The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (13 page)

ANDREA

Hey. Did you get my txt? Confirm.

He looks at the screen. His eyes water. His bottom lip quivers. He thumbs a one letter reply:

CHASE

K

Chase flips his phone over on the counter, folds his arms on the table, and buries his head. The tears sting his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them.



A sudden rush of wind blows into his gut; he hunkers in his camel wool overcoat by the outside entrance. The blast of chilly air ruffles the decaying, dwindling leaves above. Those leaves, and his thoughts, ripple and twist in the gusts. Chase’s mind is cluttered with a past he cannot change, a present he cannot control, and a future in doubt. He shivers outside of Andrea’s dwelling. Fear won’t allow him to move forward, nor can he shift in reverse. So he cowers petrified, hunched over, and wincing in the wind.

The glass lobby door bursts open from behind him.

“Here you are. Chase, Chase what the hell are you doing just standing out here?” A pink-cheeked Andrea, luscious red hair flying from her scalp like a windsail, blares like a siren into his ear. She whirls him around by the shoulder.

“You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago. I’ve been calling and calling. It’s almost seven o’clock."

“Stop yelling at me. I'm right here," Chase says.

"Get in here," she says pulling him inside the building lobby.

A mini windstorm blasts her face as Chase shuffles inside. Andrea has to push to shut the door against the arctic blast.

The building’s antique lobby is lit in a soft yellow, similar to the warm lantern light that would have been present in the early 1910’s. Chase has ignited Andrea's fury with his lallygagging on the sidewalk for almost an hour. She tugs on the sleeve of his coat as if she were twisting a naughty boy's ear.

"Let's go. Now,” she commands.

They hurry through the foyer with its scarlet walls and canary trim. She hustles across the polished floor tiles and pulls Chase into the vintage elevator, once used to transport freight. It is one of the relic’s of this former sewing factory. Andrea grabs the iron handle of the lift gate and brings it down with a clang. She presses the black button with the number three stamped on it. Metal cogs and wheels clank and ratchet as the carriage jolts in its ascent. Andrea whacks Chase on his back shoulder.

“Hey, is this some kind of game to you?" she says.

"No, of course not," Chase says without turning to face her.

"Stop mumbling.”

"I said no. And I'm not some child, so dial it back lady.”

They lumber past the second floor.

"What the hell were you doing just…just standing outside? What part of 6:00 pm was optional? What part did you not understand? It's almost seven now. She should be here any minute. She could have shown up while you were standing outside looking stupid.“

“Alright, I get it Andrea,” Chase says with an air swipe.

“I don’t think you do. Or maybe this isn’t that big of a deal after all. Why don’t you just tell me what Eugene has on you that’s so bad?”

"For what? It won’t change anything and it’s none of your business anyway.”

“Ha. None of my business? So says the man about to meet a strange woman in
my
loft"

“Which was
your
idea. Ugh. Why is this damn elevator taking forever?" he says.

Chase rapid fires his thumb into the button.

"That's not going to make it go up any faster. You of all people should know about this building."

"Don't remind me."

"Oh really? That's your attitude? You better clean it up quick before she gets here or else you'll be doing this again."

"I don't know why I had to be here so early anyway. I just want to get it over with as quickly as possible.”

"And that's precisely why your cave man ass needed to be here earlier. That kind of an attitude is not very appealing to women," she says.

The lift crawls to a halt with a hard
CLANK
. Chase opens the gate and they both step into a tight, brick lined hallway with an oak planked floor. They continue five paces and reach a thirteen foot high, rusted steel door. Andrea punches in a six digit code on the security panel. Two beeps and then a
CLICK
. The door unlocks and they enter her apartment.

Andrea’s loft is a familiar one to Chase, and not just because his birthday party was recently held here. The clean, airy living room still bears his decorative influence from their three year relationship. Chase's love of various shades of browns and reds shows itself in the dark mahogany sofa and canvas scarlet chairs. The warmth of the colors, and the comforting shapes, contrast with Andrea’s icy mood.

"Okay so here's the deal,” she says as she takes his overcoat and puts it on the coat rack. “We don't have much time so we’ll just have to do a crash course. Now when she rings the bell just buzz her in. Don't use the intercom. Don't let her hear your voice yet.”

“Why? What's the big—“

"Shush," Andrea says pursing her lips. “After you buzz her, leave this door wide open and stand ummm…there…no wait…here, here over here.”

She grabs Chase by his waist and positions him in the center of the room.

“Oh and take these." Andrea pops open a bottle of Pinot Noir and pours two glasses. “This is the top rated wine for a romantic evening. Cherry and black currant undertones with a hint of spice. Yummy and sexy,” she says.

“Andrea you know I don’t really drink," Chase says.

"It's not about
you
. It's about setting the mood. It's about making a woman feel like you care about her."

"This isn't a real date Andrea. This is business. Business I don't even want to do."

"Where's the Chase I used to know? The romantic guy getting on one knee to some other chick in his ex-girlfriend's house?”

“Come on Andrea? I apologized for that and you said you were okay about—“

“I’m fine Chase. Let’s finish this. Now when she comes in and sees you standing there with these drinks you say to her:
Hi Vicky, I'm Chase
. Nice and simple, see?”

"What do you mean when she comes in? Aren't you going to do the introductions?"

"Huh? Dude are you for real? She won't even know I'm here."

"What do you mean? You said you would be a witness. Just in case there’s a problem.“

"Don't worry Chase. I will be. I’ll be in the kitchen. In the pantry.”

“The pantry? A witness in a kitchen pantry?”

“I’ll be mostly behind the bamboo divider. Close enough to keep tabs if anything gets out of hand okay?”

Chase sighs. “Fine. This whole thing is just so…so…ugh.“

“Chase. The keyword here is relax. That’s your word for the day okay? Relax.”

“I’ve had it up to here with people giving me words for the day like I’m on Sesame Street”.

Andrea ignores his comment and walks about the living room like a motivational speaker. “Look Chase. Women are more in tune with emotion than men. We pick up on energy. So if you’re relaxed, she’ll be relaxed. But if you’re tense then she’ll be tense. Look, if you need to, just pour a little more joy juice in your glasses and go bottoms up. Now follow me.”

Andrea leads Chase into the bedroom. Her sleep space is almost as large as the living room. Walls of exposed brick are dotted with a dozen black and white photographs in silver frames. All are nude silhouettes of lovers holding, kissing or in the throws of passion.

"Wow. This is different from the art you used to have on the wall," he says.

“Well, you haven't been back here in a while now have you?" she quips.

Chase clears his throat. Andrea's little remarks have not escaped his attention. She has always been lukewarm towards him since their breakup a little over three years ago, but her passive-aggressive comments increased when Jenae came into the picture. Chase reaches for the dimmer on the wall.

“Don’t mess with the switch,” Andrea snaps. “Keep the lighting subtle like I have it. Oh and I put two bowls of fresh, juicy, organic peaches, plums, and grapes on the dresser for you. Just in case you want to get…
creative
. If you still use fruit like you used to. I wouldn’t know of course,” she says.

"Okay, I get it. Even though she's the one wanting this arrangement, she’s the one paying for it, I’m the one that still has to get her in the mood.”

Chase shakes his head and sucks his teeth. Andrea’s eyes bulge.

“Come on Chase. A lot of guys would look at this as hitting the sex lottery you know.”

“Yeah well, I’m not
a lot of guys
okay?”

Andrea reaches inside the fruit bowl pops a handful of plump red grapes in her mouth. As she chomps she gives a snarky reply.

“Hmph. You're not quite as
unique
as you’d like to think."

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Chase jumps.

"Geez is that her?”

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

“My God! The way she keeps ringing that buzzer sounds like you’ve got a real eager beaver on your hands there, sweet cheeks," she says. Andrea smacks his tush and click-clacks out of the bedroom. Chase flinches.

"Come along Chase. Showtime,” she yells from the living room.

I can't believe this is about to happen.
He places both hands on his head.
Jenae, the university, my friends, Devantay. Shit, and what if Eugene tells them all about the girl from Geor—?
“

“Chase. Stop daydreaming and come on,” Andrea says as she retrieves him.

They scoot into the living room. Andrea scans Chase from head to toe and huffs.

“Stop looking like a cheesy romance novel book cover. One button undone is enough," she says as she refastens two of the middle buttons on his striped oxford shirt.

"I wasn't trying to look like a—never mind. It's not important."

“Okay, I already buzzed her in while you were daydreaming back there," she says.

"You buzzed her in? But I thought she wasn't going to know you were here," he says.

"She won't silly. All I did was let her in the building. She's on her way up," Andrea says.

"Hey wait. What do you think you’re doing?” he says.

She unbuckles his his belt and unzips his pants.

"I'm just tucking your shirt in sloppy Sam," she says.

Chase swats her hands away.

"I can handle that thank you," he says.

"Suit yourself. If things go right, they won't be on for long anyway," she says.

”See, this is what I'm saying. You're taking this way too lightly. You have no idea what this is all about.”

"Why don't you tell me then,” she sneers.

“Look Andrea, I can't tell anyone what this is all about.”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Shit,” they both blurt.

Chase fumbles with his shirt tails and zips up his jeans. The zipper gets stuck halfway. He tugs at it furiously.

"Chase stop pulling. Just be still," she says.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

"Yell to the door that you'll be right there," Andrea whispers.

“Uhhh. Coming. One sec uhhh Miss,” he says.

“Miss?” Andrea says. Chase shrugs.

Andrea drops to her knees and starts jerking in and out on the zipper.

“This is not an explainable picture right now,” he says looking down.

“Hush. Focus,” she says.

Andrea pops the shirt free.

"Okay good. Now tuck yourself in. Let me see the rest of you. Turn around. Mmmhmm. Ooooh okay…Alright now Miss Honey. Owww,” she says snapping her fingers.

“Enough with the jokes, Andrea,” Chase gruffs.

“You’re as ready as you'll ever be I guess. Time for me to hide. Just relax. And for crying out loud…put on a smile Chase. Sheesh.”

Andrea throws up a peace sign and slinks behind the bamboo partition that hides the crack to the pantry.

Chase takes a breath. His hard bottomed Cole Haan casuals echo as he approaches the door. He reaches for the curved iron handle and clutches it. He pauses…inhales…musters a smile…and opens the door.

Vicky is a tall, pale, raven haired woman dressed in black. Chase has to tilt his eyes to meet her gaze like a child peeking over the candy counter. But more noteworthy than her height is her eyes. Vicky’s pupils are pitch black and lack any sparkle. They look as though someone spooned a glob of black molasses into a pool of white milk. Twice.

"Chase?" she says.

“Oh Yes. Yes sorry. I am Chase," he says with the smoothness of an army private.

"
I am Chase
," Vicky mocks him with the robotic movement of a wooden soldier.

“Such a stiffy stiff. Well…are we just supposed to get it on at the door?" she says with a European accent Chase cannot place.

"Oh, no of course not. I’m sorry, please come in," he says.

Her pace is slow and deliberate. She scans the walls. Her facial expressions suggest that she is making mental notes of the artwork. Her long, straight, black hair reflects the track lights above; it tapers to a V in the middle of her back. Although her face shows the wrinkles of a woman nearing age forty, she hasn’t a single strand of grey. Her close-fitting black skirt is a smooth velour that hugs her svelte frame. Stilt like, four inch stilettos tip tap on the floor as she runs her fingers along the gravel of the brick masonry.

"What if there was something dangerous in here?” Vicky says.

Chase wrinkles his eyebrows.

“Dangerous? You're safe here. I mean I can even leave the door open if that makes you more comfortable.”