Chocolate Dove

by Cas Sigers

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. What’s up?”

  “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m working, I don’t have the luxury of playing around all day.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t play around all day. Just the other day, you stopped everything without thought and hung out with me.”

  “Today I have to finish something for a client. Plus, I’m working on a show.”

  “Fine,” Basra said with an attitude.

  “I’ll call you later,” he said.

  Basra stood still for a few seconds trying to figure out his energy. In her frustration, she turned around and walked out. Two steps away from the front door, she turned again and walked back inside the studio.

  “Grayson,” she said, walking toward his studio in the back. She managed to make her way to the back before he could come out. “I don’t know exactly what’s wrong with you, but you are not the same guy I was hanging out with last week. If you’re mad because I was out with another man, then say it. I told you it was nothing. I have commitments already in action, and there are some things in my life that are going to take awhile to sort out. But I like you and I want to keep seeing you. If you don’t feel the same way, then let me know.” With her arms folded, she stood in the center of his room, anxiously tapping her foot.

  “I see the type of guys you hang out with and I think I know what you’re about.”

  “What—” she interrupted.

  “Let me finish. I like you and I think we have something special, and I believed you when you said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

  “I’m not,” she expressed.

  “But you’re dating and having fun. I think we might be in two different places.”

  “You’re the one who said we could take our time.”

  “But I don’t want to waste my time playing games with you and I can’t give you trips around the world, and expensive dinners. Not yet anyway.”

  “I don’t need all that stuff.”

  Grayson doubted her answer.

  “I know what you see, but my profession puts me around people with money and I can’t help that. And I’m not going to lie and say I don’t like nice things. I came from nothing! I mean nothing! I don’t want to be broke, but I would never judge you for what you have. If I like you, I like you.” Basra’s tone softened as she took Grayson’s hand. “And, I like you. I just don’t want things between us to fall apart because we don’t communicate.”

  Grayson kissed the top of Basra’s hand, and replied. “Okay. I understand. I have a lot of work to do. I’ll call you later.” Grayson went back to his seat, grabbed a paintbrush, and went back to work.

  Basra, totally irritated, snapped around and left. She got outside of his place, turned back, and released an indescribable sound of frustration.

  “Uurrghuishooo! Uggh, I hate men,” she screamed.

  “Amen, sister,” said a bitter passerby.

  Basra positioned herself to the left of Grayson’s studio and contemplated going back in, but she quickly realized there was no need. After her anger calmed, the tears began to form. She hurried down the street, desperate to avoid any contact with him. It’s not like he’d realize his mistake and come running after me.

  “This isn’t a movie, Basra,” she said to herself. “Life is not a movie.”

  Hollis’s words were circling through her mind. “Friends don’t last long in this business,” she whispered, wiping the last few tears. Basra stopped and looked around to gather her bearings. She was close to her Joan of Arc statue and so she took a seat and had a quiet conversation with her heroine. Basra knew she was living a lie and so she couldn’t be upset with Grayson’s leeriness. He’d seen her out and very chummy with two men within a couple of weeks. She looked like a party-girl socialite, and as much as she could argue against that point, it was the life she was living. So the question became, did her heart or actions determine her character? This led her back to her thoughts from the other night. Did God judge by intentions or actions?

  “Maybe I should just be honest with him,” she murmured. Basra quickly recanted her statement, knowing he would never understand. “I have to let go and whatever happens, happens,” she whispered. Twenty minutes passed while Basra was lost in thought. However, her trance was interrupted by a call. She looked down and saw Grayson’s name. She started not to answer but knew those were the exact games she didn’t want to play.

  “Hi, Grayson.”

  “You got a second to talk?” he said.

  “Yeah, but let me say I know that we don’t really know each other and we’re still figuring things out.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the park down the street. You know where the Joan of Arc statue is? I’m there,” she explained.

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  Basra hung up, and pulled out her makeup case to freshen up a bit. While reapplying her lipstick, she spotted a smoothie shop across the street. Basra rushed over and ordered two smoothies, a strawberry mango for her and banana and peanut butter for Grayson. She recalled him sipping on that odd flavor the other day when they were hanging out. She was hoping this would be a peace offering to brighten his mood. As she was walking out, she spotted him walking down the street. She hurried back to the park and called his name. Grayson noticed her and sped up his walk. He approached with open arms. Basra could immediately see the difference even before they embraced.

  “I’m sorry,” Grayson expressed. “I had a bad morning. I was supposed to have an art show next weekend but my sponsor cancelled on me. I’ve got a good following, but he looked at my books and insisted that I needed to have more people buying to justify a show. But if I don’t have a show, I can’t get people interested in buying.”

  “Why don’t you invite people to your space?” asked Basra.

  “The location is good, but my space is too small and not commercial enough. If I’m asking for thousands of dollars, I have to look like I have money.”

  “But I thought Americans love the starving artist story. You guys do movies on that all of the time.”

  “In real life, it doesn’t work like that. They want you to look like you’re worth spending money on. Or you have to get someone like Donald Trump to discover you and say you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”

  “Oh is that all; let me call him.” Basra pulled out her phone and laughed.

  Grayson gave a curious look. “Hey, for all I know, you may know him. I’ve seen the company you keep.” They both giggled.

  “Oh, my friend is back,” she said, embracing Grayson again.

  “And I have to admit I was a little jealous when I saw you with the stiff shirt guy. He doesn’t seem like your type.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m working on a few things and I have to associate with people who aren’t necessarily my type.”

  “I feel you. Well, do you. But, notice, I said do you, not do them.”

  Basra gave a nervous chuckle and looked away. Grayson finally took a sip of his smoothie. He gave Basra a peck on the cheek.

  “Banana and peanut butter is the best,” Grayson said.

  “You’re so weird.”

  “I have to go. What are you doing tonight?”

  Basra shrugged her shoulders and made a quirky face.

  “Want me to come over?”

  “That would be cool.”

  Grayson smiled wide and walked away. Displaying a silly grin, Basra watched her crush walk out of sight. She continued to stand there, goofy expression and all, for another two minutes. Finally, she trotted away.

  Basra wanted to help Grayson and she knew how to do it, but wasn’t sure if that was the best idea. She placed a call to Lawson, who happened to be in town.

  “Lawson, it’s Basra.”

  “Hiya, darling,” he answered. “Didn’t think I’d be hearing from you anytime soon. I’m in town, why don’t you meet me?”

  “Perfect, I need to speak with you about som
ething.”

  Basra met Lawson for lunch and told him her plan.

  “So, basically, you need me to invest in this artist.”

  “Not just this artist but this really talented artist. Have your friends come to his show and when they buy some of his work, you can get your investment back.”

  Lawson wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know.”

  “Why not? If you go out with me three times, you spend that amount and then some.”

  “Maybe, but that only involves me and you. This requires a bigger commitment. What if people don’t like his stuff?”

  “Then I’ll pay you back. Not at one time, but I will pay you back. All I need is twenty thousand dollars. I will do the rest. But having a few of your billionaire buddies there would be nice.”

  “Billionaires don’t grow on trees.”

  “In your backyard they do, and I’m sure some of your friends love art. All you have to do is endorse him.”

  Lawson reared back in his chair and took a look at Basra’s expression.

  “You like this fella. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I like him, but ...”

  “No, there’s more to it. You’re a lost ball in high weeds. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “You don’t see anything,” Basra said, glancing down at the table. “He’s just very talented and I just want to help him.”

  “Where and when do you want to have the event?”

  Basra looked up and her smile lit up the café. “This is going to be good. I can feel it.”

  Lawson patted her hand. “I hope this works out for you.”

  “Thank you. I have so much work to do. How do you want to do the money? We can open an account, so you can see what I’m spending money on.”

  “Let’s talk about this at the condo.”

  “Huh?” Basra said with a confused look.

  “If you’re done eating, let’s go over to the condo.”

  “For what?”

  Lawson’s answer wasn’t audible, and it didn’t have to be for Basra to get its meaning.

  “Really, Lawson?”

  “Hey, you just asked me for twenty thousand dollars and I just said yes.”

  “I don’t believe this,” she mumbled.

  “That’s quite a bit of money.”

  “It’s an investment.”

  “A risky one.”

  “And what about your girlfriend, fiancée? I thought you were going to be faithful.”

  “I want to, and I will, but we aren’t married yet.”

  Basra looked at Lawson’s shifty eyes, and realized that this wasn’t her friend. This wasn’t even a man who respected her. He was a john, one worth billions, but still a john. She hated being put in this predicament, yet there were women who slept with men for pairs of designer shoes, and opportunities like this never came their way. Should she just be grateful? Could Grayson fall in love with me and I make enough money to leave all of this behind? she wondered. Or am I a foolish woman with unrealistic ideas?

  “You know this is wrong, Lawson.”

  “Hey, I’m a lonely old man. I take what I can get.”

  Basra gave a vile expression and rose from the table. Lawson tossed down a few twenties and followed her out.

  This time, Basra barely allowed Lawson to touch her. Her body remained still with her hands by her side. She didn’t move from this position until he was done. There was no conversation, no eye contact, and not an ounce of passion. Lawson didn’t care, and their relationship was quickly changing with each pump of his clammy little body. He rolled off her body, lay next to her, and stared at the ceiling.

  “I know you think I’m a whore, but I am going to make something of myself,” she said.

  “Now why would you say something like that?” he said. “I don’t think you’re a whore. You’re an opportunist, and a smart one at that.”

  Basra sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She glanced back at Lawson, who was now gently stroking her back. She didn’t want him to touch her, but she allowed it anyway. Her goal was to get that money.

  “At one time, Lawson, I actually thought we could be friends. I even had the crazy idea that you might even respect me. But right now all I want to do is improve my life and the lives of those I love, and if you can help me do that, so be it.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Lawson hopped up with excitement. “That’s the fire I know you have in you. You may not respect yourself but, honey, I respect you. Just ’cause I want to love on you a bit doesn’t mean I think less of you. You’re a beautiful woman I know I would never get if I didn’t have money. See, I too am an opportunist. In this life, you have to use what you got to get what you need. And you can’t worry about what it looks like or how people perceive you. There’s only one judge and what you do is between you and Him.”

  “If I weren’t so frustrated right now, I might would fall for that bullshit, Lawson, but I know what this is, and I’m willing to accept that.”

  “Why are you frustrated? Are you getting what you want out of life?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Are you working toward your goal?”

  “Yes, but not in the way I thought I would, you know, morally.”

  “Well, you can change that anytime you like, but I promise you the process will take a whole lot longer, and if you’re willing to wait, then go for it.”

  Basra looked at Lawson’s naked body as he strolled over to his computer and checked his e-mail.

  “I need to shower,” she said, heading to the bathroom.

  Basra drenched herself in the steaming hot water and rinsed off Lawson’s scent. She dried off and dressed before walking back out. He was still naked and typing on the computer.

  “So how do you want to do this? Maybe you can wire the money to my account because it will take awhile for a check to clear.”

  Lawson walked out of the room before she finished talking and while Basra was buckling her shoes, he returned with an envelope, which he tossed on the bed.

  “There’s twenty-five. I want twenty of it back, and five is yours for whatever.”

  “You walk around with that much money?”

  “No, but I always have access to my money.”

  “Oh.”

  Basra picked up the envelope and placed it down in the bottom of her purse.

  “Don’t deposit that all at one time, it will look suspicious. You don’t want to get audited.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Basra lingered by the bedroom door, unsure of whether she was supposed to wait for him.

  Lawson placed on his boxers and socks. “I need to stay here and do some work. Give me the details and I’ll make sure some people are there to buy your boyfriend’s work.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “For that kind of money, he sure oughta be.”

  Basra gave a small chuckle. She zoned out for a second thinking about the fact that she was carrying $25,000 in a five-thousand-dollar purse. This was more than what some people made in a year. Though she was around lots of wealth, it was still a very strange concept.

  “The people with money have all the power,” she whispered.

  “From your mouth to God’s ears,” Lawson replied.

  Basra wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but it left her with a sour taste. She thanked him again and left to plan her first art show.

  Chapter 11

  Basra and Grayson spoke briefly that night, and it took everything in her power not to mention the money for the art show. She wanted to share the news, but had to be sure Lawson wasn’t going to call that night with any other stupid demands. By Tuesday morning, her eagerness was out of control and Basra couldn’t wait another moment to tell Grayson about the art party. She immediately called him on the phone and told him she was on the way to the studio. When she arrived he was knee-deep in oils. Basra rushed inside his studio and went straight to the back.

  “I’ve got good news,” she yelped, b
ubbling with excitement.

  “Okay, hit me.”

  “I have a new sponsor for your party.”

  Grayson peeked from behind his canvas.

  “It’s me,” she screamed.

  He stopped painting and rose from his work.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well it’s not me, but I convinced Lawson, who is an art enthusiast, to invest in the event. I told him I was putting it together for an artist.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “Yes, and I told him I would make sure he got his money back from painting sales.”

  Grayson, still a bit reluctant, sat back down and picked up his brush and began painting again.

  “Aren’t you excited?”

  “It sounds nice but I don’t want to get too excited before it really happens.”

  “What do you mean? It’s going to happen. He’s already committed.”

  “People say a lot but when it boils down to the money, they don’t always hold up their end of the deal.”

  “How much do you think the entire thing will cost?” she asked.

  “The venue is five thousand, I need another three in supplies, plus marketing materials could add another grand.”

  “Okay, so that’s not even ten thousand.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well I have fifteen committed for this event.”

  “I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but when you get the money in hand, come back and then I’ll be excited.”

  “Fine. I’ll be back.” Basra turned to leave.

  “Okaaaay... .” said Grayson with some confusion.

  Basra immediately walked out of his studio, went into the bathroom, and counted out $15,000. She placed it in the larger envelope and folded the other one hundred Ben Franklins and placed them down in her makeup pouch. She waltzed back into his studio and handed him the envelope.

  “Now can you get excited?”

  Grayson took the envelope filled with hundreds and ran his fingers across the top of the bills.

  “What’s this?”

  “This is your art show money. It’s going to happen.”

  Grayson, almost in shock, handed her the envelope and looked at Basra with hesitation. “Where did you get this money?”