Page 18 of Casualties of War
Parris laughed. It was a strained sound. “You said something about being non-white holding you back.”
Ah…He sat back. “My agent had a cow when she saw it. I’m supposed to be grateful for my opportunities, etc., etc. And I am, no question. At the end of the day, though, there are jobs I don’t get because I’m not white, blond and six foot tall.”
“You’retaller than me,” she pointed out.
“That’s because Vistarian men are generally tall. I’m the archetypal Latin American actor and no producer thinks of anything outside that slot when they see my headshot.”
“I’m the token woman cop.”
He nodded. “They’re holding you back.”
“I don’t think it’s deliberate.” She paused. “Ididn’tthink it was deliberate.” She leaned forward. “You got that Duke ofwhatever it was movie. That wasn’t a Latino role.”
“A duke of Italian heritage and the Italian ancestry was part of his motivation. The boy next door wouldn’t have looked right.”
Her shoulders slumped. “You didn’t make them give it to you?”
Adán wanted to laugh. “I ate Ramen noodles for five years before I got the role. The jeans I wore the night of the party were the only pair I owned thatdidn’t have a hole in the knee. I didn’t make anyone give me the role. I had to hang in there and wait until someone gave me the break.”
She looked thoughtful. “You didn’t quit.”
He considered it. “Are you thinking of quitting?”
“It has crossed my mind once or twice,” she said. The casual air betrayed her. She had been thinking about it a lot.
“Two things this business taught me,” Adán said.“One, you haven’t failed until you quit and two, you never know what’s around the corner.”
She sipped her coffee, thoughtful.
“If it’s what you love, don’t quit,” he added. “Just wait. Then wait a little longer.”
“Out-wait the bastards…” she said. She put the cup down. “It’s not that Ilovewriting traffic tickets and arresting jaywalkers,” she said, with a candid air. “It’s, well…” Her cheeksturned pink again.
“You want to serve,” Adán said. “I get it.”
“Smokey Silva…that’s something he said.”
He pointed at her. “Just from the corner of your eye, huh?”
She pushed her tongue out at him, then glanced at her watch. It was a thick man’s watch and looked way too big for her wrist. “I should get back.” She got to her feet, taking the coffee cup with her. She looked down at him. “Thankyou.”
“Did I help?”
“I think so.” She pressed her lips together. “I can’t talk it over with anyone I work with. They all use the other washroom. They wouldn’t get it. I figured you would.”
“And I do,” Adán said. “You can’t talk to your husband?”
She grimaced. “Stuart’s a detective. First class. They’re already talking about making him a lieutenant. When I try to talk to him, he looks puzzled.He believes in the law.” She hesitated. “Sometimes blindly.” She pressed her fingers to the table. “Thanks.”
Adán watched her walk away, the oversized hoodie swinging around her hips.
He waited until she had stepped back inside the station, then left himself. He didn’t finish the coffee.
* * * * *
A week later, Parris Graves tapped on his apartment door five minutes after he got home. Adánleaned against the doorframe. He was aching from the stunts he had been put through so the director could get his close-up. All he wanted to do was slide into the pool downstairs and soothe the aches away. “Parris.”
She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt and sandals. She gripped her hands together. “I didn’t quit.”
