Saved and SAINTified, page 33
Beset was right. The archangels are identified in Islam.
He had no idea why such a thing would be in an Egyptian airport bookstore that was chock full of overpriced touristy merchandise. It was strange the way it had just lain there ... yet this book was there, the only one of its kind sitting on the shelf all by its lonesome. Three of the angels drew him in, their faces full of angst. He was surprised at how angry they looked, holding weapons, not harps. They were fighting. Their legs were muscular. They looked like grown men who lived in ancient gyms—with their curly locks, beards, Gladiator sandals and a ‘fuck with me if you dare’ aura. Saint saw a bit of himself in the depictions of the old oil paintings. They seemed alive, however. He imagined his mind was playing tricks on him as he believed he saw their eyes staring at him, as much as he was staring down at them. Just then, Xenia’s voice cut through his fixated thoughts.
“You told me you need to see your father, run back to New York for a few things, but you’re afraid to leave me. You told me we need to go the firing range; you want to teach me how to shoot a gun! Saint, Lord Jesus.” She shook her head and turned away from him. “I already know how to shoot a gun,” she whispered before taking another sip of her coffee.
“Yeah, but you’re rusty and you never had any defense training. It’s overdue ... and watch your coffee intake. That’s not decaf.”
Xenia let out a long-suffering sigh while Beset piled yellow, fluffy scrambled eggs onto four plates, along with crispy hash browns and home-made waffles topped with fresh, thinly sliced strawberries with powdered sugar.
“Beset, this is really nice, but you didn’t have to do all of this.”
“No no, I want you to have all the comforts of home without you having to do all of the work. I’ve been using your cookbook.” She pointed to the red and white Betty Crocker staple conveniently placed in the corner next to the stove. “Little Isis is growing and also Hassani and Dakarai. You all need the food, Mrs. Aknaten.”
Xenia slumped in her seat as she took one of the plates from the old woman’s hand. “Beset, please call me Xenia. Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t, but I want you to feel comfortable ... all the time. And besides, I don’t like an elder calling me that—it seems disrespectful. You insisted I call you by your first name when you first got here, and I insist the same.” She smiled pleasantly at the old woman.
“I understand.” She handed Saint his plate and turned back toward the stove.
Just then there was a knock at the door.
Saint’s eyebrow shot up. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“You need to calm down,” Xenia chided. “We have people drop by all the time.”
“I’m not answering it,” he grumbled before taking a forkful of eggs, quickly shoving them into his mouth. “Mmmm,” he moaned in delight.
“Why don’t you respond to my eggs like that?”
“I do ... I just prefer to impregnate yours!” He laughed raucously. The doorbell rang again. Xenia punched him playfully on the shoulder as she slid out of her chair.
“I’ll get the door.”
“No, I’ll get it!” Saint slammed his fork down and gently pushed her back. “See?” He shook his finger at her. “That is exactly what I’m talking about.” He made his way out of the kitchen through the family room and grand entrance way. He looked out the peephole, took a deep breath and after bracing himself, opened the door wide open.
“Hi Mama Pam,” he grinned, certain that his stressful morning would hit the skids. He looked her up and down, his eyes searching to find something humorous about her get-up to grant him a temporary escape from his woes, and there it was—an orange bouncy feather on each of her green shoes ... just sitting there atop them as if it had been super-glued. And it probably had. He smiled and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hey, Saint.” She brushed him aside and entered the house, adjusting her white bra strap and removing her large red Coach bag from around her shoulder.
“Now look.” She squinted her eyes and pointed at him. “Those roofers have tore my damn house up! I can’t stay in there with half the roof gone. It looks like I’m outside campin’! I can look up and see the damn stars ’nd shit. I ain’t no damn girlscout ... ain’t no marshmallow on a stick and I don’t have any damn cookies! You’d think I was a damn astrologer ... moons and Venus ’nd shit. Scorpio with Virgo risin’!”
Saint shook his head and grinned. It took all of him to keep from laughing. He knew better; she was serious, evident from the scowl on her face.
“Porshe and my grandbaby is stayin’ with a friend that lives close to her job, but I need to stay here for a week or two. That’s how long they said it would take. Xenia! Xeeeenia!” She called through the house, her bright green sling back kitten heels clacked against the marble floor, the feather waving around frantically with each hard step toward the kitchen.
Saint closed his eyes, and took another deep breath.
What did I do to deserve this, God?
He closed the front door and locked it, joining his mother-in-law and wife back in the kitchen.
“And who the hell is this?” Pam slammed her purse on the corner kitchen table and removed a pack of cigarettes.
“Uh, Mama, you can’t smoke in the kitchen, remember?” Xenia whispered to her.
“Oh hell! That’s right, you don’t want me smokin’ ’round the kids and you being pregnant ’nd all. I need to stay in the guest house then. I can’t live this way.” She plopped down into a chair and stared holes into Beset. “Y’all gotta a new cook or somethin’? Hey, can she cook pork chops and greens? I need someone to cook for me sometimes, too.”
“Mama, this is Beset. Remember I told you we had some help here now? She is ... our nanny, just for a short while until I give birth.”
“Nanny? Beset, huh? Beset, are you some kin to Saint, here? I see you dressed like a big ass doily. You a Muslim too, huh?”
“Mama, Saint isn’t Muslim, you know that.” Xenia grimaced.
“His damn daddy is. That’s good enough for me. She got on that stuff the Muslim women wear, all you can usually see are their eyes. I see she showin’ her full face. Usually I bet she wrapped tight like a mummy, like she a damn newborn bein’ swaddled for the winter ... baby Jesus in a manger.”
“Hello,” Beset made her way toward Pam and extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Pam looked at Beset’s hand then shook it lightly, examining it as if it were covered in flesh eating parasites. Saint cleared his throat and sat back down as Beset made her way back to the stove.
“So, Mama Pam, you’ll be with us for a week or two, you said?”
“Yeah, I got my shit in the car. Back to you, Beset. Xenia tol’ me she had someone helping her around, here and there, but she ain’t say nothing about you being a foreigner. I can tell by your accent, you ain’t from here. So y’all couldn’t hire an American?!” she adverted her eyes toward Saint. “All these Americans outta work, and you done went to Timbuktu and found you a walking curtain with matching valance to scoot her ass around yo’ kitchen, sweepin’ your floor with her hem.” Pam shook her head. “Like a big ass feather duster, huh?! That’s a damn shame!”
“Saint met her in Egypt, Mama. She’s a ... friend of the family.”
“You coulda paid me! Hell, I’m here now.” She looked at their plates. “I know how to make eggs ’nd shit. If you want me to cover everythang but my eyes, I will do that too, if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“Mama, stop. Come on, now.” Xenia shook her head and took a bite of her food. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I don’t eat stranger’s cookin’.”
Xenia rolled her eyes. “Every time you go to a restaurant, Mama, you eat a stranger’s cooking.” She turned back around to her plate.
“Saint, my bags in tha car, go get ’em for me.” Pam stood, threw her car keys on the table and marched out the back patio door toward the guest house without another word.
“See?” Xenia smiled sweetly as she poured more syrup on her waffles.
“See what?” Saint pushed his half empty coffee cup aside and grabbed a glass of water.
“My mother is here; it was meant to be. That means you can go ahead and do your conference and visit your father.”
Saint grimaced. “I like how your mother didn’t ask. She just barged right on in. Anyway, nothing has changed regarding the plans.”
It got so quiet, one could hear a pin drop.
“Why don’t you just tell Lawrence what’s going on? He can babysit me,” Xenia finally said.
Her sarcastic tone wasn’t missed. Saint sucked his bottom lip. Some nights, he was so angry about the tribulations, he’d contemplated contacting Raphael and blurting out all of his woes. He hadn’t spoken to him in over a week, trying desperately to avoid the topic. He did need someone to help watch Xenia, help protect her, and Lawrence was the only person he knew that could assist ... but there was also Jagger...
Saint mulled over his thoughts, turning them like hay with a pitchfork as he devised a plan and golden road map in his mind. He was satisfied to skip his duties in Texas and hold off on the visit to New York, but Xenia wasn’t and she was beginning to resent him for it. Every other day, dust was kicked up regarding his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it now, could he? Maybe he’d be able to relax more if he took this chance. Was there any way at all to prevent Lawrence and Jagger from being readable by Nizsm? He was so desperate that at that moment, he, too, wished he had an Oracle....
“I tell you what. Let me think this over, baby. I’m not giving any promises. I will see what I can do but one thing is for damn sure, I’m not leaving you here alone with just Mama Pam and Beset.”
He took one more bite of his eggs, kissed her goodbye and sauntered out the door. He passed the two Rainbeau Knights’ cars parked in front of his house, gave a faux carefree wave, and removed the luggage from Mama Pam’s car. Then he returned to the back of the house, left out the luggage, jumped in his silver Lamborghini and headed off to the office.
***
A few days later...
Saint sat in the kitchen with a large cup of hot tea and a half eaten home-made sugar cookie. Sweat beads seeped sideways across his face from his evening workout. The house was unnaturally quiet, but he welcomed the reprieve.
I shouldn’t be eating this cookie. ... Oh, well.
He took another bite, rolling the tasty morsels around in his mouth. A shuffling noise to his left had him hop up and flick on the kitchen light, certain he’d need to lay into Hassani for sneaking down after bedtime to steal a sugary snack. Instead, his mother-in-law was the one to break from the hallway darkness into the illuminated area. He slumped back down in his seat. She rubbed the side of her face, bags under her eyes, oblivious to Saint’s annoyed presence.
“Huh? What you doin’ in here?” she asked once she caught him there.
“I live here.”
He shook his head, too tired to spar with her. She’d had all but caused him to check himself into a mental hospital during her brief stay. Saint, being the slight germ-o-phobe that he was, would find himself scratching at his skin while watching her muck up the guest house. He had to let the cleaning service crew inside, and was flabbergasted at what he’d discovered. What had once been a rather lavish retreat for friends and family was now decked out in faux coconut ashtrays, marijuana paraphernalia, cotton ‘big mama’ panties hanging on the tub counter to dry, and an assortment of potted meats in the kitchen, all lined up according to expiration date with reams of Saltines placed nearby. He never took himself as much of a snob, until that moment.
“Would you like a cookie?” he offered, pointing to the jar stowed away on the counter.
“Nuh uh. I fixed myself some neckbones earlier and brought Xenia ova some. She reminded me she don’t eat ’em no more so I’m just gonna warm ’em up, put a little of this potato salad wit’ it and get me a snack to go.”
At her satisfied expression, apparently the thought of that dish warmed her heart as much as the devouring of the meal would. Her threadbare bright red robe swayed and her pink sponge curlers bounced about as she moved to the microwave to get her dinner ready. Saint took a sip of tea.
Pam slid in the chair across from him. “I was upstairs with Xenia, talkin’ with her.”
He’d figured it out, but was glad she explained her sudden appearance out of thin air.
“Yeah, I was in my office working, then I worked out in the gym. I’ll be going upstairs in a bit.” He yawned.
“She seems awfully preoccupied, like something is bothering her, but she wouldn’t say what it was. I’m her mama. I worry,” Pam probed and waited.
Even if he spilled the beans, Pam wouldn’t believe him and declare them both insane. Saint had discussed several times with Xenia about the amped security, though it was wearing on his wife’s nerves. She complained that she felt like a prisoner in her own home, but there was nothing Saint could do to make those feelings go away—they were hers to have and handle. He simply needed to do what he needed to do, and sometimes protection could be stifling.
“It’s a culmination of things but I know she’ll be okay. Nothing for you to worry about, Mama Pam,” he offered. “So, how is the roof progress coming along?”
When the hell are you getting out of my damn house? It’s the guest house, but it’s still too close because you’re always over here.
“Them fools done made more of a mess than it was before. They say it will be straightened out in a few days.”
The microwave beeped. She got up, and after a shuffle around in the silverware drawer, pulled out a fork then brought her hot plate over to the table. She took a noisy bite of potato salad.
“I like my potato salad warm. You want some?” she asked, smiling proudly at her culinary creation.
“No, thank you, Mama Pam. It looks good though,” he said sincerely. The scent of the garlic, cayenne pepper and cumin was delightfully enticing. Yet as tempting as it was, he couldn’t stomach it, not right now.
“You know what, Saint?” Pam smiled, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I really love you. You know that? I barely get to see my own son. He still in Afghanistan so that make me cling on to you even more. You’re a good daddy and husband, and a good son-in-law, too.” She took another bite.
Saint smiled inside and out. For in that moment, all the hassle she’d brought those past few days seemed worth it. He was a sucker for a compliment, especially if it sounded genuine.
“I love you, too, Mama Pam.”
“Good, because I need to stay here another week.” She cut the meager, tender meat away from the bone and worked it over with brute force, causing the plate to clank against the table as she manhandled the poor nub.
Saint froze. “But you just said they’d be done in a few days!” It was taking all of him to not scream at the top of his lungs. Instead, he settled for his tone of ‘alarm’, faux concern for her well-being.
“They will, but I want to spend a few more days with Xenia while you at work. I need to make sure my baby okay.” She looked up at him with pitiful eyes and an all-knowing smile.
Saint swallowed harshly.
I’ve been had. I’ve been hustled. I’ve been bamboozled, hoodwinked and led astray. Damn you, old woman!
He knew that carelessly chosen words could be his undoing. He had a love-hate relationship with his mother-in-law, mostly love, but living with her was testing him to the limit. All the requests to be driven to the seedy swap meets—most of which were filled with stolen or illegal items—when she was completely capable of driving her own self to and fro, for instance. Instead, she wanted to be chauffeured around in his Lamborghini, Lexus or Escalade and meet up with all her friends.
“Yeah, Chile! Dis here my son-in-law, Xenia’s husband, girl!” she’d declare as soon as he opened her passenger side door. She’d step out the vehicle as if she were Miss America in her pink sequence tops with tight jeans and feet stuffed into shoes that were entirely too small. Saint would roll his eyes and give a tight smile, while burning inside with intense anger. His irritation, though, never lasted long. Pam was too likeable, much to his chagrin, although she continued to push the limits.
To make matters worse, her stay also rendered him prisoner to horror stories he’d never be able to clean away from his mind. Saint was subjected to hearing about all of her ailments from morning until night, like that one time...
“Saint, I got dis here bruise that won’t go away. Must of got it while workin’ hard in the garden, and a tooth that I think is abscessed.”
“Well then, you need to go to the doctor and dentist,” he offered, not making eye contact—and wishing to not have any conversations with Pam that dealt with the human body in any form or capacity.
“I thought you was a doctor?! What good is ya?”
“Mama Pam, I am a doctor but dental care is not my specialty. I deal with emotional and mental issues as in connection with sexual and intimacy difficulties—that is my field of expertise. I’m a therapist by trade. You need to go to a dentist if you are having gum pain or issues with your molars.”
“What if I lied and I really got the mouth pain from somethin’ sexual? Like a B.J.? Could ya help me then?”
And so it would go...
And then the worst of all—bursting into their bedroom unannounced to discuss the play by play of ‘Real Housewives of Atlanta’ that she’d purchased on DVD, and the lecturing to Saint about his eating habits. Tonight was no exception. She’d cornered him and decided to reconvene the topic.
“So, have you ever had pork?” A silly grin broke across her face as she placed her fork down.
Here we go. “Yes, when I was younger and didn’t have the knowledge I have now regarding dietary issues. I don’t tell other people what to do, Mama Pam. I just know that for me,” he folded his hands on the table. “I have no use for it. It isn’t based on religion for me; it’s based on health, but spiritually, there is a tie as well since I believe in taking care of our temples for a number of reasons—the spiritual aspect being one.”
