As Time Goes By: A BWWM Interracial Romance

by Tiffany McDowell

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  As Time Goes By: An Interracial BWWM Romance by Tiffany McDowell

  The hundred story Signet tower hovered menacingly over downtown Detroit, casting its shadow over the debris littered pavement.

  Marg walked tentatively down the concrete steps to the street below, her hand thrust into her purse, clutching the mace in her hand and braving the whipping winds that wrapped their invisible icy arms around her nervous throat.

  The chill was intolerable, and she used her free hand to raise the scarf higher until she could sling it back around her bare neck.

  Temperatures had dipped to below freezing, and the warm cheer of bright blue skies and a blazing sun so eloquently predicted by the local TV station had not materialized. In its place was a barrage of fierce frozen winds and grey overcast clouds.

  “Fancy meeting you here.”

  The voice was vaguely familiar. She tried hard to place it, but couldn’t. It was unrecognizable not because the voice was strange or weird, but because the scarf was wrapped around her almost frost bitten ears, and muffled her reception of the sounds.

  She turned around and gasped in amazement at the sight of Arnold Winston, a former city councillor that she had once approached about solving a potential building tax problem she was having with a zoning application for a charity she was helping out.

  “Mr. Winston, how very nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise, Andrea, isn’t it?”

  “Actually, it’s Marg.”

  “Ah yes, Marg. I used to see so many faces, hundreds a week, actually, so while I do remember the faces, it’s hard to place the names.”

  “I guess us black voters look all the same to you white politicians,” she said playfully, letting him know she was willing to flirt, at least for the time being.

  “Not at all. I remember you clearly because you were the prettiest lady ever to grace my office.”

  She narrowed her stunning brown eyes with the rust colored mascara into two appreciative slats. Good compliments were where you found them, especially in a city that had filed for bankruptcy and was always teetering on the brink of financial annihilation. People had left in droves to find hard to come by jobs elsewhere.

  The sound of sudden barking seemed to make Arnold nervous. “Shit! Those damn dogs again. A wild pack. They’ll bark and claw at anybody they think might have food on them.”

  Marg eyed them carefully. She counted five in all. They did seem aggressive and rather large, with one barking incessantly, looking as though it were actually foaming at the mouth.

  “Maybe we should call animal control,” she suggested.

  He shook his head from side to side. “Wouldn’t do much good. With the recent cutbacks they only have about three animal control officers left on staff. At one point they used to have thirty.”

  “Only three animal control officers for the whole city?”

  “You got it. The cutbacks have been pretty deep and brutal.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t I know it. I used to work as a legal assistant in the mayor’s office, but then about six months ago, wham! The axe came down on most of us.”

  “Me as well,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “That’s why I’m not a councillor anymore. They amalgamated the two districts to save money. The other fellow was black and had far more black supporters living in his riding. Go figure.”

  Marg giggled and shook her head from side to side. “Sounds like reverse discrimination to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? When you white politicians win, you claim that the best man won, but when you lose, you claim it was because you were the wrong color.”

  “Guilty as charged, I suppose,” he agreed, suddenly enamored by her fun attitude and warm smile.

  The barking got louder, and the one that seemed to be foaming became far more aggressive.

  “We should get away from these damn dogs,” he suggested.

  She took out her mace and sprayed some onto the leader of the pack. He yelped and scampered off, causing the others to reluctantly turn and follow suit.

  “That’s a neat trick,” he said, suitably impressed. “But is it even legal?”

  “Not sure. I only know that I prefer that to getting bitten or raped. This damn city is going to the dogs, both figuratively and literally.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. Say, I have some time to kill. Would you like to go for a coffee or something?”

  His invitation peaked her interest, but the only thing in her purse was dust. She had been out all day job hunting and could honestly use a coffee, and perhaps a muffin or sandwich to go with it, but only if he were stipulating that the bill belonged to him.

  “My treat, of course,” he clarified.

  “Getting out of this cold before my next interview would be rather nice,” she said, adding, “sure, why not.”

  “There’s a good deli on the corner,” he said.

  “Yes, I know the place, small but very charming.”

  They walked side by side, exchanging pleasantries about the bitter cold and how out of control the damn stray dogs had been getting lately, becoming dangerous, especially for mailmen, and filling the street with stinky poop.

  XXX

  “An ex what?”

  “An ex-councillor.”

  “As in drug counselling?”

  “No, mother. As in a city councillor, you know, like in politics?”

  “You’re marrying a politician?”

  “Not marrying, silly. Only dating. And it’s an ex-politician to be precise.”

  “Same thing, those political types lie and say anything and everything to get elected. And you know what they say.”

  “No, mother. What do they say?”

  “Once a liar, always a liar.”

  “Honestly, mother. You’re being silly. Not all politicians are dishonest or corrupt.”

  “Now you’re the one being silly, and naïve as well. Can’t you find yourself a nice electrician or plumber? They make about fifty bucks an hour. At least you won’t starve. But an ex-politician who is down on his luck? Why hook up with a guy who isn’t working?”

  “I am not hooking up with him mother. I merely agreed, over a lunch which he bought, to go out with him to a hockey game on Saturday.”

  “The Red Wings?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Hmm, well at least that’s something. A Saturday night hockey game? Those tickets cost an arm and a leg. Some scalpers have retired flogging those. Maybe he’s got money after all.”

  “Maybe. I didn’t think to ask him.”

  “Well maybe you ought to before you go investing any of your heart into him.”

  “It’s only a hockey game, mother. Besides, you know how much of a fan I am.”

  “Don’t I know it. Who are they playing?”

  “The Leafs.”

  “Toronto?”

  “Yep.”

  “The Detroit-Toronto
ongoing feud. That’ll be a wild one.”

  “It certainly will. I agree that they’ve got quite a rivalry going on this year.”

  “That’s for sure, but we got the edge. Toronto’s goalie sucks.”

  “It’ll still be a good game.”

  “Probably, because you’ll be watching his dimples and big brown eyes the whole game instead of the ice.”

  “He does not have dimples, mother, and for your information his eyes are green. He also has gorgeous blond hair flowing onto his broad dreamy shoulders if you’re interested.”

  “Green eyes? I’m definitely not interested now that you let the cat out of the bag that he is white.”

  “And what does him being white have anything to do with it?”

  “As far as I know, and you always tell me about your dates, you have never dated a white guy in your life before this.”

  “Honestly, mother. White, black, what the hell is the difference?”

  “A white politician? And you’re asking me what to expect? A guy that lied for a living and whose ancestors brought your ancestors over from Africa in chains?”

  “And black guys don’t lie? Are you kidding me? They invented the book on how to break a heart like mine, and in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got a bunch of tear filled scars to prove it.”

  “Fine, so all guys are alike. I’m only your mother that spent nine months with you moving around in my belly like some damn wrestler. If you won’t listen to me then maybe after you get a good enough dose of hurt this time you’ll smarten up.”

  “Really mother. Do you have to be so darn negative about everything?”

  “About possessive liars that hide under silky blond hair and broad dreamy shoulders? Damn right I do.”

  “I’m going to hang up now mother. You’re making me feel like absolute shit as usual.”

  “Just remember what I said before you slam that receiver down. You want to get your grasping little hands on a plumber or an electrician. They are always in demand and they have more gold cards than gazillionaires. I should know because I called a damn plumber to fix a leaky faucet last week. I thought he was going to toss on a washer and tell me no charge. Instead he can retire on the bill he gave me.”

  Marg hung up and tossed herself onto the bed. She was becoming worried about a lot of things. Her mounting debts…the bank’s refusal to extend any more credit…or let the damn mortgage slide for yet another month…her cherished convertible on the brink of repossession…the over two hundred resumes she’d sent out the last month alone, with only a few interviews to show for it. She hadn’t gone to college, and so even if she was better qualified in the experience field, there was always that candidate for the position that had impressive degrees from impressive schools. Normally, education credentials wouldn’t mean squat, but in a depressed city like Detroit, employers had far too many great applicants to choose from.

  Marg rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Six fucking months without a job? Most people lived paycheck to paycheck. The fact she had managed to survive a full six months without any income at all spoke volumes about her previous tenacity for saving, and her quick thinking wits. Only she was fast reaching that crossroads where savings were running out and razor sharp wits could no long keep the bill collectors at bay. She was down to her last borrowed buck, as well as her last saved dime. It was now do or die time. Find a job or kiss her condo, furniture and car goodbye. And then there was her independence to think about. Sure, her mother had suggested a couple of times that she merely bite the bullet and move back in with her. Move back in with the dragon lady? That maternal, smothering, criticizing, over the hill wench that was forever prying into her business and saying ‘I told you so,’ even when she had said no such thing? Indeed, Marg knew only too well that most of the mistakes she had made had only come about because her mother had suggested she take the ill-advised plunge.

  The names Harold, Vincent and Donovan quickly came to mind. All men her mother had highly recommended, and all losers and players that had tapped into her hard earned money and left her heart for dead…all hit and run artists. She sighed at the thought, but then had to admit to herself that her own judgement where men were concerned hadn’t proved any more stellar. There had been Derrick, Paul and Randoph to name a few mistakes of her own. All black men, and all so slippery smooth as butter with their moist handsome lips, so warm and inviting, only…only…her eyes moistened. It was hard to believe that she could be so shrewd and alert when it came to picking investments, but so absolutely stupid when it came to picking her men. Still, she took a deep breath and was determined not to be too hard on herself or her well-meaning mother. Men were liars, regardless of their color and regardless of their financial status. She knew that to be so because she had some close friends who had dated rich white guys, with a few doctors and lawyers mixed in. They ended up with no more to show for their relationships then she did. Just empty promises, unfulfilled dreams and un-kept words swirling ominously in the four winds. She had started dating since leaving high school but…but…she was beginning to think that it was all about luck. Some women were lucky with their dates, having chosen men at random who just happened to be all round nice guys. Getting a super sweet and super sincere and super rich, handsome guy at first pick? Why couldn’t she be so lucky? That was what fairy tales were made of. And some of her friends had made it down that elusive aisle the very first kick at the can. Only why, after dozens of nightmarish tries, couldn’t she?

  She began to analyze her dating methods. Perhaps her problem didn’t lay in the fact she wasn’t careful in the men she selected, but rather in the fact she had no selection process at all. She seemed to go out with every male fly that pitched on her doorstep, and she seemed to trust and believe every damn word that came out of their sexy, seductive mouths.

  Marg gazed around her room in dismay. She was on the brink of losing it all, and yet, part of her frustration lately had nothing to do with a lack of money or a lack of a job. At the age of thirty-three, it had to do with men. She had always envisioned herself being married a full ten years earlier, by twenty-three at the latest. And she had envisioned that she would have been all done having her four desired children at age thirty. Only, at age thirty-three, there was no marriage, no children, no happy home, and no man in her life to wake up to and bring her breakfast in bed. If she wanted breakfast she had to get it herself, and if she wanted to play with kids she had to pack her bags and run off to the windy city of Chicago, to where her younger sister Delores had three adorable children of her own, not to mention a very handsome man that had slipped a wedding ring on her finger. She sighed once more at the thought. Even the bible taught that the older sister should marry first, but real life wasn’t always like that. In real life, sometimes the much younger sister found the man of her dreams first, and…and…

  Marg stopped thinking about it. Why should she torment herself over the fact that there was no man in her life…or was there?

  Arnold Winston. A former city councillor. A white guy who was as charming as he was handsome. But hadn’t that been her problem in the past? Choosing handsome guys that could charm the frost off a snowflake? Guys who were so slick at playing women that they could sell ice to Eskimos?

  A white guy. Did it really matter what color the guy was? Men were men. Only the law of percentages were in her favor. Sooner or later she was bound to meet a really nice guy that wasn’t a total loser. Unless, of course, she was cursed.

  Marg nodded no to herself. She wasn’t cursed. She had been unlucky over the last fifteen years where choosing men was concerned. Did that mean that her luck was about to change? She sighed yet again. She hadn’t learned her lesson in the past. What made her think she was going to-

  Her phone rang and broke her train of thought. Not her home phone because they had cut that off last week for lack of payment. It was her cell phone. That bill was only a month and a half overdue. She snatched it up, not bothering to check the number. If it was a potentia
l job interview then she couldn’t risk having it go into voicemail.

  Arnold’s voice greeted her. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel deflated. She was, for some reason, just as excited to hear his voice as she would have been if a job interview were being offered. She wondered why, but then fell short of engaging in wishful thinking. Wasn’t that what had gotten her into trouble so many times in the past? Wishful thinking?

  “Hi Margaret.”

  “Nice to hear your voice again Arnold. But, as I told you already, my friends call me Marg.”

  “Ah yes. Sorry. I had forgotten. Margaret is such a beautiful name, but Marg it is. I’d like to be friends, well, much more than just friends actually.”

  His words churned around her weary brain like dust particles snatched up in a hurricane. Who knew where they were going to end up or what damage they might cause. Arnold was starting out just like the rest of them, white skin notwithstanding; smooth, slippery, pretentious and aggressive. Complimenting her name…insisting they be more than friends…and what was next, a request she show off her medium sized, firm breasts so he could tantalize her weak spot nipples with the tip of his crafty tongue?

  She was horny instantly. Men always did that to her. Another curse. Over sexed and perpetually horny. She needed cock more than she needed water or air, and supressing those urges merely postponed the inevitable. She supposed that was what made sharks and men so cut from the same cloth. They would smell blood in the water and just keep patiently circling until their prey was too weakened to resist. She had resisted the urge to fuck a man for the last six months. Ever since losing her job. Six long months without a damn cock between her legs. She frowned proudly at the thought. For her that had been some kind of world record. But if her stiffening nipples and squirming thighs were any indication, then Arnold’s continued compliments, expensive dates and smooth buttery lips were bound to wear her down to the point of no return. She had purposely stopped taking birth control pills so very long ago, determined to give men a break, only now…only now…nature was calling and there was nothing she could do about it. After all, a girl had to do what a girl had to do.