Ahead of his new novel’s summer release, recovery community persona non grata — or is that exonerated mag-world feature-bait — James Frey is the subject of Evgenia Peretz‘s latest Vanity Fair profile opus in the mag’s June issue. Bookish bro GalleyCat politely implies that Frey’s claim of not doing any further media is about as sound as Jay-Z saying he’s doing just this one last tour/album/impromptu club date.
Amid the 7,000+ words Monday-morning quarterbacking how Frey’s A Million Little Pieces was intended by the author only as a semi-memoir yet was billed by his publisher as memoir gospel to the heartbreak of Oprah and actual addicts everywhere, causing it to blow up into, well, you know, this part struck us:
“Sometimes [Frey] pretends to be in an emergency, as he did the other day when he phoned his editor’s assistant: “Allison, fuck, Allison, I need your help now! I’m on the corner of 56th and Fifth Avenue and a fucking bus just drove by and drenched me! I have two more meetings and I need you to go buy me some underwear and buy me some pants.”
Here’s hoping poor Allison didn’t go get that underwear. We’re expecting Save the Assistants to be all over this one, posthaste.
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