Lawrence watched him intensely as he rambled.
“But nah, not many of them want that. It is their way, or no way. Xenia has some feminist views, too, but she still respects me, so we get along just fine. She doesn’t feel the need to try to devalue me in order to make herself feel more important. She’s still feminine. She doesn’t try to look or behave like a man and she still gets her point across that she isn’t taking any shit, just because she is a woman. I respect her a hell of a lot for that, a hell of a lot. The whole thing is bullshit.” He took a gulp of his wine.
“You know.” Jagger leaned to the side and relaxed. “Traci and I were talking about that one day. She said she doesn’t think feminism fits into the world of a black woman. I didn’t really see where she was going with that.”
“Traci is a smart woman. I can tell you exactly what she meant, Jagger. The feminist movement was created by white women for white women, and the headhunters of that war will always see black women as outsiders that they can use when it fits their agenda but anyway…” He waved off his sidetracking. “The point is, some fail to understand I’m not against women doing anything they want to do. Having a dick doesn’t mean I’m smarter than a woman. I just feel we are different, and we are different for a reason and instead of running from the shit, or trying to out-do one another, we should embrace it. If we were just alike, you wouldn’t have transgender people trying to match their outside bodies with what is going on inside. Anyway, enough of that, this conversation has gone all over the world. Lawrence, my concern is that you will break. You are not the person many people think you are.”
“You’ve nailed it. You got that right. I’ve warned many people about this,” Jagger offered as he shot his friend a glance.
“What do you mean?” Lawrence cleared his throat nervously. His long black hair cascaded over one shoulder as he leaned slightly forward.
“Don’t play with me, man.” Saint grinned, leaning back in his seat. “Lawrence, weaklings could never hang with me. You allow me to read you, and I’ve seen it. You don’t take any shit, except from your wife. A person may think they’ve gotten over, but they haven’t. You are not like Jagger and me, but you use what you have and make that shit magical and quite frankly, you have the intelligence men dream of. You have the patience to see the retaliation through—calculated, well planned, fermenting revenge.” Saint smirked at the man as his eyes narrowed. Visions of Lawrence exacting his brand of justice on various guys briefly clouded Saint’s mind. Rarely violent, usually clean and precise, but the job was always complete. Lawrence had been ridding the world of evil for a long ass time and it hated his guts. “Just when your victim thinks you’ve forgotten about it…boom!” Saint struck the table with his fist. “They wake up wishing they hadn’t woken up at all…”
Lawrence didn’t dare make eye contact. He merely looked down into the sweet burgundy wine, sloshed it about, an all-knowing smirk on his face.
“I knew you knew, Saint.”
“I know you did.”
“That’s in my past, however. I’ve tried to elevate beyond that. I’ve tried to be a better person. Those people had harmed others, and I took care of the situation, but, sometimes I wonder if I should’ve handled it differently. It always bothered me how I never lost sleep over it. I suppose that is our nature.”
“You are a better person. You have been my teacher, saved my life with your knowledge and helped me defend my family.” Saint’s voice shook with emotion, the alcohol making his tongue loose and his feelings tangible. “So, what will make this better is for a new approach with Donna because we understand,”—he gave both men a serious look—“that our women have got to get along and she never has to like me, but she has to respect me and she has to understand that I love her husband like a brother and would never do anything to hurt him or her.”
Lawrence’s face reddened as Saint spread the love, regardless that it was expressed through inebriation.
Saint sighed and downed the last swig of liquor before continuing.
“Our Queens are our foundation. They have to be happy and healthy. Lawrence, I’m going to be honest with you—you’re starting to look sleep deprived. You’ve got a baby coming now, it won’t get easier. Once that baby is born, you will never sleep the way you did before their arrival. Not just because they are crying and wanting something all hours of the day and night, but because you have to sleep with one eye open to make sure they are always safe, protected. They can be fifty years old, and you will still worry about them. So, we’ve got to address this shit right now. How would you like to go about it?”
“Well, I will have a discussion with her this evening.”
“A discussion with who?” Donna and Xenia re-entered the room, only this time, Donna had a bag full of baby items Xenia had gotten and no doubt forced the poor woman to accept.
The men looked around at one another.
“Donna, we need to talk. Let’s get ready to go.” Lawrence stood and gave Saint and Jagger a hug, ignoring the death glare from his wife.
“Talk about what?” Her voice trailed, concern in her eyes.
“Uh, Donna, congrats again and I meant what I said. Call me anytime with questions. I’ve been through this three times, I’m here for you,” Xenia announced.
Lawrence took Donna by the arm and led her to the front door. Obviously confused, the woman looked over her shoulder. “Oh, yes, okay Xenia. Thanks! I had a great time.”
And before long, the front door closed. Xenia crossed her arms and smiled.
“I don’t know what you three were in here cooking up, but I’ve already taken care of it.” She walked toward the refrigerator and took out a slice of cherry pie, carefully wrapped up for her to savor in the late night hour.
“You are stashing pie away!” Saint pointed angrily at the plate, as if it were mocking him. “You said all the pie was gone when I asked you about it. I didn’t get any…can I have a bite of yours?” he begged like a child.
“I suppose.” Xenia shrugged as she pulled a fork out of the drawer. Saint could see from her plumped cheeks, though her back was turned, that the woman was smiling, enjoying the culinary torment.
“Saint! Forget the damn pie! Xenia, what do you mean you’ve already taken care of it?” Jagger questioned, his nosiness getting the better of him.
“I had a talk with Donna about how she treats Lawrence and her regard of my husband. She let some things slip out this evening that I didn’t appreciate. There is no need for me to repeat it. But instead of jumping on her about it, I decided to speak to her straight up, woman to woman. We see eye to eye now. With this baby coming, and as close as you three are, she needed to accept that you all aren’t going anywhere. You’ve got a pact and she, myself and Traci are your equals as well as helpmates. We have to work together. That doesn’t make us lesser than, it means we need to embrace our Queendom.” Xenia laughed. “I implored her to come to some meetings. She needs to meet Valerie—now that’s a woman with some class and knows how to be strong and refined at the same time. Donna needs to see what this is all about and that we, as wives of Angel Children, need a support system. I don’t think you guys understand how you have our blood pressure up on a daily basis!” Saint looked at his wife, completely stunned.
“Once Traci is on board, we will have just that in each other and as time passes, I hope there will be more of us that can lean on one another. It’s not easy being married to men like you and I swear, I think you all sometimes forget that.” She finally turned around, facing the two of them. She slowly approached Saint, pressed her thumb on his chin, forcing his mouth open, and slid the forkful of sticky, sweet cherries and homemade buttery crust inside. He closed his eyes and moaned, as if he were having an orgasm.
“You have a terrible sweet tooth today, Saint. I mean, it is straight up awful. I must be rubbing off on you.”
He swallowed and wrapped his arm possessively around her waist. “Can I taste the other cherry pie tonight?” he w
hispered in her ear, causing her to blush and squirm in his grip.
Jagger cleared his throat, reminding the couple he was present. “I don’t know what you said, but by the look on Xenia’s face, it was something X-rated. In any case, let me get out of here. It’s getting late. Hopefully Traci didn’t lose all of her money playing dominos with Ms. Pam.” He headed out the kitchen doors.
The two of them stayed there, looking at one another, both wearing designer grins. He stood and held her close.
“You are incredible, you know that?” He rubbed his nose against hers, then slipped his tongue inside her mouth. Saint’s fingers ran through the thick, coiled strands of her hair, gripping her hard and fast to him, fastening her to his frame as he devoured her lips, and his cock swelled against her lower stomach.
“Sometimes it takes a woman’s touch…” She pushed away shyly, gasping for air, but he grabbed her again and pulled her close before leaning back and giving her a sly wink.
“I need a woman’s touch on my dick tonight…think you can handle that?”
“Mmmmm, I believe so.” He gripped her ass cheek and rubbed it, forcing her on her tippy toes.
“Great. Now…” He took his thumb and casually wiped her gloss from his lips. “Let me go out here and kick Mama Pam out, pretend that I think your father is a hell of a guy, and make sure Traci knows to drive that drunk bastard home tonight.”
Xenia burst out laughing as he turned away.
“Okay, I’ll make the rounds with you…and Saint?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Thank you for tonight. Thank you for everything.”
He winked at her. “Anything for my baby…you know that.” Ice Cube and Yo Yo belted, ‘You Can’t Play With My Yo-Yo’ as he made his way to his mother-in-law. The older woman’s arms corralled possessively around a crumpled stack of singles, and a gleam was in her eyes, a smile on her face—but a trace of sadness lingered that didn’t go unmissed…
~***~
Two days later…
“I warned this mothafucka!” Saint slammed his car door as if his beloved silver Lamborghini was an ingrate that owed him money. His muscles stiffened under his white shirt as he pounded the steps up to the double steel studio doors. Biding his time, he haunted the scene like a soldier ghost, invisible rifle in hand. He’d waited until he saw his chance. A parade of caterers came ant-hilling out of the building, holding empty bags, trays and the like. Saint moseyed through the crowd like he owned the fucking place, his chin high and eyes darting about, looking for the head motherfucker in charge. He was mad as hell and in his heart, the perfect theme song for this occasion would have been, ‘Tear the Roof off the Sucka’ by Parliament Funkadelic. He smirked at the thought.
He gripped the door as it almost slammed shut and opened it back wide, smashing it into the fucking wall with brute force. Stunned employees raced toward the thunderous commotion. In the distance someone yelled, “He knocked a damn hole in the building!”
Saint bit down hard on his bottom lip, tasting copper, and readjusted his black suit jacket. The show was over, but he was just in time.
“I’ll fix the damn wall! But right now, I need to speak to Liz Aphrone…now!”
He felt the heavy hand of someone physically substantial, someone breathing hot and hard behind him, someone that was ready to pick him up with their pinky finger and cast him out on his ass like a vagrant sniffing around for bagel crumbs and autographs to sell.
Saint’s neck snapped in the man’s direction; his eyes narrowed and the burn started. He tried to keep the shit at bay—this was Hollywood after all—but his gifts were no stunts and tricks that stopped after the director’s cut.
“I suggest you get your goddamn hands off of me,” Saint said between clenched teeth, snatching his shades off the top of his head.
“Sir, I’m going to have to escort you out.” The man proceeded to try to turn Saint around, but Saint bent the brute’s arm around his back and held it there. The bodyguard let out in a blood-curdling yell.
Saint had everyone’s attention.
“Look, this is serious. You have an employee here that has caused some real problems, do you understand me?!” Saint took his free hand and pointed down at the ground in anger. “I need to see Ms. Liz Aphrone, NOW!”
“What is going on?!” The older redhead, with a face that had gone under the knife so many times, she looked like one of the Thunder Cats, raced over to Saint, a group of people surrounding her. Someone got on the phone and called the police. Saint let go of the ogre and pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, snapping it open with a click of his wrist. He handed it to her.
“Ms. Aphrone, I am sorry to have had to have come here. I waited until everyone was gone, but this couldn’t wait any longer. My wife —”
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I know who your wife is, Xenia, Mr. Aknaten. I’ve heard quite a bit about you—” She sized him up and shot him a disapproving look He didn’t give a hot damn. She could roll over and play dead in her litter box for all he cared but she’d better take him seriously and stop pussyfooting around.
“Yes, well, she is being harassed by Sinclair Grayson. Did you know you hired someone with a rap sheet like this?!” He pointed to the paper he handed her. He’d waited, per Lawrence’s suggestion, but things became too much. The man would not lay off his wife and he’d had enough. “Assault and battery! Tampering with evidence! Impeding a police investigation! The list goes on and on and I want you to add to that—sexual harassment of my wife, Xenia Aknaten.”
Liz’s mouth dropped as her feline eyes scanned the paper, reading line for line, her eyes growing wider and wider in astonishment.
“And there’s more where that came from! That piece of paper is just the tip of the iceberg. I have more data for you, but that should be a good starting place.”
“Oh my goodness,” she finally uttered. “I’ve known Sinclair for years! I had no idea.”
“Well, that was the old Sinclair. The one you have working here as a producer has his hands in a lot of dirt. This morning I called my wife right before she went on air, as I always do, and she didn’t sound quite right. Liz, she wants to make you proud, she wants to do a good job and not the rock the boat. Look…” He sighed. “I’m sorry for bringing this sort of drama, so I made sure the show was over and the audience had cleared out. What you have in your hand explains it all. I won’t have my wife being tormented this way. I discovered that Sinclair left not one, but two, harassing voicemails on my wife’s cell phone in the last week. Here is a copy.” He tossed the tape to Liz, who clumsily caught it in between her long, knobby fingers.
“Mr. Aknaten, if Xenia had come to us and told us of any alleged harassment, we would have addressed it immediately. It would have definitely been handled,” the woman said sternly.
“Well, now you know. So handle it.” Saint pushed his shoulder hard into the bodyguard on his way out, still pissed and bustling with anger as he stormed back out the door…
~***~
Xenia stood by the park swings set, trying her best to put on a convincing smile. She’d had the week from hell, each day kissed by Satan and sent her way in basket filled with rotting fruit laced with arsenic. Isis was thrilled to sit in the baby swing and the boys pumped their legs vigorously in the big ones. The three children’s laughter almost cracked her sullen mood. Almost.
Sinclair had become unhinged. She wasn’t sure what sparked his antics, but he felt she was in some way responsible. He ranted and raved about phone calls, blackmail and old debts. She’d told him she didn’t know what he was talking about, and she didn’t, but it did her no good. That was the final straw. She knew she wouldn’t be renewing her contract at the end of the season. She tried to convince herself it was no big deal, but in her heart, she knew it was a lie. This is not how she saw this ending, and it pissed her off that he’d get his way, run her off the show. Feeling her cell phone vibrating against her hip, she reached into her pants pocket an
d pulled it out.
“Hi Shianne.” Xenia felt a sense of relief at hearing the young woman’s voice. Over the weeks, the two had grown incredibly close.
“Hi Xenia, um, I heard about what happened. I wish you would have told me. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry about what?” Xenia shot her children a look and clutched the phone closer to her face.
“Oh.” Shianne paused as if mulling something momentous over. “Well, about Sinclair harassing you and your husband coming up to the studio to—”
“My husband was there?” Xenia saw red. If the clouds in the sky could bleed, that was the vision before her eyes. Her entire temple heated as if she were an explosive crammed in Seven brand jeans about to go the fuck off.
“Yes…oh dear, I thought you knew. Damn it. I shouldn’t have called.”
“No, no, it’s fine, Shianne. After the show today, I left right away and decided to spend some time with my children. I’m sure Saint probably tried to reach me. Uh, do you mind if I give you a call back?”
“No, not at all! I will see you tomorrow, okay?” Shianne said weakly, guilt in her tone.
“Of course, and thanks.”
Xenia tried several times to speak into her cell phone, beckoning Siri for help. “Call husband!” she repeated, but due to the rage in her pitch, and her children laughing in the background, her request was distorted and not understood.
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