According to the publisher, Robinson fastened on the notion of writing an insider's book about being a female exec in the movie biz while on pregnancy leave from her job as Marketing President for Columbia Pictures. The result? A terse, diary-like novel that provides a surprisingly sharp look at an industry legendary for its viciousness. The heroine here ventures into the business world fresh out of Swarthmore, join-the publicity department of one of the big movie corporations and soon earning the nickname ""The Pet"" (the only appellation she ever gets in the book), since she clearly has a flair for her work and a funny, cynical attitude that endears her to the upper echelons. Advancement comes easy; she's good at handling the touchy ""talent"" when they're displayed before the New York press, stomaching the humiliation they heap on her with only rare instances of complaint--""Am I beginning to resemble a drug dealer named Honey?"" she wonders during one particularly gruesome star baby-sitting stint. She's also good at sitting tight while colleagues battle for top spots on the corporate ladder--which in the final rounds she usually wins. Her husband's affair, a miscarriage, and a flirtation with a suicidal director hardly faze her. Only when a pack of ignorant money-men buy the company out and attempt to market movies like Cheddar cheese does she loose her awesome cool and resign in a huff. But who is this woman--besides a master at compliance and facilitation? Her facelessness may be an explicit comment on a dehumanizing industry, but it is also the reason Robinson's first novel falls flat as fiction. Still, ambitious worker bees in the business should benefit--in fact, if they take the book's message to heart, they'll start looking for new jobs.