Chocolate Dove (23 page)

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Authors: Cas Sigers

BOOK: Chocolate Dove
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“All of them except the two in the front with the dots,” said Grayson.
Lucia walked by each one and studied them as though she were a curator. “I like these but I want something different.”
“I can do something special for you. It will cost a bit more but we can work out the details. I'm always here so you can come by anytime. Hold on, let me get you a book with some of my works and card.” Grayson went to the back to retrieve the items for Lucia. Yet, when he returned, Lucia was stark naked. The dress she was wearing was on the floor by her ankles and apparently underwear wasn't part of her wardrobe that morning.
“Lucia! What are you doing?”
“I think you should paint me in the pink.”
Grayson rushed to Lucia, lifted her dress from the floor and placed it back on her shoulders.
“I want a huge nude but done in an artistic abstract way, like you did these.”
“What is wrong with you?” Grayson asked.
“Nothing. I just wanted you to see my vision.” Lucia began laughing as she sat down. “How are you coping with Basra gone?”
“I'm fine,” Grayson said.
“Yuck ... I wouldn't dare go back home. I came from nothing, you know; a small commune named Volterra. Sure it's pretty and all, but there was nothing to do there but go to church and eat. Every now and then, the girls get nostalgic and want to go home and visit their past. I don't understand why anyone would want to leave the life of glitz and glamour to eat on a dusty floor in some third-world village.”
“What girls?”
“The girls from the agency.”
“Oh, that's right; you guys modeled together. I didn't know you were with the same agency.”
“I'm talking about Choice.”
Grayson displayed a blank look.
“You don't know what I'm talking about?” Lucia smirked, tilted her head to the side, and let out a small snicker. “Well, I believe that relationships work best when partners are honest with each other, so ask Basra about Choice.”
“I would if she were here. But I don't when she's coming back. So why don't you just tell me about Choice.”
“Basra and I worked for an exclusive, very elite agency that hires international women to, how shall I put it, to accommodate very affluent men from around the world.”
“I don't get it.”
Lucia rose and walked over to Grayson. She removed his glasses. “You're so cute.” She placed his glasses on and smiled. “Basra is a prostitute.” Lucia removed his glasses, handed them to him, and walked to the front door.
“We'll talk about my painting another day. Ciao.”
Chapter 20
When Basra's flight landed around eleven that morning, she grabbed her bags and hailed a cab to Brooklyn. Her legs nervously shook the entire ride. The jitters had worked their way up through her body and by the time she reached the apartment she could barely keep her hand still long enough to stick her key in the door. She slowly opened the door to the apartment, hoping and praying that Grayson wasn't there.
“Grayson,” she whispered, walking in.
Basra tiptoed past the kitchen and slowly crept in the bedroom.
“Grayson,” she said again. There was no answer. When she approached the bathroom, a loud, shrill beeping sound made her jump from her skin. It was the alarm clock. It took Basra a few seconds to gather her composure but she rushed to the bedside and cut it off.
“Grayson!” she called out one final time. It was apparent that he wasn't there.
She got lucky. Basra quickly changed and headed to the modeling agency to sign her contract. While there, they took several pictures and took her measurements. Although she'd only been home a week, she'd put on a couple of pounds. She was still very lean but since she'd be modeling in her underwear, the agency suggested she get a personal trainer and start going to him daily. She got some referrals, made calls, and ate lunch downtown. She was stalling. Basra finally got up the nerve to head toward his studio around five. She resisted calling because she needed to see him. She didn't want to be deterred by his possible tone over the cell phone. Basra pulled on the door of the gallery, but it was locked. She used her key and walked in.
“Grayson! Gray, are you in here? It's me, Basra.”
Grayson wasn't, but Basra walked into his back studio and looked at his current work in progress. She looked at chaos of the paints, brushes, and rags methodically scattered throughout the room. She picked up his tattered T-shirt, held it close, and took a deep whiff. His scent combined with paint fumes lodged in her throat and Basra coughed violently. She rushed from the studio to the small water cooler near the front. She quickly drank one cup of water and as she was chasing down her second cup, Grayson walked in. In mid-sip, Basra, startled, whipped around and spilled her water.
“Hi,” she whispered.
Grayson didn't oblige her greeting. He went to his studio and slammed the door shut. Basra wiped off her blouse and went to the back. She gently knocked on the door.
“Gray, please let me explain,” she begged. At the moment she didn't know if she was explaining her disappearance or her tawdry career choices. Gray didn't say anything, but Basra continued to knock. Finally, she stopped knocking and walked back to the main gallery. She was determined to speak with him that evening, and so she decided to wait. She pulled out her iPad and made herself comfortable in the chair. An hour and a half later, Grayson came from the back. With his bag draped around his shoulder, he walked toward the door. It wasn't until he was halfway across the room that he saw Basra crouched in the chair.
“I have to talk with you,” she said.
“Why? Didn't you say everything you had to say in the letter?”
“No, I didn't,” Basra stated.
“Oh yeah, you left out the part about sleeping with men for
money!
” he yelled.
Basra had never heard Grayson raise his voice, thus she was a bit alarmed. She rose, but was careful not to come too close.
“What the
fuck!
” he yelled.
“I know. I know. But I wasn't out there like that.”
“What does that mean, ‘like that'? Men hired you to sleep with them. Prostitution ... that's what you did for a living.”
“I didn't sleep with most of my clients. They only wanted my company. Uhhm. I would have dinner with them, and talk—”
“Most of them? Are you delusional? You still had sex for money.”
Basra was waiting for him to call her a whore. She even heard it, though he never spoke the word. She felt nauseated. There was no going around the fact that she was a prostitute, therefore she lowered her head and simply replied, “Yes.”
“I can't believe I fell for this shit.”
“I'm still the same person. I did it to make money to help my family back home. I didn't set out to become this, that ... I'm not doing it anymore.”
“Why didn't you just tell me the truth?”
“Because you wouldn't have liked me,” Basra said.
“You're right. But I might have respected you. But now you're a liar. You paraded around me like you were virtuous and naïve. You didn't even want me to touch you. Come to find out you're a skank. How do I know you didn't scope me out knowing my family had money?”
“You asked me out. I didn't want to go out with you at first.”
“For all I know that was part of the plan.”
“It wasn't. I didn't know anything about your family.” Basra walked closer and reached for Grayson's hand, but he didn't oblige. Instead he moved in the opposite direction. “I really need you to forgive me.”
“I don't even know who you are. How could you disrespect yourself like that?”
“I got caught up. The money was so good, and I needed it.”
“We all need money, but you can't be willing to do any and everything for it.”
“I promise you I didn't sleep with a lot of men. Five total. Adam was one of the exceptions.”
“Adam? Who?”
“Adam, your dad's partner. Isn't that how you found out?”
“Adam? Before or after you met him at my house?”
“Before. Wait, how did you find out?”
“Lucia told me.”
Basra was stunned. “Damn, I was coming back to tell you the truth.”
“Your letter sounded like you were gone for good. You just left and didn't even have the nerve to tell me in person. What kind of person does that?”
“A cowardly one. I was scared. I knew how you'd feel about me after you knew the truth. And I thought I could get in and get out. But it wasn't that easy and then I was blackmailed and stalked.”
“So Richard is one of your johns.”
“I never slept with him, but yes. I promise that the girl you fell in love with is the same girl. I just ... the money did so much for my family. I bought them a home and my sister is in school. People like me don't ever see that kind of money. I made a mistake by not telling you but please don't judge me on my actions.”
“What should I judge you by?”
“By my character. You know who I am. You know who I am!” Basra yelled and then softened to a low whimper. “I'm not a bad person, and I really didn't mean to hurt you.” Basra approached Grayson again, and this time she grabbed the end of his shirt to keep him from moving. “I know you're upset—”
“I'm not that upset because you lied to me. I'm more upset because from now on, I can't believe you.”
Grayson pulled away and left Basra sobbing in the gallery. She remained there for another twenty minutes, long enough to gather her composure. Basra locked up and hailed a cab to go home, but then changed her mind and told the cabbie to head to the Echelon. It was time to pay Lucia a visit. Basra walked through the lobby of her old building and spoke to the concierge, who allowed her up. She prayed the entire time that Lucia was home, and her prayers were answered. Lucia opened the door wrapped in a towel.
“Basra. I thought you were in
So-ma-lia!
” said Lucia, accenting her last word.
“Why did you tell Gray about me? That was not your business.”
“I thought he knew. Hell, I thought that's how you met him.”
“No, you did not! I told you how we met. You just didn't want to see me happy because you're miserable.”
“Ohhh, aren't we testy. I just got out of the shower, on my way out. Come in, have a drink,” Lucia offered cordially as though nothing were wrong.
Basra followed her in but remained close to the front. “I'm serious. You have no business talking to him about me. Don't you dare tell anyone else about what I do, I mean did ...”
“Did, do ... do, did ... di, da da doo, doo, da.” Lucia began singing a song. Basra knew then that something was wrong.
“Are you high? Why are you acting all crazy?”
Just then Lucia's temperament quickly transformed and she snapped. “You think you're the shit, but you are not! So what, you're modeling and getting jobs? You're not going to be able to travel the world as a catalogue model for Macy's. I'm sick of you always judging me.” Lucia mocked, “Lucia, you're too skinny. Lucia, you're too pale. Sorry I'm not perfectly tan like you, but I didn't come from
Af-ri-ca!
” Lucia began dancing and beating on an imaginary drum while making African drum noises.
Basra had enough. She turned to leave and when she opened the door she heard a thud. Lucia had passed out. She rushed over to her, but couldn't get her to come around. Basra immediately called 911. She ran to Lucia's closet, grabbed her sweat suit, and placed the clothes on her frail frame. When Basra lifted her arms, she saw needle marks.
“Dammit, Lucia,” she said, fearful for her life.
She gently smacked Lucia and shook her shoulders, but she was out of it. After ten minutes Lucia regained consciousness but she was too weak to move. The building management knocked on the door within minutes and Lucia dazed in and out until the paramedics came. They lifted Lucia on a gurney and asked Basra a series of questions. For most of them, she had no answers.
Management needed her to file a report and the paramedics wanted her to come to the hospital to fill out some admittance paperwork. Basra grabbed Lucia's purse, and tossed some of her clothing essentials inside and rushed to the hospital. She took Lucia's phone and iPad and hoped she could pull some family phone numbers or contact information.
The paramedics were able to stabilize her by the time Basra got there. She went in the room, placed her bags in the drawer, and sorrowfully looked at Lucia, who had two IV bags hooked into her arm.
“Don't look at me like that,” she said. “I don't need your pity.”
“Here's your phone,” Basra said, tossing Lucia's cell on the table before turning to leave.
“I'm sorry,” Lucia called out. “Don't go. I'm sorry.”
Lucia's pleas fell on deaf ears. Basra continued to walk out. Although Lucia had always been the wild card that she should have never played, Basra couldn't just leave her alone. She paused outside of her hospital room and prayed silently. She asked God to heal Lucia and allow her to get the help she needed. After two minutes of quiet talk with the Creator, Basra went back into Lucia's hospital room.
“I'm sorry,” Lucia said as Basra's face peered around the corner.
“I know you are,” said Basra.
“I thought you were going to leave me. Please don't leave me.”
“I'm not.”
Basra scooted her seat close to Lucia's hospital bed and rested her chin on the edge.
“Please don't lecture me,” Lucia requested.
“I'm not, just get some rest,” said Basra.
Lucia closed her eyes and Basra soon followed. The jetlag was settling in and Basra quickly fell asleep. Other than a few shifts in position, Basra was knocked out cold the remainder of the night. She awoke the following morning close to 7:00. Lucia was still asleep, and so Basra kissed the top of her forehead and left. She sincerely wanted her to be okay, but she also knew she didn't have time to be Lucia's babysitter. Hopefully, this incident would be motivation for her to turn her life around.
Basra made it home, but felt like someone had hit her in the head with a brick. She didn't know if it was jetlag or hunger, so she quickly made some oatmeal as soon as she got in the door. Scarfing down her breakfast, she walked to the back with the bowl in her hand and looked over at Grayson's untouched side of the bed. She knew it was over. Grayson wasn't a man of second chances. He'd held a grudge with his own father practically all his life; there was no way he could forgive her and move forward with a woman who was living a lie. Basra placed her bowl down, picked up Grayson's pillow, and sniffed. As she took in his scent, her heart literally ached.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered.
She was filled with sorrow, but this time, she didn't cry. Basra knew that only she was to blame for what had happened, and she'd given the past months enough tears. It was time for her to be a big girl and start owning up to her irresponsible behavior. She took another whiff of the pillow, laid it down, and checked her e-mail. She saw two e-mails from her agent.
“Why are these not going to my phone?” she screamed. There was a meeting, a fitting, and a photo shoot that day. Basra called her agent. “I'm on the way.”

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