Authors: Cas Sigers
Chocolate Dove (9 page)
Instantly, all thoughts honed in on his statement. “Where are you going?” she asked, lifting from the pillow.
“I'm finally hitching my wagon to a trailer.”
“You're what?” she asked.
“I'm getting married,” he said.
“But, you ... Why didn't you sayyou had a girlfriend?”
“We never get too personal, and you never asked.”
“I just assumed.”
“She's an old love. Known her for years. I didn't think I'd ever try marriage again, but this old body is going to need someone to take care of it one day. And she cooks up a fancy pot roast.”
Basra's face wrinkled with confusion. “But we just ...”
“And it was lovely. I couldn't part from you with a better gift.”
“Gift?”
“And I thank you. I still may call you when I come to the city, but I don't want to be too tempted, especially now that I've tasted the forbidden.” Lawson pretended to take a bite from Basra's arm. He laughed but she still held a muddled look. As though she were his jilted lover, she insisted on knowing about the other woman.
“Is she Australian, American? Where did you meet her?”
“She's American, but our families are in the same business.”
“So she's rich too?”
Lawson didn't respond; instead he gave an inquisitive stare.
“Now you sound like a jealous lover.”
“I'm not jealous, just curious. You're marrying this woman and I don't know anything about her. I feel like you kept her from me on purpose.”
Lawson sat up and smirked. “Well, there's not much to tell you. She's from Texas, born and raised. Was a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader in the '80s, and she's just as sweet as cherry cobbler. She doesn't work in the family business but she has dance studios all over the state. She has two kids, grown of course, and we met about fifteen years ago, right after my divorce. She puts you in the mind of a Jayne Mansfield.”
“Who?”
“American actress. Blond bombshell.”
“I don't know her.”
“Well nevermind,” replied Lawson
How old is your fiancee?”
“She's fifty.”
“How old are you?”
“Fifty-eight,” he answered.
Basra compiled all of the information and was finally satisfied. She asked no more questions and simply said, “Good luck.”
Basra rose from his bed, grabbed her clothing, and went into his bathroom. She quickly washed off, placed her clothing back on, and prepared to leave.
“I don't want you to leave. Stay until morning.”
“Nah, I need to get home.”
“Well, at least let me call you a car.”
Basra smiled, walked back to the bed, and kissed Lawson's forehead. She began walking from the bedroom, but turned to ask one more question.
“Do you like the name Dove?”
“Dove? It sounds a tad bit cryptic.”
Basra smirked, gave a flirtatious wink, and strutted away.
Chapter 8
Basra spent the next two weeks focusing on her search for a new apartment. She finally settled on a small one bedroom on the seventeenth floor of The Brooklyner. She was skeptical about leaving Manhattan but she figured this would provide a more low-key lifestyle and she could use the break in rent. It was still luxurious with twenty-four-hour concierge, a fitness center, and a private balcony. Most importantly, it was hers. As she settled in, she wondered why she hadn't done this earlier. The first two nights were a little lonely without Lucia popping in and out of her room, but by the third night, Basra was thoroughly enjoying the silence. She'd become so used to the constant noise of the city, she'd forgotten that quietness could bring clarity. She hadn't spoken to Hollis or Lucia since the move and with the exception of her agent and her family, Basra's phone hadn't rung. She was enjoying her time away from it all; however, into the third week, she realized that she had to get a plan of action together because the money she'd saved was quickly dwindling. The sexual encounter with Lawson calloused a section of Basra's heart, mostly the moral part. She was rethinking her opinion about the exchange of money for sex. Basra had developed feelings for Lawson, more than she'd expected. And since they weren't having regular sex, the relationship held more of an emotional value. They talked, laughed, and found ways to enjoy each other. If she'd just had sex with him, she would have been doing exactly what was expected, nothing more. Perhaps, trying to be “the date” was the wrong idea. Basra thought she'd feel cheap the morning after sex with Lawson, but she didn't. She felt empowered, like a woman pulling strings on puppets that were silly and insecure.
The mind games were mounting and Basra was more than happy to let them take over. She pulled out her cell and called Hollis.
However, before she could finish dialing, Lucia was calling on the other line. She'd thrown the idea into the universe and just that quick, it was acknowledging. Basra clicked over.
“I've given you time, are you still mad at me?” was Lucia's first comment.
“I'm not mad at you. I just needed a break from everything. But I'm actually ready to go back to work.”
“Good. You have a package here.”
“What kind of package?”
“I don't know. It's FedEx and I can't make out the name. What do you want me to do with it?”
“I can meet you in the city. Let's have lunch at the Eatery.”
“Oooh, I haven't been there in a while. I love their Mac and Jack,” said Lucia.
“Good, but give me an hour. I'm still figuring out the trains.”
“Take a cab,” Lucia said.
“Too expensive. I live in Brooklyn now.”
“Oh God, why?”
“I like it. See you in an hour.”
Basra got dressed and arrived quicker than she'd expected and had soup while she waited for Lucia, who walked in carrying a big brown box with a white bow.
“Here's my peace offering,” were her first words before extending a hug.
Basra took the box and sat down.
“Open it,” Lucia said. Basra pulled out a beautiful Louis Vuitton handbag. “It's the Sofia Coppola collection,” Lucia said with excitement. “I know you don't really care about designer pieces but this is classic and very understated.”
Basra held the bag up and grazed her hand against the soft leather. “It's very nice.”
“And no one will even know it's LV unless they get really close and see the logo right here,” Lucia stated, pointing to the tiny signature engraved near the handles.
“Thank you. I needed a chocolate purse.”
The two women ate lunch and chatted about Lucia's drama over the last few weeks. Her life was anything but dull and she seemed to love every bit of the chaos.
“Sloan's agency is picking up, she's been giving me regular work, and her guys pay just as much as Choice.”
“Sloan sent you on a date with a man who was going to kill you. Did you forget that?”
“She's doing better at the background checks now. Besides, he didn't kill me and that could have happened at Choice.”
“Are you not at Choice anymore?”
“When she calls. But Hollis got in some new girls and I think it's time for me to change up.”
“I'm going to stick with Hollis for now.”
“That's too bad, I had some easy money for you tomorrow night. It wasn't a lot, just $1,500, but he doesn't want sex, only dinner.”
“Who is it?”
“Some boring guy from New Jersey.”
“Okay, I'm in, what time?” said Basra with a slight sparkle in her eye. “I need to get at least ten thousand in my savings.”
“You can make that in two weeks, maybe less. Oh, here before I forget,” said Lucia, handing Basra the FedEx envelope from her purse. Basra took it, tried to read the scribble, and then opened it. She pulled out a stack of American Express Travelers Cheques along with a note.
My lovely Dove,
I truly enjoyed your company, and I appreciate your integrity.
Always, Derrick
Lucia grabbed the stack of Cheques and flipped through them.
“Damn, girl, there's twenty-five of these. That's $2,500.” Basra snatched her money back. “Somebody obviously forgot about her no-sex policy.”
“I didn't have sex with him,” Basra expressed.
“You don't have to lie to me.”
“I'm not lying. I didn't have sex with him. However, I'm considering sex if the situation is right.”
“I see you're finally understanding how this game works.”
“Just finish your lunch,” griped Basra.
After lunch, Basra called Hollis. The talk was brief but she promised to keep Basra in mind when booking new clients. With a pocket filled with money, Basra hopped over to a few shops near Riverside, and while in that neck of the woods, she made her way over to the gallery to pay Grayson a visit. The small studio space had every inch of its white walls covered in art. Basra didn't see anyone when she first walked in and so she hung out near the front while checking out the work. Within minutes, a young woman, borrowing her look straight out of Woodstock, came from the back and asked if she needed help.
“I'm looking for an artist named Grayson.”
“Grayson!” the tall, lanky hippie called out.
“You rang?” he said, making his way from the back.
Basra stood at the front, waving and smiling like a little girl. Grayson rushed over to her.
“I don't believe it.”
“I told you I was going to stop by,” said Basra.
“That was weeks ago.”
“I've been busy moving.”
“Give me a hug,” he said as though they were old acquaintances.
“I like your space. Show me around.”
“This is Guppie, this is Basra,” said Grayson.
“You remembered this time,” Basra commented with a big grin. “Guppie, nice to meet you.” Guppie was not as pleasant, only giving a slight nod and walking out.
“Is that your girlfriend?”
“No, she doesn't shave her legs.”
“I don't always shave my legs,” Basra added.
“Yeah, right,” Grayson said, taking his hand and rubbing it down the front of her shin.
Basra pulled her leg away but only after he'd caressed for a few seconds.
“Stop being fresh,” she said. “Show me around.”
Grayson placed his hands on Basra's shoulders and physically turned her body around. “This is it. One giant box.”
“Show me your paintings.”
“Later. We have to go.”
“Go where?” she asked.
“Out. Hold on.” Grayson rushed to the back and one minute later returned with a satchel draped across his body.
“Where are we going?” Basra asked again.
Without answering, Grayson grabbed her hand and led her from the gallery.
“You can't kidnap me like this,” Basra said as she was being whisked on to the street.
The two of them walked down Riverside Drive to the shop that Basra intended on visiting before she went to the gallery.
“This is the only store I want to go in, I promise. If I don't see what I'm looking for in here, then we can go wherever you like.”
Grayson happily agreed and waited while Basra tried on three dresses. She settled on one, paid for it, and they left only spending a total of thirty-five minutes in the store.
“I like the way you shop. My sister used to have me in the mall all day.”
“I really don't like to shop that much. But when I do get something new, I go get exactly what I want and then I'm done.”
“I think I'm in love,” Grayson said jokingly.
Grayson held out his hand and Basra quickly latched on like a girlfriend of many years. It wasn't until they'd walked a few blocks until she even realized.
“Why are we holding hands?”
“Why not?” Grayson asked, but then suddenly released his grip. “What's the deal with you and the rich guy?”
“His name is Lawson, and why do you assume he's rich?”
“I know one of the owners at the Fountain and right after the visit he made a generous donation.”
“Oh. Well, I can assure you, I have nothing going on with Lawson.”
“He seemed very comfortable with you.”
“He's just that way. We're friends, business acquaintances really.”
“And what do you do again?”
“I model.”
“Of course you do.”
Basra gave him a peculiar look. She wasn't sure if he meant that sarcastically and she felt the need to reiterate and defend.
“No, really I'm a model. I actually book work in magazines, and get paid for it.”
“Of course you do.”
“Why are you saying that in that way?” Basra asked.
“What way? I'm saying of course because you are almost six feet and absolutely gorgeous. What else would you do?”
“I could be a doctor or an attorney.”
“You could, but the natural choice would be for you to model. You look glamorous, that's all I'm saying.”
Basra tightly puckered her lips and squinted her eyes just before extending her hand again. Grayson grabbed a hold of hers and they continued down the street. They took in a movie and then made plans to meet later for dinner. Basra beamed all the way back to Brooklyn. It was so refreshing to spend time with a man in whom she could have a genuine interest. She felt all girly inside and this gave her an extra pep in her runway strut.
That evening, the process of dressing took an extra hour because Basra tried on at least four different outfits. She settled on a short and flirty champagne-colored knit dress. She paired it with brown wedges and her new Louis Vuitton purse. Grayson lived in a loft in the East Village but offered to come to Brooklyn and meet her for dinner. They decided on The Pearl Room. Over dinner, the energy between Basra and Grayson sparked to greater heights.
“I feel like we've been going out for months,” Basra said. “I know I'm not supposed to say things like that on a first date, but it's weird.”
“There's definitely a connection. Maybe we knew each other in another lifetime. What's your sign?”
“I don't follow astrology but I'm a Virgo. September twenty-fourth.”
“I'm a Capricorn, January tenth.”
“How old are you?” she asked.
“I'm thirty,” he responded. “And you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“A baby.” Grayson laughed.
“I'm grown,” Basra playfully bantered.
They giggled and joked over their appetizer and began making plans for later that week. The butterflies in Basra's stomach were doing somersaults. She couldn't contain her incessant chuckles.
“I know you think I'm totally silly, but I promise I don't normally laugh this much.”
“It's cool, I think you're adorable.”
As soon as they finished the appetizer of fried calamari, Basra's phone rang. She let the first set of rings go to voice mail, but when it rang a second time, she grabbed it from her purse, looked at the number, and then excused herself. Basra stepped into the restroom and spoke.
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