Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  I wonder who Hassani is talking to?

  Saint brought his attention back to Jagger for a moment after taking the survey of the room. He handed Jagger and Lawrence a glass of champagne. After raising their goblets in the air, they tipped their heads back, downing the alcohol, taking it to the head.

  “It’ll be midnight in fifteen minutes. We’ll have to do it big!” Saint laughed as he peered at the time on his entertainment center. “A baby, turn on the T.V., put it on mute until it’s time.” Normally, Saint would have made his way down to Time Square since he was back in his home town, but he wanted the children to be a part of the evening, too, so that simply wouldn’t do.

  Can’t have the babies out in the cold…

  He was itching for a cigar, but knew he’d get to wrap his lips around one later. There was a full bodied, Cohiba Siglo VI Cuban cigar sitting on his study desk behind locked wooden doors. Next to that unwrapped cigar stood a bottle of Ardbeg 17. Yes, it had his name written all over it. He couldn’t wait to pour the smooth, clear liquor over a handful of damn ice cubes and taste that ambrosia from the heavens. He placed a fresh glass of champagne to his lips, tilted his head back and took a small swallow of his drink. Just then, he picked up his Queen’s aroma as she pirouetted around him, bumping her hip next to his in seductive ways.

  Xenia is tipsy as fuck… I’m going to have to give her this long and stiff stick tonight, make her ass become fully alert!

  He smirked at the notion, knowing he’d bring it to fruition.

  “You been drinkin’, baby?” he teased.

  She nodded and winked, her short, sparkling black dress gleaming under the lights and her tiny ‘New Years Eve’ hat bobbing about on her head. She swayed across the way to turn on the television at his request.

  “Alright everyone!” He clapped his hands. “In seven minutes, it’ll be midnight so make sure you are close to your honey when the clock strikes twelve. Kids, everyone has their juice box, right?” All of the children nodded except Justice and Angel, who rolled his eyes, still pissed Saint handing him a thing of Juicy Juice instead of letting him get a taste of that Dom. “Great. Hassani, I don’t know who you are talking to, but tell them goodnight.”

  Hassani nodded, whispered some more then hung up the phone.

  Saint walked over to Roman and sat on the arm of the couch. “So glad you could come.”

  “Of course, Saint. Thanks for inviting us. We don’t have any other family here…didn’t have anything planned.”

  “Yeah, my father actually decided to stay in tonight and have a romantic meal with my stepmother, but other than that, and my friend Raphael who is more like a brother, I’m pretty much in the same boat. Most of my family is still in Egypt and Korea, so…” Saint shrugged. “You just do the best you can, you know?”

  Roman nodded in agreement while Saint got back to his feet.

  “Can I get you anything, Dove?” He smiled at Roman’s wife, and their adorable daughter. “What about you too, sweetie?”

  The little eight-year-old girl blushed, showing her snaggle teeth while she pumped her legs in white stockings and black patent leather shoes. “I have my grape juice, thank you.”

  “Saint, this champagne Xenia gave me is fine. I still have half a glass.” Dove held up her glass as if to give a toast and grinned.

  “Cool, cool. Okay, when that clock strikes twelve, Roman, I want to hear you make some noise.” They both laughed at that, then Saint made his way over to other guests in the crowd.

  Hassani meandered over to the table like some vulture, picking and prodding the cheese and fruit trays until they had little to nothing left. He clutched a tiny red napkin holding a double stuffed green olive on a toothpick, and made his rounds, eating up everything in sight. Before he could get past his father, Saint clutched his shoulder and reared him back.

  “Who were you on the phone with?”

  “Can’t a guy get any privacy?!”

  Saint didn’t know whether to go off or burst out laughing. He looked the boy up and down. “Now, I could tell you what your grandfather used to tell me. He’d say, ‘When you start paying some bills around here, that’s when your personal life will be off limits.’ As for you, it doesn’t matter the reason, the answer is, ‘Not right now.’ So, who is was she?” He grinned, a sparkle in his eye. “You sure move fast. You were all in love with the little peanut-butter-colored girl with the freckles back in L.A. Heartbroken when we had to move, now here you are, onto other conquests.”

  “Well.” Hassani shrugged. “Life goes on.”

  At that, Saint truly did do a tummy roll. “What’s her name?”

  Hassani smiled, blushed and turned away then popped the olive in his mouth. He went to town chewing on it, giving it what for, as if he hadn’t eaten a damn thing all night. “Melanie…”

  “Melanie, huh? Does she go to your school?”

  “Mmmm hmmm. She’s in art with me.” Hassani couldn’t smack his own grin off his face if he’d tried.

  “How old is she?”

  “Is this an interview, Dad?” The boy twisted his lips to the side and tightened his hold on his juice box.

  Saint threw up his hands in shock. “What? You don’t want to tell me about her?”

  “It’s not that, it’s just that if I tell you, then you’ll keep askin’ me about her later and if we break up, and I feel bad about it, then you’ll try to give me a pep talk and den when I try to go ’nd get wit’ someone else, you’ll tell me again that I moved on fast. I just don’t want you to think I’m a player is all, even though I crush a lot.”

  Saint could not believe his ears. He shot Angel a vexed look but the little slithering snake had his back to him, and was now sliming his way towards Xenia.

  It’s him. He’s the one that’s been teaching Hassani all this bullshit.

  The boy looked over his shoulder, his eyes hooded. He then winked and grinned, causing his dimples to once again appear, making him look like the angelic demon that he was.

  “Angel is a bad influence on you. You never used to talk like this.”

  “See?!” Hassani pouted. “He said you’d be like this. What if the shoe was on the other foot?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?” Saint bent towards the table and plucked a wimpy pickle spear from a silver tray.

  “What if you were in my shoes? Wouldn’t you be afraid to tell you?’

  “What if I was in your shoes? The shoes I paid two hundred dollars for?!” He pointed to his chest while the pickle spear hung half way out of his mouth. He then spit the damn thing out into a napkin and tossed it aside. “I’d be a lucky son of a gun, that is what I’d be goddamn it but better yet, what if my shoe was in that boy’s ass, huh?! That’s the damn question you need to be asking! Talking about you ain’t a playa you just crush a lot! Yo’ damn nuts aint even dropped! You aren’t crushin’ shit but that food in your mouth and another thing—”

  “Saint!” Xenia marched towards him and pointed at the clock on the television. She grabbed the remote control and took the thing off mute.

  “Here it comes!” Saint yelled out, prompting everyone over the age of eight to begin the countdown. “Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Haaaaappppy Neeewww Year!” everyone screamed. Saint grabbed Xenia around the waist and fastened her to his body so tightly, there was barely room for even the two of them. Looking down into her dark, soulful eyes that glimmered just so under the light, his fingertips couldn’t help but roam the upper portion of her ass, hiking her dress up just a bit as he massaged her soft flesh.

  “Happy New Year, baby! I love the shit outta you!” He pressed his lips to hers, making her moan a bit, whimper, go limp as he pushed his tongue inside of her mouth. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, he forced himself to cut it short. When he did so, he realized all the other couples were kissing too, minus the children who looked at the crowd of adults in sheer disgust.

  “Oh my God! Get uh room!” Hassani barked as he turned back
towards the television, his arms crossed in anger. This caused an uproar of laughter and soon, small talk ensued. Baby Justice awoke from all the commotion and Isis remained sound asleep on a neighboring couch, a light snore coming out her pouty, pink lips.

  Saint excused himself and made his way to the foyer to take a gander out the large bay window. Yeah, the bay window that Xenia coveted. The one she wanted so badly and fell in love with at first sight. Closed windows were interesting things. They let you see glimpses of the world, but blocked everything from entering. Saint placed his hand along the cool glass after partially opening the curtains. Manhattan that evening seemed much like a snow globe. It still struck him as a bit surreal that he was back home, back to where it all started, back to his roots, where he belonged. People moved about, some in dressy clothing, some in regular threads, but everyone had a story to tell, a reason for the season.

  He dropped his head and said a silent prayer, thanking his Creator for giving him the life he had, the Queen in his world, his beautiful seeds and his family that gave abundant love, three hundred and sixty five days of the year. Then, like the softest of snowflakes, the back of his neck was inundated with soft kisses, and warm arms wrapped around his hips.

  He clinched Xenia’s hands with his own as she gently gravitated to his front and laid her head on his torso. In that moment, as he continued to look out the window, he realized that yes, windows are truly miraculous creations. You can see out of them, and when the world appears static and certain through the guise of glass, you question reality’s layout. Is this how the world truly looks? In a world of confusion, everyone needs that one person that is encouraging, and equally realistic. A Goddess, a true Queen, will always keep you grounded in reality, and most of all, like the windows of the world, what you reflect into their hearts will be reflected back into yours, ten times over…

  *

  Chapter Forty-Two

  A few days later…

  Saint sat in the study in his home with a soft blaze warming the room. It was Sunday, 5:17 P.M., and dinner would be ready soon. Xenia had baked a rotisserie chicken, and the smell made his stomach warble in voracious anticipation. The aroma of sweet, glazed carrots, buttery cornbread, French cut string beans with almonds and home-made rice pilaf caused his mouth to water and wonder about the size of his helpings. Will I get enough?

  This is what I get for not eating lunch…

  He picked up his glass of water and took a hearty sip, then set it back down. He’d been so busy earlier in the day running errands, he simply hadn’t taken the time to grab a light lunch or anything substantial at all.

  Moreover, he looked forward to this meal all the more because Xenia had an important meeting early Monday morning at the station, so they wouldn’t be having breakfast together. Instead, it would just be him and the children until the nanny took them off to school and he drove to the credit union, also known as the Rainbeau Knight Headquarters, now officially moved to New York. The L.A. office was still running strong, and the blessing was, the transition proved much smoother than initially surmised. Over the past few days though, he’d had a lot of time to think.

  He’d taken some days off for the holiday season, as well as to decompress after what he and his family had endured. It was time to slow down and smell the roses. He realized the other day, as he casually watched Dakarai reading a book about ancient Egypt, his boys needed a word from him, just as much as Isis.

  Hassani was changing and growing every second into a person that, in some respects, Saint knew all too well. He recognized much of himself inside of his son and at other times, Hassani seemed a foreign entity, forging ahead in life and trying to make choices about who he was, to determine and live according to his convictions. This would be an ongoing process, because a wise student of life never graduates. There is no degree to obtain, no ceremony to culminate the end of the learning and testing progression. Life is a college, and the day you graduate is the day you die, for each twenty-four hour period is a class, some of which will be passed with flying Rainbeau colors, others one will fail abysmally. Saint removed a pad of paper from his office drawer. The smell of the rich wood wafted past his nostrils as he closed the thing back. Plopping the white notebook on the desk, he opened it up to a clean sheet. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, picked up his black ink pen and began to write:

  To my sons, Hassani and Dakarai,

  Today is January 3rd. The holidays have just passed, and we’ve been in New York for less than a year. Thus far, we’ve encountered our share of growing troubles, aches, and heartbreak. We’ve also endured, gathering strength, fortitude, a sense of family and togetherness, and the understanding that the weakest link sometimes is ourselves. By the time you read this, you both will more than likely be teenagers. I debated on writing you each a separate one, but realized that I would tell you each similar things, so it would be futile and pointless. Of course, my advice to my children is tailored to your individual personalities and particular desires and well-being; however, I pride myself on being consistent and reliable both in my business dealings and in my most important roles of all, those of a husband and father.

  Just so you are aware, I have written Isis a letter as well. Hers was separate from yours because my advice, confessions and words to her had to be a little different from the message I have for the two of you. Now, I pray that, when you are reading this, I am still alive. I had a beautiful dream one afternoon, which alluded to the possibility that I would be though you never know, sometimes my dreams are not premonitions but simply what they are to many people: dreams that will not aid, change or predict the future. Either way, I’m glad that you have this in your possession, because I want to talk to you two young men about me, your father. I want to get candid with you, just as I have done your entire lives. To me, the ultimate expression of love revolves around honesty and compassion. I have handwritten the letters to place a bit of my own spirit into them. There is something about sitting down and using a pen and paper that evokes an old-school nostalgia, but also allows you to see a bit more of my personality, if you are the perceptive sort. Now, let’s begin.

  Hassani, I show no favoritism towards my children. However, you are my first born, and that fact alone holds a special place in my heart. You are the first child that I ever created and watched enter the world. I know this for a fact because one of my gifts, which I discovered right after you were conceived, is that I know almost immediately when I’ve procreated. Xenia and I were not married long when you were fashioned inside of your mother’s womb. I will be honest with you, Hassani. I was not initially mentally prepared for fatherhood right before you were created. There were some things going on that involved my life being in jeopardy, and all of that caused me to give pause when faced with such a role. Still, I did want children, and I knew your mother was the perfect woman for me to have them with, although the timing was an issue.

  After the threat to my life was resolved, I immediately let your mother have her greatest desire, and that was to bring a baby into the world. While you grew within her, I discovered that I could love even deeper than I could ever imagine. Though I hadn’t seen or held you yet in my arms, I could feel your very soul when I’d place my hand on your mother’s stomach. I dreamt about you more times than not, and I was just as excited as your mother the day you were born. When I held you for the first time, Hassani, I cried a million tears of joy. I knew I’d die for you if I had to. I’d sacrifice it all, so that you’d have a chance to fly in this world.

  Hassani—and this goes for you as well, Dakarai—I want you two to travel your own path. I don’t want you to try to be like me, or feel pressure to measure up to this image of what you believe I am. I want all three of my children to be their own person and voyage much farther than I ever did and could even imagine. Hassani and Dakarai, you are my sons, my boys. And it takes me, as your father, to teach you how to be men. Your mother can’t do it. Your teachers can’t, either. I am your first introduction
to what a man is and how he behaves. Through me, you see an example set forth. I’m not perfect. I told Isis this, too. I will mess up along the way. I will do and say things that will not be beneficial to either of you; however, I hope and pray that those instances are rare, versus the norm.

  I am a flawed man because I’m human. But my love for you isn’t flawed in the least. Hassani, you are exceptionally talented. You have a natural compassion for others. In that regard, you are much like your mother. You also have beautiful supernatural gifts that will continue to grow in strength as well as number. If the Creator allows it and you as well, I’d like to help you along the way. Recently, you’ve come into contact with a young man named Angel. Initially, I was quite resistant. My first priority is to maintain the safety of your mother and you, my seeds. If I see anyone that I perceive to be a threat to your safety and longevity, I act accordingly. Now, with that said, I also have pride, which as I’ve tried to explain to you, can be debilitating. I am rather possessive, Hassani. I don’t mind sharing money, gifts, material possessions—but when it comes to my wife and children, I do not like giving one ounce to anyone else. It is not that I believe I own you; it is because I love you so much, I want you all to myself. It is selfish. This is my own cross to bear.

  Something inside of me told me what Angel wanted the moment I looked deeply into his eyes for the first time. The day I came up to your school, with the knowledge that you had been taking off from school, I knew he was your Guardian. I knew someone had found my son and claimed him. Powerful, multi-tiered Angel Children often have this effect on others. People will gravitate towards you. Some of these people will not be well-intentioned. Others will be in awe of you, and simply want to draw close. My Guardian alerted me to this phenomenon recently as well. However, due to what was going on in my life, where I lived and other factors, I was not as observant about it. As far as a Guardian is concerned, usually, it is someone less psychically powerful than the person they are guarding, which is the opposite of what we expect of bodyguards, such as those in the entertainment industry.