Defamer
While we were trawling for a high-powered sugar mama perusing yesterday's THR list of the industry's most powerful women, we found ourselves wishing, nay craving a fictionalized examination of the Entourage-worthy shenanigans of Hollywood's Sex and the City-equivalent wild girls, preferably with a title accessible enough to suggest the fluffiest of Malibu beach reading while simultaneously explaining the concept in three words or less. Courtesy of the Publisher's Lunch book deal e-mail round-up, relief:
LA ICM talent agent Margaret Marr's HOLLYWOOD GIRLS CLUB, the story of the intertwined adventures of four women in the stiletto-wearing, black-card carrying upper echelons of the entertainment industry, "Entourage for women meets Candace Bushnell," to Shana Drehs at Crown, for two books, by Andrea Barzvi at ICM (NA).
We've already got a cover concept: A squiggly stick figure in a power-suit totters on those too-high stilettos, juggling a Blackberry, a script, and the baby she can't even find the time to eat, set against a hot pink background. We won't bother you by noting that the first word of the title will more than hint at the iconic letters that bedazzle a certain renowned slice of the local topography, because we know that you're already busy mentally casting the inevitable HBO series.
Comments
Thank goodness. "The L-Word" was getting horribly boring.
I can see it now... Patricia Fields styling the cast in ill-fitting suits and square framed glasses. A major theme of the show will be the four ladies bitching how there are few men that want to date them because they are 'intimidated by their powerful jobs'. But really it's beacuse they are busted and abrasive.
Let's not forget to substitute Columbian Marching Powder for Cosmopolitans as well. You know, give it that "LA authenticity". Carrie knock-off: "Can you believe I had to wait eight and a half minutes for a table at the Ivy? Don't these seating chart monkeys know who I represent?" Samantha knock-off: "They must not, honey. Just hit the ladies room to 'powder your nose' for a few. I'll be blowing the bus boy out back" Carrie knock-off: "Great idead! Good thing I brought my Gucci bullet!" Charlotte knock-off: "You guys are SO crazy!" Miranda knock-off: "I'm so boring. I hate banking." END SCENE
I'm willing to put up with busted and abrasive for a black card. Wait. Just as long as it's not Gail Berman - a man's gotta have a limit.
Ernst Stavro Blofeld wins my vote for "Comment of the Day."
No wonder everyones sees our city as a cultural wasteland inhabited by illiterate heathens. This was a story about a fine work of literature, and all you people can do is talk about the TV version. Sure, I might have dropped HBO in there, but you took the bait. Sad. Let's now turn this thread over to the discussion of the profound symbolism of the "black card" in the novel.
Ummmmm, what's "literature"?
I think it's what they read on TV.
The black card's real name: American Express Centurion Card. Centurion: Commander of a century of the Roman army. Symbolism: Most of these women look like Roman men who've been in battle for six fortnights. (ps - the black card is the worst card for coke, you can see the residue)
While the Black Card may indeed expose coke residue, this will almost certainly be helpful in guiding you as to where to lick for that extra little somethin' somethin' late at night when everybody has gone their separate ways and you're left all alone, trying desperately to maintain that buzz that's dropping faster than Paramount's stock (zing!). You were saying something about LA being a cultural wasteland, Mark? Sorry, but I just don't see it. If you'll excuse me, it's 3:45 and time for my afternoon pick-me-up. *SNORT* Ahhhhhhh...
While I agree with you on the lick, Ernesto, it's not too difficult to figure out where to lick a credit card - even if you are smacked out of your mind. But then again, once you go black...
Ernst Stavro Blofeld wins my vote for "Best Ongoing Commentary of the Week."
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