Page 27 of Casualties of War
Stuart nodded. “I remember,” he said, unexpectedly. “She arrested you at a party, or something. You helped her with her Spanish, in return.”
“She helped me, too. Parriswas…is, a very real person.”
Stuart grinned. “I think what you’re trying to say is that she hates bullshit.”
Adán grinned, too. “I am. Is she doing well?”
Stuart grimaced. “She’s something in the Rangers. I don’t know what. It’s all classified crap. I’m just grateful she comes home every few weeks and leave it at that.”
Adán hired Stuart’s company and life became more restricted, althoughhe was able to sleep at night. Sometimes.
He didn’t expect to like Stuart as much as he did. The man had an instinct for his work and a surprising empathy for the pressured life of a public figure. In a different way, Stuart and his company helped Adán keep his sanity, much as Parris had done. They propped him up, hauled him out of trouble and saved his ass at least once a quarter.
For the firstyear, the relationship was strictly business. Then it evolved into a genuine friendship. Adán was able to invite Stuart over for a beer or an at-home dinner or barbecue and not worry about hidden agendas.
The first time Stuart brought Parris with him, Adán was caught off-guard. He’d been wearing a mask for years already and nothing slipped. He kissed Parris’ hand the Vistarian way and invitedthem both to join him at the side of the pool where the barbecue waited.
While he kept up his side of the conversation, he stole glimpses of her.
Parris had changed…and had not.
She packed far more muscle now, although she wasn’t bulky with it, like a Russian on steroids. She had just enough body fat so the muscles didn’t bulge. When she relaxed, her body was lithe and lean.
The freckles onher face had faded. She had a healthy tan, so she wore sunscreen regularly. Her eyes sparkled with good health, too. They held a reserved and faraway look. Adán knew he wasn’t the reason for the distant focus. Her work put the distance there.
She spoke Spanish like a native, now. “I get lots of practice,” she told Adán, while Stuart looked baffled and tried to keep up. “Spanish got me into myunit.” Then she turned the conversation.
Her hair was as red as always. “You didn’t cut it,” Adán said. “I thought you would.”
“Long hair, tied back, is easier to manage,” she said. “Although I went for the Marine buzz cut for basics. Now it’s growing out again.”
Their friendship picked up as if the intervening years had never happened. They slid into the comfortable repartee they always enjoyed,only now Stuart was a third member of the conversation. He gave Adán a hard time about Hollywood egotism and he teased Parris about her almost feral independence in equal degrees.
“I give her shit, but I’m proud of her,” Stuart admitted while Parris was inside the house. “I just can’t show it the way most men can because she’d saw my balls off for being a chauvinist.” His smile was rueful.
“Here’s to strong women,” Adán said, lifting his glass.
Adán survived that first night of seeing her as he had survived the years in between—by smiling a lot and burying himself in work. When it came time for red carpet events, Adán would ask the most beautiful and single star he knew to be at his side. He never asked the same woman twice and he didn’t take them home afterwards. He wasn’t interested.The idea of sex for the sake of it was mildly repulsive, especially when he knew how often sexual favors lay at the bottom of deals in Hollywood.
The press speculated endlessly about his love life. Adán refused to comment.
Adán came to trust a small handful of friends, in whose company he could relax. Stuart was one of them. When Parris was in town, she became another, although her visits wereshort and infrequent.
The first time Parris was wounded and flown to the military medical center in San Antonio, Stuart flew there himself. He returned a week later, subdued and reflective. It was only then Adán discovered where he had been.
That night, Adán blew off his dinner plans with a producer couple wanting to talk about TV deals and got drunk on two bottles of Vistarian Mescal, whilefloating in his pool.
It was bad enough that she had been injured but to not know about it until after was worse. Only, that was how it was supposed to be. That was the proper order of things and there was nothing he could do to change it.
Three weeks later, Parris returned to L.A., for recuperation. She walked slowly and sat heavily, her strength gone. Her face was colorless and she had lostweight. Her green eyes glittered with impatience for her disability, daring either Stuart or Adán to justtryto help her.
Adán gritted his teeth and said nothing. Stuart cracked macadamias with one hand and didn’t speak, either.
Six weeks later, she shipped out again, another classified assignment.
There were other minor injuries over the years, never as serious as that first one. Adán markedall of them with a night of Vistarian Mescal before resuming the mask that was his life.
Only in hindsight could Adán pin the shift in Stuart and Parris’ relationship back to the first wounding. Stuart remained proud of his wife’s service, while the jokes about her mystery assignments developed a sour edge. It was the only hint, for Stuart was a private man and Parris never spoke to Adán alone.
