The semi-disguised truth about Hollywood…by Vickie Lester

1929: Louise Brooks in The Canary Murder Case.

I had dinner out last night in Beverly Hills, and I have a confession to make. Since I’ve adapted to online conversation, I have let my wardrobe devolve to t-shirts and jeans. Not exactly very grownup or “going out” attire. So, in attempt to gussy it up, I remembered my mother’s box of trinkets, and a strand of pearls she used to wear…

Result, pearls, black linen t-shirt, my best jeans, and black high heeled boots. I felt somewhat presentable, but since I’ve never been a jewelry wearing dame, it was odd to me that as I walked the pearls swung from my neck like a pendulum. I kept having to stop myself from catching them and holding them still against my chest. I would have made a rotten flapper.

Sartorial problems aside, I had the best time. We talked about a director, who, on being given his first big feature, was also rented a rather glamorous house on location. It was a family home, hung with oil paintings and portraits, and furnished quite beautifully. Until the director moved in with his cronies. Not only were they slovenly, but during one of their bacchanalian evenings they went around to all the paintings and drew penises, eyeglasses, and mustaches on all the portraits. God only knows what else they did, but the producers, on inspecting the house with the very unhappy owners immediately handed over a check for $500,000 in damages. Half an effing million dollars. I would have killed him. What kind of line-item would that have been in the film’s budget? Oh, and guess what? He’s directing another picture.

At the dinner table someone asked me about the progress on my book, and how I had the discipline to sit down and write — the question really should have been, how could I NOT sit down and write about this stuff!

So, that’s exactly what I’m doing, and I hope to have this novel done sometime this Autumn. And of course, I’ll keep you posted 😉 .

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