by Cas Sigers
Mackenzie grabbed the card. “I bet they’re from Grayson,” she said with a smile.
Basra snatched the card back and read: “‘You need chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star.’” She smiled. “I haven’t spoken to him, but that sounds like Grayson.”
“It may sound like him, but it’s Nietzsche,” said Mackenzie.
Basra stopped so abruptly that she nearly fell over. The vase slid from her hand, but luckily Mackenzie kept it from falling on the pavement. “What did you say?”
“That quote is from Friedrich Nietzsche, he’s a—”
“I know who he is,” fretted Basra. She grabbed Mackenzie’s hand and moved faster through the crowd.
“What’s wrong? Why are you going so fast?”
Basra looked around the streets before walking in for pizza. She scurried in and took a seat in a booth in the back. Mackenzie sat and stared at her. “Are you okay?” she asked just before Basra picked up the flowers and tossed them in the trashcan. “Nooo. Why did you do that?”
“Those were not from Grayson,” Basra said while keeping one eye toward the front of the restaurant.
“Then who were they from?”
“I don’t want to freak you out, but I have a stalker.” Basra called Lawson on her cell. Thankfully, he answered.
“Hey, Lawson, I have to hurry. I know you know a lot of people, and I need some help. I have a stalker. I think he’s dangerous but I don’t want involve the police because I met him through, you know ... Do you know anyone private I could call?” Basra listened to Lawson and took down a phone number. He suggested that she still make the police aware of the situation but until then he’d refer her to a bodyguard friend, who used work with the CIA.
“Stalkers are dangerous. They kill people,” Mackenzie said with very frightened eyes. “Are you sure it was him?”
“Yes, he is the only one who would send me a Nietzsche quote.”
“Who is he?”
“I should call the police.”
“You think?” Mackenzie cynically commented.
“What would you ladies like?”
“Two slices of cheese pizza,” said Mackenzie.
“Make that three,” added Basra.
“You’re cheating.”
“I have someone trying to kill me,” said Basra.
“That’s not funny. I’m calling the police.” Mackenzie pulled out her phone but Basra took it away.
“I’ll call. I promise.”
“Better yet, we’re going there to fill out a report as soon as we leave here.”
Mackenzie and Basra went to the police station on Chambers and filed a report. Basra said that they were introduced by a mutual friend and went on two dates. But she didn’t have his last name or any other pertinent information other than a description. She filled out as much as she could and then left. On their way back to the new apartment, Basra suggested that she and Mackenzie get a hotel for the night.
“Do you think he knows where we live? Oh God, I don’t want to die before our show in Japan!”
“We’re not dying before the show or after. We’re just taking precautions. I will have a bodyguard tomorrow and we’ll go get back to the apartment in the morning.”
The models’ call for the 7:00 P.M. show was noon. Most of the hair and makeup was elaborate and the director was going to have a stroke if the show didn’t start on time. Basra’s bodyguard, Xavier, met them at the hotel at nine that morning. Lawson had already given him the rundown and so he gave the girls his set of rules and got started. He rode with them in a cab back to the apartment and waited while they got their things. He went to Lincoln Center, and remained backstage with Basra until the show started.
It was complete mayhem backstage with dozens of racks, makeup artists, and stylists. Close to 5:00 P.M. Basra had her hair done and was sitting in the lounge drinking a Diet Coke. Mackenzie’s nerves were a bundled mess. She’d never done a big fashion show, as all of her work had been print. She rolled off a series of scenarios.
“What if I fall?”
“Get back up,” Basra replied.
“What if my bra comes off?”
“Flash them and keep walking.”
“What if they start booing?”
“Give them the finger.”
“What if—”
“No more. You’ll be fine. I’m nervous too, but you can’t keep asking these questions.”
Basra was still very unnerved by yesterday’s events. She’d even called Grayson just to make sure he hadn’t sent her the flowers, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t want to make Mackenzie any more nervous than she already was, but her gut told her that he was going to show up. By 6:00 P.M., everyone was done with hair and makeup and doing finishing touches on any wardrobe changes. The girls were excited and ready. This was not just the winter show and holiday collection, this would be the introduction of the new Kittens. It was a huge thing in the world of fashion. Basra’s phone lit up and it was Kaamil. They’d just gotten to the show and wanted to know if she could see her before it started.
“No. I’m already in hair and makeup. We can’t come out and no one is allowed in back. I will make sure I see you after the show.” Basra hung up, left the lounge, and went back to her station.
“I need to touch up your lips,” said her makeup artist.
Basra loved the heavy dramatic makeup. She looked in the mirror and made model faces. Then she noticed a card on her table.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Hold your head still.”
Basra slid the card from the table and tried to read it but couldn’t lower her face. She held it up to her eye level, and nearly peed on herself when she read the quote. “‘One should die proudly when it is no longer possible to live proudly.’” Basra jumped up from her chair. “Who put this on my table?” she yelled. “Who put this here?”
Mackenzie rushed over and to calm Basra. “He’s here!” she yelled. “He’s here.” Everyone was confused as Mackenzie rushed to the entrance of the back and got Xavier. Finally, the director came to the back to assess the commotion. Xavier pulled the director aside and explained the severity of the situation. Basra was allowed to peep out of the back and see if she saw Richard within the gathering crowd. She didn’t see him but that didn’t calm her. However, it was ten minutes to show time, and they weren’t about to stop the fashion show on the assumption that she had a possible stalker, who had never posed a verbal threat.
Basra was so nervous her ankles trembled. When it was her time to walk out on stage, she almost fainted. But after several deep breaths, she got on the runway and strutted her stuff down the twenty-five-foot catwalk. When Basra got to the end, she wanted to look out into the audience but she feared that she might see Richard, and so she kept her focus straight ahead. By her fourth outfit, her stride was back in motion. Her smile was vibrant and she actually caught Kaamil from her peripheral. Next to Kaamil was Grayson. His sight lit a spark inside her body and she smiled so wide that she let out a tiny yelp. Their eyes connected and he nodded with a small grin to acknowledge her thrill. Basra put an extra twist in her sashay back down and rushed to change into her final outfit. During her last strut down the catwalk, she immediately caught eyes with Grayson. She glanced about the room, but every four steps, she was drawn to him. Basra got to the end of the runway and posed. She glanced over at Grayson, and smiled. He was like a mirage. She couldn’t stop staring. Finally, she turned her head and glanced in the opposite direction and that was when she saw a figure standing in a black hat and matching trench. It was Richard. As though they were cemented to the stage, her feet wouldn’t move as she tried to turn. Richard stood up, and pulled out an object that resembled a pistol. The crowd was dark, and Basra wasn’t sure. Still she tried to form the word gun, but before the “g” formed in the back of her throat. He lifted it up and Bang!
Chapter 22
Complete mayhem broke loose in the center. With dimmed li
ghts no one knew from where the shot was fired. Screams were echoing through the air and bodies scattered or ducked to the floor. In the chaos, not many people saw Basra’s body hit the floor. Xavier rushed to scoop her from the stage and security scurried to find out what had happened. Mackenzie ran over to see Xavier carrying Basra’s limp body, and started even a bigger panic.
“He killed her. She’s dead!” she screamed repeatedly.
Her echoes instantly escalated the pandemonium as attendees started screaming, “He shot that model! He killed that girl!”
Within the cry, there was one loud shriek from a fashion critic sitting near stage right. The police followed the screams and rushed to her. There they found Richard’s body lying in a pool of blood from a self-inflicted gunshot wound through the head. NYPD rushed inside and along with building security forced everyone away from the crowd. Most of the spectators still had no idea of what happened. Kaamil, Grayson, and Richelle were in that number. They tried to make their way through the crowd and toward the back, but everything was quickly being blocked off and security was forcing people out of the side emergency exit. Kaamil and crew got caught up in the group and found themselves outside on Sixty-fifth Street.
Inside, the models were panicked thinking Basra had been the victim of the gunmen. However, as Xavier backed away the models, Basra began coming to. She slowly lifted her body and looked around. Suddenly, she yelled, “Gun! He’s got a gun.”
Screaming, all the models quickly dispersed, looking for cover. Xavier calmed Basra and laid her back down on the couch. “There is no gun, calm down.” Basra slowly looked around and realized she was backstage. More police rushed to the back looking for the supposed victim, only to discover that she had passed out after seeing Richard kill himself. Once the chaos died down, Basra was inundated with questions. Mackenzie sat by her side and held her hand the entire time. She even answered a few of the questions.
“You were very fortunate, ma’am. Most stalkers kill their victims before they kill themselves. Especially if they’ve had a relationship with the object of their affection.”
“We didn’t have a relationship,” Basra insisted. “We met and went on two dates. That was it.”
“He didn’t started leaving her notes until after she became a Kitten. He was obsessed that she was this larger-than-life figure he couldn’t have,” said Mackenzie, who had no idea of the whole truth.
By the time this comment hit the Internet, it turned into Man obsessed with famous lingerie model pays final homage by killing himself during her runway show.
“Where’s my phone?” Basra yelled. “I need my phone!”
Mackenzie retrieved Basra’s purse and gave her the cell. It was ringing as she grabbed it.
“Hello, I’m okay,” she said to a very disoriented Grayson. “Where are you? I’m sending someone to get you. Big white guy, bald head, looks like a really tall Vin Diesel.” Basra sent Xavier out to find Grayson.
She was helped over to her station where she placed a T-shirt and sweats on. Her hands were still shaking as the other models hovered, bringing her soda, tissues, aspirin, or whatever they thought she might need to calm her nerves. However, Xavier’s package was the only thing that was going to bring her any comfort. The officers tried to block his entry to the dressing area.
“Stop it! That’s my husband!” Basra called out. Grayson rushed over and held Basra in his arms. She broke down in his embrace. He too unloaded all of his pain and frustration as he cried along with her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whimpered at least ten times.
Grayson cupped the back of her head and stroked her stiff hair covered in hairspray.
The officer came over and asked Basra to sign her statement, and then told her that she’d probably get a few more calls about the incident. She nodded as Grayson took his thumbs and wiped her tears away.
“If that’s all, Officer, I need to get her home before the reporters start circling,”
The director was completely miffed that Richard had ruined his show, yet happy that because of him, this winter show would go down in history as his most memorable. He was already in the halls speaking to the press.
“Who knew we’d need real fashion police at this event,” he joked. Basra shook her head at his crass joke and how everything really does change in a New York minute. People were telling stories about what they’d just witnessed, and bragging about how they were faced with death during the Lauren’s Closet show. Basra walked through the people with Grayson’s jacket over her head and almost made it out until she was spotted.
“There she is!” shouted a spectator.
The reporters surrounded, but Grayson and Xavier pushed their way through the crowd and quickly made it inside the taxi. Basra sat between her guys as Xavier peered out of the window. Basra placed her head on Grayson’s lap and closed her eyes.
“8001 128th Street,” he told the cab driver.
Basra was so dazed that she didn’t recognize the address until they’d pulled up and gotten out. She gazed at the brownstone and then back at Grayson.
“You live here?” she murmured.
Grayson nodded and walked her inside. Xavier remained in the home for another couple of hours until Basra told him she felt safe enough for him to leave. On a big leather couch, Basra lay down and closed her eyes. Grayson put on Lizz Wright and made her tea. She sipped slowly, but didn’t leave that spot or answer her phone the rest of the night.
The next morning, Basra checked on Mackenzie, who was now being hounded by the press with questions. She didn’t mind it though because it got her camera time and, deep down, Mackenzie really wanted to be an actress and so this was a perfect start. She offered to do any and all interviews in Basra’s absence and Basra agreed to let her. Basra then called her family and friends back home and warned them about any potential Internet headlines that might connect her with a shooting in New York. She assured her family of her safety and even sent pictures as proof.
Although she had thanked him profusely, another day actually passed before she and Grayson truly spoke about their relationship. She woke up and saw him fixing breakfast, and knew she had to say the words that no one ever wants to say, or hear.
“We have to talk.” He agreed but first wanted to eat. “We talk while we eat,” she said.
Basra ate a few bites of her French toast and continued to stare at Grayson. “I don’t know what to say.” She giggled. “I keep saying I’m sorry, but I feel like that’s not enough.”
“Well, I don’t want you to say it anymore.”
“Fine, what does this mean? Why did you get this place? Why am I here?”
“I got this place because I needed somewhere to stay and this one had been approved. You are here because you needed refuge. What all of this means ... I don’t know.”
“I’m so sorry,” Basra whimpered. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to say I’m sorry, but I am. I messed everything up. We were so perfect, and I messed up.”
“We weren’t that perfect. You didn’t trust me enough to be honest. I didn’t always hear what you were trying to tell me. I ignored a lot of signs because I really wanted us to be ideal. But there is no flawless relationship. It doesn’t exist.”
“So are we going to try to be friends?”
“I think that’s a good start.”
“So you just want to be friends?” Basra mumbled.
Grayson placed his fork down and reached across the bar, taking Basra’s hand. “Being friends is what makes a marriage work, and it’s not going to be easy, but as long as we’re trying, I’m staying.”
Basra’s water faucets were turned on. “I never wanted to leave, I was just so scared, and I promise I really don’t cry as much as it seems.”
Grayson chortled. “I know, and I should understand firsthand what it feels like for people to think you’re something that you’re not. I’m never going to understand why you did some of the things you did, but, baby, I know your h
eart. I see it every time you smile at me.”
Basra slid from her seat, walked around the bar, and snuggled into Grayson’s arms. “Our bond is like elastic and, boy, it has been stretched to the max, but it’s not broken. In fact, I think it’s stronger,” he said.
“I can’t believe you still want to be with me.”
“I can’t believe my wife is one of the hottest damn supermodels in the country ...”
“Who had to almost get killed in order for her husband to forgive her.”
Grayson laughed. “And this is why I love you.”
Grayson walked out of the kitchen and came back with a Target bag. He handed it to her. She looked inside and gave a high pitched yell. Basra quickly walked to the door and pulled out the neon pink welcome home mat.
She held it high and beamed. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s far from that. It’s way too bright, it’s doesn’t really fit in the space. I don’t know if it’s going to be functional, and for this neighborhood, it’s certainly not conventional.”
“So basically, it’s like us.”
“Yeah, in a way,” Grayson consented.
“Then it’s perfect to me.”
She placed the mat on the porch, and Grayson was right, it didn’t really fit in the space and it was very bright. But this mat would be her daily reminder that accepting our imperfections is what makes everything work perfectly.
Grayson smiled at his wife, took her into his arms and whispered, “Welcome home, baby. Welcome home.”
Urban Books, LLC
78 East Industry Court
Deer Park, NY 11729
Chocolate Dove Copyright © 2012 Cas Sigers
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6016-2657-8
First Trade Paperback Printing May 2012