LoveHampton: A Novel
Rifkin who has written for Bravo, which sold me immediately has penned a funny, dishy, "inside look" romance novel of "Miller", who spends a summer as part of a house share in the Hamptons with a number of strangers. Party after party, summer romance s , a business in the city, gossip, fast cars and a transformation made for television pack this novel, which reads so quickly, and is perfect for the beach, or for when you WISH you were on the beach.
I mean, just look at that cover, right? Be sure to throw this one in your beach tote Book Review: Two Dollar Bill. Two Dollar Bill by Stuart Woods I was on the hunt for a new audiobook, knowing I was going to be on the road quite a bit last month, so I grabbed this Woods novel, which is part of the "Stone Barrington" series. Though I've never read a title from this series, I found the thread easy enough to pick up - Stone is a cop turned lawyer who hangs out at Elaine's with his ex-cop partner Dino, enjoys the ladies and a good scotch, and lives a fairly quiet life What follows is a nightmare of a plot as Billy Bob turns into the worse customer ever, then begins to harass, blackmail and ultimately threaten Stone, leading to a fast paced, thriller ending that has you guessing until the end.
Brilliantly done! Jean Carroll, Ask E.
Jean columnist for Elle and author of Mr. Right, Right Now! Hilarious and poignant. A refreshing, crack-up read that had me engaged frmo page one. Follow what happens to the book's heart broken heroine who escapes Manhattan after getting dumped and losing her job, then goes on a search to rediscover herself at a Hamptons house share. A lighthearted story that makes a great beach read! His best feature is his blue eyes. The only thing detracting from his looks is that he's a little puffy all over, as if he recently put on some extra poundage and it didn't know where to settle, so it distributed itself evenly from head to toe.
LoveHampton : a novel
He leans in and not so casually drapes his arm around the back of my chair. I'm an investment banker, and Andrew was the lawyer on some of my deals. We got to talking at a couple of closing dinners and figured out both of us are into tennis, so we started playing out at the beach last summer. I was in another house not too far away from where he was. Then he invited me to the famous birthday bash that he throws for himself every August, which is where I met Leah.
Now that was a killer party! That guy knows more people than God. I'm sure he'll do it again this year. I guess I think of it as his house too, since he was the one who asked me to join.
A huge margarita appears in front of me, delivered by the most beautiful man-hand I've ever seen adorned by a chunky silver Rolex. I was just sitting here minding my own business.
I should probably go spend some quality time with the other female members of the household. If a waiter comes over, don't let him leave! He is staring at me with an amused look on his face. We're not all Neanderthals. Some of us even know how to read.
Lovehampton by Sherri Rifkin
I'm not sure whether to laugh or not, since he doesn't smile or give me any sense that he's kidding. After we order and are settled with fresh drinks, the group's attentions turn back to themselves and thankfully away from me. I'm the most intrigued by Jackson, who remains quiet but I can tell keenly tuned in.
As he made a point of saying, he so clearly, even visibly, is different from the rest of the housemates. He has brown wavy hair that is longish and falls into his face, like Michael Stipe circa the late s, causing him to repeat the fruitless gesture of raking his hand through it to push it out of his eyes. He wears wire-rimmed glasses, which successfully — and I'm going to guess deliberately — give him a studious look. He's medium height and thin, bordering on gaunt-looking.
Jackson clearly hasn't shaven today, if at all this weekend. His clothes have the air of being expensive, possibly even custom-made, but upon closer look, are well worn and frayed. Since there's no smoking inside, he has excused himself more than once to "nip outside" for a cigarette. Even though we haven't said more than a few words to each other, I imagine him and me to be the two outsiders of the group and feel comforted by that.
By the time the dishes are cleared, I'm more than a little buzzed three margaritas apparently will have that effect and feeling emboldened, albeit artificially. So when everyone seat-hops, I follow suit, situating myself next to Cassie. The best way to describe her is a superstylish former ballerina. She has shiny chestnut-colored hair that's pinned back into a loose, messy knot. The few, well-positioned freckles on her nose only help to emphasize her deep brown eyes.
We're probably about the same height, but she's clearly more graceful than I could ever hope to be. I wonder how she appears to be so comfortable with her long legs and arms, when I always feel like my appendages are something I have to fight to keep under my control. Besides being genetically blessed, Cassie has what I consider to be one of the most glam jobs: she is a beauty editor at Elle. Ironically, she wears barely any makeup, not that she needs it, which is probably why she doesn't bother with it.
I'm fairly certain that I've been thoroughly embarrassing myself for the last half hour by asking her a million questions about her job and gushing about how exciting it must be. I'm even boring myself. I can't imagine how excruciating this must be for you. Save me from myself and tell me what you do. It's got to be more interesting and meaningful than writing about colored wax and powder every day.