Authors: Cas Sigers
Chocolate Dove (13 page)
“Now why would you say something like that?” he said. “I don't think you're a whore. You're an opportunist, and a smart one at that.”
Basra sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She glanced back at Lawson, who was now gently stroking her back. She didn't want him to touch her, but she allowed it anyway. Her goal was to get that money.
“At one time, Lawson, I actually thought we could be friends. I even had the crazy idea that you might even respect me. But right now all I want to do is improve my life and the lives of those I love, and if you can help me do that, so be it.”
“Now that's what I'm talking about.” Lawson hopped up with excitement. “That's the fire I know you have in you. You may not respect yourself but, honey, I respect you. Just 'cause I want to love on you a bit doesn't mean I think less of you. You're a beautiful woman I know I would never get if I didn't have money. See, I too am an opportunist. In this life, you have to use what you got to get what you need. And you can't worry about what it looks like or how people perceive you. There's only one judge and what you do is between you and Him.”
“If I weren't so frustrated right now, I might would fall for that bullshit, Lawson, but I know what this is, and I'm willing to accept that.”
“Why are you frustrated? Are you getting what you want out of life?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you working toward your goal?”
“Yes, but not in the way I thought I would, you know, morally.”
“Well, you can change that anytime you like, but I promise you the process will take a whole lot longer, and if you're willing to wait, then go for it.”
Basra looked at Lawson's naked body as he strolled over to his computer and checked his e-mail.
“I need to shower,” she said, heading to the bathroom.
Basra drenched herself in the steaming hot water and rinsed off Lawson's scent. She dried off and dressed before walking back out. He was still naked and typing on the computer.
“So how do you want to do this? Maybe you can wire the money to my account because it will take awhile for a check to clear.”
Lawson walked out of the room before she finished talking and while Basra was buckling her shoes, he returned with an envelope, which he tossed on the bed.
“There's twenty-five. I want twenty of it back, and five is yours for whatever.”
“You walk around with that much money?”
“No, but I always have access to my money.”
“Oh.”
Basra picked up the envelope and placed it down in the bottom of her purse.
“Don't deposit that all at one time, it will look suspicious. You don't want to get audited.”
“Okay, thanks.” Basra lingered by the bedroom door, unsure of whether she was supposed to wait for him.
Lawson placed on his boxers and socks. “I need to stay here and do some work. Give me the details and I'll make sure some people are there to buy your boyfriend's work.”
“He's not my boyfriend.”
“For that kind of money, he sure oughta be.”
Basra gave a small chuckle. She zoned out for a second thinking about the fact that she was carrying $25,000 in a five-thousand-dollar purse. This was more than what some people made in a year. Though she was around lots of wealth, it was still a very strange concept.
“The people with money have all the power,” she whispered.
“From your mouth to God's ears,” Lawson replied.
Basra wasn't sure what he meant by that, but it left her with a sour taste. She thanked him again and left to plan her first art show.
Chapter 11
Basra and Grayson spoke briefly that night, and it took everything in her power not to mention the money for the art show. She wanted to share the news, but had to be sure Lawson wasn't going to call that night with any other stupid demands. By Tuesday morning, her eagerness was out of control and Basra couldn't wait another moment to tell Grayson about the art party. She immediately called him on the phone and told him she was on the way to the studio. When she arrived he was knee-deep in oils. Basra rushed inside his studio and went straight to the back.
“I've got good news,” she yelped, bubbling with excitement.
“Okay, hit me.”
“I have a new sponsor for your party.”
Grayson peeked from behind his canvas.
“It's me,” she screamed.
He stopped painting and rose from his work.
“What do you mean?”
“Well it's not me, but I convinced Lawson, who is an art enthusiast, to invest in the event. I told him I was putting it together for an artist.”
“And he agreed?”
“Yes, and I told him I would make sure he got his money back from painting sales.”
Grayson, still a bit reluctant, sat back down and picked up his brush and began painting again.
“Aren't you excited?”
“It sounds nice but I don't want to get too excited before it really happens.”
“What do you mean? It's going to happen. He's already committed.”
“People say a lot but when it boils down to the money, they don't always hold up their end of the deal.”
“How much do you think the entire thing will cost?” she asked.
“The venue is five thousand, I need another three in supplies, plus marketing materials could add another grand.”
“Okay, so that's not even ten thousand.”
“Yeah.”
“Well I have fifteen committed for this event.”
“I don't want to sound pessimistic, but when you get the money in hand, come back and then I'll be excited.”
“Fine. I'll be back.” Basra turned to leave.
“Okaaaay... .” said Grayson with some confusion.
Basra immediately walked out of his studio, went into the bathroom, and counted out $15,000. She placed it in the larger envelope and folded the other one hundred Ben Franklins and placed them down in her makeup pouch. She waltzed back into his studio and handed him the envelope.
“Now can you get excited?”
Grayson took the envelope filled with hundreds and ran his fingers across the top of the bills.
“What's this?”
“This is your art show money. It's going to happen.”
Grayson, almost in shock, handed her the envelope and looked at Basra with hesitation. “Where did you get this money?”
“I told you. It's from Lawson.”
“So he just gave you this money? That doesn't make sense.”
“First of all, it's an investment, so he didn't just give it to me. We have to pay it back. Secondly, he's an art patron, and lastly, he's a billionaire, so this is nothing.”
Grayson still didn't buy it. “So what did you do to get the money?”
“Huh?” she asked as her heartbeat thudded with anxiety.
“Men don't just give women fifteen grand just because they asked.”
“It's pocket change to him. It would be like me asking you for fifteen dollars. We're old friends and I never ask him for anything so he knew how important this was to me.”
“Butâ”
“No. Stop asking questions. I stuck my neck out because I really want you to have this show, and I thought it meant a lot to you. So just take the money and let's make it happen.”
Grayson's face relaxed and a smile emerged. He walked over to Basra and squeezed tightly. He didn't release from the embrace for a minute.
“I can't believe you are doing this for me,” he whispered.
“I have to. You are very talented, and if I have the means to help you, that's what I want to do.”
With her body still within his clinch, he pulled back and stared her in the eyes.
“I still don't understand,” he said.
“I believe in you, and this could really jump start your success.”
“It could,” he said, smiling.
“So, you better get to painting.”
Grayson planted a passionate kiss on Basra that nearly brought her to tears. “Oooh, you can't go on kissing me like that.”
Grayson planted tiny pecks all over her face, and she playfully tickled his side. They didn't notice Guppie standing at the door of the studio until she loudly cleared her throat. Basra pulled away but still remained close to Grayson.
“Hi, Guppie, good to see you.”
“Yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “Gray, did you finish the last piece for Dr. Logan?”
“I'm finishing it right now,” he said.
“It didn't look like you were painting to me.”
The tension thickened. Basra felt the need to cut in.
“We were celebrating the art show he's doing,” she said.
“Is that art show paying some of the bills around here?”
“It will once he sells the pieces.”
Guppie looked Basra up and down and diverted her attention to Grayson. “Let me know when you can deliver.” She walked out.
“What's wrong with her?”
Grayson went back to his chair and picked up his paints. “She and I share the rent on this space and I haven't been selling lately. I'm not behind in the rent but I haven't been helping out on the bills.”
“Okay, but she acts like you two used to date. I don't know a lot but I do know women.”
“I used to date her sister.”
“Ah ha, now we get to the truth. When did you two break up?”
“Awhile back, but we've dated off and on about six years.”
“Six years! No wonder. She doesn't want to see you with anyone else. Why date someone that long and not marry them? I don't get that.”
“We've talked about marriage, but I just can't do it. She is a wonderful girl, but she wants me to get another career. She comes from an affluent family and they don't want her to marry an artist. She wants me to work for her dad. I can't do that. This is who I am,” he exclaimed.
“Oh.”
“So I know if we get married, she's going to want to start a family and once I have kids, that's it. I can't let my family suffer, and then I will be trapped into working a nine-to-five.”
“So you two aren't together at all now?”
“No. We talk and she says things will be different if we get back together, but I'm over it. I want to be with someone who gets me, and understands that if I don't do what I was put here to do, my life is useless.”
“So there's nothing else that you'd rather do?”
“No. Not really. I've painted since I was sixteen.”
“Are your parents artists?”
“No. My sister is a dentist, and my father is an architect. My mother works with him. My family doesn't get me either.”
“Well, I'm still figuring out what it is that I want to be, but I respect you for sticking to your dreams. Especially when it's rough. So, this better be one hell of a show.”
“It will be, I promise.”
“I'm going to let you get back to work. Where would you like to have the show? I want to go ahead and hold the space.”
“It was going to be at this great new space that rents to artists. It's a few blocks over from Times Square.”
“Give me all the information and I will see if we can see do it there. When?”
Grayson handed her the information for the space. “I've done most of the pieces, so I can be ready in two weeks. I just need to get them framed.”
“Okay, give me a price breakdown of everything. I'll call the place and set everything up. I'm so excited.” Just before Basra crossed the exit, Grayson called out.
“No one has ever done something like this for me. I really appreciate it.”
Basra winked and walked out. She was floating on air. She felt like “Basra, the Fairy Godmother.”
She looked at the address and decided to visit the space. She met with the event's manager, Amelia, and walked through the details. Amelia was familiar with Grayson and his work, and was elated that the show was going to happen. She mentioned that for an additional $1,500 he could keep his work up the entire month as the premier artist. Basra agreed to pay the additional amount, signed the contract, and gave her the deposit. She called Grayson and gave him the details. By the size of the space, Grayson would need close to twenty-five pieces. His pieces varied in size and price, but the average amount was $4,000. In this show, Grayson was doing a series of mixed-media pieces depicting New York subway life. It was oils mixed with iron and wood. The theme was “City Life” with pictures depicting life and people in New York, Chicago, DC, and Miami, all done with a very abstract flair. Basra couldn't be more excited to have a project to undertake and doing it for Grayson made it three times as gratifying. She spent the next three days organizing the guest list, and creating marketing materials. She even planned a video shoot of Grayson in the studio. She and Amelia thought that would be a great addition to the evening. So when patrons walked into the space they could watch a video of Grayson at work, like a behind-the-scenes preview.
Basra didn't see Grayson at all for three days, as he spent his days and nights in the studio working. She, in turn, was busy researching art shows and art patrons. She wanted to have as much knowledge in her arsenal to help the show's success. She didn't take a break from her studies until she received a phone call from Richard. He was in town and wanted to move their Friday dinner to Thursday. Basra agreed to meet him. But this time they met in Brooklyn. Richard greeted her with a gift. Basra took the small box, opened it, and saw the David Yurman Crossover Cuff.
“It's so beautiful,” said Basra as she lifted it from the box.
“I thought you might like it,” he said. “It's not too dainty but classic.”
“It is. But I can't take this. It's too much.”
“I bought it for you. I can't take it back. Please, take it as a token of my friendship.”
Basra loved David Yurman but didn't own any pieces and deep down really wanted to keep it, but felt it was the wrong thing to do.
“I can't,” she said.
“You have to. I had it inscribed,” he said.
Basra looked at the eighteen-karat gold bracelet and smiled. Richard showed her the inscription. Basra read it. “âThoughts that come with doves' footsteps guide the world.' That's a beautiful saying. Did you write this?”
“No, it came from Friedrich Nietzsche. He's a German philosopher.”
“I've never heard of him.”
“Brilliant man. His philosophy centered on a basic question regarding the foundation of values and morality. My favorite quote of his is âThe true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.'”
Basra, so engrossed with the script of the inscription, missed the glazed-over look in Richard's eyes that gave way to hints of delusion.
“It's very, very nice.”
“Look at how perfect that is. It's perfect just like you,” he said.
Basra looked up at Richard, who smiled wide. She glanced into his eyes and an eerie feeling came over her. She quickly looked away.
“Let's eat,” she said.
They perused the menu, ordered, and ate. Basra continued to ask about Nietzsche during the dinner and after mentioning her major in psychology the conversation picked up to a rapid speed. Richard had a doctorate, from Cornell University, in philosophy. Before Basra realized it, they'd spent three hours over dinner talking about the history of civilization and the basic fundamentals of existence. Richard's thoughts were fascinating and intriguing. Basra reeled off questions and he was more than thrilled to give his opinion. When Basra looked up it was midnight, but Richard didn't want the night to end. He asked Basra to come back to his hotel.
“I can't,” she replied.
“Why not. We're having such a great time,” he commented.
“I know but I have a lot of work to do. I'm planning an art show,” she inadvertently mentioned.
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