The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (25 page)

Her words claw into his chest and rake his heart. He stumbles. His lips pulse like a punch from the floor. Words can’t escape. His voice box swells. It chokes any attempt to plea. He sucks air through his nostrils; the wind stings his throat like sliced flesh rubbed in salt. Yes, a phony resumé is bad. But the sexual violation of a child? That is the darkest of truths that will destroy the brightest of lies.

"You betrayed me. You betrayed this institution,” she says as tears trickle. "You were more than a member of my staff. More than my closest colleague. You were like…you were like my own…my own…”

"Son," Chase mumbles.

“And that poor girl you...you touched like that? You disgust me."

"I didn't molest anyone," Chase says.

"So you didn't penetrate a minor child as your conviction details?"

"No. I mean sort of, yes but—“

"Get out," she says.

"Octavia look let me expl—“

"Get Out. Get out. Get out. Get ouuuuuuut.”

She starts hurling the papers at Chase. She pounds her fists on the desk. Her pupils well up. Dean Ganges has never reacted in such a manner. A flood of tears gushes from the two of them. She keeps her head bowed.

“Damnit Chase just leave. Just go.”

Frank, who has been off to the side puts an arm around Dean Ganges. She shrugs him off. “I’m not a child,” she says to Frank and turns her back on Chase.

"Come on Chase. Time to go.” Frank turns the knob on the door. It flies open as Carol falls in and crashes to the floor. They side-step her. Frank escorts Chase into the silence of the second floor hall.

“Wow. Look at you. You’re a mess. Come on. You need to splash some water on your face,” Frank says. They go into the men’s room.

“Hey you. Yeah you,” Franks says to a stumpy man combing over the three remaining strands on his balding head. “Come on. Scram, baldy locks,” Frank says snapping his fingers like a New Yorker.

“You have no manners sir. I’m not going any—hey what the hell are you doing?“

Frank roughhouses the man by the collar and tosses him out. The ruffled gentleman screws his face at the lawyer before storming down the corridor vowing to fetch security. Chase finds the strong-arm tactic surprising for a corporate lawyer but is too preoccupied with his own emotions. He leans over the sink coughing and sobbing.

"Here, pull yourself together," Franks says handing him a damp paper towel. Chase pats his hot scalp and wipes his sweaty face with the cool wetness. Frank wastes little time in getting to the point.

"Here's the deal Chase. Unless you prefer Tevarus."

"It doesn't matter," Chase grumbles. "It just really…doesn’t matter."

"I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. You're in a mess."

"Thank you Captain Obvious."

“Hey, sarcasm is not your friend right now. Listen up.”

"Just say what you have to say." Chase's phone vibrates again. He slips his hand in his pocket and silences it without looking at the screen. He gestures in the mirror for Frank to continue.

“Okay, so we’ve kept the circle of knowledge on this thing small. So far only the president of the university, the head of the board of trustees and the provost are aware of this situation. And of course Dean Ganges. We’ll put a muzzle on that goofy Carol. So that means this can be handled quietly."

“Look, Mr. LaRocca. They all need to know that I'm not a child molester."

"Your conviction is clear Chase. You did five years at Georgia State Prison in Macon."

“Look, I'm not disputing the fact that I did time but if I could just explain to Dean Ganges and President Laczko we can work this out."

"How are you going to,
work out,
child molestation?"

"Stop saying that,” Chase yells. “I didn’t—"

"Okay I'm sorry. Look. Honestly that's not even the biggest issue. Even if by some miracle of miracles and there was some extenuating circumstance, you’re still a fraud. Your name is Tevarus Augustus Huxley and not Chase Archibald. You grew up in Georgia, not Boston. Both of your parents are still alive, not deceased. You never even graduated high school. How can you keep a job as a professor?"

Chase paces, digging his fingers into his head, and crying at the ceiling.

BUZZZZZ BUZZZZZZ

He presses the ignore button again.

“Look, I’ll share something with you, off the record okay?”

Chase closes his eyes and nods.

"This thing is a public relations nightmare for the university. To have a child mole—excuse me—
person
with your background teaching students who are barely out of their teens? Christ, let me tell you. Heads would roll down Nostrand Avenue all the way to the Belt Parkway. Millions of dollars in lawsuits. And God forbid some hot blonde coed from one of your writing classes accuses you of touching her."

"Look that's not who I am okay. I didn’t...Argh. I can't believe this is happening to me."

“Chase, I'm just saying that the university is trying to keep this quiet. Now I was actually needing to talk to you about something more pressing but you’re too pent up right now. You should probably—“

BUZZZZZ BUZZZZZZ

“Look. Just answer your phone. And then go home. Go
straight
home. I will be in touch shortly."

Chase takes a huge breath and gives a goodbye nod to Frank as the attorney exits the bathroom. He removes the vibrating phone from his pocket. His face turns curious as he doesn’t recognize the number with the 718 area code flashing on the screen.

“Yes,” he answers matter-of-factly.

“…Excuse me?…Wait. What? Who?…I’m sorry who is this?…Slow down…I can't understand you. Devantay? Little man calm down, calm down. What’s the problem?… What do you mean you overheard something about me?”

Chase winces and puts a finger in his other ear.

“It’s hard for me to hear you. The reception in here is horrible…Cake overheard? He overheard what? Devantay you have to slow down. Wait, let me try to get into a better location."

Chase covers the phone with his palm and scoots out of the restroom. He finds a secluded corner near the end of the hall and cradles the phone to his mouth.

“Okay, can you hear me now?"

"Yeah, yeah I can hear you," Devantay says.

“Okay, go ahead.”

"Cake was listening at Mr. James’ door. He’s the group director.”

“I know who Mr. James is…continue,” Chase says.

“Cake said Mr. James was on the phone talking about you with somebody. He said he kept hearing something about how you got a fake name and was in jail for something real bad. Then Cake cracked the door open a little, and he saw some papers and pictures of you and stuff fall out Mr. James’ hand.”

Chase drops the phone on the floor. Another sonic boom to the torso.

"Chase? Chase? Hello? Chase?" the receiver squeaks from the floor. Chase gathers himself and crouches to retrieve it.

"I'm still here Devantay, I'm here.” Chase retraces his steps and bolts down the stairwell with the phone cemented to his ear.

“Chase, I don't understand. Cake said Mr. James was yelling about how your name is
Various
or
August
or something, I don't know. And that you went to jail because you touched a little girl and—“

"It wasn't a little— never mind”.
Stay focused
, Chase says to himself. “What else?” Chase says. He power walks past his shuttered office and outside onto the congested sidewalk.

"He said you escaped from jail and—“

“Escaped? Okay hold up, hold up. Listen to me Devantay. There's some stuff going on right now that I can't explain.”

"Chase I don't understand. Did I do something?"

"Little man no, no, no. Don't ever think that. You didn't do anything. Someone is trying to ruin everything I've built. It's not your fault. I'm going to figure this out. You just—hello? Hello Devantay? Devantay what's all that I hear in the background?”

Chase can hear Devantay's voice being shouted over. There’s a shuffling sound. An older man’s voice jumps on.

“Give me that phone Devantay,” the voice says. “Hello? Is this the so-called Chase Archibald?”

"This is Chase. Where's Devantay? Who is this?"

"This is Amos James, Director of the Bedford-Stuyvesant Boys to Men Leadership Academy and Group Home. And you don't get to ask the questions."

“Look, Mr. James. I was talking with Devantay and you're making him upset."

"
I'm
making him upset? Look Mr. Archibald...excuse me, I mean convicted felon Tevarus Huxley. I'm going to make this quick. You are to have no further contact with Devantay and you are to never, I repeat
never
to come near him or any child at this institution."

“Noooo," Devantay yells in the background.

“Hey, put Devantay back on the phone," Chase says.

"You don't give the orders," Mr. James says. “I swear to you. If it weren't for the negative publicity it would bring to this institution, the grant money we would lose, the people who would get fired, I would turn your ass in right now. Stay away Huxley."

"No. Chase, Chase what's he saying?” Devantay wails.

“Stop, Devantay. Don’t grab at the phone. Chase is a bad man and you're not seeing him anymore,” Mr. James says.

"Chase. Come get me. I want to be with you."

"If you come anywhere near him I'm sending you to jail, Huxley."

Chase paces up and down the busy sidewalk. Heart racing. Veins pulsating. Palms wringing. Fingers scraping his dome.

“Listen, Mr. James. Let's just—“

“No
you
listen. There's no discussion. You're a goddamn pedophile and a jailbird and that is the
last
thing this child needs in his life. Hell, I’m going to have to have a conversation with him to see if you touched
him
you sick fu—“

"I am NOT a pedophile!" Chase yells into the phone. His outburst causes strangers to freeze and gawk at him as if he were stark naked.

“Look, I don't give a shit what your story is. Your relationship with Devantay is over. And you only have yourself to blame."

“No, no, no. Chase what's happening?” Devantay cries and launches into a screaming fit.

"Mr. James please. Let me at least say goodbye. Can you do that? Not even for me. Do it for him. At least let Devantay be able to say goodbye," Chase begs. The prospect of losing Devantay forever is like a dagger in his heart. And it's a blow he isn't prepared for. Mr. James is silent as Devantay cries in the background. After a few more seconds Mr. James speaks.

"You have thirty seconds."

"Thirty seconds?"

"Or zero take your pick," Mr. James says.

“Okay, okay put him on.” Devantay comes back to the phone.

"Chase. Chase what's happening? What’s he saying?" Devantay says between whimpers.

“Hey, hey now little man,” Chase coos. “You know I taught you better than that. Now straighten up. Chin up. Chest out. Wipe those tears okay?…I said
okay
?"

"Y-Y-Yes Chase," Devantay sniffles. "But I don't understand."

“Look, I have to be quick but I did something in my past that I need to deal with. Now it's not whatever nasty rumor you’re hearing. I didn't do anything bad. And I didn’t escape from anywhere. I served my time. But we're going to have to kind of…kind of have a timeout for a while. Just until I sort this out.”

“Timeout? What do you mean? For how long? I don't understand. What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything Devantay. You did nothing wrong. This is on me. You just remember everything I taught you. Be good. Be honest. Believe in yourself. Tell the truth. Okay?…Okay?…I can't hear you young man.”

“O-okay.”

"Let's wrap this up," Mr. James says in the background.

“And remember. No matter what. I love you."

"Yeah. And it hurts. Just like I said remember? Everybody who says I love you… hurts you.”

“Devantay, no it's not like that. Listen it’s—"

Chase hears the echo of crying footsteps running down a hall.

"You had your thirty seconds."

"Look Mr. James let me—“

CLICK

"Hello? Hello? Mr. James? Mr…."

The silence is deafening. Not even the orchestra of car and pedestrian noise on a busy Brooklyn corner can silence Devantay's last words. Chase remembers that day Devantay was referring to. The strange view Devantay had on love and pain. He remembers how that was the day he told Devantay about his undying love for…for…
Oh my God, Jenae!



“Jenae,” Chase shouts with eyes aflame.

It is only now that Chase realizes the full breadth of what is happening. His career is in shambles. The child that was like a son to him has been snatched away. What’s left? The most important
what,
is actually a
who
. He flicks his thumb feverishly through the contacts on his smartphone. He seldom calls Jenae at her office so he has to pull the number from his contacts. He taps the icon:

Jenae
(work)

It rings…and rings…and rings…
Come on, come on, come on, pick up, pick up, pick—

"Good afternoon Johnson, Metzger and Weiss. How may I direct your call?"

“Hi ummm Gi-Gi-Giselle, Giselle right? It’s Chase. Jenae’s fiancée remember? We met at the holiday party. Is she in?”

"Oh hi Mr. Archibald. No she’s not. She's gone for the day. She left a couple of hours ago."

"Gone for the day? Is she in court today? I thought she was supposed to be in the office all day?

“She was supposed to be, yes but she got called into a meeting with the partners around eleven. An hour later she came out and said she was taking the rest of the day off to handle some personal business. She looked kind of flushed actually. I hope she's okay."

"Did she say where she was going?"

“I’m sorry, Mr. Archibald but I don’t know. She did make a call before she left though. It sounded like she was meeting someone at your place. I thought she was meeting up with you."

“Oh, uh, yes of course. I’m so forgetful sometimes. I was supposed to meet her back at my place. Thanks."

"No problem. Have a nice day."

Chase dials Jenae’s mobile number from his favorites menu.

“Hi, you've reached Attorney Jenae M. Dixon. Please leave your name, telephone number, nature of your—“

“Ugh, come on,” Chase says. He hangs up and dials a second time.

“Hi, you’ve reached Attorney Jenae—“

“Argh, Argh, Argh,” Chase says as he bangs his thumb repeatedly on the touchscreen.
Gotta get home.
He opens the taxi app on his phone and schedules a pick up. The closest car is only five minutes away but it takes just three for it to scoop him up from the corner.

It’s an agonizing twenty minute ride through the city’s most populous borough en route to his Cobble Hill neighborhood. The shiny black Toyota Camry coasts down his one way street. It finally crosses the intersection of Baltic and Henry Streets. They are forced to a crawl however behind a turtle paced garbage truck; it takes up the entire roadway. The truck reeks of all that is spoiled and rotten. Chase cranes his neck outside the window and fidgets in the backseat. He can see that the pedestrians are moving faster than his ride-for-hire.

“Aww forget this. I’ll hop out here,” Chase says to the driver. “My place is just down the block anyway.”

Chase sprints down his sapling lined Brooklyn street. He reaches his five step walkup to find the front door propped open by his three foot high potted rubber plant. Across the street old lady Mahone, the Jamaican neighbor with a long nose for other people’s business, pretends to sweep her already spotless bottom stoop. Chase cuts her a look. She turns up her nose and sucks her teeth Caribbean style—long and loud. The tinkle of a set of keys draws his attention back to his own dwelling however. A dreadlocked woman, about five foot four, has her smooth dark chocolate arms wrapped around an overstuffed, plastic garbage bag. She pinballs her way from the doorway onto the top step. She’s clutching a set of keys between her fingers.

“Shauntelle? What are you doing here? What’s going on? Where’s your sister?“

She freezes for a moment, screws her eyebrows at Chase, and elbows past him on the way down the steps and out to the sidewalk.

“Shauntelle,” Chase says from behind.

“Jenae doesn’t want talk to you and don’t say a goddamn thing to me," she says as she struggles with the bag at an idling silver minivan. She presses the remote on the key fob. The automatic sliding door opens and she dumps the bag on the bench seat. A pair of Jenae’s jeans falls out. Chase’s eyes grow wide and he bolts up the stoop just as Jenae is rolling a suitcase from the doorway. Tucked under her arm is the Masai warrior painting she gifted to Chase three years earlier, after being inspired by the decor in Dean Ganges’ office.

“Jenae,” he says.

She ignores him and rolls the heavy suitcase down the stoop, one step at a time.

"Baby stop," he says and grabs her arm. She fires a glare. The whites of her eyes are pink. A thick glassy film covers her pupils. The skin below her bottom eyelashes is puffed like tiny, bruised balloons. She blinks; a tear trickles.

“Get your paws off of me,” she growls.

“Babe listen.”

She snatches her arm and rolls the case to the waiting van.

“Look, honey, listen. Let me explain what's going on."

"Explain? Negro please," Shauntelle says from the open door of the van.

“Shauntelle, this is between your sister and I,” Chase says.

“I knew you had to be hiding something,” she says, narrowing her eyes and pointing her index finger. “Ain’t no man
that
damn perfect."

The two women heave the suitcase into the van. Jenae slides the painting behind the front passenger seat. Chase can see that the van is haphazardly filled with jumbo garbage bags, paintings, the large Navajo vase from last year's trip to Sante Fe and other shared mementos. She heads back towards the house attempting to brush past Chase. He blocks her.

"Jenae please let me talk to you. Whatever you may have heard let me at least give you my side.”

“Move,” she says.

“You’re not letting me at least try to—”

“Get out of my way.” Jenae shifts to the right and left as Chase extends his arms in a wingspan. Old lady Mahone continues sweeping. Her doorstep is immaculate.

“Sweetheart, don’t act this way. That’s not how we do."

"
We
? Not how
we
do? What we is there Chase? Or whoever you are. What we has there ever been? I don't even know you. You were nothing but a lie. And you played me for a fool. I can't even think or breathe or—or—or anything. I wasted four years of my life on your lying ass. Four years.”

“Mmmhmm that’s right. He ain't shit," Shauntelle says.

“Mind your damn business," Chase says with a stiff finger stabbing the air towards Shauntelle.

Jenae smacks Chase's palm down. "Don't talk to my sister like that. You have no right. Now get out of my way."

“Wait, Jenae listen to me. I can explain. Please.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“This has been the day from hell for me,” Chase says.

"For you? For you? Do you have
any
idea what you put me through? Forget what you did to my heart, my soul, my body. I can’t believe you touched me. Put yourself inside me. And forget that I let you put this damn rock on my finger. That I put up with your sneaking around and your lies. Yes, Chase. I knew you were lying to me last year about something. I just didn’t know about what. I hid my tears under a pillow, or behind a bathroom door waiting for you to leave. But forget all of that. I had to get hit with this—excuse me—I mean
your
shit from my boss? My
boss
Chase? So you wanna talk? Huh? You wanna
explaaaain
something? Give me that envelope Shauntelle."

Shauntelle gleefully reaches through the passenger window and grabs a brown envelope. She marches over and hands it to Jenae; she rolls her eyes at Chase. Chase recognizes the envelope as similar to the one Dean Ganges thrusted in his face earlier in the day. Jenae rifles through it and tosses the contents to Chase’s feet, one document at a time, as if she were flipping cards.

"Depositions, court transcripts, sentencing paperwork, and photos of my now
ex-
fiancée,” Chase’s eyes pop. “Yeah, you heard me right. My
EX.
But oh no he’s not named Chase Archibald is he? Your name is Tevarus Huxley?”

“Bitch ass liar,” Shauntelle snaps her neck and pokes her finger into his left temple. Chase pushes it away with a shoulder shrug.

“This envelope was sent to the partners in D.C.
and
my supervisor downtown. And you know what they said?
Jenae, why would you cover this up?
Jenae, you’re engaged to a felon?
Accusing me like I was a part of this con artist charade of yours.”

“Jenae, I will tell them that you knew nothing about this. I don’t want you to—”

“Hey dummy. It’s bad either way,” Shauntelle interjects. “Either she knew about your scam and she’s a trifling ass liar like you, or she
didn’t
know about it and got played by a player. That would mean she’s easily fooled. How is she gonna make partner being somebody’s fool? ‘Splain that one
paht-nuh
.”

Chase scans the block. The commotion has brought several neighbors out of their homes. Mrs. Mahone isn’t the only one manufacturing an excuse to be outside. Chase leans into Jenae’s ear, ”Can we discuss this inside please? Not out here."

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no,” she says wagging her finger. “You don't get to keep hiding. You destroyed my world so why do you get to keep yours a secret?"

"You tell him sis," Shauntelle says. Chase grits his teeth and side-eyes her.

"Don’t look at me like you gonna do something. ‘Cause ya’ ain’t,” Shauntelle says.

“Listen, I know I messed up. I messed up big time. But if you would just let me explain. I can. I can—“

"You can what Chase? You could have explained the day we met. You could have explained in our first phone conversation, our first date, the first night we slept together, our first vacation, the night you met my parents, the night you fucking proposed for crying out loud. You had four goddamn years to explain. Why now? You done found religion or something? You wanna confess your sins to the church? There’s no fixing this. You’re on a child sex offender list, Chase,” Jenae yells.

“Bumbaclot!” Mrs. Mahone shrieks and drops her broom.

“Jenae, I am not a sex offender,” Chase whispers. “It was all a—“

"Misunderstanding? Conspiracy? Travesty of justice? Have you forgotten I'm a lawyer? I’ve heard it all.”

“Actually, it kind of is all of those, if you would just—“

“Oh my God. This punk bitch here,” Shauntelle says and tosses her hands up. “‘Nae, let's get the rest of your stuff and leave this pervert on the street with the rest of the trash.”

Shauntelle pushes Chase to the side and walks up the steps. Jenae follows.

"Jenae wait. I love you. Please listen to me. You're my world. I can't. I can't do this without you. I need you. Baby I'm begging you. I don't care. I don't care about anything, anyone else but you. You're my heart Jenae. Look at me. Don’t do this,” Chase drops to his knees. “Please, please. I love you.”

Jenae pauses at the top step. Her back is to Chase. Shauntelle looks at Jenae with a,
Why are you hesitating?
stare. Chase hopes the fire of his plea can melt the frost around her heart. But her arms stiffen like wood planks and her fists clench.

“You…
love
…me? What do you know of love?…Answer me," she yells. "What do you know?"

"Jenae I—“

“Love? Love is when a woman’s heart opens just from a man’s smile. Love is when she ignores her eyes, to believe his tongue. Love is tolerating corporate men gawking at her like a tasty slab of beef, but she gets to come home to a man who holds her tight, and tells her everything’s going to be alright. Love is dreaming that you will still slow dance with that man on a country porch fifty years from now. That’s love. What do you know of love? You know nothing of love. But you know a hell of a lot about another word. A word called, hurt.”

Jenae hovers over him as he remains on bent knee. Both of their eyes burning, and filling with the scalding heat of pain drenched tears. Without hesitation Chase leaps. He seizes her shoulders, corrals her chest to his, and forces a kiss. She squirms and wriggles in his vise like clutch. He protrudes his tongue into her resistant mouth.

"
Mmph.
Argh. Ugh. Mmph
,” she protests as his mouth refuses to release. His fingers spindle her mahogany twists as he makes a fist, locking her hair in his grasp. Shauntelle comes bounding down the steps but before she could interrupt, Chase screams in pain and immediately let’s go.

"Arrrgh," Chase yells as he hunches over and grabs his mouth. A drop of blood drips from his bottom lip.

“You bit me,” he slobbers.

"That's right girl. Bite his ass. Bite him, bite him, crunch that shit,” Shauntelle says. “Boy, what you think? You think this is some corny ass chick flick? You gonna shove your nasty, lying ass tongue down my sister’s throat and she’s just gonna melt ‘cause you said, baby I love you? How your tongue feel now, muscle man?” Shauntelle taunts.

"How could you do this to me Chase? To us? To Devantay…Oh my God Devantay. I didn't even think about him. Did you…touch?”

“No. Hell no. Never. Not ever. No. I didn’t even do what that envelope says I did,” Chase says.