The Naughty Sins Of A Saint (25 page)

JoAnn met eyes with Saint. “You talk about Black women not wanting to be fetishized, but then in the same breath, you go into great detail describing sexual acts and even demonstrate how to do them. How can you link the two without attracting men to your conferences who are seeking Black women just as sexual concubines?”

“This is an interview about my wife and I, and you’re turning it into an interview about me and my work. I just want to point that out because you’re either demonstrating flightiness and unprofessionalism or you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing,” Saint said. One of the camera men waved.

“Uh, Dr. Aknaten, we can’t have profanity on this show!”

“Well, then don’t give me something to cuss about!” Saint yelled. JoAnn’s face turned red as she nervously crossed her legs.

“OK, JoAnn, I’ll humor you,” Saint said with a fake smile. “Look at you, turning colors and sweating. It’ll be OK,” he laughed, enjoying tormenting her. “Let me first say to the listening audience, and to you as well, JoAnn, that I know the game you’re playing. You sent this goldfish into the shark tank as a way to demean my wife and me. You want the ratings though, so here we are, conducting an interview. JoAnn, watch what you say to me. If you slip up, I’m not going to be easy on you. Now, back to the topic.”

Xenia
put her head down and shook it as she closed her eyes and put her hand up to her forehead. She realized she couldn’t control her husband, and there was no need to try to interject. He was gunning for JoAnn and would have to stop on his own.

“On second thought, seeing you’re all but pissing on yourself right now, I think I’ll let you off the hook. I feel like the big kid in class picking on the kid with a lisp,” Saint laughed. “I can’t talk about relationships and marriage without discussing sex. It goes hand in hand. Intimacy and sex are very important in a relationship. That’s my field, so it makes perfect sense for me to combine the two. I can talk about it candidly, in an applicable manner, so people can understand what I’m saying without me getting too technical. I could always use a bunch of medical terms or just sweep over it completely, but few would get the lesson I’m trying to teach if I approached it that way. I can’t stop what other men think and desire, whether it’s appropriate or not, just as you can’t set up an amusement park with rides, games, and junk food without attracting pedophiles, along with attracting the families and children it was intended for. I’ve done hundreds of interviews over the past two years. The questions are always the same, just with a different face. Nothing you’re asking is new to me, but what’s new is my marriage status. This woman sitting to the right of me is my life partner. She’s my ‘queen,’ my wife, and one day, the mother of my children. I don’t see her as a piece of meat or someone to just have sex with. I’ve never advocated that women of any race be treated that way. I’m not perfect. I’ve done my share of dirt, but I’ve never felt that Black women were a fetish, and I feel my actions back that up if people look deeper. All anyone wants to do is focus on the sex. I talk about way more than just sex, but as usual, that’s the topic that gets the most attention.”

“With such a short courtship, are you two really in love, or is this a work in progress?” JoAnn questioned.

“We’re really in love,” Saint said, “and every healthy relationship should be a work in progress. We should be constantly trying to improve ourselves and our relationships with others. Here’s the point that so many people miss: you can know someone for fifteen years and not really know them. You marry them, you two hate each other, truly hate each other, and end up divorced. You can know someone for two days, and know their entire life story, if they’re open and honest, and know if you vibe with them or not. The American culture is one of a very few that looks down upon a short duration of dating before marriage. There are arranged marriages where the people don’t even know each other at all, and they stay married for the rest of their lives, willingly. I don’t do what’s expected of me or what someone tells me I should be doing. I make my choices based on what I know and what I feel. I love this woman right here. I loved her the first time I laid eyes on her. I knew she was the one for me, and I guarantee you that if you check on us twenty years from now, we’ll be still married while some of the people speaking out against us will be on their third and fourth marriages.”

Xenia
smiled.

“I purposely hadn’t ever been married before, and I’m thirty-seven years old. There were plenty of opportunities for me to meet someone, date them for a few years, then pop the question. I knew that when I found the right woman for me, I’d recognize her pretty quickly. There was no need to drag out the inevitable. My wife, as you alluded to, is a lot more relaxed than I am. I’m impulsive, she’s not. She’s rational. She doesn’t make rash decisions, and she took a chance on me. Some people can know someone forever, but can’t tell you what their favorite song is, can’t tell you what their spouse’s schedule is, can’t tell you what their spouse’s fears are. They don’t know about their family background. They don’t know what ticks them off. My wife’s favorite song is ‘Somebody Loves You Baby’ by Patti LaBelle. I know her schedule inside and out. She’s afraid of snakes and bats. Her family is close knit, and I know what ticks her off, sometimes me,” Saint laughed as he looked over at her, and grabbed Xenia’s hands, intertwining their fingers.

Xenia
’s eyes welled up once she realized how well Saint had been listening to her over their fast courtship. He seemed to remember every little thing she said, and he even took the time to ask questions, some of which she had never been asked before.

JoAnn smiled and nodded, “Xenia, what’s it like to be married to the infamous Dr. Saint Aknaten? He has such a dynamic personality, and appears to think the world of you. How would you describe how he treats you?”

Xenia
quickly looked over at Saint and grinned, “JoAnn, he’s wonderful. I’ve never met anyone like him before. That’s why when the press broke about us being arch enemies, I understood how strange it’d seem for us to ever be friends, let alone husband and wife. To be married to him has its challenges. Let’s face it, I’m married to someone who’s quite controversial. He’s magnetic, amazing, brilliant, giving, caring, and funny. Saint’s mind is constantly working. He’s quite intelligent and never stops thinking. As my husband stated, we know a lot about one another, far more than some other couples, I’m sure. We talk all the time, text, and email each other all day. Communication is key for us, especially since I’m still currently living in L.A. and he’s still in New York City. We commute a lot, that’s for sure. He treats me like I’m the only thing that matters. Even with the distance, I never feel neglected, ignored, or uncared for. I know he and I’ll have a long, happy life together.”

“I want to thank you two for agreeing to this interview. I must say, you make a lovely couple. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedules to speak with me and our listening audience.” JoAnn shook their hands before thanking them again off air and walking away.

Saint stood up and stretched, yawning loudly. He looked over at Xenia who had crossed her arms and was smiling. “You did a great job. I was sure you were going to show your ass,” she laughed.

“No, Babe. I’m always a professional unless provoked. You should know that,” he teased. Saint took his wife’s hand and headed back to the limousine, breaking it in before they went back to her house for an evening of relaxation.

* * *

“Now I’m warning you, Saint. My mother is a trip. She’s going to get in my ass as soon as we get in the house, so just be prepared for some drama,” Xenia explained as she waited for Saint to park her car and let her out. Xenia looked at the small house with the palm tree in the front yard. Through a brief opening of the curtains, Xenia saw a sliver of a face, one dark eye squinting, widening, then squinting again before the curtains pulled shut. Saint opened the car door and let Xenia out.

“My sister was just at the window. The shit’s about to hit the fan,” Xenia added as she exhaled. Saint took her hand as they walked through the weed-infested front yard of dark-yellow grass. The smell of bacon grease and cigarettes permeated from the front porch as they approached the cramped house. Xenia opened the squeaky screen door and knocked on the dirty front door which had the name “Tupac” scratched into the worn paint. The door swung open, allowing a thick cloud of smoke to exit. Xenia coughed, looking down at the filthy porch mat while she gathered her thoughts. Saint looked down at a portly, light-skinned, short woman with sporadic freckles and short, dark-auburn hair, half of which was in curlers. A cigarette butt dangled out of the side of her purple-lipsticked mouth. Saint tried with all of his might to restrain the pending laughter bubbling up in his stomach as he looked at the scowl on her full face.

“Hello, you must be Ms. Donnellson, I’m…”

“I know who the hell you are,” Xenia’s mother said. “Come on in here,” she ordered, the cigarette flapping out the side of her mouth with each word she spoke. Xenia walked inside and shoved her hands in her pocket. Saint was surprised to see how quiet she had become. He knew right away that no one bossed Xenia around and lived to tell the tale except her mother apparently.

“Hi, Mama,” Xenia said as she reached out and gave her a hug. Her mother hugged her back loosely, all the while keeping her eye on Saint.

“Hi, Baby,” Xenia’s mother said. “Why is this man driving your car?” she asked, blowing a puff of smoke out.

“Because he insists on driving me, Mama.” Xenia rolled her eyes and sighed. “He’s just being a gentleman.”

“Well, ’round here, he’s tryin’ to get his ass kicked!” Xenia’s mother said. “You know you ain’t shit for gettin’ married and not tellin’ me ’bout it first. That was downright disrespectful, Xenia,” her mother scolded.

“Mama, it wasn’t planned, we just…”

“Oh, shut up! I know whatcha did. You didn’t think and ran off and married this man. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were ashamed of us,” her mother said.

“What’s your name again? Stunt? My name is ‘Pam,’ but you need to call me ‘Ms. Donnellson.’ We ain’t that friendly, and I can already tell I don’t like you.”

“Mama, don’t start!” Xenia said as she sighed.

“Don’t start, my ass! Matter of fact, get your little ass on outta here. Go talk to Porsche or something. I want to speak to this Nigga by myself!” Ms. Donnellson slammed the front door.

Saint’s stomach trembled as the laughter became almost unmanageable. Pam looked up at him. “You a tall mothafucka. What the fuck are you, anyway?”

“What do you mean, what am I?” Saint asked.

“Your race, dummy! Xenia is hood, Stunt. She from the damn hood, did you know that? She also only dates brothas, and I can’t believe she married someone that wasn’t Black. This shit’s hella embarrassin’. Xenia grew up around Bloods and Crypts. You look kinda like the Indian man down the way that sells slushies and individual maxi pads,” she insulted.

“Mama, this is exactly why I didn’t want to bring him over here, and his name is ‘Saint,’ not ‘Stunt!’” Xenia yelled.

“I know you better lower your goddamn voice, Little Sista,” Pam said as she took the cigarette butt out of her mouth and smashed it into a clear glass ashtray. “I don’t give a shit what his name is. It could be ‘Stamp,’ ‘Stunk,’ ‘Skunk,’ ‘Stank,’ ‘Sand Nigga,’ or ‘Stuntin’ like my daddy. I don’t give a shit! He pulled a stunt and thinks he’s slick, so ‘Stunt’ is his name,” she chuckled with her deep, raspy voice.

Porsche walked in holding her daughter. “Hi, Xenia,” she said as she approached her sister and brother-in-law. The big-eyed two-year-old in her arms squirmed about, laughing, her bare feet kicking.

“Hi, Porsche,” Xenia said as she hugged her sister and kissed her niece’s forehead. “This is my husband, Saint.”

“Nice to meet you,” Porsche said, extending her hand. Saint shook it. He looked at the two of them and saw that Xenia was right – they didn’t look alike at all except for their eyes. Porsche was lighter complected and had freckles like her mother. Her hair was shorter and permed. She was built more like her mother while Xenia was naturally more muscular in the arms and legs and must have been two inches taller.

“Go on, Xenia. I want to talk to your huuusband, alone,” Pam laughed. Xenia sighed.

“Saint, are you OK?” Xenia asked. “I’m not going to leave you alone if you don’t want.”

“Of course he’s OK. Now don’t let me tell you again. You ain’t his bodyguard. Go on! This is my house,” Pam spat.

“Go ahead, Xenia. It’s OK. I’m sure your mother and I will have a nice chat.” He winked, making Xenia feel more at ease while Porsche led her away.

“Go on in there,” Pam said, pointing to a small family room. Saint walked inside and looked around, trying to figure out where to sit. The couch was covered with newspapers and Essence, Jet, and Vibe magazines. Pam sat down on a folding chair. Beside her was a metal TV tray with a new pack of cigarettes, a cup of coffee, and small bag of marijuana.

“Sit down,” she said, not looking directly at Saint as she picked up a lighter painted like the ace of spades and lit a new cigarette. Saint pushed some of the papers and magazines aside and sat down. He looked around the room at the family photos on the wall; the dusty lampshades; and the old, large, unplugged television with rabbit ears placed in the corner of the room.