My Lucky Star
Joe Keenan
Language: English
Pages: 384
ISBN: 0316013358
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In this hilarious, laser-sharp comedy, the Emmy-winning writer and producer of "Frasier" sends up Hollywood pretense higher than it's ever been sent before.
you guys were it.” “We’re glad you liked it,” I said. “I. Fucking. Adored. It.” “You know,” said Claire, smiling shyly, “this may sound like a dreadfully conceited question, but I’m curious — what was your favorite scene?” “Now, Claire!” chided Gilbert. “I think our heads are swelled enough without you begging Bobby to stroke us even more. Let’s get back to Greta —excuse me, The Heart in Hiding — goose bumps!— what say we get Springsteen to write the title song?” “Love it,” said Bobby, “but
thing comes out we have no way of knowing what she’s saying.” “But you could know,” I said, rising suavely to my feet. “You could know everything.” It was an elegant gambit, worthy of the best courtroom drama, and succeeded in drawing the eager gaze of all present. “How?” asked Stephen. “Yes, how?” echoed Diana. Her tone was withering and skeptical but her eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope. “Well,” I began, “I’m assuming Lily won’t write the book by herself. These things are always
enough that both his wife and sundry members of the glamorati will be lurking in inconvenient proximity. Toss Mother in and the odds of furtive nooky decline further still. Even more dismaying was the thought that Claire would now be confronting Moira before I’d had a chance to pull the latter aside and broker a nonaggression pact. Factor in Claire’s eagerness to brandish her new success and unawareness that Moira knew about what Robert Ludlum might have dubbed The Casablanca Deception, and you
bestow on a dog that had given chase and caught the bumper in its teeth. “Okay, you’ve got me,” it said. “Now what?” “Tell me, Glen,” said Gina, padding her role, “did you have to study for a long time to be a masseur?” “Oh, yes, I’ve trained quite extensively,” I said, deadpanning that I’d just completed a three-year course at the West Hollywood Institute for Advanced Relaxation. Gina nodded earnestly as Stephen squelched a giggle. It suddenly occurred to me that Stephen not only knew
officially in hell. He shot me a look of aggrieved disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. Moira’s brochures, while stressing the advantages of a family friendly brothel, had mentioned none of its potential pitfalls, which clearly were numerous. “I am trying to have a massage here!” “She struck me!” thundered Diana, then, registering my presence with a woozy double take, asked what I was doing there. “Giving Stephen a massage.” “You’re a masseur now?” “I’m learning.” “I see,” Diana said vaguely,