Chocolate Dove (19 page)
Authors: Cas Sigers
“Tonight was interesting,” he said as they prepared for bed.
“You really never knew your sister was gay?” Basra asked.
“No, and I'm normally good at reading people. For instance, Adam, my dad's business partner, is definitely into some weird shit.”
“I can see that,” she commented before rushing into the bathroom.
Grayson walked to the door and peeped in as Basra washed off her makeup. “He's probably gay.” He laughed. Basra couldn't help but chuckle. “If not, he's definitely into some ol' S&M crazy shit.” Basra nodded. “Did you see him staring at you?” Grayson asked.
“No.”
Grayson walked behind Basra and wrapped his arms around her. “I guess you are so used to men staring that you don't even notice it anymore.” He stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I know it seems like a dream still, but I am in love with you, Mrs. Charles.”
Basra wiped her face dry, looked in the mirror, and smiled. Just then Grayson's phone rang. He grabbed it and answered.
“What's up, Kaamil?” He excused himself from Basra and walked into living room. She quickly went to her phone, turned it on, and watched as ten texts buzzed across her screen. They were all from Adam, and each grew more obscene from the previous one. However, his last text was most disturbing.
It was a quick ten-second video of Basra straddled across his body. Basra quickly erased all of the messages as she heard Grayson approaching. She tossed down her phone, and rushed from the bathroom.
“Your sister okay?” she asked.
“She will be. My dad basically told her she wasn't allowed to ever bring her partner to the house. He's such as asshole.”
“He just wants the best for his children. He's misunderstood. My dad is not that different.”
Grayson smirked and walked into the bathroom. Basra sat on the edge of the bed and closed her eyes.
“Your phone keeps buzzing,” Grayson called out.
Basra rushed to grab it from the counter and walked back out. “Yeah, I had it off all night and now my e-mails are coming through. I'm going to just turn it off.”
“Any more from Richard?” Grayson said as he peeped out while brushing his teeth.
“No.”
“You definitely have an effect on men, and apparently some women. My sister said you were hot! I won't tell you what she was doing when she saw you in that magazine.”
“Uggh. Stop it.”
Grayson laughed. Basra turned off her phone and placed it under her pillow. Ever since she'd caught Grayson scrolling through her messages, she had kept it in plain sight. She couldn't risk him seeing any of that video. Adam was going to be her first call the next morning.
Chapter 17
That morning, Molly called Grayson to let him know they'd been approved to lease the brownstone. It was a little risky because neither of the couple had a steady occupation, but with Grayson's 790 credit score and his and Basra's combined savings of close to $60,000, the owners felt comfortable. Basra was ready to move and asked that he gather boxes that day. Grayson was anxious as well but knew if they were about to pay $3,000 in rent, he had to make more money. He pulled out a stack of business cards from patrons he hadn't been able to see yet, and gave them to Basra.
“You need to call all of these people. They all said they were interested in my work. Start with these two.” He pointed to two law firm cards. “They have offices in Manhattan, and maybe I can do some corporate stuff for them.”
“You've been holding out,” Basra teased.
“Nah, I just remembered that I had them.”
Basra flipped through the stack and counted twenty-two cards. “Okay, so the goal is to get each of these people to buy two paintings at a least four grand a piece. That will give us a minimum of $176,000.”
“How do you do that?” he questioned.
Basra shrugged her shoulders. “I'm going into the city and getting my number changed today.”
“Good idea. I'll be at the studio all day.”
“Cool, I'll come by later this afternoon. We can pick up the keys on Monday, and I can't wait to start decorating.”
“Yeah, I want to work on a special piece to go in the foyer when you first walk in, and it would be cool if I just paint directly on the bathroom walls.”
As he rambled about decorating, Basra hurriedly got dressed, grabbed her phone, and left the house. Before she could get off the block, she was calling Adam. He rapidly picked up.
“It's about time. I've been trying to reach you all night.”
“You have lost your mind. You were taping me!”
“Hey, you never said I couldn't,” he said.
“And you never asked. That's an infringement of my rights.”
“Calm down. What rights? You're not even American.”
“My human rights! Where are you?”
“On my way back to the city. Meet me at the condo.”
Anger burned though Basra's skin. She wasn't able to be mad last night, and now all of the frustration had built into one knot that was tumbling around in the pit of her stomach like a beach ball. Basra hopped in a cab and was at Adam's place within minutes. She saw a Verizon store just down the street, so while she waited she got her number changed. She didn't have that many contacts, but she went through and deleted the few people she couldn't remember. She purposely kept Richard's number just in case she ever had to give it to the police, but erased the other clients with the exception of Adam. She called Lucia while she waited but she didn't answer.
“Lucia, this is my new number. Call me. I want to see you.”
Basra walked back to the condo and waited just outside the building, sipping on a cup of coffee. He walked up within five minutes and greeted her by licking his tongue down the side of her face. Basra instinctually slapped him. He grinned.
“I love it!” he exclaimed. New Yorkers walked by as though the violent exchanged hadn't happened. That was the blessing and curse about New York. You could just about get away with anything in plain sight and most wouldn't notice; then again, anything could happen to you in plain sight and most wouldn't notice.
“Get the hell away from me.”
Adam shook with excitement, and rushed inside. Basra looked over her left and right shoulders and then followed him inside. As soon as the condo door shut, Adam pinned Basra against the door. Furious, she pushed him away.
“Where are they?” she yelled.
“Seeing you with another man drove me crazy. I dreamt about you all night. Take your clothes off.”
Basra combed the room for the video cameras. She finally saw one tucked near the back of the television. Basra yanked it.
“Careful, that's high technology.”
“I'm so stupid!” she yelled. “Where are the tapes?”
“Tapes? I know you're not from here, but in America everything is digital, sweetheart. All I have to do is push one button.”
“Don't you fucking speaking to me like that!”
“Such lewd language. Say it again?”
“Adam!” Basra turned and tugged on the camera again until she had disconnected it. She threw it across the room and it slammed into the wall.
“I could kill you!”
“Careful, careful. That could be taken as a threat.”
Basra continued to comb the room and Adam chased her, playing a game of cat and mouse. She found another camera in the closet. But when she opened the cracked door, he pushed her all the way in and pinned her body against the wall, smothering her within his designer suits.
He forcefully tried to get her pants undone. But she squirmed away.
“Stop it!” she yelled.
“Smack me!”
Basra couldn't resist. She slapped him so hard she left a red handprint across his cheek. It felt so good, she smacked him again and again. Finally he grabbed her wrist and twisted it, spinning her body around so that her back faced his chest. He pulled her close and sniffed her neck.
“I swear you are turning me on!”
Basra stomped his foot. The more she fought him off, the more stimulated he became. Adam quickly stripped down to his boxers. It was so sudden, Basra didn't even realize what he was doing until he was almost naked.
“I'm not sleeping with you,” she said calmly.
“I'm not letting you go,” he said, just as serene.
“Look, if I play along with your little game but we don't actually sleep together, then would you let me go?”
“What's the point if there's no pay off?”
“Please stop,” she asked.
Adam didn't. Instead, he removed his boxers and began pleasing himself.
“You are sick,” she said.
“How sick?”
She realized he was turning even this into a game. She could either play along or make a run for it. But she knew that she risked him divulging her secret or, even worse, showing the family the video. Basra looked at the door and tried to count the number of steps it would take to get past him and get out. But she didn't know if the door was locked. As she was counting, Adam yanked her blouse open, causing it to rip.
“Please stop,” Basra whimpered, startled by his violence.
“How sick am I?”
“You're very sick. You are disgusting,” she murmured.
“Would you like to punish me?” he asked.
“I want to make you pay!”
“Oooh yes, how would you make me pay?”
“I would like to ...” Basra stopped. She wanted to tell him that she'd run him over with an eighteen wheeler, but she knew what he wanted to hear, and she knew this was her only out. “I ... I would dig my stiletto heel into your chest until it pierced your skin and you bleed.”
“Yes! That would hurt.”
“And then I'd take my cigarette and singe your skin,” she said.
Adam continued to massage himself and was so excited that he released all over Basra's chest. His second of vulnerability gave her just enough time to escape. She rushed for the door and pulled on it, but it was locked. She yanked so hard that she nearly pulled her shoulder from socket.
“It's not that easy! I will release you when you ask.”
“Let me go!” yelled Basra.
“When you ask nicely.”
Basra's eyes were, but she refused to let one tear fall. She couldn't give him the satisfaction, plus she didn't want to show any signs of fear. She could only imagine how that might fuel his imagination. She grabbed his shirt from the floor and wiped his semen from her chest. She tried to close her ripped blouse.
“Will you please let me out!” Adam rose and slowly approached her. For the first time she truly felt fear. Maybe she was crazy not to fear him before then.
“I promise I will not tell anyone about you, just please let me go.”
“Who would you tell? You don't want our secret to get out.” Adam brushed his naked body against hers. “I've never been so turned on in my life. When can I see you again?”
“What? Adam, we cannot continue this. You are sick and you really need help.”
“I do. But right now all I need is you. And you will come see me again or I will let your husband see what a naughty girl you've been.”
Adam reached down and grabbed his pants from the floor. He retrieved the door key and unlocked the deadbolt. Basra scampered out the door and through the lobby. With her large purse placed across her chest, Basra held her blouse closed to keep from exposing her bra. Disoriented, she rapidly looked up and down the street for the nearest clothing store. She rushed across the busy street and ran into a small jewelry shop that had New York souvenir T-shirts in the window.
“Can I please get one?” she said to the man behind the counter.
“You are Somali, correct?” he asked.
Basra looked up and saw the old man's big, beautiful Somali eyes. He looked like her grandfather. The tears poured like a monsoon. The elder came from behind the counter as she lost complete composure and her arms fell to the side. He covered her bra with a shirt and embraced her. Although he was close to foot shorter, Basra lowered her body and sobbed onto his shoulder.
“It's okay, my dear,” he repeated.
She couldn't speak as her body quivered. Out of everything that had happened in her twenty-three years, Basra had never been so humiliated and shamed. She'd never had an inch of suicidal tendencies, but for a split second she wanted to run from his store into oncoming traffic in the busy New York streets. She felt alone, scared, and voiceless. And all of it had been brought on because of her foolish actions on top of greed. The little man moved back from underneath her shoulder and motioned for her to take a seat. He scurried to the back and came out with another woman, who she could only assume was his wife.
“Come,” said the woman who ushered her upstairs to their home. The woman took a warm cloth and gently wiped Basra's face, neck, and chest. She removed the torn blouse and gave Basra a bright red T-shirt that said I HEART NEW YORK.
“Would you like food?” asked the woman.
Basra could smell the beans cooking. “No, ma'am. I'm going home,” said Basra. The woman nodded and smiled. She wiped the tears that were still forming.
“
Waad ku mahad santahay kaalmadaada,
” said Basra, thanking the woman for her help.
Waad ku mahad santahay kaalmadaada,
” said Basra, thanking the woman for her help.
The woman smiled and replied. “
Aafiimad baan kuu rajeynayaa.
”
Aafiimad baan kuu rajeynayaa.
”
Basra walked out of the store and looked up at the sign that said W
E
B
UY
G
OLD
, and then back at the window in which the woman was standing. She gave a peaceful smile. Basra smiled back and walked down the street. She knew immediately that God had directed her path to them. He kept giving her signs to help her find her way, and she refused to look down at the breadcrumbs along the trail.
E
B
UY
G
OLD
, and then back at the window in which the woman was standing. She gave a peaceful smile. Basra smiled back and walked down the street. She knew immediately that God had directed her path to them. He kept giving her signs to help her find her way, and she refused to look down at the breadcrumbs along the trail.
“What is wrong with me?” she whispered into the air.
Basra got a cab home and, thankfully, Grayson was already gone. She removed her clothes and jumped in the shower. Basra drenched herself in the hot water until her skin was wrinkled. She dried off, placed on a T-shirt, and grabbed her iPad. She e-mailed her family her new contact information, sent out a few more e-mails, and checked with her agency to see if they'd heard anything about the audition. There was nothing. Basra called Grayson and gave him the new phone number. Though her mood was somber, he was extremely excited.
“Babe, guess what?”
“What?”
“Lawson called and gave me a number of a guy he wanted me to call. He's a Swedish collector of modern art. He wants me to do three pieces for him.”
“That's great, honey.”
“I told him the pieces were fifteen grand apiece.”
“And he said he would pay that?”
“Yeah, that's how much Lawson said I should charge. He wants commission off each piece.”
“Ten percent off the top?” Basra asked.
“Twenty.”
“Still that's thirty-six thousand.”
“Yeah, he wants them by December. He said he wants something similar to those political pieces I did with the flag. Except he wants me to use the Swedish flag.”
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