In The Cut (20 page)

“Wha… where…” Olivia was laying on the couch in her office, under a blanket. She shot up, remembering the all night romp session all over the salon.

“Nah, ah,” Grace said, covering her eyes. “Where your clothes at, girl?”

Olivia looked down and realized she was naked. Her clothes were folded neatly on the mini bar. She wrapped herself in the blanket and ran out into the salon. The place was spic and span clean.

Baby and Miki looked at her like she’d just escaped from a mental institution.

“You okay, ma?” Baby asked.

“Yeah,” Olivia croaked, and then cleared her throat. She rustled her hair as she looked around the salon. She knew last night wasn’t a dream. Every muscle in her body ached. She tottered back toward her office.

“What… in the world happened to you? If I didn’t know you the way I do, I would think you got with a man last night,” Grace said.

“Baby,” Olivia tried to shout, but her voice cracked.

“What’s up?”

“Coffee… please, extra caffeine, extra large.”

“I got some on, right now,” Baby said, casting her a sidelong glance.

Grace followed her into her office. “Are you okay?”

“Can I have some privacy?” Olivia’s voice was totally hoarse now. She shooed her out of the office and rubbed her eyes. Grace’s words echoed in her head. If I didn’t know you like I do, I would think that you got with a man last night. Shit, Olivia thought. No man she ever came across could do what Saint did to her the whole night. She looked on her desk to see if he had the courtesy to at least leave a note. There was none. She dropped the blanket and got dressed.

“Grace, I’m going home.”

“I just fixed your coffee,” Baby said, holding the tall brew of mud.

“I’ll be back later on.” Olivia was exhausted and becoming angry. Saint had walked back into her life, and had walked back out just as quick. She hadn’t planned on having sex with him, but when he disappeared, she regretted not having sex with him. All she could think of last night when she saw him was she might not see him again. She had to be with him, even if it was only one time. But now that her pent up frustration had cum down, she was thinking clearly. The last thing she should’ve done was sleep with him. Not only did he take her to new heights, but she could already feel her body starting to crave more of him.

When she pulled up to her house, she felt moistness between her legs. Shit, she thought.
Just thinking of him got me all messed up
. She opened her front door and heard music playing from the kitchen.

“Jon-Jon, is that you?” She took off her shoes and headed toward the kitchen. “I told you about just barging up in here and helping yourself to all the food in my refrigerator.” She stopped in the doorway when the man cooking in her kitchen wasn’t Jon-Jon.

“What took you so long to get here?” Saint asked, flipping the last omelet onto a plate.

Olivia just stared at him.”

“What?”

“You know what. How do I wake up on my couch with no recollection of how I got there or how the salon got straightened up?”

“The four glasses of wine you had last night during our freak fest probably had something to do with it.”

Now that he mentioned it, she remembered pouring wine in his belly button and slurping it up.

“After I straightened up, I came back into the office and you were snoring.”

“I snore?”

“And mumble. Anyway, we agreed that I would get a head start and meet you, because we couldn’t risk the chance of anyone knowing I was back.”

“I don’t remember that.”

Saint dropped the spatula. “You didn’t tell anyone I was here, did you?”

“No, I didn’t. I told the girls that I was going home to get some sleep and that I would be back later on.”

He walked from around the counter with two plates of eggs and hash browns and placed them on the table.

“You look good in an apron.”

“Last night you said I looked good with nothing on.”

“You
definitely
look better with nothing on,” Olivia said sitting down. She dug into the food without waiting for Saint to return with the glasses of orange juice.

“You worked up an appetite, huh?”

“I usually don’t eat like this,” she said in between wolfing down the eggs and gulping down the glass of orange juice. “My body is shaking. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”

“Hmm.”

“Not to mention, these eggs and hash browns are banging.”

“Hmm.”

“Is that coffee I smell brewing?”

Saint got up and walked to the stove. “Fresh brewed. Heavy on the caffeine, light on the water, right?”

“You read minds, too?”

“That’s what some people believe.”

“What am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking… a hot bath would feel good right about now.”

“That’s not what I was thinking, but now that you mention it, it does sound like a good idea.”

“Maybe drop about six oil beads in there, a little lavender bath salt to soften the water…”

“Yes, that’ll work.”

“Maybe light a scented candle.”

“I’m feeling that.”

“And the icing on the cake is me sitting behind you massaging your shoulders and your neck, ‘cause I know you’re aching.”

“And how do you know I’m aching?”

“Stand up.”

Olivia started to stand and winced.

“That’s how I know.” He brought her cup of coffee to her.

“Sip on that, and I’ll go get your bath ready.”

Olivia took a couple sips of her coffee and gagged. It was just the way she liked it.

Five minutes later, Saint came back down stairs. “Almost done.” He smiled when he walked into the kitchen and found Olivia had put her head down and dozed off at the kitchen table. He walked up behind her and kissed her on the neck.

“I’m up,” she said, jerking awake.

He pulled the chair out and scooped her up in his arms. He walked with her to her bedroom and laid her on the bed.

“Just give me a few minutes.”

Saint smiled and started undressing her. He pulled her covers over her and caressed her cheek. “I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I have to disappear for a while.”

Olivia sat up. “What are you talking about?”

“In order for me to be with you, I have to do this one last thing.”

“Does this one last thing include killing someone?”

“Honestly?”

“Please.”

“Maybe.”

She became silent.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to try and resolve this without anyone having to die. Usually, I can do that.”

“And what if you can’t this time?”

He didn’t respond.

“I can’t let you do this. If you have to kill someone to be with me… then maybe it’s not meant for us to be together.”

“This person is a piece of shit.”

“But he is still a person.”

“I thought you wanted to be with me.”

“God, knows I do.” She gripped his hand. “But not if you have to murder someone.” She felt a chill run down her spine as she watched the whites of Saint’s eyes turn coal red.

“This is crazy,” he said standing up. “I must be losing my mind.”

“Wait,” Olivia said, getting out of the bed and grabbing his arm. She jerked her hand away. The arm she grabbed a hold to felt nothing like the one she held last night. The muscles in his arm felt like steel coils, poised to strike.

“I can’t change who I am. I can never have a normal life. I got half of the world’s law enforcement after me, and the entire underworld murdering anyone who they think is the Saint.”

“Listen to me for a second—”

“There’s nothing to listen to,” he said as he stormed toward the bedroom door.”

“Saint Christopher, please.”

He turned around and slowly walked back toward her like a panther about to pounce on its prey. Olivia backed up til her back was against the wall. His lips were inches away from her ear. “Never mention that name… again,” he growled.

Too stunned to move, Saint was out the front door and out of her life before Olivia felt safe enough to peel herself off the wall. She experienced, first hand, why so many feared him. The Saint wasn’t a man who became a beast when provoked. He was a beast, period.

Chapter 12

“You know you could’ve stayed home and got some rest, right?” Grace said to Olivia.

“No she couldn’t,” Mr. Ryan said. “Olivia always cuts my hair on Saturday afternoons.”

“One Saturday wouldn’t have killed you, old man,” Grace said.

“If I would’ve walked in here and Olivia wouldn’t have been here—”

“Calm down, old man,” Olivia said. “Sit still before I accidentally zeek you.”

“You ain’t never zeek nobody, so if you zeek me, it would be on purpose.”

“Actually, she did zeek somebody,” Baby said. “Remember that politician running for Governor a few years back?”

“That wasn’t by accident,” Olivia said. “He was a creep. Remember him, Grace?”

“Yeah, the one who was on TV. Talking about how his wife is the backbone to his success, and then the following week, he’s sitting in your chair trying to be your sugar daddy.”

“She already gots a sugar daddy,” Mr. Ryan said.

“That’s right, sugar daddy,” Olivia said, kissing him on the cheek. “Can I have five hundred dollars, sugar daddy?”

“Shiiit, I ain’t even got enough to pay for this fifty dollar haircut. I remember back in my day when a man could get a cut, a shave, and a hell of a conversation for a quarter.”

“This ain’t the fifties, pop,” the teen in Grace’s chair said. “Prices rise, pop. It’s called inflation.”

“Call me pops again, and the left side of your face is gonna be inflated.”

Everyone, including the teen started laughing.

“You got that, pops… I mean boss playa.”

“Damn right, recognize a playa when you see one. I was a playa when the game was
The Game
. When the playas played by the rules, when honor, and respect weren’t just words, they was your life.”

“Honor and respect still exists,” the teen said. “Only their known by different names. Heckler and Koch.”

Mr. Ryan shook his head like he just sucked on a lemon. “Damn ghetto cowboys. I remember when Huey Newton used guns to fight for our rights.”

“Huey who?” The teen said.

“Huey, who?” Mr. Ryan repeated in shock. “Huey Newton, one of the founders of the Black Panthers.”

“I heard of the Black Panthers, but I never heard of that cat.”

“What?” Who was the other founder?” Mr. Ryan asked Olivia.

“Bobby Seale.”

“What year was it started?” He asked Grace.

“In the sixties, I believe.”

“Nineteen sixty-six,” Miki said. Everyone turned in her direction.

“What? I remembered that from high school.”

Mr. Ryan looked at Baby. “Who was their minister of information?”

“History ain’t my thing, Mr. Ryan.”

“Anyone? Who was their minister of information. With all these black folks up in here, somebody’s got to know.”

Everyone looked at Miki. “Don’t look at me.”

“Eldridge Clever,” a woman said, standing by the front door. “He also wrote a series of essays that were later collected in his book
Soul On Ice
, which was published after his release from prison.”

The shop was silent. The woman admired the salon’s deco and nodded when she recognized some of the paintings on the wall. She was wearing a black and gold pant ensemble. The patchwork Kimono jacket was open to reveal the matching bustier top. Her black satin pants ended at the back of her Luichiny stilettos. Her hair was fashioned into a soft layered cut with frosty highlights. It was curled and styled to frame her face. Her tear drop diamond earrings and diamond necklace mesmerized anyone who stared at them too long.

Olivia looked down at the woman’s right wrist. She couldn’t help but admire the different colored diamond bracelets. Some were white, some canary yellow, and others pink, there were ten in all. Her makeup was flawless. When she locked eyes with Olivia, she walked toward her. Her walk would tell anyone that she was important, royalty even. Back straight, chin up, shoulders squared.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” Mr. Ryan said, remembering how to talk.

“That’s because I’m not from around here,” she said, not taking her eyes off of Olivia’s.

Olivia didn’t hear it before, but she heard it now. The woman spoke with a slight accent.

“Miss Martin.” The woman extended her hand.

Olivia shook it. The woman’s hand was deceptively rough, and surprisingly strong.

The teen stared her up and down. “How did you know the answer to that old ass question, ma?”