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By Anna David

Anna David turns her reporter's eye for aspect towards Tinseltown's seedy underbelly another time and "eloquently and humorously unveil[s] what can be a new subgenre: Chick Lit with a Message" (New York Post). uninterested in amassing banal prices from the B-list at the sidelines of the purple carpet, Emma Swanson publicly yearns for a extra vast occupation yet privately desires of a hotshot boyfriend to move her into the thrashing center of the Hollywood scene. as a substitute, she meets Jessica—beautiful, cavalier, manipulative—who shamelessly trades intercourse for the presents it might carry. confident that writing a narrative approximately Jessica and her ilk could heavily develop her journalistic cred, Emma quickly reveals herself sucked right into a global the place the luxuries of prettied-up prostitution might cost greater than she ever anticipated.

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Glancing at the organic grapefruit juice, I add, “I really blame my parents. When I was little, our house was fi lled with junk food: Lucky Charms and Cocoa Puffs, Lays potato chips and Milano cookies. Then, one summer when I was at camp, my mom read this diet book written by some sadist named Dr. ” He laughs and I wonder what I’m doing confiding my junk food history to a guy who works at Whole Foods. Yet I fi nd myself continuing, “If they’d put me on the lentils and branches plan from the get-go, it would have been all right.

I look down at my cart, unsure of what to say. Because I have a little sister who’s always been breathtakingly gorgeous and I’m the girl who’s always sort of but not quite looked like Lilly, I tend to be completely thrown whenever someone compliments my appearance. “Thank you,” I manage, wondering if the redhaired girl in spandex in front of me in the deli line is listening to our conversation. “Hey, you’re blushing,” he says. ” Now I actually feel my face darken. I once heard that since blushing is the one thing people can’t fake, the way to test a woman’s virtue in the eighteenth century was to see if she blushed if anything inappropriate was said.

On the ride over, Antonio had promised me that this one word would be enough to open the gates to their world. And apparently it was because the blonde—who, up close, has a rosy-cheeked, freshly scrubbed look to her—smiles at me. She seems far nicer than her face and body suggest she would be. Her friend gives me the one-up, one-down, and I suddenly feel embarrassingly conservative in the dress that had two minutes ago seemed risqué. ” the blonde asks sweetly. ” It appears to be the right answer because suddenly she’s patting the space next to her and gesturing for me to sit down.

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