7:30 am, after dreaming that Hugo gave birth to Steve through his penis, the phone woke me.

"Fran?"

"Yeah?" I said as if still in my dream, questioning the peculiarities of what I envisioned in my mind's eye.

"Lucio, here. Can you be here at 9:00 to meet Helen De Traversay?"

Consciousness doused my thoughts and quickly cognizance brought awareness of my limbs, eyes, mouth, and soul as I heard Lucio. "The comedienne?"

"That's right."

"Well, yeah. I'll be there."

All right, so why is it that everyone in Los Angeles, whether they're a security guard or a studio executive, drives fifty thousand dollar cars? I don't get it. Am I the only shmuck who hasn't figured out the way to get a car that costs more than I've made since I've graduated college? Jesus! I lay on the horn that actually sounds like a bug on an over-amped microphone and I drove onto the Warner lot.

Sitting, waiting my turn to meet the stand-up comedienne turned sitcom star, I looked at my clammy hands. Nice hands were essential, and mine weren't so bad. I mean, if I were going to have hands of another body zipping, groping, tugging, smoothing, yanking, and grappling at my clothes-- my hands wouldn't be so bad. I figured I would try to accentuate my hands by flitting them around as much as I could.

"Fran," Lucio called, sticking his head out the door. I looked up. "Come on in." I stood, breathed, and walked.

There she was. About 5' 7", short wavy blonde hair, natural make-up free face, a healthy body dressed in corduroys, oversized tee shirt, and Pumas. My kind of chick. She stood to meet me and shook my hand. Her blue eyes met my browns and we grinned-- a connection, a spark. With the passing of an awkward moment, she said, "So sit." And we did. Lucio lit his cigar.

"Seems you were on the upswing at Tigre, what happened?"

Okay, so here's that moment that defines us all. The spotlight is on, your parents are watching and the teacher just asked if you cheated. What do you say?

"Well, Ms. De Traversay, I was fired." Silence, no not silence, because I could hear the breath of everything in that room-- the dust, the dirt, the slight movements of my judges, and the hot sizzle of Lucio's burning cigar.

"Fired, huh? First time?"

"Yes."

"Thirteen times. I was fired thirteen times and its taken me ten years of therapy to say that with pride. Looks like you're ahead of the game."

"Thirteen?" I asked, she nodded and we giggled. We both turned and saw Lucio lean aloofly back and watch the smoke exit his mouth, floating to the ceiling in a swirling design. He was proud and we were amused. She was great and I wanted the job; I knew I wanted this job.

"Ms. De Traversay..."

"Call me Helen," she interrupted.

"Uh, He-helen... maybe I don't have a ton of experience in set costuming, but you got to start somewhere and you've got to get somebody to give you a break." I knew this would appeal to her, "the break" part, because obviously someone had given her "a break" even though she was the best woman on television.

Lucio sat up. "Listen, I forgot to ask, you're in the union, right?

"Union?"

"You mean L'Atrice sent you here without being in the union?" My heart dropped and shriveled.

With that Helen De Traversay got up, walked with her head down to the door, turned to Lucio and said, " So you'll get her in to the union. It won't be a problem." What she was really saying was if there was a problem, don't make it a problem. Very impressive.

"So you can start Monday," she said. "Cool."

Cool.