Page 43 of Big Britches
“I can tell. Anyway, I didn’t want to be a house painter. I prefer the outdoors. The smell of paint gives me a headache. I like fresh air and working with plants. It relaxes me.”
“So, Jim hooked you up with Silas.”
“Yes. But first, Rico had to plant a seed.”
“You know, my grades weren’t great, but I do believe that is what they call a metaphor.”
Pedro's eyes lifted to the stars. “Somewhere, my father is smiling at you right now.”
“Even though I just ravished you in the pool?”
His eyes fell back to Titus. “Maybe he didn’t see that part.”
“So, Silas hired you based on Jim’s recommendation via Rico?”
“Exactly. A lot of Mexican workers, documented workers with green cards, are referrals from existing immigrants. At least that was my experience.”
“Makes sense. How do you like working for Silas? Be honest. It’s just between you and me.”
Pedro considered, then shrugged. “He’s my boss. He pays me on time. He’s fair with work assignments and seniority. I’m happy. It could have been a lot worse, T. I really don’t have a choice. He is my sponsor.”
Titus said nothing, only nodded slightly.
“You don’t like Silas. I picked up on that earlier. Why is that?”
“He beat up a kid at school, someone much smaller than him–a Black boy.”
“Without provocation.”
“From what I heard. He just picked that guy because he was smaller and knew he would win the fight. Had I been there, I would have stopped it.”
“That, too, echoes of West Side Story.”
“There’s too much fighting,” Titus said, disgusted. “People need to chill out, enjoy life. We’re not here forever. You and I both know that firsthand.”
Pedro nodded. “But you come from a place of privilege, no? Perhaps you’ve not dealt with certain insecurities? … Rivalries? … Shame? I’m just speculating out loud. Please don’t think I’m judging you.”
“I don’t,” Titus said, then grinned. “I may not be book-smart, but my instincts are pretty sharp. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have had the courage to invite you here tonight. But I’ve known those things you mentioned, P. Serving time in the closet has nothing to do with wealth or privilege. That’s fear, insecurity. And even though I was a celebrated football player, I had rivals, especially in Morehead. There’s a long-standing rivalry between Spoon and Morehead, if you don’t know that already.”
“I know a little. Silas hates Morehead. He’s always bad-mouthing the town. I don’t understand why.”
“We’re spoon-fed it—pardon the pun—at an early age. It goes way back to the Revolutionary War and the original thirteen colonies. No one even remembers why. But in Silas’s case, I’m certain it’s something to do with his competition—Fowler Landscaping—being there. Elijah Fowler, the owner, refused to sell the business to Silas’s dad back in the ‘80s.”
“So you’re telling me that the twin cities?—”
“Towns,” Titus said. “Sorry to interrupt. But there ain’t nothing here that remotely resembles a city. Yeah, there’s Twin City Country Club in Morehead, but they’re just trying to sound fancier than what they are—a cinderblock building with a golf course, and a shitty bar with cheap drinks.”
“I see.”
“Members have to be sponsored there. Do you know what that translates to, Pedro?”
“No.”
“White people only.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”