Heidi’s applied to Columbia University in New York, so she can be near Grandma Kosciusko. Meanwhile, she and I get together for lunch on Saturdays. Afterwards we go to the Museum of TV and Radio. Heidi’s given up watching Bachelor Father. Perhaps in anticipation of her future adventures as a single gal in New York, her sitcom of choice nowadays is That Girl.

After getting drunk one night at a Sunset Strip club, Brad Kingsley totalled his Ferrari. I’m happy to report that he walked away with only a few scratches. I’m even happier to report that Hal refused to buy him another Ferrari. Nowadays Brad is tooling around town in a Corolla, just like mine. Talk about your poetic justice.

Oh, yes. And three days after the accident, Amber left him for a USC senior with a Maserati.

As for Hal’s ex-lovers, Larkspur O’Leary is still pounding the cellulite out of rich ladies’ thighs. Ginny is dating a guy she met in the men’s department at Bloomie’s. And the last I heard, Denise quit her job in Hal’s office and is now working for a cosmetic dentist in Van Nuys, not too far from the Van Nuys jail.

And speaking of the Van Nuys jail, I’ve got great news about Desiree the Hooker. Her dream of becoming a professional psychic came true. Not long ago she sent me a discount coupon for a palm reading at her new salon. And I’m actually thinking of going. Remember how she told me I’d soon be hearing from a long-lost sister? Well, she was right. I did hear from a long-lost sister. Not mine, of course, but SueEllen’s. So maybe she’s good at this psychic stuff, after all.

Kandi’s relationship with Stanislau didn’t last very long; apparently Romanian food gave her indigestion. And poor Lance. After six months of frantic dating, his boyfriend Jim went back to his wife.

In the Some Things Never Change Department, Mom is still stockpiling fake diamonds in the unlikely event of a world cubic zirconia shortage. Daddy is still screwing up the punch lines to his jokes. And Mr. Goldman still insists that Queen Elizabeth had a nose job.

Morris never told Mrs. Pechter about finding me naked on top of Conchi. He didn’t have to. One of the cops leaked the story to the L.A. Times. So all of Greater Los Angeles read about that little escapade. I was just glad there were no accompanying pictures.

Everyone considers me a hero, though. Except for Prozac, of course, who still considers me her maid. Which reminds me, I’ve got to go and open a can of Fancy Fish Guts. Talk to you later.

Please turn the page for an
exciting sneak peek of
Laura Levine’s next
Jaine Austen mystery
SHOES TO DIE FOR
coming in hardcover in June 2005!

Chapter One

There are two kinds of people in L.A. Those who do lunch. And those who eat lunch. Those who do lunch talk to their agents and order things like ahi tuna and Chinese chicken salad. Those who eat lunch talk to a clown and order extra ketchup for their fries.