A novel compiled from columns in Life (the old humor magazine, not the slightly less old photojournalism one) written in a parody of flapper talk, not unlike Anita Loos' Gentlemen Prefer Blondes but less acid and more sweet, since the narrator isn't a Broadway gold-digger but a high-school graduate living with her mother and more interested in necking parties than diamond necklaces, which don't come into her orbit anyway. I was surprised when the end of the book didn't find her married (or at least engaged) off, which speaks to either the integrity of Mayer's satire or his openness to a sequel. There wouldn't be one, nor virtually anything else from him after about 1930; I had to root through pdfs of Yale yearbooks before I tracked down which of the dozens of Lloyd Mayers alive at the time it had been.