“No, off Broadway. About 3,000 miles off Broadway, at the West Covina Community Playhouse. Oh, here’s me as Hedda Gabler. And here’s me as Felix Unger in my high school production of The Odd Couple.”

“You played Felix Unger?”

“It was an all-girls school. I look good in a mustache, don’t you think? It’s nice to know, for when menopause sets in. Oh, and here’s my all-time favorite—me as an eggplant in a vegetable soup commercial.”

“Very impressive.”

“Sad to say, but that was the high point of my career. The spot went national, and I made some really nice money from it.

“Oh, well,” she sighed, leading me back to her studio. “Enough of my showbiz years. Time to get back to reality and work on my resume. Can I get you some wine?”

I shook my head.

“I really shouldn’t. Not if I want to keep a clear head.”

“You’re absolutely right. So what do you want? Red or white?”

“Red.”

“Great.”

She scooted over to her “bar,” a wrought-iron bistro table sporting a dusty jug of Costco gin and a couple of bottles of screw-top wine.

“Want to smell the cork?” she asked, tossing me the screw top.

I laughed as she poured us both some wine.

We settled down on her large chintz sofa and got to work on her resume.

“So what sort of work experience have you had?” I asked, taking notes on a steno pad.

“Well, there’s the waitressing. But I can’t use that.”

“Sure you can.”

She looked dubious. “Waitress doesn’t sound very impressive.”

“No, but Food Service Specialist does.”

She nodded happily. “So it does.”

“What else?” I asked.

“I’ve done some temp filing.”

“Organizational Engineer,” I jotted down. “What else?”

“When I was a kid, I sold Girl Scout cookies.”

“Professional Fund-raiser.”

By now she was beaming. “Hey, you’re really good at this stuff.”

Pam filled me in on the details of her job history, and I told her I’d finish the resume by the end of the week.

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?”

Yes! Tell her yes! You want some money!

But like a fool, I said, “Forget it. It’s nothing. I knock these things out in my sleep.”

“You’re a doll,” she said, with a grateful smile. “Now let me get our dinner.”

She got up and went behind some beaded curtains into her tiny box of a kitchen.

“There’s always plenty to eat at the club,” she called out from behind the curtain, “so I just fixed us a light bite.”

She came out from the kitchen holding two sacks from Burger King.

“Which means only one order of fries with our Whoppers.”

Then, grinning, she set out burgers, fries, and Cokes on the ottoman she used as a coffee table.

“Hope you don’t mind my doing take-out. I’m not much of a cook.”