Saint And Sinners (89 page)

I just need to get myself calmed down is all… I just need to pull myself together.

He began to walk again, drifting in strange, fuzzy thoughts. He’d underestimated the
distance of the museum from their home, but still didn’t care after realizing his
faux pas. He had to walk two more blocks than anticipated, but he didn’t feel the
shit. He was too amped up with frustration to take note that he was getting a workout
in the dropping temperatures. Soon, he arrived at the Geertz Museum on West 83
^rd
Street. He and Xenia had noticed a few weeks ago that they had a sign advertising
an exhibition of work by local artists—twenty-four seven for the entire month. As
soon as he opened the door, he was instantly greeted by an instrumental version of
The Isley Brothers’ ‘Footsteps in the Dark.’ He was pleasantly surprised to see several
artsy looking people moseying about, their eyes hooded in thick black eyeliner. Men,
too, holding tiny doll-sized bottles of spring water as they pointed to paintings
and sculptures. Some were huddled close, talking softly amongst themselves; only the
occasional outburst of laughter came as a reminder that this was a time to be enjoyed.

“Hello!” A bubbly, thin white woman with long, flowing brunette hair approached him.
Wearing a V-neck black wrap dress and knee-high boots, she extended her long, slender
hand.

Saint shook it and forced a smile. He didn’t want to appear inhospitable.

“Hello,” was all he could muster. He wasn’t in a chatting mood.

“Are you here to see anything in particular?” she inquired, a crooked smile breaking
free across her face.

“No.” He smiled and removed his coat, flinging it over his arm. “Just thought I’d
step inside and take a look.”

“Wonderful. Well, if there is anything you like, let me know, and we can take care
of the paperwork.”

“I will, thanks.” He took a couple of steps to begin his self-guided tour.

“Oh!” She pointed to the corner of the gallery. “There is a cooler of water over there
as well as a fresh pot of hot coffee. Please help yourself.”

“Thank you so much.” He nodded, feeling a bit apprehensive. Matter of fact, he was
completely out of sorts. He didn’t know whether he was coming or going, his head was
nothing but a fog-filled cloud, and his brain could not even meet him half way. He
moved slowly about the place, rather impressed with many of the pieces he saw. Finally,
he began to settle in, feeling a bit more at peace as the wonderful works of others
relaxed him a bit.

Oh man, that’s beautiful…

He took note of a large black and white painting of a willowy tree. Embedded in the
intricately detailed bark were a man and a woman, wrapped around each other at the
root. He derived great pleasure from the fact that the woman had a curly, thick mane,
and the man’s hair was poker straight and pulled back, disappearing into the dips,
grooves and wrinkles of the massive tree bark. He couldn’t take his eyes off the damn
thing. He walked a few feet away from it, but found himself skirting back to his original
starting point, so moved by the piece, so troubled by its raw beauty… As he made his
way back away from it, he knew he had to have the damn thing.

“Uh, excuse me,” he said in almost a whisper to the hostess as he loomed behind her.
She turned on a dime, stopping her conversation with two other individuals. “There
is a painting over there called, ‘Rooted In Love.’ How much is that?”

“Oh yes! Isn’t it gorgeous? The artist’s name is Zaire Roberts.” She marched ahead
of Saint, making her way towards it as if time was of the essence. He followed behind
her, leaving several feet between them. She took a look at a number hand-written in
the corner, then pulled out her smartphone and scrolled through what appeared to be
listings of some sort. “Okay, here it is. This one is five hundred twenty-three dollars;
that includes tax.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Awesome!”

“I want to continue to look around, but before I leave, I’ll give you my information.
I’m not prepared to take it this evening… I walked. Can it be mailed to my home?”

“Certainly. Sounds like a plan! Enjoy the rest of the exhibition.” The woman sauntered
off, leaving him to his own devices. He continued to peruse the place, calming down
a bit more as each minute passed, feeling a sense of serenity, despite his obstacles
and issues. Some pieces had a whimsical vibe, such as the painting of a mouse turning
into a piece of cheese. Others were frightening, such as a woman vomiting out a child
into a large body of water. As he continued to move about, he heard the clicking of
shoes…high heels. He turned, and took notice of a tall African American woman whose
cherry blossom scented perfume preceded her. Saint stopped dead in his tracks.

The woman was approximately 5’10, slender but curvy in all the right places. Her tightly
coiled hair appeared soft, perfectly framing her heart-shaped face. He liked her tresses;
he liked
all
that she presented. Her eyes dark amber and almond shaped, her bowed lips sporting
a natural pout. Under the spotlights, her smooth, brown skin shined so brilliantly,
her skin practically flawless, as if she drank fifty glasses of water per day. When
she cracked a friendly smile, she exposed some of the whitest, straightest teeth he’d
ever seen… She could have easily belonged on a toothpaste commercial.

Damn. She’s stunning.

“You like anything?” Her voice sounded like smooth butter running across a hot skittle…and
it sizzled his soul, warming it, making him all toasty inside. The woman ran her fingers
along her shoulder, bunching the bright red material of her thin sweater. The garment
hugged a set of tits that caused him to do a double take. Big and bouncy, almost too
large for her frame but natural and no doubt soft…

“Yes.” He pointed down the way, finding his tongue again. “I like that painting down
there. The tree couple. Just bought it, actually.” A part of him at that point wished
this woman would simply turn and go away. Yet another part of him wanted to beg her
to do no such thing.

“Yes.” She grinned as she looked down the corridor. “I saw the freshly written SOLD
sticker on it as I passed it… I’m the artist.” She pointed proudly to herself.

“Really?!” His eyes grew wide as he extended his hand, wanting to touch the woman
who’d birthed such a lovely creation. “I had no idea. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, most people consider Zaire a boy’s name.” She shrugged. “So no one really expects
to see
me
.” She laughed lightly, the kind of laugh that was comforting, soothing like heated
milk late in the night before bed. “Thank you for your purchase.”

“No, thank
you
for your art. Boy, you are really talented.” Saint had a pang of guilt when his cock
twitched. Matter of fact, he hated himself a bit at that moment… no, he hated himself
a
lot
. He turned abruptly away from her and stared, mindless, at the painting in front
of him. It gave an interpretation of the city. All the buildings on it melted into
liquid, like ice cream. It was melancholy and depressing, albeit well done. The woman
cleared her throat, causing him to look back her way.

“Excuse me for being so forward, but…nah…” She turned away, blushing a bit.

“What? What is it?” He smiled ever so slightly.

“Are you here with someone?” She looked around the place. “It’s not a big building,
but I best be sure than sorry. I’m asking because I find you
very
attractive…and well, a man that appreciates art and comes to galleries at one in
the morning is an
amazing
find.” She giggled lightly. “Maybe we could have coffee sometime…or at least I hope
we can,” she flirted as she crossed her ankles and ran her fingertips along the bottom
of her delicate chin.

“No, I’m not here with anyone…” Her face lit up, and in a split second of a second,
he relished in her delight—“…but, I
am
married.” He didn’t hesitate to set her straight, yet a part of him detested that
the information had to be revealed. And then, he hated himself a bit more for even
going down that road, for thinking such a thing, but he didn’t want to run the beautiful
creature off. He wanted her to stand there and keep talking to him, keep making him
feel coveted…important…desired…loved. In that moment, he wanted to know what it felt
like to kiss her, too, and for her to want it, to reciprocate it with everything she
had within her. He craved a grown ’nd sexy female touch…one that said,
‘Everything I have is all yours…”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! My bad.” She smiled, a sound veiled in a slight show of embarrassment.
“I didn’t see a ring.” He looked down at his hand and sure enough, he’d forgotten
to put his band back on after his shower.

She blushed a bit, like a child who’d bent over and accidentally showed her panties
to all the boys on the playground.

“Nah.” He waved to her. “Forget about it!” He grinned sincerely. “No problem.”

“Well, she…or
he
is a lucky person.” She winked.

“I’m the lucky one, and she is as beautiful as that painting of yours that I just
bought.” He pointed towards it once more. “Actually, it reminds me of us, and that’s
why I want it.” He was up to conversation after all—hell, anything to remove him from
pondering his dilemma was a sudden lifesaver. “Plus, it’s black and white…and so well
done. You know, my nine-year-old son draws and paints, too. He’s really good. The
funny thing is though, he doesn’t take it as seriously as he should. It’s like he
has this talent, but doesn’t seem to really care. My wife and I didn’t even know how
good he was until a couple of years ago when we found some sketches of his tucked
away in his closet.”

“It’s not his passion then.” She smiled as she drew a bit closer to him, her sweet
perfume wafting past his nostrils, toying with him, making him inhale the air a bit
harder on the sly.

Saint nodded as he looked at the melted cityscape once more, temporarily disappearing
from himself before he became even
more
tainted. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Whatever we love, we can’t help but be demonstrative about it,” she further explained.
“No one has to remind us, or tell us, because it’s our second nature; it’s what we
as artists do. Now sure, we may get burnt out or tired from time to time, but we
never
abandon it. It is in us to be attached at the hip to it, you know?”

He loved how this woman spoke. She was
definitely
a true artist, down to her paint splattered covered core. What he treasured most
was how she smelled. No, not her perfume, but her aura. She was a
good
person…seasoned with wisdom beyond her thirty-something years, and that made it all
the worse for him.

“Zaire?’

“Yes?”

“I’m going to purchase your painting, and hopefully never see you again.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open at the perceived insult while her furrowed brows dipped,
wrinkling the skin at the top of the bridge of her nose.

“No, no, it’s not what you think. Let me explain.” Saint laughed lightly. “You see,
I’m at this gallery right now, at this very second…” He pointed down towards the ground.
“Because I’m having problems in my marriage. I am telling a complete stranger something
so intimate, so troubling and personal. I love that woman, my wife, with
all
of my being. Unfortunately, at this moment, I’m made of flesh and blood, and that
is hindering my thought process a bit. I will not bore you with the details, and if
I were to elaborate, you’d find me to be some abnormal perverted person without any
scruples, so I will spare you. But I will say this, you are an extremely attractive,
no…beautiful…you are a beautiful woman and you are really going to go far in life.”

“Well, thank you.” She smiled graciously.

“What if I told you that you’d be travelling to Italy at this time next year, showcasing
some of your work?” He smiled back at her, feasting off the energy they exchanged.

“Honestly? I’d say you were full of crap.” She cackled and shrugged her shoulders.

Saint laughed and nodded. “Well, it’s true. After tonight, we will never see each
other again, but not only will you go to Italy, you will be featured in several international
art magazines. Right now, you struggle to pay your rent because you left a good job
to pursue your art full-time.”

He watched as her smile slowly dissipated.

“Right now, and please don’t be frightened, but I am telling you this so that you
don’t give up—because I feel like you are on the brink of throwing in the towel, okay?
You feel like you will have to go back to doing art part-time. So I’m going out on
a tree limb if you will,”—she laughed a little at his pun—“and telling you some things
that I simply know, and they will help you.”

“Okay…” She cocked her head to the side, sighed and looked at him as if he were an
escaped mental patient.

“You can think I’m crazy all you want, but when it happens, you will remember me,
and you will sit at your easel and cry and wonder how I knew… Now look.” He stepped
closer to her, looking into her eyes. She was so open, there was no touching required.
The woman wanted it, desired to know what was inside of his head. “Right now, you
have two slices of bread in your refrigerator—the ends. No one likes the ends. You
have a bag of lettuce, some Tropicana orange juice that you detest, but you had a
coupon so you bought it anyway, and to prove to you I’m not some crazed stalker…”
She stiffened up then, her eyes glossed over in fright. “I can tell you your dream
this morning. This morning, you dreamt you’d sell that painting, the tree, because
you painted it right after a horrible break-up with your fiancé. You didn’t want to
see that painting ever again. The painting that has given you so much pain, yet is
giving me so much pleasure and peace. It has grounded me, reminded me of what is important
during this trying time in my life. In some strange way, you’ve helped my marriage.
Your pain has helped soothe my heart tonight. I thank you for your sacrifice.”