It seems lately that Poppy Lively is invisible to everyone but the IRS.

After her accountant absconded with her life savings, newly bankrupt Poppy is on the verge of losing her home when an old flame, now a hotshot producer, gives her a surprising way out: a job in costumes on a Hollywood film set. It’s a bold move to pack her bags, keep secrets from her daughter, and head to Los Angeles, but Poppy’s a capable person—how hard can a job in wardrobe be? It’s not like she has a choice; her life couldn’t get any worse. Even so, this midwesterner has a lot to learn about the fast and loose world of movie stars, iconic costumes, and back-lot intrigue.

As a single mom, she’s rarely had time for watching movies, she doesn’t sew, and she doesn’t know a thing about dressing the biggest names in the business. Floundering and overlooked, Poppy has one ally: Allen Carol, an ill-tempered movie star taken with Poppy’s unfiltered candor and general indifference to stardom.

When Poppy stumbles upon corruption, she relies on everyone underestimating her to discover who’s at the center of it, a revelation that shakes her belief in humanity. What she thought was a way to secure a future for her daughter becomes a spotlight illuminating the facts: Poppy is out of her league among the divas of Tinseltown.

Poppy must decide whether to keep her mouth shut, as she’s always done, or with the help of a scruffy dog, show the moviemakers that they need her unglamorous ways, whether the superstars like it or not.

 

My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

 

I dodged a drug-sniffing dog who lifted his head as I slid by. For all I knew, my nervous energy could be detected, and I’d be labeled as a threat to national security. If I was detained and strip-searched, my ungroomed body hair alone would trigger alarms. No one would be the same after that— and that was the last thing in the world I wanted.

Muriel wore a pair of light jeans and a T-shirt. I gauged her to be somewhere between forty and sixty, that ubiquitous age for a woman that teens considered ancient and homogenous.

If you were sleeping when a tornado hit your house, the people on Twitter would blame you for living in a place where tornados can hit your house. If your accountant stole your money, everyone in your book club would agree that you should have been paying better attention. The blame ball, in the game of life, rolled downhill and, as often as not, hit the victim.

I’m such a third-rate criminal. I’m like one of those people you see on YouTube who rip off a convenience store with a green water pistol because they’re color blind.

It was the oddest sensation, and not a good one, to be suddenly seen. It wasn’t as if people stopped and stared as they might have if, say, Julia Roberts strode between sets, with her stunning choppers and glorious nostrils.

I tried pot once in college and became frantically suspicious that the blue Ford Taurus in my apartment parking lot was an unmarked cop car. I had binoculars from a bird-watching elective and peered at the empty vehicle until my roommate came home and took them from me. After much hydration and time, my paranoia subsided, but I vowed to stay away from the devil’s lettuce forever.

My Review:

 

I smirked with delight while reading and may have giggle-snorted into my wine glass more than a few times as Ann Garvin’s clever writing quickly transported me into Poppy’s rueful and frenetic vortex with sharp visuals and vibrant descriptions full of humorous observations and witty inner musings. Ms. Garvin’s character development was flawless and her enticing and insightful storytelling kept me reading late into the night. Even her chapter titles were comical and brilliant.

I adored Poppy but I also wanted to give her a few nudges to the seat of her pants from my trusty crocs. Poppy was an authentic and unique character who was well-meaning, well-fleshed out, and completely knowable. She resided in my mind’s eye as a recognizable living entity. Poppy’s struggles were real and not of her own doing. She was increasingly endeared to me as she labored at a new position with a do-or-die attitude, frantic pace, and a steep learning curve as best she could with limited resources while walking a keen edge of discovery and humorously teetered on catastrophe. Yet she had a good heart and was up for a loosely planned caper to help right a wrong at her own peril. I was also totally enamored with Alan, with her assigned movie star.

This was my first exposure to the comedic genius of Ann Garvin and I plan to haunt her listings with regularity. Her word voodoo is strong and beckons me to add her clever scribblings to my Kindle.