In Louise Shaffer’s delightfully charming new novel, a hopeless romantic (and author adrift) searches for a happy ending—and decides to write her own love story.
After the success of her first novel, Love, Max —an irresistibly funny look at divorce as seen through a dog’s eyes—Francesca’s fictional saga becomes real when her sexy photographer husband bails on her. The good news is that Francesca gets custody of their apartment and their dog—an adoring scamp who has mastered the art of unconditional love. Still, a girl and her dog have to eat, so a desperate search for income leads Francesca to Chicky, a spunky, red-haired octogenarian who wants Francesca to write the memoirs of her parents, Joe and Ellie, who toured the vaudeville circuit in the early 1920s.
Francesca is reluctant to take the job, but Chicky’s tales soon lure her into a showbiz era as irresistible and unlikely as the love story that unfolds. As she re-creates Joe and Ellie’s story, Francesca reflects, with hilarious honesty, on her own childhood and marriage—and discovers how to put the pieces of her life back together in a way that redefines herself and the true meaning of family and love.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of Fantasy eBook: Looking for a Love Story|
|Release Date: 04-06-2010|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Ballantine Books|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Looking for a Love...|
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|Note||ePub, short for electronic publication is one of our favorites and should be yours for a couple of reasons. ePub offers reflowable text giving you flexibility to manipulate how the content is presented. Moreover, lots of cool features are now being developed for the reader like advanced video and audio. ePub is now an industry standard, so all of the "non-propreitary" hardware manufacturers are now supporting it.|
Looking for a Love Story
Okay, here’s one of those life lessons I think we all know. When someone looks you in the eye, takes a deep breath, and says, “We have to talk,” nothing good is going to come from it. People do not feel they have to warn you when they are about to pay you a compliment or give you that gold bangle you’ve been angling for. But when you hear the word talk, especially from one of your nearest and dearest, the correct response is to do pretty much what my dog, Annie, does when someone says bath in her presence. You run. You swallow back the sick feeling in your stomach, and you ignore the ice sliding down the back of your neck, and you take off. Because even those of us who insist that oh, no, we had no clue what was coming, we never dreamed of it . . . well, somewhere deep down we did know. We just couldn’t face it. So we pretend we didn’t hear the T word, and we run. At least, that’s what I did when my husband, Jake, said those fateful words on a peaceful Saturday in Manhattan, when we were sitting around not doing much of anything. I immediately got to my feet.
“I think I’ll go for a run,” I chirped. I always get chirpy when I’m in denial about something. “It’s a perfect day for it, and I’m doing so well with the diet, I’ll just take a quick jog around the park.”
Jake and I both knew I didn’t jog anymore. Not since I’d gained thirty-two pounds. For the record, the two of us also knew my diet wasn’t going all that well either, but that was one of the things we didn’t discuss—one of the many things, I realized later, when I looked back on it. “I’ve lo...