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Authors: Cas Sigers

BOOK: Chocolate Dove
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“We just can't. It's too soon.”
“How much time do you need to know that you want to spend your life with someone?”
“I don't know how much, but it has to be more than six months,” Basra said.
“Not really,” he said.
“I don't want to talk about it anymore. It makes me nervous,” she said.
Grayson laughed and walked back to the studio. Basra followed him and looked at the work for Cossington. “This is really nice,” she said.
“It's not really my style, but it was in the vein of what he wanted.”
“You don't sound excited.”
“It's different when you're painting for someone as a job instead of for yourself. It's not as fun. I can't really express myself in the way I would like.”
“But how much is this piece?”
“Twelve thousand.”
“Exactly,” stated Basra.
“That's why I'm sitting here painting with a smile on my face.” Grayson placed on a big, cheesy smile and picked up his brush. Basra kissed him and headed out.
“Will I see you tonight?” he asked.
“Just call me when you're almost done.”
Basra left and looked at the time. She had about one hour before meeting Adam. His visits had become more consistent, almost weekly. They didn't have much conversation. It was strictly sexual, and Basra preferred it that way. He didn't know anything about her, and she didn't know anything about him. Things were much simpler. On the way, she talked to Lucia, who seemed distant and preoccupied.
“So, are you okay?” Basra asked several times during the conversation.
“I'm fine as always,” was her response. Yet, her responses were quick and she didn't do her normal investigative chatter that she was known for.
“I'm going to come see you next week,” said Basra.
“Call me, you know how I travel,” Lucia replied.
The two hung up as Basra was walking up to Adam's building. He buzzed her up, but today he didn't seem his normal self when she walked in. Basra was compelled to ask him the problem. As soon as she opened herself up, emotion poured out of the floodgates.
“I just found out my son is gay.”
Basra didn't know how to respond, and so she sat and listened to him vent.
“I blame his mother who always let him have his way. She made him weak.”
“I don't think your wife can turn your child gay,” said Basra.
“You don't know my ex. She wanted a girl, and so he did any and all things feminine. Now, he wants to become a dancer.”
“Dancers are fine athletes.”
“I knew I should have made him come live with me. I just didn't have time to be a father and build my business. I was always gone. So, maybe it's my fault.”
“It's no one's fault. It's not a fault at all, it's just the way some people are.”
“I don't want to talk about it. Just take your clothes off.”
Basra slowly stripped down to her underwear. Adam pushed her down on the bed and became very physical. When she tried to talk, he went to his briefcase, pulled out a roll of tape, and covered her mouth with a strip of it.
“You don't talk today. I don't want to hear a female voice.”
He held down her hands and pounded his body into hers. He was angry and he wanted to make a woman pay; any woman, it didn't matter. Basra squirmed beneath him and moaned through the black tape. Finally, Adam released and got up. He sat on the edge and looked over at her.
“Get out!” he said.
Basra pulled the tape from her mouth. “This is my last visit,” she yelled before going into the bathroom. She slammed the door, and came out moments later with her clothes on. Adam, still on the edge of the bed, glanced up at her as she walked in the room to grab her purse but he said nothing. She replied with the same silent stare and left.
That afternoon, Basra decided she was going to quit the business. The act that afternoon would have sent a normal woman over the edge. It was practically rape. However, in Basra's mind she had justified it, and this was when she realized the business had finally completely numbed her.
“I'm no different than Lucia,” she said to herself.
She was shy of her goal of $50,000, but she didn't care anymore. She knew with certainty that she had to stop. Between Adam's bipolar ways and Richard the psychotic, she realized that most men who desired and could afford her services were off-balance in many ways and she no longer wanted to deal with them. She was going to focus all of her energy on school and on Grayson.
Basra stopped by the market that afternoon and grabbed groceries to cook. She hadn't cooked in some time and was sick of eating out. She wanted to make Cambuulo, a traditional Somali meal. Luckily, the farmer's market had azuki beans, and so Basra bought a bag, and rushed home to start the process. The beans would take up to four hours to prepare and while they cooked, she cleaned. She tossed out old receipts that were stacked in her top drawer, washed clothes, and even mopped her floors. She called Grayson and told him about dinner plans.
“You can cook?” he said.
“Of course I can cook. My mother had us cooking at ten.”
“Well, why haven't you ever made me dinner?”
“I've cooked before,” she mentioned.
“Sandwiches, salads, and baked chicken don't count.”
“Baked chicken does count. But tonight we eat traditional Somali, so can you please be here by eight?”
“I wouldn't miss it. I may have to come back to the studio though after dinner.”
“Nooooo.”
“Babe, I have work to do.”
“Okay, well just be here at eight.”
Basra continued to clean. She ran out to Target around 7:00
P.M.
and purchased a huge quilt and several pillows to create the perfect atmosphere. When Grayson arrived at eight, dinner was complete and Basra had bowls and plates set on the quilt. Her home smelled like frankincense and the food looked delicious. Grayson walked in carrying a dozen white roses in a large square-shaped vase. Basra walked him in and sat him on the quilted floor.
“White roses are my favorite,” she cooed.
“‘Then will I raise aloft the milk white rose, with whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.'”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Basra stated with confusion.
“It's Shakespeare;
Henry VI
...”
“You're such an artist. Thank you.”
“I did a lot of theater in high school.”
“It's very sexy. Basra smelled the tips of the flowers and placed the vase on the counter. “We are having
casho;
that means dinner,” she explained. “This is rice with cumin, Cambuulo and muufo.”
“The muufo looks like cornbread,” said Grayson.
“It's like that,” she said.
They sat and Basra fixed Grayson's plate and even fed him the first few bites of the meal.
“This feels right,” she kept repeating throughout the evening. For the first time in a year, Basra felt at peace. She was eating a home-cooked meal, enjoying the company of someone she loved, and indulging in scents of Somalia.
“My mother burned frankincense oil every night after our meal. I went to sleep smelling it every night. I really miss home.”
“You should go visit, or maybe we can go together.”
Basra was quiet. “I know I'm in America but my parents would be so upset to know I'm dating an American. When I first came here I stayed with a friend of theirs who moved here a couple of years ago. She introduced me to several Somalis here. Even they expected me to settle down with a Somali man.”
“There is a huge Somali community in New York.”
“I know, but I don't hang out with any of them. My mother's friends don't like Americans, yet they live here. I don't understand why foreigners move here and then isolate themselves. I just wanted something different. I felt like I needed to surround myself with my new environment.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Grayson said.
“No, but sometimes I think I should have stayed with my own people. Just for accountability's sake. I started hanging around Lucia and her crazy behind.”
“How is she doing by the way?”
“I talked to her today, but she was acting weird. I'm going to see her next week.”
“Well, I hope you don't regret meeting me.”
“Of course not. You're the best thing that's happen to me since I've been here.”
Basra leaned over the food and kissed Grayson. He dipped his muufo in the Cambuulo and placed it gently in her mouth. Basra felt the overwhelming need to be rescued. She allowed herself to be taken into Grayson's arms and be loved and caressed. She remained in his arms as she watched the flickering candle sitting inside the sconce.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you too,” he said.
Basra lost herselfin that moment. All thoughts left her mind, and she felt like an innocent teen experiencing her first love. But as Grayson started feeling down her shirt, she felt dirty and tainted. She didn't want him to touch her. His touch only brought dirty thoughts, and these feelings consumed her tears. The emotion was so overwhelming she couldn't control her crying that quickly turned into bawling.
“I'm so sorry,” she kept saying over and over again. Grayson had no idea what she was talking about. He just held on and let her release.
“I didn't mean to offend you,” he whispered.
“You didn't, I just ... It's just ...” Basra was one exhale away from spilling the truth, but the words wouldn't form. “I can't ... You don't know ... and, I wish things were different ...”
Her incoherent sentences got softer and eventually there was nothing but whimpers as she sobbed softly into his grey cotton T-shirt. Grayson had never seen this side of Basra and assumed she was having a PMS moment. He scooped her from the floor and placed her on the bed. Grayson lay down beside her and softly stroked her hair until she fell asleep. He covered her with a blanket, went back into the living room, and cleaned up. Basra's phone, which was on the bar, rang. Grayson looked at the time. It was 11:05. He was tempted to answer it, but continued to place the dishes in the sink instead. While he was washing the dishes, her phone rang two more times. Grayson ignored it until it rang once more at 11:45
P.M.
He answered.
“Hello, Basra's phone.”
“Who?” said the male voice. “I'm looking for Dove.”
“You have the wrong number.”
The man recalled the phone number, and insisted he wanted to speak with Dove.
“There is no Dove here,” Grayson said just before hanging up.
He went back to the dishes and the phone rang once more. This time he let it go to voice mail. But the temptation had gotten the best of him. He picked up her cell and scrolled through her text messages. He read the most recent one aloud.
“I'm sorry, please call me.” Grayson continued to scroll.
There wasn't much he could decipher. She'd sent a few texts to Lucia and one to her agent.
“What are you doing?” asked Basra as she walked in the room.
Grayson inadvertently dropped her phone.
Basra rushed over and snatched the phone from the counter.
“I didn't mean to pry.”
“It didn't look that way.”
“I'm sorry, your phone rang like four times and I thought it might be an emergency, so I answered it. It was some guy. He was looking for Dove, and insisted that this was her phone number.”
A lemon-sized lump formed in her throat.
“I just ... I thought it was weird and curiosity got the best of me. I'm sorry,” Grayson said.
“You still don't trust me,” she mumbled.
“I'm putting a lot on the line with us, and ...”
“It's cool. Again, we really don't know each other.”
“Who's Dove?”
Basra held her head low and peered from underneath her brow.
“I am,” she replied.
Chapter 14
Basra explained that Dove was her work alias. She told him that her agents insisted that she get a name that people could pronounce when reading it. However, she felt the truth surfacing, and knew her two worlds were close to a head-on collision.
She spoke with Adam the next day and asked him to stop calling her. He repeatedly apologized and begged for her to continue seeing him. He even offered to pay her extra money under the table. Basra was tempted but she stuck to her guns. Basra was still unsettled by Lucia's conversation so she insisted they meet for lunch later that week instead of the next. Basra waited for Lucia at 'sNice, and of course, she was traditionally late. However, when Lucia walked in Basra almost didn't recognize her. Lucia had chopped her long brunette locks into a short bob that fell just at her ears and she'd lost at least fifteen pounds. Considering Lucia was already a size four, this weight loss gave her the appearance of a skeleton. She walked in sporting oversized shades that covered 60 percent of her face.
“See? No worries. I'm fine, just like I told you. Sorry I'm late, I just got back in town,” she said as she sat.
“Of course you have. And where you've been, I take it there was no food.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why have you lost so much weight? What's wrong with you?”
“I look good. What are you saying?”
“No, you don't, and take off those shades,” Basra said, taking the liberty to remove the frames from Lucia's face.
Basra studied Lucia's pale skin, gaunt face, and glassy eyes. “Are you on something?” she asked.
“Huh? I'm good.”
“You don't look good, my friend.”
Lucia grabbed her shades, and placed them back on. “I didn't come here so you could insult me. How have you been?”
“I've been good. I'm with a new agency now.”
“I'm sure Hollis is mad.”
“No, I mean modeling agency. I still get calls from Hollis, not that often though. She has a couple more African girls.”
“That's too bad. Your reign as the chocolate queen is coming to an end.”
“Good. I'm quitting anyway.”
“What! Why?”
“I'm tired of it and these men are crazy.”
“Oh, speaking of crazy, Philly guy has been asking Sloan about you. He wants to know when you're coming back from Somalia.”
“Tell her ... You know what, I'll tell her. He was really stalking me. I think I still see him from time to time. If he comes around, I'm going to call the police.”
“If you call the police, Hollis and Sloan will stop dealing with you all together.”
“That's fine.”
Lucia ordered the tofu triple-decker and Basra stuck with a salad.
“I'm vegetarian now,” Lucia bragged. “I thought I wouldn't have a lot of energy but I actually have more.”
Basra saw beads of sweat forming on Lucia's forehead.
“I'm concerned about you.”
“Why? I'm working and happy.”
Basra decided to let it go and answer her ringing cell.
“I'm at Nice's,” she said to Grayson on the other line. “No, the one in West Village on Eighth Avenue. Okay, see you in a minute. Love you.”
“Oooh did I hear you say ‘love you'?”
“Yeah, it's weird, but we just connect. I've never felt anything like it before.”
“You're young. When have you had time to feel like that?”
“You're only a few years older than me.”
“Yeah, but I'm not on the phone telling some man that I love him; big difference.”
“Whatever.”
“Have you seen the new Prada collection?” Lucia asked.
“Nope. I can't tell you the last time I went shopping,” replied Basra.
“What have you been doing with your time?”
“I'm back in school.”
“Still chasing that dream, huh?”
The distance between Lucia and Basra had grown wide and deep. Basra really didn't have anything to talk to Lucia about. She was concerned about her health but that was about it. Basra ate her salad quietly as Lucia yapped about her latest trip overseas. She glanced up and Grayson was walking in the door. He trotted to the table, gave Lucia a pat on the back, and sat next to Basra.
“You ladies enjoying your lunch?”
“I've been hearing about you,” Lucia said to Grayson.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, my friend Lance just got one of your pieces.”
Grayson thought for second and then his face lit up. “Lance Roddenburg, yes. He bought the graffiti rosary piece,” Grayson recalled. “I didn't know that was your friend.”
“He's Basra's friend too. We all used to live in the same building.”
Basra was hoping Lucia would shut her big mouth.
“I didn't realize you knew him as well.”
“I don't know him that well. I used to see him in passing,” expressed Basra.
Lucia turned to Basra. “He asks about you all of the time,” she continued to blab. “You know who else asked me about you? Campbell.”
“He's such an asshole.”
“He is kind of a jerk,” she added.
“Anyway, Grayson's career has really taken off,” said Basra, attempting to change the subject.
“I have to come look at your stuff. Do you have a gallery?”
Grayson pulled out a card and slid it across the table. Lucia removed her shades and read the card. “Nice address,” she mentioned. “I see why you're quitting,” she said to Basra with a wink.
“You want some dessert?” Basra said loudly.
“No, I have to run.” Lucia dug in her purse.
“I got it,” said Basra.
“You sure? Okay, my treat next time. I'll be in Miami next week but when I get back, I'll call you.”
Basra nodded. Lucia rose and gave both Basra and Grayson kisses on the cheek. She looked at them sitting next to one another and smiled.
“I'm happy for you two. Ciao.”
Basra watched Lucia leave.
“I know you've told me before, but how do you know each other?”
“I met her on a modeling gig. She used to be so cool. Now I don't know what's wrong with her.”
“She's a coke head,” Grayson stated very matter-of-factly.
“No. You think so?”
“I'm sure. I know the type.”
“Is that why she's so skinny?”
“Probably.”
“I know she uses sometime. You think she's in trouble?”
“It depends on whether she can afford to keep up the habit.”
Basra glanced toward the door. “I'm going to call her more often. She doesn't have that many real friends in her circle. It's hard to make real friends in our business.”
“I bet. I hear about the competition between models.”
Basra sipped the last little bit of her smoothie.
“What did she mean by quitting?”
Basra had been thinking of an answer ever since Lucia made the comment. Grayson didn't let anything slip by him, so she was prepared.
“Quitting the dating field. She said she wanted to introduce me to someone and I told her I was happy and didn't think I'd be dating anyone else.”
Grayson pecked her cheek and then her lips. Lying was becoming second nature, but since Basra was indeed quitting, she hoped her lies would eventually turn into the truth.
“Now when you said anyone else,” he commented, “did you mean anyone else, period, as in ever again?”
“Maybe,” Basra said with a demure expression.
The remainder of Basra's day was spent grooming. She was set for a manicure, a pedicure, waxing, and a hair appointment. She had a big go-see the following day for a top designer's line of lingerie. Each year Lauren's Closet picked ten women to represent the line and those women got catalogue deals, did the runway shows, and virtually became top models. It was an honor just to get a slot to be seen. She had to make a good impression. Most women didn't get picked their first year of auditions, but if they were memorable, they were asked back the following year and often chosen. The agency suggested she straighten her hair and after looking at the models they normally picked, she agreed it was best. She had hesitated to tell Grayson about the audition at first, for fear he'd be jealous about his girlfriend posing in her underwear, but when she did tell him, he was elated. He liked the idea of men fantasizing about his lady; it gave him more bragging rights. When he saw her that night, he was shocked at her new look.
“You look so different with straight hair,” he said.
“More American, right?”
“Yeah, kind of. You look more Indian. You look like some of my cousins.”
Basra laughed as she rifled through her drawer for a scarf. She tied the scarf tightly around her head to hold her hair down.
“I bet your cousins don't have to do this.” She chuckled. “If any moisture gets to this stuff, it's poof! Big hair all over again.”
Basra went to bed early that evening to be ready for her audition the following morning. She arrived at the offices of Lauren's Closet at 7:00
A.M.
She was told to come with a bare face. The new line's campaign was called Barely There and they wanted natural looks for all models. Basra sat nervously in the lobby as the other models piled in. She and three others were called to the back to model the lingerie they were given. After she was dressed in their bra and panties, she waited in a small four-by-four room until her name was called again. The other two models pranced around the room in their robes, but Basra sat quietly on the bench and flipped through a magazine until the extremely tall, blond woman opened the door and called for her.
“Basra, we're ready for you.”
Basra walked in and placed down her bags. The three onlookers asked her to walk up and down the small runway six times. They asked her series of questions while flipping through her book. She stood in front of the table and smiled as they murmured about her.
“Please turn around, and place your hands on her hips,” the man asked.
Basra obliged and stood there for what seemed like an hour.
“Le tush is very round,” she heard the tall blonde say with her thick French accent.
She wasn't sure if they were going for round or flat but there was nothing she could do about her African trait.
“You can turn around now. Are you available to travel?”
“Yes,” Basra replied.
“You look very different with straight hair,” the other woman said, glancing through Basra's book.
“I like both,” said the blonde.
They continued to whisper and look for another minute, and then dismissed her.
Basra got dressed and left. Grayson surprised her outside the building.
“How long have you been out here waiting?”
“Not that long. How did it go?”
“They said I had a round tush.”
“Hell yeah, you do.” He smacked her on the butt.
“It was little weird to stand there in my underwear and have them staring at me.”
“Well, you better get used to it.”
“They don't normally pick people from their first go-see. Most girls aren't picked until their second or third time.”
“You aren't most girls,” Grayson expressed. “I'm not painting today, and you don't have classes, so let's hang out,” he said.

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