Authors: Cas Sigers

Chocolate Dove (8 page)

BOOK: Chocolate Dove

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“What? But you know Lucia. How can you not be involved?”

“Lucia is an adult. She chose to go to this function. I don't have any information and so I can't be of help.” Hollis's tone was callous, borderline cruel. She quickly got back to business. “Lawson will be here this Friday, are you available?”

“Yes, and I'll have to call you back.”

Basra hung up and sat dumbfounded. “No one cares!” she screamed.

“No one cares about what?” said the hoarse voice behind her.

Basra turned and saw Lucia strolling through the living room toward the open terrace door. She leapt from the chair and hurled her body in Lucia's direction.

“Where in the hell have you been? I thought you were dead!” Basra beat Lucia in the chest.

“Oouch!” Lucia screamed. “My chest is burned.”

“Where did you go! Why haven't you answered your phone? You heifer, I cried over you!”

“I left you a message, a note in your bag.” Lucia walked over to Basra's bag and dug in the front pocket. She pulled out her makeup bag and gave her a small folded letter. Basra took it and read it silently.

“Why would you leave me a note in my makeup bag?”

“'Cause you open this bag every day. I knew you would see this. I had to get out of there. Ahsan was crazy. After we left each other, he kept saying he was going to suffocate me and watch me struggle. I paid one of the spa ladies to find me someone to take me back to Ibiza. I told Ahsan I was taking a shower and when he went up to the deck, I left and hid on the yacht until that morning.”

Basra slapped Lucia on the shoulder. “I am so mad with you. I was going to call the police. I really thought he had killed you. And, this wasn't a Choice job!”

“I know. I never said it was.”

“We aren't supposed to take private jobs,” said Basra.

“Everyone does. It's our bodies. Hollis can't tell us what to do with our bodies.”

“I called Hollis because I thought this was Choice!” Basra smacked Lucia's arm again. “I am so mad with you. We could have both been killed. Did you do a background check or anything?”

“It was one of Sloan's people.”

“Then why didn't Sloan go?”

“That time of the month.”

Basra gave Lucia one long stare. If looks were actions, she would have been punching Lucia square in the face.

“I've been calling you and calling you.”

“I left my phone somewhere at the hacienda. I got a new one in Miami, but it has no numbers.”

“Miami?”

“Oh yeah, when I got back, I ran into Petra at the airport. She was on her way to a party in Miami. I grabbed my bags and got on her flight.”

“Unbelievable.” Basra turned and walked to her room. Lucia followed, apologizing. Basra was now more sure than ever that she had to distance herself from Lucia, for she was too much of a wild card. “I want my money. Where do I get my money?”

“I have to call Sloan, she did the deal. I think she's starting up her own thing.”

“Call her,” said Basra.

“I need her number. I haven't put my old info into my phone yet.”

“Get out of my room.”

“Don't be mad. I left you a note.”

“I am mad that I wasted energy on thinking something had happened to you. I am mad that after a man threatened to end your life, you hop off to another party like it was nothing. I'm mad that I was the only one who even cared. None of the men, the other girls, not even Hollis thought twice about your supposed murder. I am mad that this industry numbs your sensitivities. Now let me be mad!”

“Okaaay, be mad then.” Lucia walked out of the door.

Basra pulled out her iPad, went through her bookmarks, and looked over the apartments she'd considered renting.

“I'm moving out!” she yelled through her closed door. Lucia didn't respond. Basra didn't know if she heard or if she even cared. Nevertheless, at this point, Basra no longer cared. Lucia was like a bad drug, and it was time to be weaned.

Chapter 7

Sloan upheld her end of the deal and delivered money to Lucia and Basra that Friday morning. Basra sent six of the eight thousand home to her family. This would be enough money to move her sister, brother, and mom into a small place in their hometown. The joy in her mom's voice traveled across the world and through her doors and Basra could literally feel the exuberance in her room. At that moment, the precarious situation she'd just experienced vanished. All that mattered was that she was able to save her family, and Basra beamed nearly out of her skin and bawled as her mom cried tears of joy.

“Your modeling must be going very well. I'm so proud of you,” her mom commented.

The statement hit Basra's heart like a thud. She knew her family would be extremely upset if they knew how she was making a living. Respect and pride was the basis on which they lived. Her mom would rather live impoverished before taking money that compromised her family's integrity. But Basra knew she was doing the right thing. Once she was able to bring her family to the States she would put this secret past behind her.

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Mommy,” Basra replied with tears from a conflict of emotions. “I will do more when I can,” she said, wrapping up her call.

After Basra disconnected from her mother, she cried for another hour. She was filled with emotional turmoil. She disliked the agency, but knew she could do so much good with the money she made, and she was moving out and, for the first time, had to live alone in New York. Basra buried her head within her pillow and thought about Derrick, Ahsan, and the men on the island.
They make enough money to save everyone in my village, probably my whole country.

Basra clutched the pillow tight and screamed. “It's not fair!”

Like a fish out of water, she flipped and flopped across her bed until she had released most of her frustration. Afterward, she retreated to the kitchen to juice a combination of carrots, apple, and ginger to release the remaining irritation. As she stood in the kitchen and drank her healthy delight, she once again took pleasure in knowing that she was making a better life for her family. Instantly, that overwhelming feeling chased away any testiness she had about the world's unjust disbursement of wealth.

“I'm very blessed.” She sighed.

Basra squinted her eyes tight as the juice went down. She had used too much ginger and it was stronger than she'd have liked. As she reached for a pinch of sugar to cut the taste, the buzzer rang.

“You have a package here at the desk,” said the concierge.

“Okay, thanks,” Basra responded.

She slipped on her sandals and walked down to get her mail. It was two dozen tulips courtesy of Lawson, with a card that read: “See ya tonight, darling.”

“It's Friday already?” Basra said to herself while walking back to the elevator. While in the hunt for an apartment, she'd forgotten about her date with Lawson that evening. She rushed upstairs and gave him a call, but she had to leave a message.

“Hello, dear, what time are we meeting? What do you have planned?”

She glanced at herself in the mirror, peered at her eyebrows, and contemplated if she had enough time to go get them done. She quickly decided and rushed from her apartment to her spa for a manicure and pedicure. Two hours later, when she returned, she still hadn't heard from Lawson. Normally, he called three to four times when he reached town just to double and triple confirm their date. Basra's stomach began fluttering from anxiety. She felt as though this was a real date that he could possibly be standing her up. This was when she realized that she hadn't gotten gussied up for Lawson because of the money, but she truly wanted to look good for him.

“What am I doing?” she asked herself while flopping down on the living room sofa. Just then her phone rang, and she nearly tripped over her feet to find her cell. She followed the ringing through the living room and the tune finally lead her to her bathroom.

“Hello.”

“Hiya, my darling.”

“Laaaawsoooon,” she sang. “I thought you forgot about me.”

“Never in a million years,” he said. “I'm on my way to pick you up.”

“I can meet you,” she quickly replied.

“You still think I might be a stalker, huh?”

“Of course not.”

He laughed and gave her the address of a gallery. “I've been in meetings all day, and I'm in the mood for a good laugh. We're going to one of those contemporary exhibitions with overpriced pieces of crap and people who take themselves way too serious.”

“That sounds interesting. I will meet you there in an hour.”

When they hung up, Basra caught herself smiling but then forced the grin away. “This is business,” she said. But she couldn't deny the fact that she enjoyed his company. It no longer felt like work when they went out. She and Lawson had many common likes. He was kind and made her laugh. She didn't want to feel guilty about enjoying his company, but in that same idea, she knew he still looked at her as an escort, and it was this thought that erased her smile. Basra got dressed, and went to work.

Basra arrived at the Midtown space within the hour and walked in. She stood at the door and read the mission of the Fountain Gallery. While reading, Lawson crept up beside her.

“Do you know about his place?” she asked.

“I know there's some crazy looking art in here. I'm just a plain ol' still life kinda guy.”

“Well, this gallery supports artists with mental illness. This is beautiful. No one cares about people with mental disease and I'm just ...” Basra stopped talking and looked around at the art. Her eyes began to well. Basra thought about her baby brother back home, who suffered from autism. It wasn't something she spoke often about, although he was always on her mind. There wasn't much medical treatment for autism in her town and so creative therapy was a way the elders helped those with mental deficiencies. She vividly imagined her brother back home painting and making art.

“He would love to do this,” she spoke.

“He who?” said Lawson.

“Just thinking out loud. Let's mingle.”

Lawson and Basra walked through the space, admiring the avant-garde pieces that adorned the walls. He didn't know anyone, but Lawson was never a stranger; he talked to almost everyone there. While Basra was near the back admiring a huge green dot framed on a canvas, she happened to take a whiff of one of her favorite scents, Eternity by Calvin Klein. When she turned to see who was tingling her nose, she recognized another face. They caught a glance of each other at the same time and both smiled. He approached quickly.

“You're the girl,” he said.

“And you're the boy,” she responded.

“Yes, I'm the boy. You've been thinking about me a lot I see.”

Basra giggled nervously. The instant attraction that she'd felt when they first met on the Upper West Side was stronger this time.

“Don't tell me; your name is Bas ... Basor, Bastal ...”

“Basra,” she told him.

“I said not to tell me.”

“I couldn't continue to stand here and let you butcher my name. I'm sorry, I don't remember yours.”

“I'm Grayson.”

Basra extended her hand. “Nice to meet you again,” she said.

Grayson wasted no time in showing his interest. “I want to take you out sometime. Coffee, dessert, whatever.”

“Uhhm. That would be ... uhmm ...” Basra contemplated his offer. But as she peered through his old-school Buddy Holly frames, she couldn't help but to say, “Yes, okay, we can go out.”

However, just as the words were leaving her lips, Lawson appeared around the corner.

“Grayson, my man. I see you've met the lovely Basra,” he said.

Basra suddenly tensed up.
Did they just meet or do they know each other?
she wondered. More importantly, did Grayson know about the relationship between her and Lawson?

“So you two know each other?” said Grayson.

“Yes, I'm one lucky man,” said Lawson as he cupped his hand within hers. Basra left her fingers straight and didn't grasp on to his hand. She was hoping Grayson would catch this as a sign that they weren't a couple.

Grayson noticed her taut body language and nervous eye flutters. “Lucky indeed. I guess my luck ain't so great,” he said.

“Gotta pay to play,” Lawson responded.

Basra flicked her head in Lawson's direction. “I'm ready to go.”

“Of course, dear. Grayson, it was a pleasure meeting you. I have your card. I will come check out your work.”

“I'll come check it out too. Next week, as a matter of fact,” said Basra.

“Great. I'll be at the gallery every day.”

Basra and Lawson walked away. Basra desperately wanted to glance over her shoulder to see if Grayson was watching, but thought it to be rude, so she just followed Lawson out the door. Once they got in the cab, Basra's tone changed.

“You gotta pay to play!” she yelled. “Must you announce that I'm your escort to everyone? Whom else did you tell?” she asked.

“I didn't tell anyone. I don't want people to know that. I want them to think that I'm cool enough to be with someone like you.”

“Huh? But you said âyou gotta pay.'”

“I meant that it takes money to date high-end women. Look at you. You're exquisite. You have expensive taste. He's a struggling artist. You would never date a man like him.”

“You keep using the word âdate' like that's what we're doing.”

“When we are out together that's how I see it.”

“But you pay. It's different,” Basra commented.

“You know I'm a wealthy man. When I go out with women, I pay one way or another. At least with you, I don't have to worry about you asking me to pay your tuition, or buy you diamondsâ”

Basra interrupted, “Women ask you to buy them diamonds while you're on a date?”

“Women have asked me to buy them cars on a first date. It's easier this way, that's all. And on top of it all, I like you.” Lawson kissed Basra's forehead and leaned back in the seat. “That was some weird artwork,” he said.

“Don't say that. It was expressive, not weird.”

“Oh, darling, I do love your outlook on life.”

The cab whizzed through traffic and was on the Upper East Side in no time. “You didn't even ask if I wanted to come over,” Basra said.

Lawson ignored her and stepped out. Basra followed and walked inside the lobby of The Pavilion. Inside his place, she and Lawson drank wine and watched
9 to 5,
which happened to be on one of his hundreds of channels. They laughed and drank and the more wine that flowed the sillier the conversation became. This night, it wasn't Lawson making moves, but Basra was strongly coming on to him. She was tipsy but very aware of her actions. Part of her wanted Lawson to see her as a woman, not an escort, and for a second she'd convinced herself that he would. She leaned in and kissed him as the credits rolled and Dolly Parton sang the theme. It didn't matter that Lawson was humming the tune in between the locked lips. Basra wasn't at all distracted. He didn't question her behavior, but quickly conceded and led her to the bedroom. Basra quickly stripped and Lawson followed. She glanced as his pale physique covered in light auburn freckles. It wasn't drawing her in, but oddly enough it didn't repulse her either, as she once thought it would upon their first meeting. Basra had only slept with a few men, all of African descent. She couldn't help but to continue looking at his skin as he softly caressed hers.

“It's like cocoa,” he said.

Lawson kissed her shoulder, arms, and hand. Then he quickly lifted his body and leapt from the bed. As she was about to ask his whereabouts, he called from the bathroom.

“Gotta wrap up the dragon,” he called out.

Basra laughed hysterically. When he returned she was still giggling. Lawson didn't bother to ask why. He plopped back in bed and loved on his African beauty. Basra tried to get into the act, but her mind kept asking her questions.
Why are you doing this? How is this going to change things? Is this a mistake?
She was so boggled with questions that she couldn't enjoy the moment. After it was over, she still held no answers. In fact, her brain spilled out more uncertainties. Basra tightly closed her eyes and tried to stop the outpouring of doubts.

“Boy, that was some good ol' loving right there,” he said, kissing her shoulder once more.

Basra turned and smiled at him. “I enjoy you, Lawson,” she replied.

“I enjoy you too, darling,” he said with a grin. “I sure am going to miss you.”

BOOK: Chocolate Dove

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