I was reading about Tennessee Williams as the new sun shimmied slowly up my window and turned my yellow bean bag chair orange. Yes, I’m still sleeping on Fran’s bean bag by the fireplace, well, trying to sleep. Two hours is the most sleep I’ve gotten in a night for over a month now. Last night twenty minutes was the most I could force my mind to rest. Williams was tortured, but seemed to alleviate it with drink. I knew that would not be the cure for me and I’m not so sure it actually worked for him. Change was what I needed, my determined theme.

I listened as Fran showered, blew dried her hair, and dressed. I made coffee and waited; I needed a ride.

“Harvey called again.” She said pouring her coffee and drinking it black.

“Again?”

“Yeah.”

“That means he called before.” I mentioned.

“Oh, guess I forgot. I haven’t seen you.”

I finished my coffee. “Ever hear of notes?”

“Ha ha. Well, I hate to ask, but what’s the job status?”

“Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I don’t have one. But listen I’m now waiting for you, making you coffee I might add, to ask you if you could drop me off at The Getty.”

“The new one?”

“The one on top of the hill. I’m going to get a job there.”

“Did you hear of something?”

“No, I just know that’s where I’ll get a job.”

Fran grinned.

Up the 405 Freeway, Fran and I admired The Getty. Huge, modern, it sparkled. Neither of us had been yet and Fran said she would have come with me if she didn’t have to go to work. She dropped me off at the bottom of the hill where the long driveway began. She hugged me. With her arms around me and my head in the nap of her neck, I wanted to sleep. I felt for the first time I could sleep and I knew that that was what I had been missing: comfort and love. She lifted my head, “You all right?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

I tripped five times up the hill and cursed and mumbled. I entered the aluminum gates and raised my chin. It was clean and new. A few young men in brown uniforms swept the bricks that expanded towards the four buildings that made up The Getty. They ignored me. I asked one if he knew where I could apply for a job and he pointed around a building. “North Building.” A middle-aged man and woman were setting up a food cart. They showed me the door to the employment office.

Inside. A small room, four metal chairs with fabric seats, and a counter with clipboards and applications. A young woman with short brown hair, softly mannered, asked me what I was looking for.

“Anything.”

“Well, I had two kitchen workers call in sick. You willing?”

“Absolutely. Anything to avoid filling out this form.”

“Eve Snow.” She shook my hand.

“No way.”

She smiled, “Hippie parents, what am I gonna do? At least it’s not what my sister got, Rainbow Snow.”

“Well, Greg Shamus, not very interesting, but appreciative of a job.”

“You seem more capable than just boxing lunches. It’s minimum wage.”

“No problem. I’ll take it.”

Eve brought me to the kitchen, actually the back of the kitchen. It turned out they asked the dishwasher to help box lunches so the kitchen captain sent me to the industrial sink. For eight hours I rinsed silverware and glasses and loaded them into the huge stainless steel dishwasher, but I did get a free lunch: a turkey and cheese sandwich, a cookie, and a coke. Surprisingly, by the end of the day, I was happier than I’d been in months. I wasn’t ready to enter any of the art buildings yet. After work I sat on a low brick wall and took deep breaths for a while. I could see the ocean where I had been nights before waiting for sleep. I had made a step at least, a minor change--- I now had a job.