Saint And Sinners (39 page)

“Definitely.”

“It’s changed some, well, it’s changed a lot actually, but some stuff is still there.
So, are you interested?”

“You must not have heard me, I
said
definitely! It ain’t nothin’ but a word. You don’t have to ask me twice. I’m excited,
Saint! I wanted you to take me but thought maybe you were too busy, or it was too
soon. Anyway, we better call the babysitter then, ask her if it’s okay.” Xenia grabbed
her purse and dug into it, searching for her cell phone.

“No need. I already told her we might be out late. I did that just in case.” He covered
his mouth, trying to disguise a soft belch. “She said it was cool.” He winked at her
and folded his hands together. “Go on,” he commanded as he stretched his legs under
the table, getting more settled before their pending field trip. “Finish your food.”
He sniffed, scratched at his nose before sucking his teeth. It was the damn weather;
his sinuses were all stopped up.

Grabbing a toothpick from the holder, he plucked it into his mouth as he people watched.
For some reason, a sensation of overwhelming love washed over him, mixed with a dash
of anger. It was the oddest thing. He had no idea what the cause could be. He was
eager to show the woman the place that birthed him, loved on him and almost killed
him at the same time. Walking around in the south Bronx at night wasn’t the safest
choice, but he felt untouchable there, and he’d dare someone to run the fuck up on
him and his lady. He nodded as he sorted his thoughts, worked them out within.

Yeah, my baby needs to see it. She’s seen pictures, I’ve described it, told her shit,
but I want her to lay eyes on it. I want her feet to touch where mine used to, to
feel it, ingest it. I want her to understand why I’m back here. I want her to understand
completely why her husband needed to get his ass back to where it all started, where
it all began. She doesn’t need to know about Koki and all the shit that entails, but
she does need to understand my past. She needs this as much as I do…yeah, my Goddess
needs to feel the vibe of the South Bronx. The concrete mother of a fucker named Saint…

*

X
enia snatched each
tender and gritty morsel Saint uttered, grabbing everything he explained, holding
tight to every word he tossed her way. Her heart beat a bit faster, and she wasn’t
certain why.

“And this is where the building used to stand… It’s gone, as you can see,” he said
mournfully. “It was a shithole. I’m not surprised they tore it down, but it was
my
shithole, you know?”

“I understand, baby.” She squeezed his hand tighter.

“It was real tall.” He pointed upward towards the star covered sky that blanketed
them with rich, black protection. “We were in Apartment 7C in there on the forth floor.
I’ll always remember that. I used to run into that place after school like I regretted
having to part ways and I dreaded it all at the same time. I was always happy if I
had beat my old man home, though.”

“You know, Saint, I know a different Osaze. It is hard for me to see him as the person
he used to be towards you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I know it happened
though. He’s never denied it and that’s just not something a person would lie about.
I’m sorry those things happened to you.”

“Yeah.” Saint kept his gaze upward. “I’m not trying to live in the past, I’m not.
It’s just that we can never forget where we come from. I don’t want to repeat his
mistakes. I will make my own with my children; I don’t need his sins, too. I’m not
going to lie and say it didn’t fuck me up a bit.” He shrugged as he tugged her hand,
leading her away from the scene.

Something about the place was extremely depressing. It made her soul ache, but it
called to her, too. Now she understood what her husband had been saying all of these
years. They’d walked past newer stores and construction, but something about the area
still screamed urban decay, as if it were a happy grin atop a pile of nothingness
or something dilapidated, a discarded carcass under a brand new Oriental rug. Maybe
the memories of its history proved so filthy and horrific, no amount of maneuvering
bulldozers, strong bleach and brand new shiny storefronts could wipe it clean.

“This is where my mother was killed.” Saint stood there, his hands shoved in his pockets
as he glared down at the ground. A light sprinkling of rain began and she immediately
wrapped her arms around him. He felt so cold, his muscles tight and drawn together
as if a vise squeezed them from the inside out. He wrapped his arm around her, but
he kept his golden, glimmering eyes on the ground. This was the worst kind of pain
to witness and in that moment, Xenia had to think to herself about her own mother,
long and hard.

Mama drives me crazy. She really does, but…it would just kill me if she passed away,
especially like that…

Saint looked ahead and pointed. “They said the car came from over there and careened
out of control, ran right into her, like she was just nothing. Then, the son of a
bitch just kept on going…like she was trash!” He gnashed his teeth and hid his face
in her shoulder. She kept holding him to her, giving him an anchor.

“Saint, I’m so sorry, baby… Come here.” Clasping her hands around the material of
his coat, she made him look at her, desperately trying to force the man to acknowledge
her, to not shut her out as he disappeared within himself. “Baby, even though you
don’t know who did it, you have to trust that God took care of it, okay?”

He said nothing, but he did look down at her. No smile on his face, just an icy stare
that sent chills through her body. Then, his hand caressed her back, warmth returning
to their embrace.

“Let’s go…” he mumbled, carting her away. As they walked, the rain grew heavier and
heavier, and the sounds of Spanish music cascaded from various storefront doorways,
eateries, bodegas and apartment windows daring to be open in such cool temperatures.
But it was music, and Xenia figured, when people had nothing, whatever they could
share, they would. Songs were definitely for sharing…

“I wish I had time to show you more, but it’s raining and it’s getting late.”

“Saint.” She stopped and tugged on his wet jacket. “What was your favorite thing to
do when you lived here?”

A crooked grin flashed across his face. “Listen to music, play stick ball, hang with
Bomb, act a fool with Raphael. After we moved to Brooklyn, I didn’t come back over
here much until I was a teenager. When I came back, I liked looking for girls. The
Bronx and Brooklyn had the best girls.” He laughed lightly, causing Xenia to do the
same.

“Manhattan had the gold diggers, Brooklyn had the ride or die chicks, the Bronx had
dangerous broads, but their butts seemed home grown…bodies like whoa.” He made a motion
with his hands as if outlining the shape of a woman’s hips and ass.

“Saint, you are a mess.” She laughed and shook her head as her hair became soaked…and
his, too. He looked so beautiful standing out there in the rain, his hair glistening
and flattening against his golden face. She ran a finger lightly over his lips. He
gripped it hard, making her sigh until she felt the soft wetness of his mouth as he
slid it inside. He sucked her finger, holding her hand steady there while he looked
so intensely into her eyes. Then, just like that, he plucked it from between his lips,
grabbed her hand and continued to walk.

“Harlem had nice lookin’ chicks too, but they seemed to want to be on Broadway or
go to college.” He chuckled. “It was harder to get laid in Harlem, at least for me,
because so many were afraid of getting pregnant; it would ruin their dreams. I found
some though, I
always
found some.”

“So your life revolved around women?” She smirked.

“Pretty much.” He laughed cheerlessly. “It still does but this time, it’s just
one
.”

He grabbed her by her waist, turned her around and flung her back hard against a brick
wall, scaring the shit out of her. The roughness of the jagged bricks pricked into
her skin, pulled at her pants and left tiny abrasions against her neck. Before she
could ask what his damn problem was, his soft lips met hers and strong hands roamed
up and down her form over soaked clothes. Her pussy competed with her threads for
who could get wetter… Then he pried her lips apart for a deeper kiss. In that moment,
she wanted that man more than anything else in the entire world. His tongue jetted
in and out of her mouth as if they were fucking, and she felt his groan rumble deep
within her, vibrating throughout her body. Then, just like that, he pulled away from
her. He stumbled back, his brows furrowed and his feet unsteady as if intoxicated.
He stared her up and down, sizing her up.

“Come here, I want to take you somewhere else before we go home.” He stretched his
hand out to her, waiting. Xenia let him catch her hand. Their fingertips danced lightly
against each another until he took a strong hold onto her. But to her surprise, rather
than lead her to the car, they ended up at the entrance to a subway, then walked down
the steps into the land of city trains…

*

The lights flickered,
alarming the sexy woman that sat next to Saint in the back of the train. They’d gotten
lucky—they found only three other people there, and two had gotten off.

“Do the lights always flash like that?” Xenia asked as she grasped the fabric of his
exposed shirt. To let himself air-dry, he’d unzipped his jacket and allowed the air
around them to do the honors. Slicking his hand over his wet hair, he looked down
at her and grabbed her ass, bringing her closer.

“Sometimes…it’s nothing to worry about.”

“I love you,” she murmured, laying her leg over his lap, getting comfortable beside
him. He stared down at her bun, the sparkling of rain drops still fresh in the tresses.
One finger, then another, he touched them, feeling the wetness from the rain that
had fallen in the South Bronx, indoctrinating her, blessing her, baptizing her. He
found it rather odd that once they reached the train, the rain suddenly stopped, as
if a switch had been flicked. He didn’t tell her, but it was not raining across the
street where they’d stood, nor behind or in front of them. No, the rain clouds were
theirs and theirs alone. He knew and understood what that meant. She’d been accepted
into the fold. New York had officially welcomed and adopted her, and would do all
she could to make this woman he’d die for feel at ease. She was in a strange place
with a strange man, but he was her lover, her best friend. She had important work
to do, and she understood this now, without a shadow of a doubt. He was nothing without
her, and her let her know that through his caress, in the way he let his hand feather
over the side of her face.

After a while, the last person exited the train, leaving just the two of them.

He looked lazily at the map-covered walls and numbered pillars before they departed
once again. What a superb feeling to be under the city once again, a feeling he could
barely describe. He heard her swallow, stared at her throat for a spell and then,
like the raindrops on her jacket, she slid away, until she crouched on the filthy
gum and grime covered floor, nestled between his gaping legs. He looked down at her
with perplexity, not sure what to say or do, but then stiffened and groaned when she
reached for his zipper and looked up into his eyes, a sadness about her, but a power,
all the same. He shifted his weight, and looked away to see the brick walls buzzing
past faster and faster as she reached into his boxers and then…