Can a book be both breathless and whiny? Jennifer Saginor pulls off this dubious balancing act in her cliché-crammed memoir, Playground. Saginor’s parents divorced when she was very young, and her father — a lecherous, Speedo-sporting Beverly Hills physician nicknamed ”Dr. Feel Good” pre-Mötley Crüe — effectively moved into the Playboy Mansion. When Saginor was 6, she watched John Belushi getting it on (”A naked lady is sitting on top of him and she’s bouncing up and down. Her boobs are flying everywhere”). At 15, she embarked on a steamy affair (”Every touch is sensual, magical”) with one of Hugh Hefner’s girlfriends. But between lines of cocaine and lavishly described moans of pleasure, Saginor insists she was just a neglected kid with crummy parents. Tawdry doesn’t begin to describe the narcissistic demimonde in which Saginor came of age, but it nicely sums up this flimsy tell-all.