Carrie Fisher: The best awful is just awful

Is it her or is it me? I remember loving Carrie Fisher’s first novel, Postcards from the Edge, and enjoying the second, Surrender the Pink, so I picked up the best awful, her latest book, and geeze, it is awful. Not just bad but awful in that didn’t they have an editor that cared kind of way.
Early warning passage from page 23, regarding the heroine’s attendance at a Hollywood funeral:
“She should’ve known. The death of a Hollywood producer was not going to be a simple memorial so much as an event–a somber premier to celebrate Jack’s ascension to a better place. Where dead agents could convince him he’d reached the elusive nirvana: a place full of decreased hookers and drug dealers, maybe even a triplicate pad or two with a bevy of understanding pharmacists. At the very east a stalled Porsche and grounded G-IV.”
Carrie, you turned into a sit com writer along the way–what happened to Buck Henry’s clever pal?