by Brother Dash
Man-Man shoves it in Chase’s face. Chase removes the paper from between Man-Man’s pudgy fingers. The note is handwritten with a woman’s name, phone number and the address of the Marriott Hotel in Brooklyn. In the lower right hand corner is what appears to be a room number. Chase shrugs his shoulders at Eugene.
“Okay. And?” Chase says.
“And? And that's your first client, doofus.”
"My first what?"
“Dude, do we seriously have to go through this shit again?”
"Look," Chase says.
“Look nothing, goddamnit. I'm tired of this back and forth with you. Read it.”
“I just did fool.”
“Out loud. I want to hear you say it. Just so we’re crystal clear. You seem to be confused about the difference between a request and a command,” Eugene’s voice rises.
“I just proposed to the woman I love. I’m not about to—“
“Fine, that’s cool. I’ll just have a nice little pre-wedding chat with your lawyer bitch. Jenae is her name right?”
Eugene starts to walk out of the kitchen.
Chase wrings his hands and huffs.
“Wait. Wait…just wait a second let’s uh—“
“Uh, nothing. Read the note.”
Chaotic emotions grip Chase. Fear, flight and fight all compete for dominance in his mind. Fear wins. He reads the note:
"Vicky. +370-5-210-2222, Marriott Hotel, Adams Street, Brooklyn. Room 1203. Okay and why is this an international number? Plus 370 is a country code.”
"Very good Chase. You were always Mr. Observant. She’s some foreign chick. In town for a week from one of them Russian European countries.”
“How do you know her? What’s her backgr—“
Eugene waves his hand like Chase is a gnat.
“That don’t matter. Remember the don’t word? Your word for the day? She’s paying cash money. That’s all your punk ass needs to know. Get it done next Friday. She said that's when she'll be the most ripe.”
“The most ripe?”
“Come on man. You're not seventeen anymore like when you lived down south.”
Chase is still bewildered.
“You know ready…uh…what’s the damn word Man-Man?” Eugene says snapping his fingers wildly.
“Ovulating,” Man-Man says.
“Yeah, that’s it. Ovulating, dummy. Unless you wanna have to keep dipping and spitting in her well over and over? She paying for the baby, not the baby maker.”
Chase is silent. He puts his hand on the counter top and the other on his forehead.
“This isn’t happening,” he says.
“Oh, it’s happening. Look I don't care how or where you do it. Just make sure you get it done. She’ll hand you an envelope. That’s the cash. So don’t get stupid and forget to get the money just ‘cause you want some foreign tail.”
“I don’t want any of this Eugene!”
“Look, think of this as my birthday gift to you. Sex with no strings, no responsibility. You don’t have to lie and say I love you, I miss you blah, blah, blah crap. And on top of that, it’s you that gets paid. Sounds like heaven.”
“So then why don’t you do it?”
“We went through this. Number one, I don’t have a debt to repay. You do. Number two, she wants a smart, handsome, athletic, caring and all that other bullshit perfect guy kind of dude. That obviously ain’t me.”
Chase breathes heavy and looks away. He bends at the knees and squeezes his head like a vise.
“Chase…Chase,” Eugene says.
“I can hear you…how…how much am I supposed to get from her?”
“How much isn't your concern now is it? You know your debt ain’t really about the money. You know what it is you owe."
“Yeah, I know. But this is it right? Just this one woman.”
“You just remember why you owe and more importantly who you owe it to. You know he doesn’t play around. He doesn’t suggest, or request. He simply demands. So you can either deal with warm and cuddly Eugene…or you can deal with him. You know how that worked out for others that didn’t take him seriously. Now, if there are no other dumb questions?…No?…Good. I’ll be in touch after you do her.”
“Seriously? Do her?”
“Think of this as your bachelor party or like Vegas. Whatever happens in Vegas…eh, you know the rest. Let’s go Man-Man.”
Chase takes a deep swallow of the knot that has grown in his throat. Eugene and Man-Man bop out of the kitchen. Just as Eugene is about to exit the hall back into the living room, he pops back in.
“Oh I almost forgot. One more thing. Happy Birthday.” Eugene grins and exits.
Chase is alone. A sense of desperation and contempt invade his soul. But there is no time to brood. He can’t raise suspicions with a depressed face. He takes a deep breath. He turns the handle on the steel spigot in the sink and cups the cool flow of New York tap into his right palm. He cradles it into his mouth. He swishes and spits, swishes and spits, and does so a third time hoping to wash the taste of a bitter conversation from his jowls. He cradles his palms underneath the running faucet and splashes his face three times, his arms and hands thrice. The cool water cascades down his feverish skin. Three sniffs into his nostrils and a wet wipe of his bald head calms him. He grabs a kitchen towel and pats the fluffy textile against his cheeks and brow. Surveying his clothes, he tucks in his shirt tails, and smooths his collar. With all buttons latched and accounted for, he strolls back into the living room. Music seeps into his ears. Guests approach him. Game face on. Showtime.
"Hey buddy," Dr. Scobee says. "We were starting to worry about you."
"Worry? Huh? Why? What do you mean worry? Why would you worry?” Chase says fidgeting.
"Relax babe, he was just wondering why you were still in the kitchen. Your friends just walked out,” Jenae says.
She smoothes her hand on his chest.
"The Eugene guy said they had to get back to their hotel.”
Chase grunts.
"Here hubby to be, I know you’re not really a drinker, but it's our night so your fiancée insists."
Jenae lifts a glass of wine to Chase's lips and places her other hand under his chin. She tilts the fruity, sweet, slightly acidic liqueur into his mouth like a mother feeding her babe. Chase grabs her palm and gulps it all in.
“Whoa, whoa, slow down Mister. I like my men sober.”
The party returns to its fever pitch as Tanaka switches to dancehall reggae. Two celebrations in one space, on an autumn night, in Brooklyn. Chase sips more wine. It takes the edge off. Jenae grabs his wrist and pulls him onto the makeshift dance floor. Her adoring gaze and girlish smile brings out a smile in him. But it’s time to get down. Her apple bottom shimmies below his navel. Her Jamaican style dance of the, Dutty Wine, slow grinds her rump on his loin. His anxiety dissipates. He wraps her in his arms from behind and corkscrews along with her. Everyone eats, drinks and is merry. Almost everyone that is.
In the living room is a seven foot high bamboo room divider that abuts the wall. It is the same wall that separates the living room from the kitchen. Andrea uses this bamboo divider as a decorative screen. But it serves another purpose. It hides a two foot wide by four foot high crevice that was left from an aborted apartment renovation, two years ago. It is just enough space for someone to sneak through. The divider makes it seem as though there is no hole whatsoever in the wall. Crouching through the crevice leads into the rear of the burlap covered pantry Chase and Eugene argued with each other next to. Thus, it is secret way to get into the kitchen from the living room—which even Chase is unaware of. And it is Andrea who slinks from behind the bamboo screen and slips back into the living room undetected; everyone is busy dancing or chatting. Andrea surveys the room. She appears satisfied that her return from the kitchen, through this secret entrance, has gone unnoticed. She grabs a wine glass and leans on the wall. As she sips the Sauvignon, she stares at Chase; he and Jenae continue to dirty dance. She watche
s his long fingers dig into her hips from behind. His succulent lips locking on Jenae’s smooth neck. Her eyes appear to envy how he sucks on Jenae like Count Dracula. Jenae’s mouth lifts and opens to the ceiling as Chase’s left hand slides up the front of her clingy dress. He polishes her engorged bosom with a steel palm and braces his other hand on her hip; he plows into her backside in sync with the bass. They curl and tangle in the sensual rhythms of Jamaican dancehall dub. Andrea is fixated on their stage show. Her fury burns into the image of the licking lovers like a tossed cigarette in a dry forest. A cigarette that smolders on a pile of dried leaves called…rejection.
7 And The Pot Thickens

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
“Hello? You in here? Hello?” a female voice says.
The 1920’s oakwood door with the pockmarked glass pane squeaks open. The pitter patter of hard bottomed soles, and text message alerts, leech from the bustling hallway like spilled buttermilk. A french manicured, sandy white hand pushes the door open. Hot sunlight frames the coral twirls of hair around her high cheekbones. Her bright green eyes peek through the crack of the door.
“Hello? Knock, knock,” she says rapping her hand on the glass.
"Huh? What? Oh, Andrea,” Chase says straightening up in his chair.
“You need some coffee sleepy head?”
“Huh? No, no…I was just grading midterms.”
“Yeah right. I was knocking for a minute. You were daydreaming. Why is it so hot in here?”
“Project heat. That’s why the window is cracked.”
“So why were you off in Neverland? Something on your mind?”
“I’m fine Andrea. What brings you on this side of campus anyway? Not used to seeing you psychology department folks in the english department."
"I had a craving," she says.
She flitters across on the artisan rug from Bahia. It takes up most of the floor of Chase's cramped office. She pauses her three and a half inch heels in front of the antique bookcase, and pulls a hardcover from an overstuffed shelf.
"A craving?" Chase says.
"Yes," she replies.
Chase shifts in his chair.
Andrea chuckles as she thumbs through Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow.
"You find that book funny?" Chase asks.
Andrea cuts her neck towards the still seated Chase.
"Of course not silly. I have this on my nightstand. I was laughing at you. I think you're afraid to ask what I was craving."
“Andrea, I don't have time for your—“
"Macaroons," she says.
"Macaroons?"
"Yes. I was craving those macaroons from that shop you used to take me to around here. Le Petit something or another."
"Oh my God yes, yes. Le Petit León. Wow…that was—“
"Yeah...that was. Was, was, was,” she says. Her voice trails off as she tickles her fingers across the spines of the books as if she were strumming a harp.
"So did you find it?” Chase asks.
"Find it? Oh, the pastry shop? Yes and no. It’s been turned into one of those yogurt, crepe, wheatgrass places or something. I don't know."
Andrea sandwiches the book back in its place and sits on the edge of Chase's desk. The hem of her skirt suit rises above the mid-point of her thigh. She crosses her leg to reveal the satiny, ruffled edge of her black stockings. Chase notices but refuses to give Andrea the satisfaction of a reaction.
"I bet you thought I was going to say…you…when I said I had a craving huh?"
“Really? Andrea listen.”
Chase leans forward to rise from his chair. Andrea puts her hand on his shoulder keeping him seated.
“Relax, Chase. Proposing to Jenae in my living room last weekend made things quite clear to me where I stand.”
Chase gasps with bug eyes; his mouth plops.
"Oh my God, Andrea. It never even occurred to me that you would…of course…of course you would have a problem with—“
"Oh no, no, no boo boo it's fine. I mean, at least you stepped your game up this time. Her ring looked to be about…what? Twice the size of the one you got on your knee and gave to me?"
“Andrea, let me explain. I never thought you'd have an issue. I mean...come on. You and I were over a long time ago, and we decided we were much better off as friends. And we are friends.”
“Hmm…well it wasn’t that long ago but yes, we decided we were better as friends. And let me guess, that’s all Jenae thinks we ever have been isn’t it? All this time you never mentioned our history to her? What we meant to each other?”
"You and I have been just friends for the past three, four years.”
“True, about as long as you’ve been seeing Jenae, interestingly.”
“Andrea come on. Jenae is your friend too. We’ve all hung out together many, many times.”
"Mmmhmm," she says with a sneer.
Chase stands from behind the desk, grasps her elbow and locks his brown eyes on her bright olives.
“Andrea, I'm so sorry. I just thought—“
“It’s fine Chase," she says placing her palm on his cheek. "I didn't come here for one of your puppy dog apologies. I actually came here to help you."
"Help me? I don't understand."
"Well, tomorrow's your big day…or night I should say, isn’t it?"
"Huh? What are you going on about Andrea?"
"Awww come on now. Don’t be shy.”
She slithers her nail across his chest and into the second button of his shirt. Chase uses his fingers like tongs to remove it and returns to his desk in a huff; he stuffs student papers into his briefcase.
“Andrea, I don't have time for your mind games. I’m starting to sense that you didn’t come all the way from the Lincoln Center campus in midtown, just for some macaroons in Brooklyn. Listen, I'm really sorry about last weekend. I wasn't thinking about where I was when I proposed to Jenae. I should have asked if you would be cool with me doing it like that, okay?"
“Wow. Your concern is sooo touching and sincere," she says rolling her eyes.
Chase begins to plead again but Andrea closes her eyes and raises her palm.
"I'm not here for that anyway. Like I said, I'm here to help you. I heard your conversation.”
Chase shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and flips his palms in the air.
“Conversation?”
“I was in the pantry the whole time. I heard what you, that Eugene guy and big chubsy wubsy, were talking about."
Chase looks like he’s just been fossilized.
“Oh my God,” she laughs. “I should take a pic of that face right now.”
“You were…uh…pantry…you…uh….”
The more Chase fumbles the more Andrea seems to enjoy it. She folds her arms and pokes her hip, with a sarcastic grin. Chase continues with his verbal starts and stops in a feeble attempt to spin the conversation that she overheard.
"Okay, okay, just stop," she says, tossing her arms about her head. "Coming up with a good story was never your strong suit.”
“Yeah, it was more yours," he replies.
“Haha, cute,” she says.
She reclines into the grey fabric chair and folds her palms over her knee.
"Here's the deal. I don't know what this guy has on you. But obviously it's something so serious that you’d agree to do this. I also don't know who this other mystery dude is," she says.
"You mean Man-Man?" he says.
"Oh please. Not fat boy. I'm talking about that whole, you know who sent me, thing Eugene barked about."
"Oh you heard that part too? Whoa, whoa wait. How could you have been in the pantry without walking past us? I could have sworn I saw you go into the bathroom from the corner of my eye and I looked back to make sure no one followed us.”
“We’ll get to the that another time. Here’s how I'm going to help you.”
"I don't need, and I don't want, your help Andrea."
"Yes you do. And whether
you want it or not, you're going to get it."
"Andrea, I will handle this. I appreciate your offer but—wait. Oh my God. I remember now. That stupid crack in the wall from the renovation you cancelled. That space leads into the back of the pantry you were going to knock down to make the kitchen bigger. You never had it patched up? But wait, why didn't I notice a gaping hole at the party then?“
“Stay focused Chase. We have a situation to manage.”
“Situation? We’re not even having this conversation. I don’t need your help. Look I need to head out anyway.”
“Don’t need my help? Did you even call that Vicky person?"
"Damn, you really did hear everything.”
"We've been through that already. Did you call her?"
"No, I haven't called her."
"Well, what you're going to do is call her and set up a time. 7 pm, my place."
"Your place?"
“Yes, my place."
"Why would I meet her in your home number one? And number two I’m not involving you.”
“Oh okay sure, because you’ve been doing such a great job trying to handle this on your own so far?”
This last point causes Chase to reflect. I have been trying to do this on my own and it’s getting worse. If there’s one thing Andrea knows how to do is handle sticky situations to her advantage.…Hmmm.
“Okay, so hypothetically…how exactly would you help?”
“I don’t do hypotheticals. But what you do is you meet this Vicky at my place.”
“But why? She’s staying at the Marri—“
Andrea raises her hand.
"You meet her at my loft for three reasons. Number one, it allows us to control the environment. You don’t know this woman. It would be better to meet her in a familiar space. And number two, you meet her at my place for your protection. I’ll be there as a witness."
"A witness? How the hell is that supposed to work? This isn’t some threesome. I’m still trying to figure out how to not even make it a twosome.”
"I won't be in the room with you silly, but trust me I’ll protect you.”
Chase turns stone-faced.
“How are you going to—”
“And reason number three is so I can set up the kind of atmosphere a woman would want.”