Elissa Eaton's Blog: Writing and creating is my passion

October 1, 2012
By P.A.M.
Amazon Review
I just got done reading this book and what a book it is! It has all the makings of block buster movie in 3D! It's easy to read, entertaining and a great way to free the mind from a stressful day. Move over Jackie Collins. Eaton takes you on a journey that blurs the boundaries between reality and fantasy as you look forward to the next page. Hold on tight and enjoy the ride.

Attended the West Hollywood Book Fair Sept. 30th 2012, was very successful signing Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam.

Was invited by Michael Che, Coordinator from the City of West Hollywood, who gave me the prime table at the event, next to Deepak Chopra.

I was lucky enough to hang out with the highly evolved metaphysical guru.

I'll be there, signing copies of my novel
Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam
from 4 to 6:30 pm

Watch out "50 Shades", I'm the original!!

11th Annual West Hollywood Book Fair
Sunday, September 30, 2012
10 a.m. to 6 p.m.
West Hollywood Library and West Hollywood Park
625 North San Vicente Boulevard.

reviews for
Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam:

*****5.0 out of 5 stars
Great Read!!!! September 4, 2012
Great surprise to find out that this book is not what you think it is. This book is a cultural and psychological exploration of a hedonistic and morally tumultuous time in our history at the epicenter of the 1960's movement. The protagonist, April Moon is an emotionally disorganized, rebellious and ambitious character who is seeking ways to affirm her beauty, desirability and efficacy through sexual exploits and self- medication.
The author, Elissa Eaton, cleverly writes in a style which reflects the chaotic inner self of her main character. Her writing conventions are flaunted in a T.S. Eliot fashion thereby emphasizing the careless nature of the times and the figures in this book. Ms. Eaton has a talent for descriptive writing which allows the reader to experience the purposeless and demeaning life of April as she struggles to find herself in self destructive ways. April's glory days portray the quest for fun and adventure through the empty pursuits that the culture of Hollywood has branded its own and the values of the most decadent times in modern history. Only those who lived through this time period in this specific area of the country can truly understand the exploits that the author has illustrated in this complex and revealing romp.
There could be a movie in the future of this book. It would allow the audience to more robustly explore the depths of April's psyche, hopefully minimizing the sexual aspects and instead highlighting the self -serving ethos of the times that threw the most powerful nation on earth into a trance of shock and moral trauma.
by: KE

*****5.0 out of 5 stars
Think about it, August 18, 2012
Think about what your life would be like if your mom was selfish and blamed you for not having the life experience at 14 to push back on an older boy putting the moves on you. See through the graphic prose in this novel and think about asking your daughters and nieces how they would handle some of the choices April made during her life. How would they manage to hang onto a good man like Patrick? Think about whether you feel compassion for April like I do. Thanks to Elissa for having the courage to write this novel and for leaving the ending open for us to imagine a happy one. April deserves that.
by: Bee Happy







****4.0 out of 5 stars
January 2, 2012
Too Old to be a Hooker, Too Young to be a Madam... I was looking for some books to download into my kindle and came across this book. I must say it was really good. I liked that it was based on truth as well. I'll recommend it.
by: Mari


*****5.0 out of 5 stars
TOTALLY AWESOME! September 20, 2011
Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam centers around the main character April Moon, a lusty Jewish American Princess from Beverly Hills. This novel is also an exploration of her entourage of damaged, passionate, self obsessed and quirky characters. Eaton's unique dialogue is at once hilarious and shocking. A highly entertaining portrayal of the Hollywood Hills in its heyday.
By TT

*****5.0 out of 5 stars
This novel is awesome. September 16, 2011
This book has given my marriage a five minute make over. The steamy provocative prose and wicked humor and wit portrays Eaton as THE hottest female novelist of this generation. This read will definitely spice up your sex life.
By: SK

*****5.0 out of 5 stars
Book is Hot Hot Hot! September 10, 2011
Love it, Love it, Love it! This book makes sex in the city look like The golden girls. I love a book with lots of spice. If you like books with attitude and a sex life, this is it! This is not a book for your mom, so girls, hide this one ;).
By: CK


****4 stars on goodreads.com April 2012
I was lucky to win this interesting novel. This is not a boring book. You would have to read it in one sitting if it contained pictures.:) The lady this book has been based on has burned through a lifetime in such a short time.I think in a way that's sad. I also believed she has done it her way and that's okay.
I did enjoy the quote, "Like dangling raw meat before a starving dog". A reference a man made regarding his addiction to alcohol.
By: ES




*****5 stars
Sexual adventures of a female warrior September 24, 2012
Elissa Eton writes honestly from the heart about life in a fast lane that's more like a rollercoaster drop! Skewering sexual stereotypes as she moves through a haze of sex, drugs & rock and roll, Too Old To Be A Hooker, Too Young To Be A Madam, offers great reflections on the sexual revolution as it fluctuates wildly from salacious hilarity to poignancy, sometimes in the same paragraph - no easy feat. Astonishing and frank, it is above all, entertaining!
By Christopher Varaste

If you want to find out more about the steamy, salacious sex in 'Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam' for your beach read, you'll have to buy my novel. These are just snippets to entice you! Elissa Eaton

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
JADED BUT NOT FADED
NAKED IN SYLVESTER STALLONE'S COFFIN

The cinema has no boundary. It is a ribbon of dreams.
Orson Welles


The rumor was out in Hollywood that Sylvester Stallone was filming an avant garde mortuary scene in a movie at Universal Studios. The voice of Rush Fix the horny casting director from the studio came frantically screaming through my answering machine.
“Hi honey,” I said, grabbing the phone. “Do you have the plumb job for me?”
“April, how old are you today?”
“I forget.”
“Do you still have those long racehorse legs, honey how much do you weigh, and is your hair blonde, black or orange this week?”
“I'm five pounds over, but it all went to the right places,” I answered proudly.
“Good,” Rush said. “Sylvester Stallone is looking for a zoftig over the hill, floozy looking redheaded, leggy actress with big tits and big hair to play a dead, nude hooker in a film he wrote. Sly's staring and directing also. He saw your pictures from that bikini shoot.”
“When's the interview?” I asked.
“It was yesterday. Why didn't you call me back?”
“I was staying at Rod Steiger's house in the colony. Rod thinks I have an autonomic personality and I should do more dramatic roles,” I said.
“You should always be prepared for the unexpected,” he scolded.
“Sorry,” I said apologetically. “Any dialogue in the script?”
“The only lines you'll have are on your face. Now tell me what you're wearing?”
“The same thing I was wearing last time I saw you. I’m stark raving naked.” I answered.
“Well push up those luscious bumps into your corset, Redhead Galore, and get to Universal in a half hour. I'll leave you a drive on pass, it's Stage 30. And don't be a stranger. Stop by my office after the interview and let me know if you got the job.” Rush groaned.
“How much does it pay?” I enquired excitedly.
“It's a week's work and it pays three thousand dollars with overtime,” the man replied.
Hanging the phone up, I frantically laced up my bustier, threw a long fire engine red wig on my head and raced recklessly over Mullholland in my black Corvette convertible. The mystical mountains were carved into a pale velvet blue sky like a roller coaster ride at Magic Mountain. As I walked on the set two guards escorted me to Stallone. When we met he shook my hand and, with his tough guy attitude, "Nice to meet you,” he said. “Yous can use the dressing room over there to put on this robe, then come back here.”
I put on the faded blue terrycloth robe and walked into Sly's dressing room.
“Lose the wig and the robe, kid.” He demanded gruffly. I slipped out of the robe. as it fell to my ankles standing in front of the icon, in all of my bold, bronzed nakedness. I was really glad that I'd gotten an awesome suntan at the beach, but I was shaking and I needed to go somewhere after for a glass of wine to kill my hangover. Maybe I'd pop into Musso and Franks. I shouldn’t have drank so much at the beach but I was having so much fun, it was worth it.
Sly grinned at me approvingly. “You're great,” he said as his eyes swept my body. Now I felt the power. “You'll be Moaning Mary, she's a dead, crackhead hooker. She tripped on a marble and broke her neck. Before we embalm her, we're going to pack her in dry ice and sell her to the winos in Hell's Kitchen for five dollars a pop. They'll just think she’s a heavy sleeper. We start shooting tomorrow. It's a four day shoot, don't wash your hair until we finish your scene. See you on the set.”
The next morning I was in make-up and hair at 6:00 a.m. sharp.
“Good morning, Doll,” the gay hairdresser said. “Would you like some breakfast while I’m transforming you to look like LaLa Lady of the Living Dead?”
“No thanks, honey, I'm in the buff for a week on this set. I have to starve, but I’ll have some coffee.” I answered.
“Well you look pretty good. Now don't pay any attention to me, I'm just going to put some talcum powder and KY Jelly in your frizzy hair to make it stand out more for the effect.”
“Okay,” I said. “I'm all yours.”
“After I'm through with you, you'll go to make-up and they’ll put white foundation all over your face and body. Now don't you be taking a bath until we're finished with your sequence and you know there won't be any wardrobe, don’t you?” he laughingly shared.
I was horrified. “Oh my God. I have to show up for a premiere tonight, I can't go looking like this. Sweetheart, be reasonable,” I moaned. “I'll look like an escapee from Camarillo after electric shock treatments.”

‘Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam’ is available at the following
Los Angeles Bookstores: Barnes & Noble The Grove, Barnes & Noble Third Street Promenade, Barnes & Noble Bookstar Studio City, Book Soup, Skylight Books, Vroman’s, The Canyon Country Store, amazon.com, Kindle and other online bookstores all over the globe.

If you want to find out more about the steamy, salacious sex in 'Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam' for your beach read, you'll have to buy my novel. These are just snippets to entice you! Elissa Eaton


CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JAMES WOODS, IN THE WOODS
BLAME IT ON MY BREASTS

Some women my age, or younger, ‘ve got breasts that look like a couple of mules hangin’ their heads over the top rail of a fence.
Tennessee Williams


It was a hot, muggy morning. The last day of summer. Soon autumn would paint her pallet with earthen hues of burnt amber and scarlet star-shaped leaves. Patrick and I had taken a drive to the end of the world, a barren wilderness called Saugus. Although I'd studied the Stanislavski method, I was a free-spirited, reckless, big city girl who loved to escape from conformity and with each job in the movies ended up wearing less and less.
After all I was a player in Hollywood, the heart of corruption, vulgarity and ridiculousness. Being a sexual radical, I loved bearing my robust breasts and terrorizing my conservative elitist family and future conquests along the way, but this was an exception. I was cast in an X-rated film as James Woods' floozy, boozy girlfriend Honey whom he pimps out to a truckload of wetbacks at a flophouse. The set was designed with harsh lighting, and my bare body scorched the screen.
Woods had a dark hidden raw sexuality and enough animal magnetism to match his star power. It was tasteful nudity and raunchy dialogue. My pimp was running the joint. One scene was shot in the woods. The actor was laughing while hosing me down.


‘Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam’ is available at the following
Los Angeles Bookstores: Barnes & Noble The Grove, Barnes & Noble Third Street Promenade, Barnes & Noble Bookstar Studio City, Book Soup, Skylight Books, Vroman’s, The Canyon Country Store, amazon.com, Kindle and other online bookstores all over the globe.

Book Notes—Eaton’s Novel Gaining Fans, Book Signing Set
Beverly Hills’ own Elissa Eaton has seen her racy first novel Too Old To Be A Hooker Too Young to Be A Madam, earn a four-star rating on Amazon and a 4.7 rating from goodreads.com.

Inspired by Eaton’s own erotic adventures, the book is the story of April Moon a charismatic Jewish American temptress born and bred in Beverly Hills, seduced by the lure of Laurel Canyon.

A precursor to 50 Shades of Grey, the story take the champagne and gin-soaked heroine through drugs, dangerous liaisons, fame, bisexuality and betrayal in the Hollywood Hills of the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s.

Eaton a former Cosmopolitan magazine Playgirl of the Year, worked as a Hollywood stunt girl for directors like Ken Russell and Robert Altman among others.

Created at The Writer’s Program at UCLA, the book has drawn high praise and appreciation from instructors.

“Too Old To Be A Hooker Too Young To Be A Madam is over-the-top Hollywood high camp, wild and evocative. Funny, great detail, wild, wild satire,” said Eve La Salle Caram, instructor in fiction writing.

Eaton is set to sign copies of her bawdy book at the 11th Annual West Hollywood Book Fair, from 10 a.m.-6 p.m., Sunday, Sept. 30 at the West Hollywood Library and West Hollywood Park, 625 North San Vicente Blvd.

The free event offers free parking and free shuttle. For more information, visit www.westhollywoodbookfair.org.

*****New amazon.com review!
Great Read!!!! September 4, 2012
By KE
Great surprise to find out that this book is not what you think it is. This book is a cultural and psychological exploration of a hedonistic and morally tumultuous time in our history at the epicenter of the 1960's movement. The protagonist, April Moon is an emotionally disorganized, rebellious and ambitious character who is seeking ways to affirm her beauty, desirability and efficacy through sexual exploits and self- medication.
The author, Elissa Eaton, cleverly writes in a style which reflects the chaotic inner self of her main character. Her writing conventions are flaunted in a T.S. Eliot fashion thereby emphasizing the careless nature of the times and the figures in this book. Ms. Eaton has a talent for descriptive writing which allows the reader to experience the purposeless and demeaning life of April as she struggles to find herself in self destructive ways. April's glory days portray the quest for fun and adventure through the empty pursuits that the culture of Hollywood has branded its own and the values of the most decadent times in modern history. Only those who lived through this time period in this specific area of the country can truly understand the exploits that the author has illustrated in this complex and revealing romp.
There could be a movie in the future of this book. It would allow the audience to more robustly explore the depths of April's psyche, hopefully minimizing the sexual aspects and instead highlighting the self -serving ethos of the times that threw the most powerful nation on earth into a trance of shock and moral trauma.
KE

If you want to find out more about the steamy, salacious sex in 'Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam' for your beach read, you'll have to buy my novel. These are just snippets to entice you! Elissa Eaton

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
THE RECKLESS YEARS

Whenever I have to choose between two evils, I always like to try the one I haven’t tried before.
Mae West

How would I describe my life? It was a tapestry/potpourri woven out of my darkest dreams and fantasies, an adventure as theatrical as a Fellini film. Exploited sexual orgies and seduction, never knowing what I was going to experience next. We were like "The Big Chill" on acid. Another thrill. Nothing lasted. Between the decadence and desperation, I was still searching for the traces of my life. I drifted with the drifters. Beautiful men without ambition or souls. Starving out-of-work actors and poets, losing the will to commit.
I was distanced from the terror of my own feelings and the realization of the purity that I had long lost forever. Then I met Patrick, my soul-mate, and I still couldn't commit, my mood swings shifting often in lustful longing or regret. The new becoming more important than the why and then. I was always redefining the dynamics of what I wanted with detachment for what I could be caught in. A trap, wanting to escape from my own self-inflicted reality, exploring and embracing my darker self. My parties in the Canyon made me a Hollywood legend. It certainly wasn't my acting, although I had a good act. We dug the zombies, becoming zombies; mesmerized by the Beatles higher than "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."
I looked like a slinky dream, living the lush life. The smooth mellow sounds of The Mammas and the Papas “California Dreaming”, blaring throughout my sky cliff mountain meadowlark retreat, best describes that erotic era.
My young actress girlfriends and I dropped Quaaludes to cure our anxiety attacks when we didn't get the parts. We sipped Piper Brut with a lot of brutes, paying the piper the next morning after sharing our skins till the birds chirped in another day.
Years later, I ended up in boy-toy detox, no longer intrigued with Hollywood and the hopes and dreams of fame and fortune. Rehabilitation was my bedrock of reality. The resolution was that I just had to keep going. The joy and need to create art was so overpowering it filed that empty hole. My greatest heartache and terror was experiencing life and sobriety on its own terms.

‘Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam’ is available at the following
Los Angeles Bookstores: Barnes & Noble The Grove, Barnes & Noble Third Street Promenade, Barnes & Noble Bookstar Studio City, Book Soup, Skylight Books, Vroman’s, The Canyon Country Store, amazon.com, Kindle and other online bookstores all over the globe.

If you want to find out more about the steamy, salacious sex in 'Too Old to be a Hooker…Too Young to be a Madam' for your beach read, you'll have to buy my novel. These are just snippets to entice you! Elissa Eaton

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHRISTOPHER
PART ONE

He sizes women up with a glance, with sexual classifications, crude images flashing into his mind and determining the way he smiles at them.
Tennessee Williams


It was a time in my life when my greatest passion and obsession was the theatre. I was a struggling, broke, resident playwright at Theater 40 in Beverly Hills and Group Repertory in the San Fernando Valley, having productions of my plays produced all over the country. It was the most inspirational, exciting chapter of my life.
I thrived on the process and the standing ovations. Even hosting openings and sweeping the stage with my peers from the repertory groups was a labor of love.
One night after one of my productions, at a cast party held in the green room, I met Christopher, a flamboyant sculptor, playwright/actor, artistic director. After having too many bubbles, I ended up at his loft located in the heart of the theatre district in Hollywood.
As the night unfolded I was so drunk that his chauffeur drove me home early the next morning. Chelsea and Yolanda had dropped by for breakfast at my house in the canyon. As we were drinking coffee, chatting and munching on Zen Bakery Blueberry Raspberry muffins, the voice of Christopher came piping out of my answering service. A baroque concerto was playing in the background.
“I painted the most erotic water color that has ever been done on a woman with my tool. It's the best of all my masterpieces. You're unbelievable, simply exquisite. I named it ‘Whore’. I want to share it with you tonight,” he rambled on. “I love your Mound of Venus. I'd like to romp through your strawberry fields forever with my long brush strokes, my love.”
Suddenly he started playing choir music, then we heard a loud crash.
“Oh darling, I just tripped over my fifteen thousand dollar drum from Istanbul,” he slurred.
“Who is that whack?” Chelsea asked.
“He's an avant-garde artist, a bit bizarre.”
“Pick up, love. My French chef is cooking couscous for supper. Chow, chow, love.”
“Oh dear, I wonder what he meant by ‘he loved my Mound of Venus’? Do you think I slept with him last night?”
“Don't get your knickers in a twist. You probably didn't shag him or he wouldn't be so enamored with you and ringing you up before noon, you couscous,” Chelsea laughed.
“You got that down right,” Yolanda said.
“Well this playboy is way over the top. He's 50, a little older than what I usually go for, but he might produce my plays. He owns the block on Santa Monica Blvd and Highland.”


CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHRISTOPHER
PART TWO

So it happened. It had been lost, all dignity, and now she was frantically digging a hand kerchief and a compact out of her bag while her breath came in sobs.
Tennessee Williams


The doorbell rang loudly. On a blue sky sunday, I opened the door escorting Christopher into my house.
“Hello, love,” he said kissing my hand, holding a bouquet of Sterling Silver roses and an opened bottle of vintage Rothschild in the other hand. “Here put these in water before they wilt.”
I put the delicate bouquet in a crystal vase handing him two glasses.
“I've missed you,” he said pouring the ruby red wine, offering me a glass.
“Last night was all sort of a blur. Did you ravage me?” I asked. “I vaguely remember your driver taking me home.”
“I wouldn't doubt it, I had to carry you to the car. Let's take a drive out to my beach house in Santa Barbara and I'll refresh your memory, darlin'. Don't forget your overnight bag.”
I slid into the plush cream colored limo. We hardly spoke as the driver wound down the scenic coastline. Christopher put a glass of champagne in my hand, sipping on his Martini. His ash brown hair tipped with gray and pasty white skin paled in the moonlight. I was feeling on edge. The not knowing, daring to ask more. This smooth operator came with a well stocked bar and condoms I hoped.

We pulled into the terra-cotta bricked driveway as the black wrought iron gate swung open.
“Welcome to my dynasty,” he said taking my arm, helping me out of the car. “I hope you like my palatial digs.”
“Sure, this is really cool,” I answered.
In Laurel Canyon, I didn't have the ocean and a chauffeur, I thought.
“Tonight we'll take a midnight swim and walk on the beach. The water's luke warm,” he said nonchalantly.
“Oh Christopher, I'm passionate about the ocean,” I smiled self consciously.
“Sugar, I'm delighted, this Indian Summer reminds me of those warm southern nights. It was like poetry lounging on the veranda, drinking mint juleps. The fireflies swarming in the swamps.”


Christopher was becoming drunk and maudlin as we perched in the trellised gazebo, mirrored by the ocean. The sky darkened as a silver moon shone on rippling waves. It was a splendid star-studded night. I breathed in the salty sea as I felt soft breezes caress my skin. Rolling hills capped the landscape like a plush green blanket framed by majestic oak trees. The butler appeared with a bottle of the Dom and a pitcher with floating green olives.
“The champagne is for you, April. I'm having martinis. My family tree was soaked in gin. I'm a decadent dilettante. I hope I'm not too eccentric for you. I own thoroughbred horses and play polo while playing with life. I have enough money to buy your world, April.” He bragged.
This setting was the perfect backdrop for romance. I started fantasizing about Antonio, the lonely lost looking Latin I'd just met with the amazing body. My thoughts were interrupted by the butler's presence and my ardent admirer bearing a halfhearted cold smile across his lips, speaking in a whiny Southern drawl.
“I put my money where my Maseratis are. Now let's talk about you,” he said.
I'll bet he's always too drunk to drive. Those poor pedestrians. This man overrates his own magnetism by the status of his sports cars as a symbol of his sexuality.

Christopher lacked the soul of the South, having been swept away in the whirlwind of Hollywood. Sade's ‘Smooth Operator’ came blaring through swaying trees. Every time I hear that song I think of him and that ethereal landscape of seascaped paradise.
I looked out at a rock blending in with the whimsical purple sunset. The whales were frolicking. The silence between us was only broken by a birdsong, an occasional wave and the pounding of the surf. Then Christopher looked at me pensively.
“Dear, the moment I first saw you I knew we'd be great together. I fell madly in love with you,” he said swirling the olive around with a glass swizzle stick, reaching for my hand.

After a lavish gourmet dinner in the gazebo, Christopher convinced me to spend the night at his guest cottage. Later that night, there was a knock on the door. He staggered into my bedroom before I could even open it, wearing a bathrobe, holding a half finished martini in one hand, a bottle of brandy and more bittersweet chocolates on a tray with the other.
“You were magnificent. A wild animal. Shaking your long strawberry blonde hair all over my body,” he said handing me a crystal decanter of Remy Martin Extra cognac. “It's four hundred dollars a bottle,” he bragged.
“I'm glad it was good for you. I can't remember!” I said taking a sip from the brandy snifter. I knew I shouldn't have spent the night here! This was very awkward.
“I can't believe you don't remember. You're the most passionate woman I've ever been with and you were very much awake. I hope you're not embarrassed being so aggressive. I can make love to you and still be your friend, love.” he said slurring his words.
I was so overwhelmed and speechless, clad in my sheer black nightgown and slippers. I slipped into my terrycloth robe. “Let’s take it slow,” I pleaded, trying to change the subject.

“You're turning on me. You've made yourself responsible for my sexual pleasures,” he said grabbing me. “Let me see your mound of Venus. Please let me see your mound of Venus,” he pleaded redundantly, starting to remove his bathrobe, moving in closer.
“No, I'm a victim of amnesia, and you expect me to feel responsible," I said angrily pushing him away.

“Come play with your warrior. You're very sexual, so am I. I wasn't like this before you, my girlfriend's a lesbian, and I've kept it all repressed so I can't minimize the moment as easily as you can.”
“Can't we talk about this tomorrow?” I pleaded.
“No woman has ever walked away after making love to me before!” he shouted.

“Put your robe on. You're making me angry.” He just didn't get it, his ego was so inflated.
“Just think of all the sensual kinetic energy yet to come. Are you afraid of my little mindless creature? You're supposed to be a woman of the world. I feel like a wounded warrior.”

This lunatic was a tormented artist. I needed his help, but it wasn’t worth the drama. “Some Southern gentleman. You're drunk. Leave me alone. You're as redundant as a Pinter Play on a slow opening night.”
Christopher slapped me across the face. I spit at him, clawing his chest as he dragged me in front of a mirror, shaking me sliding his clammy fingers up and down my breasts. My flesh cringed at his touch.

“Let go of me. You've threaded yourself into every actress and playwright in Hollywood,” I screamed as he threw me down on the chaise lounge.

‘Too Old to be a Hooker...Too Young to be a Madam’ is available at the following
Los Angeles Bookstores:
Barnes & Noble The Grove, Barnes & Noble Third Street Promenade, Barnes & Noble Bookstar Studio City, Book Soup, Skylight Books, Vroman’s, The Canyon Country Store, amazon.com, Kindle and other online retailers.