by Cas Sigers
“I told you. It’s from Lawson.”
“So he just gave you this money? That doesn’t make sense.”
“First of all, it’s an investment, so he didn’t just give it to me. We have to pay it back. Secondly, he’s an art patron, and lastly, he’s a billionaire, so this is nothing.”
Grayson still didn’t buy it. “So what did you do to get the money?”
“Huh?” she asked as her heartbeat thudded with anxiety.
“Men don’t just give women fifteen grand just because they asked.”
“It’s pocket change to him. It would be like me asking you for fifteen dollars. We’re old friends and I never ask him for anything so he knew how important this was to me.”
“But—”
“No. Stop asking questions. I stuck my neck out because I really want you to have this show, and I thought it meant a lot to you. So just take the money and let’s make it happen.”
Grayson’s face relaxed and a smile emerged. He walked over to Basra and squeezed tightly. He didn’t release from the embrace for a minute.
“I can’t believe you are doing this for me,” he whispered.
“I have to. You are very talented, and if I have the means to help you, that’s what I want to do.”
With her body still within his clinch, he pulled back and stared her in the eyes.
“I still don’t understand,” he said.
“I believe in you, and this could really jump start your success.”
“It could,” he said, smiling.
“So, you better get to painting.”
Grayson planted a passionate kiss on Basra that nearly brought her to tears. “Oooh, you can’t go on kissing me like that.”
Grayson planted tiny pecks all over her face, and she playfully tickled his side. They didn’t notice Guppie standing at the door of the studio until she loudly cleared her throat. Basra pulled away but still remained close to Grayson.
“Hi, Guppie, good to see you.”
“Yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “Gray, did you finish the last piece for Dr. Logan?”
“I’m finishing it right now,” he said.
“It didn’t look like you were painting to me.”
The tension thickened. Basra felt the need to cut in.
“We were celebrating the art show he’s doing,” she said.
“Is that art show paying some of the bills around here?”
“It will once he sells the pieces.”
Guppie looked Basra up and down and diverted her attention to Grayson. “Let me know when you can deliver.” She walked out.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Grayson went back to his chair and picked up his paints. “She and I share the rent on this space and I haven’t been selling lately. I’m not behind in the rent but I haven’t been helping out on the bills.”
“Okay, but she acts like you two used to date. I don’t know a lot but I do know women.”
“I used to date her sister.”
“Ah ha, now we get to the truth. When did you two break up?”
“Awhile back, but we’ve dated off and on about six years.”
“Six years! No wonder. She doesn’t want to see you with anyone else. Why date someone that long and not marry them? I don’t get that.”
“We’ve talked about marriage, but I just can’t do it. She is a wonderful girl, but she wants me to get another career. She comes from an affluent family and they don’t want her to marry an artist. She wants me to work for her dad. I can’t do that. This is who I am,” he exclaimed.
“Oh.”
“So I know if we get married, she’s going to want to start a family and once I have kids, that’s it. I can’t let my family suffer, and then I will be trapped into working a nine-to-five.”
“So you two aren’t together at all now?”
“No. We talk and she says things will be different if we get back together, but I’m over it. I want to be with someone who gets me, and understands that if I don’t do what I was put here to do, my life is useless.”
“So there’s nothing else that you’d rather do?”
“No. Not really. I’ve painted since I was sixteen.”
“Are your parents artists?”
“No. My sister is a dentist, and my father is an architect. My mother works with him. My family doesn’t get me either.”
“Well, I’m still figuring out what it is that I want to be, but I respect you for sticking to your dreams. Especially when it’s rough. So, this better be one hell of a show.”
“It will be, I promise.”
“I’m going to let you get back to work. Where would you like to have the show? I want to go ahead and hold the space.”
“It was going to be at this great new space that rents to artists. It’s a few blocks over from Times Square.”
“Give me all the information and I will see if we can see do it there. When?”
Grayson handed her the information for the space. “I’ve done most of the pieces, so I can be ready in two weeks. I just need to get them framed.”
“Okay, give me a price breakdown of everything. I’ll call the place and set everything up. I’m so excited.” Just before Basra crossed the exit, Grayson called out.
“No one has ever done something like this for me. I really appreciate it.”
Basra winked and walked out. She was floating on air. She felt like “Basra, the Fairy Godmother.”
She looked at the address and decided to visit the space. She met with the event’s manager, Amelia, and walked through the details. Amelia was familiar with Grayson and his work, and was elated that the show was going to happen. She mentioned that for an additional $1,500 he could keep his work up the entire month as the premier artist. Basra agreed to pay the additional amount, signed the contract, and gave her the deposit. She called Grayson and gave him the details. By the size of the space, Grayson would need close to twenty-five pieces. His pieces varied in size and price, but the average amount was $4,000. In this show, Grayson was doing a series of mixed-media pieces depicting New York subway life. It was oils mixed with iron and wood. The theme was “City Life” with pictures depicting life and people in New York, Chicago, DC, and Miami, all done with a very abstract flair. Basra couldn’t be more excited to have a project to undertake and doing it for Grayson made it three times as gratifying. She spent the next three days organizing the guest list, and creating marketing materials. She even planned a video shoot of Grayson in the studio. She and Amelia thought that would be a great addition to the evening. So when patrons walked into the space they could watch a video of Grayson at work, like a behind-the-scenes preview.
Basra didn’t see Grayson at all for three days, as he spent his days and nights in the studio working. She, in turn, was busy researching art shows and art patrons. She wanted to have as much knowledge in her arsenal to help the show’s success. She didn’t take a break from her studies until she received a phone call from Richard. He was in town and wanted to move their Friday dinner to Thursday. Basra agreed to meet him. But this time they met in Brooklyn. Richard greeted her with a gift. Basra took the small box, opened it, and saw the David Yurman Crossover Cuff.
“It’s so beautiful,” said Basra as she lifted it from the box.
“I thought you might like it,” he said. “It’s not too dainty but classic.”
“It is. But I can’t take this. It’s too much.”
“I bought it for you. I can’t take it back. Please, take it as a token of my friendship.”
Basra loved David Yurman but didn’t own any pieces and deep down really wanted to keep it, but felt it was the wrong thing to do.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You have to. I had it inscribed,” he said.
Basra looked at the eighteen-karat gold bracelet and smiled. Richard showed her the inscription. Basra read it. “‘Thoughts that come with doves’ footsteps guide the world.’ That’s a beautiful saying. Did you write this?�
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“No, it came from Friedrich Nietzsche. He’s a German philosopher.”
“I’ve never heard of him.”
“Brilliant man. His philosophy centered on a basic question regarding the foundation of values and morality. My favorite quote of his is ‘The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.’”
Basra, so engrossed with the script of the inscription, missed the glazed-over look in Richard’s eyes that gave way to hints of delusion.
“It’s very, very nice.”
“Look at how perfect that is. It’s perfect just like you,” he said.
Basra looked up at Richard, who smiled wide. She glanced into his eyes and an eerie feeling came over her. She quickly looked away.
“Let’s eat,” she said.
They perused the menu, ordered, and ate. Basra continued to ask about Nietzsche during the dinner and after mentioning her major in psychology the conversation picked up to a rapid speed. Richard had a doctorate, from Cornell University, in philosophy. Before Basra realized it, they’d spent three hours over dinner talking about the history of civilization and the basic fundamentals of existence. Richard’s thoughts were fascinating and intriguing. Basra reeled off questions and he was more than thrilled to give his opinion. When Basra looked up it was midnight, but Richard didn’t want the night to end. He asked Basra to come back to his hotel.
“I can’t,” she replied.
“Why not. We’re having such a great time,” he commented.
“I know but I have a lot of work to do. I’m planning an art show,” she inadvertently mentioned.
“I would love to come,” he said.
That was just the response she didn’t want. “It’s private. I will see if I can get you on the list though.”
“Please do. I’m an avid collector.”
“I will.”
Basra smiled but knew she could not invite him to the show. There was no way she could explain that to Grayson, and who knew what he would say about their relationship.
“So, if you’re ready to leave, maybe we can have lunch tomorrow before I go back.”
“I don’t know, my schedule is very busy.”
“How many men do you see a week?” he asked candidly.
“Excuse me?”
“In work. How many men? Do you have several regulars you see weekly?”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“Ballpark figure,” he pressed.
“Uhhm. I don’t know. I go when I get calls. I might get three calls a month.”
“Do you sleep with the others?”
“My business with other men is private. You wouldn’t want me sharing our details.”
Richard stared at her with a blank expression.
“You’re my only regular. I’m new in this industry and I don’t want a lot of clients. I’m only doing this to help my family.”
“Your family back in Somalia?”
“Yes.”
“So if you were to marry someone who could take care of you and your family, you would stop this business.”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t marry someone unless I loved them,” she said.
“Love is such a broad term.”
“That’s conversation for another day, my dear Richard. I have to go.”
“Of course, Dove,” he said.
They rose and left the restaurant. He offered to escort her in the cab ride home, but Basra didn’t want him knowing her address, and so she hailed her own cab, kissed his cheek, and left.
En route home, she checked her voice mail and heard a call from Hollis, who wanted to inform her of Adam’s visit next week. He bragged to Hollis about how much he loved her company, and couldn’t wait to see her again. Of course, this thrilled Hollis, for she loved satisfied customers. Basra called her the next morning to confirm his date, which was Friday afternoon. The day before the big art show. Basra knew that would be cutting it close but she couldn’t disappoint Hollis. If she continued to see Richard for a few months and kept her regular visits with Adam, she could easily save $8,000 a month. She didn’t want to take on any new clients and as long as she could keep this situation going, along with her occasional modeling gigs, her finances would continue to mount.
That evening Basra continued to think about her conversation with Richard and decided to look up information on Nietzsche. He was a very interesting character who was also diagnosed as mentally ill. However, he had a plethora of quotes that Basra began writing down in her journal. Interesting characters fascinated her, and she kept a log of them for study purposes. Getting a psychology degree required her to write many papers and she already had a long list of potential subjects. Nietzsche was going on the list.
Early Saturday morning, while Basra was still in bed, her buzzer rang. She thought it was a dream at first, but realized after the third ring that it was concierge. She crawled from the bed and stumbled into the front room to answer.
“I have a Grayson Charles here to see you.”
“Send him up,” she said.
Basra ran like lightening to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and simultaneously washed the sleep from her eyes. As she was spitting into the sink, her doorbell rang. She rushed to the door and answered. Grayson greeted her with a big hug.
“I have missed you,” she said.
“I’ve missed you.”
Grayson stopped and stared at Basra. “You don’t have any makeup on.”
“It’s seven o’clock in the morning. I don’t sleep in makeup.”
“No, but it’s the first time I’ve seen you without it. You’re fucking beautiful.”
“Dropping f-bombs so early, how sexy is that.” She giggled.
“I don’t mean to offend but, baby, you’re covering all of your beauty.”
“Stop it, Gray. I like my makeup, end of conversation.”
Grayson continued to stare as he spoke about the show. “The new pieces are at the framer’s, and we shoot the video today, right?”
“Yes, at four. You ready?”
“I am. I’m going to wear just a plain black shirt; since my pieces have so much color I don’t want to be too distracting.”
“Good idea.”
“I’m sorry, you are really beautiful,” he said once again.
“You’re embarrassing me, stop it. So, how much are the last pieces?”
Grayson and Basra continued to talk business until her stomach began to growl.
“You’re hungry. Let’s do breakfast.”
“I was going to cook something here,” she mentioned.
“Let’s just grab something out. Throw on something.”
“I haven’t showered.”
Grayson sniffed her neck and then close to her crotch. “You smell clean.”
“You’re nasty.” She laughed, pushing him away.
Grayson moved close and kissed her. “And your breath is minty fresh. Let’s go.”
“Fine.”
Basra threw on a T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap to calm her wooly hair that was normally all over her head until she applied mousse.
“What was stiff shirt’s name again?” Grayson asked as they walked through the lobby.
“Who?”
“The guy from the Boathouse?”
“Oh, Richard.”
“I could have sworn I saw him outside your building smoking a cigarette.”
“He doesn’t smoke and he lives in Philadelphia.”
“Well, it was guy who looked just like him. Oh, we can eat at the café down the street. We can walk.”
Basra lowered her shades as the morning sun beat on her skin. She looked to the right and left of the building as she exited just to be sure Grayson was mistaken, and they walked over a few blocks and into the Breakfast Nook. Over eggs and coffee they chatted about the show, and the excitement was seeping from every pore of Grayson’s body. Basra was equally excited as she shared some of the invitees.
&nbs
p; In the middle of her conversation, Grayson blurted, “I told Sophie about us.”
“Sophie, your ex?”
“Yep.”
“What did you say? What did she say?”
“I told her I was seeing someone special and that she didn’t need to keep calling because I wasn’t going to get back with her.” Basra’s eyes widened. “She said she wished me well.”
“That was it?”
“Yep, but then Guppie called and told me that I had a month to get out of the space.”
“Can she just put you out like that?”
“Yeah, her family owns the space; I’m not in a formal contract. It’s cool because I want to go anyway.”
“Well, I have a feeling that after this show, you will be able to afford your own space.”
“So how do you feel about that?”
“About what?” Basra answered, completely clueless.
“About me telling her that I was seeing someone special,” he said sincerely.
“I’m flattered, and I’m excited about us. I think we’d make an awesome couple.”
“So, you’re ready to call us a couple?” he asked.
“I hate titles but I don’t want to be with anyone else, and I think about you all of the time, so yeah, I guess. But we’ve only known each other a few weeks. This is so fast. Are we crazy?”
“Who cares?” he said.
“Have you ever heard of Friedrich Nietzsche?”
“No. That’s random.”
“Well, he’s this philosopher from Germany. And I was recently introduced to some of his works, and he has this quote: ‘One ought to hold on to one’s heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too.’”
“I believe that to be true. But what’s wrong with losing control? What is love if it’s controlled?”
“I just want to be careful.”
Suddenly Basra began coughing uncontrollably. Her eyes watered and she could barely breathe.
“You okay?”
She pounded her chest and tried catch her breath. Her eyes flicked back and forth from the door to the table. Grayson came from around his side of the booth and sat next to her. His attention was also drawn to the front door and the man approaching them.
“Richard! What are you doing here?” Basra said as her voice pitch rose from alto to soprano.
“Good seeing you again.”