Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (17 page)

~***~

“She shaped like a sock full of pudding!”

“Mama, I gotta go.” Xenia bit away at a budding smile as her heels clicked loudly against the studio floor
, holding her cell phone to her ear.

“Alright, but don’t forget our pedicure date comin’ up
. My feet look like I been crip-walkin’ in broken glass!”

“Bye
, Mama!” Xenia laughed as she disconnected the call then made eye contact with Sinclair who was making his rounds, speaking to the staff and pretending to be interested in their responses, no doubt. It had been two weeks without incident and though she dared not admit it to her husband, she was now grateful for his intervention. The man barely said a word to her, and when he had to, it was brief and straight to the point, and always about a business matter regarding the show. She took a seat on the side of the set, straightened her black and gray polka dot skirt, crossed her legs and looked down at a stack of papers detailing a list of possible guests for the show.

Here we go again…

She first smelled his all-too-familiar cologne, a bit overpowering. The aroma hounded her nostrils as it floated past. Her lashes fluttered as she pressed her lids closed and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, bracing herself.

Why the hell is he so close to me
?

Before she could ask the question
directly, he placed one hand on her shoulder.

“Xenia, can I talk to you for a moment?” His voice was slippery, gliding past her with syrupy promises of mischief.

“We’re talking
now
.” She looked away, back down at the papers.

“No, I mean,”
he gave her shoulder a light rub, “
privately
.” He tethered the latter declaration on a sigh.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sinclair.” Xenia looked up at him
, slammed the stack of papers on the desk in front of her and removed the dark sunglasses from atop her head. “Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, but I thought we had an understanding?”

“No,” Sinclair grinned, “I’ve done some thinking and it is unfair for your husband to
try to bully me into submission.” He chuckled, apparently oblivious to the fact that nothing her husband said to him was in jest. “I just have one question for you, Xenia. Then, I promise to leave you alone about this.”

Xenia rolled her eyes, knowing the man was full of shit. She thought about Saint and knew it was imperative she not tell him another
damn thing about the menace if she could help it. She didn’t want to keep information from him, but the repercussions could be catastrophic. He meant what he said about actions. Saint would no longer be calling or meeting Sinclair for lunch. There would be nothing merry about the encounter. Honestly, she feared for Sinclair’s life if he made another false move, and despite her disdain for him, she didn’t want the pathetic soul to wind up in intensive care…nor did she desire the nasty media attention it may render. She wouldn’t mind him getting his ass whooped though.

“What is it, Sinclair?”
She sighed and leaned back in her seat, away from him.

“Xenia
.” he placed his hand across his chest, then looked to his left, briefly watching the crew milling about. “Please, just step over here to the side, away from everyone. This is embarrassing.” He grinned. “I don’t want to pour out my heart in front of all of these people.”

“I don’t give a damn if you don’t want—”

Just then, Shianne, the new intern, bounced over with a red clipboard and her iPhone.

“Hiiiii, Xenia
.” She shot the two of them a sweet smile. “I hope you two weren’t in the middle of anything, but I had a question regarding the spelling of your last name and some of the necessities for your dressing room.” She stashed the clipboard under her arm and tapped the end of an inkpen against her bottom lip.

What a pretty girl, thick glasses
’nd all…

“Actually Shianne,” Sinclair broke through, his annoyance more than evident, “
we
were
in the middle of something.”

“Oh, I—”

“That will have to wait,” he snapped. He delicately took Xenia by her wrist, knowing she wouldn’t cause a scene in front of the young lady, and led her away without a moment to spare.

“Real smooth, Sinclair!” Xenia barked as she snatched her arm away from him
after he relocated her out of sight. They stood by an open door, the sweet breeze blowing through, making the palm trees just outside of it sway in the wind. “What the fuck is it?!”

“You never used to curse like that
. You’ve been around your husband far too long!” he teasingly chastised.

Xenia crossed her arms over her chest and huffed
. “You’ve got three seconds!”

“Alright
.” He smiled, throwing up his hands in faux surrender. “I just need to know if you still loved me when you married Saint.”

Xenia paused
, in shock at Sinclair’s nerve.

“It’s a simple question.
” He ran his tongue over his lower lip, smirked and leisurely slipped his hand into his pocket.

“
No. I was not still in love with you when I married Saint. You’re beating a dead horse. Now, I’ve answered your question, so we’re finished talking.”

He rubbed his chin and looked away,
shoulders slumped. A low sigh escaped his lips. He had a knack for feigning hurt feelings to elicit sympathy.

“Wow…”
He turned toward the open door. “I really wasn’t expecting that answer, Xenia. I always loved how honest you were, and I can’t believe you’d deny me the one thing I ask of you—the truth—when I need it most.”

“I can’t believe this! Sinclair, I don’t have time for this
stupidity.”

He spun
toward her, his eyes glittering with dark rage.

“
I answered your question. I told you the truth and you can’t handle it. Don’t ask me anything else unless it is related to this damn show!” She pointed in his face as she maneuvered her body around an old camera pulley, and began to walk away, teeming with seeds of anger. He was muttering something, and she tuned him out before she was showered with the bright overhead lights of an afternoon soap opera about to begin in a few minutes. Slightly dazed, her thoughts muddled and her temper soared as if it had wings. She blocked the light away with her arm and headed around the set, moseying through a thin crew of chatty employees.

Damn it! I wish he’d leave me the hell alone. I can’t tell Saint about this like I did last time. That proved to be a disaster.
I should’ve known it would be short lived. Sinclair doesn’t back down. This whole time, he has been plotting. I can’t stand his ass!

“Xenia!” Shianne called out, raising her thin, l
ight brown arm in the air, her long layered relaxed hair bouncing as she moved toward her. She was grateful for the distraction.

“Yes, Shianne
,” she said listlessly. “Yeah, you had questions. Um,” Xenia ran her fingers through her flat-ironed hair, “my last name is spelled, A.K.N.A.T.E.N. and you had questions about the dressing room, right?”

“Yes.
” The woman jotted the name on her clipboard, placed it under her arm and then scrolled through her phone. “What type of flowers do you want in there each morning, what beverages and snacks do you like…and the on-set stylist feels that even though you like the color purple, you look better in green, so many of your shirts will reflect that. I will send you an email of different shirts you can pair up with black pants or skirts.”

Xenia rubbed her forehead, “Um, okay…yeah, well
, I like calla lilies. Water, coffee and tea are fine.”

She caught Sinclair staring at her from across the room, his brows furrowed and a look of
pure hatred on his face.

You can go straight to
Hell, Sinclair.

She looked back at S
hianne.

“Are you okay
? You seem a bit…distracted. We can talk later if need be,” the young lady offered sincerely.

Xenia immedi
ately threw on a fake wide grin. “Oh, no, you are fine, Shianne. I’m just a little tired is all.”

“Alright, wel
l do you like your coffee black? Sugar and cream?” Xenia watched the woman type away into her phone.

“Um, black is fine. Now, about the green, I like green and don’t want to be argumentative, but please let Roberta know I will not be wearing green shirts every
day. Not to mention, she obviously didn’t consider the green backdrop that we use for some of the sets, which will basically make me look as if I have on no shirt at all!” Xenia laughed, forcing Shianne to do the same.

“Oh my God, you’re right, Xenia. I hadn’t even thought about that.
” Her fingertips grazed her glossy top lip as her complexion reddened. “For someone not in television, you caught something that could’ve been a disaster. I have no idea what Roberta was thinking.” Shianne sighed, rolled her head and closed her eyes in exasperation. “It’s been a long day, and it isn’t even noon yet. Maybe the heat is getting to everyone.”

“
It could be and yeah, it has been a crazy day—lots of work and things that need to be taken care of. A lot goes into this ahead of time, but I’m glad we are getting in gear early.”

Shianne nodded in agreement and slid her phone back into her purse. “I can tell you have stuff to do, so I can get the other information from you later.
Thanks.” She turned to walk away.

“
Look.” Xenia noticed the timer on one of the nearby recording devices and could no longer ignore her growling stomach. “It’s almost lunch time.” Shianne turned back in her direction. “Would you like to discuss the rest over a bite to eat? I can answer everything and we can get it all worked out,” Xenia offered as she moved out of Sinclair’s viewpoint but not before meeting eyes with the tyrant, warning him with a look of disdain.

“Oh, I’d love to. I’m famished.
I hope this isn’t too forward, but I can’t get enough of your radio show and I think you are sooo pretty!”

“Awww, thank you, Shianne. Let me just grab my purse
. My treat. We can leave the set and go over to that new Chinese place.” Xenia entered her dressing room—still a blank canvas with only two pieces of burnt orange furniture, the plastic wrapped around the wooden legs of the chaise and loveseat. At least her dresser was available. It was a shiny oak piece with clear, ornate accessories. The walls were like a ghost’s back—flat and stark white. Shianne followed behind her.

“Wait
.” Xenia opened a drawer and removed a black hobo bag. “Do you even like Chinese food? We can go somewhere else. It was just the first thing that popped into my mind.” She hated that she was so damned frazzled. Sinclair had messed up her good mood; her mojo was misaligned and tilted like a slope. This was bad…
very
bad…

Saint is going to know if I don’t get myself together! Shit! Xenia, just calm down…

“Oh no, that’s fine. I like Chinese food actually, and haven’t had any in a while.”

“
Okay, great. Follow me.” The two exited the room and sauntered past Sinclair who was now standing next to another man, an ink pen behind his ear and a curious expression on his face. “What is your degree in, Shianne? Journalism?”

“Actually it is television production. I did take some journalism classes though.”

“Awesome.” Xenia grabbed her sunglasses, placed them over her dry eyes and swiftly made her way outside to her gun metal silver Bentley Continental convertible—another gift from her beloved. “Shianne, let me tell you something. You have a great look about you. You’re upbeat and bubbly, and with the right influence and push, you could really go far in this business.” Her companion blushed at the compliment.

“Thank you so much.”

“I’m being for real. I like to help young women, especially black women, Shianne, so whatever I can do to assist you regarding advice, coaching, you name it, please let me know.”

“Xenia, I have never met anyone like you.” The woman stopped at the passenger’s side of her car. “I kept saying your last name wrong, and instead of snapping at me, you told me just to call you ‘Xenia’ the first time we met. Yo
u’ve been so nice to me and sometimes I just can’t believe I get to work with you. I know it seems like I’m brown-nosing, but I’m just really impressed and I guess a little star struck.”

Xenia looked over at the attractive young woman, her dark eyes hidden behind a pair of classy pink pearl glasses and her small gold hoop earrings shining in the California sunlight. Xenia could see the potential, and there was something about Shianne that made her want to take the young lady under her wing. She envisioned Isis being similar as she grew up
—intelligent, a go-getter, out to help.

“Well, thank you, Shianne
, but there isn’t any need to be.” They both got inside of the car. Xenia started up the engine and turned on the air conditioning. “I know how these Hollywood types are. I’m not born from that, and I never forget where I came from. It made me appreciate what I have, not take it for granted. Now, let’s get something to eat, and I want you to tell me all about yourself.”