There’s nothing worse than regret, and all I can do with all of mine is hope that Sarah has some too, and regrets dumping me as a friend almost five years ago.  She has her own company now, she is no longer 22 and living on a boat, so I assume she’s doing well out here in Hollywood, but I hope she thinks sometimes about the illustrious writing career of mine that she helped to launch, and that had she been able to stomach being my friend, she might have professionally reaped the benefits of my success. I would have, at the very least, dedicated my book to her.  Now she’ll be lucky if she gets included within the Acknowledgements, a hasty recognition buried between the names of shallow industry bigwigs who helped me along the way.  I’m sure all the loosely-veiled references to her drug use and rampant sexual exploits throughout my book will be thank-you enough, but I can’t resist the temptation to include a sarcastic nod to her on the crisp, new first pages of my novel. I’m aware she’s the one who encouraged me to write in the first place, but I think I would have been happier in obscurity than written about in a nationwide magazine only to implode and have nothing come of my brief success.  

It occurs to me I don’t want friends who ask me to go out every night, because I’m starting to like staying home more and more and I was genetically programmed not to be able to say no, but I would like to have the option of friends to hang out with should I ever become bored or lonely.   Because I’ve burnt out all the lovely people of Hollywood, I’ve recently begun importing friends from across the ocean.  I had dinner last night with a girl I met in the airport on the way to London. She’s an actress, a real one, not a waitress avoiding life, and Spanish and unfairly beautiful.  We went to Magnolia and while we were at dinner we ran into Joe, a well-educated, black, gay agent who at one point in time wanted to represent me as a writer, but was scared of alienating my then-manager who was a short man and extremely wealthy and powerful.  My manager was Sarah’s boss, and had produced a wildly successful teen franchise, a couple of them actually, and had gotten rich solely off the instincts of his development people, including Sarah. I’m quite sure he never even read the scripts for his big franchises, and although his web site was the original home for my column, I’m positive he never read my writing, and signed me as a client off of Sarah’s behest.  I heard a rumor he now operates an illegal casino out of his garage, I’m not sure what he does but I do know he is no longer Sarah’s boss or my manager, not that any of that mattered while we were running Hollywood.   


D-GIRL was a development girl in Hollywood and New York City for many years. While finding projects for actors, directors and producers to make into movies, she amassed a number of salacious tales of questionable morality that became an internet column entitled “D-Girl Diary.” She left show business to become a full-time writer in 2001. Apparently, she is back….

Read the full-on… D-Girl Diary tomorrow!

(d girls image artist Tashina Suzuki)