“You’re not the right type.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“No one would believe you were Stu Cooper’s daughter.”
“I certainly could be.”
“You could not.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes, I want to know why.”
“Your name is Evelyn Diaz.”
“So?”
“I can’t put you in a movie and try to pretend you’re not Mexican.”
“I’m Cuban.”
“For our purposes, same difference.”
It was not the same difference, but I saw absolutely no merit in trying to explain that to him. “OK,” I said. “Then how about the movie with Gary DuPont?”
“You can’t play a romantic lead with Gary Dupont.”
“Why not?”
Harry looked at me as if to ask if I was really going to make him say it.
“Because I’m Mexican?” I asked.
“Because the movie with Gary DuPont needs a nice blond girl.”
“I could be a nice blond girl.”
Harry looked at me.
I tried harder. “I want it, Harry. And you know I can do it. I’m one of the most interesting girls you guys have right now.”
Harry laughed. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”
Harry’s secretary knocked on the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Cameron, you need to be in Burbank at one.”
Harry looked at his watch.
I made one last play. “Think about it, Harry. I’m good, and I can be even better. But you’re wasting me in these small roles.”
“We know what we’re doing,” he said, standing up.
I stood up with him. “Where do you see my career a year from now, Harry? Playing a teacher with three lines?”
Harry walked past me and opened his door, ushering me out. “We’ll see,” he said.
Having lost the battle, I resolved to win the war. So the next time I saw Ari Sullivan at the studio dining hall, I dropped my purse in front of him and “accidentally” gave him an eyeful as I bent down to pick it up. He made eye contact with me, and then I walked away, as if I wanted nothing from him, as if I had no idea who he was.
