Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [62]
“You try to play in corporate America?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“So now you don’t do corporate stuff.”
“I still play in corporate America. I protect the suits that want flashy muscle. Something exotic to impress their friends about what a big shot they are.”
“You do the knife act on command?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“I hope it pays well,” I said.
He smiled. “It either pays well or I don’t do it. I may be their token Indian, but I’m a rich token Indian. If you’re as good as Edward thinks you are, you’d do better at bodyguard work than I do.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because the majority of protective work wants their bodyguard to blend in. They want you not to be flashy or exotic. You’re pretty, but it’s more a girl next door pretty, nothing too beautiful.”
I agreed with him, but said, “Oh, that won you a lot of brownie points.”
“You’ve pretty much told me I don’t have a chance so why should I bother lying?”
I had to smile. “Point taken.”
“You may be a little dark around the edges, but you can pass for white,” Bernardo said.
“I’m not passing, Bernardo. I am white. My mother just happened to be Mexican.”
“You got your father’s skin?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah, what of it?”
“No one’s ever got up in your face about it, have they?”
I thought about it. My stepmother’s hurried comments to strangers that I was not hers. No, I wasn’t adopted. I was her stepdaughter. Me and Cinderella. The really rude ones would ask, “What was her mother?”
Judith would always answer quickly, “Her mother was Mexican.” Though lately it was Hispanic-American. No one could accuse Judith of not being politically correct on the issue of race. My mother had died long before people had worried about political correctness being in vogue. If someone asked, she always said proudly, “Mexican.” If it was good enough for my mother, it was good enough for me.
That memory I didn’t share. I’d never really shared it with my father. I wasn’t about to start with a stranger. I chose another memory that didn’t hurt quite so much. “I was engaged once until his mother found out my mother had been Mexican. He was blond and blue-eyed, the epitome of WASP breeding. My future-in-law didn’t like the idea of me darkening her family tree.” That was a brief, unemotional way to say some very painful things. He had been my first love, my first lover. I thought he was everything to me, but I wasn’t everything to him. I’d never let myself fall so completely into anyone’s arms before or since. Jean-Claude and Richard were both still paying the bill for that first love.
“Do you think of yourself as white?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Now ask me if I think I’m white enough?”
Bernardo looked at me. “Are you white enough?”
“Not according to some people.”
“Like who?”
“Like none of your damn business.”
He spread his hands. “Sorry, didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
“Yes, you did,” I said.
“You think so?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think you’re jealous.”
“Of what?”
“That I can pass and you can’t.”
He opened his mouth and emotions flowed over his face like water; anger, humor, denial. He finally settled on a smile, but it wasn’t a happy one. “You really are a bitch, aren’t you?”
I nodded. “You don’t pull on my chain and I won’t pull on yours.”
“Deal,” he said. The smile flashed wider. “Now, allow me to escort your lily white ass to the dining room.”
I shook my head. “Lead on, tall, dark, and studly, as long as I get to watch your ass while we walk down the hall.”
“Only if you promise to tell me how you like the view.”
I widened my eyes. “You mean give you a critique on your butt?”
He nodded and the smile looked happy now.
“Are you this big an egotist or just trying to embarrass me?”
“Guess.”
“Both,” I said.
The smile spread to a grin. “You are as smart as you look.”
“Just get moving, Romeo. Edward doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Damn straight.”
We went down the short hallway; him leading, me following. He put an extra glide into