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258 pages, Hardcover
First published September 7, 2010
It feels ridicules to complain about a call from Bette Midler, but I feel like I can, because it’s not like she ever calls just to chat. It’s always about an event. Not long ago, she called to invite me to a fund-raiser for the New York Restoration project, her tree-planting initiative here in New York City. Well, it wasn’t really an invite so much as an order. “You are coming to this even I’m having, aren’t you?” she said. “And you are buying a tree, aren’t you?”
I did go, and I bought two trees, and it was all perfectly charming—but also, like all these things, a little painful. I was sitting next to Martha Stewart at the dinner, and the second Bette stood up to speak, Martha vanished. I turned around and she was gone, without a trace.
“Where’d she go,” I whispered to someone at the table.
“When she knows she’s about to get hit up for money, she does a disappearing act,” the person replied.
I should have her teach me that trick, I thought.

I confess, I am not at all religious myself, but I had to grasp onto a support to keep from toppling over with incredulity.
"Every corpuscle of every society in the history of this globe has religion at its core!" I brayed at him. "We're not talking about converting. We're talking about walking a few blocks to look at some of the greatest art of all time. Why would you shut yourself off like that?"