More Muffia (The Muffia Book 2) by Ann Royal Nicholas Page A

crapshoot and has, for the most part, pretty much been a career relegated to young, aggressive males with a penchant for action and violence. This is not to say that women can’t succeed, only that the business is run by, and primarily caters to, men and boys. Now that Jelicka, a female , was going through a divorce and was past the age the entertainment industry considers viable to begin with, none of the Muffs liked her chances of going back to screenwriting. Even at the peak of her success, she never made more than enough to get by. And now her love for the finer things in life—leaving aside her addiction to Botox, Restylene, and her Audi A8—ensured she’d have trouble going back to her struggling “poor-me” writer lifestyle.
    This point would have been driven home when Lena Dunham walked in, entourage in tow, but fortunately, I was the only one of our little group to see her. Dunham, known for creating the HBO series “Girls,” is one of those writers, arguably not even particularly talented nor doing anything to advance the stature of women, whose early efforts met with instant—and to me inexplicable—commercial success. This always irritates people who’ve been slaving away for years, not that that was Jelicka.
    “Cougardom is also dangerous,” said Maddie. “But let’s get to your job prospects next, Jel. Right now, let’s focus on saving Quinn’s career.”
    “No need,” said Jelicka. “I’ve decided to get my real estate license.”
    “That’s a great idea,” said Lauren, generally a glass-half-full sort of person, but now she just appeared relieved to be off the subject of boy toys.
    “I don’t know if getting a real estate license is ‘great,’ but what the hell, right? People need houses.” Jelicka once again lifted her cocktail. “L’chaim.”
    She and Lauren clinked glasses while I repeated, “L’chaim,” after which I took a large gulp of my pomegranate margarita. Mmm, l’chaim indeed !
    “L’chaim, already. Now let’s get back to actually living that life we’re drinking to—” Madelyn turned back to me. “Do you have a plan?”
    I put my drink down. “Sort of. If Jamie fires me, I was thinking I might become a personal manager for a couple of my clients.”
    “Which reminds me,” blurted Lauren. “I need to talk to you about Viggo Mortensen.”
    “ Hello ...?!” reprimanded Madelyn. “Can we stay on topic?”
    “Hold on, Maddie, just one more thing,” Lauren said. “I have this other idea, about a way to find out who sent the pictures, but I have to run it by George. That’s it; that’s all I wanted to say.” She picked up her drink and sat back.
    Maddie glanced around the table. “Anyone else want to say something; comment on a hottie at the bar or the new line of Spanx?”
    We sipped our drinks, not wanting to rile her further.
    “Sorry,” she said. “But can we try to focus on Quinn first and her own ideas about what she might do if they fire her? You can ask questions, but just hold your suggestions until after. Everyone will get a chance to talk.”
    Gotta love Maddie . She’s tough when she’s on a mission, and right now the mission was me. She rarely had an evening off from the duties of raising her budding fourteen-year-old daughter, Lila, and I was grateful she’d made the effort to join us. This evening, Lila was under the care of her dad—Maddie’s ex, Brian—which could be the reason for Maddie’s shorter-than-usual fuse.
    “Okay, so say you become a manager; what happens if your clients stop working? Then what?” Jelicka asked.
    “Then I gotta get a new new job.”
    Lauren hrumphed. She never needed to work, so she was not the most reliable opinionator on the subject of gainful employment. As far as most of us could tell, she’d married her prep-school sweetheart—who just happened to be heir to America’s foremost beer dynasty.
    “Any other ideas?” asked Maddie, taking notes.
    “I could start a sort of