A Pinch of Ooh La La

Praise for
A Pinch of Ooh La La

“Renee Swindle writes about the complications of love with great humor, compassion, and sass.
A Pinch of Ooh La La
is a pure delight!”

—Ellen Sussman,
New York Times
bestselling author of
French Lessons
and
A Wedding in Provence

“I dare you to read Renee Swindle's delicious new novel,
A Pinch of Ooh La La
, without pulling out mixing bowls and scanning your music collection for the perfect jazz-fueled accompaniment. Swindle hits all the right notes with this unique and satisfying tale of love, friendship, and family.”

—Julie Kibler, bestselling author of
Calling Me Home

“Touching and honest, with humor and romance in just the right measures. Swindle's novel confirms the healing power of family, and her writing sparkles with endearing characters. A fully satisfying read,
A Pinch of Ooh La La
left me with heaping spoonfuls of hope.”

—Amy Sue Nathan, author of
The Glass Wives

“You might think you know where
A Pinch of Ooh La La
is going when you begin reading it, but you are in for a surprising and outrageous journey. I laughed, I nodded, I shook my head and said, ‘Girl. . . .' I could not put this book down, and when I finished, I felt like I was saying good-bye to now-dear friends. I'm still missing the likable lead and her colorful family. So worth a read.”

—Ernessa T. Carter, author of
32 Candles
and
The Awesome Girl's Guide to Dating Extraordinary Men

Praise for
Shake Down the Stars

“Yes, I know you hear it all the time, but get ready for an absorbing story told with a unique and compelling voice.
Shake Down the Stars
is a treat. Renee Swindle's writing is funny, sharp, heartbreaking, and quirky, and her non–stock characters wonderfully memorable. . . . Enjoy the ride.”

—Lalita Tademy,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Cane River
and
Red River

“Renee Swindle's
Shake Down the Stars
is a rich, savvy exploration of the many kinds of love, loss, and dysfunction that can unearth us or save us, bedevil us or deliver us . . . as complex and hilarious as it is surprising and lovely.
Shake Down the Stars
holds a mirror up to our best and worst selves, and Swindle writes with unflagging compassion and irresistible humor.”

—ZZ Packer, author of
Drinking Coffee Elsewhere

“This novel is a true gem. Beautifully written, it's full of emotional impact that touches the heart without weighing the reader down. Themes of love, loss, and addiction will reach into the soul.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(Top Pick)

“I love, love, love Renee Swindle's
Shake Down the Stars
!
It's fresh and unfamiliar—which is quite the trick these days! I love the protagonist and the very unlikely yet charming love interest. The novel manages to be both light and heavy all at the same time. I cannot tell you how much I liked it. Well, I can . . .
I loved it
. Seriously. One of my favorite reads of the past couple years.”

—Nichelle D. Tramble, author of
The Dying Ground
and
The Last King

“You are about to get a big treat. . . . Renee Swindle's novel
Shake Down the Stars
is funny, bitter as coffee, sweet as sugar, and as moving as an earthquake. Enjoy!”

—Farai Chideya, author of
Kiss the Sky

“I love this story of a woman trying to pull herself together after a tragic incident. Renee Swindle is a great writer and storyteller. Her characters are smart and witty and will stay with readers long after the novel ends. I hope you love
Shake Down the Stars
as much as I do!”

—Jacqueline E. Luckett, author of
Searching for Tina Turner
and
Passing Love

“Renee Swindle's novel
Shake Down the Stars
has lyrical, poignant prose that promises to resonate with readers. The characters are emotionally and culturally charged, and their lives remind me of my own. While reading, I was transported inside an unbelievable world of crazy, wonderful folks.”

—Deborah Santana, author of
Space Between the Stars: My Journey to an Open Heart

Please Please Please

Shake Down the Stars

New American Library

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

First published by New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

Copyright © Renee Swindle, 2014

Readers Guide copyright © Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 2014

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGIS
TRADA

LIBRARY OF CON
GRESS CATALOGING-IN-
PUBLICATION DATA:

Swindle, Renee.

A pinch of ooh la la/Renee Swindle.

p. cm

ISBN 978-1-101-59646-3

1. Divorced women—Fiction. 2. Female friendship—Fiction. 3. Man-woman relationships—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3569.W537P53 2014

813'.54—dc23 2014004118

PU
BLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For my
father

I
'm a lucky writer because I get to work with Ellen Edwards. I'm humbled by and grateful for her eye to detail and the magic pixie dust she tosses on my sentences. Thanks as well to everyone at New American Library, including Elizabeth Bistrow and Courtney Landi.

Hugs and smiles to my agent, BJ Robbins.

Thank you to the Finish Party—Alyss, Deborah, Farai, Jackie, Lalita, Nichelle, and ZZ.

For generous feedback on the early pages of this novel, I'd like to thank Kelly Allgaier, Kelly Damian, Toni Martin, Emily Morganti, Eric Pfeiffer, Molly Thomas, and Sean Whiteman. It has been an honor and pleasure to work with “the group” over the years. Each of you inspires me. Emily was kind enough to help me with my Web site. Thanks, Emily!

Thanks to Bryce Giddens for years of friendship and fun times. I'd also like to thank Tim, Sari, Taya, and Ziggy Henry; Donald Weise; Jerry Thompson; Melody Fuller (hugs and love,
mademoiselle); Deborah Stalford; Valari Thomas; Amy Nathan; Bonnie Azab Powell; Linda Lenhoff; Ayize Jama-Everett; Tim Milot; Linda Childers; Nick Allen; Margaret Johnson-Hodge; and Chris and Claudia. For her friendship and support, a very special thanks to Liz Gonzalez.

Thanks to friends and family in Vallejo, Kentucky, and Texas. I appreciate you and love you.

Thanks to John, Alison, and everyone at Diesel Bookstore, Oakland; Kathleen Caldwell of A Great Good Place for Books; and thanks to Blanche Richardson of Marcus Books. Each of you proves that local bookstores really do support local authors and I can't thank you enough.

Mom and Pops, you make every book possible. Thank
you.

Intro

W
henever I was at my lowest about what happened between Avery and me, I'd conjure a list of other women who, like me, had been publicly humiliated by a man. My list was usually made up of a handful of women who'd married politicians—a particular breed of woman who'd inevitably stand by her man while he looked into the TV camera and apologized for lying to his constituents, and, oh, by the way,
I'm sorry, honey, for cheating on you with the hot young intern
, or the twenty-year-old house aide, the thousand-dollar call girl, or whomever. The only difference between women like this and myself is that they at least received some form of apology. Avery had disappeared on me altogether.

When it comes to love, there's nothing worse than public betrayal. I was thirty-three when my heart was drop-kicked and sent flying through the air. Months later, when one of my stepmothers suggested I
“get back out there and start dating again
,
”
I looked at her as if she'd asked me to pour hot oil over my body
and roll in dirt.
You want me to date? After what I've been through?
Are you insane?

Three years later, though, and you wouldn't have known I was that same sad sack of a woman who didn't want to do much more than sleep on her couch. Thanks to hard work and determination, I became the living, breathing embodiment of Gloria Gaynor's “I Will Survive.” A mere three years later and I'd opened my own bakery and bought a home. I had arrived. I was woman—hear me roar! I needed a man like a bicycle needed a fish! Or however that feminist saying went.

There was just one teensy-weensy problem. Years of living alone, and as chaste as Mother Teresa, and I was beginning to wish for—actually started to crave—the attention of those hairy, non-emotive creatures that often left the toilet seat up. What do you call 'em? Men. Yeah. That's it.

My heart, bruised and beat-up, began holding sit-ins with lit candles and music playing in the background to the tune of John Lennon's “Give Peace a Chance.”
All we are saying,
my heart sang,
is give men a chance.

But a part of me was scared of men. One particular man. Not that any of this is about him, Avery, but he turned out to be a catalyst, if you will, the goad, the hot prod that convinced me I needed to make changes in my life. I saw his face in the
New York Times
and felt all my I-am-woman bravado diminish. My best friend, Bendrix, had a point, after all. My vagina was aging and my eggs were shriveling and I needed to move boldly from behind the wall I'd created, my comfy, safe wall of work, work, work, and cable on Sunday night.

By now, though, I suppose I should start from the beginning.
Enough with the preamble,
my stepmom Bailey would say.
If you're gonna tell it, tell it.

To that end, imagine the interior of a bakery with wood
floors and a menu written on a large blackboard in chalky pastels, high ceilings dotted with low-hanging silver retro lamps (which cost the owner a fortune), an exposed brick wall behind the counter, and, near the entrance, a mahogany bar where the regulars like to sit. The smell of freshly baked croissants hangs in the air, and the sound of bass, piano, and drums pipes through the stereo system.

Actually, since I'm the daughter of a jazz musician, I'd like to start things off like my dad might, right before playing a gig with my uncles: his fingers poised above the keys of his piano, and just under his breath, a quiet
A one . . . a two . . .