Part 3

(Continued from Part 2)

 In search of an apartment that's a step up from The Stardust, my poor Pinto crisscrosses sprawling LA to no avail. The cleverly worded classifieds are never like the actual apartments. Cozy means room for one standing up. An apartment in Westwood that was described as romantic and roomy makes my cubicle at the Stardust look like the Taj Mahal. Usually I leave without a fuss but I'm tired and pissed off and like Mike Wallace on Sixty Minutes I confront the manager with his ad and ask how he could describe an apartment that's the size of a phone booth as roomy. And where's the balcony? He opens a door at the end of the un-roomy room and reveals a six inch ledge with floor to ceiling window guards.

See, he says. Now it's a helluva lot roomier, ain't it? No, I say, and there's still no balcony. The ledge is the goddam balcony, he says, and if you don't grab this place, pal, somebody else will, somebody less picky.

With my savings being devoured by the Stardust I put aside the drudgery of apartment hunting for the drudgery of job hunting. I call a photo studio and say I'd like a job assisting, and the studio manager says, You and a million other starving artists. Click. I'm running out of places to call when finally Arnie, the manager of a fashion studio in east Hollywood, returns my call and says he could definitely use another assistant. Com'on over and I'll give ya the tour. You called the right place, at the right time, pal.

The studio has everything I could dream of and I'm doing my best not to drool. Fashion magazine covers and tear-sheets line the foyer walls. Inside the main studio are two big Norman power packs, Hassleblads, and a powerful red fan on wheels for that sexy windblown look that you always see in magazines but never in real life. And just off the set is a huge dressing room for hair and make-up. Arnie boasts that he gets to work with all the hottest models in the biz who think nothing of getting naked. Let's talk about the job over a couple of beers, he says, and we end up with Coronas and limes at the bar of a dive Mexican restaurant on Melrose. Arnie calls for a second round which is my strict limit and though I know I can't afford it, I grab the tab because the job possibility is the only bright spot I've seen since I hit The Stardust a week ago. The beers loosen my tongue and I let out my dream of becoming a full-time photographer...

(to be continued every Tuesday)