JUMP out of the way: a bestseller is coming up the tracks. Holly Peterson’s story of a rich girl and her male nanny is lepping off the shelves across the US, and it’s going to do the same here.
Jamie is a TV producer, working on a huge story - an interview with a Monica Lewinsky type who murmurs vague obscenities about her dealings with a right-wing Christian politician.
All that’s holding Jamie back is her husband, a pouty preppie who thinks a wife is a maid and a whipping girl.
On the day her big story is due to air he’s in whine-o-rama mode for her to get his favourite squash racquet restrung. And he’s miserable about earning a mingy $1.5m a year.
With Mr Richy Rich always working, homelife is awash with estrogen, with no male support for her distressed son, so Jamie hires a 'manny'. After all, the Kennedy kids all had male nannies – they called them (natch) governors.
This is bestsellerland - the manny isn’t one of the popolo minuto. Nope, he’s an about-to-be-millionaire software developer from a neocon background with hot buns and fab abs. Three guesses?
A diverting spell in the world of the greedy, The Manny is a genre-bender, sex and shopping and ambition and even a tinge of socialism, and brilliant fun.