Chocolate Dove (15 page)
Authors: Cas Sigers
“Who?”
“The dinner once a week guy. Sloan's customer.”
“Oh him. Are you sure?”
Basra detailed the events to Lucia,who gasped in and out of each sentence.
“He's definitely stalking you.”
“What do I do?”
“If you call the police, you will have to be explicit about your relationship.”
“Can't I just say that he's my ex-boyfriend?”
“Yeah, but if he tries to hurt or kill you or something like that, and you have to go to court, it will all come out.”
“Kill me?”
“Calm down, I was just using that as an example. He's not going to kill you. What did Sloan say about him?”
“I can't get in touch with her.”
“Okay, well let's wait until we talk with her. Don't jump to conclusions. I'm sure she can talk to him.”
“Okay. What happened to the girl who was seeing him before me?”
“I don't know. I think she just stopped calling. Oooh, what if he killed her!” Lucia dramatically suggested.
“Oh my God!”
“I'm joking. You'll be fine. I'll see you tonight.”
Basra was downright unnerved. She could barely get dressed and get her makeup on. She was so out of sorts that she arrived to the show twenty minutes after six. She couldn't take two steps without wondering if Richard was around the corner. When Grayson walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, Basra nearly jumped from her skin.
“You scared me,” she said.
“You okay?”
Basra slowly nodded.
“You look amazing,” he expressed with a big smile.
“Thank you, so do you,” she said.
There were about ten people mingling and viewing his work. Basra immediately went to work talking about the artist and theme. Grayson wasn't used to talking about himself and he was worse at marketing his work. Basra quickly realized why he was an undiscovered, struggling artist. She made up for what he lacked. Acting had become her second career and she was a whiz. She placed on the big smile and went into sales mode. However, by eight-thirty, not one red dot had been used. Grayson was becoming a bit discouraged because the room was filled with people, but they were socializing and drinking, not buying. Lawson strolled in close to nine o'clock. Grayson spotted him and quickly approached.
“I just want to thank you so much for investing in this show,” he said.
Lawson looked around at the walls. “You're talented, and I'd do whatever your pretty little girlfriend asks of me.”
Grayson didn't like Lawson's tone but had no time to address it, because Lawson quickly moved him across the room to make introductions. One of Lawson's invited guests was Arthur Cossington, a European billionaire hotel mogul with a taste for fine art. Basra had spoken to him but she had no idea who he was. Lawson introduced Grayson to Arthur and he immediately inquired about three pieces. Once Grayson explained his motivation behind the series of works, Arthur made an offer for all three. As soon as Amelia placed the red dots on the works, others began inquiring and making offers. By ten o'clock half of his works were sold. Grayson was like a kid stepping over the threshold of Disney for the first time. He couldn't walk without a skip, and couldn't talk without laughing, and to add to his thrill his mom showed up a few minutes past ten.
“Mom!” he called out. He grabbed Basra's hand and pulled her over to meet his mom. She was a petite woman, only five foot three. Her complexion was similar to Basra's due to her East Indian ancestry. She spoke with an accent.
“Who's this?”
“This is Basra. She's the one who made all of this possible. This is my mother, Hansa.”
“So nice to meet you, Basra. I'm sorry I'm late; your father had me out at dinner. I told him I had to come here but you know how he is. He thought if he kept me out late enough that I wouldn't come, but I didn't want to miss your first show.”
Grayson hugged his mom again and grabbed her hand. “Let me show you everything. I've already sold some stuff.” He whisked her off and Basra stood in the background like a proud parent. She looked around for Lucia but she never showed. Thankfully, neither did Richard, even though his antics still had her shaken.
As she watched Grayson grow into his position as this overnight success, Lawson walked up beside her.
“You did good, kid,” he said.
“Appreciate that, old man.”
He burst into laughter. “Your guy has talent. I think Arthur is going to commission him to do some pieces for a few of his hotels. This was a good investment. I should have asked for interest.”
“Too late.”
“Next time you bring me an idea, I will remember that.”
They stood at the front and watched more red dots go up. By eleven o'clock Grayson had sold seventeen of his twenty-five pieces. The show was a huge success and Basra began getting questions about other artists that she represented.
“I didn't even know that this could be a job,” she told Lawson.
“It's something you should think about,” Lawson said, seemingly distracted.
“What are you looking at?” Basra asked.
“Who's that lady with your guy?”
“Stop calling him my guy. His name is Grayson, and that's his mom.”
“She's a cutie pie. She married?”
“Yes.”
“Good, that way she won't get all attached. Introduce me,” he said with a sneaky gleam in his eye.
“No.”
“Suit yourself,” Lawson said, walking in their direction.
“Lawson, wait! Don't you say anything to her.”
Basra followed close behind.
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Lawson flirted with Hansa, but she completely ignored his subtle advances. Basra continued to step in and move the conversation forward, so that Lawson had few words as possible. He eventually got the point, and the remainder of the evening went off without a hitch.
Chapter 13
That Sunday morning, Basra and Grayson stayed in bed until noon. It wasn't until her phone persistently rang with back-to-back calls did she come from her trance. Before answering, she knew it was Richard. She could feel it. She quickly hopped from bed and rushed to the bathroom to answer. Luckily, Grayson was still asleep. Her gut never steered her wrong, even though she often went against it. It was Richard and he wanted to meet.
“What time?” she whispered.
“Two o'clock.”
“I want to meet in the city, at Neely's Barbecue Parlor,” she suggested.
“The Barbeque Parlor? I don't know where that is.”
“Look it up. It's on First Avenue.”
Basra quickly hung up. She had to think of a place she knew would be crowded and possibly loud just in case he made a scene. She woke up Grayson and told him she had to run out. He was so exhausted he just turned back over and went to sleep. Basra was able to leave the house without questions.
Richard was there when she arrived. He was all smiles as though this was their first meeting and he hadn't been stalking all over New York. She greeted him and they sat. Before everything got started she pulled the small box and bracelet from her purse and slid it back across the table.
“I cannot accept this.”
“I won't take it back,” he said.
“Then I'm leaving it right here on the table. Better yet, I will give it to one of the homeless.”
“Do whatever you like, Dove. It is yours. How was the exhibit last night?”
“Were you there?”
“No, I wasn't invited to the private event. I did, however, watch the many attendees shuffle in and out.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“Doing what? I was in the city with nothing to do and I simply wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Look, you need to stop stalking me or else.”
“I don't like when you use that word. It's very disturbing to me.”
“And your actions are disturbing to me.”
Richard reached across the table and grasped Basra's hand. “We've had so much fun, I don't understand why you are being so coy with me now.”
“I'm not being coy, I am trying to tell you that I can't see you anymore. You have to find another girl.”
“Where will I find another Somali as beautiful and smart as you, one who likes my ideas and studies psychology?”
“I don't know, and I don't care!”
The server interrupted her. “Are you ready to order?”
“Not yet,” Basra said, waving her away. As soon as she walked away she started up once more. Basara knew she needed to lighten her tone. Richard was starting to show more hints of crazy and she really didn't want a scene. “I don't want to be mean to you. I really think you're a decent guy, but my life is in transition. So it's not you, it's me.”
Richard paused and then let out a laugh. “You and the waiter guy. Could this be why you are different toward me now? He can't do anything for you. What kind of life can he offer you? I can give you everything you've ever wanted.”
“That doesn't matter. I don't want that life with you. You don't even know me. We've been on two dates.”
“And they were two of my most memorable moments in life.”
“You've traveled the world, met dignitaries. I don't compare to any of that. I'm just a young, naïve girl from Somalia. Who is ... who is going back home.” Basra quickly came up with the lie.
“Oh no, why?”
“My family needs me there. I will be attending school there. I was just here trying to raise enough money to help my family, as I said. But now I've just decided to go back home.”
Richard was quiet as he mulled over her response. Basra was also quiet in hopes that he'd bought the lie.
“When are you leaving?”
“I'm buying my ticket this week. So, next week.”
“I will help you pack your things.”
“No, I'm leaving everything with my roommate. I'm only taking my clothes.”
“Will you be back?”
“I don't know. But if I come back I will call you.”
“This is very unfortunate. I could come visit you in Somalia.”
“I don't know. My family is very strict. If they thought I was seeing an American, my dad would be livid.”
The server returned to their table.
“I'm not eating,” Basra quickly said to her.
“You have to eat,” Richard said, grabbing her wrist.
Basra tried to loosen his grip but she couldn't. “Stop it, Richard.”
“Dove will have the chicken and waffles and I will try the Velvet Elvis.”
“And to drink?” the server asked.
“What would you like, darling?” asked Richard, still holding a tight grip on her hand.
“I'm good with water,” Basra replied.
“Why don't we try the red velvet mimosas? We'll have two.”
The server left.
“If you don't let me go, I'm going to scream.”
“Why would you do that? It will only upset everyone who's in here having a nice Sunday brunch. Let's just enjoy this brunch, since it may be the last meal we ever have together.”
Basra felt trapped. She suddenly realized the degree of Richard's insanity. She wanted to run, but she recalled Lucia's supposed joke and imagined him reaching inside his navy-blue cardigan, pulling out a semi-automatic gun, and killing everyone in the restaurant starting with her. This thought kept her quiet and still. She prayed that if she sat and had this meal with him, he would quietly walk out of her life. At that moment, it was her only option. She was a foreigner in a strange land and still unsure of all of the American laws. But she knew prostitution was illegal and she couldn't risk getting arrested. Richard had money and if she'd learned anything, people with money have the power to bend and break the rules. Her best bet was to be nice to him and pray he'd have mercy and just let her go.
After brunch, Richard simply said good-bye and got in a cab. He didn't linger, which was just what she'd hoped for. However, his menacing stare as the cab drove away gave Basra a disturbing feeling in the pit of her stomach. She assumed he had something up his sleeve.
When Basra got back to her home, Grayson was awake and using her juicer. She had wolfed down the chicken and waffles to appease Richard, but her stomach was in knots and the food was very unsettling.
“There she is,” said Grayson as she walked in.
“I'm sorry, I had to take some medicine to Lucia. She's sick.”
“That's too bad. Is that why she didn't show up last night?”
Basra nodded, kissed Grayson on the cheek, and went to the bedroom. She was a wreck and couldn't stop shaking. “You want some?” he called from the kitchen.
Basra took a few deep breaths and met him in the kitchen.
“You have me addicted to juicing now. I'm running through fresh fruit like crazy.”
“Good. That means I'm having a positive effect on you.”
“You don't have to wonder about that. Do you realize what last night is going to do for my career? Mr. Cossington called me and said that he wants to meet with me today about doing more pieces for his hotels. Baby, we did it! We did it!” he screamed while picking Basra up and twirling her around.
Basra was excited for three seconds before she felt her food crawling its way back up her esophagus. She forcefully pushed away and stuck her head in the kitchen sink just in time to release all of her brunch.
“Shit!” Grayson yelled. “Are you okay?”
Basra nodded as she wiped her mouth with a paper towel. “My stomach is just upset.”
“Well at least we know you're not pregnant.” He chuckled. Basra gave way to a tiny snicker. “You're not pregnant, right?”
“Oh God no,” she expressed.
“I was about to say, who in the hell have you been sleeping with 'cause it's certainly not me.”
Basra knew she wasn't pregnant but she felt like shit. She couldn't continue to lie to Grayson. She was really falling for him and looking him in the face was becoming very difficult.
“I need to lie down.” Basra retired to her bedroom and remained there for the next couple of hours. Grayson lingered around, continued to check on her, but he had to leave to meet with Cossington, finally.
“I really want you to go with me.”
“No, you'll be fine. I don't know about commissioning deals, so I won't be much help.”
“You want me to come back afterward?”
“Just call me. I'm going to lounge all day.”
Just like Lawson hinted, Arthur Cossington commissioned ten more pieces from Grayson. Overnight, Grayson went from a struggling artist to one of the hottest underground artists in demand. Word quickly got out about the show and Basra had several artists calling her about their works. As much as she loved doing the art show, she didn't want to take up a career as an art agent or broker. Grayson had been her motivation and she'd used most of her connections on this show. If she truly had to go out and find avid art patrons, it would be much harder, and she was sure she wouldn't enjoy it half as much. Her focus was Grayson and she wanted to take his career to even higher heights, so over the next few weeks, she spent her energy on finding more commercial opportunities for him. If she did this right, she could retire from her profession sooner rather than later.
With the money earned from the art show Basra and Grayson were able to repay Lawson. Basra returned the entire $25,000, and once she took her commission from what was left, she still had $15,000 to place in the bank. Grayson found a new studio space, one with a nice gallery area, and was so busy painting and creating that he and Basra didn't see each other sometimes for days. It took him three months to complete the pieces for Cossington. During that time, fall was starting and Basra enrolled back into St. John's University to continue toward her psychology degree. During those months, Basra went out with four clients from Choice. Richard continued to call, but she never spoke with him. Basra swore she saw him a couple of times in the park across from her building. However, when she walked across the street to approach him, he was never there. He was like a ghost, and she felt there wasn't anything she could really do about it. She wasn't even positive that Richard was his name.
Basra was close to her goal of $50,000 and saw an end in sight. If she weren't sending half of her money back to Somalia, she'd have her fifty by now. However, Basra was supporting two households, her sister's education, and special schooling for her brother. Still, Basra had $10,000 tied up in investments and with the few deals she'd brokered for Grayson, she was truly beginning to feel like a businesswoman.
Grayson had shipped most of the pieces for Cossington but was working on the last installments that were gracing the lobby of his hotels in Sweden. He'd asked Basra to come by and take a look at the work, but with her schedule, they kept missing each other. It was a Thursday afternoon when she realized that she hadn't seen her man in four days.
“Where are you?” she asked, calling him on the cell.
“At my second home,” he answered.
Basra took the number three train downtown to lower Manhattan and walked over a few blocks to Grayson's new studio on Twenty-fourth Street. She walked in and noticed the bare walls.
“Hey!” she called out. “Where's all of your artwork?”
Grayson came from the back. “People are buying it. You would know if you came to visit more often.”
“Babe, I'm in school, and I have tons of paperwork. Plus, you're always working, and I don't want to come down here just to watch you work.”
“Then you should do your homework here,” he suggested.
“Nah, I like getting comfy and doing it at home.”
“Then maybe we should move in together.”
Basra gave him a curious look. “Move in with each other, really?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“First of all, you have a roommate. I don't know how he would feel about that.”
“I've been looking at new spaces anyway. Maybe we can get a townhouse in Brooklyn.”
“Moving in? Why don't we just get married then?” Basra laughed.
“That's an even better idea,” said Grayson.
“I was joking. We can't get married.”
“Why not? We love each other and we want to be together.”
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