We recently wangled invites to a meet-the-author party put on by Penguin at the Malmaison, courtesy of the bf's mum. The posh nibbles and free booze was a nice incentive, but I'm not that cheeky - I had actually read Live Bait, P.J. Tracy's
second novel. I did wonder why the nice rep from Penguin kept saying "They're really lovely authors, so friendly." Duh. I'd zoned out on the dust sleeve, and no idea they were a mother-daughter writing team. They floated into the room, dressed in fabulous, impractical, floor-length designer coats, and immediately started chatting up the room.
It was one of those surreal and cool moments where doing something completely different felt so refreshing. Chilled white wine gave us courage and we went to chat with daughter Traci first. We talked about Minneapolis, Santa Monica, how her mom used to write romance novels and their current characters.
It was all going so well - and then... I have a bad habit of gently tugging at my necklace when I'm a bit nervous, and suddenly my 50s vintage choker broke and beads sprayed everywhere. Traci, bless her, got on the floor with everyone else to help retrieve what we could.
This caught the attention of P.J., who thought the whole thing was very funny. We ended up at her table and I made her laugh some more. Apparently talking about bars and drinking is a no-no in New York publishing circles, and she kept saying how fun we were. I guess she liked the bf and his mum's northern sense of humour, and I've probably acquired a bit in the last few years. Hey, happy to please...
They were, without a doubt, what I'd call a hoot. Dead Run
is a good summer read, too.