Page 8 of Casualties of War
She turned, the furrow between her brows. The furrow cleared. “Mr. Caballero.”
“Adán.”
She didn’t nod or acknowledge it. “What can I do for you?”
Adán glanced at the sergeant, who was openly listening. “Perhaps we could step over here for a minute?”
Impatience flickered on her face. She movedover to the other wall beside the water cooler, anyway.
“I wanted to thank you,” Adán told her.
“For not arresting you?”
He couldn’t help smiling. “For wishing me good luck. It worked, you see.”
“Oh. You got the job?”
“Better than that.” He thought of the amazing week it had been. “I got two jobs. Not just jobs,” he added in a hurry. “They’refantasticroles.” The second job had dropped intoplace months after auditioning. It was as different from the tired-cop role as it was possible to get—lead in a Victorian era romantic drama, in a role that would stretch him in all sorts of ways.
Her smile was small, but it was there. “That’s nice.”
“Okay,” he said heavily. “What is it about actors and you? Did one dump you?”
Her face clouded over.
Bingo.
“I don’t think it’s any businessof yours, Mr. Caballero.”
“You’re right, it’s not. Only, I should thank you again, in that case.”
“Why?” she asked, startled.
“At the party, you said you knew what it was like being told you can’t do something you love. You presumed I was in this business because I love what I’m doing, not because I’m grasping for my fifteen minutes of fame. It’s nice to be thought well of, especially whenyou hate my species.”
“I don’t hate you,” she said, her smile a little farther in place. “I’ve just been around actors my entire life. You’re flighty and ephemeral and unreliable. You get divorced as soon as you get bored, which is every thirty days. Actors serve no higher cause than themselves.”
“Who was he?” Adán asked.
She grimaced. “Said too much, didn’t I?”
“Yeah.”
“My father left uswhen I was five.”
He grimaced. “That sucks,” he admitted. “Although, he didn’t leave you because he was an actor. He left because he’s a shitty human being. There’s a difference.”
“He left because he got offered a role on Broadway,” she replied. “He never came back.”
“My assertion still stands. And anyway,” he said, warming to his argument, “actors are not useless. Without movies and TV, withoutbooks, without stories, humans would go insane inside a week. Stories explain life. It’s how humans learn.”
“It’s not exactly serving your country, is it?” she returned, a tinge of pink in her cheeks.
“You want I should beat up bad guys for you, instead? That’s what it takes to earn your respect?”
“I’m the one with the Glock, remember?”
“Right. I did forget.”
