Chocolate Dove (25 page)

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Authors: Cas Sigers

BOOK: Chocolate Dove
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Chapter 22
Complete mayhem broke loose in the center. With dimmed lights no one knew from where the shot was fired. Screams were echoing through the air and bodies scattered or ducked to the floor. In the chaos, not many people saw Basra's body hit the floor. Xavier rushed to scoop her from the stage and security scurried to find out what had happened. Mackenzie ran over to see Xavier carrying Basra's limp body, and started even a bigger panic.
“He killed her. She's dead!” she screamed repeatedly.
Her echoes instantly escalated the pandemonium as attendees started screaming, “He shot that model! He killed that girl!”
Within the cry, there was one loud shriek from a fashion critic sitting near stage right. The police followed the screams and rushed to her. There they found Richard's body lying in a pool of blood from a self-inflicted gunshot wound through the head. NYPD rushed inside and along with building security forced everyone away from the crowd. Most of the spectators still had no idea of what happened. Kaamil, Grayson, and Richelle were in that number. They tried to make their way through the crowd and toward the back, but everything was quickly being blocked off and security was forcing people out of the side emergency exit. Kaamil and crew got caught up in the group and found themselves outside on Sixty-fifth Street.
Inside, the models were panicked thinking Basra had been the victim of the gunmen. However, as Xavier backed away the models, Basra began coming to. She slowly lifted her body and looked around. Suddenly, she yelled, “Gun! He's got a gun.”
Screaming, all the models quickly dispersed, looking for cover. Xavier calmed Basra and laid her back down on the couch. “There is no gun, calm down.” Basra slowly looked around and realized she was backstage. More police rushed to the back looking for the supposed victim, only to discover that she had passed out after seeing Richard kill himself. Once the chaos died down, Basra was inundated with questions. Mackenzie sat by her side and held her hand the entire time. She even answered a few of the questions.
“You were very fortunate, ma'am. Most stalkers kill their victims before they kill themselves. Especially if they've had a relationship with the object of their affection.”
“We didn't have a relationship,” Basra insisted. “We met and went on two dates. That was it.”
“He didn't started leaving her notes until after she became a Kitten. He was obsessed that she was this larger-than-life figure he couldn't have,” said Mackenzie, who had no idea of the whole truth.
By the time this comment hit the Internet, it turned into Man obsessed with famous lingerie model pays final homage by killing himself during her runway show.
“Where's my phone?” Basra yelled. “I need my phone!”
Mackenzie retrieved Basra's purse and gave her the cell. It was ringing as she grabbed it.
“Hello, I'm okay,” she said to a very disoriented Grayson. “Where are you? I'm sending someone to get you. Big white guy, bald head, looks like a really tall Vin Diesel.” Basra sent Xavier out to find Grayson.
She was helped over to her station where she placed a T-shirt and sweats on. Her hands were still shaking as the other models hovered, bringing her soda, tissues, aspirin, or whatever they thought she might need to calm her nerves. However, Xavier's package was the only thing that was going to bring her any comfort. The officers tried to block his entry to the dressing area.
“Stop it! That's my husband!” Basra called out. Grayson rushed over and held Basra in his arms. She broke down in his embrace. He too unloaded all of his pain and frustration as he cried along with her.
“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she whimpered at least ten times.
Grayson cupped the back of her head and stroked her stiff hair covered in hairspray.
The officer came over and asked Basra to sign her statement, and then told her that she'd probably get a few more calls about the incident. She nodded as Grayson took his thumbs and wiped her tears away.
“If that's all, Officer, I need to get her home before the reporters start circling,”
The director was completely miffed that Richard had ruined his show, yet happy that because of him, this winter show would go down in history as his most memorable. He was already in the halls speaking to the press.
“Who knew we'd need real fashion police at this event,” he joked. Basra shook her head at his crass joke and how everything really does change in a New York minute. People were telling stories about what they'd just witnessed, and bragging about how they were faced with death during the Lauren's Closet show. Basra walked through the people with Grayson's jacket over her head and almost made it out until she was spotted.
“There she is!” shouted a spectator.
The reporters surrounded, but Grayson and Xavier pushed their way through the crowd and quickly made it inside the taxi. Basra sat between her guys as Xavier peered out of the window. Basra placed her head on Grayson's lap and closed her eyes.
“8001 128th Street,” he told the cab driver.
Basra was so dazed that she didn't recognize the address until they'd pulled up and gotten out. She gazed at the brownstone and then back at Grayson.
“You live here?” she murmured.
Grayson nodded and walked her inside. Xavier remained in the home for another couple of hours until Basra told him she felt safe enough for him to leave. On a big leather couch, Basra lay down and closed her eyes. Grayson put on Lizz Wright and made her tea. She sipped slowly, but didn't leave that spot or answer her phone the rest of the night.
The next morning, Basra checked on Mackenzie, who was now being hounded by the press with questions. She didn't mind it though because it got her camera time and, deep down, Mackenzie really wanted to be an actress and so this was a perfect start. She offered to do any and all interviews in Basra's absence and Basra agreed to let her. Basra then called her family and friends back home and warned them about any potential Internet headlines that might connect her with a shooting in New York. She assured her family of her safety and even sent pictures as proof.
Although she had thanked him profusely, another day actually passed before she and Grayson truly spoke about their relationship. She woke up and saw him fixing breakfast, and knew she had to say the words that no one ever wants to say, or hear.
“We have to talk.” He agreed but first wanted to eat. “We talk while we eat,” she said.
Basra ate a few bites of her French toast and continued to stare at Grayson. “I don't know what to say.” She giggled. “I keep saying I'm sorry, but I feel like that's not enough.”
“Well, I don't want you to say it anymore.”
“Fine, what does this mean? Why did you get this place? Why am I here?”
“I got this place because I needed somewhere to stay and this one had been approved. You are here because you needed refuge. What all of this means ... I don't know.”
“I'm so sorry,” Basra whimpered. “I'm sorry, I know I'm not supposed to say I'm sorry, but I am. I messed everything up. We were so perfect, and I messed up.”
“We weren't that perfect. You didn't trust me enough to be honest. I didn't always hear what you were trying to tell me. I ignored a lot of signs because I really wanted us to be ideal. But there is no flawless relationship. It doesn't exist.”
“So are we going to try to be friends?”
“I think that's a good start.”
“So you just want to be friends?” Basra mumbled.
Grayson placed his fork down and reached across the bar, taking Basra's hand. “Being friends is what makes a marriage work, and it's not going to be easy, but as long as we're trying, I'm staying.”
Basra's water faucets were turned on. “I never wanted to leave, I was just so scared, and I promise I really don't cry as much as it seems.”
Grayson chortled. “I know, and I should understand firsthand what it feels like for people to think you're something that you're not. I'm never going to understand why you did some of the things you did, but, baby, I know your heart. I see it every time you smile at me.”
Basra slid from her seat, walked around the bar, and snuggled into Grayson's arms. “Our bond is like elastic and, boy, it has been stretched to the max, but it's not broken. In fact, I think it's stronger,” he said.
“I can't believe you still want to be with me.”
“I can't believe my wife is one of the hottest damn supermodels in the country ...”
“Who had to almost get killed in order for her husband to forgive her.”
Grayson laughed. “And this is why I love you.”
Grayson walked out of the kitchen and came back with a Target bag. He handed it to her. She looked inside and gave a high pitched yell. Basra quickly walked to the door and pulled out the neon pink welcome home mat.
She held it high and beamed. “It's perfect.”
“It's far from that. It's way too bright, it's doesn't really fit in the space. I don't know if it's going to be functional, and for this neighborhood, it's certainly not conventional.”
“So basically, it's like us.”
“Yeah, in a way,” Grayson consented.
“Then it's perfect to me.”
She placed the mat on the porch, and Grayson was right, it didn't really fit in the space and it was very bright. But this mat would be her daily reminder that accepting our imperfections is what makes everything work perfectly.
Grayson smiled at his wife, took her into his arms and whispered, “Welcome home, baby. Welcome home.”
Urban Books, LLC
78 East Industry Court
Deer Park, NY 11729
 
Chocolate Dove Copyright © 2012 Cas Sigers
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6016-2657-8
 
First Trade Paperback Printing May 2012
 
 
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living, or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
 
 
Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.
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