As Time Goes By: A BWWM Interracial Romance (7 page)

“I don’t like lying,” Marg insisted. “Reporters are bound to
ask me about our so called engagement, and yet, I don’t even have a ring to
show them.”

 “Maybe it was a mistake to involve you in this campaign.”

 “What you’re really saying is that maybe it was a mistake
for you to involve me in your life at all!”

“I never said that. You are purposely twisting everything
around again. I said what I said to the reporter because I was backed into a
corner. We are seeing each other outside of the campaign trail. Your mother
said as much and a whole lot more.”

“So now it’s my mother’s fault that you lied about us being
engaged. Nice touch.”

“You can be infuriating.”

 “And you can be such an asshole. I don’t think I want talk
to you for the rest of the day.”

 She hung up quickly then tossed the phone onto her bed. Her
volunteers had planned a rally for later that day, at a downtown Detroit
restaurant that was closing its doors for good. Another small business was
biting the dust. I was a great opportunity to further paint the mayor into a
corner over his abject failure at stopping jobs from bleeding out of the city.
The press was going to be there, and Marg was supposed to be there as well, but
now, she was not going to bother at all. She was in a rage. She had spent the
last fifteen years of her life dating men in earnest, fully expecting that Mr.
Right would emerge sooner or later, and there had been oodles of breathtaking
Mr. Rights for her to choose from, and she instinctively chose them all, except
that they predictably moved on to some other girl once they’d had their fill of
eye popping breasts and a world class booty.

 She brushed away a tear at the thought, trying not to let
her emotions overwhelm her. Somehow it just didn’t seem very fair. Men seemed
to like her, even love her, but taking her home to mother was always reserved
for the next woman to come along. She was now thirty-three, and although she
looked stunning for her age, and was an absolute knockout, it was always a
woman not as good looking as her to snare the particular man in question. And
she had no doubt that the same scenario would probably end up playing itself
out against the new man of her dreams. And when that happened, she would be
just as devastated, but not as surprised. It was as though she were being
punished over and over for the sins of someone else.

 The phone rang again.

 It was Arnold again.

 She was still mad. Fuck him! It suddenly dawned on her that
sooner or later he would be bringing down the damn hammer on her thick stupid
skull. Her sister had warned her not to jump into the latest relationship
waters with both feet, especially when those waters were insurmountably deep,
and way over her head. Her weary, shell shocked body shook in her slippers as
she supressed the new flood of tears. When would she ever learn?

 She tossed the phone in a rage toward the wall, hoping to
smash it into a million pieces, but if bounced off a wing chair cushion and
landed harmlessly on the plush carpeting, still ringing. She was going to have
to listen to Arnold trying to reach her whether she wanted to or not.

 She did, however, surmise that she had bigger problems. And
she was suddenly packed with stress. If she did stay in his campaign, the press
would be hounding her daily about the relationship she and Arnold were in, and
how he had claimed to be engaged to her. She now wondered if she should hold
his damn feet to the fire and insist he marry her first as her payment for trying
to get him elected to Detroit’s highest office. Was she actually going to just
stand idly by while he lied to everyone in the city about the two of them being
actually engaged? But the truth was that in real life it was nothing but a sham
and a farce designed to make him look more family oriented and less of a
player.

The pressure was preying on her mind, causing sweat to form
over her trembling body. Could she really handle another man she loved, telling
her he was going to trade her in for some other woman, even if that other woman
wasn’t half as talented or good looking as her? The whole thing made her sick
to her stomach and she suddenly felt the urge to vomit. She did so after
rushing into the bathroom and lifting the toilet seat.

The bathroom began to spin. Was it really going to end
someday like all her other ill-advised relationships had ended? With her staying
hopelessly and helplessly in love with her shiny knight as he rode off into the
sunset with some other woman? Leaving her to wallow in tears as being the one
to be callously left holding the broken heart bag? She had invested so damn
much time, effort and loving into him, and had worked tirelessly toward the
noble goal of getting him elected. As things now stood, her adorable man was
running neck and neck with the incumbent mayor, with the only other candidate,
running a distant third. Momentum was definitely building in Arnold’s favor,
and a lot of it had to do with a campaign program that she helped both create
and put in front of the press. And her ideas had definitely taken hold, causing
Detroit’s long suffering citizens to take a hard look at the handsome,
hard-working ex-councillor who seemed to be wildly in tune with their concerns,
hopes and dreams for the future. As things now stood, Arnold had been gaining
five poll points a week over the last fiveweeks. At this rate, he would be
winning in a landslide in just two months time.

 She sighed with bittersweet emotions over the thought that
she was helping elect a guy who meant more to her than the very air she
breathed, or even the very food she pushed down her pretty black throat.

 Arnold Winston, Mayor of Detroit City! It had a rather nice
ring to it, but in terms of making her happy, it was turning out to be a rather
hollow accomplishment. What would Arnold Winston, the mighty brand new Mayor of
Detroit City actually do to her heart after another two months of daily fucking
her ass off? Once he was elected would she still be his girlfriend of choice?
And would there not be other interested ladies, desperate for the limelight, both
black and white, young and old, popping out of the wood work to lay claim to
her mayor? Which was her man? And how would her current man react toward all
the grasping red painted nails clawing at his bachelorhood like vampires in the
night? Surely his lack of fortitude and backbone at making up his mind about
her would result in him driving a damn stake through her heart as all those
other interested women ended up walking away with her man. Her man! Her future!
Her love!

She was suddenly hot and flush in her face with unbridled
fury. She had never loved a man so much in her entire life as she now loved
Arnold. Was she really going to simply end up losing him? As much as she sought
to supress her damn fears, the writing was on the wall. She found it hard to
breathe. Why wouldn’t Arnold commit to a real engagement unless he fully
intended to dump her after the election? The bathroom spun once more. She was
hyperventilating, and in a full blown panic, facing an anxiety attack that left
her fighting for breath.

She was soon covered in sweat, crawling out of the bathroom
to where the phone had landed nearby on the plush carpeting. She managed to
reach it and dial 911 just before she passed out.

XXX

She felt the soft but larger hand of a man clasping her
fingers. Arnold’s hand? She had been dreaming of him in la-la land. Was he now
present in real life as well? But present where? It sure didn’t smell like her
bedroom. Just where the hell was she?

Her eyes fluttered, and flashes of blinding light caused her
to turn her face to the side. The scent of disinfectant taunted her nostrils.
Her half opened eyes picked up a hint of boring grey. The hospital, perhaps?

“Where…where am I?”

“Shhh, you mustn’t try to speak. You almost had a nervous breakdown.”

 The voice was squeaky and determined, definitely that of
her younger sister, Delores.

 “Delores?”

 “Yes.”

 “You flew out from Chicago?”

 “Earlier today, as soon as I heard you’d collapsed.”

 She sighed and glanced briefly at Delores’s beaming but
worried face. Then Marg turned and caused her big brown eyes to remain fixed on
Arnold, the object of her desires. He was still so irresistibly handsome, still
so refined looking, still so adept with his muscular build at making her heart
skip a beat. If only…if only…

 She tried to sit up. “Help me up.”

 “You should lie still,” Arnold suddenly interjected. “You
need your rest.”

 “Don’t get up, Marg honey, just relax,” Delores insisted.“We
were all worried sick about you. Arnold’s right, just lay back and don’t try to
talk right away.”

 “I’m in the hospital?”

 “Detroit memorial.”

 Arnold leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. His hand
clutched hers more tightly. “The doctor says you should be just fine. You’re
going to make a full recovery. They are going to discharge you tomorrow morning,
in fact. But you’ll have to stay in bed at home for another day or two after
that. If you don’t get some rest and just relax, you might have a relapse.”

 “Any idea what caused you to have such a massive panic
attack?”

 The voice was instantly recognizable, like fingernails
going down a chalkboard. Mother!

 She sighed. “Hi mother.”

“Hi right back at you. Good thing you had the presence of
mind to dial 911 before you blacked out completely. So what set you off in the
first place?”

Marg turned her face to the side. “Not sure,” she answered,
trying not to let on that she knew exactly why she had succumbed to her
anxiety.

“You’re not a very good liar,” her mother said softly. “You
surely know what upset you.”

“It was me,” Arnold confessed. “It seems she’s been waiting
for me to get the fencepost out of my butt over whether or not we should get
engaged. When you went to the press and said we were officially engaged, I
realized Marg and I were both going to have to lie about our relationship to
cover your tracks.”

 Marg’s mother gasped at the realization her little
exaggeration over her daughter getting hitched had caused everything to unravel
into chaos. It had never dawned on her that her daughter and the heroic Arnold
were not actually going to get married after all.

 “I guess I misread how serious you two were about each
other. Sometimes I think I should be just boiled in oil and have my damn big
fat lips stapled shut.”

 “It’s okay, mother. It’s nothing you said, honestly. I’m
actually to blame. I’m the one that read things into our relationship that just
weren’t there.”

 “The hell you did,” Delores fumed. “Men here like Arnold
are always taking advantage. They are always lying through their teeth, always
leading us women on. I’m sure you’ve made love to him dozens of damn times in
the short time you’ve been dating, for all the good it will ever do you. In the
end he will probably just be like all the rest, moving on to fresh flesh and
leaving your heart dangling on tender hooks while your shattered mind leads you
into a damn nervous breakdown a hundred times worse than what you’ve just
experienced.

 “You’re rooting for me to have another breakdown?”

 “No, I’m rooting for you, while you’re still in this damn
hospital to have your head examined. I warned you against tossing your heart
into his ring.”

 “I don’t think you’re being fair at my intentions,” Arnold
blurted out indignantly, smitten over being made to feel embarrassed.

 Delores turned to face him squarely. “That’s just
everybody’s problem in this whole sordid mess.No one has a clue of what your
damn intentions are, do they? You act as though you and Marg getting married is
a mere formality, and you have your way with her whenever, wherever and however
the mood strikes, and you lie to the press and insist that you are going to get
married to her real soon, only we all know better. By your own admission you
have a fencepost the size of Alaska up your Grand Canyon backside. And once my
beautiful and talented sister Marg here helps get you elected as mayor, what
are you going to do then? Throw up your arms to the press and tell them that
marrying Marg was only a big joke and figment of her imagination? And Marg is
simply supposed to spend the next two months on the campaign trail making up
stupid stories about some imaginary wedding in some imaginary love affair, only
the love affair isn’t imaginary, is it? You’ve been leading her heart on
mercilessly, taking her out into super deep waters, and eventually, when you do
tell her to simply fuck off for good because you don’t need her anymore, what
then? You men make me puke.”

 “It not like that. I made no promises.”

 “Ah, so here we go now, clinging to the comical ‘no
promises made’ routine, laying the foundation for when you really are going to
let her down with a mighty thud, only you’re not gonna tell her to vamoose
until you get what you really want, which is the mayor’s chair.”

 The words seemed to hang in the air like some rabid
condemnation of Arnold and his seemingly impure motives.

 He began to get red faced.“We’ve been dating, and we’ve
been lovers. Who knows where it all might end up?”

 “And I suppose you never told any of this to Marg while you
were humping her over any piece of damn furniture you could find in between her
putting in eighteen hour volunteer days, seven days a week so that her man
could get his dream job.”

“Marriage. That’s all you women think about.”

“No,” Marg suddenly interjected. “That’s not all we think
about. We also think about a guy leading us on and using us to achieve his
goals. But the question you’re avoiding is a simple one. After you become
mayor, what happens to me?”

“I don’t have a crystal ball.”

“Cute. And I suppose that when I walk in on some future
secretary sucking your horny cock that has my fresh lipstick stains on it, that
you’ll tell me a crystal ball told you to do it.”