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What happens when you are followed by millions . . . and loved by none?
Twenty-seven-year-old Logan Wade is trying to build a life for herself far from her unhappy childhood in Oklahoma. Until she gets the call that her famous cousin needs a new assistant— an offer she can’t refuse.
Logan hasn’t seen Kelsey in person since their parents separated them as kids; in the meantime, Kelsey Wade has grown into Fortune Magazine’s most powerful ...
What happens when you are followed by millions . . . and loved by none?
Twenty-seven-year-old Logan Wade is trying to build a life for herself far from her unhappy childhood in Oklahoma. Until she gets the call that her famous cousin needs a new assistant— an offer she can’t refuse.
Logan hasn’t seen Kelsey in person since their parents separated them as kids; in the meantime, Kelsey Wade has grown into Fortune Magazine’s most powerful celebrity. But their reunion is quickly overshadowed by the toxic dynamic between Kelsey and her parents as Logan discovers that, beneath the glossy façade, the wounds that caused them to be wrenched apart so many years ago have insidiously warped into a show-stopping family business.
As Kelsey tries desperately to break away and grasp at a “real” life, beyond the influence of her parents and managers, she makes one catastrophic misstep after another, and Logan must question if their childhood has left them both too broken to succeed. Logan risks everything to hold on, but when Kelsey unravels in the most horribly public way, Logan finds that she will ultimately have to choose between rescuing the girl she has always protected . . . and saving herself.
“Pop culture aficionados will see plenty of parallels to Britney Spears’ meteoric rise and downward
spiral in Kelsey’s story, and they’ll enjoy McLaughlin and Kraus’ unflinching look at the price of fame." —Booklist
“Okay, we’re coming up on our final hill.” Sandra, my instructor, puffs into her microphone, reaching out from her bike to dim the spin room’s lights even further. “I know it’s crazy cold out there, folks.” She takes a jagged breath as she prepares to urge us on. “I know the sun’s not even up yet. But you are. And you’re here. And you’re going to make it—harder. Let’s make it harder! Give me a full turn to the right in . . . five, four, three, two, one . . . go, go, go!”
This was a huge mistake.
Reluctantly, I turn the dial and bear down with my heels, trying to shift the work to my hamstrings, trying to pull my focus up—up from the sizzling pain in my legs. But it goes to my eyebrows, behind which is a dull throbbing with a pointy wake, like a wine with full top notes and an acidic finish. Fucking bourbon. Fucking Jeff. I tug my towel off the handlebars, swiping my forehead to keep the sweat from stinging my eyes. How many drinks did I even have? One right when I got to the bar. One when he texted he was running late. One when he said he was getting on the subway. And one when I finally decided the subway ate him.
I grab my New York Sports Club water bottle, squeeze another Emergen-C-laced stream into my mouth, my eyes darting to my dark phone tauntingly resting above the resistance dial. Nothing—no word. I thought for sure he’d call around two with some implausible-slash-charming excuse. Or cut straight to leaning on my doorbell.
“And get ready to stand in . . . four, three, two—come on, up, up, up!”
I heave myself erect and immediately feel like cayenne pepper’s been dropped into my airways. I gasp, trying to focus on exhaling to clear the carbon and acid.
“We’re gonna hold it here. Just hold it here. Find the pace, find the rhythm, one, two, one, two.” She exhorts us to speed up. Or maybe just me. Maybe everyone else feels like they’re getting their hair shampooed. I glance around, taking in the expressions of agony and determination.
“I want you to give your all. Don’t hold back!” she shouts at us. “I want you to push yourselves to exhaustion!” As if I’m going home to sleep after this. As if this isn’t just the first in a long series of things I have to accomplish before I can crawl into bed tonight. The quarterly report, the teleconference with the Houston office, the projection spreadsheet, the second teleconference to recap the first. And dammit, finding five minutes to fix the smudge on my thumb because I ran to the bar instead of waiting for the polish to dry. Why didn’t I just buy the bottle at the salon? Whatever. But not whatever if Jeff’s coming tonight. He has to come tonight. Not coming to my party would be—he’s coming. I’ll just move my one o’clock back and grab a polish fix instead of lunch. My Power Bar backs into my throat. Probably expired. Fucking crazy Charlotte and her crazy fucking stale Power Bars. How my roommate can spend half her time carrying around that ratty Tiffany’s catalogue with the corners turned down, plotting her next purchase, and the other half at the dollar store buying translucent toilet paper I will never—I’d much rather use Charmin and eschew shopping in Midtown.
“Okay, guys, almost done. We’ve just got a last hill and then a one-minute sprint to the finish.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously, I am going to puke expired Power Bar right over the handlebars. My legs are burning, my lungs are burning, my arms are going wobbly, I can’t, I can’t—
“Okay, guys, let’s see some joy!” Sandra adjusts the dial on her iPod. Two beats in, I sense everyone perk up. Kelsey Wade detonates out of the speakers, and heads begin to bob, set mouths murmur lyrics, legs speed up. “I’m unstoppable, unbreakable, unbendable. When you look at me my heart stops—unmendable.” I’m not thinking about my throbbing brow or my screaming shins or even Jeff Stone. Around me, women’s wheels whir as their thought bubbles inflate with ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands, ex-bosses . . .
Sandra presses her microphone right to her lips. “What do you have left?” She lets the question hang, looking meaningfully at all of us before screaming, “Don’t hold anything back!” Her voice reverberates over Kelsey’s, echoing the essence of the song. “Give it all!” And we do. I turn the resistance dial farther, digging deep, letting the adrenaline carry me, the lyrics, the beat. “Can you do it? Can you?” We don’t know, but we’re trying, we’re trying, we’re trying—
“And . . . done,” Sandra says on the last beat. “Spin out your legs.” She scrolls to Kelsey’s latest ballad, and we all sit back, smile wearily at one another, and chug our water. My silenced phone lights up. Not Jeff. Los Angeles area code.
I guarantee no one else is listening to this song and getting a call from this number right now.
“Okay, bring your bike to a complete stop, and let’s stretch.”
No sooner does that call go to voicemail than my parents’ number sets the phone vibrating again. I hit ignore.
We finish cooling down, and I unlock my shoes and dismount, grabbing my bottle and towel. I hit play on the second message. “Happy birthday to you,” my mother sings. “Happy birthday, dear Logan . . . ” I can picture her, an inveterate early riser, sitting with her finger poking through the coiled cord of the ancient beige phone she refuses to replace. “Twenty-seven,” she adds after the song. “I cannot believe it. How did you get so old?” She laughs awkwardly. “I’m going to Babies R Us today—Helen’s daughter’s having her third,” she can’t help telling me, and I immediately feel bad. Bad that I’m not currently giving her grandchildren and bad that she can’t be more accepting of the life I’m building, one that will get me there eventually. God—and maybe Jeff—willing. “Anyway, call me when you get some free time.” She always says this. As if my bon-bon window is coming up in a few hours. “Tonight I’m helping out at the church, but I’ll be home by eight if you’re home.” On my birthday? “ ’Bye!”
Sandra notices the contraband phone at my ear and raises an eyebrow before ripping open the Velcro on her shoes. “It’s my birthday,” I explain. “I was using the wishes to keep me going.”
“Happy birthday! How old?”
“I’m heading into my night-cream years.”
She smiles as we both make our way to the door. “You looked fierce today.”
My eyes widen, and I laugh. “Oh, my God, Sandra, I was dy-ing. Dying. Like carry-me-out-on-a-stretcher dying.”
“Well, Wade.” She shrugs. “No one could tell.”
Skipping lunch continues my totally-wrong-call streak marking this auspicious day. How could I have known that my boss would forget to book a room for the teleconference, leaving our team of financial analysts to meet in the one with the relentless heater, which brings out the carpet’s Christmas-parties-of-yore aroma? That getting out of there for everyone would hinge on my having to prematurely share the spreadsheet I’m generating? Which, after tearing my bag down to the lining, I decided had evaporated, forcing everyone to sit there for an hour while I pulled the numbers out of my ass. An hour that I had fantasized would involve a bubble bath, Florence and the Machine, and leisurely applied four-step eyes, an hour in which I could conjure a little sparkle, a little romance.
Instead, I shove my down-clad hip against our front door in a panic, to find Charlotte lounging on the living-room floor of our lower Second Avenue high-rise apartment. She peruses Bluefly while she waits for her arm hair to lighten beneath smears of cream bleach.
“Anything good?” I ask by way of greeting as I drop my straining bag on the little glass-topped dining table and roll my cramping shoulder.
She readjusts her robe to cover a bit more of the boobs her ex gave her. “I can’t decide if I want this Marc Jacobs hobo. I don’t like the color, but it does have his name on it.”
“What about his face?” I hastily unzip my coat and drop it over the Ikea dining chair that’s starting to tilt aggressively.
“What do you mean?”
I kick off my boots. “A big jpeg of his face silk-screened on the side. Or his armpit from the cologne ad? What about that giant hairy armpit, and you could paint ‘M.J.’ over it with nail polish? Did you find the screwdriver? We should fix this chair.”
“Why are you home? I was just about to come meet you.”
“I can tell.” I rush past her half-naked figure to my room, the only space in the apartment that was too small to subdivide. I always pictured myself in a brownstone walk-up in the village, a place with character, not a box whose charmlessness I’ve overcompensated for with a proliferation of Pier 1 pillows. “Jeff hasn’t replied to the Evite yet, but he checked it at seven, which means he was confirming the location, so I need the red dress.” I swipe it from the floor where I dropped it last night in a fit of horny inebriated frustration.
“I don’t understand your relationship with that dress,” she calls.
“Char, any chance you can vacuum while your bleach bleaches?”
I bite my tongue about it being her month to clean, because I don’t have time for yet another Dust Bowl dustup. I unzip my pants and toss them into the spot the dress was keeping warm. “That’s because you’re a blonde.” Since the ex. “You’d look good in a suit made of Swiffers. This dress never fails.”
“It failed last night.”
“No,” I correct her, carefully rolling up my stockings. “He never saw it. The rules set forth by the Intergalactic Alliance for Getting Laid say that his eyeballs must connect with the color waves.” I shimmy into it and then peer into the smudged jewelry-box mirror over my dresser to twist up my brown hair. I wonder if it’s age or fatigue that has hollowed my cheekbones, made me look more like my father than I did a year ago, the same wariness to the eyes, although his are the Wade blue. “Never. Fails.” I refresh my blush and smudge some liner, a look my mother endearingly terms nightwalker.
“I’m getting the bag.” I hear her pound the laptop definitively. “Oh, Sarah and Lauren texted. They’re both running late, but they promise they’ll try to be there,” she says in a way that suggests they really called to lower my expectations. I feel that little twist, that ouch. “Why are we meeting all the way in Midtown again?”
“Because it’s elegant, it’s Gershwin, it’s New York! Charlotte, where are my silk heels?” I call from the bottom of my closet.
“Out here. They’ll get ruined in the salt.”
“Then what are they doing out there?”
“I was going to borrow them.”
I slip-slide on the scuffed parquet to spot them sitting by her room.
“Now what am I going to wear?” she asks petulantly.
“You have a wall of shoeboxes.”
“But I don’t like any of them.”
“I need to drop you on a desert island with the stuff you already own, romantic-comedy-style, so you can go through an adventure with your stuff and come out remembering what you loved about your stuff in the first place.” She just looks at me as if she’d mistakenly pressed the SAP button on the remote. “Okay, well, let’s do the wall this weekend, for real.” I shove my arms into my wool coat that is not in any way warm but won’t make me look as if I’m trying to skip a few steps by wearing my mattress to the bar. “The paint and sandpaper are just sitting in the closet. I don’t think I’ll have to work Saturday. Let’s do it.” I transfer my keys, lip gloss, condoms, and wallet to my clutch. “We can get some wine, order in . . . ”
“Okay.” She shrugs, typing her credit-card number. But we both know we won’t. Sarah brought me into the apartment share with Rachel, who worked and split the second bedroom with Lauren, who went to school with Charlotte, a chain of friendship strung out like paper dolls. But the links are gone—engaged, enrolled, enticed away. “Oh, answering machine.” She points to the blinking light of our land line. This is the one other connection we share, Midwestern parents who hate us living in New York and want to know they can reach us, even in case of blackouts, terrorists, or the Rapture.
“My mom?” I ask.
“No. It was Kelsey’s assistant.” She taps her fingers together eagerly, as she does on the rare occasions when my life brushes contact with my famous cousin’s.
“Delia,” I say, referring to Kelsey’s and my other cousin, with whom I share a birthday.
Charlotte nods as I realize I never listened to my first voice mail from this morning. “I think she said they’re in L.A. I wasn’t really listening,” she lies. “Maybe Kelsey will call you one of these years.” Charlotte rolls over, as if getting a tan from the eighties light fixture. “Then we could sell the answering machine. You had to get left behind.” She resmears her flaking bleach.
“Kelsey e-mails me.” It’s my turn to lie. When I was little, I always felt my mom and Delia’s combining our parties stole my thunder, but now this annual exchange of good wishes is my one remaining link to Kelsey, however superficial. “I’ll listen when I get back. How do I look?”
She appraises me from where she lounges. “Annoyingly hot for three minutes of effort.”
“Perfect. See you there.”
I keep my phone within earshot until the bar gets too packed, then make sure I can catch it lighting up with the eye I don’t have set on the door. As my other friends and colleagues arrive to toast me—or put overpriced drinks on my tab—I nurse my sidecar through a straw to keep my gloss perfect until he gets here. I don’t slouch, eat a Marcona almond, or excuse myself to pee. Halfway through my second drink, the headache I’ve been only a mouthful of water ahead of all day breaks.
“Happy birthday!” Lauren tugs Marshall through the suited crowd that new way that she has, hands twisted up by her shoulder, ring facing out. I pull her into a hug, smelling her Pantene and missing those nights pre-Marshall when we’d both get home from work well past midnight and commiserate over a carton of frozen yogurt in the dark galley kitchen.
“Can we buy you a drink?” she offers, and Marshall shoots her the look of a squirrel whose nut’s just been hijacked.
“My usual, thanks.” I’m tempted to ask for something aged to annoy him further, but I know he’ll grab me a well drink anyway.
“These banker bars have you over a chair. I’m getting juice,” he announces, and huffs away.
Lauren smiles after him and then reflexively at her ring, which is surprisingly large, but apparently his mother shamed him into it. “You are fabulous,” Lauren says, trying to pull a few inches away to look me over. “The red dress. Who’s coming?”
“Logan!” she exclaims as I resume my door vigil. He has to come, he just has to. “I thought you were done with him.”
“No, I told him to go fuck himself after the Labor Day weekend house-share debacle, but two weeks ago, he sent me flowers at work. Out of the blue. Peonies. In January. Like, thirty of them.”
“Which you threw in the trash,” she says sternly.
“Which I wore in my hair when I had sex with him a few hours later. Okay, and that’s a lot of opinion from—” Future Mrs. Squirrel. “You.”
“He’s never taken you to meet his parents.” She invokes the smugly judgmental tone of the newly engaged, as if we’re here to discuss my report card. “You’ve never even met his sister, and she lives in the city!” She brings up the source of breakup number three of I’ve-lost-count. “I just don’t understand why you keep giving him more chances.”
“Because I want to go to brunch with someone. And Jeff and I have this . . . thing. He’s gotta grow up sometime.” I flex my palms to the ceiling, knowing I’m leaving out that, despite the constant e-mails, texts, and IMs, we haven’t seen each other since the peonies. The same ballad from the cool-down at the gym comes on and I imagine Kelsey has a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Standing, reaching, calling, dreaming to get there—to get there.”
“One whiskey soda, a red wine.” Marshall slides our drinks in front of us. “And my juice.” He reaches into his jacket, extracts a flask with all the stealth of a UN missile inspector, and dumps some vodka into his OJ. I’m tempted to pull out a few bucks and tell the cheap mofo to treat himself, but my bridesmaid dress has already been altered.
“Don’t we have a nice guy for Logan?” Lauren inquires, and he squints like she’s asked him if they have a parasol.
“Really, I appreciate it.” I don’t. “But I’m great.”
Marshall points to the speaker. “Kelsey’s label’s stock is down.”
“This single didn’t hold at the top for as long as her others.”
“Well, she has more number ones than Mariah Carey, so I doubt they’re going to fire her.”
“Tell her to stick with dance tracks. That’s money.”
“Oh, I’m not in touch with Kelsey,” I demur, hating when anyone outside my closest circle knows we’re related but having to concede that as my friends pair off, that circle is widening beyond my control. “Oh, look, one of the couches is free.”
“Because Kelsey’s an asshole?” he follows up. Lauren jabs him with her elbow.
“Because our dads had a falling out, and our families stopped speaking.” I reflexively run my finger over the small scar at the base of my hairline, as if reciting the answer from the Braille of raised skin. “But I wish her well.” I repeat my stock deflection as I press into the mingling throng.
I glance at my phone. Where is he? Two texts from Sarah, who’s still waiting for the train and isn’t sure she’ll make it, but nothing from Jeff. Why did I pick Midtown? Why couldn’t I just pick a local dive bar? Why do I need wood paneling and gold-embossed cocktail napkins? I look up at the murals of New York in the twenties. Because I spend my days in a cubicle and my nights in a box. I start to flag. I want to eat. I want to slouch. I excuse myself and make my way, past Charlotte lip-locked with a random, to the tiled hallway outside the bathrooms where I can kick off my heels and rest my forehead against the wall. I unpin my hair, hoping to relieve the tension across my scalp. The cold marble sends seismic ripples up my legs to my brain. Right.
I squeeze behind blazered backs to the couch where Lauren is falling asleep on Marshall’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I have to go,” I say, tugging at the wool sleeve protruding from under Marshall’s ass. “If Jeff shows up, tell him I left. With a guy. Who likes red.” I kiss her cheek and then, with a wave to my drunk colleagues and gym buddies, turn to the door, which I proceed to shove toward like a hurricane correspondent. I press my weight against the glass, stumbling past the smokers—and into Jeff.
“Careful, now, you’ll crush your cupcake.” Smiling, he holds up the wax-paper bag from my favorite bakery with one hand and slides the other around my waist, his mouth connecting with my neck. Immediately, I’m laughing. I’m laughing in the glittering cold on a perfect New York night with my boyfriend.
He reluctantly breaks our hourlong kiss to drain the last of the Sicilian red into my glass at the quiet wine bar, and my gaze holds on his forearms, the dark hairs, the tan line from the diving watch he wore over the holiday. How is it possible to be hot for someone’s forearm? “You still have some catching up to do. I had a lot at my work dinner. Those Germans are tough to keep up with.”
He squeezes my thigh under the table and signals for the check, the hidden hand roving to my hem, then moving the hem up while he kisses my neck and earlobe. His fingers pause when he discovers the tops of my stockings, the bare skin beyond, and he grins, his dark hair flopping over his brow. So worth feeling the clasps digging into me all goddamn evening. “Are you wearing panties?”
“Only one way to find out,” I say, my lips grazing his cheekbone.
“Oh, no.” He shakes his head as he passes his credit card to the bartender, his hand inching higher. “There are so many ways.”
I laugh and reach for my crocheted scarf, loopping the cashmere loosely around my neck. He untucks my hair and lets it fall before kissing me again. “I love your hair,” he says. “No one has long hair anymore.” I nod, drenching myself in the compliment, despite seeing three women in this place alone with pristinely barrel-curled waist-length hair. Mine has not seen the loving attention of an appliance in quite some time.
Jeff signs the check. I hop down, making an effort to keep my movements fluid and contained, despite how everything in my vision swings slightly.
He helps me on with my coat, leading me out onto Madison, where the cold creates halos around embracing couples walking briskly as one. My coat opens so he can still see the dress as I extend my arm for a taxi. He presses his chest against mine and takes my face in his hands. “You look tired.”
I nod, wanting to curl inside his concern. “This senior analyst promotion isn’t at all as advertised. What happened to ‘management’ meaning assistants and an actual office with actual walls?”
He kisses my cheekbone. “Something more than a ten-percent increase to offset thirty more hours of labor?”
“When moving up felt up, not sideways, you know?”
“Mm,” he agrees, nuzzling my neck.
A cab pulls over, and he pops the door. I slide in. And then it shuts after me. Stunned, I twist to the window, my earring catching in the open weave of my scarf. I lower the window while trying to untangle myself with wine-numb fingers. “You’re not coming?” I can’t stop myself from asking like Charlotte talking to the TV.
He smiles. “I have an early meeting, and it sounds like you need to rest up, birthday girl.”
I need you to know if I wore panties or not, if we’re taking an inventory of what I need. I sit back, and he steps back, and here I am—back.
It’s not until I get in the door and am kicking off my salt-stained shoes that I realize I left the cupcake at the bar. Perfect. I go to the kitchen and pull out a box of stale Corn Pops. I drop onto the couch we got in the West Elm sale that was comfortable in the store and stare at the red and green lights Charlotte nailed up last month and will probably never take down. I munch on a handful of Pops and stare at the fresh bleach spot on the carpet that still needs vacuuming. I notice the blinking and reach over to hit play. “Logan, happy birthday!” Our crackly machine can’t suppress Delia’s exuberance. Delia wouldn’t have let me throw the party uptown. A few years older, she was always the practical one, reminding Kelsey and me that it was time to let the frog go, time to do our homework. “Another year, can you believe it?” I can’t. “Call me, want to catch up. Let me give you my new cell.”
She rattles off her number, and the machine goes quiet. The Christmas lights blink. I look at my doorway, and I can’t. I can’t take this dress off and go to sleep, admit that this was it, the birthday he put me in a cab, that I’m about to get into bed alone and wake up hungover, that I’m here, again, having to make a decision to wait for the next flirty e-mail, the next text, the next late-night phone call, or I have to get over him all over again. “Fuck,” I say quietly to the scorch mark on the ceiling. Then I realize Delia’s never asked me to call her back before.
One a.m., ten L.A. time. Delia will be at her birthday dinner, and I can leave a message and go eat these Pops properly—in the bathtub. She answers on the first ring. “Happy birthday!”
“Delia, you, too!” I say, trying to moisten my mouthful. “Hope I’m not interrupting your party!”
“No! We did this tasting-menu thing early, an oma-something.”
“Yes. Oh, my God, they gave me something that tasted like a perm and looked like a used condom.” She lets out a whoop like I haven’t heard since we last spoke, four or five birthdays ago. “I don’t know that everything that gets dragged up from the sea should wind up on a plate, you know what I’m saying?”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I smile.
“How was your birthday?”
“Terrific.” I hedge. “I had a party at this Holden Caulfield-y place, and now I’m just struggling to keep my eyes open.” I cross to the bathroom to see if Charlotte still has any Ambien left to quell this building clench under my ribs.
“Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to ask. Kelsey has a break next week before her tour starts, and she’s dying to see you.”
My reflection in the medicine cabinet shows my shock. “She is?”
“Totally! She misses you so much. How long has it been since we’ve all hung out?” She doesn’t pause for me to answer. “Uncle Andy and Aunt Michelle would love to see you.” Really? “Let me e-mail you a ticket. What do you say?”
I look at the lines, the ones my concealer has settled into around my tired eyes, the ones thick with blackened grout in the wall behind me, the ones on the spreadsheet I apparently left on top of the toilet this morning, and I take a deep breath.
“Sign me up.”
Posted June 5, 2012
Living your life in the spotlight to everyone on the outside always looks glamorous. To the person in the ring of fire it is anything but a nightmare waiting to happen. Kelsey feels old at the age of 27 since her life career began as a child. Her parents control her, the handlers manipulate her, and the true friends are non-existent.
When Kelsey is reunited with Logan, a long estranged cousin the life that was barely hanging on by a thread snaps. Logan becomes her personal assistant trying to maintain Kelsey’s professional life and get her some personal space. Logan thinks the solutions to Kelsey’s problem are love, less work would help out, and letting Kelsey live her own life. Yet no one is going to let that happen, as the money train needs to keep moving to fulfill the dreams everyone is living through Kelsey.
As the story unfolds and the dark secrets of the past are revealed the small tears become rips and there is no forgiving life altering mistakes.
The journey that Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus take you on is so realistically detailed you get the sense of standing in the room as a witness not a reader. You want to yell at all the people destroying this life in order to make their own better and at times, the tears are running down your cheeks as well as Kelsey’s.
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Posted June 14, 2012
Great Read About Pop Culture!
The storyline immediately drew me in to the inside story of what happens behind the scenes of a child star. While Kelsey is not a child, she began as a child star was managed by her parents. As a celebrity magazine junkie, who also happens to follow Perez Hilton (who is mentioned in the book), I felt I was reading the life of Britney Spears, Jessica Simpson, Miley Cyrus, and other child stars who start out in the industry wanting to make a mark but are soon placed inside a fish bowl for the world to see them basically grow up in the public eye.
In my opinion, it was a very realistic portrayal of how quickly a childhood dream can become an adult nightmare, and how important it is to have those who truly care for you to keep you grounded and be in your inner circle. It is a story that also sheds light into the way parents good intentions can quickly become consumed with material riches and how it is easy to lose sight of what is most important: the happiness and health of their child. While shedding lights on the negatives, both authors also bring to light the privileges and benefits to hard work and talent.
It is a great read and one I would highly recommend to anyone that enjoys reading about pop culture, likes a good story without a fairy tale ending, and enjoys a great light read.
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Posted December 24, 2013
Posted July 3, 2013
Between You & Me is an emotionally haunting look into the lives of two cousins, separated by time and reunited by circumstance. Logan Wade is struggling to keep her head above water in New York after escaping her life in a tiny Oklahoma town. Kelsey Wade is the hottest thing on the popstar scene. When the opportunity arises for Logan to visit her cousin and former best friend who vanished mysteriously out of her life many years prior, she heads to California and “falls” into a new job and a new life, which could be compared to falling down the rabbit hole!
Ever wonder about what the private life of a celebrity might be like? I mean beyond the glitz, the hype, the glamor, the money, but behind the scenes, the reality of living in a fish bowl, your every move controlled by someone who is probably making money off your public persona. Take it a step further, make those “handlers” your over-bearing, over-controlling and quite possibly not quite stable parents. Kelsey is on the verge of breaking and Logan becomes her solid grounding point, as well as part of the damage control team. As Kelsey becomes more unstable, Logan finds she is too caught up in the drama and yet, cannot help from wanting to save her cousin from both herself and the poisonous relationship she has with her parents. But can she, or will she, too get lost in the abyss Kelsey is spiraling down into? Who’s to blame? How far back does the damage go? What skeletons from the past lie in wait, ready to pounce? How will they affect the relationship between Logan and Kelsey?
Authors Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus have created a blistering tale of both the dynamics of a dysfunctional family and the pressures of living life in a fishbowl, the lone guppy among the sharks. I was immediately drawn into the story’s drama and tension, almost feeling guilty for intruding on the personal turmoil of these characters’ lives. They drew flawed characters I couldn’t help but feel for! The pacing fit the moment, high stress felt frenzied, the brief moments of calm slowed down, giving me a chance to take a breath. As things unraveled in the story, the pace mirrored the feeling with a jittery feel! Would I recommend this book? Definitely, with the caveat that only the strong will survive!
A review copy was provided by NetGalley and Atria Books in exchange for my honest review.
Posted November 12, 2012
Logan Wade did not expect the call that changed her life. Logan’s famous cousin, Kelsey, needs a personal assistant. The two had been best friends as children, but they were torn apart by events outside their control. Accepting the job means Logan and Kelsey can rebuild their relationship, but constant problems plague them as Logan tries to help Kelsey succeed and live a happy life.
McLaughlin and Kraus draw their readers into Logan’s world. By page three, a restless determination overtook me. I could feel Logan’s dissatisfaction with her life, her desire for change. Logan finds her change in Kelsey, her famous cousin that she has not seen in years. Kelsey needs change, as well. Smothered by her parents and always overworked, Kelsey’s life is not glamorous. The two girls respond to each other and rekindle their friendship, but problems from their childhood threaten their abilities to move forward and live.
McLaughlin and Kraus are creative and fashioned interesting characters. Young adult adult readers would enjoy this book. I give this book four out of five stars. I do not love this novel, but definitely think it is worth a read. Between You and Me has the flavor of a reality TV show, but with better characters and a better storyline.
Posted November 8, 2012
This book was a painfully long story about painfully ignorant characters. I realize that we have been conditioned as a society to think that stars are "special" and deserve to be treated different but this story portrayed everyone as blissfully complicit in their denial of anything true. The entire time I read this story I felt as though I was reading it through a fog. It was as if there was a true story behind the filmy lies that all of these characters lived.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 28, 2012
Logan Wade is the older than her famous cousin, Kelsey Wade, by two years. They used to childhood best friends, but then something happened that caused a rift between their families when Logan was in her teens, and it's been years since they've seen each other, which is difficult for Logan to understand because she can't remember what happened to her Logan has left her the bad memories of her childhood in Oklahoma behind, and is now working in NYC. On the day of her birthday, she gets a phone call from Kelsey's assistant and doesn't think anything of it. What was supposed to be her day ends with her "boyfriend" putting her in a cab to her home, alone. Logan is fed up with the way her life is going, and when she returns the call to Kelsey's assistant, she's surprised at the offer to fly out to California and see Kelsey, at her own request. Once she gets there, she finds things have changed and is astonished to find how things really are and surprises herself when she agrees to become Kelsey's assistant. With everyone wanting a piece of Kelsey, will Logan be able to be protect her and be there for her, while keeping herself safe too?
This book isn't very long, coming in under 275 pages, but what it lacks in length it completely makes up for with the story itself. The book is packed with action, drama, and a little comedy. Seeing how hectic and out of control a celebrity's life can be, even on paper, makes me glad my childhood day dreams of becoming a susper star of some sort to impress a crush never came true. Always having to be on your guard and weary of people must be exhausting! Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus have done a phenomenal job with this book. It hooks you from page one and keeps you there until the book is finished. I was left with wanting more once I turned the last page. The mystery as to what it was that caused the rift between Logan and Kelsey's family is also a huge mystery that is slowly and skillfully revealed, and when it is, you're in for a doozy. You can't help but like and feel for both Logan and Kelsey. Kelsey because she has absolutely no control over her own life, and she and the people closest to her, are her worst enemies, and Logan because she tries so hard to make sure Kelsey gets some of the normality that she wants even at the sacrifice of herself. My only regret about this book is how it ended. The ending was powerful, but it left so many unanswered questions. I am hoping for a novella or a sequel and will be keeping my fingers crossed!
Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus have written many a best seller together. They are the duo behind The Nanny Diaries, The Nanny Returns, Citizen Girl, and Dedication, to name a few. Between You and Me is their latest adult release, with their next young adult release slated for August of this year. They keep coming out with amazing books, so be sure to keep your eye out for them!
Posted August 11, 2012
Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus came very highly recommended. I am excited and eager to share their latest work.
Logan has not seen her cousin Kelsey since one fateful night in her childhood. She flashes back to those events periodically wanting to find meaning from the past. Life takes Logan to New York and NYU and then a job. Life couldn’t be more perfect but on the night of her birthday her boyfriend leaves her wanting more. Then her aunt and uncle offer the job of a lifetime to assist her cousin Kelsey who is a famous celebrity with her on entourage and parents. Logan is excited to spend time with Kelsey but can she really help her?
Whew! What a book! I finished the book yesterday and still have thoughts about the characters and their actions. I don’t know that I saw much of the humor. I did feel for Kelsey and her situation. I felt Logan’s frustration at the drama in her job. Great authors can convey great emotion through their characters! I feel that Ms. McLaughlin and Ms. Kraus have a formula that works for plotting great stories. I did enjoy the book!
Conflict is what drives a story. McLaughlin and Kraus use the family dynamic to drive this story. I think we can all relate to family drama. I have had so many questions going through my mind concerning this story. How would you feel about Kelsey? Do her parents deserve to be in the position that they are in her life? What do you think?
Please visit Emma and Nicola on their website.
Posted July 20, 2012
This book was suggested to me through an email and I had also seen it advertised on a website. I wasn't that thrilled with it. Though it was interesting to see into the lives of the famous, it wasn't that interesting. I found the story to be a little confusing in the beginning of the book, however that could have been because I wasn't that engrossed in it. Overall, I don't feel it was worth the $12 I paid for it.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 18, 2012
Posted July 11, 2012
This book was a pretty easy read, but i have to say, it had its confusing moments. There were some grammatical errors throughout the book as well. Ultimately, it was an interesting book that kept my attention.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted July 9, 2012
Posted June 29, 2012
Check out the full review on Kritters Ramblings
An interesting take on the behind the scenes of a singer who is becoming quite famous and how her world completely unravels. I would say it is almost a semi biography of the Britney Spears crazy years. But just like the main character who goes a little nutso, this book was a little nutso.
Posted June 23, 2012
Posted June 17, 2012
A good read, simple enough to get through. A few times i had to check and make sure I hadn't picked up PEOPLE or US weekly. Good summer beach read.Was this review helpful? Yes NoThank you for your feedback. Report this reviewThank you, this review has been flagged.
Posted August 3, 2012
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Posted July 16, 2012
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Posted April 16, 2013
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Posted December 25, 2012
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