Free Gypped by Carol Higgins Clark Page A

left a suburb of Chicago for Los Angeles, she’d found an apartment online. A middle-aged woman who lived in a modern two-bedroom on Wilshire Boulevard in Westwood wanted a roommate to help cover expenses. She turned out to be a weirdo who stayed up all night with the television blaring while she drank pitchers of margaritas. Within a week she stormed into Maggie’s room at 2:00 A.M., waving a pair of scissors and accusing Maggie of stealing her organic limes.
    Maggie was terrified. She would never close her eyes in that apartment again. When the woman retreated, Maggie locked her door, packed her bags, and waited. The wacko finally went out “to meet a client” at noon. At 12:01 Maggie hightailed it out of there. She never looked back. She never looked for another roommate, either.
    Inside Gelson’s, Maggie headed straight to the bakery section. The fresh breads and pastries smelled great. I may as well indulge, she decided, ordering a muffin with her coffee. I worked hard last night.
    Walking back down the block, she thought about the previous evening. That older woman Gladys was a hoot. She came into the kitchen three different times to say hello and see if anyof her favorite hors d’oeuvres were left. When she found out the help were all aspiring actors, she told them she had wanted to be an actress but her parents wouldn’t let her. Instead, they sent her to secretarial school to learn bookkeeping.
    “I never should have listened,” she said as she popped a scallop wrapped with bacon into her mouth.
    “I read an article about several older women who went into acting later in life and really did well,” Maggie had told her. “It’s never too late. Especially if you’re funny.”
    The two of them exchanged numbers.
    Back in the abyss, one of several nicknames Maggie had given her apartment, she sat at her computer, took the lid off her coffee, and started perusing the latest audition notices. Like most young actors, she was doing as much as she could to find work on her own. She had an agent who couldn’t get her arrested, which was especially irksome considering her living conditions. Maggie didn’t have her Screen Actors Guild card which made things even more difficult. She couldn’t get a union job because she wasn’t in SAG, but she couldn’t get into SAG until she had a union job.
    Non-union projects were good for gaining experience and building a reel. But because those projects weren’t subject to strict rules and regulations, you never knew what you were getting into.
    Maggie sipped her coffee and scrolled down the page. Why wasn’t I born gorgeous? she wondered as she took a bite of her muffin. Well, I know I can do comedy. She jotted down the contact information on several roles she thought she’d be right for. Nothing that’s going to win me an Academy Award, she thought, but work is work. It’s also about making connections for future jobs.
    After Maggie forwarded her picture and resume to all theprojects she was interested in, she went back to look at the roles for older women that she had noticed on a couple of non-union projects. There were two different parts that had Gladys’s name written all over them. Maggie got up and retrieved her phone from the table next to the bed. I’ll call her right now! Gladys should send in her picture. Give acting a whirl. There shouldn’t be too much competition. Someone Gladys’s age who was non-union was either just starting out or no Sarah Bernhardt.
    But as Maggie started to make the call, she hesitated, wondering if she was being too pushy. The conversation about Gladys wanting to be an actress could have just been party talk. Gladys has a job and would probably be too embarrassed to send in her photo, even if she’s interested. I know what I’ll do, Maggie thought. This might turn out great!
    At the party the night before, when Norman was in the living room balancing his dinner plate on his lap, the four workers had taken pictures of each