[Young, right, at Puck Fair with Gavin Pretor-Pinney, author of The Cloudspotter’s Guide]
The media maelstrom that is Toby Young (who, in case you haven’t noticed, has been up in this piece all week), descended upon Housing Works Café for a brief reading/Q+A-cum-pub crawl (ok, hop, as the bar in question was across the street). Brief as it was, the reading still gave a curious crowd ample time to grill the man who puts the “dis” back in “dismissed.”
Fortunately, an audience member cut to the chase, asking, “Who’s Mr. X?” to unearth the book’s central character, an unnamed Hollywood honcho who, after reading Young’s first book skewering Manhattan magazine-makers, deemed him the ideal writer for a screenplay about a 70’s music producer notorious for his despicable ways.
Contrary to his bean-spilling nature, Young demurred, implying that he and his loved ones would be picked up in parts if he ever named his No Hands foil.
Audience Interrogator wasn’t having it: “Was it Brian Grazer?”
IOHO, a squandered guessacutely so, since we’d just heard Young describe in painful detail, the shaky, arthritic grip an ancient Hugh Hefner had on his 19-year-old bunny’s tail at the Playboy Mansion’s recent 4th of July getdown. In this Week of Toby©, o Audience Interrogator, have we learned nothing? The Young we know would be physically incapable of skipping the reveal on someone with hair like this.
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