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debts and begin rebuilding that nest egg.
    But, after almost three years of playing the Detective, the Forensic Scientist, the State Trooper, the FBI Agent, the Prosecutor, the Judge, the Witness, and the Victim’s Husband/Father/Brother/Son (each “character” having no more than eight audible lines of dialogue in any given episode), he ached for a real role in a TV series (he’d like to forget the guest shots on BeastMaster, Stargate SG-1, Xena: Warrior Princess, Tarzan , and Andromeda ) or, better yet, a theatrical film (his only movie appearances in the last seven years include a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameo in Zoolander and three STDs, aka Straight-to-DVD releases, and he had even fewer lines in those).
    So, when Raheim got the call last night that they had to meet today, he was excited. He knew if Troy loved the part and felt it was right for him, he’d feel the same way.
    They met at the Park Avalon on Eighteenth Street and Park Avenue South. After the waiter took their order, Troy reached into his briefcase and handed Raheim the screenplay. Its white cover was stained with . . . coffee? Raheim now knew how Michael Caine felt, receiving the film projects rejected by so many others.
    He saw the title. “ Dodging Me ?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat’s it about?”
    â€œIt’s about Glenn Burke. He was an outfielder for the Dodgers in the midseventies.”
    He never followed baseball, but for some reason, the name sounded familiar. He’d heard Glenn mentioned before in conversation, but it wasn’t in relation to the game. It finally clicked.
    â€œHe was gay . . . ?” he half asked himself.
    â€œYes.”
    Now, if he had been given this script eight years ago when he was somewhat of a hot property, he most certainly would have passed on it. He couldn’t play gay and have the world wondering if he was. But today? He’s a different man with a different plan playing with a different hand.
    Besides, you can’t be picky when you never get picked.
    So . . . “That would explain the title,” he observed as he flipped the script open. He was on page twenty-five when the food arrived. And as he took the last bite of his smoked salmon, he was on ninety-nine, sixteen pages to the end.
    As his clean plate was taken away, he closed the screenplay. He didn’t want to know how it ended—yet.
    â€œSo?” Troy asked.
    â€œThis is a jood role.”
    â€œI told you.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œWhy do they want me?”
    â€œOne of the producers remembers you from Rebound ; he saw you on Larry King Live .”
    The show, which aired two weeks ago, had focused on gambling addiction; it was Larry’s in-the-news nod to high-andflighty conservative William Bennett turning out to be a holy roller of a different kind. Gladys Knight was scheduled to participate but had to cancel, so Raheim filled her spot (yup, he was the lone Negro out of five guests). He proved to be popular with Larry (he was the only one in the studio and they had great convos during the commercial breaks) and those who called in (most addressed their comments and questions to him, including one woman who, choking back tears, said she’d be sending a tape of the program to her brother, an Internet-blackjack freak). After the show, Larry gave him an open invite to come back, and one of Raheim’s fellow panelists asked him to give a speech at the National Conference on Problem Gambling in Phoenix next June (he accepted). He was pleased that he could help others get the help they needed or prevent them from going down the same path. Troy saluted his humanitarian efforts but, being the jood agent he is, saw the King spot for what it really was—a high-profile appearance that would lead to something else—and (as usual) he was right.
    But . . . “So, he knows my history . . . ?”