The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again: A Novel - Hardcover

Thayer, Nancy

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0345469178 ISBN 13: 9780345469175

Publisher: Ballantine Books, 2004

Synopsis

The fabulous women from The Hot Flash Club are back in top form, welcoming the stressed-out and pampering-deprived through their discreet spa doors–as Nancy Thayer returns with a witty, sexy, and heartwarming novel. The Hot Flash Club Strikes Again also introduces four new women, ready for massages and seaweed wraps, each struggling to reconcile her secret dreams, biggest fears, and deepest feelings as topsy-turvy events shake up her life.

After eighteen years of trying to make peace with her husband’s cold-as-ice mother, Polly vows to be the perfect mother-in-law: loving, accepting, and determined to keep her mouth shut. Then her son marries Amy, a Birkenstocked gal whose organic farm and family ooze a rather creepy serenity. Ever the optimist, Polly puts her best foot forward . . . so why does it end up in her mouth?

A shy and brilliant professor-to-be, Beth has lived a sheltered life. Then she meets Sonny, a rugged, sexy carpenter who sweeps her off her feet. The problem? Beth may not survive his loud, affectionate, athletic family–especially when the very beautiful and earthy woman everybody wanted Sonny to marry is still hanging around the family dinner table.

Heiress to one of New England’s oldest paper companies, Carolyn is the driving force behind the brand. Now, at thirty-seven, the workaholic executive is finally pregnant with her first child, and high blood pressure is forcing her to do something totally alien: relax. But how can she let down her guard when her seventy-something father has gone and eloped with a young bank clerk named Heather, whose rather plain looks and unassuming nature still manage to fill Carolyn with suspicion.

A free-spirited photographer, Julia has married a man she loves, but he’s come packed with baggage. Tim is a widower with a young daughter, and Julia has bravely stepped up to the plate, doing her best to provide maternal support. But as if being pinned down by the child’s slightly manipulative ways and (dare Julia say it) spoiled behavior wasn’t enough, there’s Tim’s ex-mother-in-law, whose meddling is getting nastier by the week.

For Polly, Beth, Carolyn, and Julia, the time has come to stand up for what matters–for their passions, their hearts, and themselves. As they maneuver through family drama and embrace unexpected change, they come to find that life is much easier (and a lot more fun) when you’ve got friends, wine, and chocolate along for the ride.

About this title

About the Author

Nancy Thayer is the nationally bestselling author of The Hot Flash Club. She lives on Nantucket Island, Massachusetts

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Because Polly Lodge liked to look on the bright side, the word she chose to describe her mother-in-law was challenging, as in “the ferret makes a challenging pet.” So when Polly’s only child, David, married, Polly vowed to be the best mother-in-law she could possibly be, and the least interfering.

Sometimes this was a struggle. But even though her son’s wife, Amy, was a week overdue for the birth of Polly’s first grandchild, Polly did not phone David and Amy every day. Of course they would call her when the baby was born! In the meantime, she didn’t so much sleep at night as levitate a few inches off her bed in a trance of anticipation, every instinct straining to hear the ringing of the phone.

And then the phone rang.

It was the middle of the night. Polly lurched up and grabbed for the handset, knocking all her books off the bedside table in the process.

“Hello?”

David’s voice was gorgeously smug. “Hello, Grandma.”

Polly shrieked. “Amy had the baby!” She switched on her bedside lamp and sat up, leaning against the headboard. From the foot of her bed, her ancient basset hound, Roy Orbison, shot her a longsuffering look, then lay his head down between his paws and resumed snoring.

“She did indeed.” David’s laugh was proud.

David and Amy’s insistence on having the baby born at home with a midwife had worried Polly, but she’d kept quiet and now the joy in her son’s voice signaled that all was well. Polly fell back among her pillows, weak with relief. “Stop it, David! Don’t torture me!” They’d also decided, when they had the first ultrasound, not to be told the sex of the baby, nor to discuss the names they were considering.

“Jehoshaphat Feast Piper has just arrived on planet earth, weighing nine pounds, three ounces, and bellowing like a bull.”

The string of unfamiliar syllables made Polly blink. “Jeho-huh?”

“Jehoshaphat was a Biblical king, famed for his righteousness.”

“Oh, David!” Tears streamed down Polly’s face. “A little boy! Oh, darling, congratulations! How’s Amy?”

“She’s beautiful.” Now David’s voice was choked. “She was awesome, Mom.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was! Please tell her how proud I am of her. Give her a hug for me. And lots of kisses for everyone! Is there anything I can do?”

“No, thanks. I think we’re going to try to snatch a few hours of sleep. We’re exhausted. Well, Amy is.”

“I’m so happy for you all, David. I love you all so much!”

“Thanks, Mom. We’ll phone in the morning.”

Polly clicked off the phone and looked at the clock. Three seventeen. Her grandson had been born sometime around three seventeen on September 20. Her grandson. Little Jehoshaphat.

Little Jehoshaphat?

“Stop it!” Polly snapped at herself. She threw back her covers and flung herself from her bed with such energy she disturbed Roy Orbison, who, for an old dog with sagging skin, could conjure up an impressive array of expressions. Right now he resembled an exasperated hausfrau, hair in curlers, arms folded over her Wagnerian chest.

“Well, I’m sorry!” Polly told the dog. “But you’re a dog, and I’m overwhelmed, and you’re all I’ve got at the moment, so you can just bear up and sacrifice some sleep to keep me company!”

Roy Orbison sagged a bit, morphing into his Jean-D’Arc-at-thecross pose but stayed at attention.

“In the first place,” Polly muttered, reaching for her silk robe and pulling it on over her nightgown, “isn’t Jehoshaphat an awfully big name for a little boy? ‘Stop, Jehoshaphat, don’t put that raisin up your nose!!’ ” She slid her feet into her slippers. “And what if he goes through that prepubescent plump phase David went through? You know his nickname will be Phat! Although,” Polly stopped tapping the top of her head as she did more and more these days when she was trying to remember something, “isn’t Phat cool now? I mean, the word itself? Something I saw on television . . . But never mind what’s cool now, it’s bound to be out of style when Jehoshaphat is a preteen.”

Roy Orbison fell over on his side, groaning.

“But we’re not going to be critical, are we, Roy?” Flicking on lights as she went, Polly headed down the stairs. She wouldn’t get back to sleep now. She didn’t have to call Roy Orbison to join her; the animal was catatonic unless he suspected someone was headed for the kitchen, in which case he became Wonder Dog. Sure enough, she heard a thud as he hit the floor, then the clicking of his nails. In the kitchen, she poured herself a mug of milk and popped it into the microwave. “Oh, Tucker,” she said aloud, “if only you were still alive.”

Her husband, Tucker, was David’s stepfather, so this baby would be his stepgrandson. Still, Tucker would have shared every ounce of Polly’s joy. Oh, she could imagine just how he would smile! Tucker had died two years ago, and while the heart-searing grief had diminished, Polly still missed him every moment of every day.

The microwave beeped. She took out the mug and held it in her hands. So nice and warm.

Roy Orbison came waddling into the kitchen. The vets warned Polly the dog was overweight. But he was fifteen years old, for heaven’s sake! He deserved a treat now and then. Instead of collapsing in his usual heap of wrinkles, he sat at her feet and cocked his head at Polly, doing his best loyal-Fido-at-his-mistress’s-feet impersonation.

“You are such a fake,” Polly said fondly. “But all right. I’ll add a celebratory spot of brandy to my milk, and you can have a great big dog biscuit. Okay?”

Roy Orbison wagged his tail and passed gas.
In the morning, Polly showered, dressed, and breakfasted, and it was only eight o’clock. She wouldn’t call David and Amy yet, they might still be sleeping, and she couldn’t possibly sit at her desk and accomplish anything, so she phoned her best friend, Franny, to share the good news, and then she went up to the attic to dig out the boxes of baby things she’d been saving for thirty years.

By noon, Polly had not only found the various little rompers and blankets and quilts, she’d put them in the washing machine and had them tumbling away in the dryer, and still David hadn’t phoned. She couldn’t wait any longer. She dialed the Pipers’ house.

David answered in a whisper. “Oh, hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Impatient!” Polly said with a laugh. “David, when can I come see little Jehoshaphat?”

David paused. “Amy wants you to wait a couple of days. She’s concerned about strange germs.”

Strange germs? Polly’s jaw dropped. “Amy thinks I’ve got strange germs?”

“Not just you, Mom. Everyone.”

“Oh, David, that’s—”

“Humor us, Mom. Amy’s exhausted. We all are.”

Polly took a deep breath. “All right. What about tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll let you know.”

Polly felt her lip quiver. She felt cold-shouldered, left out. “But David, I can’t wait to see him.”

“I know, Mom. I can’t wait for you to see him, either. He’s beautiful.”

Thank God for her garden! Polly hung up the phone, slid into her gardening clogs, and stomped outside. She’d already planted her new bulbs and put most of the outdoor furniture away, so she headed to the back of her yard to prepare her little vegetable plot for winter. She worked away furiously, thrusting her spade into the ground, turning over the lumpy soil, carrying heavy piles from the compost heap and mixing it in. Her garden would be better for this next spring. Plus, it kept her from pulling out her hair.

Relatives! No wonder Einstein had named his incomprehensible hypothesis the Theory of Relativity. E=MC2 was easy, compared to her own familial galaxy.

Polly had grown up in South Boston where her father was a schoolteacher, her mother a homemaker. Both parents were kind, loving, and as boring as turtles. Their lives clicked reliably through the familiar, repetitive routines of their days and anything else made them nervous. They never yearned for adventure, wealth, or fame. Hell, they nearly broke out in a rash when they had to travel to the middle of the state to see Polly’s brother, and two years later, Polly graduate from U. Mass, Amherst. Polly’s father died young of emphysema brought on by too many cigarettes, Polly’s mother just two months later, of a heart attack brought on, Polly was certain, by the stress of being without his familiar presence.

Naturally, since Polly’s parents never went anywhere and were totally predictable, Polly’s brother became a geologist, working in Alaska, Dubai, and any other location as far as possible from South Boston, while Polly married Scott Piper, a man so fabulously interesting, Polly’s mother took to biting her nails and weeping during dinner. Polly’s father simply hid in his basement workshop as if it were a bunker.

Scott was older, unpredictable and, because he wrote travel books for a living, seldom on one continent. For a few years, Polly traveled with Scott to Mexico, where she got some great silver jewelry, to Peru, where she got dysentery, and to Newfoundland, where she got pregnant.

Scott didn’t want to be grounded by a child, and Polly ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Ballantine Books
• Publication date: 2004
• ISBN 10: 0345469178
• ISBN 13: 9780345469175
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 352