On a chilly January weekend in Los Angeles, I turn into a truffle pig. I forage relentlessly all over town, looking for truffle fries. By Monday, when it is time to go to my interview, the only thing in my suitcase I can squeeze into is a Spanx dress.

“My sister gave me this for Christmas,” I explain sheepishly to the famously lissom Calista Flockhart as I slide into a booth on the terrace of the Georgian Hotel. “I guess you’ve never owned any Spanx.”