The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (5 page)

"Whoo Hoo, yeah baby, baby,” a female voice screams.

“Okay somebody give me
that
girl’s number.”

The crowd roars.

”We are so proud to bring films like these to not only the greatest city in the world…but the greatest borough in the world, Brooklyn comma New York right?” he says, flicking his index finger like a comma.

The crowd responds with the local hip-hop inspired chant of “
Broooklyn…Broooklyn.
”

Jenae slides her hand inside Chase’s cardigan and brings her lips to his ear.

“After this it’s just a basic meet and greet, networking stuff,” she whispers. “Follow me, I have a surprise for you.”

Jenae grabs Chase by the hand. He thinks they’re about to leave the bar. Instead she leads him towards the back. They squeeze through hipsters, artists, aspiring actors and film lovers and stop at a velvet roped passageway that leads down a dark spiraling staircase. Jenae hands the heavyset bouncer two hologram stamped passes. He unhooks the rope and they tip-toe down the serpentine, red and black planks.

The base of the stairs reveals a discreet restaurant lounge. Instead of tables there are seven rectangular pods. Each of these semi-private coves is separated from the other by waist-high, bamboo panels. All are occupied by couples, except for one with a neon fuchsia note card stamped, RESERVED. Chase and Jenae are soon greeted by a tall, gaunt man with a thin mustache. His oil slick hair has a precisioned, fresh part down the middle. It’s as if Moses himself split his scalp into identical, surfboard ready waves of black follicles. He gestures to the loving couple to follow him to the reserved alcove. Jenae steadies herself on Chase's shoulder as they descend into a knee high wooden, parquet pit. Their legs slide in comfortably under a bamboo table; they sit on embroidered silk cushions imported from Afghanistan. The waiter leaves a leather wrapped menu next to the row of flickering tea candles on the table.

"I'll give you two a few minutes,” he says.

Chase scans the lounge. He inhales the savory smells of slow grilled seasoned meats and pressure cooked saffron rice. He absorbs the dark amber light of the recessed lighting. His eyes return to, and rest on, his beloved.

“I like this place. It’s kind of dark and mysterious but still comforting. I would never have thought this was downstairs,” Chase says.

"You're smiling,” she replies.

”You make me smile,” he says in his smooth baritone. He blankets her tender wrists in his large oven mitt hands.

“You have to make a reservation months in advance. But I got the hook up,“ she says.

“Oh you got the hook up huh?”

“Of course. You didn’t know I got it like that? I’m not just some pretty girl lawyer you know. I gots skills.”

Chase snickers.

“Well, you
gots
all that and much more sweetheart,” Chase says. He lifts her hand to his mouth and caresses the back of her palm with the softness of his lips.

After a few moments the server returns.

"Can I get you two started with drinks? Or, if you already know what you would like I can put that in now?”

They peruse the menu arm-in-arm. They decide to order a glass of Chateau de Oupia Rosé for her, an Arnold Palmer style iced tea for him, an appetizer of hummus drizzled in Canaan Fair Trade brand olive oil and the two house specials: Grilled lamb, saffron rice and sautéed autumn vegetables. The server nods, takes the menu and exits.

The chill sound of a fusion jazz mix streams from the speakers above. Chase and Jenae groove to the music with subtle head bops. His index finger does figure eights on the underside of her wrist. She purrs.

"So what did you think of my friend Kit’s film?" she asks.

Chase gives a slight pause. The server returns and places their drinks on the table.

"Think? Wow. More like
felt
. It was so powerful. It reminded me of Devantay,” he says, lifting his glass tumbler of iced tea and lemonade to his lips.

“How so?” Jenae asks.

"Reminded me of Devantay and my father.”

Jenae lifts her left eyebrow. She has tried on several occasions over the years to get Chase to discuss his father. But Chase has always been elusive. Whenever she asks about him, Chase either remains silent and waits for her to tire of questioning him, or he conveniently changes the subject.

“In what way?” she asks.

His eyes trail off towards the kitchen.

“Eh, nothing. Anyway, it was a very good film.”

"Honey," Jenae says, rubbing his fingers.

“Come on tell me. In what way did the film remind you of Devantay and your father?”

Chase licks his lips and fidgets. Jenae gives two quick squeezes to his palms and tilts her head into his line of sight. Chase pokes her nose and with a reluctant smile he begins…

"When I agreed to participate in the group home mentor program I was really just trying to pad my credentials. I mean, I have the academic background. I’ve published over a dozen articles. I wrote three creative writing manuals which
you
edited for me. But Dean Ganges said I was light on community work. That would make a recommendation for future opportunities a slam dunk. So she
suggested
I get some volunteer work in.”

Jenae nods with a grin. “Sounds like Octavia,” she says.

The slender waiter interrupts and sets their hummus appetizers on the table.

“I took the liberty of warming the pita for you as well,” he announces.

Jenae gives a forced smile and takes a sip of wine. The server returns to the kitchen.

“Need to put a bell on that one,” she mumbles. “Continue.”

"Well, it was just supposed to be a volunteer thing. Put in a couple of weekends, play a little ball and call it a day. But when I met Devantay, and started to spend more time with him, he kind of grew on me. And a few weeks ago he really opened up after shooting hoops; we had this incredible conversation. So the film reminded me of that conversation with Devantay, and of my own childhood. I don't know...I guess I just had a moment.”

“So Devantay’s life, the film and yours were all similar? I mean you’ve never really talked about your childhood…your life before moving to New York,” she says.

He gulps.

“I know. But no, not exactly the same. The whole living in the projects, drugs and violence thing? No. That was more Devantay's reality. That boy has been through it. But it was the lack of adult attention, and the absence of concern for children that I related to the most from the film. That part was my childhood.”

"But the film also reminded you of something that you and Devantay talked about?”

“Yes. When we rode up to Times Square after basketball…you know, when I called you and you wanted us to shower first?” Chase says with a laugh.

“Mmmhmm. Mr. Funk and his little brother. Keep going.”

“He was so wide-eyed and full of…full of…wonder. It reminded me of growing up and how I had this awe of New York City.”

"I didn't think people from Boston had an
awe
of New York,” Jenae says. "Always seems like the two cities are rivals."

“Um. Well. Yeah well, I guess I was a little different,” he says with a pause, averting his eyes down and to the left. Chase catches himself doing so and snaps his gaze back to Jenae. He recalls a comment she made two years ago when she was discussing a legal case. It’s a comment that has always stayed with him. Jenae said:
Yeah, when people are lying they tend to make certain tell-tale eye movements. I pay attention to how they look away…usually down and to their left.

”Anyway, he reminded me of myself,” Chase says. “Head in the clouds, mouth open, eyes popping at the skyscrapers. You know it’s funny. We met this couple from Germany when we were sitting on the red steps in Times Square, and they assumed I was his father. He didn’t seem to have a problem with that though.”

“Sounds like you didn’t either. You know babe, you never talk about your Dad.”

“So she keeps reminding me,” he says aloud.

“Which I shouldn’t have to do, Mr. Secretive,” she says.

“Okay, okay. Well for one he was never
Dad
. Just, Pa. But he was always so stern and standoffish. I felt like I should always call him, Mr. Archibald. That's what my mother always called him. Not honey or even James. Just, Mr. Archibald.”

Jenae's face turns quizzical.

"Hmm, that's kind of different,” she says.

"Yeah I know, calling your husband by his last name right?” Chase says.

“Well, not only that. You grew up in Boston but you just referred to your Dad as Pa, and your mother used to call him Mr. Archibald. When I did my Masters thesis on
Family and Culture in the American South,
I found what you just described as something people from the South do. But you grew up in Boston. Odd.”

Chase fumbles with a limp wedge of pita bread and hummus. He shoves it into his mouth and talks with a full mouth.

“Well, his side was originally from the South so it's probably a leftover family thing.”

“Yeah, I suppose. I wish they were still alive.”

“Yeah, well you know I don’t like to talk about their car accident,” he says.

Jenae takes a sip of the rosé.

“So, tell me more about this,
bonding moment
, of yours.”

"Well, it was like experiencing the city for the first time, but through the eyes of a child if that makes any sense.”

The server and a helper return with their entrees. Chase continues as their meals are set before them.

"He kept asking all sorts of questions about the area, the lights, the billboards, the history of it all. But this is what really hit me.”

Jenae eats a tiny morsel of grilled lamb and rice as he talks.

“So, we had this great day right? Basketball, junk food, train ride, the usual weirdos, guys b-boying in the subway station…”

“Mmmhmm," Jenae nods.

"So on the train ride back he wanted to know how you and I met and get this...whether or not I was in love with you."

“Oh really?…Hmmm, so what didst thou sayeth?"

She bites down on a stalk of asparagus with a pronounced
CRUNCH
.

Chase gets the obvious hint.

“Well, I saideth. Or is it sayith? You know, I don't even know the grammatically correct—

“Boy just answer the question!”

“Okay, okay. I said that I was in unbending, uncrushable, irreplaceable, rock solid love with you boo boo.” He plants a kiss on her lips while her mouth is still full of food and won’t let go.

“Mmph, Mmph, Mmph. Stop you crazy man…you're gonna make me choke,” she says between coughs and giggles.

"Sometimes you like when I make you choke,” he says, squeezing her exposed knee. She smacks it away.

“Finish the story frisky Freddy.”

Chase slides a forkful of rice between his cheeks and continues.

“So, here’s the interesting part. He said,
You love her?
I nodded yes. Then he said,
Oh, so that means you're going to hurt her
." Jenae holds her fork mid-air and stares at Chase.

“Yeah babe, I had that look too,” he says.

“So, what did you say after that?"

"I said,
of course I’m not going to hurt Jenae. Why would you say something like that?
And then without hesitation he said quite matter-of-factly,
Because when you love somebody they hurt you. And then they leave
."

“Wow, so what did you say to that?"

"I mean what
could
I say? Obviously he's coming from a different place. A place where all his life that's what anyone who ever claimed to love him, did to him. They just did him dirty and bounced out of his life."

"But to be so young and so jaded. That's so sad,” she says.

"I know. I told him that when you truly love someone, you may make a mistake, but you never set out to
intentionally
hurt them. And if you do hurt them, then you make it right. But hey, I'm
talking
how it should be and he’s
living
the reality of his world. His experience is going to win that battle.”

After thirty minutes the lanky waiter, along with a stubby bus boy, return to the table. Chase and Jenae have finished their entrees. The assistant clears the table as the server takes their dessert orders and returns to the kitchen.

Chase takes Jenae’s hand and spiderwebs his fingers between hers. He squeezes twice, drawing her attention to his gaze.

“You make me happy,” he says.

This clear and simple statement makes Jenae's eyes pinch, and her cheeks dimple.

“Well, that came out of nowhere. But I like it. You make me happy too,” she coos.

"Come here,” he says.

His voice is like a warrior’s whisper issuing a command. It is accompanied by a gentle stroke of her cheek, and a firm tug on the small of her back. She sighs through parted lips. He puckers his mouth onto hers, opens and mops her palates with his moist tongue. She breathes heavy through her nostrils and digs her nails into his hunky arms.

“Ahem,” says the server.

Their lips pull from each other like string cheese. She snuggles her forehead into his neck as two ceramic bowls, with dazzling, decadent mounds of a fruity and spicy gelato, are placed before them. The waiter parks the dinner check next to the spoons. Jenae sinks her left cheek into the rise and fall of Chase's chest. Her cottony curls, dipped in Shea Butter and Moroccan Argan oil, tickle his top lip. The scent swims through the tunnels of his nose, arousing his senses. It is similar to how her sharp intellect, and her Brooklyn spunk, has always aroused his mind.

The Waters of March
by Lucina Sousa drifts with a smooth bossa nova from the sound system. Chase pinches the handle of a silver spoon and scoops the slow melting gelato into a curved peak.

“Open," he commands.

She cracks her mouth halfway.

“More,” he demands.

She smiles and opens wider.

“I said more.”

“Babe, I can’t op—“

He pries her jaws open to their fullest with his thumb and index finger.