The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (10 page)

“Georgia?” Andrea blurts.

“Yes. Chase and I went to school together,” Eugene replies.

“School together? Chase is from Boston,” Andrea says. She leers at Chase.

Jenae also looks at Chase. The conversation has the danger of going in a direction he is ill prepared for.

“Uh, yes, yes Eugene and I became friends when my father got transferred for a year to Savannah, Georgia for work,” Chase says.

Eugene pauses and then chimes in.

“Yes, and you are never far from our thoughts Chase,” Eugene says. “But enough about us. Let me meet the gorgeous woman who has swept my old buddy off his feet.”

Eugene steps towards Jenae. As she extends her arm for a handshake Eugene grabs in her a tight hug. He inhales deeply which forces his chest into her soft breasts. His pelvis presses on hers. Jenae tenses up with a nervous simper and slinks away from Eugene’s, overly friendly, embrace. Chase fumes at the spectacle. He balls his fingers into fists, and cuts between them like a lover interrupting his beloved’s dance with a rival. He takes hold of Eugene’s shoulder with a harsh squeeze that the guests are oblivious too. Eugene hides the pain of Chase’s grip.

“Okay, everyone, Eugene has had a long trip so he’s going to have to be going—”

“Yes, so nice to meet you all. But Chase we should tell your friends some old stories. Like remember that time you owed this guy a debt and he—“

“Hey, hey, hey you know what folks? It's been
forever
since I've seen this guy. Let me steal him for a bit. Come on DJ Tanaka it's too quiet in here. This is supposed to be a celebration. Kick some tunes. I’ll be right back," Chase says.

He gestures to Eugene to walk towards the kitchen. He blows a kiss to Jenae, holds up an index finger, and mouths,
one sec
. The two men walk inside Andrea’s kitchen; they are shadowed by Man-Man. Andrea looks pensive as she folds her arms and narrows an eye on the three men as they exit the living room.

They walk down a short hallway of exposed brick. The countertops are an immaculate black and white marble. They are cluttered with commercial quality aluminum trays from tonight’s caterers. Man-Man is so tall that he must duck under the hanging copper bottomed Ruffoni cookware that Andrea has hung above the center island. On the opposite side of the entrance to the kitchen is a tall pantry with an opaque burlap curtain; it completely obscures what is inside the cupboard. Chase looks over his shoulder to make sure no one has followed them in. With the music loud enough to muffle his voice, Chase wrests Eugene by his collar, and impales him against the wall next to the pantry.

“Who the hell do you think you are coming in here like this?” Chase yells.

Man-Man jumps to Eugene’s aid and slams his gargantuan palms on Chase’s shoulders to rip him away.

“No, no, wait Man-Man,” Eugene says with some difficulty.

Chase continues to wring his collar like a wet towel.

“Chase is just feeling a certain kind of way. And he’s going to let go in the next five seconds or else we may have to give his guests a more
honest
introduction as to who we are. Chase has five…four…three…two…” Chase’s rage is tempered by his intellect; he releases his grip.

“Now, that’s a good boy,” Eugene says.

“I asked you a question Eugene,” Chase yells.

“Tsk, tsk, playboy," Eugene says wagging his finger. "You don't want your bourgeois hippie friends to wonder why you gettin' so mad now do you?"

"You have no right coming here. How did you even know about this?” Chase says, quieting his tone.

“It’s the twenty-first century. People love sharing their lives on social media for anyone to see. They’ll even give you directions to somebody
else’s
house. Ain’t that some shit? Kids these days,” Eugene mocks a sigh.

“Get out Eugene.”

“Let me explain something to you bruh,” Eugene says.

He tugs and twists the middle button of Chase’s shirt and digs it into his sternum like a dagger.

“Don’t play with me. Don’t let this thousand dollar suit I’m wearing fool you. Don’t ever think that I make empty threats. Don’t mistake my patience for weakness. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. That’s your word for the day,
don’t
. Don’t, is the only thing you need to remember if you think about doing anything
other
than what we agreed to.”

“I didn’t agree to do anything.”

“Yes, you did. What choice do you have?” He releases Chase’s shirt. “Or maybe you want me to tell that sweet redbone lawyer of yours all about your
real
life in Georgia. Damn, she gives good hugs.” Chase’s face contorts as he raises his—“Eh,eh, eh. Don’t get all macho. Stay focused. Maybe I should tell her the facts starting with how your ass ain’t never even
been
to Boston, let alone do you come from there. How about that playboy?”

Chase is silent. The pits of his arms, slime with sweat. His respiration accelerates like a heavy foot on the gas. His heart beats like a rabbit’s thumpity thumps. Chase searches for scenarios where he can wriggle from under a rock…a rock in danger of becoming a boulder.

“Relax, playboy, relax. I see that mind of yours racing,” Eugene says.

Eugene pops two light smacks on Chase’s right cheekbone. Chase slaps his hand away.

“I see it going vroom, vroom looking for a way out. But don’t hurt yourself. Or get hurt doing it. I’ll do all your thinking for you. Here’s the deal.”

He gives a quick nod to Man-Man who pulls out a scrap of paper. He presents it to Chase. Chase folds his arms refusing to look at it.

“Oh stop being an emotional little bitch and read the goddamn note,” Eugene says.

Man-Man shoves it in Chase’s face. Chase removes the paper from between Man-Man’s pudgy fingers. The note is handwritten with a woman’s name, phone number and the address of the Marriott Hotel in Brooklyn. In the lower right hand corner is what appears to be a room number. Chase shrugs his shoulders at Eugene.

“Okay. And?” Chase says.

“And? And that's your first client, doofus.”

"My first what?"

“Dude, do we seriously have to go through this shit again?”

"Look," Chase says.

“Look nothing, goddamnit. I'm tired of this back and forth with you. Read it.”

“I just did fool.”

“
Out loud
. I want to hear you say it. Just so we’re crystal clear. You seem to be confused about the difference between a request and a command,” Eugene’s voice rises.

“I just proposed to the woman I love. I’m not about to—“

“Fine, that’s cool. I’ll just have a nice little pre-wedding chat with your lawyer bitch. Jenae is her name right?”

Eugene starts to walk out of the kitchen.

Chase wrings his hands and huffs.

“Wait. Wait…just wait a second let’s uh—“

“Uh, nothing. Read the note.”

Chaotic emotions grip Chase. Fear, flight and fight all compete for dominance in his mind. Fear wins. He reads the note:

"Vicky. +370-5-210-2222, Marriott Hotel, Adams Street, Brooklyn. Room 1203. Okay and why is this an international number? Plus 370 is a country code.”

"Very good Chase. You were always Mr. Observant. She’s some foreign chick. In town for a week from one of them Russian European countries.”

“How do you know her? What’s her backgr—“

Eugene waves his hand like Chase is a gnat.

“That
don’t
matter. Remember the
don’t
word? Your word for the day? She’s paying cash money. That’s all your punk ass needs to know. Get it done next Friday. She said that's when she'll be the most ripe.”

“The most ripe?”

“Come on man. You're not seventeen anymore like when you lived down south.”

Chase is still bewildered.

“You know ready…uh…what’s the damn word Man-Man?” Eugene says snapping his fingers wildly.

“Ovulating,” Man-Man says.

“Yeah, that’s it.
Ovulating,
dummy. Unless you wanna have to keep dipping and spitting in her well over and over? She paying for the baby, not the baby
maker
.”

Chase is silent. He puts his hand on the counter top and the other on his forehead.

“This isn’t happening,” he says.

“Oh, it’s happening. Look I don't care how or where you do it. Just make sure you get it done. She’ll hand you an envelope. That’s the cash. So don’t get stupid and forget to get the money just ‘cause you want some foreign tail.”

“I don’t
want
any of this Eugene!”

“Look, think of this as my birthday gift to you. Sex with no strings, no responsibility. You don’t have to lie and say I love you, I miss you blah, blah, blah crap. And on top of that, it’s
you
that gets paid. Sounds like heaven.”

“So then why don’t you do it?”

“We went through this. Number one, I don’t have a debt to repay. You do. Number two, she wants a smart, handsome, athletic, caring and all that other bullshit perfect guy kind of dude. That obviously ain’t me.”

Chase breathes heavy and looks away. He bends at the knees and squeezes his head like a vise.

“Chase…Chase,” Eugene says.

“I can hear you…how…how much am I supposed to get from her?”

“How much isn't your concern now is it? You know your debt ain’t really about the money. You know what it is you owe."

“Yeah, I know. But this is it right? Just this one woman.”

“You just remember
why
you owe and more importantly
who
you owe it to. You know he doesn’t play around. He doesn’t
suggest
, or request. He simply demands. So you can either deal with warm and cuddly Eugene…or you can deal with
him
. You know how that worked out for others that didn’t take him seriously. Now, if there are no other dumb questions?…No?…Good. I’ll be in touch after you do her.”

“Seriously?
Do
her?”

“Think of this as your bachelor party or like Vegas. Whatever happens in Vegas…eh, you know the rest. Let’s go Man-Man.”

Chase takes a deep swallow of the knot that has grown in his throat. Eugene and Man-Man bop out of the kitchen. Just as Eugene is about to exit the hall back into the living room, he pops back in.

“Oh I almost forgot. One more thing. Happy Birthday.” Eugene grins and exits.

Chase is alone. A sense of desperation and contempt invade his soul. But there is no time to brood. He can’t raise suspicions with a depressed face. He takes a deep breath. He turns the handle on the steel spigot in the sink and cups the cool flow of New York tap into his right palm. He cradles it into his mouth. He swishes and spits, swishes and spits, and does so a third time hoping to wash the taste of a bitter conversation from his jowls. He cradles his palms underneath the running faucet and splashes his face three times, his arms and hands thrice. The cool water cascades down his feverish skin. Three sniffs into his nostrils and a wet wipe of his bald head calms him. He grabs a kitchen towel and pats the fluffy textile against his cheeks and brow. Surveying his clothes, he tucks in his shirt tails, and smooths his collar. With all buttons latched and accounted for, he strolls back into the living room. Music seeps into his ears. Guests approach him. Game face on. Showtime.

"Hey buddy," Dr. Scobee says. "We were starting to worry about you."

"Worry? Huh? Why? What do you mean worry? Why would you worry?” Chase says fidgeting.

"Relax babe, he was just wondering why you were still in the kitchen. Your friends just walked out,” Jenae says.

She smoothes her hand on his chest.

"The Eugene guy said they had to get back to their hotel.”

Chase grunts.

"Here hubby to be, I know you’re not really a drinker, but it's our night so your fiancée insists."

Jenae lifts a glass of wine to Chase's lips and places her other hand under his chin. She tilts the fruity, sweet, slightly acidic liqueur into his mouth like a mother feeding her babe. Chase grabs her palm and gulps it all in.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down Mister. I like my men sober.”

The party returns to its fever pitch as Tanaka switches to dancehall reggae. Two celebrations in one space, on an autumn night, in Brooklyn. Chase sips more wine. It takes the edge off. Jenae grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the makeshift dance floor. Her adoring gaze and girlish smile brings out a smile in him. But it’s time to
get down
. Her apple bottom shimmies below his navel. Her Jamaican style dance of the,
Dutty Wine,
slow grinds her rump on his loin. His anxiety dissipates. He wraps her in his arms from behind and corkscrews
along with her. Everyone eats, drinks and is merry. Almost everyone that is.

In the living room is a seven foot high bamboo room divider that abuts the wall. It is the same wall that separates the living room from the kitchen. Andrea uses this bamboo divider as a decorative screen. But it serves another purpose. It hides a two foot wide by four foot high crevice that was left from an aborted apartment renovation, two years ago. It is just enough space for someone to sneak through. The divider makes it seem as though there is no hole whatsoever in the wall. Crouching through the crevice leads into the rear of the burlap covered pantry Chase and Eugene argued with each other next to. Thus, it is secret way to get into the kitchen from the living room—which even Chase is unaware of. And it is Andrea who slinks from behind the bamboo screen and slips back into the living room undetected; everyone is busy dancing or chatting. Andrea surveys the room. She appears satisfied that her return from the kitchen, through this secret entrance, has gone unnoticed. She grabs a wine glass and leans on the wall. As she sips the Sauvignon, she stares at Chase; he and Jenae continue to dirty dance. She watches his long fingers dig into her hips from behind. His succulent lips locking on Jenae’s smooth neck. Her eyes appear to envy how he sucks on Jenae like Count Dracula. Jenae’s mouth lifts and opens to the ceiling as Chase’s left hand slides up the front of her clingy dress. He polishes her engorged bosom with a steel palm and braces his other hand on her hip; he plows into her backside in sync with the bass. They curl and tangle in the sensual rhythms of Jamaican dancehall dub. Andrea is fixated on their stage show. Her fury burns into the image of the licking lovers like a tossed cigarette in a dry forest. A cigarette that smolders on a pile of dried leaves called…rejection.