The Donor: When Conception Meets Deception (7 page)

Chase swallows a lump in his throat. He looks down at the note again, hoping the letters on the paper would magically disappear, but they are as clear and never changing as the ink from a black Sharpie.

“Dude what does it say?” Tanaka says.

Chase reads the letters over and over; not because the words are many, but because there are so few. They appear as if cut from a magazine headline and glued onto a blank sheet. The note says:

We. Found. You.

“Come on you’re scaring me man. What does it say?”

Chase swallows a pocket of air before responding. He crumples the note, stares into the cloudless sky, and replies:

“It—it says I have a problem.”



HUH, PAT PAT…HUH, PAT PAT…HUH, PAT PAT…SHWOOOP.
He sucks in the South Street Seaport air through cavernous nostrils. He blows out through puffed cheeks and funneled lips. His night time jaunts have crept into the day. His arms and legs churn like cogs and wheels. The sweat above his brow drizzles down to his chin; it sparkles like glitter. As he approaches the pedestrian crosswalk under the FDR drive overpass, he slows and jogs in place. The rubber soles of his sneakers strike hard against the muddy asphalt. Seagulls, box trucks, and taxi horns compete for an ear’s attention. His eyes bounce from lost tourist, to burly construction worker, to baby carriage, to Halloween costume shopper as he waits for the light to change.

"Buff Puff? Boy is that you?”

The words drift from the crouched woman peeking from under a soiled bed comforter. In front of her is a fast food soda cup. It rattles with loose change as two strangers, conversing in a foreign tongue, squat and drop two quarters; they brisk towards the seaport mall.

“Hey, Buff Puff. Look at you with shoulders and arms all swolled up and snorting like a brahma bull. I got something better for you to snort up under this here blanket,” she says, lifting the cover.

Chase ignores the obscene flirtation but crouches in front of her. Her face softens as she sees her reflection in his glassy eyes.

“Aww, Buff Puff. Look at them eyes. What’s wrong baby?" she says.

“Wrong? Miss Pat, what makes you think—“

“Boy, don’t play with me. I’m old, not stupid.”

Chase has been running all morning but his mind has been in flux since that day last week in the park. Perhaps an ear…any ear, would help to soothe him. Even an eccentric one.

“Miss Pat I—"

“Wait boy. I can’t hear for a goddamn. All this city noise. Noise, noise, noise. Help me up Buff Puff. We can go yonder, by the dock," she says.

She steadies her hand on Chase’s shoulder. The dirty cover drops to the ground. Chase picks it up and carries it for her. He squints. It stings his eyes and smells like a port-o-potty. The two familiar strangers walk towards the pier; she clutches her cup of change. As they stroll, Chase relates what occurred at Brooklyn Bridge Park. He tells her of Tanaka and the DJ battle. When he gets to the cryptic letter handed to him by the little boy, Miss Pat blurts:

“A-Ha. I knew there was something all secret-secret about you. I smelled secret all over you. Secret Buff Puff. Secret. Secret. Secret.”

Chase forces a smile and continues.

"Miss Pat, I don’t know what to do. I can't have this kind of drama in my life right now. Especially now."

“Okay, relax. Do you know what this note thing is all about?" she says as she scratches her butt crack.

“No. I don’t. Well it might be about…never mind it’s nothing.”

“I been around a long time Buff Puff…mmmhmm…you hiding
something
.”

Chase’s gaze drifts to the rocky ripples of the East River. “I just don’t know what to do Miss Pat.”

“Do? Boy snap out of it. Do? You live your damn life that’s what you do. All you can do,” her thoughts start to trail in a different yet related direction. “I was a Radio City Rockette in the 1980's. Didn’t know that did you? Mmmhmm. You shoulda seen me. I had all these men lusting after me. That man could be as black as a thousand midnights or white as death, but when my smooth, long, luscious legs parted ways? Ooh Wee them boys practically wet themselves. And I don’t mean the pee-pee kind neither.”

Chase winces.

“They sure wanted some of Miss Patty McShane. I ain’t have to worry ‘bout no money or nothing neither. Men love spending money on pretty girls. Especially the ugly men. Makes them feel important. ‘Cause they so damn ugly, you see. If God ain’t give it to you for free, then the devil will sell it to you for a fee. Mmmhmm that’s right. Yeah, I was something else. But everything gets old eventually I guess. Then people just throw those old things away.” She pauses and looks out towards the borough of Queens’ skyline from the dock.

“But I have plans Miss Pat. Important plans. This thing—“

"What thing?” she growls back. “Let me guess. This is something from your past?” Chase doesn’t respond. “No matter I already know it is. But never you mind that. Somebody hand you some note and now you all messed up in the head? You gettin’ emotional like you some woman caught up in her feelings? That ain’t cute Buff Puff. Ain’t cute at all. And for what? Did anybody come and tell you what they want?"

Chase shakes his head no.

"Did anybody show up at your fancy school?"

Chase shakes his head again.

“Boy, go live your life. You stressin’ yourself for nothin’. Now, unless you 'bout to finally give Miss Pat some of that Buff Puff lovin’, you go on and get,” she says and brushes Chase away.

Chase cracks a soft smile. His eyes widen. He grabs Miss Pat by the elbow and swings around in front of her and hugs. He ignores the grime on her skin and the stench of her flesh. His embrace is warm, comforting and non-judgmental. But despite her amorous overtures, her
nasty talk
, her arms go stiff as boards against her hips. Her eyes bloom wide and her pencil lips quiver. How long has it been since a man held her in his arms? And has it been even longer since a man embraced her out of gratitude instead of lust? She remains frozen for a moment longer before breaking her self-induced tension.

"All right, all right now. Don't you go startin' somethin' you can't finish,” she says and jerks away.

Chase reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a wad of twenty dollar bills. He hands it to her. She fly swats his arms, grabs her blanket, and shuffles back to her corner of the sidewalk. Chase glances down at the pavement to see that she has forgotten her change cup. He bundles the money she refused to take inside the cup and runs toward her.

“Miss Pat, hey Miss Pat you forgot this, ” he says extending his hand.

“Oh, gimme that Buff Puff,” she snatches the container.

Chase watches her return to her corner. He strolls to the pier and leans on the dock’s rail. The waves slap against the wood pilings. A renewed sense of calm soaks into Chase's heart. Recent events no longer seem insurmountable. Miss Pat’s perspective gives
him
perspective. He slides his fingers into the deep well of his front pocket and feels around for a business card. He removes it and reads the silver lettering on the white linen rectangle:

Jannsen Jewelers

958 West 47th Street Suite 3

New York, NY 10036

212.555.1971

“
Prove to her you mean forever,

with a diamond that says now”

Chase nods, smiles from ear-to-ear, and trots home.



Shuffling feet, and the noise of the streets, bounce inside the walls of urban academia. Brooklyn University. It’s where sagging jeans meet polka dot bow ties. Stilettos and Coach leather bags mingle with thrift store sweats and Sikh turbans. They mingle in a most New York sense of the word; They
mingle
but don’t linger. Not on the day that starts the weekend. The lecture hall’s cathedral windows magnify the magnificence of the blood orange setting sun. The golden rays cast a natural spotlight on Chase Archibald as he finishes answering a question from the young Robbie Jankovic; the young man is now the most attentive student in class. He nods several times as he listens to Chase’s creative writing advice.

“Now, although it isn’t a work of fiction, Claude Brown’s gritty storytelling will help you to write better. Remember…all good writers are also good readers,” Chase says with a sharp-eyed wink.

“Thank you professor. I’ll read
Manchild in the Promised Land
over the break.” Robbie hops up the steps to the exit.

Chase fumbles inside his leather satchel for the earbuds to his smartphone. Tonight is nineties Hip-Hop Karaoke at Brooklyn Bowl, a converted warehouse that is now a music venue and bowling alley. Tanaka and Chase will team up again as they did a month ago. Chase wants to brush up on the lyrics to
What’s The Scenario?,
the
A Tribe Called Quest classic. Jenae, and her half-sister Shauntelle, owned the crowd last month with their performance of
Ladies First
by rappers Queen Latifah and Monie Love. That gave them bragging rights over the boys. Tanaka of course, felt that the crowd was
gender biased
and sided with the women. He also voiced his opinion that Chase’s
weak rhyming skills
contributed to their defeat. Chase wants karaoke redemption and the opportunity to needle Jenae’s sister, who he has never much cared for. The feeling is mutual.

Students empty the lecture hall. Just as the heavy metal door is about to shut behind the last coed, a giant meat slab of a hand juts inside. It creaks the door back open.

“Where are those damn earbuds?” Chase mumbles as he fumbles through the bag.

Two figures emerge from the doorway and stride across the top step. Their presence looms over a preoccupied Chase.

“Ahem, ahem.”

Chase lifts his gaze towards the guttural sound. What he sees, or rather,
who
he sees…jolts him. Two men. One looks like a Sumo wrestler in a claustrophobic blue suit. Even from this distance Chase can tell he is much taller than even his own six foot three inch frame. Next to the behemoth is a man in a black pinstriped four buttoned suit, laundry clean dress shirt, and a gold tie. Though shorter than his burly companion, he still looks as though he could eyeball Chase. He carries an open tablet computer in his palm; he starts to read aloud.

“You should absolutely sign up for Professor Archibald’s creative writing class,” he says, mimicking a spunky female freshman’s voice. “Professor Archibald is tough, but he’s fair. He inspired me to start writing my first short story. Plus he’s soooo beefcake hot. O-M-G can I say? Oh well,
whateverrrrr
I just did. [he returns to his normal voice] Are you kidding me? This chick actually typed,
so
, with five o’s and
whatever
with how many? Let me count here…one, two, three, four,
five
r’s? And she’s not the only happy bunny rabbit you got here. A hundred and fifty reviews and a 4.75 star rating? Well, aren’t you the superstar on the
Rate Your Professor
website?”

Chase’s is like a jittering mannequin. His body is frozen in stasis, but his soul clangs and vibrates like a cartoon alarm clock. His lungs gurgle and boil like sacs of molten metal. Fear and shock form a noose around his neck. And this noose is attached to a rope held by an unwelcome blast from the past. Chase’s jaw tightens. He wrings the handle on his briefcase with such force that it sounds as if he is scraping the skin off of his palms. Chase can do nothing but stand next to the podium as the wooly mammoth waddles, and the cool cucumber glides down the steps. The latter plops the smart tablet on the table in front of Chase. The screen reveals Chase’s university employee photo, faculty bio, and the student reviews. Chase doesn’t look down. His eyes bulge and fixate on the well dressed, dark brown man. He eyeballs him in return.

“Hmmm, you look like I’m some ghost. Didn’t you get my little note in the park,” the man says.

Chase burns a cold stare.

“Oh, come on now. What’s with the ice grill? You’re going to make my associate here think that you and I aren’t friends,” he says.

“We’re not friends Eugene,” Chase says.

He speaks the name from the gutter of his throat as if he coughed up sewage.

“Oh, so he remembers my name. But I don’t know if I like how he said it. There was no…um…joy in it. No warmth. Man-Man, that didn’t sound friendly did it?” he says to his large companion. Man-Man grimaces and shakes his head.

“Goodbye Eugene,” Chase says and walks towards the ascending steps.

Eugene extends his arm to block him.

“Hold up there, Sparky. I’m really interested in this professor scam of yours."

“Scam? Get out of my way.”

Chase brushes Eugene’s arm away.

“Slow down, playboy.”

Eugene jumps into his path again.

“I mean with reviews like these, I should become a so-called professor too. You know, maybe you could even introduce me to this hot piece of tail that gave you this glowing review. I hope she’s not some blonde, blue-eyed, snowflake though. We all know how
great
that worked out for you last time huh? Hahahaha."

"I don't have time for your little mind games,” Chase says pointing between Eugene’s eyes. “Now get out of my way.” He sidesteps Eugene and stomps towards the first level of the staircase. Eugene’s burly sidekick steps into Chase path. Chase bounces off of him and stumbles to the bottom step. Chase looks up and sees the bridge of the man’s nostrils staring down at him.

“Let me give you two a formal introduction. Chase, meet my associate Man-Man. Man-Man, meet the good professor. Eugene turns to Chase. I really need to get used to this
Chase
thing of yours,” Eugene says.

Chase sizes Man-Man up as he contemplates whether or not he should get physical.

“I know what you’re thinking Chase.
Can I take these dudes?
But you see why we call this big boy here, Man-Man, right? ‘Cause he’s like two big ass mofos in one. Look at him. He ain't a man...he's a
man-man
. Now you might be able to take
me
on. No shame in me admitting that. But I doubt you can handle Man-Man
and
me. So stop looking like you gonna do something and back your ass up.”

Chase hesitates. Anger mixes with angst as he realizes Eugene is right. He returns to the table; he and Eugene stand eye-to-eye.

“Man-Man, go watch the door," Eugene says. The husky henchman lumbers up to the top stair and keeps a lookout by the exit.

"Well, now that we have a bit more of an understanding, let’s finally talk like gentlemen. Have a seat,” he says to Chase.

Chase remains standing.

“That wasn’t a request,” Eugene says with an eye towards Man-Man.

Chase pauses, unfolds one of the front seats, and sits with crossed arms.

“You know, you've got a cool little gig here,” Eugene says, stroking his index finger on the podium; he inspects it as if he were checking for dust.

"A nice little, Cliff and Claire Huxtable, life you got set up. Yeah, you got set up real nice,
real
nice didn’t you?” Eugene says.

Chase’s bottom lip shrinks into his teeth as if it were stuck on the letter V. His fists ball and his left foot goes rat-a-tat-tat, like an anxious machine gun.

“How’d you come up with that name though? Chase Archibald? Sounds so gangsta, ooooh,” Eugene laughs and trembles.

“Look, I am not interested in your silly jokes. You bust in my classroom, with some fat boy goon from a bad movie, to do what? Waste my time with your song and dance routine? Just say what you came her for and bounce.”

"See now," Eugene says sucking his teeth and wagging a finger.“ That right there. It’s that arrogant, spoiled,
beyaatch
attitude of yours. That’s what I always hated about you. You living on easy street as far as I can see. Got you a nice three story brownstone. A college gig. Hell, you even got you some big booty lawyer chick I hear? Maybe I should pay her sweet ass a visit too.”

Chase snaps. He jumps up into Eugene’s face, grabs him by his necktie and shouts into his face. Hot breath and spit fly from Chase’s gums into his tormentor’s eyes.

“You wanna keep playing games with me? Huh? You’ve been stalking me? How do you know about my lady? How do you know I live in a brownstone?” Chase chokes Eugene as he screams his lungs out.

Upon hearing the commotion Man-Man thuds his way down the steps. Eugene shoots his palm up like a crossing guard. Man-Man stops midway. Chase grips Eugene’s necktie. His other fist is clenched and poised to strike a blow. Eugene chuckles.

“Okay, I’ll give you a pass on that one. Talking about a man’s chick would set anybody off. But you can stop spilling your feelings in the air. Take your hands off of me.”

Chase doesn’t release him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Eugene says with a glance at Man-Man.

Chase loosens his grip.

“So, you’ve been stalking me. You and…,” Chase pauses. His eyebrows curl; he recalls a recent memory.
This Man-Man clown…he sounds like the fat guy Devantay mentioned was asking him questions a while back.

“Come on Chase. Stalking is such a creepy word. I'd prefer to say…
taking an interest in your whereabouts.”

Eugene gives nods for Man-Man to return to the exit door. He stares Chase back down into his seat.

“What is it you want Eugene? Why are you here after all these years?”

“Want? Not that much. I’m a reasonable man. Just a simple task.”

“Task? I'm not doing anything for you. You know what? We’re done here," Chase says and begins to rise again. Eugene pushes him back down into the chair with a stiff arm.

"Sit your ass back down. This ain't no damn
request
. And I’m tired of this snotty attitude with you. You done forgot where you came from playboy? Who the hell you think sent me up here to find your weak ass? You think I came here on my own? Huh, Professor AR-CHEE-BAWWLD?” Eugene yells.

Chase's heart begins to pound.

"Hahaha. Look at you. I seen that look of yours before," Eugene says. “All I gotta do is refer to him huh? I don't know why you were such a golden child to that man. Pathetic, if you ask me. Like some sick puppy he scooped out of the rain,” Eugene says, sneering at Chase.

“Alright, here's the deal cupcake. We got this thing going. We got a dude in the A-T-L. We got another in Houston, one in L.A., and a new one out in the Chi. But the real opportunity is right here in New York. New York can do what all the other cities can do combined.”

“What the hell are you talking about Eugene?” Chase says.

Eugene parks himself in the seat next to Chase and leans into his shoulder. He speaks in a hushed tone.

”Okay, so check it. This city is full of single women right? And I mean quality chicks. No ratchet hoes. These bitches got they own money, education, they travel, most even look good. Real independent women. They on that Beyoncé shit. But for whatever reason, they don’t have no kids, and no man in they life. But peep this…they want one…not the dude, but the kid I mean. So that's where you come in. You
be's
that dude, ya’ feel me?"

Chase sits up in his chair with squinted eyes, his mouth drops in slow motion, and his eyebrows curl like two waves.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” Chase says.

"Damn yo, I gotta spell it out for you? You
be
that dude. You meet up with these bitches somewhere. You get the cash. You lay some pipe. But make sure you bust off inside. That’s the whole point. Then when you’re done you can bounce. You ain’t even gotta do that cuddle up crap or act like you care about their feelings. Every man’s dream.”

Chase is speechless.

“You are a certified nutcase. You’re insane. You know what? I don’t care if he sent you or not. This right here is crazy.”

Chase leaps to his feet. Eugene pulls him back down by his sleeve.

"Sit your punk ass down. You think we just up and forgot about you? Just ‘cause you up here in the big city? You got set up real nice Mister
Chase,
didn’t you? You think your life came for free?”

“Look, this is
my
life. I built it. Me. Nobody else. Not him, and certainly not you. I don't even know why he would send you. So whatever little scheme you fixin' to come up with, take it somewhere else. I'm leaving.”

Chase stands and walks up the steps. Before reaching the third step, a mammoth claw engulfs his throat and squeezes. Chase grabs at the trunk sized forearm as it impales him. The giant's other palm slams against his chest and takes a fist full of Chase’s shirt. He lifts Chase above the carpeted floor below. As Chase’s toes dangle, a gaggle of saliva gathers and at the back of his throat. He sputters as cloudy, white spittle oozes from the forced pucker of his lips. His arms flail about, like splintered panels on a broken windmill. Man-Man’s eyes are crazed as his colossal clamp paralyzes Chase. Eugene stands to the side, literally humming a tune. He unwraps a stick of Wrigley’s gum and pops it in his mouth. He chomps on the sweet and sticky wad as he watches Chase choke, with sadistic glee.