned with wisdom beyond her thirty-something years, and that made it all the worse for him.

  “Zaire?’

  “Yes?”

  “I’m going to purchase your painting, and hopefully never see you again.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped open at the perceived insult while her furrowed brows dipped, wrinkling the skin at the top of the bridge of her nose.

  “No, no, it’s not what you think. Let me explain.” Saint laughed lightly. “You see, I’m at this gallery right now, at this very second…” He pointed down towards the ground. “Because I’m having problems in my marriage. I am telling a complete stranger something so intimate, so troubling and personal. I love that woman, my wife, with all of my being. Unfortunately, at this moment, I’m made of flesh and blood, and that is hindering my thought process a bit. I will not bore you with the details, and if I were to elaborate, you’d find me to be some abnormal perverted person without any scruples, so I will spare you. But I will say this, you are an extremely attractive, no…beautiful…you are a beautiful woman and you are really going to go far in life.”

  “Well, thank you.” She smiled graciously.

  “What if I told you that you’d be travelling to Italy at this time next year, showcasing some of your work?” He smiled back at her, feasting off the energy they exchanged.

  “Honestly? I’d say you were full of crap.” She cackled and shrugged her shoulders.

  Saint laughed and nodded. “Well, it’s true. After tonight, we will never see each other again, but not only will you go to Italy, you will be featured in several international art magazines. Right now, you struggle to pay your rent because you left a good job to pursue your art full-time.”

  He watched as her smile slowly dissipated.

  “Right now, and please don’t be frightened, but I am telling you this so that you don’t give up—because I feel like you are on the brink of throwing in the towel, okay? You feel like you will have to go back to doing art part-time. So I’m going out on a tree limb if you will,”—she laughed a little at his pun—“and telling you some things that I simply know, and they will help you.”

  “Okay…” She cocked her head to the side, sighed and looked at him as if he were an escaped mental patient.

  “You can think I’m crazy all you want, but when it happens, you will remember me, and you will sit at your easel and cry and wonder how I knew… Now look.” He stepped closer to her, looking into her eyes. She was so open, there was no touching required. The woman wanted it, desired to know what was inside of his head. “Right now, you have two slices of bread in your refrigerator—the ends. No one likes the ends. You have a bag of lettuce, some Tropicana orange juice that you detest, but you had a coupon so you bought it anyway, and to prove to you I’m not some crazed stalker…” She stiffened up then, her eyes glossed over in fright. “I can tell you your dream this morning. This morning, you dreamt you’d sell that painting, the tree, because you painted it right after a horrible break-up with your fiancé. You didn’t want to see that painting ever again. The painting that has given you so much pain, yet is giving me so much pleasure and peace. It has grounded me, reminded me of what is important during this trying time in my life. In some strange way, you’ve helped my marriage. Your pain has helped soothe my heart tonight. I thank you for your sacrifice.”

  A slow tear ran down the woman’s satiny face.

  “How…how do you know all of this? Are you clairvoyant?’

  “Yes.” This time, he didn’t run from it. Saint didn’t hesitate to claim what he was, and what he was about. No, right then, he embraced this awesome truth.

  “Zaire, you will find love again. You will find it in Italy, with a photographer, when you go there next year for a second show. Initially, you won’t think he’s your type, but you two will fall madly in love and he will show you what it means to be treated like the Queen that you are. You’re a young woman on the go. Your soul is so pure, it is practically blinding me right now. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, so good, that if I’d tried to proposition you after admitting my marital status, you would have kindly told me ‘no, thank you’, and walked away. Unlike some people, you still respect other people’s unions, despite your own desires and wants.”

  The woman hung her head, smiling, as another tear rolled down her face.

  “Oh my goodness, what a strange night!” She laughed. “…And you’re right…you are so right…”

  “I’m flawed. I have to deal with myself accordingly. My body wants you, but my heart and mind do not. My body only wants you because it is starving; thus, I am at a weakened state right now, at this very moment. I know myself very well, Zaire, and though we just met, you’ve taught me a lot in just a matter of minutes. I am being tested, and I could have failed, but I stopped myself in the nick of time and told you the truth about my status, and how I feel about my wife. I love that woman more than myself.” His voice trembled as he rolled around in his own internal pain and turmoil. “I would never wish to hurt her, and I won’t. I’ve stood here and told you very personal things that are no one’s business, but I felt compelled. I’m telling you this because you have no idea what a challenge this was for me. I would have never approached or propositioned you, but then…you spoke to me. And in one split second, I thought about what it would be like to make love again…but…I need that tree.” His voice cracked as he pointed down the way.

  Suddenly, the woman grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the painting. They both stood there, staring at the damn thing, not speaking for what seemed like an eternity.

  “Tell me, odd stranger.” She cracked a grin as she pointed to it. “When you look at that woman, what do you see?”

  Saint swallowed and looked long and hard at it. “I see a woman in pain that needs me more than ever. I see a woman that is connected to me at the root, in her heart, but her body won’t cooperate because something within her soul has her all tangled up.” H
e took a deep breath, pushing away painful tears that threatened to fall. “I see a woman that loved me in spite of myself, and all of my issues. I see the roots of our family, the mother of our portion of the family tree. I see the mother of all civilization within her, within you… I see my Goddess…”

  He looked at Zaire and smiled sadly.

  “That’s beautiful. That’s powerful. And when you look at that man, what do you see?”

  “I see a confused, hurting, twisted up person who has demons, literal and figurative, trying to uproot him from his foundation. I see a man struggling to hold on to the only thing in his life that means a shit to him—his woman, his bride, his wife, his Queen…his everything. I uh,” he looked down at the floor for a moment then back up at the painting. “I see a man that has to stay grounded, no matter how hard the wind blows, how painful it feels, and how half of the branches are crumbling around him. They may not have any fruit right now, but I have to have faith that one day, the pears, cherries and apples will reappear. That’s…that’s what I see.”

  And there he was now, sniffing and feeling like a damn fool as a few tears trailed down his cheeks. At the same time, it felt good to unleash, to let it go, to relax.

  “This painting is definitely for you…” She took his hand once more and squeezed it. “May I ask your name?”

  “Yes. My name is Saint.”

  “Oh wow, I love that. How unusual.”

  Saint smiled sorrowfully and looked down at the ground.

  “I almost just want to give this to you!” She chuckled. “And I would if my damn rent wasn’t overdue, just like you said.”

  “Ahhh, yes!” He laughed. “Let’s take care of that little matter, shall we?” He broke her grasp and walked back to the front of the exhibit, finding the hostess.

  “I’d like to go ahead and proceed with purchasing that painting.” He whispered.

  “Of course!” The woman turned towards him, then her eyes met Zaire’s. “And I see you had the rare treat to talk to the artist! Zaire, what are you doing here at this hour, sweetie?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Tabitha. I just…” She shrugged. “I was bored and decided to come in here. I think it was meant to be though.” She turned towards Saint and winked at him.

  “Mmmmm.” Tabitha looked at them with a mischievous grin. “A love connection, maybe?” she teased as she scrolled through her phone.

  “Yes,” Saint interjected. “But not with one another…”

  Tabitha threw him a confused look, but continued scrolling through her iPhone.

  “Okay, here it is. Do you have your credit card? I can run it through my phone.”

  “Yeah…” He grabbed his coat and slid it back on, then removed his wallet from the inside pocket and handed the woman his credit card. “Funny how I could remember my wallet, but not my ring… Must’ve been some Freudian slip,” he mumbled as he shook his head in disgust, clearly disappointed with his earlier actions. Despite that, he was glad he’d done the right thing. It could have ended so much differently, and the enticement was so great, he almost lost his shit right then and there. He almost said he wasn’t married. He almost pretended Xenia didn’t exist. His cock had swelled so thick and long in his damn jeans, there was no question in his mind he would have fucked Zaire ten ways ’til Sunday had he not been madly in love with Xenia. For on that evening, the artist was lonely and in need, too.

  He realized, right after he got control of himself, that this very scenario was the thing Xenia feared most. Why she’d been so damn insistent about having sex earlier. Why she wanted to push through it and let him have her, even though she was dying inside as he attempted to make love to her. That was why she’d turned away and cried, because deep down, she knew who her husband was, even better than he knew himself. He never thought in a million years he’d be tempted to sleep with another woman, but the Devil came to him in his debilitated state, and used exactly the sort of lady he’d fall for in such a situation—and to make it that much worse, she was smart, talented, well spoken, relaxed, and open to the encounter if he’d lied.

  Saint found himself in a cage made of shattered glass, bloodied with his attempts to escape his prison. He lived his life accepting who he was, but Xenia not only accepted it, she predicted what could happen if she didn’t allow him to have her body—for he was a sex addict, a man in desperate need of physical attention. And for this to happen, had he caved, listened to his lower vibration, it would have destroyed them, singlehandedly, and he’d have no one to blame but himself. He couldn’t have that…couldn’t risk the woman he loved more than anything in the world for one night of regretful adultery. No one could compare to Xenia, and there was no use in trying to find a surrogate. No. Zaire was someone else’s Queen; he already had his own…

  “Uh, Zaire, do you have any more pieces here?” he asked as Tabitha disappeared into a back room to write him out a receipt.

  “I have one more.”

  “Can you show it to me?”

  “Yeah, follow me.” She smiled sweetly as they made their way to another end of the gallery, an area he hadn’t gotten to yet.

  “Hmmm, why is it way over here instead of with your other painting?’

  “Oh, well, they like to space stuff out. They think it’s better for sales.”

  “Okay, I see.” He nodded in understanding.

  Then, she pointed to the masterpiece. In her painting style, she’d rendered a portrait of an old man sitting on a lopsided, rickety porch, drinking what appeared to be a mason jar filled with homemade lemonade.

  …I bet it’s honey lemonade, like the kind my baby makes…

  “Oh, man.” Saint chuckled. “This reminds me of a dream I had. I gotta have this one too, now. Your work really speaks to me, Zaire. How much is it?”

  It didn’t matter; he wanted to pay the woman’s rent, help her out a bit and give her a ‘thank you’ for helping him in a way she was totally unaware of.

  “For you, it’s two hundred dollars.”

  “No. I want to pay full price. You need it. You earned it. This painting is not really of an old man—it’s a painting of your soul. Sometimes you just want to be free, to be someone else, with not a care in the world.”

  “You’re doing it again. You really are psychic, oh my goodness. Stop it, it makes me feel weird.” She laughed lightly, causing him to do the same.

  “Okay, I’ll stop. But I want the retail price.”

  “If you insist,” she huffed. “It’s three hundred and fifty dollars.”

  Tabitha soon found them and Saint pointed at the thing.

  “Please add this to my bill, and add on another three hundred dollars, please… She needs groceries, too.”

  Both women gasped.

  “Um, okay, sure!” Tabitha jumped up and down gleefully on Zaire’s behalf.

  After a few moments, he signed the forms to have the artwork delivered to his house. As he walked towards the glass door to exit, desperately wanting to get his hands around Xenia, he disappeared in his own thoughts for a spell. He needed to hold her tight in a warm embrace, even if it sickened her, and tell her how much he loved the hell out of her, and that was what he planned to do as soon as he stepped inside of his home. Zaire called out to him before he exited.

  “Thank you so much, Saint. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He paused and looked back at her.

  “Same to you, Zaire. Can you do me one favor?”

  “Yes?” She smiled wider, her arm around Tabitha’s shoulders as they both glared at him in astonishment.

  “One day, before you put down your artist brush for the last time, I want you to paint something about the love a man has for a woman, even when she can’t love him the way he needs. I want you to…” He turned and looked out the doors, into the steely, icy night, seeing a few people moseying about, here and there. Then he turned back to her. “I want you to paint something about them surviving that…about them growing strong and upright. I want to see an assortment of fru
it on that tree in the form of their children, their hopes and dreams coming to fruition. I want to see that couple not straining at the roots, but securely grounded. Can you do that for me?”

  “Not only can I do it, I’m inspired. And…after I’m finished, if you don’t mind, I just may have it mailed to you.”

  He nodded, then walked out the door, almost flying home, wanting nothing more than to kiss his baby’s tears away…

  *

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Xenia was ecstatic, over the moon and through the damp, flower-covered valley now that the damn show was over. One of the most obnoxious, nerve grating rappers she’d ever encountered had worked her nerves down to the nub. He was a popular guy and he knew it. Fame had caught him at a very young age, and the fool didn’t know how to act. She’d questioned him about the derogatory lyrics in some of his songs and he gave the canned answer, ‘If you ain’t a gold-diggin’ bitch, then tha shit don’t apply to you…’

  Oh, how she’d wanted to knock his silly, childish, non-talent having ass into the middle of next week. Her patience as of late had worn so short, it was barely visible, and this fella wore her out. Between the glare of his gold teeth, encrusted with diamonds bouncing under the lights almost blinding her, to the nasty way he rolled his tongue when he spoke, she’d had more than enough. She had to smile through the shit, and was just thrilled to be leaving for the day.