Marion Zane re-created herself to achieve the title of L.A.'s top Trophy—with a faithful husband, loyal fellow-Trophy friends, queen-bee status over the Hollywood "name-above-the-title" charities, and, best of all, no prenup ! So why is she so nervous? Maybe she's forgotten that in L.A. enemies can come disguised as girlfriends. And when she impulsively breaks the unwritten code by stepping on another Trophy's charity turf, it's a fatal mistake. Drugged and framed by a jealous rival and her powerful mystery partner, Marion finds herself abandoned by her husband, left penniless, her deepest secrets rudely exposed. Undaunted, she hides her newfound poverty while dreaming of regaining her love, social position, and dermatologist. But when forced to choose between vilification or re-enthronement at the price of betraying a friend, Marion is torn. After all, Marion Zane didn't become Marion Zane by fair play alone. “You’ll love the fearless, powerful women in Trophies―flawlessly draped in Vera Wang, manicured hands pushing buttons while scratching their way to the top―the secret power brokers of Los Angeles. Heather Thomas has written a stiletto-heel-sharp satiric romp.” - Arianna Huffington “Made me laugh out loud...ironic, smart and surprisingly touching.” - Harrison Ford “In this celebrity-driven culture, you probably think you know this world. You don’t. Not until your read this delightful and insightful first novel by Heather Thomas.” - Norman Lear “Most torrid novel by a Hollywood wife” - Daily News Required reading. - New York Post “Beach books’ social-climbing wars more often take place in New York or California. And “Trophies,” (is) a Hollywood wives story by the actress Heather Thomas, who can write a Jackie Collins book about as well as Ms. Collins can, stages them with gusto. - New York Times A beachy read. - Los Angeles Times “Heather Thomas has penned an engaging yarn about the pampered wives of L.A.’s moneyed elite.” - Variety “A terrific beach read…dishy tale!” - Larry King “It’s not chick-lit, it’s broad-lit!” - Phyllis Diller Marion Zane re-created herself to achieve the title of L.A.'s top Trophy—with a faithful husband, loyal fellow-Trophy friends, queen-bee status over the Hollywood "name-above-the-title" charities, and, best of all, no prenup ! So why is she so nervous? Maybe she's forgotten that in L.A. enemies can come disguised as girlfriends. And when she impulsively breaks the unwritten code by stepping on another Trophy's charity turf, it's a fatal mistake. Drugged and framed by a jealous rival and her powerful mystery partner, Marion finds herself abandoned by her husband, left penniless, her deepest secrets rudely exposed. Undaunted, she hides her newfound poverty while dreaming of regaining her love, social position, and dermatologist. But when forced to choose between vilification or re-enthronement at the price of betraying a friend, Marion is torn. After all, Marion Zane didn't become Marion Zane by fair play alone. Heather Thomas starred as Jody Banks in TV's The Fall Guy from 1981 to 1986. She left acting in 1998 to pursue a screenwriting career. She lives in Los Angeles with her family. Trophies By Heather Thomas HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Copyright © 2009 Heather Thomas All right reserved. ISBN: 9780061580352 Chapter One Marion The bar crystal was wrong. It had cuts. Marion fingered the rocks glass and figured it was probably from the Tiffany set. And she didn't need to wear her glasses to recognize the Buccellati ice bucket, which meant that the whole shebang was way too much —the biggest mistake you could make at a political event. Donors like to think every penny of their money is going into boots-on-the-ground media campaigns for the average working Joe and other rolled-up-sleeves stuff. This bar said the pope and Queen Elizabeth were coming over to burn dollar bills. (Yeah, yeah, you could choke on the irony.) There was also that McCain-Lieberman-thing law about not spending too much. Bottom line: it was wrong. People would notice and talk. (And she'd be a target.) Marion felt the ghost of an all-too-familiar yip in her stomach. (Oh, no you don't.) This was totally fixable. "Ivan!" "Yes, Mrs. Zane?" said a soft German voice at her elbow. Marion almost knocked over the portable bar. You'd think that after fifteen years, she'd be used to her assistant's spooky habit of appearing before she could even speak his name, but it still jigged the bejesus out of her. The foyer was the size of a small church with vaulted ceilings and freakin' marble floors. How'd he sneak up so quietly in hard soles? Ivan's James Bond face was neutral, but she could feel him smirking on the inside as he offered her her reading glasses. Eerie. At least he wasn't in a tux. From the first day she'd met him, Marion had always imagined Ivan in an advertisement for expensive shirts (or on cheery days, expensive underwear). His sculpted good looks, perfect groomin