I'll never understand why it's called "pimping" when an author pushes his own work; it seems to me that it would be the agent who would be called a pimp. But then? I'm not really educated when it comes to issues surrounding "gangstah life".
Here Goes:
c h a p t e r 7
“You’re on in 10, Miss DaLilla!” stagehand had yelled into Larry Plotnik’s Las Vegas dressing room.
He had dipped his brush into the rouge pot and added the finishing
touches.
Magnificent, he thought, as he admired his reflection in the mirror. A perfect Liza!
He was performing his absolute favorite impersonations that night. Liza first, then intermission, then the fabulous Miss Tina, then intermission, then next, the glamorous Barbara, then intermission, then the finale…leaving the best for last…Miss Amelia Jackson. Miss Jackson required 5 costume changes which he always looked forward to.
He had heard that she might be in the audience that night.
Larry Plotnick had come a long way from being a boring old…actually he wasn’t that old…entertainment contract lawyer, watching every one of his clients have more fun than he.
It had been the new year of the new millennium and he knew that it was time for a complete change in his lifestyle…to something more personally satisfying.
He had always been a responsible man…meeting all of his obligations…in the style to which his wife had wanted to become accustomed.
He, like everyone else, had worked toward the attainment of the updated, baby boomer version of the ‘American Dream’…a husband and wife, both with glamorous, high-powered careers, after a few years of youthfully misguided…he had finally concluded…attempts at politically idealistic exploration,
only to find that they could, most times, barely find two nickels to rub together.
They had decided that what they really wanted was an estate in the Hollywood Hills and a penthouse co-op on Central Park West, in Manhattan. So he went back to Law School and became a contract lawyer in order to protect the rights of high powered, consumer-mad entertainers and his wife worked her way up to Executive Editor at a major publishing house, helping to mold, not
writers, but aspiring ‘literary celebrities’.
They had enjoyed, he thought, the glamorous transcontinental marriage they had created. But as his wife approached the tender age of 40, everything began to turn to mud!
She had known from the beginning his extracurricular inclinations and he had thought he knew hers. He had thought that this was part of the uniqueness of their compatibility.
But how wrong he had been.
She up and got pregnant as soon as she made Executive Editor, resigned from her position and moved to their place in California.
A year later they had a second child, although he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t his.
His lifestyle had ended up looking like everything he wanted to avoid all his life.
She had known that he had enjoyed his sideline profession as a female impersonator, but after they had the kids, she had started insisting that he quit, because she felt it was inappropriate for a father to dress up in women’s clothing in order to perform in Vegas.
So he left.
He left everything, without a word of warning to anyone…his clients, his wife, the kids…everyone! He left a wad of money and the house and the New York apartment behind for the hen and her two chicks.
You see, Larry Plotnick is a responsible man.
A person only had one life to live and Larry had decided to become Lolly DaLilla…permanently…and live the rest of his life as a statuesque blonde who impersonates the grand divas of his time, for a living.
Okay…he had to admit…that to the average person it was a strange life, but it was fun.
Besides, he realized that he had never really wanted to be a husband. He had actually always wanted to be a wife. A socialite wife of a high-powered man. A trophy wife, par excellence.
He decided to hire Madame Authuretta Bozell and her lifestyle make over service, Ladyfingers to make his dream come true.
It seemed to happen overnight!
One evening after one of his performances, the shipping magnate, Janus Daropopolis, came back stage and introduced himself where he presented Lolly the largest bouquet of flowers in the history of the entertainment world.
The other Vegas performers were as jealous as hell, because they were all…the male and the females…after Janus. He had quite a reputation and villas all over the world, including an architectural marvel in the hills of the French Riviera.
“You’re on in 5, Lolly,” another stage hand prompted.
After only a few weeks of lavish dining, dancing until dawn and being showered with expensive gifts, Lolly agreed to have Janus buy out his contract in Vegas. Lolly had decided to accept his proposal to live with him in his fabulous Riviera villa.
Larry…uh, rather…Lolly was going to try out the role of socialite, trophy wife.
He took a last minute glance a Liza in the mirror, smiled and walked toward the stage.
This had been his last night in Vegas. He hoped that Amelia Jackson would be in the audience. Her quintessential female glamour had always been his inspiration.
A person had to follow one’s dreams, right?
Here Goes:
c h a p t e r 7
“You’re on in 10, Miss DaLilla!” stagehand had yelled into Larry Plotnik’s Las Vegas dressing room.
He had dipped his brush into the rouge pot and added the finishing
touches.
Magnificent, he thought, as he admired his reflection in the mirror. A perfect Liza!
He was performing his absolute favorite impersonations that night. Liza first, then intermission, then the fabulous Miss Tina, then intermission, then next, the glamorous Barbara, then intermission, then the finale…leaving the best for last…Miss Amelia Jackson. Miss Jackson required 5 costume changes which he always looked forward to.
He had heard that she might be in the audience that night.
Larry Plotnick had come a long way from being a boring old…actually he wasn’t that old…entertainment contract lawyer, watching every one of his clients have more fun than he.
It had been the new year of the new millennium and he knew that it was time for a complete change in his lifestyle…to something more personally satisfying.
He had always been a responsible man…meeting all of his obligations…in the style to which his wife had wanted to become accustomed.
He, like everyone else, had worked toward the attainment of the updated, baby boomer version of the ‘American Dream’…a husband and wife, both with glamorous, high-powered careers, after a few years of youthfully misguided…he had finally concluded…attempts at politically idealistic exploration,
only to find that they could, most times, barely find two nickels to rub together.
They had decided that what they really wanted was an estate in the Hollywood Hills and a penthouse co-op on Central Park West, in Manhattan. So he went back to Law School and became a contract lawyer in order to protect the rights of high powered, consumer-mad entertainers and his wife worked her way up to Executive Editor at a major publishing house, helping to mold, not
writers, but aspiring ‘literary celebrities’.
They had enjoyed, he thought, the glamorous transcontinental marriage they had created. But as his wife approached the tender age of 40, everything began to turn to mud!
She had known from the beginning his extracurricular inclinations and he had thought he knew hers. He had thought that this was part of the uniqueness of their compatibility.
But how wrong he had been.
She up and got pregnant as soon as she made Executive Editor, resigned from her position and moved to their place in California.
A year later they had a second child, although he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t his.
His lifestyle had ended up looking like everything he wanted to avoid all his life.
She had known that he had enjoyed his sideline profession as a female impersonator, but after they had the kids, she had started insisting that he quit, because she felt it was inappropriate for a father to dress up in women’s clothing in order to perform in Vegas.
So he left.
He left everything, without a word of warning to anyone…his clients, his wife, the kids…everyone! He left a wad of money and the house and the New York apartment behind for the hen and her two chicks.
You see, Larry Plotnick is a responsible man.
A person only had one life to live and Larry had decided to become Lolly DaLilla…permanently…and live the rest of his life as a statuesque blonde who impersonates the grand divas of his time, for a living.
Okay…he had to admit…that to the average person it was a strange life, but it was fun.
Besides, he realized that he had never really wanted to be a husband. He had actually always wanted to be a wife. A socialite wife of a high-powered man. A trophy wife, par excellence.
He decided to hire Madame Authuretta Bozell and her lifestyle make over service, Ladyfingers to make his dream come true.
It seemed to happen overnight!
One evening after one of his performances, the shipping magnate, Janus Daropopolis, came back stage and introduced himself where he presented Lolly the largest bouquet of flowers in the history of the entertainment world.
The other Vegas performers were as jealous as hell, because they were all…the male and the females…after Janus. He had quite a reputation and villas all over the world, including an architectural marvel in the hills of the French Riviera.
“You’re on in 5, Lolly,” another stage hand prompted.
After only a few weeks of lavish dining, dancing until dawn and being showered with expensive gifts, Lolly agreed to have Janus buy out his contract in Vegas. Lolly had decided to accept his proposal to live with him in his fabulous Riviera villa.
Larry…uh, rather…Lolly was going to try out the role of socialite, trophy wife.
He took a last minute glance a Liza in the mirror, smiled and walked toward the stage.
This had been his last night in Vegas. He hoped that Amelia Jackson would be in the audience. Her quintessential female glamour had always been his inspiration.
A person had to follow one’s dreams, right?