BWWM Romance: Crossing The Line: Interracial Romance / Wealthy Love Interest

by Aisha M. Taylor

  "Well, D," Mikki said. "I guess you lose to me. She's mine. You get to go home on the church bus and I get to stay here."

  Derick licked his lips and laughed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Where's your man at, Mikki?"

  "I don't need a man. I got Shawna."

  "That's not how life works, sweetheart," Derick said. He turned and moved toward the church steps. "Shawna got a man."

  * * *

  The apartment felt cold as Shawna sat there alone. Instantly she regretted not inviting Mikki up to chill, but she didn't like the result whenever Virgil and Mikki were in the same room. Shawna could have also gone back to Mikki's place and now, looking around at the spacious, empty apartment, she wondered why she had declined. But she wasn't alone long. The lock turned on the door and Virgil stepped in.

  "How was practice?"

  "We actually started writing new stuff. Very productive night. How was the banquet?"

  Shawna shrugged. Her urge to chitchat drained from her body and into the floor. She had had a great time. The majority of the church members were black and for one night she was grounded in her own people and free to be herself. Although she didn't think she had been packing away parts of her personality for Virgil's benefit, she couldn't help but feel a little suffocated. There weren't any non-hurtful words that she could think of to express how stressed out she had been lately. Being with Virgil and doing the things Virgil liked to do was like going on a job interview. She kept her voice low, didn't laugh loudly, and curtailed her vocabulary. Her natural use of slang and African American Vernacular English had been replaced with business casual conversation. She couldn't relate to Virgil on things that held a lot of meaning for her. He didn't listen to hip-hop. He read different books. She was afraid to discuss politics with him because of her worry that she might accidentally uncover an unsavory part of his personality that could destroy the delicate ties they shared. She had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, but she didn’t think she could bear it if he came out with some racial idiocy―something that he had no idea was offensive, or why. She wasn’t interested in educating her boyfriend.

  She heard echoes of her voice from earlier. How light and happy it sounded. How free. Her natural cadence returned as if she had never left. Derick made things worse with his easygoing ways. Virgil was the last person on his mind. He was always about Shawna and that was something that wasn't going to change. The more they talked the more Shawna felt herself swoon. She had to remind herself that she had to go home, and it wasn't to her parents' house, to her old room. She had a boyfriend and it wasn't Derick. Not anymore.

  Shawna took Virgil to an old hangout once, and that was the only time they had ever done anything like that. Typically, Virgil showed up with a plan. He would give Shawna choices and she'd pick from the hat of acceptable activities. It never occurred to him to just leave the day wide open. Of course she could have said something…but….

  "Everything okay?" he asked.

  "Yeah, sure . . . I don't think the food is sitting well with me," she said, backing away from his touch.

  "Aw. Can I get you something?"

  "No . . . I think I'm just going to go lie down."

  Virgil watched her leave for the bedroom and he scratched his head. He couldn't imagine what had caused Shawna to flip a switch within a few hours. It wasn't as if they were never apart. He worked; she studied and went out. Something was different and it left him feeling a little queasy himself. The innumerable possibilities tumbled around in his mind, but he couldn't help but wonder if Mikki, or his more recently identified nemesis, Derick, said something to her. He was on good terms with her father. Her mother, polite but aloof, didn't leave him feeling one way or another. She certainly didn’t seem to dislike him…

  Following her into the bedroom, Virgil plopped down in a chair in the corner and watched her slip into a nightgown. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Yep. Just . . . woozy."

  Virgil tapped his fingers on the chair arm and bit his bottom lip. He didn't know how, but he was in trouble.

  CHAPTER 9

  Virgil jumped out of his truck at the recording studio and breathed. Rain hung in the air, threatening to drench the city. The billowing clouds bordered the building like a dark curtain and suddenly, he wanted to go home. Instead, Virgil snatched his guitar out of the back and trudged his way inside.

  It wasn’t sunny, but the building’s interior was dark and smoky, not having been updated since the late 1970s. Everything from the paint to the shag carpet came from that era. He wondered how much blood had soaked into the dark fiber over the years from drug overdoses and fistfights. He heard about stabbings and people getting bludgeoned over the head with awards. The place had a bad mojo, but they were the most affordable, quality recording studio in the state, and his band had an album to cut.

  Shawna’s distance hadn’t improved his dark mood. She had dodged his affections that morning and practically ran out the door to get to her parents and another church function. He couldn’t help but wonder if she were running to Derick. The guy from her past. The one her parents liked. Virgil offered to cancel his studio appointment after Shawna said they would be doing some heavy lifting, but she declined. He watched her slip into a loose pair of jeans and a simple t-shirt. She didn’t hear a thing he said and he repeated himself. Asking her what was distracting her might have pushed her further away, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

  The slow elevator ride gave him time to shake off his moodiness. His sensitive band mates would pick up on it instantly and they were already wary that he was dating again. It had gone over so well last time, he thought sarcastically.

  The other four band members crowded the hallway, chitchatting. Virgil stepped off the elevator, overly aware of how heavy his black boots were. He could feel how every inch of his clothing touched his skin and it annoyed him. Nothing in the forefront of his mind indicated why he was so on edge.

  “What’s up, Virg? You look like someone shot your dog,” Glen said. The rest of the band turned to see what he was talking about.

  “Just trying to set the mood,” Virgil said, passing them. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “What’s the rush?” Glen smiled. He nudged Rodger with his elbow. “Girlfriend set a curfew?”

  “Girlfriend?” Erika asked. “Since when?” She spun her drumstick between her fingers and leaned back against the wall. Her bleached-white hair fell in long waves down to her tiny, cinched waist. Her navy blue peasant’s top was open all the way down to the center of her cleavage, and her black leather-like leggings looked painted on. After Virgil’s breakup with Janet, the band agreed on one rule. No fucking other band members. And, as luck would have it, Erika was a lesbian.

  “Is she hot?” Erika asked, flirtatiously biting her fake, black, sharpened to a point, fingernail.

  “Oh no, guy,” Rob said, his English accent, muffled behind a soda bottle. He ran his hand through his asymmetrical haircut. The tattooed knives lifted off his skin as if they hovered there. “No. Not this again. You and dames don’t get along.”

  “Stop,” Virgil said. He leaned his guitar case against the wall and turned to face them. The lack of humor in his eyes drained theirs. Folding his arms across his chest he said, “Her name is Shawna. She’s a sweet science nerd who is going to be a pharmacist after she’s done with school. Her father is a preacher and one scary S-O-B. She doesn’t really drink. Definitely doesn’t do drugs and yes, Erika, she’s hot.”

  “Sounds like a buzzkill,” Glen said, frowning.

  “She’s . . . different,” Virgil said, not sure if he wanted to go into detail. If he mentioned her race, how would that reflect on him? How would it reflect on them? He really didn’t want to know. “So, get it all out of your system now. We have work to do.”

  “The man has spoken,” Rob said, pushing himself to his feet and dusting off his jeans. They went inside and greeted the engineer, explaining that they were going to try a few sounds and weren’t rea
dy to dedicate anything to tape yet.

  Glen froze and checked his phone as they tuned their instruments. “Ohhhh, yeah,” he said staring at the screen. “Who wants to tell him?”

  Virgil felt their eyes turn on him and he looked up. “Tell me what?”

  Rob blew out his breath and clapped Virgil on the shoulder. “Well, mate, it’s like this. You and Janet wrote a lot of our songs, yeah? Well . . . we decided to let Janet come back as our songwriter and producer. She has gotten some major credits since leaving rehab―did you know she shared a room with the lead singer of Aerobasuqe? Anyway. She’s been popping out hit after hit and . . . we think she’s our key to the top. We didn’t know how to tell you, but since you have your new bird, we―Glen, Rodger, and me, we figured you would be okay.”

  Virgil sighed. “I wished you had told me sooner.”

  “I mean, you all had an amicable uncoupling, yeah? Did you not agree to continue to be the best of friends?”

  “Is it going to be a problem?” Erika asked.

  “No,” Virgil said, sensing the heat from his band mates. Saying anything else might cause trouble, even break up the band. He had put in so much effort into this band; he wasn’t planning on just giving it up. It was true that Janet wrote a good portion of their songs and it was their blend of sounds that made them local icons. “No, it’s fine. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

  “Good, ‘cause she’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  “We better get warmed up then,” Virgil said. Following his lead, Erika set the pace with the cadence of her drums. They broke into one of their classics. It was a real vocal exercise for Virgil and he needed to push the emotion that had burrowed itself into his chest out into the air. The first lines started softly, climbing until the song ended with a roar. Virgil closed his eyes. He couldn’t push the images of his time with Janet away fast enough.

  They met by chance. A post on a website, asking for a group of strangers to come together and form a band. Having just dropped out of college, Virgil needed something to do to fill the time and escape his mother. He had always played guitar and been good at it. The four of them were the only ones who showed up to answer Glen’s post and the lineup didn’t change for a long time. Janet and Virgil’s chemistry was instant. The songwriting, the drinking, the hot sex. He was as addicted to her as she was to cocaine and when she was high she was insatiable. Virgil couldn’t get enough of her genius and before he knew it, he had tumbled into her world of coke and hard liquor.

  Not that Virgil was ever a saint, but he lost track of time inside her, inside her voracious mouth. Her hands clawed at his hair and flesh, leading him wherever she wanted him to go. Nothing was as intense as being with Janet. Even though he sensed that the intensity was dangerous and in some crucial way artificial, he craved the way it made him feel. Alive. On stage they were just as explosive as they were in the sack. The roaring crowds grew bigger and bigger each night. He was in love with her and the scene was in love with them.

  Then the record execs came.

  And neither of them was sober enough to seal the deal.

  Janet threw a bottle or a book, Virgil couldn’t remember which, and he wasn’t about to remind everyone by asking. Someone said they’d never record with a major label. Doors slammed, and for the first time since they were together, Virgil saw Glen cry. Glen’s anguish was the only part of the memory that was clear. What made them think of bringing her back?

  The song ended and Virgil opened his eyes. Janet stood on the other side of the booth clapping and shaking her head. Her gapped smile brightened up her beautiful, heart-shaped face surrounded by bright blond hair with a fading streak of electric blue. Her tight, studded leather jacket revealed a body that wore his favorite shade of blood red. Red also stained her lips. She looked like a rockabilly model and Virgil had to ignore the way his heart thumped against his ribcage.

  “Virgil, you sound like an angel,” she said. “God, I missed this. I missed this!” She clenched her fist as she circled around them. “This rich sound. I could just squirt. And you, baby,” she said walking up to Erika’s drum set. “You do me proud on those skins, mama.”

  Virgil had forgotten the rasp in her sultry voice and the energy in her touch as she grazed his shoulder. Everything about her set him on fire.

  Pulling Rob into a hug, Janet started a chain reaction of affection from the band. Even Erika stepped down from the drum set and wrapped her lean arms around Janet and kissed her cheek. Virgil stood still as a statue, hands still wrapped around the mic. His eyes followed her around the room as he tried to control his breathing. It was as if Death herself had walked into the room and was taking attendance before plucking him out of his body. Janet made sure she touched each of them, leaving her mark, claiming her territory.

  "You might not want to touch V. He's dating an Evangelical. It might be contagious," Glen said. He watched the way Janet looked at Virgil expectantly, keeping his arms around her waist to keep Janet from running to him. Glen could feel the nuclear level heat rising in the tiny recording booth. The building practically vibrated with their energy. Janet and Virgil were bad for each other and the cosmos themselves knew it. Circling in front of Janet, Glen tried to turn on the charm. He was single, but Janet wasn't his type. If he could keep her away from Virgil, though, perhaps then Glen wouldn't feel so bad about selling his best friend's soul for a chance at a professional recording contract.

  "Went and found yourself a good girl, huh?" Janet said, resting her chin on Glen's shoulder and letting her arms fall lazily around him. "Good for you, babe. Wish I could find me a good boy, but they make my pussy itch." She laughed at her own crude comment and went back to dancing around the room and congratulating the band on their wicked sound.

  Virgil took his hands from the mic stand and stuffed them deep into his pockets. "It's good to see you, Jan," he said. She spun, leveling her bright eyes onto him and Virgil thought that he'd fall into those endless pools.

  "Next time bring your chick," Janet said, turning to leave the booth. "We'll show her how miracles really happen."

  * * *

  Virgil made the engine of the beast scream as he raced down the road back to his apartment, running lights and dodging distracted drivers. There was no sugarcoating the fact that he was running away. He had to run away. The band went out for drinks and he politely declined, keeping his head up and a smile on his face, but his insides twisted themselves into knots and he fought to keep from vomiting. It got worse when they climbed into the elevator and Janet leaned against him. She still wore the same perfume, that drunken, muddy scent that she likened to fuck-afterglow. He stiffened, but couldn't step away, as all of the band members, plus their instruments, minus Ericka's drum set, which would be packed up on a second trip, packed the small space.

  "Tell me about this girl," Janet had said in a confiding tone. Virgil simply shook his head and watched the numbers tick down at an excruciating pace. "She keeping you in line and treating you good?"

  "Yeah," he whispered, mentally urging the elevator to pick up the pace.

  "She also told his mother to go fuck herself and helped V move out," Rodger said.

  "Noooooo," Janet gasped, wide eyed. Her ruby mouth made a large 'O' as she flashed her bleached teeth. "And she's still alive?"

  "It wasn't that big--" Virgil started.

  "Fuck that," Rob said. "The boy actually moved out. I actually wouldn't mind kissing the hand of a woman like that."

  "I can see it," Janet said, staring at the side of Virgil's face and nodding. "You've changed for the better, baby." She tucked a wayward lock of hair behind Virgil's ear. "Good for you."

  Virgil shook the instant replay out of his mind and pulled into the parking garage, his vehicle barely missing the clearance sign. Shawna's Mustang sat pretty in its spot as he pulled in next to it. The weekend car was there as well. He let Shawna borrow it on her errands with her parents to help her keep up her facade. Snatching his guitar out of the back, he r
an for the elevator, passed it and took the stairs. The adrenaline pumping through his veins drove him hard and he bounded up the stairs two at a time until he reached the sixth floor. Then his body remembered that it was not in great shape. He fell backward and slammed into the concrete wall, sliding down to the floor. Chest heaving, he stared up the dizzying spiral of steps leading to his floor. Virgil picked himself up and went to the elevator, satisfied that he had run the flood of emotions out of his system.

  Music greeted him in the hallway. He and Shawna had one other neighbor, a businessman from Australia who was never home. The two lovers took great joy in practically having the entire floor to themselves. Virgil even joked about buying the businessman's apartment to make it permanent. The heavy door to their apartment stood open and Virgil leaned his guitar against the wall inside and closed the door behind him. Shawna stood on the couch in a tiny pair of lavender workout shorts that barely covered her perfectly shaped ass. Her toned legs worked to keep her balanced as she stretched to dust the high-set curtain rod. Her black crop top revealed the deep curves of her back and the strong muscles that danced under her dark brown skin. Her new braided hairstyle fell in ripples down her back. The rich sounds of R&B washed over him as the singer hit every powerful note accompanied by passionate trumpets and piano. Every bump of bass settled into his ribcage, adding its pulse to his heart. It wasn't music he played often, but to walk into it was like stroking velvet. His senses drank in everything around him.