“I have some right downstairs. Please follow me and I will make sure you take some home to Donna as well.”
Xenia looked over her shoulder and winked at Saint. He frowned, recognizing his own hunger pangs. He fixed his face just so, knowing he was looking as pitiful as could be.
“What about me? Do I get some chicken salad?” he asked, his tone full of dramatic sorrow as he clutched the sheets in his palms like a frightened child without a nightlight.
Xenia held the bedroom door open and the sound of the children playing below could now be heard loud and clear. “It depends.” She smirked. “If you’re a good boy and go to sleep for at least one hour, I will bring you some. Lawrence said earlier that you shouldn’t eat right now, but I suppose a little bit after you rest would be okay. Rest. Do you understand me, Saint? That means no phone, no internet, no T.V., no nothing. I want to make sure you are okay, so you need to get some sleep.”
“Okay, but don’t forget about me…I’m so hungry,” he said, doing his best Dakarai impression. Xenia cracked up as she closed the door behind her and Lawrence.
As soon as the coast was clear, Saint flung the sheets off of him and seized his iPod. He needed something to get his mind off his father, all the stress that had come into his life, and to simply feel like himself again. He scrolled through the playlists until he found the song he wanted to sway with.
T.I.’s, “What You Know About That”.
Sucking his bottom lip, he began to move around the room, his white robe swaying as he popped his fingers and sung to the lyrics.
“…What chew know about that? I know all about that!”
He paused, raced to the bedroom door and locked it before grabbing his laptop, flipping it open, and feverishly going through his emails. He grinned and he took hold of his phone.
“What’s up man… yeah, I’m fine, thanks. I got the file. It is everything I needed and more. Thanks, man!”
He disconnected the call with Jagger and started to dance and sing again.
“…Somebody better get bruh, before he get sent for!...Ha!”
He snapped his fingers and pivoted in a circle, a big grin on his face as he danced to and fro, like he’d never been in a fetal position on his office floor amongst white papers and office supplies hours earlier. Lawrence had warned him to stay away from any violence, but this was different. Saint had come up with another solution, one that may be far more effective. He knew all about the bullshit going on at the set. The man was ruthlessly toying with his wife. He’d bide his time, but he definitely had something special for his ass.
“That’s right, mothafucka! I got yo’ ass! ...What you know about that, Sinclair? I know all about that! Cha, chiiiiillllll! Say ‘beddie bye-bye’ mothafucka!”
~***~
Two weeks later…
“So before we end the show today, we want to give special thanks to Krotia Sparkling Water for sponsoring the Lewis Foundation marathon and giving all these great people in the studio audience free sparkling, vitamin-enhanced coconut water!” She clapped, her cheers soon drowned out by those of the studio audience.
“That’s right, Xenia,” Jackson chimed in. “And speaking of healthy ways to take care of our bodies, tomorrow we will have Dr. Davis Fitzgerald here to explain heart disease, which is a serious issue amongst women, a main killer.”
“Yes it is, Jackson and…” She paused, her chest tightening. “…And…”
No, it couldn’t be…
She looked in the back row of the audience, then quickly pulled herself together.
“And he will go over the signs and symptoms, as well as preventative maintenance, so please be sure to tune in!” She threw on a smile as Jackson made the closing announcements, feeling as if she, too, were having a heart attack.
The second taping came to an end as the studio audience’s applause died down.
“Xenia, are you okay?” Jackson whispered in her ear, his concern sincere. She looked into his soft, blue eyes, searching for words to answer his damn question. But her throat tightened and she rubbed along her neck, as if that would somehow bring forth her voice in the manner of a miracle after massaging a magic genie lamp.
“Yes, thank you. I think I had an eyelash fall in my eye, and it threw me off.” She laughed as the untruth tumbled out of her mouth.
He nodded in understanding and gathered his papers. “I hate when that happens. See you in a little while.” He stood and left. She immediately looked back at the thinning audience. People were standing and moving about, chatting as they corralled toward the exit…all except one. A man dressed in a light gray suit with a matching fedora hat approached the stage. Security raced toward him. Two muscular men with black t-shirts pushed their hand into the man’s barreled chest.
“Sir, we are sorry, but you can’t go up there. We can help you exit the building,” one of the security guards said as he firmly took the guy by the elbow.
“No, no, it’s okay, Jake,” Xenia offered, barely able to get the words out of her mouth. Jake slowly let the man go, gave him a once over and backed away. Her hands shaking and teeth clenched, she stared as he drew closer to her. Off to the side stood Sinclair, his finger gliding slowly past his chin as if he were studying a complex blueprint. He was more than likely enjoying the whole sordid thing play out. He knew Xenia’s past, her history, her story. She quickly turned from him and stiffened as the man embraced her, his arms tightly wrapped around her body.
“How is my baby doing?” the man asked, his silky voice sliding past her ears with its strange familiarity. Before pulling completely away, he swung back, holding her by her wrists, beholding her—looked her up and down as if she were a birthday present. He cracked a lopsided grin, showcasing the notorious gap between his two front teeth. His dark eyes, shaped just like hers, danced with what she presumed to be happiness.
“Daddy, I wasn’t expecting you…”
~***~
“Oh, Jesus H. Christ! He has Eric B. and Rakim playing,” Jagger mumbled then sighed as he reached for Saint’s office’s doorknob. He knew what that meant, Saint was gearing to tear into someone’s ass, and he was certain that ass belonged to him. It was after seven at night; most of the Knights had already gone home for the evening. He opened the door without knocking but was soon coughing and rubbing his throat. HAZE. BURN. HELL. FIRE.
He was certain his ears would rupture and bleed as they were accosted by heavy base from two large black speakers in each corner of the room, vibrating and pulsating like veins about to burst. The huge rectangular gorillas screamed and beat their chests with heavy woofer fists. Subwoofers…in a damn office. As if he stood in the center of demon driven flames shot right out the Devil’s ass, incense smoke swarmed upward, belly dancing past him—threatening to suffocate any who dared to enter. He felt as if he’d walked right into a midnight concert in the heart of the city. Waving his hand to and fro, he cut through the haze and pushed through it to find the desk with the wooden tits behind which Saint sat smoking a cigar and looking down at his computer, a snarl on his face.
“You sent me a shitty email demanding to see me.” Jagger grinned, placing both of his palms on the desk. He didn’t want to sit down, drag this shit out. Saint had a wild hair up his ass, nothing was new, but he was gunning for him so it was time for the bullshit and games to commence.
Saint slowly lifted his head, a taunting smirk on his face. Without saying a word, he pointed casually to the seat in front of him, motioning for Jagger to sit down. He grunted and did as requested, but didn’t sit back and relax—he wanted to look eager to leave because he was. As if on a dime, the smoke suddenly dissipated, the music lowered to barely a roar and Saint placed his cigar down in the glass ashtray next to his computer.
“You got my nerves bad, man.” Saint looked at him, his eyes turning jade green, like two jewels fit for a new necklace for his Queen. What an usual shade, and how they glowed so…
“Got me chasin’ your ass all over town. Callin’ y
ou, texting you, even stopped by your house.”
“You’re blocked. I can’t get a read on you.”
“I know…but you knew I wanted you, and you knew it was a conversation you weren’t going to enjoy or you wouldn’t have done this.”
“Done what?”
“Don’t fuck with me tonight, Jagger. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
“If I knew what the hell you were talking about, Saint, I wouldn’t be asking you.”
“Bullshit. Running from me, trying to read me to see what the fuck I wanted instead of just asking. You know better than that shit. Now, without further ado,” Saint leaned forward and ran a hand over his slightly too long black hair, exposing his widow’s peak, “tell me why in the hell Traci doesn’t know what you are?”
Goddamn it! I knew it was this!
Jagger leaned back in his seat. A part of him fought screaming at the man; a lion’s roar gurgled inside of him but he stifled it.
…Make that motherfucker’s Fonzie ass hair blow the fuck back!
His thoughts raced between, ‘Mind your business, Saint’ and, ‘As if I would…’
“Because,” he rocked in his seat, looking anywhere but in Saint’s eyes, “I haven’t found the right time.”
“Ahhh, and so the lies begin.” Saint shook his head and looked down at his desk. “You coulda told her right before the first time you fucked her.” He smirked and picked up his cigar, took a long, hard pull on it, his cheekbones drawing in, eyes narrowing and turning pitch black. He tapped it, a few ashes fell, then he placed it back in the ashtray. Saint grinned sarcastically in an ‘ain’t shit funny, but I’m going to smile anyway.’ vibe. “You had plenty of time!” Curls of smoke exited the side of his mouth and the man’s voice now sounded as though he’d just taken a hit of weed—choked up, slighter higher octave, chasing a chance to breathe. “You think that’s right, man? How would you feel if you were her, huh? Dating one of us, and didn’t know shit? We’re freaks of nature! And I don’t mean that shit in a bad way, but we’re different! She has a right to know this shit.”
“I never said she didn’t.” Jagger glared at him, and he could feel the heat rising in his body. He didn’t like how Saint was speaking to him, but he knew the two could end up on the floor in a nasty heap, tearing holes into each other’s flesh and no matter how many good licks he got in, how much blood he’d draw, Saint would end up victorious, and it sickened him. Now a part of him regretted teaching the motherfucker how to fight better…
“What if she gets pregnant, huh? You think that’s right? Pregnancy with an Angel Child is different, and you know it! There is no guarantee the baby would be a commoner, Jagger. Look at me, I’ve got three kids and all three of them are Angel Children!”
“She’s on that birth control shot…” He rolled his eyes.
“Doesn’t matter, there are other problems with this scenario. We don’t always marry our own kind; Lawrence and I are living proof of that, and hell, your ex-wife was a commoner, too! So you can’t do this, Jagger. Are you trying to fuck this up? Your relationship? It sure seems like it!”
“No!”
“Then what are you waiting for?!” Saint’s eyebrows bunched as he ran his thumb over his mp3 player. “Coming From Where I’m From” by Anthony Hamilton started to play. He took another puff from his cigar, then blew out thick, opaque rings. Jagger didn’t know if his mind was playing tricks on him, but they seemed to be shaped like skulls and bones.
“What if she finds you in a precarious position, huh? What if she sees your eyes turn red, or yellow, or so damn silver it looks like you have no damn eyeballs at all!” Saint raged, pounding his desk. “My wife knows what the fuck I am, Jagger.” He leaned way back in his seat, causing his chair to strain and squeak. “Xenia has known almost since the moment we met, and still to this day, it freaks her out a bit, so why in the hell would you take this sort of chance?”
Jagger grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. If loathing had a face, it would look like his…
“You think I wasn’t afraid to tell her, huh? I was. I loved her from the moment I laid my eyes on her, man. From the first time I saw her, I knew she had to be mine, and then I had to tell her…had to let her know who I was, before things went any farther and at that time, I was still confused. I had no idea what to call it, what to do with it; I just knew I had it. Imagine trying to explain something to someone you’d die for, and you just met her, but you can’t even explain it to your damn self. Yet you know if you keep it a secret, you could lose her forever. I had to weigh my options. I had to take a risk!” Saint slapped the desk loudly, his anger more than apparent. “I wanted her to see me, Jagger! I wanted her to see who I was, completely, so that she understood who she’d made love to, and what I was about!”
Jagger looked down at the floor, then slowly back up.
“Look,” Saint said more calmly. “Jagger, man, I don’t want you to lose Traci, okay? You think you are saving yourself heartbreak by delaying this, but you’re just creating it.” He paused; his eyes darkened into in a hazy, muted gray with tinges of orange. A rather strange an unnerving combination… “Why am I the only mothafucka saying something right now? Why aren’t you talking?!” His voice rose again.
Jagger gritted his teeth and lowered his head, cracking his knuckles. The heat in his eyes intensified. He glared up at Saint. Saint smirked then cracked up laughing.
“Oh, so now you want to fight me, man?” he said casually, placing his cigar back down in the ashtray and running a finger across his chin. “You wanna fuck me up for making you have to face some shit, making you have to feel?” He slicked his tongue over his bottom lip and shook his head.
“Tell me something, Jagger.” He tapped the desk with his fingertips. “Had you told even your ex-wife?”
Fuck you, Saint.
Saint burst out laughing. “What was that? You just cussed me out in your mind? Really, man? Look at cha, chest heaving, sweating, cracking your knuckles so hard they’ll be putty in a second…eyes so red, looking like fresh blood, the first draw from the knife across a throat. I know you want to reach across this desk and punch me, rough me up a little… A big man, afraid of a little thing called love.”
“Fuck you!” Jagger stood to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor. He was bursting inside, a fireball of angst, his energy scattered, violent and angry. He was turning into the animal Lawrence had warned Saint about.
Saint remained calm and glanced at his computer.
“No, fuck you, Jagger. Better yet, you’ve already fucked yourself. That’s the honest truth. Don’t be angry with me, I’m your brother…”
“You’re no kin to me. You think you can run my life, tell me what to do. Lawrence may go for that shit, but I don’t! My job is to work for you, period. Nothing else. Stay the hell out of my private life. I’ll tell her when I get good and damn ready.”
“Private life? Are you serious?! Goddamn, man! The woman hangs out with Xenia, they’re friends now! You didn’t even give a heads up! Xenia called us ‘Angel Children’, and Traci didn’t know what the fuck she was talking about. Do you know what kind of position you put my wife in?!”
“Just shut up. Now.”
“Who the fuck do you think you are talking to, man?” Saint swallowed. His tone was calm, but the warning was loud and clear. His eyes glowed bright red, then he appeared to self soothe as they returned to their natural golden with a honey glow. “What if Xenia had gone and told her all the details, huh?! She’d be hearing about the shit from a woman she practically just met, instead of the man she’s been in a relationship with and fuckin’ for over a damn year!” Saint shot up from his seat, his eyeballs now matching Jagger’s—blood red was back in action and ready to party… “Why won’t you do the right thing?!”
“Because she’ll leave me! She’ll think I’m a monster!” Jagger raced toward Saint’s bookshelf, hooked his hands around rows of books and knocked them to the floor, along with
the bookcase, causing a loud thud. The entire office shook from the impact, as if an earthquake had hit. The room suddenly felt like it was spinning, the residual smoke spread with a life of its own, encompassing his form, attaching to him as if it had feet, leaving him prickly and visually impaired, blinding him with a heavy, foggy touch. The murkiness grew and grew until he could no longer see Saint, but he heard the man’s voice, and it ran chills down his spine. Deep, low, yet hauntingly soothing, it echoed throughout the room, as if three people were saying the exact same words in unison.
Calm down, Jagger. Calm down, man. Come on…take a deep breath…
Jagger tripped amongst the chaos, holding onto the wall, trying to keep his balance as it seemed the entire place was turning upside down. He could feel Saint approaching, yet his eyes still weren’t able to capture the man.
“You just keep pushing and pushing!” Jagger screamed out, punching at the air, hoping to connect to Saint’s form in a violent storm of fist-fueled brawls. His emotions were raw, bloody and sensitive. “Don’t you think I’ve thought about all of that?! So many times I got ready to tell her, and then, I’d look at her, and I just couldn’t. I don’t want to lose her…I can’t lose her, Saint…” He fell to the ground, defeated, wanting the entire world to just disappear.
A new song began, growing louder and louder. Anthony’s Hamilton’s, “Do You Feel Me?” hit him with its bluesy sounds, so crisp and painful.
“…Baby, is my message gettin’ through?” went the heart-wrenching lyrics…
“I’ll help you, Jagger, okay? Xenia and I will be there for you…” Suddenly, out of the fog, Saint appeared and placed his hand gently on his shoulder. Jagger shook, trembling from his powerful touch…
One soft touch, and all that clout…
It jolted him. The power. The purity. The beauty.
Love.
Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father Page 24
