Houston Woman Bares All in Stripper Memoir
|photo by Marco Torres|
|Keith mingling with the crowd before her book launch|
Was Ms. Keith not so smart -- her IQ is around 140, and it shows in conversation and in her writing -- her book might just be a tawdry tale that includes an impromptu Malibu blowjob with Don Henley, surreal photo shoots with Hollywood creeps like Russ Meyer, and a near-rape by a construction crew. But Keith, who these days is the mother of two teenagers and stays busy with yoga, Pilates, and personal training work, has flash in her pen that separates her from the average memoirist.
In one of the book's many dark but funny moments, Keith is on a visit to Houston when, while in a Shell station to get a Diet Coke, she sees herself on the cover of a porn magazine that the Indian clerk is perusing. When the clerk asks her what is wrong, she tells him that it's her on the cover. But dressed in shorts and flip-flops with hair in a ponytail and no makeup on, the clerk doesn't believe her.
Keith meets Houston lawyer/pornographer Ed Cox late on her first night at the Men's Club. He promises that he and his porn star girlfriend Tiffany Loren are going to make her a star. Before their first "feature" tour is over, Cox has brought his coke and his video camera to her motel room hoping to make a three-way porn video. Keith nimbly avoids the situation. (Loren died of an overdose some years back, and Cox's habits took him from lawyer to homeless Houston bum before he too died.)
Keith also gets a summons to Hugh Hefner's Playboy mansion, where things are way freakier than most folks can imagine. Way freakier. She calls the famous grotto on the mansion grounds "a red-light fuck farm." Once again, her instincts and good sense get her out of what could have been an ugly situation. Hefner's goons actually have to protect her from a drunken James Caan at one point.
Another helping hand puts her in the world of Penthouse publisher Bob Guccione. She is invited to Guccione's New York townhome for dinner and ends up babbling about art after Guccione is stunned to learn that she actually knows the rare paintings so casually displayed on his walls. But her northern California photo shoot for Penthouse becomes a twisted nightmare as the photographer takes her to a refinery and has her climbing industrial towers naked in fifty-degree weather.
Like most memoir writers, Keith is trying as hard to get in touch with her self, her motivations, her blind spots, and the meaning of her past as she is trying to entertain or enlighten her readers. But entertain she does, with a wit that skewers jerks and crooks in her path like a Ginsu knife. Ever the smarty-pants, she wisely ends the book on a note that should put her book in the running for Oprah's Book-of-the-Month Club.