The thing about writers is this: Sometimes you have to let them retreat to their private little zones and go a bit crazy. Rose, a flittering child of privilege who dabbled in acting and modeling in 1960s Manhattan, finally put crazy to good use when she landed a dream job at The New Yorker. Relying on feminine wiles, a wide-open heart, and impressive writing skills, Rose embarked on a citywide circuit of Janice Dickinson -- meets -- Dorothy Parker adventures. She's at times unrelentingly cold and obtuse (''I don't see why my pleasure with self-pity should give anyone else a bad opinion of me or why I should care that it does''), but her most passionate desire is to tell a damn good story. And who can quibble with that?