When Saint Goes Marching In (21 page)

Saint felt like a prostitute and he was in love with his john-ette, caught between a rock and a hard place. He so desperately wanted to stop what she was doing, to tell her ‘no’ but it was his only time with her so he gluttonously took whatever scraps she cast his way.

He’d beg her with his mouth, his eyes and his body to bring his children home and reunite their family but it fell upon deaf ears time and time again. Each time, she’d ball in his arms, her tears covering his chest, his arms and his heart, and their legs tangled, wrapped around each other like braids. Pain and lust warred within him – and he’d find himself staring at the bed, crumpled and damp from their loving, his body and mind tired of letting her go, of not reaching her.

Raphael’s loud laugh at some scene in the movie yanked Saint out of his brooding, made him jump in his seat.

“Man, what’s going on?” Raphael asked, his voice husky, likely from the morning’s Black and Mild he had smoked.

Saint looked over at him and didn’t respond.

“You told me you needed to get away. You told me this shit with Xenia was fuckin’ you up and you needed a few days to get your mind right but all you’ve been doing is moping. I’m sick of this shit.”

“You and me both,” Saint mumbled.

“I’m going to show you a good time whether you like it or not. In the meantime, keep your chin up. She’ll be back, man,” Raphael assured as he tapped Saint’s leg and looked back at the screen.

“Everyone keeps telling me that but she never comes back to stay,” Saint whispered. “I don’t believe that anymore. I think she’s really through with me. If I ever see Payton again I’ll…”

“You’d do nothing. You don’t hit women, man. You never have and I doubt you’d start now, even after what happened,” Raphael interrupted.

“She’s not a woman. She’s a monster. Do you know how humiliating it was for me to have to call my doctor and get those tests while I’m married? I didn’t even tell him what happened. I didn’t want to. What if this got out to the press? I’m surprised no one knows, honestly. I’m amazed my sister-in-law, Xenia’s friend Stacy with her big ass mouth or my mother-in-law haven’t called the tabloids and blabbed everything. There must be an angel looking out for me. While I was sitting on pins and needles waiting for the results, I just couldn’t believe what was happening to me.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhhh!” a man barked while he sat in the row behind them.

Saint rolled his eyes and continued to talk. “Thankfully, all the tests came up clean. When I went to pick up the boys one time, a couple weeks after it happened, I showed Xenia the results and she just shrugged and said, ‘Good for you.’ But then the following week she was at the house asking for sex, like I told you. That is probably the only thing that took her so long. Man, if Payton’s ass had given me something, especially something that was incurable…”

“But she didn’t, you’re disease free, so you need to concentrate on right here, right now,” Raphael urged.

Saint sighed and popped a piece of popcorn in his mouth as he half-watched the silver screen.

This is the first time in my life I ever wanted to sock the shit out of a woman.

They finished watching the movie which elicited a couple of weak laughs out of Saint’s depressed mood. Saint moved robotically behind his friend and threw his empty popcorn container away.

“You’re coming to my house,” Raphael announced as the two made their way to the subway.

“What for?” Saint asked. “I just want to go back to my crib and go to sleep.”

“Yeah, to go to your mostly empty, depressing penthouse that you refuse to sell, so you can have a pity-party and pout. Not going to happen, not on my watch. Latrice made some dinner and you’re coming over. Plus, the kids miss you.”

They boarded the train and sat down. Saint looked around at the graffiti and billboard advertisements for McDonald’s and Nike shoes.

He hadn’t been on the train in years; a part of him missed it. Saint insisted on going versus Raphael driving. He craved his roots, something that made him feel alive, kid-like and care-free again.

Saint reminisced about being a teenager with a huge silver radio on his shoulder. The treble knob had fallen off so he had it rigged with a small pair of pliers. Raphael and some of their friends from high school would walk around quoting LL Cool J lyrics with the music turned up to full volume.

Raphael had a high top fade and looked like Kwame in his polka dot button-down shirts while Saint had a low cut poker straight fade that made him look more Puerto Rican than ever. Only one barber in all of Brooklyn knew how to do it to his liking, with his unusual and difficult hair grade that mostly resembled Asian hair with a bit more thickness and a slight wave.

He remembered wearing Joop cologne, Troop jogging suits, white Adidas with no shoe laces and a fake gold ring with his initials, S.A., engraved on it.

Raphael wore the Flavor Flav clock around his neck, while Saint wore a thick gold chain with a lion medallion, and a tiny diamond stud in his ear that sparkled in the New York summer sunlight while the smell of vendor street meats, hot urine and sweaty children playing outside filled the air. Fire hydrants with chipped red paint sprayed the streets while kids splashed about in the refreshing water, trying to hide from the oppressive heat that beat on their backs.

Raphael and Saint felt like they never broke a sweat as their coolness made them feel ten feet tall standing atop a glacier, in their minds. Plans were made to cut some girls, get high, drink, and make some quick money with small-time hustles, one of which was dancing. With a couple of their friends, they’d go to the subway to pop-lock, breakdance and move to the hip-hop tunes of Steady B, Public Enemy and MC Lyte.

Saint would bring in the most money – his unconventional appearance, and the fluid, strange contortions he could do with his body were a source of wonder, amusement and sexual fascination for girls and women of all ages.

The subway was a way of life. Many fights, make-out sessions with girls in the back, dominos and straight up theft took place there. Sleeping was one of the favorite past times, but never by oneself. Saint had been pick pocketed twice and vowed to never fall asleep on the train again, no matter how tempting, or how high or drunk he was.

He snapped out of his daydream as their stop arrived and he followed Raphael off the train, up the subway station steps and out into the open air again. The sun had set and the night was coming alive, like someone had flipped a magic switch and set the world on fire. Large, flashing billboard lights, honking cars, people crowding the streets and travel shop stores filled to the brim with foreign tourists for cheap-knock off wares welcomed Saint with open arms. The smell of sweet, hot pastries, Indian incense, grilled meat and garbage rolled out the red carpet for him. “Welcome home” the streets seemed to sing to him.

Raphael hailed a cab.

“We could walk, man,” Saint suggested. “We’re only four blocks away.”

“I didn’t think you were up to it, that’s fine with me.”

Raphael waved the cab away and caught up with Saint who had walked into a small Indian shop. Saint enjoyed the spicy, aromatic scent of the incense in the smoky store. He looked at the bongs and smiled, reminiscing about his own collection of colorful, glass bongs that he had hidden under his bed when he was a teen.

One day, they mysteriously disappeared and he knew not to question his father about it. The following day he bought a new collection, hiding them this time in a pillow case at the back of his messy closet under an old baseball mitt and a pile of soiled socks.

Saint shook the thought out of his mind as he took notice of an outfit. The sheer, elaborately designed top and bottom resembled something a belly dancer would wear. The carefully sewn purple fabric was adorned with gold embellishment and jade tassels.

Xenia
would look so good in this.

He ran his finger over the material and checked out the size.

Medium. Perfect.

Saint removed it from the mannequin and walked around the store, to look at the jewelry. A belly chain caught his eye. It was costume jewelry, but he knew Xenia would love it because it was her style. She liked unique pieces that made her stand out from the crowd. Saint picked it up and walked up to the attractive, mid-fifties Indian woman who stood behind a green draped counter with a small television on. A red dot was on the middle of her forehead and her black hair was pulled back in a long, shiny pony tail.

“Will this be all?” she said in her thick, East Indian accent. She gazed admiringly at Saint and smiled.

“Yes, thank you,” Saint said softly as he pulled out his wallet and paid, then joined Raphael who waited outside.

“You got that for her, didn’t you?” Raphael asked as they made the trek to his brownstone.

“Yup. Maybe one day I’ll be able to give it to her. It’s in her favorite color, too,” he said sadly.

“Saint, I know you two. I haven’t spent as much time with you and Xenia as I’d like, but I spent enough time with her over the years to know how much you two love each other. She’s coming back, just try to keep yourself busy and give it more time,” Raphael soothed as they walked, their heavy footsteps in unison.

A homeless man leaned his lanky frame against a small bookstore, his dirty hand extended to Saint as he passed. Saint stopped, and made eye-contact with the man, holding his gaze as he dug into his pocket.

“Come on, man. You know better than to give that man any money! He’ll just drink it up,” Raphael laughed.

Ignoring the warning, Saint removed a ten dollar bill and placed it into the man’s hand. As their hands touched, the man nodded and smiled, showing missing and rotten teeth.

“Thank you, you’re a saint!”

Saint laughed at the irony.

As he turned to walk away, the man shouted, “You got love in yo’ eye! You’re in love!” he giggled as he scratched under his arm. “Some broad has got you all twisted up! Women! Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em!”

“You know he’s going to drink that up, Saint,” Raphael said as Saint made his way back to him.

Saint shook his head. “I know, but at least he’ll be happy tonight. At least he’ll be able to escape his own misery for one more lousy evening, even if it is slowly killing him.”

Saint passed by the old Jewish deli he used to like as a child. The man that owned it had died, and the gray, steel closure door was down for good now. They kept walking and Saint noticed the brownstone where a girl he used to date had lived. His mind immediately flashed to the two of them making out in her spacious living room with an episode of “In Living Color”
playing in the background. She was a petite redbone with a short Halle Berry cut hairstyle, almond shaped green eyes and deep dimples. He remembered thinking she had the best pair of tits he had ever seen.

She was one of his many booty-calls once he realized he was good at laying pipe and had a reputation for being the bomb in the sack, even at such an early age. Saint shook his head when he thought how, at the time, even though he was young, he was sexually revered. He was quite proud of that achievement but as he stared at that brownstone, he felt shame rather than pride.

He couldn’t even recall her name and it pained him that he had been with so many women, took from them, but their memory was just a blur in his mind even though he had been inside most of them…stealing from them, leaving them with a little less than before he arrived in their lives.

“Man, remember Murphy’s?” Raphael blurted.

Saint laughed. “The best damn ices in town, man. That strawberry lemonade ice was killa.”

Raphael nodded.

“He’d chase us out the store because the Icees cost like two dollars and we’d always say we only had one buck, when really, we had a wad of money in our pocket. He let us get away with it for a while until he saw us go right across the street one day and buy some swisher splits!” Saint sighed, grateful for the reprieve Raphael gave him. It felt good to be a kid again, even if it was only in his imagination.