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Dogs hold the key to enlightenment… Mother Earth craves your menses… Bruce Springsteen can deliver you to the Promised Land… Your dog already lives there…

Excerpt

The first thing Eleanor noticed when they settled into the limo was the mini-bar. “I hope the driver doesn’t have one of these,” she said loud enough for him to hear.

The driver, a portly, gray-haired man, displayed the carriage of a Buckingham Palace guard.

“He’s a professional,” Janey assured her, hiding her own delight over the mother lode of little bottles, surely a gift from heaven to ease her forthcoming ordeal. “What can I get you, Grandma?”

Doing her best Queen of Sheba, Eleanor studied the sunlight’s reflection off her diamond rings. “Scotch on the rocks.”

Janey went for the ice bucket. The trip to Burbank was only about fifteen minutes and she wanted to make sure there was time for a second round. She handed Eleanor the Scotch and poured herself a glass of Chablis.

“Can we have a drink?” asked Sherri.

“Not unless you turn twenty-one before we get there,” Janey said, offering each girl a can of diet soda.

Candi rubbed the cold can on her chest. “You must save a lot of money on air-conditioning,” she called to the driver. A few moments later a blast of cold air made them all shiver.

“Hey, turn it down!” yelled Eleanor. “I don’t want to have blue skin on television!”

“Why not? It’ll go with your hair,” said Candi, inserting the soda can into her cleavage. Exploding from her skimpy tube top like twin mushroom clouds, her young breasts seemed exempt from gravity. Janey wondered how milk from her flat prairie chest had produced Candi’s endowment.

Unzipping the tote bag she used to carry her dance shoes, Eleanor began tossing in liquor bottles.

“When we get home we’ll all get drunk,” Eleanor promised as the girls giggled.

A few minutes later they pulled into the studio lot where Sherri pointed out Jay Leno’s chocolate Bentley parked by the artists’ entrance. “He has a bazillion cars. He drives a different one every day and keeps them in an airplane hangar.”

Candi yawned. “What a waste of metal.”

“Well, your shoe collection is a waste of leather,” said Sherri. “At least no animals are killed making cars.”

“Unless they’re run over,” Candi said. “I wish we were in New York on Letterman.”

“You’re not going to be on anything,” warned Eleanor. “Just me. Don’t think those big bosoms are going to get you on television. You have to sit in the audience.”

“Whatever you say, Grandma.”

Janey slurped down the last few drops of wine. “‘Come on, come on, let’s shake it tonight’, whaddya say?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I’ll wave to you from the stage.”

As they exited the limo Janey snatched the tote bag and struggled to keep the liquor bottles from clanging.

They were met by Monique, a perky young production assistant with a headset and a carpenter’s belt holding enough electronics to stock Circuit City. Monique promised to make Eleanor comfortable and attend to all her needs.

“You must have drawn the short straw,” Janey said.

Monique led them down narrow, beige hallways to a room with a glittery star on the door bearing Eleanor’s name.

“Take our picture,” Eleanor commanded.

But Monique suddenly froze mannequin-like, her eyes slightly crossed as she listened to her headset. “Be right back,” she chirped and ran off, obviously called away to some show business emergency.

Eleanor grumbled and Sherri, the family photographer, offered to take some pictures.

“Make sure you can see my name on the door.”

While they were assembling for group shots, Janey saw Jay Leno in jeans and a blue work shirt approaching them.

Eleanor noticed him too. “Hey, young man!” she shouted. “We need someone to take our picture.”

“Oh, sure,” he replied. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“That’s Jay Leno, Grandma,” Janey said.

“Did you see my star?”

“Yes, we spare no expense,” replied Jay. “I’m looking forward to dancing with you.”

“Make sure you don’t step on my toes.”

Jay promised to do his best while Janey conjured up frightening scenarios of potential Eleanor faux pas on national television. Good thing she had the little bottles.

“I’m back,” said the re-materialized Monique. She took Eleanor’s arm. “Let’s put your things away, sweetie, then I’ll take you to makeup and the pre-interview.” She turned to Janey and the girls. “You guys can wait in the green room, okay?”

The trio followed Monique’s directions to the green room, which Janey was surprised to discover was not green. Most of the people sitting around did not appear to be celebrities, except for a woman eating lox and bagels from the buffet who looked like Loni Anderson.

“Have something to eat,” Janey told the girls. “It’s free, as Grandma would say.”

The girls helped themselves to finger sandwiches, fruit, cheese and brownies, while Janey’s nerves kept her too jangled to think about food. She stared at the coffee urn, then decided not to mix beverages and poured another glass of wine. She joined the girls in a strategic corner with good celebrity view angles. “Is that Loni Anderson?” she whispered.

Not a hint of recognition on their faces.

“She was married to Burt Reynolds; they had a really ugly divorce, remember?”

“Who’s Burt Reynolds?” asked Sherri.

Janey aged a few years. “You need to watch more television,” she said, peeking to make sure Loni wasn’t eavesdropping. “He’s practically your dad’s favorite actor.”

At the mention of her father, Sherri’s face sagged and she dropped her finger sandwich on her plate. “I wish Daddy was here. He would totally get off on this.”

“He’s probably on his lanai with a big fat joint waiting for the show to come on,” Candi said.

Janey glared. “Knock it off, Candi.”

“You never want us to talk about him,” Candi said, her voice reaching sufficient volume to be heard by all. “He’s our father and you won’t tell us why he left.”

“He couldn’t compete with Bruce Springsteen,” said Sherri. She spat out the sacred name like it was a disease.

In a moment of paranoia, Janey stole a peek at the Loni woman to make sure she wasn’t tuning in. Though Loni appeared to be engrossed in conversation, Janey felt certain she had an ear trained on her family conflict. “We’ll talk about it at home, okay?”

“But we’re sitting here with nothing to do, so let’s talk about it. Maybe Dad read your porno emails.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“The BOSS-list. Girls, I had a dream last night. I was in the shower with him and we were making out and oh, I wanted him so bad! And he was…engorged! But we couldn’t do it because my husband was standing there with an ax.”

There was no need to check. No one in the green room including Loni Anderson could possibly avoid their discussion. “That wasn’t my dream. And who asked you to read my email?”

“It’s so embarrassing,” said Sherri. “My mother is in a fan club.”

Candi snorted. “All they do is talk about his butt.”

“I’m warning you,” said Janey.

The look on Sherri’s face made Janey feel like a fresh Chianti stain on a white carpet. “No wonder Daddy left,” Sherri said. “You totally humiliated him.” She leaped up and fired a parting shot: “That’s why he does drugs—because of you!”

Sherri’s attempt to storm out of the green room was thwarted by her headlong crash into Blue Man Group, a trio of royal blue billiard balls in jump suits. They picked her up as if she were a prop from their act and moved her aside.

“Don’t see that every day,” noted Candi.

Copyright 2008 Linda Segall Anable. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.