Chapter 3

Dale heard knocking at the door to the stairwell leading to the apartment. He unbolted it and Tiffany stepped through wearing business attire. “Do you trust me enough to leave this door unbolted?” she asked.

“I dunno ... Do you trust me enough to leave your door unbolted?”

She eyed him. “You don’t look dangerous.”

“I’m as harmless as a kitten.”

“I had a kitten once that was far from harmless and I have the scars to prove it.”

“Then let’s leave the doors as they are.”

Tiffany followed him into the kitchen. “What are you making?”

“Grilled salmon fillets.”

“Ooh, I love salmon.”

“I have the grill heating up out back.”

“Then I have time to change.”

“I think you look so sharp in that suit,” he replied. “Very professional.”

“By this time of day I am ready to be out of these stockings and into something comfortable.” She headed upstairs.

Dale opened a tin of rub and began coating the salmon fillets with it. Tiffany returned in a denim skirt and long-sleeved floral print top.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s a Cajun blackening rub.”

“You’re putting Cajun rub on salmon?”

“Yeah. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, I think it’s genius. Anything I can do to help?”

“You can cut those cherry tomatoes in the colander in half. Then give them a pinch of salt, a splash of olive oil and some minced garlic. I’ll take these and put them on the grill.”

He carried a plate with the fillets to his back patio and set them on his grill. After lowering the cover he headed back inside. “Those will only take a few minutes,” he said.

“How do these look?” she asked, holding a bowl.

“Those look fine.” He took a bottle of sparkling wine from his fridge, set it in an ice bucket and topped it with cubes from his freezer.

“Champagne?” Tiffany asked.

“It’s a Spanish Cava, similar to Champagne but more affordable. I thought we could save some for watching the primary returns tonight.”

“To toast our victory,” Tiffany said.

“Or drown our sorrows, whichever is appropriate.”

“So, did you vote today?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“What was turnout like here?”

“Light -- to be expected. This is a rather red county and Chris Strider is unopposed in the primary.” Dale put some greens from a tub on two plates and spooned the tomatoes onto them. He lifted the lid on a saucepan that had been simmering on his cooktop.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Maftoul,” he replied, “also known as pearl couscous or Israeli couscous.” He spooned some onto each plate and them placed salmon fillets on each. Popping the cork he filled two glasses and sat across from Tiffany.

She took a bite of the salmon. “Dale, this is wonderful. I love the spice and the wine is perfect with it.” She scooped a forkful of the maftoul and stared into the distance. “Dale, what is in this?” she asked.

“I make it my own way -- I toast it in oil for a nutty flavor and then add a dash of vegetable base. Do you not like it?”

“I love it. This is taking me back. When I was little sometimes I’d stay overnight with my grandmother.”

“Your mom’s mom?”

“Yes. My grandfather traveled quite a bit on business so I’d keep Grandma company. She used to make Rice-A-Roni for me.”

“Rice-A-Roni?”

“Yeah ... she made it because she knew I liked it and my mom refused to make it. This tastes just like the Rice-A-Roni she used to make.” Dale could see her eyes brimming. “I miss them and her especially. She loved me and she understood me ... better than my own parents. She let me be me and those visits with her were my escape especially while I was...” Tiffany looked down at her plate.

“While you were what?” Dale asked.

“Growing up. I didn’t have the happiest childhood, Dale. I was crosswise with my parents, especially my dad.”

“You seemed to have worked things out with them,” he remarked.

“It wasn’t until high school that our relationship improved and I love them both deeply today. Grandma was my harbor in a storm.” She took another scoop. “It’s funny how a smell or a taste can bring on a flood of memories. For Proust it was a Madeleine.” She looked up from her plate. “What? What’s that look for?”

“Tiffany, you are the sharpest person I know -- whether they be male, female, black, white, brown or any combination of the above.”

“You mean that?”

“I am in awe of your intelligence and talent and that’s the truth.”

She put her hand on his. “That was sweet, Dale. I needed to hear it.” She flaked off some salmon and ate it with some maftoul. “This is so good. All the dinners you’ve made have been so good. I’m not much of a cook...”

“Neither was Brenda.”

“Your late wife?”

“Yeah ... I ended up being chief cook and bottle-washer. I don’t like cooking for myself, so I’ve been relying on frozen entrees. I like sharing meals with you, Tiffany. It puts me back in the saddle again.”

“Another bonus of staying in your apartment -- although my waistline might suffer.”

“How’s the apartment working out?” he asked.

“The place is wonderful. I like the neighborhood. It’s quiet and peaceful. And I do like knowing it’s you living down here.”

“Why me?”

“Because I trust you, Dale. The past few weeks have done wonders for my mental health. I feel safe here.”

“Weren’t you safe in your old place?” he asked.

“It wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but it was in the city. I always watched my back when walking to or from my car. I have a sense of ease here. Sharing meals with you gives me a sense of belonging I haven’t felt since I was ... well, maybe never.” She sipped from her wine glass. “This is very good.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m thinking ... I know your offer was for me to stay here until the general election. What if I stayed on, permanently. I’d pay you rent.”

“If Jan wins, then she’ll be moving to the capital. Don’t you think she’d offer you a position in her administration? You’d need to find a place there. How secure would your current position be with a new mayor?”

“I work for the city, not for the mayor. But, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Dang it, Dale, I was imagining a nice quiet life out here with a good friend near by ... And you went and burst that bubble.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m kidding. I needed that dose of reality.”

“I’m assuming you voted today,” he said.

“Of course. The one downside of living here is that the commute is a bit long. Since I’m keeping my old address until I find somewhere permanent, I had to drive across town to vote.”

“How was turnout there?” he asked.

“Pretty heavy. Jan’s major competition is Alan Ratliffe. He’s an inner-city alderman ... Black, married to a Latina ... speaks fluent Spanish. He’s popular in the minority communities.”

“I’ve seen him on the news,” Dale remarked.

“He’s a real good guy. I’d vote for him if Jan weren’t running. If turnout in the more affluent neighborhoods is light, he has a chance of carrying the city vote. But, he’s pretty much an unknown quantity in the suburbs and rural areas. I still feel good about Jan’s chances.”

“We can watch the returns here,” he suggested.

“The polls close at eight and we won’t see results until at least nine.”

“We can watch a movie.”

“Do you have one in mind?” she asked.

“The Manchurian Candidate, he replied. “The original with Frank Sinatra. I watch it every election year. I can make some popcorn.”

Tiffany sat beside him on his sofa as the film played. A bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table. Dale glanced on her, his gaze attracted to her shapely legs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but a skirt or dress,” he remarked. “Not that I’m complaining. I think you have pretty legs.”

“I don’t like how I look in jeans or tight pants,” she replied. “I’m more comfortable in a skirt.”

The film finished and Dale ejected the disc from his player. “I think that film is as pertinent today as when it was made.”

“Indeed, especially with the Russian meddling.”

“The Fox station has news at nine. I normally don’t watch them but they’ll have the earliest results. We can switch to another channel at ten.” He picked up the remote control and pressed buttons. “They have some city results in the crawl,” Dale remarked. “Ratliffe has taken an early lead.”

“That’s not unexpected,” she replied. The city precincts report first.”

“They’ve already called it for Strider.”

“His only opposition is some write-in crackpot,” she replied. “Look -- thirty percent reporting and Ratliffe still leads.” Tiffany stood and paced, chewing her lip nervously.

“It’s ten o’clock,” Dale said, “I’m going to switch to my regular news.” He pressed a button on his remote. “Fifty percent and Jan still lags behind.”

Tiffany’s phone chirped. She retrieved it from a pocket. “Text from Jan. She says too soon to panic, city votes all counted, rural counties yet to report.”

“It’ll all hinge on turnout in the provinces,” Dale observed. “Look -- sixty percent and Jan is catching up.”

“Ratliffe’s numbers are stagnant but Jan’s are counting up,” she replied.

“Shows his support is a mile deep but only a yard wide.”

“Seventy-five percent and they’re neck-and-neck.” She resumed her nervous pacing. “I can’t watch.”

“Jan’s lead keeps growing. I think it’s out of Ratliffe’s reach, now.”

Tiffany’s phone chirped. “Another text from Jan. Ratliffe has conceded! Jan is the candidate.” She threw her arms around him. “We did it!” she exclaimed and kissed his lips.

He looked into her dark brown eyes and kissed her again, this one lingering. Tiffany’s jaw dropped. She broke away and stormed up to the apartment. Dale bounded after her and found the door shut and bolted.

He pounded on the door. “Tiffany! We need to talk.” He heard her sobbing. “Open the door. I don’t want to have to use my spare key and come in the front door.”

The door opened. Dale stepped in and saw Tiffany sniffling. “What just happened down there?” he asked.

“I got excited and...”

“And you lowered your guard and let your feelings for me come to the surface. Now you’re back in your shell. You’ve been sending me mixed messages ever since I met you. I have fallen in love with you, Tiffany, and the vibes I get tell me the feelings are mutual. But you’ve built some sort of protective shell I can’t get through. You came out of it for a moment downstairs. Now you’re back in it. Why?”

“I admit I have feelings for you,” she replied. “It’s my fault for letting it go this far. Dale -- I would love you if I could but I can’t.”

“Why not? I think I deserve an explanation.” She turned her back to him and he could see her shoulders quaking. “You said you’re not gay...”

“I’m not.”

“ ... and it’s not racial...”

“It isn’t.”

“ ... then, what is it? Were you molested -- traumatized by someone that gave you a phobia? A fear of men?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then, what? You can trust me, Tiffany.”

“Yes, I trust you. I trust you more than anyone beside my parents. I should have brought this out earlier, but I didn’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“It’ll have to be something really awful for you to lose me as a friend,” he replied.

“It is, and you deserve to know.” She drew in a deep breath. “Dale -- I’m ... trans-gender.”

“YOU’RE trans-gender?”

“Yes. On top of that, I’m pre-op -- most likely never-op. I don’t know where I’ll get the money or courage to endure that kind of procedure.”

“Holy shit! I never would have guessed. You look one hundred percent woman.”

“I have a dick, Dale! That’s why I can’t have a relationship ... not with you, not with anyone.” She turned from him. “So, now what do you think of me?” She faced him again, her lip trembling and her eyes brimming. “Do you hate me ... find me disgusting? If you don’t want a trans-woman staying in your apartment, I’ll move out tonight.”

“No, I don’t hate you or find you disgusting and of course I want you staying here. Tiffany, this does not change how I feel about you.”

“How can it not?”

“In fact, it makes me admire you more. Being trans-gender is hard.”

“Yes, and being Black makes it even harder.”

“I’m sure it does. Look what you’ve accomplished. You’re beautiful, feminine and sexy. You’re doing good and important work. It’s a testament to your strength and courage. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I don’t know how you can say that.”

“It’s because I know what it’s like to be trans-gender.”

“Dale -- I know you’re sincere but you can’t possibly know unless you’ve lived it.”

“I have lived it -- from the other side. Tiffany -- during my freshman year at college I dated a T-girl.”

“You dated someone trans-gendered?”

“Yes, and the experience taught me that when two people love each other, they’ll find ways to express that love -- no matter what. Tiffany -- I was smitten with you when I first saw you at the gem show. The more I got to know you the deeper I fell in love with you. You deserve love. Don’t close yourself off to it. I love you for who you are. What you are isn’t important to me.”

“Oh, God, Dale...”

“Don’t you want to know what it feels like to fall asleep in the arms of someone you love, and who loves you?”

“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

He approached her, his arms open to her. “Well, here I am.”

Dale embraced her. She held him tight, clutched the fabric of his polo shirt in her fists, and sobbed. Her sobbing became wailing.

“There, there,” he said softly as he caressed her coarse black hair. It’s all right.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head and inhaled her scent. “I love you. It’s all right.”

“It’s the release,” she replied after regaining her composure.

He looked into her eyes. “Tiffany, I love you.”

“I know you do.” She continued holding him tight. “I love you. It felt so good saying those three words.”

“It felt good hearing them.”

“Dale, you need to promise me you won’t divulge this to anyone ... ever.”

“There’s no shame in being who you are,” he replied. “You could be a role model for other trans girls.”

“It’s not about shame. Trans folks, especially trans folks of color, experience violence at a rate many times that of the general population. Just this morning on the news -- a Black trans woman went missing a week ago. She was an advocate for the LGBT community. Yesterday they found her body in Lake Michigan.”

“God, Tiffany. I feel bad for thinking maybe it was only paranoia.”

“Even paranoids have real enemies,” she replied. “The fewer people who know the safer I feel.”

“How many do know?” he asked.

“I can count them on one hand, and I trust all of them implicitly.”

“What’s between your legs has no bearing on the person you are or the work you do,” he replied.

“Agreed.”

“Does Jan know?”

“No. I keep this on a need-to-know basis and no one other than you needs to know -- not even Jan. Dale -- please promise me ... no, you MUST promise me. If we’re to be in each other’s lives you must promise me this.”

Dale drew an X on his chest with his finger and held up his hand. Tiffany pressed her palm against his. “Tiffany Coxx, I promise never to divulge what you have told me to anyone without your authorization. I love you and you can trust me. I will never betray you.” He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Sealed with a kiss.”

She kissed his hand. “Sealed with a kiss.”

He caressed her cheek. “You are so beautiful, Tiffany. Every time I look into those dark brown eyes I get all melty inside. I even love the sound of your name.”

“You have it bad for me, don’t you?”

He kissed her lips. “I have it good for you.”

Tiffany threw her arms around him. “I don’t want to let go of you.” Dale caressed her back. “Your touch feels good ... you holding me feels good ... me holding you feels good. It’s sinking in, Dale.” She caressed the back of his head, kissed his lips and smiled. “That felt really good.”

“Good enough to want another?”

“Mmm...” They kissed again, a long and tender one as he stroked the back of her head.

“There’s some Cava left,” he said. “I’ll go downstairs and get it. We have a lot to celebrate.”

“I still don’t want to let go of you.”

Together they shuffled to the stairwell door. “I will be right back.”

“I want to wash my face, after all the crying.”

Dale headed to his kitchen and filled two glasses with the remaining wine. Back in the apartment he set them on an end table by the sofa in the sitting area. Tiffany emerged from the bathroom, headed toward him and put her arms around him. “You might be sorry for what you’ve unleashed in me. I can’t get enough of you.”