Switcheroo (36 page)
Authors: Olivia Goldsmith
“I don’t know. It would take a long time to trust you again.”
“I’ll give you all the time I’ve got left. We’ll go on a cruise. We’ll dance, alone at home, to the radio.” He looked at her, obviously desperate. His teeth were chattering, his lips blue from the cold. “We’ll get that bus and drive cross-country.” Sylvie only looked at him. “Say something,” Bob begged. “Anything. Tell me you’ll consider it. Tell me there’s even the smallest chance you’ll forgive me. Please, Sylvie. Tell me what to do.”
Sylvie smiled wickedly at the only man she’d ever loved. He’d really have to work hard. And even then…But in the meantime she’d have more of that great sex. She’d be adored, and if he stopped admiring her, if he took her for granted, well…“Please, Sylvie. Please. Just say something. Give me a clue.”
“In four words: take me to Maui,” she told him.
As Bob put his arms around her she gasped, from both the cold and from his warmth. He kissed her, hard and deeply. Behind her she could hear the twins, Mildred, and even her father, clapping. But soon, as Bob’s cold lips pressed against her warm ones, she heard nothing but their heartbeats.
Thanks to Barbara Turner for continuing to be my sister; Dwight Currie because, no matter what, he will make me laugh; Paul Mahon for not being there when I needed him the most; Rachel Dower in memory of our “Clueless Goes to College” marathon; Diana Hellinger for remembering who I am when I finally call; Larry Ashmead for the books, laughs, and zinnias; Jerry Young, who can recite all the lawyers he works for—in ascending order of skill; Amy Fine Collins for your patience and reciprocal love and admiration; Pat Rhule because you always take my calls and almost always make me laugh; Linda Grady for her continued loving support; Bob Bookman with the hopes that this season you snag a ball in Dodger Stadium; Kelly Lange for your endless hospitality. I still have your keys; Steve Rubin and Ed Town for keeping a candle in the window for me; Jody Post with apologies for not sending this book in draft; Nunz and Rose Nappi with thanks for a great Thanksgiving and the best of friendships; Amy Baer for leaving the baby to come see me; Walter Mathews for the great conversations and the window shopping in Hudson; Kathi Goldmark for letting me perform “Book Tour Blues” in public; Melody Smith for her selfless concern; Sherry Lansing for starting off everything; Ben Dower in the hopes that this book will get you your next set of clubs; Gerry Petievich, my writing brother on the West Coast; Neil Baldwin, whose work at the National Book Foundation continues to inspire me; Richard Saperstein for “getting it” and then buying it for New Line Cinema; Ah Elovitz for hanging with me despite my snoring; Beth Dozoretz for being such a kind friend and an inspiration to me; Michael Kohlmann for keeping up with all my madness; Jim Robinson for all the technical assistance a writer girl could ever ask for; Jennifer Perini, the only young, tall, thin blonde I truly like; Michael Elovitz for lending me his room while I wrote this book; Andrew Fisher for passing the bar; Gail Parent for teaching me her immortal ode: “Oh, Hollywood, Oh, Let Me Go”; Lorraine Kreahling for those weekends in Greenport, Lorrie Sue; Jack Rapke because I’m nuts about you, okay? To all my contractors, for finally getting out of my house; Howard Schwartz for doing what you do so well; Anita Addison for her total understanding of women in the media; Anthea Disney for continuing to laugh at my jokes; Ruth Nathan, best friend a writer girl could have; New York Society Library for their unfailing assistance; Cindy Adams for the dry cleaning advice; Paige Rense for understanding my love for my house and Michael Wollaenger for not cutting any of my 3,456 words about the love; Chris Robinson for always being my boyfriend (so far); Harold Wise, even though you haven’t shown me your manuscript; Bruce Vinokour with thanks for putting up with me; Marjorie Braman for the great edit and insistence on “Marjorie Moments”; Lynn Phillips for her insights and the informed reads of my draft; Dalia Rabinovich for listening to her mother; Adam Schroeder and Scott Rudin for making me a household name; Louise Schmidt for her endless pillow making on my behalf; Brenda Segel for the gorilla stories; Keith Gregory at Southern Methodist University for their inspirational attention to new novelists; Storyline Entertainment for giving me work; Jeffery McGraw for your endless enthusiasm and equally endless patience; Chris Patusky for not taking me out; Anita Gates for getting my jokes and allowing me to praise writers publicly; Tyrone D’Brass for inviting me to decorate his palace in Rajasthan; Bert Fields for the superb representation; Ron Fried for still thinking I’m so nice; Martine Rothblatt for all her excellent advice; Nick Ellison, with thanks for our fabulous dinners; Chris Lee for really listening to me; Helen Breitwieser Katleman, with best wishes and congratulations to Mr. Right; Michael Chinich for the Polaroids—oooh, Michael! Was Morgan naked in that picture?; Liz Ziemska, in awe of your wisdom and professional knowledge, not to mention the new haircut; Bill, Ann, Kip, and Steven for taking loving care of Matilda; Jacki Heppard for her short stay but lasting impression; Donna Langley for her suggestions, patience, and good humor; Beaver Hall for the gnawing, lodging, and tail slapping; Michael Barnathan for the beautiful bouquets—you make me so happy, Michael; Lucy Hood for the brave attempt at synergy; Susie and Joe at Misakiya for feeding me daily; Phyllis Levy for our shared love of cats; Cathy Cavender for giving me a difficult assignment and helping me get through it; Dan Melnick for being my older, male, more brilliant twin; Hugh Wilson for keeping in touch; Gladys Sanchez for taking care of my house and my office; Beth Arky for letting me walk the line in
TV Guide
; Akiko Wied for your patience and hard work; Patricia Martin and Leif Zurmuhlen for keeping me on the Right Side of Forty; Kitty Kelley for the open invitation; Joe Kiener for being simultaneously so tall and so smart; Jerry Leed at Fashion Award for helping me clean up my act; Leonida Karpick for knowing how to sell my books; Jennifer Blum for being the brains behind the operation; and Nan Robinson for finally showing some enthusiasm.
Every Sunday, best friends Tracie and Jonny meet to discuss their love lives: Tracie loves bad boys who seem too good to be true (and usually are), and Jonny foolishly falls for girls who never like him "that way." When Jonny convinces Tracie to turn him into a bad boy, she gives him a makeover, teaches him to scope out women at baggage claim, come back from a dinner date with a new girl's phone number scrawled on his hand, and always carry a motorcycle helmet—even though he doesn't ride a motorcycle.
Jonny quickly becomes a successful heartbreaker just as Tracie discovers that she just might be head-over-heels in love with her best friend. But Tracie's current bad boy has—at last—decided he wants to settle down, her girlfriend has the hots for Jonny, and Jonny can't understand why Tracie never liked him for who he was before the leather. Bad Boy is a smart, laugh-out-loud tale of modern romance sure to keep readers everywhere in stitches.
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Jennifer is a smart, sexy woman who has broken through the glass ceiling to become a big-time trader in the world of high finance. When her boss is caught playing fast and loose with the regulations, Jennifer agrees to take the rap. After all, her fiancé is a lawyer with the connections to get her off.
But instead of beating the charges, she ends up in a women's prison; a world a whole lot meaner than Wall Street and where her designer clothes and fancy education count for nothing. She has to learn fast if she wants to survive. The women in the prison's top "crew" are people Jennifer would never, ever have befriended on the outside, but on the inside she soon discovers that working together is the only way out.
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A typical New Yorker, half-Jewish, half-Italian, Angela is a lawyer married to Reid, a handsome old-money WASP. Michelle adores her childhood sweetheart husband, Frank, and the dream house he's provided for her and their two beautiful children. Jada is an African-American working mom trying to maintain a happy home, despite her husband Clinton's failing business.
But then, like a bad soufflé, the lives of Angela, Michelle, and Jada collapse as they each discover the truth about their dirty, rotten mates. Uniting for solace and support, they draw on one another's friendship to heal their wounds. Bowed but not beaten, though, this smart, audacious trio will concoct a brilliant recipe to take back what's theirs and serve justice on their duplicitous men—and transform them from victims to victors!
