by Tiana Laveen
“That makes sense.”
“So, what you basically have going on now though is a dark prince of the world trying to steal back what was already his.”
“What do you mean?”
“Saint, New York has been a battleground for Good and Evil since the time when only the Native Indians—some of my own ancestors—lived here.” Lawrence’s voice shook ever so slightly. “There is something about this soil, this land, that draws polar opposites. It’s a land of immigrants, of opportunities. It’s a touch city, with a lot of heart. It has beauty and despair. Some of the most creative, innovative and strong people come from this part of the United States and change the entire world with their ideas and innovations. It’s a land of poverty and riches. It is one of the few places on planet Earth where you can literally experience a representation of every culture in the world. That makes it special. Anything and anyone who is different, out of the norm if you will, attracts both positivity and negativity. That is a form of balance.” Saint nodded in understanding. “So, to disturb balance is to create chaos. Even from an astrological standpoint, you, Saint, represent balance—whether you like it or not.”
“Scales? But I’m not a Libra.”
“No, but Xenia is. She is your foundation, your balance, just as you always say. The mother of your children. You are fire. You are ego. You are pride. You are strength. You do not fear. You are aggressive, sometimes overly so, depending on your mood any given day. Out of curiosity, have you ever had your I.Q. tested, Saint?”
“Nope.” He took a hasty sip from his glass and set it down.
“Well, you should, just for shits and giggles. Anyway, as far as your lineage as an Angel Child, you come from our apex, Egypt. In other words, you were designed for war. You can move under the radar, though you fight fire with fire. You have so much passion, Saint, that you must fight in order to feel sane. As upsetting as this is to you, you honestly wouldn’t feel whole unless you answered your calling to do exactly what you were created for. Your best friend Raphael was right all along. This is something you had to do.”
Saint poured himself another glass of the liquor and took a taste, this one a bit more satisfying than the last.
“Just tell me what this son of a bitch is going to do so I can be ready, Lawrence. I’m not down with playing a bunch of games and wasting time. You know me better than that. This hurry up and wait shit is for someone else, certainly not me. I want this over with, and I don’t want it bothering my damn children anymore. Period.”
“You’re impatient, but I understand your frustration. Honestly, Saint, I don’t know how the archdemon is going to approach you. He could come one at a time, or it could be all seven at once, but I can assure you, it will require you to pull every damn resource that you have, and then some. You will have to be vigilant.”
With that dire warning hanging above him, the Isley Brothers crooned, “Groove with You”.
“I’m tired.” Saint dropped his head, utterly worn out. In a way, he wouldn’t mind a nice snooze. The discussion was exhausting, and he hadn’t even lifted an actual finger yet. He slowly looked up at Lawrence and offered a sad smile. “Man, thank God that I have you, Jagger, and now Cruz. I’d be lost without you.”
“You’d figure it out whether I was here or not. I just make it a little easier.” Lawrence smiled real easy-like and lifted his glass in the air for a toast. Saint picked up his glass and raised it up, joining the man. “To love, man … to Goodness. May it prevail.” They clinked their glasses together, both going quiet as they looked across his desk at one another.
And then the room filled with red smoke as it emitted from Saint’s nostrils and the sides of his mouth. Lawrence sat there, at ease, while Saint’s emotions filled the room and ripped the air asunder…
“It’s a nice seafood restaurant, Mama.” Pam looked around as they pulled up to Le Bernardin on 55st Street. She sported her black and white polka dot jacket, with matching shirt and pants. “I had to put this reservation in weeks in advance.”
Pam grunted. Saint got out of his freshly polished black Lexus, buttoned his long black coat, then stepped around to the passenger side of the car. It seemed the grandstanding fool got a new car every week. Opening their doors, he took each of them gingerly by the arm and led the way, a stiff smile on his face, as if it took all of his strength to muster it. Moments later, they were being greeted inside by a rail thin man with a thick chocolate-colored mustache that appeared to weigh more than he did. The man spoke in a heavy European accent, and all Pam could do was giggle as his facial hair above his lip seesawed with each word he uttered. Saint spoke to him in what sounded like French—no doubt showing off. They were escorted to a table covered with a snow-white cloth, candles, and elegant silverware.
“It’s fancy in here.” Pam grimaced, just wanting something normal that was flavorful and would stick to her bones. “Xenia.” She peered over her leather-bound menu at her daughter, who seemed to not be paying her any mind. Saint was equally dismissive, rudely messing around on his phone and bursting out in occasional fits of laughter as if he were watching some comedy show. The tall man sat across from her next to Xenia, while she sat by her lonesome, looking at the two of them … a spectator sport.
“Yes, Mama?”
“I can’t read this shit. It’s in French, too, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but if there’s something that interests you, I can help you with it.”
“When did you learn French?!” This must’ve been some shit Saint had her do… Mr. International Lover… chinky chen chow pyramid climbin’ fool!
“Mama, I took it in high school, remember?”
She did? Oh yeah, that’s right…
“I just want some fried chicken. Shit.” She tossed her menu down and shook her head in dismay. “I ain’t hard to please. Why couldn’t you let the grandbabies come, too?” She looked around the place. It smelled like big money … big money burnin’ in the kitchen for some overpriced foo-foo merci bullshit.
“Mama, they don’t serve fried chicken here and Hassani and Dakarai don’t like food like this. They still have child-like palettes.”
“I guess I do too, then. They eat my greens, fried fish, and potato salad just fine!” She placed her reading glasses on with a low grunt, snatched the menu back up and peered at the strange words. “Numbers are universal. There ain’t no prices on these menus, Xenia.”
“Mama, it’s not a problem. We’re taking care of it.” Pam slammed her menu back down on the table and turned towards Saint who was still busy with his phone, this time a pensive expression on his golden face as he looked down at the screen. The light from the device made his eyes glow in an odd way, as if they were filled with lightning bolts. Waves of silver and white, a brief glimpse of crimson.
Hmmm, must be reflectin’ from his phone, whatever it is he is watching. My daughter and son-in-law make a real nice lookin’ couple. They made some good lookin’ kids, too. Hassani is so handsome and smart. Dakarai cracks me up with his silly self. Isis is so pretty and sweet. They’re blessed. I wish they was here with us right now. I came all this way to hug on ’em, not sit here eating boiled liver and be bored outta my damn mind.
Xenia and Saint began to discuss what they were going to order while she fell into a daydream. She’d been in New York for about five hours. As soon as she’d landed, Xenia had picked her up, and they’d talked the whole way back to her house. During the ride, she could barely take her eyes off her daughter. Xenia looked good. Her hair had grown down to the middle of her back and she had it blown out. She wore a gold and ivory gown that cinched at the waist. The color contrast looked good against her toasty complexion and her face, with her high cheekbones, had a certain radiance to it, which the young girls described as highlights. It was so good to see her daughter after all the time they’d been apart.
Deep joy had settled inside her heart while looking at her child—the woman was practically glowing. After a second or two, though, she be
came suspicious. She’d wondered if Xenia were pregnant. The woman was a bit long in the tooth for such a thing but it sure wasn’t impossible. After all, she wasn’t full blown menopausal and she highly doubted that a man like Saint, with his nasty sex tips book writing self, was staying off her. Xenia had stated that she wasn’t pregnant, just happy to have her family all around her. As soon as they’d arrived at the elaborate, fancy house her daughter, grandchildren, and Saint shared, she made her way to the kitchen and demanded the sugar, an empty pitcher, and a large stirring spoon. She’d squirreled away a packet of fruit punch Kool-Aid in her purse so she could make up a batch for Dakarai and Isis, just as she’d promised them, much to Saint’s dismay. Hassani didn’t like super sweet beverages, but she had a special treat for him later, once she got him alone.
“Mama, I’m talking to you,” Xenia smiled at her, drawing her out of her deliberations. “What would you like to eat? They have oysters for an appetizer. You like oysters, right?”
“No, I don’t.” Pam shook her head. “Them thangs look nasty. They slimy, too. Look like a bunch of gray snot sittin’ there in a tiny bowl, turtle in a half shell. I’d rather lick a monkey’s hemorrhoid-covered ass.” Xenia grimaced and shook her head, a look of disapproval coating her expression as she cut her eyes.
“Okay, how about their red snapper? It’s delicious.”
“Fish?” Perhaps things were looking up after all. “Is it fried? I only want fried fish.” Pam crossed her arms over her breasts in defiance.
“It’s not fried, Mama. Why don’t you try something new? Live a little?”
“I’ve lived enough for you, Saint, and everybody else in this restaurant combined. Baked, they can throw it back in the lake. Raw, that mess will never touch my jaw. Fried? Give me a high-five. Anything other than that gets a big ass zero in my book.”
Xenia’s brows furrowed as she mumbled under her breath, “That book must only be one page long then…”
“Say what you want—that’s how you get sick ’round here, Xenia. You and Saint like to go all over town eatin’ sushi, shark fin, car tires, navels and eardrums, strange things that make my skin crawl. And Xenia, yo’ stomach always hurtin’.”
“No, it’s not.” The woman gave her a look of complete confusion.
“Lies. As a kid you’d come home talkin’ about yo’ sore tummy and I ask you, ‘what you eat?’ and you tell me something crazy, like crocodile tacos or some shit! Ask ’em if they have pork chops.”
“Mama, no! They don’t have pork chops, all right?”
Pam zoomed in on Saint who was still messing around with his phone, unbelievably quiet.
“Put that phone down and spend some time with your mother-in-law,” she chastised. Saint slowly looked up at her with hooded light honey-colored eyes as he gently set his phone onto the table. Clasping his hands, he wore a smile—a creepy one, as if he knew just what she needed without asking.
“Do you want my help?” he finally said, his deep voice practically rumbling through her insides like a freight train.
“Help? What? Am I drowning or somethin’?” She shrugged. “I just want something normal to eat. Is that too much to ask?”
Saint raised his hand and snapped his fingers at a waiter in the near distance.
“Pam, there are four courses, all right? You can skip some, but I’m sure there’s something to your liking. I bet you wouldn’t mind some filet mignon?” he smirked, a sparkle in his eye.
“So you gonna let me get red meat without puttin’ yo’ mouth on me about it? You such a know-it-all bossy son of a bitch, Saint. It ain’t worth it if that’s the price I gotta pay, damn it. I hate hearing you go on and on about the pitfalls, trials, and tribulations of red meat, how hard it is on our system and—”
“No.” Saint shook his head, his smile never fading. “Have whatever you wish, Pam.” Silence reigned for a spell—a strange silence that didn’t feel right.
This arrogant, sneaky mothafucka is being too damn nice. What the hell is going on here?!
“All right, the jig is up.”
“What?” The troll of a man threw his arms up as if in disbelief.
“You ain’t gettin’ smart with me, talking back, taking low blows and making fun. Either you’ve lost your mind or you’re up to something. I’m goin’ with door number two.”
At this, the man cracked up laughing, and so did Xenia.
“Mama, we haven’t seen you in a while. Come on, don’t be suspicious.”
Pam rolled her eyes.
“I am not fooled by any of this, I got my eye on you, boy.” She pointed across the table at her son-in-law, but all he did was grin wider, exposing perfect white teeth that must’ve cost a pretty penny in dental insurance. Perhaps they were natural, who knew? They still looked good.
Moments later, they ordered their meals, and though she felt queasy watching the two dig into plates of things she could barely pronounce, she had to admit her filet mignon was the best damn steak she’d ever had. After polishing the plate, she searched the menu once again for desserts, then noticed some prices printed at the top of one page in tiny, almost faded numbers.
$157.00 for four courses for one damn person? I coulda got me five outfits from the swap meet, two pair of shoes, a bag of groceries, some bootleg movies, a carton of cigarettes, a full tank of gas, and an ice-cold soda on the ride home with that! Saint and Xenia just showin’ out now. This don’t make no dollars and sense!
Keeping quiet, she dug in her purse, searching around until she’d collected her coins. Slamming the pile of silver and copper and a wad of crumpled ones and fives down on the table, she sat back, belly full. “That’s the tip.”
Saint was twirling around his fork, seemingly daydreaming, but her words drew his attention.
“Pam, come on,” he said, waving her off. “No need for that. This is our treat to you. We’re just glad to have you here.” On a huff, she grabbed her wrinkled dollars and change and shoved them back in her purse.
Something mighty strange is going on with my son-in-law. He’s been quiet, reserved, kind.
She made plans to pick Xenia’s brain until she got down to the white meat and pulled out the truth…
“Move it.”
“You move it.” Hassani stared into his little brother’s light brown eyes, fisted his hand, then turned away in a huff. He glanced back at the partially deflated basketball on his bed. It was an old thing, but his favorite of all. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated with all of his might until the sphere wiggled.
“That’s all you got?” Dakarai taunted. “Man, let me show you how it’s done!” The bigheaded pain in the ass turned towards the basketball, his thick, dark brows furrowed and his forehead creased. He flexed his spaghetti-like arms and snorted like he was mad at the world. Hassani rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, already growing weary of the ridiculous pint-sized wannabe heavyweight champion of the world. His little brother acted like he thought himself some prized bodybuilder, his nostrils flared like an enraged bull’s.
“Are you tryna move it, Day-Day, or challenge it to a damn duel? What in the world are you doin’?”
“Shut up. I bet I can make it go if you just be quiet. You’re messin’ up my conservation.”
“Conservation?” Hassani grimaced and turned about in frustration. “The word is concentration.” Dakarai ignored him and kept his eyes on the prize, but the damn ball didn’t budge. “Let me try again. I swear I did it right before you came in. I’m getting stronger. Just watch.”
“I’ve been watching but you ain’t do nothin’. I bet even Isis can do it better than you.”
“She probably can, but she can’t do much else and she can’t do it as fast or accurate as me. According to Uncle Lawrence, I’m not supposed to be able to do it yet … but I can.”
“Talk is cheat.”
“Cheap! The saying goes, ‘Talk is cheap.’” Dakarai’s brow shot up in confusion.
“You sure?”
“Ye
s, I’m sure. Now, be quiet. Here I go again.” Hassani turned back towards the basketball and, just like that, it flew off the bed, hitting a picture on the wall and causing it to crash to the ground. Big shards of glass landed on the floor, sprawling out like clear, jagged drops of water. The white and gold picture frame cracked in several places when it tumbled to the ground atop the broken fragments in a grand finale.
“Awwwww!” Dakarai yelled, his big eyes now three times their normal size. “Mama gonna get you!” Suddenly, his bedroom door swung open, and there stood Mama in a long dark blue gown and matching robe. With a tight expression, colorful rollers in her hair, and green goop all over her face—no doubt one of her strange facial masks—she marched over to them with her hand on her hip, looking like she wished to do mass child destruction.
“What was that noise?!” Before either could answer, she was hurling out more questions. “What are you two up to now? I can’t turn my back on either of you for a minute. It’s always something when you two are together lately!”
“There was an accident,” Hassani choked out, his stomach growing tight with anxiety.
“Where?”
She followed Dakarai’s finger as he pointed to the mess. Mama’s lips twisted and grew tense as if someone had wound an invisible thread around them and pulled tight.
“How in the hell did that happen?” She snapped her long neck back in their direction.
“Hassani threw a basketball and it broke his picture, Mama. Grandma got him that picture—that’s so sad.” The little fuckhead pretended to be on the verge of tears. “I should probably tell her what happened. She gonna be mad, too.”
“Why don’t you be quiet? What’s the point of having a deaf mute as a brother if he is always talking?!”
“Mama, ’Sani was showin’ off, that’s how it happened.”
He couldn’t believe his ears. Even this was an all-time low for Dakarai.
