The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (11 page)



KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Hello? You in here? Hello?” a female voice says.

The 1920’s oakwood door with the pockmarked glass pane squeaks open. The pitter patter of hard bottomed soles, and text message alerts, leech from the bustling hallway like spilled buttermilk. A french manicured, sandy white hand pushes the door open. Hot sunlight frames the coral twirls of hair around her high cheekbones. Her bright green eyes peek through the crack of the door.

“Hello? Knock, knock,” she says rapping her hand on the glass.

"Huh? What? Oh, Andrea,” Chase says straightening up in his chair.

“You need some coffee sleepy head?”

“Huh? No, no…I was just grading midterms.”

“Yeah right. I was knocking for a minute. You were daydreaming. Why is it so hot in here?”

“Project heat. That’s why the window is cracked.”

“So why were you off in Neverland? Something on your mind?”

“I’m fine Andrea. What brings you on this side of campus anyway? Not used to seeing you psychology department folks in the english department."

"I had a craving," she says.

She flitters across on the artisan rug from Bahia. It takes up most of the floor of Chase's cramped office. She pauses her three and a half inch heels in front of the antique bookcase, and pulls a hardcover from an overstuffed shelf.

"A craving?" Chase says.

"Yes," she replies.

Chase shifts in his chair.

Andrea chuckles as she thumbs through Michelle Alexander's
The New Jim Crow
.

"You find that book funny?" Chase asks.

Andrea cuts her neck towards the still seated Chase.

"Of course not silly. I have this on my nightstand. I was laughing at
you
. I think you're afraid to ask what I was craving."

“Andrea, I don't have time for your—“

"Macaroons," she says.

"Macaroons?"

"Yes. I was craving those macaroons from that shop you used to take me to around here. Le Petit something or another."

"Oh my God yes, yes. Le Petit León. Wow…that was—“

"Yeah...that
was
. Was, was, was,” she says. Her voice trails off as she tickles her fingers across the spines of the books as if she were strumming a harp.

"So did you find it?” Chase asks.

"Find it? Oh, the pastry shop? Yes and no. It’s been turned into one of those yogurt, crepe, wheatgrass places or something. I don't know."

Andrea sandwiches the book back in its place and sits on the edge of Chase's desk. The hem of her skirt suit rises above the mid-point of her thigh. She crosses her leg to reveal the satiny, ruffled edge of her black stockings. Chase notices but refuses to give Andrea the satisfaction of a reaction.

"I bet you thought I was going to say…
you…
when I said I had a craving huh?"

“Really? Andrea listen.”

Chase leans forward to rise from his chair. Andrea puts her hand on his shoulder keeping him seated.

“Relax, Chase. Proposing to Jenae in my living room last weekend made things
quite
clear to me where I stand.”

Chase gasps with bug eyes; his mouth plops.

"Oh my God, Andrea. It never even occurred to me that you would…of course…of course you would have a problem with—“

"Oh no, no, no boo boo it's fine. I mean, at least you stepped your game up this time. Her ring looked to be about…what?
Twice
the size of the one you got on your knee and gave to me?"

“Andrea, let me explain. I never thought you'd have an issue. I mean...come on. You and I were over a
long
time ago, and we decided we were much better off as friends. And we
are
friends.”

“Hmm…well it wasn’t
that
long ago but yes, we decided we were better as friends. And let me guess, that’s all Jenae thinks we ever have been isn’t it? All this time you never mentioned our history to her? What we meant to each other?”

"You and I have been just friends for the past three, four years.”

“True, about as long as you’ve been seeing Jenae, interestingly.”

“Andrea come on. Jenae is your friend too. We’ve all hung out together many, many times.”

"Mmmhmm," she says with a sneer.

Chase stands from behind the desk, grasps her elbow and locks his brown eyes on her bright olives.

“Andrea, I'm so sorry. I just thought—“

“It’s fine Chase," she says placing her palm on his cheek. "I didn't come here for one of your puppy dog apologies. I actually came here to help you."

"Help me? I don't understand."

"Well, tomorrow's your big day…or night I should say, isn’t it?"

"Huh? What are you going on about Andrea?"

"Awww come on now. Don’t be shy.”

She slithers her nail across his chest and into the second button of his shirt. Chase uses his fingers like tongs to remove it and returns to his desk in a huff; he stuffs student papers into his briefcase.

“Andrea, I don't have time for your mind games. I’m starting to sense that you didn’t come all the way from the Lincoln Center campus in midtown, just for some macaroons in Brooklyn. Listen, I'm really sorry about last weekend. I wasn't thinking about where I was when I proposed to Jenae. I should have asked if you would be cool with me doing it like that, okay?"

“Wow. Your concern is sooo touching and sincere," she says rolling her eyes.

Chase begins to plead again but Andrea closes her eyes and raises her palm.

"I'm not here for that anyway. Like I said, I'm here to help you. I heard your conversation.”

Chase shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and flips his palms in the air.

“Conversation?”

“I was in the pantry the whole time. I heard what you, that Eugene guy and big chubsy wubsy, were talking about."

Chase looks like he’s just been fossilized.

“Oh my God,” she laughs. “I should take a pic of that face right now.”

“You were…uh…pantry…you…uh….”

The more Chase fumbles the more Andrea seems to enjoy it. She folds her arms and pokes her hip, with a sarcastic grin. Chase continues with his verbal starts and stops in a feeble attempt to spin the conversation that she overheard.

"Okay, okay, just stop," she says, tossing her arms about her head. "Coming up with a good story was never your strong suit.”

“Yeah, it was more
yours
," he replies.

“Haha, cute,” she says.

She reclines into the grey fabric chair and folds her palms over her knee.

"Here's the deal. I don't know what this guy has on you. But obviously it's something so serious that you’d agree to do this. I also don't know who this other mystery dude is," she says.

"You mean Man-Man?" he says.

"Oh please. Not fat boy. I'm talking about that whole,
you know who sent me,
thing Eugene barked about."

"Oh you heard that part too? Whoa, whoa wait. How could you have been in the pantry without walking past us? I could have sworn I saw you go into the bathroom from the corner of my eye and I looked back to make sure no one followed us.”

“We’ll get to the that another time. Here’s how I'm going to help you.”

"I don't need, and I don't want, your help Andrea."

"Yes you do. And whether you want it or not, you're going to get it."

"Andrea, I will handle this. I appreciate your offer but—wait. Oh my God. I remember now. That stupid crack in the wall from the renovation you cancelled. That space leads into the back of the pantry you were going to knock down to make the kitchen bigger. You never had it patched up? But wait, why didn't I notice a gaping hole at the party then?“

“Stay focused Chase. We have a situation to manage.”

“Situation? We’re not even having this
conversation
. I don’t need your help. Look I need to head out anyway.”

“Don’t need my help? Did you even call that Vicky person?"

"Damn, you really did hear everything.”

"We've been through that already. Did you call her?"

"No, I haven't called her."

"Well, what you're going to do is call her and set up a time. 7 pm, my place."

"Your place?"

“Yes, my place."

"Why would I meet her in your home number one? And number two I’m
not
involving you.”

“Oh okay sure, because you’ve been doing such a
great
job trying to handle this on your own so far?”

This last point causes Chase to reflect.
I have been trying to do this on my own and it’s getting worse. If there’s one thing Andrea knows how to do is handle sticky situations to her advantage.…Hmmm.

“Okay, so hypothetically…how exactly would you help?”

“I don’t do hypotheticals. But what you do is you meet this Vicky at my place.”

“But why? She’s staying at the Marri—“

Andrea raises her hand.

"You meet her at my loft for three reasons. Number one, it allows us to control the environment. You don’t know this woman. It would be better to meet her in a familiar space. And number two, you meet her at my place for
your
protection. I’ll be there as a witness."

"A witness? How the hell is that supposed to work? This isn’t some threesome. I’m still trying to figure out how to not even make it a
twosome
.”

"I won't be in the room with you silly, but trust me I’ll protect you.”

Chase turns stone-faced.

“How are you going to—”

“And reason number three is so I can set up the kind of atmosphere a woman would want.”

"Atmosphere?"

"Yes, Chase. Atmosphere. What do you think you're going to do? Wham, bam, thank you ma'am?"

"Um...honestly I haven’t even thought that far.“

“See why you need me? Why do you think a woman would want some kind of
service
like this Chase? Why is she looking to get pregnant with a man she’s never met before? Aren’t there other, more, I don’t know…
clinical
ways to get pregnant when you don’t have a significant other?”

“Look, I thought the idea was crazy from jump but I don’t have a choice. I can’t explain why.”

“I know, I know. And I don’t expect you to explain why. At least not right now. But if you want this to be successful you have to think about
her
needs. You can’t look at this as just a transaction or repayment for a debt.”

Andrea’s words begin to sink in which loosens the tightness in his chest and lifts the heaviness of his breaths.

“You always seem to have this way of focusing on the solution to a problem,” he says.

Andrea skates a delicate finger down Chase’s temple. The warm glide of her velvety touch resurrects a familiar feeling. Just like a scent from long ago, you never forget the tingle of an ex-lover’s touch. Chase doesn’t flinch.

“Hmmm, someone hasn’t used the razor this week,” she whispers.

“It’s been that kind of week,” he replies.

She cups his face and smoothes her thumbs over his prominent cheek bones. The clank and clutter from the hall shrinks into a low drone as if someone turned down the volume. A drop of sweat meanders and drips onto Andrea’s milky finger. She traces the path of the salty river, with her middle finger, to the bend of his skull and gazes into his eyes. She leans forward and takes a breath; it pushes her bouncy bosom into his chest. The room has a heavy silence as she angles her mouth up towards his lips.

“Andrea don’t,“ Chase says pressing two fingers against the cleft of her chin.

“Hush,” she says pushing them aside. She plants an extended peck on the border of his cheek and his lips. Chase gently pushes her back. She twirls and curls her upper lip, and grabs her pink and plum Tory Burch handbag. She walks to the door. As she reaches for the brass knob she looks back at Chase.

“I’ll text you later with instructions on what to tell Vicky when you call her. In the meantime? Please shave, scruffy man. Oh, and the reason why I always seem so focused?”

“Yes?” Chase asks.

“I
always
have a plan. Now get some rest ex-lover,” she says. Chase isn’t sure what to make of her last point but for the first time all week he has something that has eluded him for weeks. A glimmer of hope.