The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (6 page)

“Ah, uh, ah” she whimpers and clutches his hip.

He hovers the spoon above her gaping mouth. He makes her wait…and wait…her tongue drips. He flips the spoon over and the mango infused, cool dark chocolate spiced gelato drips onto her wet, hot tongue. He lets her close her mouth now.

“Mmmm," she moans as she savors the creamy morsel. “Wow,” she smacks her lips. “This is so flavorful. And spicy at the same time. That chocolate and mango mix is dope, but is that cayenne they added? Now that adds the best surprising treat,” she says.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says.

“What do you mean—?”

Before she can finish her statement he dives into her mouth. His tongue slaps with fury against her own. Their lips smack and smack as their breaths intensify. He can taste the warm, sweet chocolate and the bright bold mango. Even the hot cayenne from her tongue tip-taps across his palate. He starts to break away.

“Uh, uh,” she grunts disapprovingly. She grabs the back of his head merging their open sloppy mouths.

Chase leans Jenae’s back onto the satin seat cushion; he reaches for another spoonful of the dessert without losing his focus on his love. He lifts the spoon towards her mouth to feed her but a dollop of the gelato slips, and falls into the cleft of her cleavage.

“Oops. Sorry babe,” he says.

“Well…clean up your mess,” she replies.

Chase reaches for the white linen napkin on the table.

“Uh, uh.
You
clean up your mess,” she says.

Jenae grabs Chase's head with both hands and guides him down her neck. She leads his mouth to the juicy ice creaminess melting between her breasts. She curves her back, and lifts her knee; he licks her clean. They repeat this public display of gelato dripping and tongue cleaning over and over. They lose themselves in a sensual world made of two. Chase tosses the spoon on the table, grabs Jenae's juicy thigh, and inches her skirt up. She moans in a low tone. He claws her hair and pulls hard and fast. Her exposed neck is a vampire’s candy. He sucks on her larynx like it’s a pulsating lollipop. His fingers travel elsewhere.

“Oh babe wait…what are you,” she tries to finish but he slides his hand inside her thigh and drives his palm due north. “Oh shhh-shhh-shhhiii—“ she says as his index, middle and ring fingers rub against the lace edge of her moist panties. He pricks the elastic border from her sticky honey. She shivers.

“Ahem," a throat clears.

Chase bounces up.

“Oh, uh…um,” Chase fumbles for words.

The server holds up his hand.

"Please, these booths have that effect. I got stories for days honey. Listen, I'd love to be a little queen bee and buzz away, but we're closing down for the night. Sorry.”

He places a small tray with two mints beside the empty bowls. Chase takes out his credit card and hands it to the waiter; he swipes it on the handheld credit card machine in his palm and prints a receipt. Chase adds the tip and scribbles his signature.

“Thank you. You two enjoy the rest of your evening,” he says.

Jenae sits up and straightens her attire.

“Wait one sec,” she says to the waiter halfway down the hall.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies.

She turns to Chase with a sly smile before returning her vision to the waiter.

“Can you maybe pack a pint of that there gelato inside a small bag with some ice?” Jenae says.

“Of course ma’am. And by the way it’s on the house,” he says with a wink.

“And we won’t need any spoons,” she says.

"Mmmhmm I know that’s right,” he replies and heads into the kitchen.

“Hope you’re still hungry Mr. Archibald,” Jenae says to Chase.

“Only for your dessert, Ms. Dixon,” he winks.



They call it a park. But eighty-five acres, six piers, a river, Manhattan to the front and a bridge to the right is not your average park. Brooklyn Bridge Park is a giant community garden, but not just of plant life; it is a garden of humans. A rainbow coalition of multi-hued rollerbladers, footballers, charcoal grillers and sun soakers. As the bare branches of autumn evict the leaves of summer, chatty throngs of hip-hop aficionados mill about from the earlier DJ battle. Perched on the top rung of a wooden bench is Chase Archibald. He listens with frustrated patience to his best friend, the five foot three inch, third generation Japanese-American Tanaka Hirohito. Tanaka has just finished competing in the
Rebirth of Slick DJ Turntable Battle
and is
in the midst of his latest,
they be hatin’ on me,
rant. Tanaka is an excitable fellow. Always amped up. He’s the guy that asks you a question but doesn’t wait for your response. And that’s on a good day. He’s also the resident conspiracy theorist, street protester and social media trouble maker. When you combine his,
rebel without a cause
outrage, with his hot jalapeño personality, he is like a chipmunk with ADHD. All over the place. Today is a chipmunk day. Tanaka jumps and prances with arms flailing about as he describes this latest
travesty of musical injustice
. Passersby duck away from his theatrics. Chase just sits and sighs with his elbows on knees, and palms mashing his cheeks, enduring the spectacle.

“Chase, are you listening?" Tanaka asks. “Chase…Chase!”

“Huh? Yeah. Dude I'm looking right at you,” Chase replies.

“So why I had to ask you twice? Come on don’t play me out son,” he says.

“I’m listening Naka, sheesh,” Chase says.

”Hmph. Anyway…then you saw what I did next right? You saw me hit that backspin and then freeze. I made the crowd wait for like ten seconds. That’s called a dramatic pause.” Tanaka stops moving.

“Okay, dude you don’t have to
actually
pause, in order to make your point you know,” Chase says.

"And then…BAM, I dropped Brand Nubian's
Slow Down
out of like nowhere. Sickness son-son. Sick…Ness right? Wasn’t that sick?”

“Yes. Very diseased, yes,” Chase quips.

“Haha, very cute professor. But my point is, my set was dope. But I got robbed yo. See how they do a brother?”

As the throngs of park visitors and competition attendees continue to file past, a gangly man, with a dark cauliflower beard and butt length dreadlocks, recognizes Tanaka from the competition.

“Eh yo. You’re that DJ?” he says in a Jamaican accent.

“That’s right yo. Big up one time my brother,” Tanaka replies with a hand clasp and an exaggerated
brohug
.

“Your set was wicked bredren, wicked. ‘Nuff respect,” the stranger says with a pat on his ganja leaf t-shirt and a chin bow. He walks away, up the winding pedestrian path, towards Joralemon Street.

“Ha. See that there? See that?” Tanaka points repeatedly towards the Jamaican fan.

“Why did his cray-cray have to just get validated?” Chase mumbles.

”I heard that. But that’s okay. Keep drinking your haterade. Musical geniuses are always considered crazy. But the people…the people know who won that battle.” He turns his attention back to the dreadlocked stranger who is now lost amongst the crowd in the distance. “That’s right my brother. Irie yo. Irie brethren,” he says, shooting two peace signs high above his black mop of hair…on his tippy toes.

“Dude, you can be so extra. Listen, I wanted to run something by you. I’ve been having this thing on my—“

“Wait. Chase…Is…Is that?” Tanaka squints his eyes down the winding path to their rear. “Yup, that’s her. Yo Lydia…Lydia. Yo, Yo Lydia,” Tanaka yells.

He windshield wipes his arm in the air to get the attention of a dark copper haired woman in two long pigtails. She struggles towards them as she shoulders an overstuffed knapsack while bear hugging a box of supplies.

“Míra. Míra Lydia. Lydia, I know you see me mama. You see me girl. Don’t front. I got something to say to you,” he says pointing.

"Tanaka don't start," Chase says. "Lydia didn't have anything to do with you losing."

“Hey, I didn't lose,” he fires back. “I was
robbed
,” he says, index finger to Chase’s nose. “R-O-B—“

“Don’t start spelling stuff. And will you please stop pointing at people,” Chase says.

Lydia approaches the two of them with a scowl and rolls her eyes. She doesn’t wait for Tanaka to speak.

“First of all…thanks for helping a sister with all this shit in her hands. Second of all, don’t you go starting with your diva DJ attitude with me. Every time you compete in one of my shows, and you lose, you gotta stress me out with your complaints. Boo Boo you lost. Deal with it. L-O-S-T, lost,” she says in a heavy New York/Puerto Rican accent.

Chase snickers.

“Oh but she can spell shit though?” he says to Chase. “That’s okay Lydia. I see…uh huh…I see. You drinking hater juice too. But you know what. That’s okay because the people. The
people…
” he says cupping his palms to his mouth like a megaphone, “…have spoken.”

“What’s he yapping about Chase?” she says.

“One dude,
one
, gave him a compliment and that was all he needed to hear,” Chase says.

“One is representative of the many my brother. I was robbed and Lydia knows it.”

“Hello, I’m standing right here. Look Naka. You know you will always be my favorite DJ. But the crowd makes the decision honey, not me. You did good. You always do. But this time the other guy won. I still love you though. Te quiero papi," Lydia says.

She squeezes Tanaka’s lips causing them to pucker and kisses the air.

“
Mwah
. Better luck next time sweet cheeks,” she says and trudges up the path towards the parking lot.

Chase shakes his head.

“Dude, why do you do that?" he says.

"Do what?" Tanaka asks

"Never mind,” Chase says.

"I get it now. It was the crowd. Lydia said it. She knew I won. That was obvious you peeped that right? You peeped right?”

“Oh yeah I peeped all right,” Chase says.

"It was that hipster crowd. That's why he won. He had his hipster peoples rootin' for him. Notice how none of them shouted me out? Not like the Jamaican dude right? The real New Yorkers. Not the gentrifying, hipster interlopers, trying to push the indigenous residents out. You peeped that right Chase? Chase!”

“Yes, yes my brother,” Chase says with a power fist to the sky.

”I’m telling you Chase. Once I started playing the conscious music everything changed. A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Queen Latifah, Brand Nubian, bah. They wanted that mumble mouth, dumbed down hip-hop the other dude was playing. They started going with the interloper.”

“Interloper? Oh Tanaka. You know I love you right?” Chase says with a belly laugh.

“Don’t patronize me. You know I hate when you do that.”

“Okay, I’m sorry bro. It’s just you sound like Spike Lee complaining about gentrification in Brooklyn. I should crown you the Japanese Spike Lee. Just make sure you do the right thing? Haha get it? Do the right thing?” Chase laughs.

“Okay. Crack jokes if you want to. Meanwhile, my people being squeezed out by these hipsters.”

“Your people?”

“We all one rainbow coalition bro. Stop being the grey cloud. And stop always sticking up for the capitalist, elitist, racially dismissive agenda of the corporate oligarchs.”

Chase opens his palm and starts flipping his fingers across his hand as if he were looking through a book.

“Chase what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m looking up all those big words you just used,” Chase cracks up.

“Oh you’re a real comedian. That’s okay. Make light if you want to. But I know why you’re so desensitized to the situation.”

“Situation? Dude there is no
situation
. You lost a freakin’ DJ battle. Does this look like Selma, Alabama or Ferguson, Missouri to you? Pull your panties up and stop crying.”

“I’m not crying. You see any tears? No. I’m standing up for myself. And the reason why you’re so desensitized is because that female stole your righteousness.”

“Oh no not this again. Tanaka. No, no, no. I am not dealing with you and your Andrea fetish. Why whenever you’re losing an argument with me, you always have to bring up my past relationship with Andrea? We dated for a few years when I first moved to the city. Dude that was seven years ago.”

“You know why I don't like her Chase? Two words…the bitch is bad.”

“Tanaka that’s like four words—“

“She’s a master manipulator
and
she’s crazy. Craaay, Chase. And the fact that y’all are still friends is totally wack. You lucky Jenae don’t know the two of you was hot and heavy before y’all met. She wouldn’t let you stay friends with your ex-girlfriend, if she knew.”

“Number one, no one
let's
me do anything. Secondly, Jenae and I have a solid and secure relationship. Nobody has anything to worry about.”

"Oh really? So why haven’t you ever told Jenae that one of your best friends, the sexy
and rich
redhead
Andrea,
was somebody you used to screw for like three years huh? Huh, Mr. Secure?”

“Look, it just never came up okay? And since there isn’t anything going on between Andrea and I, I don’t feel the need to upset Jenae with unnecessary distractions.”

“An unnecessary distraction? That’s your story?…You know Andrea still want you right?”

“Tanaka, no she doesn’t. And even if she did it doesn’t matter. I love Jenae. Jenae only.”

“Look
I
know that. I know how loyal you are. Which is crazy if you ask me. That wouldn’t be me. I mean all the attention you get from females? You always got some fine ass woman approaching you and trying to—“

Tanaka pauses as a young boy rolls up to the park bench on a blue hover board and stares at Chase. The child stands about chest high, wearing army green cargo shorts, and a bold orange comic hero T-shirt. He appears to be no more than seven or eight years old.

“Well, hello young man,” Chase says kneeling to the boy’s height. “Are you okay? Are you lost or something?”

“Here,” the young boy says.

He pokes his little arm up to Chase’s face and shoves a letter sized envelope under his nose causing Chase to angle his head back.

“Okay. Uh, so what is this?“ Chase asks.

The little boy shrugs.

”I don't know."

"You don't know? Why are you handing this to me then?” Chase asks.

“Yeah, and who are you anyway?" Tanaka says to the boy.

"Ain't none of your business who I am,” the little boy snaps.

"What? Who the hell you think you talking to like that?” Tanaka says.

Chase raises his palm for Tanaka to pause.

"Is this envelope for me? What is it?” Chase asks.

"I said I don't know,” the boy says with a Brooklyn bluntness.

“Little punk. You better fix your face,” Tanaka says with a pointed finger.

“Look, the man said he give me five bucks to give the envelope to the tall dude standing next to the crazy acting Chinese nigga.”

"The what? Now that’s just racist yo. First of all I’m not even Chinese, I’m Japa—"

"Naka, not now,” Chase interrupts.

Chase rises and scans the park for the man the child mentioned.

"Where?" he says to the boy.

"I ain't no snitch," he replies.

Chase kneels.

“Look at me. Now I’m going to ask you just one more time little boy. Who told you to give this to me?“

The child looks at the small parking lot near Joramelon Street. Chase pops back up and shields his eyes from the sun. He pans left to right and back again. He looks down at the child and shrugs. The child shrugs back.

“I don’t know. They was standing there just a minute ago.”

“They? What did
they
look like?”

“Uh, I don’t know. One was about your size. He was wearing a suit. The other guy was really, really big. And fat. Like Juggernaut from the X-Men.”

Chase clenches his fist.

“Hey, ain't you gonna open it? I'll give him a message back for another five bucks," the child says with a devilish grin. Tanaka’s face turns foul.

“Whoever sent you ain’t around anymore you little hustler. Get outta here.”

The little boy scrunches his face and sticks his tongue out at Tanaka. He hops on the hover board and whizzes toward the playground near the pier.

Chase looks at the envelope and then looks up toward the parking lot. No one that fits the little boy’s description can be seen. Chase pokes his finger in the envelope’s flap and pops it open. He removes a tuft of paper and unfolds it. His eyes pop.

“Whoa. Dude. Look at your face. You okay? You look like you just got some horrible news. What does the note say? We gotta handle some business or something? Cause you know a brother is nice with the hands," Tanaka says as he starts shadow boxing.

Chase remains petrified with the exception of a trembling hand.

“Chase. Chase. Bro, what does it say? Let me see.”