Authors: Cas Sigers
Chocolate Dove (4 page)
Chapter 3
Basra saved $1,000 of the $4,000 from her first date with Lawson. She sent the other $3,000 home to her mom and dad in Somalia. However, on her second date with Lawson, she pocketed $5,000 and kept all of it except one grand. In two weeks, her bank account went from $400 to $5,000. The lifestyle was quickly becoming addictive. However, Hollis wasn't calling her for any other men, and Lawson was headed back to Texas. She desperately wanted to convince Hollis that her “no sex” theory was worth exploring, but Hollis wasn't willing to take a chance, and Lucia wasn't helping. In fact, Lucia was barely talking to her. Basra didn't know if Lucia was more upset about the fact that Hollis hadn't insisted she leave the agency, or the fact that she was receiving thousands of dollars to keep her legs closed. However, in Basra's mind, she didn't need to convince Lucia. Hollis was her target, and since she wasn't returning her calls, Basra knew she had to plan to “accidentally but conveniently” run into Hollis on the street.
Basra put on her plaid Tom Ford shirt dress, with a pair of Converse, and took a cab to the Upper West Side. She breezed in and out of a few boutiques before she wandered over to Ninety-third Street and took a seat by the Joan of Arc statue. She had passed the statue several times but never really paid attention to it until that day. As far as she knew, it was just a random woman on a horse. She thought it was an interesting sculpture, and had heard the name of the woman on the horse, but didn't know much about Joan of Arc's story, nor cared. However, that day, she had close to an hour to spare before Hollis returned from her daily yoga class and so she decided to look up Joan of Arc on her iPad. As Basra read, she became more engrossed in her story.
“I had no idea,” she found herself saying aloud. “Wow, how crazy,” she continued to speak while gazing back and forth between the computer and the statue. Hollis read six stories on Joan of Arc in those few minutes. She put away her iPad and stared at the sculpture that she now knew was created by Anne Hyatt Huntington. She smiled proudly as though it were 1429 and she were riding in the French Army brigade next to Joan, the unconventional leader. Basra continued to think to herself.
I can be a leader.
Somehow, Basra had connected with this young girl and likened her mission to create a new escort service to that of Joan's to conquer the English. Though the missions were polar opposites, Joan's story gave her a spark of confidence, which was all she needed to talk Hollis. Basra quickly rose and walked over to Caffe Mocias, which was across the street from the yoga class. As soon as she ordered her latte and paid, Hollis walked through the door. Her coincidental meeting happened perfectly.
I can be a leader.
Somehow, Basra had connected with this young girl and likened her mission to create a new escort service to that of Joan's to conquer the English. Though the missions were polar opposites, Joan's story gave her a spark of confidence, which was all she needed to talk Hollis. Basra quickly rose and walked over to Caffe Mocias, which was across the street from the yoga class. As soon as she ordered her latte and paid, Hollis walked through the door. Her coincidental meeting happened perfectly.
“Hollis, how are you?”
“Great, just finished yoga. What are you doing on this side?”
Basra expressed a silly grin and took a sip of her latte. She had placed so much focus on running into Hollis that she didn't think beyond the meeting for an excuse as to why she would be on the Upper West Side at ten in the morning.
“They have the best lattes,” she replied with a quick chuckle.
Hollis motioned with a slight nod to the cashier, slid two dollars on the counter, and moved to the side to wait for her cup.
“You must come here a lot.”
“Why would you say that?
“Because she knew what you wanted without you speaking.”
Hollis grabbed her cup and took a sip. “The Ethiopian Ardi blend is delish. But, you probably wouldn't like that, right?”
“Why?”
“I mean Ethiopia and Somalia have been at odds for years.”
Confused, Basra squinted and replied. “What does that have to doâ”
“It was a joke,” Hollis interrupted. “Why are you on this side again?”
Basra spit out an excuse. “I have a friend who lives over here. I spent the night. Oh, and they have the best lattes.” She smiled bashfully.
Hollis smirked. “How sweet. Friends don't last long in this business,” Hollis said, walking out of the door. Basra followed as she saw this as her segue.
“Well, I think they can. It's about honesty.”
Hollis stopped walking and took another sip of her African morning brew. “What is it with you? You can't have it both ways. Either you play the money game and do what you have to and become rich, or play nice, work hard, and retire at sixty. The choice is yours and you can't feel guilty about the lifestyle you want to have. How many people from your country would kill to live like us?” Hollis continued walking.
“Actually, there are lots of rich people in Somalia. Wealth beyond your comprehension.”
“I've partied with royalty; I doubt it.”
Basra ignored Hollis's crass remarks and kept focus on her mission. “Where are you headed? May I walk with you for a minute?”
“Walk,” Hollis coldly remarked.
Basra continued up Amsterdam, walking just half a step behind her boss. This was her closing argument and she knew she only had minutes before her verdict, therefore her points had to be strong and effective. “There are other men out there like Lawson. Men love the chase; it actually makes men feel like the woman really likes them. I'm sure you know that when a woman likes a man, she doesn't give it up so quickly. Me not doing it is another type of mind game. I'm the girl you want but can't have. The majority of your clients may not want to go out with me, but a few will love me. You pride yourself in offering a variety. I'm another choice for Choice.” Basra stopped walking as added punctuation to her statement. This decision forced Hollis to also halt. She turned and gave Basra a once-over.
“I'll put some feelers out there and get back with you. Is that all?”
Basra knew she'd said enough and so she nodded quietly and smiled. Hollis lowered her shades and gave Basra another glance. She placed them back over her eyes and turned away.
“I'll call you,” she said after taking two steps.
Basra watched Hollis walk down the block and turn the corner. Whether Hollis called or not, Basra felt victorious. Joy began growing from within her belly. When she thought about the recent deposits into her bank account, the joy grew and her nervous energy grew to an emerging smile. Basra quickly turned and tossed her coffee cup, which she had been carrying empty for two blocks, into the green trash bin on the corner. Ironically at that moment, her cup collided with an empty fast food bag also being tossed in, and the bump knocked her empty latte container onto the dirty pavement.
“Sorry,” said the gentleman as he knelt to pick up her cup.
Basra spotted his nice physique and perfectly shaped chin that held a small cleft. Their eyes connected and there was a silent moment as they both took notice of each other's beauty.
“You're, um ... you're quite beautiful,” he said.
“Thanks,” Basra said with a giggle. “Well, um ... I'm going to go.”
“Hold up, I'm Grayson.”
“Basra.”
There was another pause just before he extended his hand to shake hers. She knew he wanted more conversation, and though he was absolutely adorable, she didn't want to add a man to her complicated life.
He nervously adjusted his black-framed glasses and asked, “You live over here?”
“No.”
Grayson sensed that she wasn't giving up any information, but he wasn't ready to give up. “I'm an artist. I don't live over here either. I'm hanging some of my work in that gallery right there.”
Basra glanced to her left and saw the gallery space. She smiled politely, and commented.
“It was nice meeting you, Grayson. I have to go.” She gently brushed her hand against his arm as she turned and walked away.
Grayson stood by the trash and watched her stroll down the sidewalk. The moment was like a daydream, as he was literally captivated by the jolt of energy she'd just placed within him. It was so jarring that as soon as she disappeared, an idea for a painting came to mind. He rushed inside the gallery to write down his concept.
Basra hopped on the train and headed back home. She liked the train but had become accustomed to taking taxis because of Lucia, who only took taxicabs or private cars everywhere. Basra enjoyed the lavish lifestyle, but didn't want to become a slave to it. She knew Lucia wasted mounds of money and Basra's plan was to save not spend. Thus, she was thrifty whenever possible. By the time she hopped off the number one and stepped out on to Twenty-third, Basra no longer wanted to go home. She wanted to go shopping. Other than a few pair of jeans, she hadn't purchased any new clothing in months. Lucia shopped daily and didn't wear half of her things, so when Basra had the craving to wear a new dress, she shopped in Lucia's closet where half of the items were still adorned with high priced tags. But Lucia had been acting more like a “frenemy” lately, and since Basra didn't know where their relationship stood, she didn't want to ask any favors. In truth, Basra wanted to start saving for her own place, and so as quick as the shopping thoughts appeared, she put them out of her mind and went to the fresh market for items to make a fruit salad. Proud that she'd only spent fifteen dollars, Basara quickly went home to dig into her healthy lunch.
A few feet from the elevator, Basra was approached by Lance, one of the tenants in the Echelon.
“Basra, right?” he said as he rushed to catch up with her.
“Hiiiiiiii,” she replied, stretching out the word in hopes his name would pop into her head before it became obvious she'd forgotten it.
Lance said, “I live above you and Lucia, I'm Lance.”
“Yes, I know. How are you?” Basra continued to walk.
“I'm good. So, I've been trying to catch up with you to talk.”
“About what?”
“Can you stop walking for a second?” Lance asked.
Basra halted and turned to face him.
“We should go out.”
“Are you asking me out?
“I am. Tonight. Come with me to a party.”
Basra paused and contemplated his request. Lance was definitely a great catch, on paper at least. He was an architect for a large firm, single, and very handsome. She'd heard his name mentioned within the circles of women in the building but he didn't seem to date that much.
“It's taking you a long time to respond,” he expressed.
Basra wasn't sure how long she had been standing there, but it was apparent she was not jumping at the idea of going out with him.
“It's just a party, we'll have fun. If not, we'll leave and I will bring you back home.”
“What time should I be ready?”
“By eight. I'll meet you in the lobby.”
That was quick and painless. Basra knew she over-thought most situations and sometimes it was just best to do, but spontaneity wasn't in her character. But this worked in her favor, for she simply needed the excuse to do something she already desired, which was shop. Hence, Basra went upstairs, quickly made her fruit salad, and then headed back through the Flatiron District to a few of her favorite boutiques and searched for an outfit for her evening with Lance.
That evening at 7:50, Basra applied her final layer of gloss across her scarlet-red lips and walked downstairs to the lobby. Lucia was out of town, which was perfect. She didn't care to explain the details of how Lance approached her, how she responded, and how the date went. Lucia was extremely nosy, and often asked details that were a bit out of order and sometimes rude. Basra didn't mind so much, but lately Lucia was getting on her nerves and her bothersome little characteristics were becoming increasingly annoying. She was definitely glad to not be agitated by her that evening. Basra stepped into the lobby wearing her white Stella McCartney ruffled blouse and tan tuxedo-striped shorts. Lance was waiting by the front door when she walked up behind him.
“You look hot!”
“Thanks, so do you,” Basra said, making note of his brown Gucci suit.
Basra liked the fact that he was six feet five, which meant she could wear her heels and still look up to her date. Most times when she wore heels, she was eye level with most of her male companions.
“You ready?”
Basra nodded and they headed into Manhattan.
The party was a red-carpet opening for one of the buildings Lance's company had designed. In short, it was a glamorous corporate party. She and Lance mingled but he held her hand throughout the night and made all aware that she was his date for the evening. They received awkward stares upon entering because although it was 2012, people were still curious and sometimes thrown by interracial couples. Ironically, Lance was of African American and Jewish descent, but he had assimilated 100 percent into the Jewish community. His skin was light, his hair was straight, and from afar he looked Caucasian, with very few black traits. He never hid the fact that his mother was black, but it rarely came up. Basra had only learned the fact because of nosy Lucia, who got everyone's background within the first hour of meeting. But despite the occasional glances, Basra enjoyed her night out with Lance; it was quaint, and required little conversation, just nods and smiles. He networked most of the evening so after he made introductions, she stood by his side and looked beautiful. After two hours, he was ready to go.
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