From the author of the Anthony and Agatha-nominated Pushing Up Daisies and Dead Head.
Are they really bitches? That depends who you ask...four friends
await the arrival of a fifth at a secluded Cape Cod bungalow where they spend
an all-girls weekend every summer. But this year the fifth woman doesn't show.
Instead she sends a note that reads -
"I've run off with one of your men."
Has she? Is it a prank? Do they run for the phone or try to enjoy
the weekend without her? Fun, flirty and filled with Harris' trademark snappy
dialogue and quirky characters forced to reevaluate their marriages, their
friendships and their memories, The Bitches of Brooklyn has been called "a
cross between Pretty Little Liars and Sex in the City."
Inspired by a classic Hollywood film, The Bitches of Brooklyn will appeal to readers of Jennifer Weiner,
Cathleen Schine and Susan Isaacs and is for every woman who's ever had a best
friend and wondered...is she really??
"Rosemary Harris is a GEM of a
writer." Joanne Fluke, NYTimes best-selling author of the Hannah Swenson
series. "Smart, sassy and sophisticated, The Bitches of Brooklyn may be the best female buddy book yet. I
dare you to put it down." Elaine Viets, best-selling author of The Dead
End Job series and Catnapped!
Want to read an excerpt?
Chapter One
As deliveries went, this one was somewhere between a balloon telegram
and a bulletproof vest wrapped around a dead fish. Most gift baskets
arrived with cards bearing congratulations or condolences. Rarely were
they sent with the simple two-line message Jane Monaghan stared at, then
read, in disbelief, a second time.
A skinny delivery boy hovered in the doorway, the screen door flapping
and creaking as he shifted his weight. Jane fumbled in her handbag for a
tip. Why did she never have singles when she needed them? As she poked
through the tissues, keys and various black electronics cases in her
voluminous bag, the boy peered inside the house, curious about the women
renting the old Beninger place. He remembered the first year they came.
His mother had warned him to keep his distance and his father had
slipped him a sly wink that he'd been too young to interpret.
They weren't bad looking, neither young nor old, that gray area between
youth and invisibility. Still good for a nooner, he fantasized, using
an expression he’d heard his uncle Billy use, if he could cut one from
the herd. Especially the small, dark-haired one sprawled on the loveseat
near the fireplace. She had a nubby throw tossed over one leg but the
other was exposed – tan, taut and barely covered by denim cutoffs. Still
pretty hot, even if she looked old enough to have been his babysitter -
and after all, what boy hadn't had that fantasy?
The hot one and the boy made eye contact. Having been on the receiving
end of similar looks for close to twenty years – longer than he’d been
alive – it took Tina Ruggiero all of thirty seconds to read his mind.
“Come back in a few years, sonny. You’re not entirely hopeless but, let’s wait until that acne clears up.”
The boy’s naughty daydream evaporated, his face reddened and he
reverted to bumbling, pimply errand boy. His eyes grew watery. He even
seemed shorter, if that was possible. Jane abandoned her search for
singles, shoved a five in his direction and kicked the storm door shut.
“A day without a verbal castration is like a day without sunshine?”
“Come on,” Tina said. “He deserved it – gawking like that. Half the
people in this town think we're practicing witchcraft and the other half
think we’re gay. Not that I don't think you're all cute. I just wanted
to set the record straight.”
Jane wasn’t sure the exchange wouldn’t have the opposite effect,
convincing him she was a witch, only he’d spell it with a “b.” Which was
fitting since that's what they'd been dubbed a long time ago when they
were teens, The Bitches of Brooklyn. Were they really? Depended who you
asked.
“A new wrinkle has been added to our weekend,” Jane said.
"Oh no please, not another one. I already have a new wrinkle, that's why I cut bangs."
"I wondered what the new hairstyle was about."
Jane carried the oversized basket to the wooden dining table where
Clare Didrikson and Rachel Weiner, two of her closest friends, sat with
their morning coffees.
The table and chairs were like all the furniture in the rented house -
ancient wood or wicker upon which thousands of summer memories had been
made, or brand new, from the discount store, because who would buy good
furniture for a house through which total strangers traipsed for three
months out of every year? Or suffered from too much sun and too much
damp. Jane pulled out a chair and read the card aloud to the group.
"It's a joke," Tina said. She flung off the blanket and hopped over on
her one good ankle to join them. "Just like her to bail at the last
minute and then pull a stunt like this. She’s probably laughing her ass
off somewhere, ordering the next fruit basket with the next cryptic
message. Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes! Go to the hayfield, there’ll
be a volcanic rock that has no earthly business in a Maine hayfield.
She’s always so melodramatic. Can't she just admit something better came
up?"
It was not the first time their missing friend had cancelled at the
last minute even though the dates were fixed well in advance. The four
were always understanding but there was always a trace of resentment,
too. As if the others were expected to understand that the fifth woman’s
time was more valuable than theirs.
The four women settled around the table in the weather-beaten Cape Cod
bungalow they'd rented every summer for the last six years. They met for
the same late summer weekend when husbands and partners were otherwise
engaged, either of their own accord or dispatched so the women wouldn't
feel guilty about leaving four men, one daughter, one veterinary
practice, and two businesses for much girl talk and more alcohol in an
ocean beach setting far removed from their Brooklyn beginnings.
Initially, they had played "remember when" and speculated on what had
happened to still-missing friends from the old neighborhood. That first
year Rachel brought her laptop and their old high school yearbook, and
between drinks and steamers they Googled and giggled over former
boyfriends and teachers, most of whom had lost their hair, gotten heavy,
or somehow morphed into ordinary mortals instead of the brooding
geniuses and bohemian heartthrobs they’d once seemed. After that, it was
agreed - no laptops at The Weekend.
But it wasn't all about the old days. The five women had forged new
friendships. What felt better than familiar but new - the safety net of
people who knew your background and your history, but, because of the
time spent apart, brought the freshness of anecdotes and stories you
hadn't heard a hundred times before. And they’d helped each other
professionally, with contacts and as trustworthy soundingboards.
Clare reached over to read the card for herself, looking for...what?
Some explanation hidden between the lines? Some tone or nuance conveyed
in the elegant script of an anonymous clerk in a gift shop? She chewed
on her lower lip but said nothing.
Jane tugged on the purple ribbon at the top of the basket, untying the
bow and noisily releasing the twisted cellophane. She flattened the
ribbon and wound it around four fingers as if saving it for some future
use, which wasn't likely since they'd all be home in a few days. A
hidden staple pierced one slim, unmanicured index finger and she sucked
on it while poking through the basket with her undamaged hand.
"At least she sprang for the good stuff.” Jane held up a red foil-covered brick. “Real cheese, not cheese product."
"And candy," Rachel said. "Just what we need."
Tina and Jane plundered the basket, Jane moving through the items and
inspecting ingredients. "Cream crackers, no partially hydrogenated
anything so far." Jane was co-owner of a small bakery called Sweet
Dreams and paid attention to such things. Tina wasn't so picky. Two
grunts and an arched eyebrow told her the others were less appreciative
of their missing friend's nutritional considerations. "Belgian
chocolates. Scottish cookies," Jane said, still sucking on her punctured
finger.
"Please don’t get blood on anything," Tina said. "If there are
shortbread cookies, I’ve got dibs. I don't care if they have lard in
them but I draw the line at bodily fluids.”
Despite Rachel's protestations, the chocolate would disappear first. No
chance to melt or develop that mysterious white stuff around the edges.
Then the cheese, the crackers and the fruit, one step up from
artificial and typically chosen not for taste but for their ability to
retain an unblemished appearance despite being shipped thousands of
miles. All the food would go, even the boring sucking candies, and all
that would remain was a tasteful brown basket, some purple ribbon and
the note -
Apologies for the short notice but I won't be making our little reunion this year. I've run off with one of your men.
December 2 – Book Mama Blog – Guest Post & Excerpt
December 4- Samantha March – Q&A & Excerpt
December 5- Annabel and Alice – Review
December 6 – eBook Addict – Q&A
December 10- Bookish –
Excerpt
December 11- Book Suburbia – Excerpt
December 12 – eBook Addict – Review
December 13- Bees Knee’s Reviews – Review, Guest Post &
Excerpt
December 16 – Everything Books and Authors - Q&A
December 18 – The Outside Lane - Review & Q&
December 19 – Storm Goddess Book Reviews – Review, Q&A
& Exerpt
December 20 – Jersey Girl Book Reviews – Review, Guest Post
& Excerpt
December 23 – Chick Lit Plus - Review
Rosemary Harris has been a bookstore
manager, a video producer and a public television exec. Her debut novel, the
Agatha and Anthony-nominated, Pushing
Up Daisies, was followed by The
Big Dirt Nap, Dead
Head and Slugfest, all titles in her Dirty Business mystery series. She is past president of Mystery Writers of
America's NY Chapter and Sisters in Crime's New England Chapter. Like some of
the characters in The Bitches of Brooklyn she was born in Brooklyn but now lives
in New York City and Fairfield County, Connecticut.
To learn more about Rosemary and all of her books visit her at www.rosemaryharris.com and Like her on
facebook at www.facebook.com/RosemaryHarriswriter
Guest Post:
Guest Post:
Libraries
were so important to me when I was growing up in Brooklyn, New York. I
can remember working my way through all of the children's books and
biographies when I was youngster, steered to appropriate books by the
proverbial, gray-haired librarian. (But she was!) I started at the
Clarendon Branch, my local library, and then when I was old enough I
made my first visit to the BIG library on Eastern Parkway. Grand Army
Plaza. It was like a temple. I still have that feeling when I walk into a
library and I've visited so many of them since my first book came out.
A
lot of readers may not realize but libraries play an enormous role in a
writer's building a readership. Particularly these days when there are
fewer and fewer bricks and mortar stores where people can discover new
writers. So if I didn't love them before, I certainly would now that I'm
a writer!
How
did I come to build a library in Tanzania? My husband and I are strong
supporters of Habitat for Humanity and it was on a Global Village build
that we discovered Mvumi Village. We spent two weeks there with a team
of other volunteers. In that time we fell in love with the village and
the children at Chalula Primary School. Under the most difficult
conditions - including no electricity, no running water, no regular mail
delivery, these students were cheerful, intelligent and engaged. FYI,
English is the second language in Tanzania, after Swahili, and many
children also speak a local language. In Mvumi it is Kigogo.
But
they had no books. One book for every six students we were told. And
the books they had were frequently obscure and almost useless titles
donated by well-meaning people all over the world - so their relevance
to an eight year old in East Africa was dubious. Pest management in
Georgia? Figure skating for beginners?
When
my husband and I got home we thought about what we might do to help. A
few phone calls and emails later we had organized a fundraiser. The
apartment and food were donated by friends, and the response was
terrific. Our fundraiser was held in May 2006 and the building was
completed in November 2006. (I wish we had contractors like that in
Connecticut!)
Since
then, with the help of organizations like Friends of African Village
Libraries and the PenTrust (Poverty Eradication Network) we have been
able to keep the library open and help it to be a resource, not just for
the children of Mvumi Village, but their parents too. (The local
goatherders meet there.) For more information or to make a donation -
$80 pays for the two part-time librarians for one month, hint, hint -
please visit my website www.rosemaryharris.com
Trade paperback and ebook available at
Amazon and bn.com now!
Giveaway
http://www.clpblogtours.com/2013/10/the-bitches-of-brooklyn-by-rosemary.html
a Rafflecopter giveaway
2 comments:
Thanks for being in the tour!
This book sounds hilarious! It also has my interest because I can only imagine what my friends would do if we had a girls only weekend and a note showed up like that from a missing friend!
Also- I love that the author worked on setting up a library in Tanzania. How awesome!
Thanks for sharing!
~Jess
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