Chocolate Dove

by Cas Sigers

  “No, I didn’t,” Basra stated.

  “Oh yeah, you left out the part about sleeping with men for money!” he yelled.

  Basra had never heard Grayson raise his voice, thus she was a bit alarmed. She rose, but was careful not to come too close.

  “What the fuck!” he yelled.

  “I know. I know. But I wasn’t out there like that.”

  “What does that mean, ‘like that’? Men hired you to sleep with them. Prostitution ... that’s what you did for a living.”

  “I didn’t sleep with most of my clients. They only wanted my company. Uhhm. I would have dinner with them, and talk—”

  “Most of them? Are you delusional? You still had sex for money.”

  Basra was waiting for him to call her a whore. She even heard it, though he never spoke the word. She felt nauseated. There was no going around the fact that she was a prostitute, therefore she lowered her head and simply replied, “Yes.”

  “I can’t believe I fell for this shit.”

  “I’m still the same person. I did it to make money to help my family back home. I didn’t set out to become this, that ... I’m not doing it anymore.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have liked me,” Basra said.

  “You’re right. But I might have respected you. But now you’re a liar. You paraded around me like you were virtuous and naïve. You didn’t even want me to touch you. Come to find out you’re a skank. How do I know you didn’t scope me out knowing my family had money?”

  “You asked me out. I didn’t want to go out with you at first.”

  “For all I know that was part of the plan.”

  “It wasn’t. I didn’t know anything about your family.” Basra walked closer and reached for Grayson’s hand, but he didn’t oblige. Instead he moved in the opposite direction. “I really need you to forgive me.”

  “I don’t even know who you are. How could you disrespect yourself like that?”

  “I got caught up. The money was so good, and I needed it.”

  “We all need money, but you can’t be willing to do any and everything for it.”

  “I promise you I didn’t sleep with a lot of men. Five total. Adam was one of the exceptions.”

  “Adam? Who?”

  “Adam, your dad’s partner. Isn’t that how you found out?”

  “Adam? Before or after you met him at my house?”

  “Before. Wait, how did you find out?”

  “Lucia told me.”

  Basra was stunned. “Damn, I was coming back to tell you the truth.”

  “Your letter sounded like you were gone for good. You just left and didn’t even have the nerve to tell me in person. What kind of person does that?”

  “A cowardly one. I was scared. I knew how you’d feel about me after you knew the truth. And I thought I could get in and get out. But it wasn’t that easy and then I was blackmailed and stalked.”

  “So Richard is one of your johns.”

  “I never slept with him, but yes. I promise that the girl you fell in love with is the same girl. I just ... the money did so much for my family. I bought them a home and my sister is in school. People like me don’t ever see that kind of money. I made a mistake by not telling you but please don’t judge me on my actions.”

  “What should I judge you by?”

  “By my character. You know who I am. You know who I am!” Basra yelled and then softened to a low whimper. “I’m not a bad person, and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” Basra approached Grayson again, and this time she grabbed the end of his shirt to keep him from moving. “I know you’re upset—”

  “I’m not that upset because you lied to me. I’m more upset because from now on, I can’t believe you.”

  Grayson pulled away and left Basra sobbing in the gallery. She remained there for another twenty minutes, long enough to gather her composure. Basra locked up and hailed a cab to go home, but then changed her mind and told the cabbie to head to the Echelon. It was time to pay Lucia a visit. Basra walked through the lobby of her old building and spoke to the concierge, who allowed her up. She prayed the entire time that Lucia was home, and her prayers were answered. Lucia opened the door wrapped in a towel.

  “Basra. I thought you were in So-ma-lia!” said Lucia, accenting her last word.

  “Why did you tell Gray about me? That was not your business.”

  “I thought he knew. Hell, I thought that’s how you met him.”

  “No, you did not! I told you how we met. You just didn’t want to see me happy because you’re miserable.”

  “Ohhh, aren’t we testy. I just got out of the shower, on my way out. Come in, have a drink,” Lucia offered cordially as though nothing were wrong.

  Basra followed her in but remained close to the front. “I’m serious. You have no business talking to him about me. Don’t you dare tell anyone else about what I do, I mean did ...”

  “Did, do ... do, did ... di, da da doo, doo, da.” Lucia began singing a song. Basra knew then that something was wrong.

  “Are you high? Why are you acting all crazy?”

  Just then Lucia’s temperament quickly transformed and she snapped. “You think you’re the shit, but you are not! So what, you’re modeling and getting jobs? You’re not going to be able to travel the world as a catalogue model for Macy’s. I’m sick of you always judging me.” Lucia mocked, “Lucia, you’re too skinny. Lucia, you’re too pale. Sorry I’m not perfectly tan like you, but I didn’t come from Af-ri-ca!” Lucia began dancing and beating on an imaginary drum while making African drum noises.

  Basra had enough. She turned to leave and when she opened the door she heard a thud. Lucia had passed out. She rushed over to her, but couldn’t get her to come around. Basra immediately called 911. She ran to Lucia’s closet, grabbed her sweat suit, and placed the clothes on her frail frame. When Basra lifted her arms, she saw needle marks.

  “Dammit, Lucia,” she said, fearful for her life.

  She gently smacked Lucia and shook her shoulders, but she was out of it. After ten minutes Lucia regained consciousness but she was too weak to move. The building management knocked on the door within minutes and Lucia dazed in and out until the paramedics came. They lifted Lucia on a gurney and asked Basra a series of questions. For most of them, she had no answers.

  Management needed her to file a report and the paramedics wanted her to come to the hospital to fill out some admittance paperwork. Basra grabbed Lucia’s purse, and tossed some of her clothing essentials inside and rushed to the hospital. She took Lucia’s phone and iPad and hoped she could pull some family phone numbers or contact information.

  The paramedics were able to stabilize her by the time Basra got there. She went in the room, placed her bags in the drawer, and sorrowfully looked at Lucia, who had two IV bags hooked into her arm.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I don’t need your pity.”

  “Here’s your phone,” Basra said, tossing Lucia’s cell on the table before turning to leave.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucia called out. “Don’t go. I’m sorry.”

  Lucia’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Basra continued to walk out. Although Lucia had always been the wild card that she should have never played, Basra couldn’t just leave her alone. She paused outside of her hospital room and prayed silently. She asked God to heal Lucia and allow her to get the help she needed. After two minutes of quiet talk with the Creator, Basra went back into Lucia’s hospital room.

  “I’m sorry,” Lucia said as Basra’s face peered around the corner.

  “I know you are,” said Basra.

  “I thought you were going to leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

  “I’m not.”

  Basra scooted her seat close to Lucia’s hospital bed and rested her chin on the edge.

  “Please don’t lecture me,” Lucia requested.

  “I’m not, just get some rest,” said Basra.
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  Lucia closed her eyes and Basra soon followed. The jetlag was settling in and Basra quickly fell asleep. Other than a few shifts in position, Basra was knocked out cold the remainder of the night. She awoke the following morning close to 7:00. Lucia was still asleep, and so Basra kissed the top of her forehead and left. She sincerely wanted her to be okay, but she also knew she didn’t have time to be Lucia’s babysitter. Hopefully, this incident would be motivation for her to turn her life around.

  Basra made it home, but felt like someone had hit her in the head with a brick. She didn’t know if it was jetlag or hunger, so she quickly made some oatmeal as soon as she got in the door. Scarfing down her breakfast, she walked to the back with the bowl in her hand and looked over at Grayson’s untouched side of the bed. She knew it was over. Grayson wasn’t a man of second chances. He’d held a grudge with his own father practically all his life; there was no way he could forgive her and move forward with a woman who was living a lie. Basra placed her bowl down, picked up Grayson’s pillow, and sniffed. As she took in his scent, her heart literally ached.

  “I miss him so much,” she whispered.

  She was filled with sorrow, but this time, she didn’t cry. Basra knew that only she was to blame for what had happened, and she’d given the past months enough tears. It was time for her to be a big girl and start owning up to her irresponsible behavior. She took another whiff of the pillow, laid it down, and checked her e-mail. She saw two e-mails from her agent.

  “Why are these not going to my phone?” she screamed. There was a meeting, a fitting, and a photo shoot that day. Basra called her agent. “I’m on the way.”

  Basra quickly showered, dressed and made it downtown to the offices of Lauren’s Closet in an hour. By the time Basra got there, the other women were mingling and enjoying coffee. They met the owner and premier designer, who gave them the rules and decorum of being a Lauren’s Closet Kitten.

  “Background checks will be done so we need everyone to fill out this paperwork,” said Ms. Lauren Hunt, CEO and founder.

  Basra filled out the stack of papers, and looked at the calendar. They were doing appearances all over the country, and in Australia, Italy, and England. They had to be available for Fashion Week, and for the spring and fall fashion shows in New York. They were going to be busy. It was a dream come true.

  “If there is anything in your past that could come up while you work for us, please let us know now. We do not like surprises.”

  Basra panicked. She knew Hollis, Lawson, and some of the other men would never expose Choice, but she couldn’t say the same for Adam and Richard. They were crazy and who knew what they were capable of. However, Basra wasn’t about to pass on this once-ina-lifetime offer on a probability. She said nothing and passed in her papers.

  Later that afternoon all of the ladies were introduced to Jacque Basquez, international photographer. He told the ladies about their shoot that evening and explained how important it was that they do their best.

  “It’s going to be your first appearance as a Kitten,” he said in his thick Venezuelan accent. “From these pictures the world will decide who will be their favorite Kitten. You want that to be you,” he said, closing in on Basra. “So, I will see you this evening.”

  The ladies were fitted for three outfits., but only two would be chosen for the photo shoot. Basra was fitted to wear a purple bra and panties set from the Royal Collection, a light pink jersey camisole and matching underwear from the Cotton Collection, and a black lace-up bustier from the Vamp Collection. Only Basra and one other model was asked to wear all three outfits. Out of the ten girls, there were only two women of color. The other sister was a girl from northern California. She shared with Basra that she’d dropped out of pre-med for this opportunity, and had never been to New York before she was picked from the West Coast auditions.

  “My parents told me to find a friend. Someone I could trust because New York was the type of city that can swallow you up,” she shared with Basra. “I’m Mackenzie.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  Basra immediately connected with her. Her eyes were wide and full of excitement for things to come. It took Basra back to the moment she first set foot in New York. Basra knew instantly that she was going to be Mackenzie’s big sister. They could watch out for each other and this way she’d have someone to hold her accountable.

  “Your parents were not joking. I’m Basra. You remind me of myself a couple of years ago. Let me be the first to tell you about New York... .”

  Chapter 21

  Over the next three weeks, Basra’s schedule was filled with interviews, fittings, workouts, and all things fashion. She’d gotten her hair blown out and cut so that it fell just below her ears. It was cute but now with the cut she had to keep it styled because it was too short to stay in a ponytail. She and Mackenzie were looking at an apartment to share. Since she only had two more weeks left on her place in Brooklyn, and Mackenzie was staying with family friends, they decided on getting a small two-bedroom in the city. Basra loved her place in Brooklyn but she needed a fresh start. She hadn’t seen Richard but she continued to feel his creepy presence every time she stepped from her front door. She was sure he was still lingering, but was too crafty to get caught. She desperately wanted to eliminate the possibility of him showing up. She hadn’t spoken to Grayson since the day she returned. He came to the apartment one day while she wasn’t there and left the keys. However, his sister Kaamil had called twice. Since her next few days were fairly light, she returned her call and they made plans to meet for lunch.

  Kaamil walked into Freemans wearing a sharp grey pantsuit and heels. Basra was bundled in a lightweight parka and jeans. She had distinct brown Calvin Klein shades and her neck and head were partially covered in a pink eternity scarf. Kaamil almost walked past her.

  “Hey there,” Basra called out as Kaamil approached.

  “Basra!”

  She sat and immediately began chatting up a storm. “Look at you, acting all incognito.”

  “It’s cold. Aren’t you cold?” she asked.

  “No, this is perfect weather.”

  “Well my blood hasn’t quite gotten used to it yet,” Basra said, removing her shades.

  “I’m so glad you called me back. I spoke to Gray and he said you guys were separated and I thought you might not want to talk to me because of him.”

  “No, it’s not like that. I’ve been very busy.”

  “That’s what I hear. You are Kitten! Grrrrw!” Kaamil said, clawing her hands in the air. “That’s kind of why I’m here. I don’t want to abuse my in-law privileges but Richelle and I really want to come to the winter show. I’m not sure how many tickets they give you. But I would love if you could make that happen. Did I ever tell you that I really wanted to be a designer? I just went into dentistry because I knew it would make my parents happy if I became a doctor—”

  Basra knew Kaamil would keep rambling so she interrupted her. “Did Gray say anything else about me?”

  “No, but I told him that you were great for him and whatever he did, he needed to apologize.”

  “Actually it was me,” explained Basra. “I wasn’t completely honest about some things in my past.”

  “So what? It’s always the man’s fault. Unless of course there’s two women, then it’s always the stud’s fault.”

  Their salads came and Kaamil continued to talk. In thirty minutes, Basra knew her background, her partner’s background, how they met, her hopes and dreams and her future plans. She barely talked about Grayson and so Basra didn’t bring him into the conversation.

  “I will do the best I can on getting those tickets. How many do you need?”

  “Two, three if you can.”

  The two ladies wrapped up lunch and walked down the street to grab cabs. While walking, a bus with a Lauren’s Closet ad stopped on the corner. Basra was one of the four girls whose image appeared larger than life wrapped around the city b
us.

  “There you are!” yelped Kaamil. Basra smiled wide as Kaamil gave her a hug. “I really hope you and Gray work things out.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Kaamil trotted down the street waving and pointing at the bus with glee. Basra laughed, and then turned to look at the bus that was pulling off. She watched her image roll by, seemingly in slow motion. She took a deep breath and exhaled a “thank you.” Basra continued to look until the bus was out of sight.

  Her entire next day was spent at rehearsal for the show, which was that weekend. The theme was fantasy and Basra was modeling a total of five outfits. Though she’d been in several fashion shows, this one, at Lincoln Center, was the biggest to date. The fashion director was a perfectionist who insisted on running the show until everything flowed effortlessly. They rehearsed changing the clothing, took pictures of the varying hair and makeup styles, and walked the runway for almost two hours. Basra had never worked that hard at anything. She and Mackenzie were bushed and hungry. Both had been on a diet for the last two weeks eating only salads, veggies, and grilled meats.

  “I want pizza,” said Mackenzie as they left rehearsal. “It’s not like I’m going to gain five pounds if I eat a slice of cheese pizza, or two slices even.”

  “Let’s go get pizza then,” coincided Basra.

  “You’re not supposed to agree,” Mackenzie said.

  “We’ve been disciplined, but sometimes you have just say ‘what the hell’ and go for it. The show is tomorrow. Let’s go get pizza.”

  Mackenzie didn’t argue with her, and so the girls bundled up and walked outside. They both took deep whiffs of the New York air and simultaneously said, “that way,” referring to the closest pizza shop. As they headed for their doughy delight, a woman came rushing from rehearsal with a vase of flowers.

  “Ms. Sadiq, Ms. Sadiq. These are for you,” she said, handing Basra the flowers.

  “Oh, how sweet,” Mackenzie expressed.

  “They were delivered while you were rehearsing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He asked if you were here rehearsing and then asked where the restroom was, but left the flowers at the desk.”