The woman pushed aside the sack of food with annoyance. “I don’t believe you. What happened? Was she in an accident?”

“She o.d.’d with a spike in her arm.”

“No way!” the roommate exploded, pounding one pale hand with broken lavender-painted nails on the table for emphasis. “She didn’t shoot drugs.”

“I saw her. I was at a loft downtown last night. She was dead. There was a hypodermic needle lying next to her. I went out to get help. When I came back she was gone.”

The roommate roared dismissively. “What were you on? She probably just passed out for a while. Maybe she went home with some guy.”

“You saying she didn’t use drugs?”

“A little grass. Diet pills. That’s all.”

“Diet pills?” I poked at the speed again.

The woman yawned and rubbed her eyes. “She was always trying to lose weight. So, she used speed sometimes. Big deal. She stuck her finger down her throat sometimes, too. That was pretty gross. I heard her in the bathroom. She was tired of just being sent out for parts as someone’s maid. She thought she had to really be a fox to break into the business, on account of being Mexican.”

I paused a few seconds as though concurring before pressing on. “Cathy must have thought she was pretty good looking. She was modeling.”

“Modeling? Is that what she told you? She never told me about modeling! Maybe that’s what she called that weird telegram service.”

“She was in a play,” I countered.

“Yeah, she was all worked up about that. I think she was really in love with that acting coach of hers. He banged her a few times, and all she got out of it was a crummy walk-on part.”

“He wasn’t her boyfriend? She said he was.”

“No way. She’s got some dude who’s a bus driver. He doesn’t come around much anymore, but when he does he’s always pissed off. When she didn’t come home after a couple of days, I figured they were making up.”

A greasy orange stain was spreading across the table where she had moved the bag of food. I moved my hand away from it. “What’s the name of the boyfriend?”

“Hey, you said you’re a friend of hers. You ought to know all this shit.”

I shrugged. “I just met her recently. At the acting workshop, but I had to drop out ‘cause I didn’t have enough money for it. Then I saw her at the party last night and I got kinda worried about her. Ok? So, who’s her boyfriend?”

“Pete something. Mexican name.”

“Where can I find him?” Maybe he would know something.