The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (20 page)

“Jenae, I don’t know who this woman—“

“Shut up,” Jenae says pointing her finger like a pistol.

“Mira mamacita. I no care about you being his girlfriend. I his wife you understand me, sí? Tevarus say he need some time to figure things out. I gave him he time. He no call back so now I calling you."

“I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening,” Jenae says as she rakes her hair and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Wait. How did you even get my number?"

“Jenae look she—“

“Shush, I said,” waving Chase off.

Devantay sits on the edge of his seat, literally, glued to the drama.

"When he sleep I go through he phone and right down every woman number I see. And this Jenny numero keep coming up. Jenny, Jenny, Jenny so I put the two and the two together, entiende? You understand me?”

"Oh I understand you alright," Jenae says.

Chase whispers, ”But your name is Jenae not Jenny."

Jenae puts the phone on mute.

“I said shut it. She has an accent. You know she means Jenae when she says, Jenny."

Jenae takes the phone off mute.

“Look, I have known Chase for years," Jenae says.

"Chay? Who Chay? He name is Tevarus. He tell you he name Chay?"

"Okay now I'm all confused. I don't know what the hell is going on. You’re telling me that my man is already married and his name is Tevarus?"

Jenae clutches her curls and paces the room. Tears well up in her eyes. Chase is helpless. Devantay looks on as if he wishes he had a bag of hot buttered popcorn to munch.

"Jenae this is crazy. She's lying to you,” is the best that Chase can muster. Jenae places her hand over the receiver.

"She knows your height, your features, your job, you live in a brownstone, you're from Boston, how could you do this?" Jenae says through sniffles and teardrops.

"How you
not
know he married mama? My name tattoo right on he culo…Damaris. It’s right there. Don’t play estupido," the voice says through the speaker.

Chase’s face turns puzzled.

"Tattoo?" Jenae says.

Jenae knows that Chase despises tattoos. It was their first and only real argument until recently. Jenae wanted to get a tiny, scales of justice design with a graduation cap and tassels logo on her ankle two summers ago. It was to signify the joining of their career goals into one. Chase demanded that she not get them. Jenae felt that Chase was being controlling. Chase would never tell her why he had such an issue with tattoos.

"Chase doesn't have a tattoo," Jenae says.

"Mamí please. It's right on his ass okay? You never see your own boyfriend culo?"

"I told you he doesn't have a goddamn tattoo. Wait a minute you said you were here. Describe this house."

"It's not a house mama. He live in a brownstone apartment building. Seventeen floor. Apartment number 17B. B, like boy."

“First of all a brownstone isn’t an apartment building, and it sure as hell doesn’t have seventeen floors. Anyway, you said you found out what college he works in. Where?"

"Long Island University in downtown Brooklyn. He teach Math. I even meet his boss. Some old white lady."

Chase sits down next to Devantay and breathes easier.

"And you got my number from his phone you say?"

“Sí, I mean yes."

"What's the number?"

"The number? I just dialed it mama."

"I know, I know. But repeat it to me please."

"Seven One Eight...Five, Five, Five, Thirty Three, Twenty Two.”

Devantay laughs.

“Ha Ha. That ain’t Miss Jenae number. She wrong,” Devantay says.

Chase gives a relieved half-smile.

"That's not my number. It’s close, but you misdialed."

“No, no, no. His name is Tevarus and he—“

"Look I heard you already. But just to be sure let's do this. If he's your husband you should have a picture of him right?"

“Sí, claro. Of course I have a picture."

Chase fidgets in his seat.

"Okay then, text it to the number you actually dialed. Look in your call history,” Jenae says.

"Okay, un momento."

Thirty seconds pass. It is the longest half-minute of Chase’s Brooklyn life. Two quick vibrations on Jenae’s phone, alert of an incoming text. Jenae taps the screen. Her eyebrows raise and her mouth smirks. A sigh of relief replaces her fury.

"Well your Tevarus is certainly not my Chase. Same bald head but I guess I should have confirmed that we were both talking about a Black man at least."

"He Black? Oh no, no. He not him. Tevarus no Black. Ay Díos I am so sorry Jenny. So embarrassed. Sorry I scare you."

"It's okay. Well I hope you get things worked out with your husband. Goodbye."

The conversation is finally over. Jenae’s face is flushed and her eyes are pink pools. She dries the trickles on her cheekbones. Chase rushes to embrace her. Jenae buries her face in the valley of his chest.

"Babe I'm so sorry,” she says. Chase strokes her hair and kisses her forehead. “I can't believe I let some wrong number and a crazy story get me all flustered like this."

"Sweetheart it's okay. I haven't been attentive. I made you feel like you had something to worry about. Any woman would have done the same thing," he says.

“No, it's not okay. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm never the crazy, jealous, insecure chick."

"I know. That's why I'm marrying you," Chase says. He wraps his arm around her waist and smoothes his other palm on her rump and grabs a chunk.

“Oh,” she jumps.

”And you’re so sexy when you get all mad…,” he says, and kisses her. “…and all bothered…,” he kisses some more “…and all sweaty,”
Mmph Mmph Mmph
“…and nasty and—“

"Yuck. Hello, hello? Impressionable preteen on couch here," Devantay waves.

Jenae clutches the back of Chase’s scalp like a bowling ball and locks her lips onto his. Her tongue stabs inside his mouth for its thick, wet partner.

“This is gross. I'm going to make a sandwich,” Devantay says and scrambles into the kitchen.

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

"Hmmm, is that a phone in your pocket or is Mr. Happy getting happy?” Jenae says with a wry smile.

Chase returns a devilish grin.

"Answer your phone frisky man. But be quick. I’m going to hop in the shower. Oh and I’m not in a rush to come out…hint hint.”

Jenae slips from his grasp and jogs upstairs. Chase grins and breathes uneasy. He wonders how many bullets he can keep dodging without taking one in the chest. He looks at the number on the screen as it vibrates.

INCOMING CALL

PRIVATE NUMBER

"Yes," Chase answers.

“Well, hello Tevarus."

The familiar voice makes him crush the receiver.

“Eugene,” Chase says, with disgust.

“Well how are you Tevarus?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Why Papi? You no like? You no like me call you that? Huh Papi Chulo?" Eugene laughs like a demonic hyena.

Chase cradles the phone to his mouth and walks to the far corner of the living room.

"What the hell are you doing Eugene?"

“Why, what do you mean Tevarus? Oh I'm sorry it's Chase right?"

"You called Jenae? What the hell were you thinking?"

"Well technically
I
didn't call her. That was a very well compensated associate of mine. I think she deserves an academy award for that performance don’t you? And check it. She ain’t even Dominican. She’s this black chick that narrates audio books and does voiceovers and shit. Owed me a favor.”

"We have an arrangement Eugene."

“Yeah, playboy we do. But your slow rolling and fuck ups ain’t making for a happy arrangement. Why I had to get a call from a fat dike on a temper tantrum?”

“Don’t act like that was my fault. What the hell Eugene? You set me up with two women? Lesbians at that?"

“Well, you can thank your redhead snowflake for that one. She suggested lesbians. Lesbians are the low hanging fruit for this sort of thing. It’s the only thing they actually
need
a man for,” he laughs.

“Is this a joke to you Eugene? Some sick joke?”

"Oh don't get all bitter bitch on me. This ain’t no joke. You act like you don't get anything out of this deal."

"I don't. If you think sex is some sort of incentive then you do it? I
have
a woman already. And you almost blew up my spot if she didn't have a lawyer's brain. She asked the right questions to your fake Dominican.”

"Sex isn't an incentive? Really. So your chumpy don't get hard from these women huh?"

“Is that all you can think about?” Chase says looking over his shoulder.

“Stop being a prissy sissy. I was only going to let that phone call go but so far. I didn’t give her all the correct information did I? I could have told her to ask for your full government name, Tevarus Huxley, and how you’re really from Georgia and your ass ain’t never even
been
to Boston. But I didn't do that did I?"

“Lucky for me you didn’t. Jenae is smart. She’s a lawyer for crying out loud. She can find stuff out when she wants to. All she would need is a full name. She’s like a bulldog with a pink diamond collar. Still a bulldog.”

“Don’t worry about Jenae. Bam got your ass this far didn’t he? Shoo, you’re a professor and you ain’t never even graduated with a real bachelors degree. I swear that man has contacts everywhere. He got you your name. Your cushy job. So if I was you I’d stay focused or all of that, including your redbone big booty chick, goes abracadabra poof. Start keeping up your end of the bargain playboy. Or I’m going to have to keep up my end.”

“This is blackmail not a bargain. And I’m trying, okay? These women are crazy. Some European fetish chick that wants a trophy biracial kid, and then I get the lesbian surprise in need of anger management? Come on already.”

“Listen I get it. We’re not unreasonable. That call just now to Jenae was Bam’s idea. He said you needed a message. A wake-up call. A reminder of who you’re dealing with. I assume you’re woke now.”

Chase doesn’t respond.

"I'll take your silence as a yes. Now this next one here is your last chance or—“

“I know what the,
or
, is Eugene.”

“Good. Glad we have an understanding. Now this next chick is perfect. She's not crazy. And she’s
very
heterosexual. Educated, calm, cool, collected type. And she’s fine as hell. Bangin' body son. I'd smash that, up, down, sideways, back—”

"I get it, I get it. What sort of vetting did you do? That means—”

"I know what the word
vetting
means nigga. I ain’t stupid. Anyway, the best vetting you can get. She's Man-Man's cousin.”

Chase drops the phone to his side, shakes his head and slaps the heal of his palm on his forehead.

“You’re kidding right? Your goon's cousin is the next date? That's who you picked?"

“Look, I spoke with her myself. She understands the deal. She ain't looking for nothing but a smart, healthy child with good genes. And she’s paying
double
what we’ve been asking. Chick just got it like that I guess."

"You guess? You guess?" Chase says as he hears the shower turn off and Jenae’s footsteps exit the bathroom upstairs. “Look, I gotta go.”

"That's fine playboy ‘cause we done for now anyway. Instructions will be texted to your white girl. Don’t mess this one up.”

Eugene hangs up. Chase slides the phone into his back pocket and pulls the curtain on the bay window facing the street and looks out. His eyes stare into the light of the sun. But inside there is a black fog of half-truths, lies and deceptions. In the den by the kitchen is a little boy, with a big heart, watching television. And upstairs is a rare jewel with a beautiful soul. He pulls the curtain on the living room window. It keeps the light of the sun from illuminating the darkness within.



His eyes bounce from the lower Manhattan street signs above to his open and trembling flake covered palm below.
Why don’t I ever buy gloves?
He flicks the white flecks from the bright LED screen, and shuffles his calf-high caribou boots through the rising snow. The blue dot on the pedestrian map app takes him across Sixth Avenue. He looks up again at a street sign.
Leroy Street? I never even heard of that. Ugh, streets with names. Can never figure out where I am
. The beauty of navigating Manhattan is the city grid. Everyone loves the grid. Streets go from East and West and avenues North and South. Both arteries have predictable sequential numbers. But those named streets? They can confound even the most seasoned New Yorker. So he uses the app on his phone to find a West Village coffeehouse. He tightens his army green pea coat and pulls an orange and white skull cap over his brow to fight the arctic chill.
Okay, you say I'm standing right in front but I don’t see an Asha Café.
He scans and scours but all he can see are un-shoveled apartment stoops, a tattoo parlor to his rear, and a nightclub down the street advertising the
Boys with Toys,
Friday night all-male revue.

“Where the hell is this place?” he says aloud. “It says I’m standing right here.”

“Chase, come on already,” Andrea yells from behind and below. Chase turns and peers down. Andrea cowers in the wind on the top step of the staircase leading down into the Asha Café. Like many of the city’s cozy gems, the coffeehouse is nestled below the sidewalk, under the tattoo parlor. Chase follows her wild red wisps in the whistling winter wind. She flings the door open. He hesitates at the entrance to stomp the fresh powdery snow on the doormat. The sudden howl and rush of city chill, puts grimaces on the faces of the coffee drinkers by the entrance.

“Chase,” Andrea bellows.

Chase wipes his feet, brushes his sleeves and shuts the door. The café feels like an old saloon. Chase has to squeeze through the skinny alley of a walkway between the coffee bar on the left, and the wooden tables and chairs on the right. The brick walls are decorated with New York City inspired photography. The famous Tribute in Light of 9/11, hangs above a silver frame of lovers on a stroll in Central Park, and a poster print of a Harlem saxophonist’s street corner blues. Chase savors and basks in the aroma of overpriced espresso being served at the bar.

“Hey, stop getting lost in the scenery. Sit," Andrea says.

“I’m not a puppy in training Andrea,” he says.

Her scarlet eyebrows curl as if she were concentrating…or annoyed. Chase sits in the coffee table’s open chair. He removes his hat and starts to unbutton his coat.

"Don't bother, you're not going to be here long enough," she says.

A cheery barista bounces over to their table.

"Hi guys. I'm Carrie. Can I get you a—“

"Not necessary, he won't be here that long," Andrea says with a wave.

“Don’t be rude Andrea. Forget her Carrie. Yes I'd like a—“

"Chase you don't have time."

"For a cup of coffee? Seriously Andrea?” Chase says.

"Hush. No time I said."

“Ummm, I think I'll just come back later," Carrie says. She scampers behind the bar.

"Oh don't look at me like that Chase. I didn't text you to meet me here to have coffee and convo," Andrea says.

"Whether you did or didn't there is something we need to get straight. I don't like this cozy relationship with you and Eugene. I don't like how you're involved."

"Why? Are you jealous?"

"Of course not. And I don't have time for your cat and mouse thing right now either. Now listen. We—“

“Here,” Andrea interrupts. She reaches inside her oversized Coach leather bag and pulls out an eighteen inch high, cottony brown teddy bear. It is costumed in a black, spiked leather collar and faux leather undies. Stitched into its paws are a pair of tiny handcuffs. Chase fires a blank stare at Andrea.

“A kinky teddy bear?”

“It’s not for you. It’s to give to your date, Rayne. Rayne Chimes.”

“Gift? Why would why I—wait—her name is what? Rain chimes?”

“Yes, spelled R-A-Y-N-E and chimes like wind chimes. She’ll explain it.”

“Okay, whatever. And not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but giving a grown woman a stuffed animal is kind of, uh…middle school, don’t you think?”

"It's not a
gift
gift. It's more like a psuedo gift," she says.

Chase scrunches his face.

“Look very closely at the bear’s face," she says.

Chase looks. He shakes his head and shrugs.

“I said closely Chase. The eyes," she says. Chase leans in and inspects the round plastic eyelets of the teddy more closely.

"Wait, is that…is that a camera?” he asks.

"It's a nanny cam," she says. Her smug face beams with pride as she reclines, nodding her head slowly.

"A nanny cam? Why would you—oh—ohhhhh,” Chase says. ”The recordings. That’s right we’re not in your apartment this time."

“My place is a loft not an apartment. But yes, since I won't be in Rayne’s apartment to monitor things, I went to a spy shop downtown, explained what I wanted to record, and the guy gave me this. I customized it with the kinky stuff.”

“Of course you did. But how does it—“

“—work? It’s ingenious. Look, it has its own Wi-Fi right here, which I’ve already activated. It will transmit the video to an app on my phone. I can watch, record, turn off, turn on, all of it right from my phone. Oh and the spiked collar you see here? That middle spike? That middle one is a microphone.”

"Wow you thought of everything huh? You’re like
Mission Impossible
."

"Now don't mess up. I can watch on my smartphone but you have to place the bear where the
action
is okay? Don’t get all hot and heavy and go leaving it in another room. And make sure the face is facing you.”

“I know. I’m not a dummy," he says.

"I'm not saying you are. But keep your wits about you. Don't let your other brain do all the thinking like last time."

"Like last time? That wasn’t—whatever. Anything else Sherlock?"

"No. We've taken enough time already. Here, put the bear in this gift bag I brought. You know where you're going right?”

"Yeah, yeah. It's in my GPS. Looks like it’s only a couple of blocks from here.”

Andrea’s face shows no expression. Chase waits for her to speak.

“Well go already. That’s it. Scoot,” she says shooing him away.

“Drama queen,” Chase mumbles.

He rises and shoehorns his way back through the tight coffee shop and out the door. He fumbles in his pocket for his smartphone and hunkers down as he treks through the gusts and frosty flakes towards the home of Rayne Chimes….

The snow covered sidewalk curves at the three story walk-up in the middle of the block. Chase tiptoes up the slippery stoop and buzzes, 2A on the six button side panel. He bounces up and down at the knees and blows hot breaths into the cradle of his palms as he waits. Even in his thick wool coat the whistling whirls make him wince. He doesn’t have to shiver long before he hears the grainy crackle of the apartment speaker from the steel panel.

“Who is it?” a voice says.

“Hi. Rayne?” Chase asks.

“That’s me,” she says with a spunk to her voice.

“It’s Chase.”

“Okay, make a right at the top step. First door is mine.”

The metal door unlocks with a click and a long buzz. Chase enters, stomps his feet clean of slush and snow on the hall rug, and jaunts up the stairs as directed.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Chase can hear the tip-tap of approaching footsteps rising above muffled sounds of mid-tempo Jazz. As the steps reach the door he decides to be playful and cover the peephole with his palm.

“Haha, very funny mister,” a soft voice replies.

“You don’t get to decide if I look good enough to let in,” Chase says.

“Beat you to it. I’ve already seen several pictures,” she says as she unlocks the deadbolt and unhinges the door chain. It creaks open.

“You have to step all the way in. I have the typical claustrophobic Manhattan hallway,” she says from behind the door. Chase takes three steps into the candle lit corridor; she closes the door behind him.

“Let me take your coat,” she says and hangs it on the rack behind the door.

Rayne is tall for a woman. Five foot nine, with a copper crown of hair that crests at Chase’s eye level. She parts it in the middle allowing her moist, straight tresses to curl at her cheekbones and blossom into seven spongy twists. The dark brown ends kiss the top edges of her spaghetti shoulder straps. Still, she needs to crane her neck, much like Jenae, in order to meet Chase’s gaze. And it is Jenae that she reminds him of. Her eyes are light brown pea pods with long wispy lashes just like Jenae. Her almond skin is flawless, and her lips are full, though not pouty. They glisten in the flickering light, again like Jenae. She has an average frame. Not thin, not thick. It’s a calm beauty in the sunflower and azalea speckled dress that sweeps the floor as she greets him. Chase extends his hand to shake hers. She brushes it aside and hugs him instead.

“Peace and blessings," she says, standing on her toes, arms noosed at the elbows around his broad shoulders. She squeezes for a chest-to-chest full embrace. Her warm energy shoots through him like a bullet train. It is the kind of hug most do not share with someone they just met. It has the cozy familiarity of a lover…or at least a friend with benefits. He nestles his nose just below her earlobe. The irresistible sweet scent of Egyptian Musk oil matches the gentleness of her voice. He takes a toke through his nostrils like puckered lips sucking on a blunt. The strong inhale pushes his mountainous pecs into the firm plumpness of her modest breasts; his forearms rest on her hips. Chase can feel that she has curves that are well hidden by her sun dress.

“Mmmm, you give nice hugs Chase.“

"You're not so bad yourself, Rayne.”

They linger in their embrace. She grins her eyes as her arms slink down his. She grabs his palms and leads Chase into the belly of the apartment.

The square living room sparkles with polished parquet floors and semi-gloss Serengeti paint. A dozen art gallery quality photos deck the walls. All of the subjects in the photos are candid shots of indigenous women and girls smiling, playing, dancing or hugging.

“I hope you don’t mind not having any furniture to sit on. I try to live minimalist. It’s better for my chi. Clutter is noisy. Open space is peace,” she says.

“No, these beautiful floor cushions will be just fine.”

Chase absorbs the content of the photos. Young girls kicking dusty soccer balls, two dimple faced women in lemon and lime headscarves laughing at a water well, and various snapshots of female frolic and joy from third world countries.

"These pictures are amazing. The emotion and the landscapes are awesome," he says.

“Well, I'll take that as a compliment," she beams.

"They're yours?" he asks.

“Yup.”

"So you're a photographer?"

“So they tell me.”

“I notice your subjects are all female," he says.

“Very perceptive, yes. I wanted to capture the spirit and beauty of womanhood and sisterhood. I have nothing against the male energy, most of the time [she clears her throat], but I wanted to capture women being women. I wanted to show women with their sisters, their mothers, their daughters and their friends but without the male presence.”

Chase nods in agreement. Rayne speaks in the way a songbird sings. She has a melodic tone to her voice which puts Chase at ease.

“We are the nurturers,” she says. “The universe gave us that gift. We are the ones that give birth and are the first to suckle life at our very breast. So I capture that in my work.”

“You capture well,” he says. “Listen, I have to ask. Your name? It’s so unique. Rayne Chimes is your real name or is that your superhero photo chica name?”

“Oooh photo chica? I might have to use that one. Yes, Rayne Chimes is my real name. My Dad gave me the name. He said when I was born my crying sounded like tingling music.”

“Tingling music. I like the term,” Chase says.

“Yeah me too. He said I sounded like wind chimes going
tink tink tink
. And when my Mom held me she started bawling. Her tears were like rain falling from her eyes. So, they named me Rayne and gave me the middle name Chimes. When I turned eighteen I dropped my surname so it’s just Rayne Chimes.”

“Now that’s a story.”

“Yeah, well, you would know all about stories right?”

Chase’s face contorts.

“You’re a professor of creative writing,” she says.

“Oh,” he says with a nervous laugh. “So you know something about me huh?”

“Well, I better know a hell of a lot about you considering why we’re here right?”

Her comment reminds him of the gift bag he brought in with him.

“Oh, by the way this is for you,” Chase says.

"A gift? Ooh let me see, let me see," she says clapping her hands and doing a jig. Chase hands her the gift bag. Rayne reaches in and takes out the teddy bear. She stiff-arms it in the air, eyebrows looking perplexed.