BOOBS OVER HOLLYWOOD is the whacky story of Lena’s journey from working on a cheesy reality TV show to becoming a cellist with the L.A. Philharmonic. If Nora Ephron and Carl Hiassen, in some parallel universe, decided to collaborate, this book might be the result.
Lena Carmichael, 34, has dreamed of becoming a cellist with the Los Angeles Phil for as long as she can remember. While she waits for her big break, she works as a “go-fer” on the wildly-successful reality TV show The McBoob News Hour, where big-haired, big-busted women vie for a news anchor position. “Think Barbara Walters, but with really big titties,” quips Tony, her idiotic boss. Her husband, Max, who is opening a chain of Chinese-Mexican fusion restaurants in Southeast Asia, urges her to forget the cello concentrate on the TV show, because “that’s where the money is.” What keeps her going is her up-coming recital, which could be her big chance to impress representatives of the L.A. Phil. At the recital, a fistfight erupts between Lena’s father and Casey O’Casey, her mother’s new lover, a little troll of a man who just happens to be the world-distributor of garden gnomes. The recital ends up looking like a hockey match with wardrobe by Dolce & Gabbana. When O’Casey later mysteriously dies, Lena and her entire family are placed under an “umbrella of suspicion.” Lena manages to untangle herself from O’Casey’s death, a failing marriage and her all-consuming job. Finally, there is the tiniest hint of harmony in her life. And maybe a little romance with the handsome detective who bears an uncanny resemblance to Al Pacino in SERPICO.
I am the recipient of an EMMY and a Writers Guild of America Award, working in television for over twenty-years. Sadly, my portrayal of TV isn’t that far off the mark. I am also the co–author of Letters from Cleo and Tyrone (St. Martin’s Press, 2000).
With all the cheesy reality shows out there, the timing seems perfect for BOOBS OVER HOLLYWOOD. Isn’t it about time for something a little goofy, a little absurd, a little satirical -- and a lot funny?
Thank you for your time, and I would be thrilled to send you a portion or the completed 72,000 word manuscript. I look forward to hearing from you.
The kitchen timer buzzed, a jangly, discordant contrast to the strains of theBarber Cello Concerto. Startled by the ugly, instrusive noise, Lena’s fingers fell off the cello’s B-Flat, resulting in a painful howl from the instrument. She quickly shut off the timer and set the cello down gently, then glanced down at her flannel Garfield-inspired PJ’s and frog-shaped slippers and considered -- for about the bazillionth time -- that this was not what she imagined the life of an aspiring cellist to be. She looked at the wall clock. 8:53. Running late. As usual. Time to forget Bach. Time to forget Beethoven. Time to forget Barber. Time to scurry off to work. Time to deal with boobs.
Winded and sweaty from her long trek from the peon parking lot, Lena flew into Building Three, the home of Tony Brewer’s production company, Pilfered Projects Productions. The reception area was starkly modern. Black and glass and chrome with all the warmth and charm of a bus station urinal. She grimaced, as she always did, when she spotted the posters of Tony’s many successful TV reality shows lining the walls: American Icon, Prancing with the Stars, The Incredible Marathon and Endurer: Topeka. Geez, she thought, if you’re going to rip off other shows, couldn’t the titles at least be original?
In her usual uncoordinated style, Lena skidded across the shiny, slippery marble floor toward the reception desk, her long arms and legs flailing in all directions.
Bitsy, the reluctant receptionist, was at her desk watching Lena’s acrobatics through disapproving and decidedly uncharitable eyes. Bitsy was overweight, wildly gothic with dyed black hair and a smorgasbord of body piercings and tattoos.