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all prologue,” Debbie said excitedly. “Turns out the judge’s ghost haunted the place, and shall we say, he was a bit miffed. So most of the movie takes place in modern, rural New Jersey—there is such a thing by the way. I know, it surprised me too…”
    She went on describing the plot of the movie, shredding her napkin as she spoke, while Joyce watched the light in her eyes.
    Debbie was speaking really fast, and Joyce could only catch every third word or so. But it was obvious that even this small brush with show business had thrilled her.
    It came out that this judge’s ghost was terrorizing the modern town, and that he had a nasty habit of bayoneting strangers wandering off the highway.
    “So what was your part in this?” Joyce finally asked.
    “Body No. 3,” Debbie said with a wry smile. “You saw me in an establishing shot go into this tumbled down old barn with my horny date. We’re on the run from something, but it’s never made clear what. Just details, right?
    “Anyway, in the next shot I come running out of the barn screaming, and covered in blood. I have an axe sticking out of my back, and as I reach the foreground of the shot I fall over dead and the camera gets a nice close-up of the axe handle.”
    “Well, it’s work, right?” Joyce asked. “You did get paid, didn’t you?”
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    FRANK JULIANO
    “Yea. I got $140, pizza for lunch and a ride both ways,”
    Debbie said. “They poured buckets of Karo syrup over my head, red sticky stuff it took days to get out of my hair. I looked like Sissy Spacek in “Carrie.’ I also got a DVD of the movie—it took longer to edit and put the titles and music in than to shoot. Turns out that’s what the grade was on, post-production.”
    She promised to show Joyce a clip of her scene, which Debbie had uploaded to You Tube and used as an audition reel.
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Chapter 6
    Debbie browsed in a bookstore while Joyce deposited her inheritance check and set up two different accounts. She put most of the money into a savings passbook that paid a high interest rate, and $2,500 into a checking account.
    Joyce had to practically fight off the offer of a Visa card from the “personal banking consultant” on the platform. “I already have one,” she pointed out.
    “We have a special arrangement with our larger depositors; there’s no annual fee. Plus, we link all of your accounts to determine your minimum monthly balance. Your checking is free as long as your total deposits equal $5,000,” he said.
    Joyce wasn’t sure but she thought the banker was coming on to her. She was never very good at picking up on those kinds of things. But since she only planned to keep enough money in her checking account to pay her bills the arrangement suited her.
    She left with a calendar, a leatherette checkbook wallet, a letter opener and paperweight with the bank’s logo on them, an ATM
    card, a coupon for free traveler’s checks and the business card of her “personal banker.”
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    FRANK JULIANO
    No wonder these places have to be bailed out, Joyce thought, if they consider me a big depositor and give out all this junk.
    The roommates bought copies of BACKSTAGE and SHOW
    BUSINESS newspapers, that list all of the casting calls, agents and “talent services.”
    One of the ads for photographers listed a studio only a few blocks away promising same-day service. The ad said that a complete resume could be printed on the back of an 8x10 glossy photo, with the performer’s name embossed in the right-hand corner.
    The studio was on the third floor of a narrow brick building housing a cut-rate electronics store on the street level. Next door was a Greek restaurant with a walk-up window, the smell of the baklava following the women into the foyer.
    The photographer occupied two rooms. In the front was an office, with a desktop printing operation, three-ring binders full of samples of his work, and a small sink and lighted vanity table.
    Through heavy curtains was the studio itself