Hollywood teems with lusters after fame, rock stars of tomorrow, would-be symbols of sex. But none of them has managed to make herself more conspicuous than Angelyne, whose pouting likeness has adorned traffic light switching boxes and bus shelters through the ’80s, and who, as this is written, reclines sultrily atop her fuchsia Corvette on a jillion flourescent back-lit billboards from Capitol Tower to the sea.

She’s blonder than Deborah Harry and she sings. Life imitates art—she’s Little Annie Fanny incarnate. She’s made records and videos. She pouts and poses, protrudes and poses and preens. Primarily, she protrudes. She says they’re real. One wonders. She says she’s 25. One wonders some more. About her being sheer, undiluted Eleganza there can be no doubt. There’s been talk of putting her Corvette billboard up all over Manhattan.