It was lunch hour for L'Atrice. For me, being unemployed meant every hour was lunch hour so I got to Pinifini's early, champed on a bread stick and drank water. I had called L'Atrice that morning when I heard about the job, knowing L'Atrice had connections at Warner Bros. Although I didn't mention what I wanted when I invited her to lunch, it was clear that I had a hidden motive.

We hadn't left on a bad note, but I wouldn't call it a symphonic overture either. So I was uneasy. Finally, the host guided her to our table and I stood instigating a hug hello. L'Atrice sat. Okay, so maybe it wasn't going to be as easy as baking a pie, and anyone who's baked a pie knows...

Well, it was L'Atrice all right. Her hair was dyed redder and it was teased, tied, and hanging all at the same time. Her leopard skin shirt was decorated with gold classic jewelry, including a shiny Chanel chain and emblem. The clangs reverberated when she turned to the host, "Glass of Chardonnay, cold."

It took me a moment to notice her attention was back to me and I shook, picked up my napkin, and said, "you look great L'Atrice."

She didn't deny it. "So let's cut the crap Fran, what do you want?"

"Listen, if you don't want to be here...by all means..." I could feel myself blowing it. That juvenile pride ignoring the truth of what I wanted was suddenly tempting my words.

"Fran, I just want to know what you want from me. I know it's something."

"Fair enough," I said, wanting to scream that she already got what she wanted from me-- my sketch! But my adult mind jumped in and kept my words impassive. "L'Atrice," I continued, "Even though my exit at Tigre was not as clean as I would have liked, you can't deny that, up to my little indiscretion, I was a valuable employee."

"Little indiscretion?" Her loud sarcasm brought notice from other tables. I wanted desperately to bring up her thievery.

"Okay," I said, "Call it what you want, but other than that you were happy with my work, right?"

"Fran, are you completely unaware of yourself?"

"What?"

"You came to work at Tigre Designs ready step on anybody if it meant you got ahead, and maybe you didn't in the end, but that was your attitude. You were serious and when anything didn't go your way, your frustration was clearly apparent in your snippety attitude."

How much more I could take, I wasn't sure. "L'Atrice, maybe I came off that way because I felt hopeless there, like...like...like..."

"Like no one was paying any attention to you?"

Was she right? "No, just that my abilities and work ethics did not run concurrent or have anything to do with what would happen to me at that company."

"That's the real world Fran."

"I don't believe that L'Atrice and when I do, I'll quit. Look, I'm sorry if I was unpleasant to be around."

"Fine, so what did you want?"

"Forget it."

"Just tell me. I want to know."

With my head down and hopelessness invading every blood corpuscle, I said, "I heard of a job at Warner 's and I know you knew some people over there. I thought maybe you could get me an interview."

I shrugged my shoulders and waited. She said nothing and tipped her head picking up the menu. "But you know, forget it," I said. "I'll see you around L'Atrice or...maybe not." I wasn't trying to be mean or childish, it just came out. I felt terrible and confused like the day my mother convinced me I was selfish for being gay.

I left the table, leaving some money even though nothing had been eaten or ordered.

I went to the gym, which I hoped would make me feel better and help me understand what the hell just happened.

"Hey!" I thought, "Maybe I could get a job at the gym?"