When Saint Goes Marching In

by Laveen, Tiana

  “He did!” Xenia burst out laughing. “It wasn’t that it was even better than all the other times because quite frankly, he has never disappointed me in that department, ever. He knows his sex game is tight,” Xenia laughed. “And truthfully, he really couldn’t improve on anything or get much better than he already is but, it was the love, the emotion, the intensity. I needed it, we needed it.” Xenia grabbed the tape and sealed the box. “We talked. Well, he talked. He didn’t want me to say anything about what happened. He just wanted to make things right.” Xenia reflected over the beautiful poem Saint had written and recited to her.

  “OK Mama, I’ll be out of your house for good in a couple of days. The rest of this stuff should be fairly easy to pack up.”

  Xenia stood and dusted her jeans off. Pam followed suit and kissed her daughter’s cheek before exiting the small guest bedroom. Xenia looked around, taking notice of the collapsible crib that Dakarai had slept in. Hassani had slept wrapped tightly around her each and every night for what seemed like an eternity.

  So many times, Xenia had thought about going to a hotel or renting an apartment so that she and the boys would have more room but she craved her mother’s love, even with the price that came with it. She needed to be around someone who loved her during that difficult time, someone who would say, “Somebody loves you, baby,” and mean it when they said it.

  Saint, I’m as addicted to you as you are to me. I’m not going anywhere and we will never be apart again. I’ve lost too much valuable time. This time, I’m playing for keeps.

  Xenia walked out of the bedroom to go play with her sons, her and Saint’s pride and joy.

  * * *

  Saint pulled up to work in his new jet-black on black Lexus LX570 with premium leather interior and custom made spinners from Japan. The sign that once read "J.K." for James’ parking spot was replaced with "S.A." days before he had arrived.

  Saint stared at it as he thumbed his fingers on his thick, ropey, black steering wheel. Instead of swelling with pride, sorrow encompassed him, ate at his nerves and gave him a fleeting nervous twitch. He reached for the door handle and got out of the car, closing it softly behind him. He rubbed his palm over his shirt, straightening out a wrinkle in the crisp white fabric he wore under a tailored black suit.

  In the silence of the parking lot, the sound of his footsteps bounced off the concrete ground like a hammer on steel. As he approached the large, clear glass open doors of the bank, the mingled sounds of voices and general activity got louder. People milled about, talking to one another, until their eyes focused on the new motherfucker in charge. Him.

  Silence fell over the entire area. Saint paused for a mere moment before walking on to the elevator. When he reached his floor, Saint walked into his old office only to discover everything removed except for a couple of random framed posters. The open blinds allowed the sun to filter in, highlighting recently disturbed dust in the air. Two large boxes labeled ‘MISC’ were set in the middle of the echoing, empty room.

  Saint made his way swiftly down the hall. He arrived at James’ old office – the largest one in the entire building that boasted of a view not of the highway, but of lush green palm trees and a garden with assorted fruit trees and exotic shrubs and flowers. Saint sighed and put his hand on the matt silver doorknob, turning it slowly. He had not been inside James’ office since his death and this made him feel uncomfortable. Like a usurper.

  He opened the door farther and stood wide-eyed, glued to the floor. The briefcase and laptop slipped out of his hand as he gazed around in wonder.

  “Oh my God,” he said aloud. His desk was in the center of the room. Instead of it resembling an average desk, it was shaped like a beautiful, voluptuous woman with a thick, curly afro. Carved out of premium, high-quality wood, the attention to detail, though whimsical, was impressive.

  Saint picked up his dropped belongings and closed the door behind him. The arms of the desk chair were made out of the same wood. The seat and back were of the finest Italian black leather with a three speed massager for his neck, back and buttocks. There was also an extended foot rest that provided foot massages should Saint ever feel the need. All of the walls were black except one.

  One white wall featured a large, custom-made, 82-inch flat screen television. Bookshelves were built in on both sides of it. One side already had Saint’s books placed there, in alphabetical order.

  Saint looked back over to the desk and took note of the newly framed family photos. He walked to the corner sitting area and opened the small stainless steel refrigerator. It was filled with imported chilled green and white tea from Israel – Saint’s favorite and he had a hard time finding it now that he no longer lived in New York.

  On another wall was a huge poster of Saint conducting one of the largest conferences they’d ever held, in Houston Texas. There he stood, dominating the stage, his face intense and completely in the moment, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he won over his audience. His buttoned down jet-black shirt exposed the yin yang choker he wore that evening. It softened his appearance but only slightly. Saint smiled, beyond humbled. Soon after he sat down at the desk, and placed things exactly where he wanted them, there was a soft knock at his door.

  “Come in.” he said, his attention on a quirky ink pen that Xenia had bought him a couple of years ago which featured a naked woman whose dress blew up if you turned it upside down. He placed it neatly inside the pen holder section.

  Saint looked up at George who’d walked to his desk, his hands clasped together.

  “Is it to your liking?” he asked slyly, his hair pulled back in his signature ponytail and his lean, tall body covered in a chocolate suit that easily cost more than seven grand.

  Saint laughed.

  “I want to know who came up with this table, I mean desk? This is funny as hell. I love it.” Saint leaned over and playfully ran his index finger along the wooden matron’s breasts.

  George winked. “All of these plans were in the works before James passed away, Saint. He took care of all of this ahead of time. He wanted you to have it and then some. How do you like the new car he purchased you? Sorry for the delay in the delivery. The spinners took longer to arrive than we had anticipated.”

  “It’s perfect, absolutely incredible,” Saint said. “James knew I have a thing for beautiful cars.”

  George took a small black box out of his pocket and placed it in front of Saint, who looked at it with curiosity. “Open it.” George instructed with a slight grin.

  Saint hesitated just a tad then opened the box. Inside was a large ring that resembled a class ring, only it was set with purple and green gemstones and a large round diamond, as well as a small black diamond in the middle.

  “Before James became ill, he was going to start a tradition for all the officers of the organization to have rings like this. This plan was put on the back burner. He got part of the color scheme from you. You see, he had asked you what Xenia’s favorite color was once. He didn’t want to use Valerie’s because he wanted you to start a new dynasty. You told him purple, so he made a note of it.”

  “I didn’t understand why he had asked me that out of the blue. It makes perfect sense now,” Saint said as he reflected over the odd, archived conversation.

  “The green stands for you. You are green because you are fresh and bring new energy to the organization. Green also stands for vibrancy and new beginnings. The diamonds are just an elegant touch, minus the lone black one which stands for…”

  “Our Queens,” Saint completed.

  “Exactly!” George smiled. George looked down at the family photos on Saint’s desk and frowned. “I hope I wasn’t too presumptuous in having these reframed. I was aware of the situation, via James, that you and Xenia were…going through a rough patch.”

  “I had put a couple of FBI friends on the Payton Smith phone tapping case but I hadn’t personally reviewed their findings before handing it over to James.”

  Saint smiled. “Ev
erything is fine, now. We’ve worked it out.”

  George grinned. “That’s wonderful, Saint. Well, I won’t keep you. As you know, my office is next door so let me know if you need anything before the meeting today. Oh, I almost forgot,” George said as he strutted quickly over to a side partition and leaned into the bare wall. The wall opened with a clicking sound and a bed slowly lowered onto the floor.

  Saint’s jaw fairly dropped. “That is some pimp shit! You all are too much! How fuckin’ hilarious is that? A bed? Who thought of this?”

  George grinned. “Again, James’ idea. He said sometimes you work late right before a conference and he wanted you to be able to take naps and he also said…” George turned crimson red. “He also said that there was…an incident in which Xenia had come to visit you here and, well, he approached your door to say hello and heard some…things. Well, anyway, this is here for your pleasure.” George laughed nervously and quickly exited the office, leaving Saint in fits of laughter and barely clinging to the seat of his chair.

  “Oh James,” Saint said aloud, still reeling, “This is unbelievable. I can’t believe you did this for me, Dad. I’d take an office in a cardboard box to have you back though…a cardboard box outside with no roof in a torrential downpour.”

  * * *

  Two hours later Saint walked into the largest conference room in the building. The burgundy and brown walls gave a comforting feeling to the otherwise cool décor. A long black table that could seat sixty-two was set in the middle of the room with thirty black leather chairs on either side, and one at each end. Twelve pitchers of water lined up in the middle of the table, along with a chilled glass on a wooden coaster at each setting.

  Saint’s shoes clicked on the mahogany wooden floor. He walked up to the chair at the head of the table on the opposite end, placed his microphone on and sat down. Right then, a slew of men filed in. The members of the White Knights of the Round Table took their seats and got settled. They waited for him to take a drink of his water. Once he did, they followed suit.

  Saint stood. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  They greeted him back.

  “OK, we need to get some things straight right now. Let’s start with my name,” Saint said with slight irritation. “You all have been calling me Saint for years and now you want to call me Dr. Aknaten. As flattering as that is, don’t. I’m still Saint to you and that is what I want to be called. Nothing has changed regarding that. We’re brothers. Do you all understand?” he asked.

  “Yes,” was the general reply.

  George entered the room and quickly sat beside him.

  Saint nodded in George’s direction before proceeding.

  “James has passed away but left us with an outstanding legacy. He has given orders that will take years to fulfill and that is what we are going to do. I will tell you right now the first thing on my agenda is to add to our army. There will be a special division designed for hate crimes. It will consist of members that are affiliated with law enforcement, forensic science experts, bounty hunters, private investigators, criminal attorneys and the armed forces. I want ten people for this group who will go on site wherever we need them to do research, investigations, special Ops and apprehension if need be. Next, we will have not only the Queens conference tomorrow night, but there will be the Nubian Queens of the Round Table. They will have special meetings once a month, headed by George’s beautiful Queen, Naomi. She is still considered a First Lady, even though George isn’t President and that is how she should be treated. George is VP, so that makes Naomi royalty.”

  George nodded in appreciation.

  “Naomi will be the mother hen to these new ladies coming in. She will help groom them, teach them and show them the way on how to be good wives and friends to their husbands, as well as good mothers to their children. She will go over domestic duties, as well as offer advice for a balanced life for the career wife and mom. Any Queen who marries one of you and new members entering the organization will from this day forward be required to attend these meetings for a year. It is mandatory. Also, we are no longer White Knights of the Round Table. Initially, when that name was chosen, this group consisted of three lily white guys – that being James, George and David whom I never met since he passed on fifteen years ago. Look at us now, things have changed. I understand that the name stayed because it was historic, kind of like the NAACP, but we need to update ourselves and get with the times. From now on, we are simply called Rainbeau Knights of the Round Table, RKRT.”

  Saint took another sip of his water.

  “There will also be a new screening process for future members. Instead of the standard one year for testing, background checks, training so on and so forth, it will be six months. However, it will be far more intensive. There will still be a graduation ceremony for all new members. As you all know, James kept very strict rules for allowing new members to join and those will remain. I simply want to shorten the time because we have a lot to do and we need to keep growing. I also want there to be more psychological testing. Two new coordinators will work together for all future conferences. I can focus solely on growing the organization, proper training, the new annual Queen Conference and monthly meetings and programs, as well as keep my eye on the new centers. I will still be speaking at conferences, especially since when I’m on the ticket we get a larger audience and we need to get the word out. However, the rest of the planning regarding them will no longer be on my table. I will be a delegating mothafucka.”

  Laughter rang in the room.

  “The reason is that since I stepped foot into this organization, I haven’t rested and I mean that literally. Part of it had nothing to do with the organization but some of it did. This is extremely important to me but this is how my hierarchy now works,” Saint raised his hand and counted. “God, my wife, my sons and any possible future children, my father, and then this organization. You’re still in the top five and won’t feel a great impact with my absence. At times, however, my wife and children will thank me kindly for being more than just a face that shows up every now and again. We work hard here. In some ways, we are too serious as a group. One of the reasons I was brought in here was to give this organization a face and a more approachable appeal. We wouldn’t be living up to that if we still acted so stiff and unwelcoming. So, here is what I want to do. Every quarter, there will be a company event. You will be encouraged to bring your spouse and children. As always though, it will be under a guise of a different position. Unfortunately, we still have to keep that under wraps so for all intents and purposes, you are still a manager, banker, teller, investor, financial advisor or whatever phony title you’ve been given that’s on your business card. It’s important that we have fun together, get to know one another and take the new cats that come under our wing so they know how to conduct themselves by example, in both their personal and professional lives. Gentlemen, we are about to make some heads roll. You are going to see some things this year and in years to come that are going to blow your mind. James was brainy, honest, cunning, intimidating, respectable, polished and old school. I’m a new school hustler. But he taught me well and trusted me to run this how I saw fit. We’ll go for a more aggressive approach from now on. We are no longer going to be Mr. Nice Guys in regard to the hate crimes ledged against us and our kind. We are not going to wait for the police to save us anymore or believe that they wish to assist. I’m not anti-police; I’m anti-boys-in-blue mentality.

  We do have some officers in the organization, and they are good men but unfortunately, they do not share the common mindset of many others in law enforcement. Another thing James allowed me to do was to deal with sex and relationship therapy. This attracted an audience, so I’m going to take that a step further and hire a sex therapist who will be on site, once a week, for private sessions and counseling along with a psychiatrist. I think we have to be well, in all departments. The gym here will also be updated with more equipment and more televisions as well as a juice bar. I’m also p
utting in a relaxation room. What we do is stressful. If the wrong people find out, it requires us to take drastic measures. That’s a lot of stress to have to deal with day to day. Due to that, I want everyone to be able to take a thirty minute cat nap a day, if you so choose. This doesn’t include your lunch break which, as James had stated, has no time frame. Just be respectful. Three hour lunch breaks are unacceptable but we do want you to relax, have a good time while getting your work done properly. I demand that everyone be here on time, just like James did. If you are more than five minutes late, frequently, I will know about it and I will be pissed. This is a not a control thing for me, it is due to the fact that we deal with so many pressing issues. We have these meetings scheduled way in advance for a reason. I need everyone playing their role and playing it well.

  “If you ever have any questions or concerns, you can come talk to me. I think I’m approachable. I’ve been told by some I’m not, but I’m telling you now, anything you want to talk to me about, you can. Now, here is the part you’re not going to like.” Just then he noticed one of the members, all the way down at the other end, start to fall from his chair and about to hit his head on the corner of the table. Saint rushed to his side and helped him.

  Everyone looked at Saint and clapped.

  “Thank you,” the member said as he got back into his chair, dazed and confused. “I was reaching for my water and somehow lost my balance,” he explained.