The Thin White Line

The elevator opened onto the corridor where they were met by another security guard who politely enquired who they were, checked a list, then indicated for them to go in. Beyond the short, dim hall, seventeen hundred square feet of minimalist luxury glowed with the panoramic view of the sunset reflecting off English Bay through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Immediately, Rami was approached by smiling faces and outstretched arms. Matt had no idea his partner was so admired and appreciated. He’d have to read her previous two slim volumes of short stories again – as soon as he got around to reading her latest one, to see what he’d missed. He nodded and smiled as introductions were made then excused himself to get them drinks from the bar.

As he navigated his way through the throng, he could see the guests were an eclectic mix of cultures and ethnicities that ranged from one end of the socio-economic spectrum to the other. Notable among them was a former federal cabinet minister, the first Indigenous woman to hold such a position, who had parted ways with the Prime Minister in what she characterized as telling truth to power – her truth to his power. Also present was the city’s first Chinese-Canadian Mayor, and the federal Minister of Multiculturalism, a mixed-race woman who had immigrated from the West Indies.

“Two double vodka tonics, skip the tonic, and a white wine spritzer.”

Matt moved to the side of the bar to knock back one of the vodkas before returning to the love-in enveloping Rami.

“Who invited you?” His accuser was a tall, attractive black person of indeterminate gender, wearing a Mandarin collar moka silk shirt-top and matching pants.

“I’m came as Raminder Batal’s plus one,” Matt said, looking up and smiling. “And you are?”

“Zuri, I’m with Binta. Champagne, please.”

Matt noticed the large fingers that elegantly clasped the flute ended with long, manicured, cream-tinged nails, one bedecked with a ring that appeared to be a raw nugget.

“Pleased to meet you,” Matt said.

“Binta and I were discussing your article and how it conveys the internalized sense of racial superiority whites have.”

“Interesting. Perhaps you could explain where that internalized sense of racial superiority was apparent in the article?”

Zuri frowned. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Matt downed the last of his first drink. “I wouldn’t understand, or you don’t know how to explain it?”

Even through the heavily applied concealer, Matt could see Zuri’s face getting red right up to the perfectly shaved skull. “Listen, motherfucker, I know your kind. You’re more dangerous than your racist skinhead friends, but things are changing, and your time is over.” With that, she threw the remnants of her champagne in Matt’s face and left him spluttering.

“Sir?” The bartender offered Matt a wad of cocktail napkins.

“Thanks.”

Matt poured a glass of ice water, dunked the napkins and attempted to wipe the sticky solution from his eyes, brows and lids. As his vision cleared, he noticed the guests gravitating toward the middle of the living room where a discussion between Binta and Zuri was taking place. The white noise of conversation and the thumping of New World Afrobeat music made overhearing them impossible, but if hand gestures and facial expressions meant anything it was intense. It culminated with Binta pointing to the door then turning and heading his way while Zuri, who’d been looking like a grown child being chastised for misbehaving in front of her peers, stormed out.

“Mr. Bennett, are you alright?” Binta sounded concerned but looked angry.

“Fine, fine.” Matt found it difficult not to stare. She was one of the few celebrities he’d met who was more beautiful in person than in photographs, Photoshop notwithstanding. Charisma emanated from her.

“As your host and an advocate of non-violence, I am appalled that this would take place in my home. I must apologize.”

Matt wasn’t sure if he was being blamed or exonerated. He could see an apprehensive Raminder watching from the sidelines. “A bit of a misunderstanding,” he said, “no harm done. An apology’s not necessary.”

“Please, don’t presume to tell me what is or is not necessary in my own home!”

The hostility was unexpected and caught Matt unawares. He stepped back and staggered before regaining his balance. The beers before and now the vodka – he was more than a little drunk.

“Regardless of what you said to my friend, her reaction was inappropriate.” Binta reclaimed her composure.

“Let me assure you, I said nothing to offend her.”

“Just as I’m sure you thought your article was not offensive to Black, Indigenous, people of colour and gender marginalized groups.”

Matt glanced at Rami who had situated herself in a neutral position halfway between him and Binta in the growing circle of onlookers. This was the main event, what everyone had come for. He was sorry to disappoint them, but there’d be no contest. He was taking a dive.

“I now realize that, although being factual, my article was a mistake,” Matt said. Sincerity without slurring his words was what he was hoping to achieve. “I should have taken into consideration it would be misrepresented by certain factions and used to make a case against the struggle for race and gender parity.”

Rami smiled. Binta blinked. The crowd was silent.

That’s it! I’ve said it, and the world hasn’t imploded and though I’ve compromised my integrity, hopefully, I’ve saved my relationship with a woman I love.