Saint And Sinners (90 page)

A slow tear ran down the woman’s satiny face.

“How…how do you know all of this? Are you clairvoyant?’

“Yes.” This time, he didn’t run from it. Saint didn’t hesitate to claim what he was,
and what he was about. No, right then, he embraced this awesome truth.

“Zaire, you will find love again. You will find it in Italy, with a photographer,
when you go there next year for a second show. Initially, you won’t think he’s your
type, but you two will fall madly in love and he will show you what it means to be
treated like the Queen that you are. You’re a young woman on the go. Your soul is
so pure, it is practically blinding me right now. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders,
so good, that if I’d tried to proposition you after admitting my marital status, you
would have kindly told me ‘no, thank you’, and walked away. Unlike some people, you
still respect other people’s unions, despite your own desires and wants.”

The woman hung her head, smiling, as another tear rolled down her face.

“Oh my goodness, what a strange night!” She laughed. “…And you’re right…you are so
right…”

“I’m flawed. I have to deal with myself accordingly. My body wants you, but my heart
and mind do not. My body only wants you because it is starving; thus, I am at a weakened
state right now, at this very moment. I know myself very well, Zaire, and though we
just met, you’ve taught me a lot in just a matter of minutes. I am being tested, and
I could have failed, but I stopped myself in the nick of time and told you the truth
about my status, and how I feel about my wife. I
love
that woman more than myself.” His voice trembled as he rolled around in his own internal
pain and turmoil. “I would
never
wish to hurt her, and I won’t. I’ve stood here and told you very personal things
that are no one’s business, but I felt compelled. I’m telling you this because you
have no idea what a challenge this was for me. I would have
never
approached or propositioned you, but then…you spoke to me. And in one split second,
I thought about what it would be like to make love again…but…I
need
that tree.” His voice cracked as he pointed down the way.

Suddenly, the woman grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the painting. They both
stood there, staring at the damn thing, not speaking for what seemed like an eternity.

“Tell me, odd stranger.” She cracked a grin as she pointed to it. “When you look at
that woman, what do you see?”

Saint swallowed and looked long and hard at it. “I see a woman in pain that needs
me more than ever. I see a woman that is connected to me at the root, in her heart,
but her body won’t cooperate because something within her soul has her all tangled
up.” He took a deep breath, pushing away painful tears that threatened to fall. “I
see a woman that loved me in spite of myself, and all of my issues. I see the roots
of our family, the mother of our portion of the family tree. I see the mother of all
civilization within her, within you… I see my Goddess…”

He looked at Zaire and smiled sadly.

“That’s beautiful. That’s powerful. And when you look at that man, what do you see?”

“I see a confused, hurting, twisted up person who has demons, literal and figurative,
trying to uproot him from his foundation. I see a man struggling to hold on to the
only thing in his life that means a shit to him—his woman, his bride, his wife, his
Queen…his
everything
. I uh,” he looked down at the floor for a moment then back up at the painting. “I
see a man that has to stay grounded, no matter how hard the wind blows, how painful
it feels, and how half of the branches are crumbling around him. They may not have
any fruit right now, but I have to have faith that one day, the pears, cherries and
apples will reappear. That’s…that’s what I see.”

And there he was now, sniffing and feeling like a damn fool as a few tears trailed
down his cheeks. At the same time, it felt good to unleash, to let it go, to relax.

“This painting is
definitely
for you…” She took his hand once more and squeezed it. “May I ask your name?”

“Yes. My name is Saint.”

“Oh wow, I love that. How unusual.”

Saint smiled sorrowfully and looked down at the ground.

“I almost just want to
give
this to you!” She chuckled. “And I would if my damn rent wasn’t overdue, just like
you said.”

“Ahhh, yes!” He laughed. “Let’s take care of that little matter, shall we?” He broke
her grasp and walked back to the front of the exhibit, finding the hostess.

“I’d like to go ahead and proceed with purchasing that painting.” He whispered.

“Of course!” The woman turned towards him, then her eyes met Zaire’s. “And I see you
had the rare treat to talk to the artist! Zaire, what are you doing here at this hour,
sweetie?”

“I honestly don’t know, Tabitha. I just…” She shrugged. “I was bored and decided to
come in here. I think it was meant to be though.” She turned towards Saint and winked
at him.

“Mmmmm.” Tabitha looked at them with a mischievous grin. “A love connection, maybe?”
she teased as she scrolled through her phone.

“Yes,” Saint interjected. “But not with one another…”

Tabitha threw him a confused look, but continued scrolling through her iPhone.

“Okay, here it is. Do you have your credit card? I can run it through my phone.”

“Yeah…” He grabbed his coat and slid it back on, then removed his wallet from the
inside pocket and handed the woman his credit card. “Funny how I could remember my
wallet, but not my ring… Must’ve been some Freudian slip,” he mumbled as he shook
his head in disgust, clearly disappointed with his earlier actions. Despite that,
he was glad he’d done the right thing. It could have ended so much differently, and
the enticement was so great, he almost lost his shit right then and there. He
almost
said he wasn’t married. He
almost
pretended Xenia didn’t exist. His cock had swelled so thick and long in his damn
jeans, there was no question in his mind he would have fucked Zaire ten ways ’til
Sunday had he not been madly in love with Xenia. For on that evening, the artist was
lonely and in need, too.

He realized, right after he got control of himself, that this
very
scenario was the thing Xenia feared most. Why she’d been so damn insistent about
having sex earlier. Why she wanted to push through it and let him have her, even though
she was dying inside as he attempted to make love to her. That was why she’d turned
away and cried, because deep down, she
knew
who her husband was, even better than he knew himself. He never thought in a million
years he’d be tempted to sleep with another woman, but the Devil came to him in his
debilitated state, and used exactly the sort of lady he’d fall for in such a situation—and
to make it that much worse, she was smart, talented, well spoken, relaxed, and open
to the encounter if he’d lied.

Saint found himself in a cage made of shattered glass, bloodied with his attempts
to escape his prison. He lived his life accepting who he was, but Xenia not only accepted
it, she predicted what could happen if she didn’t allow him to have her body—for he
was a sex addict, a man in desperate need of physical attention. And for this to happen,
had he caved, listened to his lower vibration, it would have destroyed them, singlehandedly,
and he’d have no one to blame but himself. He couldn’t have that…couldn’t risk the
woman he loved more than anything in the world for one night of regretful adultery.
No one could compare to Xenia, and there was no use in trying to find a surrogate.
No.
Zaire was someone
else’s
Queen; he already had his own…

“Uh, Zaire, do you have any more pieces here?” he asked as Tabitha disappeared into
a back room to write him out a receipt.

“I have one more.”

“Can you show it to me?”

“Yeah, follow me.” She smiled sweetly as they made their way to another end of the
gallery, an area he hadn’t gotten to yet.

“Hmmm, why is it way over here instead of with your other painting?’

“Oh, well, they like to space stuff out. They think it’s better for sales.”

“Okay, I see.” He nodded in understanding.

Then, she pointed to the masterpiece. In her painting style, she’d rendered a portrait
of an old man sitting on a lopsided, rickety porch, drinking what appeared to be a
mason jar filled with homemade lemonade.

…I bet it’s honey lemonade, like the kind my baby makes…

“Oh, man.” Saint chuckled. “This reminds me of a dream I had. I gotta have this one
too, now. Your work really speaks to me, Zaire. How much is it?”

It didn’t matter; he wanted to pay the woman’s rent, help her out a bit and give her
a ‘thank you’ for helping him in a way she was totally unaware of.

“For you, it’s two hundred dollars.”

“No. I want to pay full price. You need it. You earned it. This painting is not really
of an old man—it’s a painting of your soul. Sometimes you just want to be free, to
be someone else, with not a care in the world.”

“You’re doing it again. You really
are
psychic, oh my goodness. Stop it, it makes me feel weird.” She laughed lightly, causing
him to do the same.

“Okay, I’ll stop. But I want the retail price.”

“If you insist,” she huffed. “It’s three hundred and fifty dollars.”

Tabitha soon found them and Saint pointed at the thing.

“Please add this to my bill, and add on another three hundred dollars, please… She
needs groceries, too.”

Both women gasped.

“Um, okay, sure!” Tabitha jumped up and down gleefully on Zaire’s behalf.

After a few moments, he signed the forms to have the artwork delivered to his house.
As he walked towards the glass door to exit, desperately wanting to get his hands
around Xenia, he disappeared in his own thoughts for a spell. He needed to hold her
tight in a warm embrace, even if it sickened her, and tell her how much he loved the
hell out of her, and that was what he planned to do as soon as he stepped inside of
his home. Zaire called out to him before he exited.

“Thank you so much, Saint. It was a pleasure meeting you.” He paused and looked back
at her.

“Same to you, Zaire. Can you do me one favor?”

“Yes?” She smiled wider, her arm around Tabitha’s shoulders as they both glared at
him in astonishment.

“One day, before you put down your artist brush for the last time, I want you to paint
something about the love a man has for a woman, even when she can’t love him the way
he needs. I want you to…” He turned and looked out the doors, into the steely, icy
night, seeing a few people moseying about, here and there. Then he turned back to
her. “I want you to paint something about them surviving that…about them growing strong
and upright. I want to see an assortment of fruit on that tree in the form of their
children, their hopes and dreams coming to fruition. I want to see that couple not
straining at the roots, but securely grounded. Can you do that for me?”

“Not
only
can I do it, I’m inspired. And…after I’m finished, if you don’t mind, I just may
have it mailed to you.”

He nodded, then walked out the door, almost flying home, wanting nothing more than
to kiss his baby’s tears away…

*

X
enia was ecstatic,
over the moon and through the damp, flower-covered valley now that the damn show
was over. One of the most obnoxious, nerve grating rappers she’d ever encountered
had worked her nerves down to the nub. He was a popular guy and he knew it. Fame had
caught him at a very young age, and the fool didn’t know how to act. She’d questioned
him about the derogatory lyrics in some of his songs and he gave the canned answer,
‘If you ain’t a gold-diggin’ bitch, then tha shit don’t apply to you…’

Oh, how she’d wanted to knock his silly, childish, non-talent having ass into the
middle of next week. Her patience as of late had worn so short, it was barely visible,
and this fella wore her out. Between the glare of his gold teeth, encrusted with diamonds
bouncing under the lights almost blinding her, to the nasty way he rolled his tongue
when he spoke, she’d had more than enough. She had to smile through the shit, and
was just thrilled to be leaving for the day.