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country!” she said. Angela felt sheepish but curiously thrilled at Sheila’s warm hand wrapped around hers. They were silent as they drove to the beach.
    To get to the water, they had to make their way through a dizzy hubbub of stoned white people. A blond girl with eyes that had long ago left this earth smiled sleepily at Angela and Sheila as they picked their way past. She sat next to an enormous, full-to-bursting backpack and a draggle-haired, dirty white guy. They both wore fringed leather vests. Sheila took a quick look at Angela and said, “Don’t worry. These hippies don’t bite. Too high.” Then, “Look, Angie, there it is.”
    All the air rushed out of Angela’s chest. Her hand flew to her heart, just like in a movie. The ocean glittered blue and green, sun-touched, just like in a movie. But with the salt on her face and the sky above and her body warmed by the air all around her. She had come to where she was meant to be. Sheila stood next to her, grinning. “Nice, huh?”
    â€œOh, Sheila, I can’t even tell you.”
    â€œI know. I thought you’d feel that way.” Without speaking they moved a step closer to each other. They stood looking at the water for a long time, the sound of the waves in their ears, the noise of the city behind them forgotten. They might have been alone in the world.
    Â 
    When Angela met Sheila, she was close to giving up. Her work as a Katharine Gibbs girl was disappearing. She was a fast typist, but when she met Sheila she’d worked only three days out of the previous ten. She had no idea how she was going to pay the rent at her pay-by-the-week hotel, and she couldn’t bear taking the bus one more second. She had to get a car. She was sitting behind the desk at Goldstein and Associates, a casting agency she’d been sent to that morning. She had her headset on and was staring at the wall in front of her, trying to stay awake. She’d gotten only five hours of sleep the night before. Her neighbors, two extremely large transvestites, were screaming at each other at glass-shattering levels most of the night. Her eyes were grainy and her neck felt loose; she kept drifting off. She woke up when Sheila came in. It was as if a lioness had entered the room. She had skin the color of a buckeye and about the same satiny smoothness. She had the walk of a runway model, one foot swinging way in front of the other, her fake-fur-trimmed ankle-length orange maxicoat swinging open with every step to reveal a tiny white mini and black go-go boots. Her hair was wrapped in yards of blue silk that matched the shirt that clung to her. She walked up to Angela: “I’m here to see Mr. Goldstein,” she said. Her deep voice was cool water in the desert.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    The woman laughed, giggled really. Her sophistication fell away for a moment and Angela realized that they were about the same age. “Yes, ma’am?’ Where you all from?” she said in an exaggerated fake southern accent.
    â€œTulsa, ma’am. I been here about nine months.”
    â€œNine months, huh?” The beautiful woman looked speculative. “You been working here the whole time?”
    Angela blushed and looked down. “Not really. I want to be an actress. I’ve been working wherever I can. This is just a temp job.” She sighed, uncertain why she was telling the truth. “This ends tomorrow. Then I don’t know what I’m going to do.” The phone rang and she busied herself with it for a moment. The woman watched her sympathetically. She considered something, then decided. “Listen, my name is Sheila Jenkins. I’m an actress too, and I need a roommate. Here’s my phone number. Why don’t you call me after work and we can talk. I think I might know a place where you could work too.” She smiled. “I know how it is when you first get here. You’re gonna get famous right