Chocolate Dove (12 page)

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Authors: Cas Sigers

BOOK: Chocolate Dove
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“That's right,” Basra said with a smile.
“Beautiful place, Somalia.”
“What were you doing there?” asked Basra.
“Work. I was part of an investment group that built a few hotels there.”
“Oh,” replied Basra just before ordering.
Richard continued to talk but he couldn't hold Basra's attention as she occasionally stole glances at the lake. Finally, amid his boring talk about business and hotels, she spoke.
“I miss the beach,” she said.
“New York has a beach.”
“Not like home. We lived so close to the water I used to go every other day. I miss it.”
“Have you been to Coney Island?”
Basra shook her head.
“You should go.” Richard paused, reached across the table, and placed his hand on top of hers. “Am I boring you?”
Basra looked at his well-groomed nails. They were nothing like Grayson's. His were different lengths, and his nail beds were slightly dirty with oil paint stains. Grayson's hands had character. Richard's were very boring.
“I guess that's my answer,” he replied after she never responded to his question.
“I'm sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?” Basra asked.
“I asked if I was boring you.”
“Of course not. I was just lost in thought. I zoned out. I'm sorry.”
“What were you thinking about?” asked Richard.
“Grayson,” Basra called out accidentally.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
Basra's unintended exclamation was brought on as she noticed the server three tables over was none other than Grayson. She quickly snapped her head away from his direction and stared out of the window.
“Are you all right?” Richard asked.
Basra nervously and rapidly shook her head up and down. She peered to her left but was careful to keep her head turned away from the center of the restaurant.
“I promise you are not boring me,” she responded much later than Richard would have liked.
“If you don't want to be here, now would be a good time to say so.”
Basra scooted her chair at an angle so as to keep her back toward the other tables and replied kindly. “Richard, I'm just a little nervous when I meet new people. I want to make a good impression, that's all. Are you enjoying your fish? It looks delicious.”
Basra just rambled off words as she continued to wonder how come Grayson had never mentioned working at that restaurant. “I'm sure everything on the menu is good. Are you enjoying your meal?”
Richard paused and slightly opened the left corner of his lips. With his teeth clinched together, he looked like he was showing off a cavity. Basra wasn't sure if it was a smile or a gas bubble.
“It's okay. I mean it's good,” he mumbled. “I want you to have a good time.”
Basra released a tiny exhale and scooted her chair around a little more.
“The bread is good, right?” she said, grabbing the last roll from the basket.
“Excuse me.” Richard motioned for a server.
Basra's heart plummeted like an elevator with no cables. She knew what was about to happen. Her neck muscle tightened as she turned to see the male figure walking to their table.
“Yes, may help you?”
As she turned to face him, she respired heavily, causing a loud cough. The man was not Grayson. Thus, she caught her breath and tried and smiled.
“Can we get some more bread, or can you get our server?” asked Richard.
“Of course,” he replied.
As she looked up to acknowledge him with a nod, she caught Grayson's view in her peripheral. She quickly turned, but this time the movement drew more attention and it was too late. She was spotted, and he wasted no time making his way to the table.
“How is everything for you two tonight?” he said upon approach.
“We'd like more bread, but other than that, we're good.”
“And you, ma'am, are you good?” he asked.
Basra turned and smiled. “Grayson, this is Richard; Richard, Grayson.”
The men acknowledged with small nods.
“So you work here?” she asked.
“Part, time, yeah.”
“You never mentioned it.”
“Yeah, and—”
“So how about that bread?” interrupted Richard.
“I'm not your server, but I will check on it for you.” Grayson walked away.
“That was rude,” Basra said.
“How? He's at work at a restaurant.”
Basra didn't comment. Within a few seconds, their original server, Ginny, came out with hot rolls. Grayson didn't come back to the table until their meal was complete. But he made sure he kept Basra in his sight so that she wouldn't get away before he said his goodbyes.
“I hope you enjoyed everything,” he said.
“It was good,” Basra replied.
“Great,” he said. “So, you two have a big night planned?”
Basra looked at Richard, who remained silent. Finally, she answered. “Not sure. But I'll hit you up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, huh?” he said with a look that required no explanation. “Nice to meet you, Richard,” he said and walked away.
Luckily Richard didn't ask any additional questions about Grayson and he didn't desire dessert. They left the restaurant ten minutes later.
“It's still early, you want to do something else?” he asked while waiting for a cab.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked, hoping he would say nothing.
He pondered a few minutes and replied, “Let's see if we can take in a play, it's still early.”
“Great,” Basra mumbled under her breath. She then plastered on her smile and dug deep for her finale performance.
 
 
She left Richard close to ten that night after going to see
The Road to Mecca.
Basra purposely left her phone in her purse the entire evening. She wasn't sure if Grayson would text, and she knew if he did, she couldn't resist responding. Richard didn't try anything at the end of the date. He only gave her a hug and asked if she'd be available next Friday.
Basra responded with “call me,” and walked away. She was home before eleven, and at 11:14, a text from Grayson came through. Basra didn't text back, but opted to call.
“Hello, Ms. Sadiq,” he answered.
“Don't be formal with me,” she commented.
“How was your evening?”
“It was okay. Just so you know, I'm not dating Richard or anything like that.”
“Hey, it's cool. We just met. I'm sure you have suitors of all types.”
“You met me with Lawson and now Richard. I just don't want you to get the wrong idea.”
“You're young, you should be dating. It's okay.”
“But—”
“Basra, it's cool. I don't mind competition. Glad to know you made it home safe.”
“Yeah, so we'll talk soon?”
“I'll call you this weekend.”
They hung up, but Grayson didn't call that Saturday or Sunday. Basra gave in and called him on Sunday night, but he didn't answer. Either he was playing games, or she was the one in competition. Either way, she would pay him a visit the next day to get the truth.
Chapter 10
The next afternoon, Basra visited Grayson at his studio. She walked in and stood in the center of his place, but no one came from the back to greet her.
“Grayson, are you in here?” she called out.
“Hold up,” he answered.
Basra took a seat on the bench near the front. She waited for close to a minute and then Grayson waltzed from the back. He gave Basra a warm embrace but she instantly felt the difference. There were hints of skepticism circling his aura.
“You're different,” she responded. “Let's talk about it.”
“Why do women always want to talk?”
“We don't always want to talk, but when there is something wrong, it's good to get it out.”
“There's nothing wrong with me. What's up?”
“What are you doing today?”
“I'm working, I don't have the luxury of playing around all day.”
“What are you talking about? I don't play around all day. Just the other day, you stopped everything without thought and hung out with me.”
“Today I have to finish something for a client. Plus, I'm working on a show.”
“Fine,” Basra said with an attitude.
“I'll call you later,” he said.
Basra stood still for a few seconds trying to figure out his energy. In her frustration, she turned around and walked out. Two steps away from the front door, she turned again and walked back inside the studio.
“Grayson,” she said, walking toward his studio in the back. She managed to make her way to the back before he could come out. “I don't know exactly what's wrong with you, but you are not the same guy I was hanging out with last week. If you're mad because I was out with another man, then say it. I told you it was nothing. I have commitments already in action, and there are some things in my life that are going to take awhile to sort out. But I like you and I want to keep seeing you. If you don't feel the same way, then let me know.” With her arms folded, she stood in the center of his room, anxiously tapping her foot.
“I see the type of guys you hang out with and I think I know what you're about.”
“What—” she interrupted.
“Let me finish. I like you and I think we have something special, and I believed you when you said you weren't seeing anyone.”
“I'm not,” she expressed.
“But you're dating and having fun. I think we might be in two different places.”
“You're the one who said we could take our time.”
“But I don't want to waste my time playing games with you and I can't give you trips around the world, and expensive dinners. Not yet anyway.”
“I don't need all that stuff.”
Grayson doubted her answer.
“I know what you see, but my profession puts me around people with money and I can't help that. And I'm not going to lie and say I don't like nice things. I came from nothing! I mean nothing! I don't want to be broke, but I would never judge you for what you have. If I like you, I like you.” Basra's tone softened as she took Grayson's hand. “And, I like you. I just don't want things between us to fall apart because we don't communicate.”
Grayson kissed the top of Basra's hand, and replied. “Okay. I understand. I have a lot of work to do. I'll call you later.” Grayson went back to his seat, grabbed a paintbrush, and went back to work.
Basra, totally irritated, snapped around and left. She got outside of his place, turned back, and released an indescribable sound of frustration.
“Uurrghuishooo! Uggh, I hate men,” she screamed.
“Amen, sister,” said a bitter passerby.
Basra positioned herself to the left of Grayson's studio and contemplated going back in, but she quickly realized there was no need. After her anger calmed, the tears began to form. She hurried down the street, desperate to avoid any contact with him.
It's not like he'd realize his mistake and come running after me.
“This isn't a movie, Basra,” she said to herself. “Life is not a movie.”
Hollis's words were circling through her mind. “Friends don't last long in this business,” she whispered, wiping the last few tears. Basra stopped and looked around to gather her bearings. She was close to her Joan of Arc statue and so she took a seat and had a quiet conversation with her heroine. Basra knew she was living a lie and so she couldn't be upset with Grayson's leeriness. He'd seen her out and very chummy with two men within a couple of weeks. She looked like a party-girl socialite, and as much as she could argue against that point, it was the life she was living. So the question became, did her heart or actions determine her character? This led her back to her thoughts from the other night. Did God judge by intentions or actions?
“Maybe I should just be honest with him,” she murmured. Basra quickly recanted her statement, knowing he would never understand. “I have to let go and whatever happens, happens,” she whispered. Twenty minutes passed while Basra was lost in thought. However, her trance was interrupted by a call. She looked down and saw Grayson's name. She started not to answer but knew those were the exact games she didn't want to play.
“Hi, Grayson.”
“You got a second to talk?” he said.
“Yeah, but let me say I know that we don't really know each other and we're still figuring things out.”
“Where are you?”
“I'm at the park down the street. You know where the Joan of Arc statue is? I'm there,” she explained.
“I'll be there shortly.”
Basra hung up, and pulled out her makeup case to freshen up a bit. While reapplying her lipstick, she spotted a smoothie shop across the street. Basra rushed over and ordered two smoothies, a strawberry mango for her and banana and peanut butter for Grayson. She recalled him sipping on that odd flavor the other day when they were hanging out. She was hoping this would be a peace offering to brighten his mood. As she was walking out, she spotted him walking down the street. She hurried back to the park and called his name. Grayson noticed her and sped up his walk. He approached with open arms. Basra could immediately see the difference even before they embraced.
“I'm sorry,” Grayson expressed. “I had a bad morning. I was supposed to have an art show next weekend but my sponsor cancelled on me. I've got a good following, but he looked at my books and insisted that I needed to have more people buying to justify a show. But if I don't have a show, I can't get people interested in buying.”
“Why don't you invite people to your space?” asked Basra.
“The location is good, but my space is too small and not commercial enough. If I'm asking for thousands of dollars, I have to look like I have money.”
“But I thought Americans love the starving artist story. You guys do movies on that all of the time.”
“In real life, it doesn't work like that. They want you to look like you're worth spending money on. Or you have to get someone like Donald Trump to discover you and say you're the best thing since sliced bread.”
“Oh is that all; let me call him.” Basra pulled out her phone and laughed.
Grayson gave a curious look. “Hey, for all I know, you may know him. I've seen the company you keep.” They both giggled.
“Oh, my friend is back,” she said, embracing Grayson again.
“And I have to admit I was a little jealous when I saw you with the stiff shirt guy. He doesn't seem like your type.”
“Yeah, well, I'm working on a few things and I have to associate with people who aren't necessarily my type.”
“I feel you. Well, do you. But, notice, I said do you, not do them.”
Basra gave a nervous chuckle and looked away. Grayson finally took a sip of his smoothie. He gave Basra a peck on the cheek.
“Banana and peanut butter is the best,” Grayson said.
“You're so weird.”
“I have to go. What are you doing tonight?”
Basra shrugged her shoulders and made a quirky face.
“Want me to come over?”
“That would be cool.”
Grayson smiled wide and walked away. Displaying a silly grin, Basra watched her crush walk out of sight. She continued to stand there, goofy expression and all, for another two minutes. Finally, she trotted away.
Basra wanted to help Grayson and she knew how to do it, but wasn't sure if that was the best idea. She placed a call to Lawson, who happened to be in town.
“Lawson, it's Basra.”
“Hiya, darling,” he answered. “Didn't think I'd be hearing from you anytime soon. I'm in town, why don't you meet me?”
“Perfect, I need to speak with you about something.”
Basra met Lawson for lunch and told him her plan.
“So, basically, you need me to invest in this artist.”
“Not just this artist but this really talented artist. Have your friends come to his show and when they buy some of his work, you can get your investment back.”
Lawson wrinkled his brow. “I don't know.”
“Why not? If you go out with me three times, you spend that amount and then some.”
“Maybe, but that only involves me and you. This requires a bigger commitment. What if people don't like his stuff?”
“Then I'll pay you back. Not at one time, but I will pay you back. All I need is twenty thousand dollars. I will do the rest. But having a few of your billionaire buddies there would be nice.”
“Billionaires don't grow on trees.”
“In your backyard they do, and I'm sure some of your friends love art. All you have to do is endorse him.”
Lawson reared back in his chair and took a look at Basra's expression.
“You like this fella. Why didn't you just say so?”
“I like him, but ...”
“No, there's more to it. You're a lost ball in high weeds. I can see it in your eyes.”
“You don't see anything,” Basra said, glancing down at the table. “He's just very talented and I just want to help him.”
“Where and when do you want to have the event?”
Basra looked up and her smile lit up the café. “This is going to be good. I can feel it.”
Lawson patted her hand. “I hope this works out for you.”
“Thank you. I have so much work to do. How do you want to do the money? We can open an account, so you can see what I'm spending money on.”
“Let's talk about this at the condo.”
“Huh?” Basra said with a confused look.
“If you're done eating, let's go over to the condo.”
“For what?”
Lawson's answer wasn't audible, and it didn't have to be for Basra to get its meaning.
“Really, Lawson?”
“Hey, you just asked me for twenty thousand dollars and I just said yes.”
“I don't believe this,” she mumbled.
“That's quite a bit of money.”
“It's an investment.”
“A risky one.”
“And what about your girlfriend, fiancée? I thought you were going to be faithful.”
“I want to, and I will, but we aren't married yet.”
Basra looked at Lawson's shifty eyes, and realized that this wasn't her friend. This wasn't even a man who respected her. He was a john, one worth billions, but still a john. She hated being put in this predicament, yet there were women who slept with men for pairs of designer shoes, and opportunities like this never came their way. Should she just be grateful?
Could Grayson fall in love with me and I make enough money to leave all of this behind?
she wondered.
Or am I a foolish woman with unrealistic ideas?
“You know this is wrong, Lawson.”
“Hey, I'm a lonely old man. I take what I can get.”
Basra gave a vile expression and rose from the table. Lawson tossed down a few twenties and followed her out.
This time, Basra barely allowed Lawson to touch her. Her body remained still with her hands by her side. She didn't move from this position until he was done. There was no conversation, no eye contact, and not an ounce of passion. Lawson didn't care, and their relationship was quickly changing with each pump of his clammy little body. He rolled off her body, lay next to her, and stared at the ceiling.
“I know you think I'm a whore, but I am going to make something of myself,” she said.

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