CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
There was a woman I knew named Marjorie Wells, who worked for a syndicated Los Angeles-based television tabloid called Hollywood Insider, where she was the producer. Marjorie had her fingers on the pulse of the L. A. entertainment scene—music, television, and motion pictures. When it came to the world of entertainment personalities, Marjorie Wells knew where all the bodies were buried. If anyone in Hollywood could tell me about Neon Flamingo Productions, it was Marjorie. And unlike many of the people in L. A. I looked to as sources, she was a genuinely good person, her ultra-liberal inclinations aside. After leaving Liz’s office, I stopped by mine and called Marjorie.
“Oh my God, it’s you!” Marjorie said when she answered. “It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you,
