Book Review
of Wanting Rita
Blurb
:
When
his high school sweetheart experiences a devastating tragedy, Dr. Alan Lincoln
reluctantly returns to his Pennsylvania hometown to see her. It’s been 15
years. Rita was a small town beauty queen—his first love whom he has never
forgotten. He was a nerd from a wealthy family. Her family was poor. They
formed a strong connection during their senior year, but Rita married someone
else, and the marriage ended tragically.
Alan’s
marriage of three years is disintegrating, and he sees in Rita the chance to
begin again with the true love of his life. Rita has been mentally and
emotionally shattered, but she reaches out to Alan and fights to build a new
life with him. During a passionate summer, however, the past and present
converge and threaten their rekindled love, as Alan and Rita must struggle with
old ghosts and new secrets.
About the
Author:
Elyse
Douglas is the pen name for the married writing team Elyse Parmentier and
Douglas Pennington. Elyse grew up near the sea, roaming the beaches, reading
and writing stories and poetry, receiving a Master’s Degree in English
Literature from Columbia University. She has enjoyed careers as an English
teacher, an actress and a speech-language pathologist. She and her husband,
Douglas Pennington, have completed three novels: The Astrologer’s Daughter,
Wanting Rita and a Christmas novel to be released later this year.
Douglas
grew up in a family where music and astrology were second and third languages.
He attended the Cincinnati College Conservatory of Music and played the piano
professionally for many years. With his wife, Elyse, he has helped to pen
The Astrologer’s Daughter and Wanting Rita.
When
asked how they write a novel together, Doug often answers, “Well… If Elyse is
dismissive and quietly pacing, then I know something’s not working. If I’m
defensive, dramatic and defiant, then I know Elyse will soon be scowling and
quietly pacing. We remind ourselves of Rita and Alan James in our novel, Wanting
Rita. How the books get finished, I don’t know.”
Elyse
Douglas live in New York City.
Contacts:
To learn more about
Elyse Douglas, go to their website: www.elysedouglas.com
To get your e-copy
of Wanting Rita by Elyse Douglas at Amazon: http://amzn.to/ILDZQ4
Visit Elyse Douglas
on Twitter: https://twitter.com/#/douglaselyse
Like Elyse Douglas
on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elyse.authorsdouglas
Watch the Trailer
Excerpt:
“She’ll be there, Alan,” Mrs. Fitzgerald said, in a quiet, hopeful
voice. “She’ll be at Jack’s Diner. She’s been working there for a
month now. It…well, it would just be a good thing…a nice thing if you
could…” Her voice trailed off, then grew weak and brittle. “You’re the
only person she’s asked about. But… you must be so busy. I mean, I
know doctors are always busy. Of course, you’re busy, but… Well, if you
could just go and see her…”
Then there was desperation. “I’m sorry to call you at your
office, but I just thought…well, if she saw some old friends. She needs
to…get out and…”
I’d heard that voice frequently working in the ER during my
residency. A voice stripped of pride by a mounting panic.
“She’ll be so glad to see you again, Alan. I just know
it. She was always so fond of you, you know.”
Just as I was about to end the conversation, she broke down, repeating
the story of Rita’s tragedy in deep sighs and choking sobs. I waited,
impatiently. She rambled and paused, hoping for a response. I
didn’t offer any, so she continued on with a weepy intensity, with anger,
remorse, and an occasional hacking cough. I listened coolly, aloof,
frequently checking my watch. I was already behind. Patients were
complaining to reception. I had mountains of paperwork to do and I hadn’t
eaten lunch.
Mrs. Fitzgerald persisted, with surging emotion. Her pace became
a desperate sprint to the finish line, jumping from self-pity to scorn, to
cursing, to rage. She trampled on all my efforts to cut her off. So
I waited for the end of emotion; for the end of her confessions; for the
shattered voice that finally fell into a withering and feeble “Oh, God… please
go see Rita… Please…”
I wasn’t moved in that hollow silence. My heart contracted
with an icy chill—with the rush of unwanted memories. I wasn’t even moved
when she timidly called my name to see if I was still there.
“Yes… I’m here, Mrs. Fitzgerald, but I have to go now. Thank you
for calling.”
I hung up, abruptly, without another word. I wanted to erase
her—erase the entire population of Hartsfield, Pennsylvania—from my mind.
I’d already heard the story. My sister, Judy, had called eight
months before, stunned, teary and grateful to share. Two hours later, an
old friend from high school, whom I hadn’t heard from in six years, called me
stammering, shocked, and depressed. Then my father had called, using
cold, sharp words. “They were trash. Didn’t you date that girl a
couple of times? What was her name… Rita?”
It had briefly hit the national news, I was told, although I didn’t see
it because I was in Barbados on vacation when it happened. Of course it
upset me. It would upset anyone, but I had never been particularly fond
of Mrs. Fitzgerald when I was a kid. And when I was a kid living in
Hartsfield, she’d never been particularly fond of me. But then, with few
exceptions, nobody was. Except Rita. Rita, at least for a fleeting
miraculous time, had been fond of me. Perhaps, she had even loved
me. And I, without a doubt—any doubt—had loved her.
In the last two years of high school, Rita had blazed with a beauty and
magnetism that burned through a crowd like wildfire. She possessed a kind
of languid rapture and soft exotic glow that I compared to the starlets of the
1940’s and 50’s; that mysterious mixture of fire and ice that arrested the eyes
and heart in a breathless expectation. She was art, with her refined
aristocratic nose, long chiseled neck, and voice like pure unraveling
silk. Her lips were red, full, and often parted, as if in want of a kiss,
though there was no pretension in this. At least, I never thought so.
She was full-figured and statuesque, with honey blond hair that fell in
waves over thin ivory shoulders, in a longing, really—in a natural invitation
to touch and caress. And she moved in an easy rhythm, as if hearing
distant pagan music, with a gentle sway of her hips that sent ripples of
fervent pleasure through any gathering of guys, and a humid jealousy through
any crowd of gals.
Rita had been the town treasure. The prom queen. The beauty
queen. The trophy. Men with cigars on the Courthouse steps jerked
nods of agreement that Hartsfield could produce more than just thermal
underwear. They produced Rita Fitzgerald: beauty, talent and
personality. She’d go somewhere, New York, LA, and become somebody, and
they’d be the proud town fathers who had supported her, nurtured her and helped
her along. She could sing and dance, and she wrote poems and short
stories that were published in the local paper. She was even going to
write a novel about Hartsfield. For weeks after this fact was published
in the Sunday paper, I observed that teachers, neighbors and town folk all had
broader smiles, softer dispositions and kind words, where few had been offered
before.
Whenever she had shined her large sea-blue eyes on me, I saw
tenderness, wonder and intelligence; and when she took me into them, fully, and
held me for a time, I felt primitive and exalted. During those rare
moments when Rita and I had been close and I felt her soft breath on my cheek
or in my ear, and whenever she leaned into me and I smelled the spring scent of
her and looked into her blue eyes, wide with magic, I saw them break into
prisms of fire so magnificent that I often went dumb and silent with desire for
her.
As I stared vacantly ahead at the garish neon lights of Jack’s Diner, I
felt the rise of apprehension and dread. Surely Rita had changed.
Had the tragedy blunted her beauty and zest for life? Did I really want
to see her defeated and small, working as a waitress at Jack’s Diner? Did
she really want to see me?
* * * * *
Book Review:
Everybody knows or has seen one of
those couples, you know the ones I mean, the beautiful woman with the totally
geeky guy and you think, “How the h%$@ did he get her?” Well maybe this story can help you figure it
out. Small town beauty falls for nerdy,
square rich boy, but of course it can’t work out because then it would be a
shorter story. As with any romance, they
must have a problem to overcome.
The true genius of this story is
that the problems are true to life. This
is a story that could happen to anyone.
It tugs at the heart-strings because it is unfailingly honest and brutal
in its honesty. You will laugh, cry,
swear, yell, and still keep reading because the story will have you in its grip
I give this story 5 out of 5 clouds.
Wow, thank you for the wonderful review today, Mindy!
ReplyDeleteYes, I feel that they could fall in love and live happily ever after. But first, I think they will have all kinds of ups and downs before their relationship is complete. Would love to read this book. It is going on my to read list. Thank you for this giveaway.
ReplyDelete:)Jeanne Bates Tennant
I do believe they would be meant to be and find happiness together. I know people this scenario has happened to and they are incredibly happy. Love takes work and it looks like Rita and Alan have some work ahead of them :) Thank you for this awesome giveaway opportunity.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteWANTING RITA was based on two girls Douglas had dated: one in high school and one in college: the high school prom queen was quiet and intelligent and came from a difficult family background. He met the other girl during his freshman year in college. She was volatile, smart and talented. Both girls struggled to overcome many emotional demons. Douglas did not keep in touch with them but learned, recently, that one now owns a restaurant in a rather large city and has three kids. Brava!
ReplyDelete