Saved and SAINTified (26 page)

“Yeah, that sounds good
. Coffee please.”

He got back up and pulled out the coffee maker, a filter and the grounds.

“Don’t you have to get out of here? I love that you’re serving me though. You’re so sweet.”

She
stretched her arms as she slid out the chair and approached him. She brought her arms about him and he hugged her with all of his might, burrowed his face in her soft hair. After long moments, he pulled back.

“I’m on my way, just need a sec.”

He started the coffee while she stood close to him, her arms folded across her breast and the silky hot pink gown flowing against her tawny skin. Reaching over, he gently caressed the side of her face, tracing her lips with his fingertip. Saint wanted to frame this moment in time. He’d spent the evening tossing and turning; strange dreams of pyramids, flying fallen angels and a bizarre man wearing a hooded white robe, disturbed and distressed him with each attempt to catch sleep’s toe and ride along.

He’d finally turned to
Xenia, who had awakened to use the bathroom. Upon her return, he was standing, and hungry. He didn’t need to say it; she knew what he wanted. He took her hand, stepped over his packed black luggage on their bedroom floor and led her down the winding staircase, through the entry way, past the living room and into their kitchen. He lifted her onto the counter, pulled her gown around her hips and removed his underwear, their tangled bodies becoming warmer and warmer as each moment passed. He wanted her, needed her. Plunging his tongue into her mouth and dick deep within her, he gripped her tightly and he rocked her like a pendulum with each mounting thrust.

He waited
... waited ... until her arrival, and then, he had his way with her. He took her down, far down, to the pelvic dance floor for a nasty Salsa grind, pushing and thrusting with determination and might, harshly biting his bottom lip to stifle any outbursts that may rouse their children. She felt so good, gushy and wet—still not showing, his naked eye deceived him, but the touch  ...  the touch never lied. He could feel the slight swell of her stomach, ever so slight, as his bare body brushed against her. He trailed his fingertips over the area; the small budding dome was on its way. He’d seen it twice before, been down this road with his Goddess. Her maternal instinct always sent his paternal one into overdrive. Their connection was undeniable. He found her irresistible, and she had to have realized that, while she was pregnant, he was sometimes even hornier for her, if that were even possible.

In their sexual dance,
he went into a delirious trance with her. Her eyes hooded, not with sleep but desire. When she came, her intense orgasm threatened to take her breath away. Sensing that had him thrust harder, deeper, rotate his hips. His breaths came loud and heavy, and he found it impossible to hold back the groans. He looked down between them, watching his dick going in out of her pussy at rapid speed. He swallowed air as his hips continued rotate and pulse like pistons. He could hear himself breathing loudly, his parted lips making incomprehensible utterances.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, Xenia,” he mustered between rigid thrusts. “I’m gonna miss you, baby.”

“Mmmm,” she moaned, her legs tightening around him. He would arrive soon, and then
he’d have to come back up to the world of awkward reality. Life was always easier when he was inside of her...

****

Eight hours later

“Yeah, it is.”

Saint looked around his father’s home. He immediately took notice of the stacked, yellowed newspapers on the small kitchen table. His father, notoriously neat to a fault, would never normally allow such an unsightly avalanche to build, but there had to be meaning behind the madness.

“Exciting,
isn’t it, to have another baby?”

H
is father smiled reflectively down into his lap. Saint took notice of the weight loss. His father’s pants fit a bit too loosely, the crotch sagging just so and his shirt collar grappling at something to find and rest against. Instead, the ribbed cotton, worn dark blue polo shirt was met with light tan, thin skin—devoid of muscle tone and depth. For years as a youth, Saint saw his father as a power house. He was tall, muscular, dark haired and intimidating. Even his smile never rendered much comfort.

He
was a naturally serious man and when his father would parade around in only a pair of jeans and wife beater, his cigarettes tucked away in his pocket, he demanded respect without uttering a word. Now, only a shell of that man existed. It seemed to happen so suddenly, a fast decline into a world of depression, bitterness and self-loathing. Saint’s father was once not only a pillar of the community, he was dashingly handsome and reliable, to a fault. Now, he was barely answering his phone and his behavior was downright peculiar.

“Dad
.” Saint sat back further onto the couch and stroked his bottom lip with his index finger. “I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

“S
aint.” He sighed. “You just got here, okay?” He gave his son a helpless look. “Let’s just take a breather and I will speak with you. Just give me a moment, please.” His tone brimmed with exasperation and agitation.

In the past, his
father never ran from a fight, not with him or anyone else—except with his mother who he’d spent his married life happily trying to please. He knew by the way his father cowered during the argument at his home in L.A., and then ran off, that something was truly amiss. And months beforehand, his father’s strange antics had been building in quantity and intensity. He didn’t even recognize who was in front of him.

Is this my father? It can’t be.

He wanted to get up and shake some sense into him. He also wanted to go home, to his wife and children. Discomfort nagged at him. Being in his old stomping grounds had him feeling like a fish out of water. He no longer had to wrestle with the unknown, or so he thought. It had reared its ugly head again, and proved to be a worthy opponent.

“
Something is wrong with you. I’ll let this go for now but let’s look at something else that needs to be dealt with—a discussion that is long overdue. In the past, you treated me badly. I was only a damn kid, dad.”

“S
aint...”

“No! You told me to give you a second, so now I’m talking about something else because I want to make sure that when you
do
get ready to speak to me,” Saint pointed at him, “you bring the whole truth, and nothin’ but the truth. I’m tired of this bullshit!”

Just then, Saint’s phone vibrated. He looked down and saw Raphael on the caller-ID.

“Sup man?”

You just saved my father, but I’ll be back for him
...

“How the fuck are you going to be in town and not call a brotha?” Raphael barked.

Saint burst out laughing.

  
“Man, you didn’t give me a chance. I just got to Pop’s house. What’s crack-a-lackin’?”

  
“Some mothafuckin’ drinks, man. There is this joint down on Northern Blvd, in Woodside. They have some shit called ‘Ferocious Fridays’, and the drinks are on point, none of that watered down shit. It's called, Two Shots In the Dark. There is this guy spinnin’ records, too, DJ Smurfy. Thought you might like to hear some music while we get shit faced.” Raphael laughed.

  
“A soundtrack for getting sloshed? Sounds like a mothafuckin’ plan. I could use the break. You want me to meet you there?”

   
“Nah, I’m already getting dressed and will be at your father’s crib ASAP. Just stay put. You're probably jet-lagged. Too bad. You’re still going."

Saint laughed. “I am but I’ll be ready.”

Saint ended the call and turned his attention back to his father. “So, as you heard, I’m going to run out with Raphael, if that is okay. I won’t be gone long. You wanted some time before you spoke to me anyway, so here it is.” Saint sucked his teeth, stood and excused himself to freshen up and throw on different clothes for his night on the town.

“Shut up, man! I didn’t do that shit.” Saint turned redder at Raphael’s teasing.

“Yes you did! You were about seventeen, and you told him that you’d give him twenty dollars if he’d steal you some of the new
Jordans, like that was a good deal ’nd shit and he did it. Damn crack head.”

“Oh, Jesus.” He rubbed his face and laughed, an embarrassed chuckle more than amusement.

Saint scanned his environment, from the hanging wine glasses above him to the green neon bar sign behind him. Two Latina women manned the crowded bar scene from behind the well-stocked counter. One of the bartenders turned toward him, her petite frame looking dwarfed amongst the swarm of people, loud music blasting Pit Bull songs and tall, frosty beer mugs that weighed a ton. She was quickly distracted as a co-worker pulled her arm and whispered in her ear. White Christmas lights lined the bar, and a sense of relaxation, even amidst the sandwiched couples and tipsy, dancing women, came over him. The hanging television tuned in on a baseball game.

“Hi gentlemen, can I get you anything?” the woman asked from behind the counter.

“What’s your name?” Saint asked, leaning closer to her with a smile and meeting her gaze. Raphael nudged him.

“What?! I just asked her name, that’s it!” Saint grinned.

She laughed. “It’s Vanessa.”

“Hi Vanessa, I just wanted to know your name because I need to know who will be responsible for getting me into a world of trouble tonight,” he flirted.

“That’s me!” she beamed. “What would you like?”

“Not a Hypnotic,” Raphael teased. “I’m sorry, man. I guess that wasn’t funny. It slipped out before I could even really think about it.”

Saint shot him a look and quickly turned away, resisting the urge to curse him out.

“Let me get a Jack Daniels and coke.”

“Got it, and you?” She brandished her pretty, feminine smile at Raphael.

“Vodka and cranberry.”

“Sounds good!” She turned away and began to prepare the drinks.

“So.” Raphael took a final swig from his Captain Morgan. “What’s been up, man? What you been into?”

“Oh, you know, the conferences and work as usual.” Saint looked back up at the game then began to bob his head as DJ. Smurfy dropped the tune, ‘Earregular’ by Tech N9ne.  Vanessa placed their drinks in front of them, winked and returned to another customer.

Saint picked up his new glass and took a big gulp. “Oh, this is gooood. You didn’t lie man, this shit is nice and strong. No ice. But cold. Loving it.”

“I’ll have to keep my eye on you tonight, I see,” Raphael looked at him out the corner of his eye. “If you really wanna get lit, there must be something bothering you.”

Saint paused and sighed. “Man.” He hit the bar table. “Me and the old man been getting into it. Today is Mama’s birthday and...”

“Oh shit, man, that’s right. Happy Birthday, Mrs. Aknaten,” Raphael said seriously. “You’re having a hard day.”

“It’s not terrible. I’m mostly here for my father. I told you how fucked up his visit was. He was acting so strange and now it just continues. I’m not leaving here until he tells me what the hell is going on.”

“I don’t blame you. It could be something serious. Do you think he’s sick or somethin’?”

“He said he wasn’t. I didn’t pick up anything either except his usual shit, like the high blood pressure. My father’s health has always been good though. Even when he smoked cigarettes, he never really had any problems.”

“A devoted Muslim smoking cigarettes!” Raphael laughed.

“I know, right? He stopped that a long time ago though. Anyway, I’m going to wear his ass down, make him talk.”

“I know your dad isn’t the emotional type, but after what you told me happened when he came out there, you have every right to be worried. Oh man, before I forget, me and Marsh, remember Marsh, man?”

“Yeah I remember Marsh! Cool Jamaican dude we used to chill with.”

“Yeah, well, I ran into him at the record store a few months ago and he was buying that old Egyptian Lover.” Raphael started tut-dancing in his seat, causing Saint to turn away to hide his embarrassment and laughter. “Yeah, so anyway, that brought back a lot of memories, the damn basement parties.”

“Yes, the basement parties! We were wild, man.”

Saint could always unwind with his best friend. Raphael understood him; they were brothers in the truest sense of the word. Raphael was giving him the inner peace he needed, and it felt good. Damn good.

“Do you remember the lyrics to that song, man? I can’t recall the shit but I’m sure you can.”

Saint paused and looked at Rapahael is disbelief. “Now why in the hell would you assume that I remember the lyrics after all this time, Raphael?”

You know I know. Just
admit the shit, Raphael.

“’Cause you’re half Egyptian, Saint!”

Saint burst out laughing and shook his head. “That’s some ol’ racist, stereotypical bullshit.”