The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (3 page)

"Devantay, how the heck did you get in here?" Chase asks.

"I don't know, I didn't break in,” Devantay says, sounding like someone who
did
break in.

"I know you didn't
break
in. How did you
get
in was my question? Wait, I couldn’t have left a door open in the middle of Brooklyn last night, could I?”

Devantay rubs his basketball and fidgets.

"I-I-I don't know. I mean it wasn't open, percy.”

"Percy?" Chase says. "Oh you mean
per sé
, not percy."

“Right, per sé," Devantay says.

“Okay, so what does, not open
per sé,
mean?”

Devantay doesn't respond.

"Stop bouncing that ball in here. How did you get in?"

"I didn't break in okay?"

“We have established that already Devantay…So?”

"So um, I…"

"You what? Come on.”

Devantay's eyes start to well.

"It's not like before okay. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm not sneaking into houses and stuff."

Chase sees the unintended consequence of his interrogation.

"Relax, relax it's okay,” he says with a light pat on the child’s shoulder. "I'm not upset with you. I apologize for how I sounded. You're not in trouble, okay? Hey, look up at me. You’re
not
in trouble…okay?”

Devantay nods with his bottom lip poking. Chase takes him by the hand and sits him on the walnut and beige fabric chair near the fireplace.

“Listen little man. What’s the Chase and Devantay motto?” he asks.

“If you feel something say something," Devantay says.

"Okay good. Now I
know
I locked that front door. I always do. But I'm not accusing you of anything. And that's because you have made a lot of progress. I'm proud of you for that. And with progress comes what?"

"Trust," Devantay mumbles.

“Say it like you mean it, Devantay.”

“Trust.”

“Good. So I trust you. And why is that?"

"Because I’ve earned it?”

Chase folds his arms and squints one eye. He waits patiently.

"Earned it, earned it. Because I
earned
it.”

“That’s better. You say it as a fact, not as a question. And I agree with you. You have earned it. But…sometimes people backslide. Two steps forward and then one step back. So it’s okay if you went back to doing what you used to do. Even if for just this one time. So just tell me the truth. Did you pick the lock?"

"No, I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Chase really, really, really, I—“

“Shh, shhh it’s okay, it’s okay. I believe you,” Chase says, hugging Devantay. “So, just tell me how you got in."

"I...I just turned it. I mean I knocked a couple of times, and when you didn't answer, I just turned it and walked in. But I didn't break in Chase. I didn't."

"I know, I know, chillax,” Chase says.

“Nobody really says chillax anymore Chase. That’s like for old people.”

“Now is not the time. Stay focused young man.”

“Okay, okay. I just walked in though. I know I probably shouldn’t have. Just please don't report me to Mr. James.”

Chase clasps Devantay's hand.

“Stop with that. You're my dude. I'm not going to go running to the program director at the group home. Snitches get stitches right?" Chase winks. Devantay beams and high fives him.

"You're welcome here anytime Devantay. Just don't go walking all the way up into my bedroom next time."

Devantay chuckles.

"I got it Chase. I got it."

"Okay let me just grab some hydration for us from the kitchen, and we can be on our way to schooling this suckers on the basketball court," Chase says.

"Okay cool. Is your friend coming too?” Devantay says.

"My friend? What friend?” Chase says as he grabs two water bottles.

“The really tall, really fat dude. The one who kept asking me questions on the stoop. He was right at your top step.”

"What? Some guy was outside my door asking you questions about me? Devantay? You should have started this whole discussion with
that
right there.”

Chase grabs Devantay's hand so quickly that the basketball falls from his lap and rolls into the hall. They scoot past the poster prints of sports legends on the kitchen wall featuring: Muhammad Ali menacing over a fallen Sonny Liston, Jesse Owens in Berlin, Serena Williams with a victory bicep flex at Wimbledon, and a Usain Bolt lightning pose. Devantay scoops the ball as the two of them fly through the brownstone’s nineteenth century double doors, and outside onto the top step. Chase holds his palm to his brow like a visor. He scans the neighborhood for the trespasser. All he sees are hipsters on vintage bicycles and his nosy neighbor from across the street, Ms. Mahone, sweeping her cement stoop.

"Where is this guy Devantay? I don’t see anyone that looks like what you described.”

”Well he was right there, where you’re standing. He wasn't your friend?"

Chase doesn't answer.

"A fat guy you say?" Chase asks.

"Yeah"

"
Yes
, not yeah," Chase admonishes.

“Yes," Devantay says.

"What was he asking you?"

"He said 'Hey kid, you're Devantay aren't you?'"

"He said Devantay? He knew your name?”

”Yeah. I mean yes, I guess so.” Devantay shrugs. “But I don't remember him from nowhere. I mean dude was huge. Like Rick Ross I'm a boss, I'm a boss, I'm a boss.” He starts dancing and bobbing his shoulders.

“Hey,” Chase says with a finger snap. “Stay focused.”

“Oh, sorry. He thought I was your son though."

"Hmmm. Okay. What else?"

“Ugh, Chase we gonna miss reserving the dang court!"

"First of all, watch your tone. Secondly, we’ll be fine. Now did you say anything else?"

“Like tell all your business and stuff? Nah I ain’t no snitch. Can we go now?”

Devantay steps down toward the small arched metal gate that separates Chase’s property from the sidewalk. Chase hears footsteps coming from inside the brownstone.

“Okay, shhh Devantay. Jenae is coming. Listen, you keep this between us okay? Guy talk only."

Jenae walks through the glass and oak doors. She squints and shields her eyes from the sudden blast of sunlight.

"So what are you two handsome men shushing about?"

Silence.

"That's right. I heard all that
shh,shh, shh
,” she says and side-eyes Devantay.

"Us? N-N-Nothin'. We wasn’t talking about nothing." Devantay has the rapid fire reply, and petrified stance, of a child hiding a cookie. Chase interrupts.

"So listen honey. Me and little man here have a game to—"

“Hush," she says raising her index finger.

"Devantay, come here baby" she says with arms wide.

He stands at the front gate, frozen.

“Devantay?” she warns.

"Yes Ma’am,” he says, and walks up to her. Jenae smoothes his shoulders with her palms.

"Let me ask you something,” she says.

“Yes," he replies.

"You know I'm a lawyer right?"

“Yes."

"And what do lawyers do?"

"Scare little kids?"

Chase busts a belly laugh. Jenae cuts him a stare. He zips his mouth.

"Now look here Devantay. I have some questions for you," she says pretending to be angry.

"
More
questions? Ugh," Devantay says tossing his hands up in the air.

"More? What do you mean more?" she asks.

"Chase already asked me a bunch of questions about the fat ma—“ Devantay fails to catch himself.

“Devantay!” Chase yells.

"Devantay," Jenae purrs.

"Uh Oh,” the boy says.

Chase cozies up to Jenae and hugs her from behind. He kisses below her earlobe.

“Honey, we got to bounce," he says.

“That would’ve worked earlier," Jenae says as she unravels Chase’s arms from her waist. “Now what’s this about a fat man, Devantay?"

The boy sighs.

"It was just this big guy asking me some questions about if Chase lived here and stuff, and we didn't want to tell you because we didn't want you to get scared and stuff."

“Awww, aren't you two sweet,” she says and raises one eye at Chase.

"It's okay Devantay. I'm a lawyer but I'm from Bed Stuy. I can handle myself. But you two go ahead to your little basketball game. I won’t keep you.”

"Finally," Devantay huffs. He grabs the basketball and hurries out the gate.

"Sorry babe. Um, so you and I are good right?" Chase says with a cheese grin. Jenae folds her arms, twists her hip and smirks while rolling her eyes. He saddles up to her, cradles her soft cheeks in his solid palms and tickles her nose with his.

“Hmmm, I don't know Chase Archibald. You know how I don't like secrets. You might have to make it up to me this weekend," she says, sliding her hands down to the small of his back. “Maybe tomorrow night since I have to be in D.C. during the day for a criminal law seminar."

Chase closes his eyes and presses his lips to hers. The calm Brooklyn breeze wraps around them. Their lips release but their noses nibble. Chase presses his forehead onto hers. He traces his finger from her temple, across her cheek and rests it on her bottom lip. He plucks it like a guitar string. Jenae grins.

“Love you,” he says.

“Love you more,” she replies.

As Chase walks toward the gate he feels a small
POP
on his right butt cheek. He looks back at Jenae.

“What? I can’t smack my man’s yum yums?”

Chase smiles and shakes his head. Jenae nods for him to catch up to Devantay. The boy is now halfway down Henry Street heading towards Pineapple. Chase does a brisk jog to reach him.

“Dang, little man. You let Jenae punk you like that?" Chase says.

"Sorry yo, but she's good," Devantay replies.

They power walk towards the courts.

"Hey?" Chase says.

"Yeah?"

“How about I race you to the court."

“Yeah cool,” Devantay beams.

"Alright I'll count off" Chase says. “Ready? On three. One…two…." Chase grabs Devantay's shoulders, holding him back, bolts in front of him and then yells…

“Threeee…Ha, Ha.” Chase is now a good five paces ahead.

“Hey, that’s not fair," Devantay shrieks and sprints to catch him.



Smooth soles squeak against the urban blacktop. The weathered, orange leather sphere bounces and echoes like a studio beat. Young men and old boys crash bodies, grunt throats, spit phlegm and talk smack. This is the court. It is the place where a bruised ego bleeds more than the peeled skin on a scraped knee. It is where the pretty girls leaning on the chainlink fence bring out the man, or more accurately, the
showman
in men. On this asphalt stage, a bare chested Chase, and a wide-eyed Devantay press, shoot and swish in their fourth full court game of the afternoon.

"Like butter baby boy. You might want some toast with that," a slender pea-eyed teenager brags to young Devantay.

The older boy has just stroked another jump shot from beyond the yellow arc. Devantay clinches his fists, and grits his teeth, as he watches his opponent's ball sail through the iron basket. Chase whistles at Devantay; he hovers his palms chest high signaling the child to keep his cool.

“Our ball,” Chase says. He passes the ball to Devantay. The young boy dribbles towards the basket but it is stolen by the older teen who again strokes a clean shot.

“Nothing but net youngin’,” the skinny kid says. He brushes nonexistent dirt off of his wiry shoulders. Devantay's lower lip puckers. His nostrils breathe heavily. Chase senses his young mentee's frustration and calls for a time out.

“Aww, fake Daddy gotta dry your tears now?" the teen says.

Chase glares at the youth. The boy smirks and joins his teammates in a huddle. Chase turns his attention towards Devantay. He kneels before the youngster.

“Devantay, keep cool. The score is tied. We’re not losing,” Chase says

"I know, but I keep messing up. He's better than me."

The child's eyes well up. Chase grabs both of Devantay's shoulders with a jolt.

"Hey. You listen up. No one is
better
than you. He's made a couple of shots. Big deal. And he's being cocky and disrespectful about it. That’s called poor sportsmanship. And he's in for a rude awakening in life. People will form opinions of you based on your attitude and your behavior. That can mean a job promotion, an invite to a networking dinner, or an introduction to the girl of your dreams. You want to be like that guy?"

“No…but...but I'm not as good."

“Little man, as long as you play to the best of your ability that's all that matters. "

"But I don't want you to be mad at me Chase."

Chase pauses.

"Devantay look at me. This game doesn't matter. You hear me? But me and you? We're not a game. We matter. You matter. I’m not your fake anything and I'm proud of you. No matter what. Look at me." He lifts the child’s chin with his index finger. "I'm proud of you."

Devantay's eyes smile.

Chase rises and turns to his other teammates and says confidently "All right y'all let's do this. Next point wins." He turns to Devantay. “We about to do this right?”