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"When two women are 'accidently' killed by gas leaks, Sergeant Studer investigates the thinly disguised double murder in Bern and Basel. The trail leads to a geologist dead from a tropical fever in a Moroccan Foreign Legion post and a murky oil deal involving rapacious politicians and their henchmen. With the help of a hashish-induced dream and the commons sense of his stay-at-home wife, Studer solves the multiple riddles on offer. But assigning guilt remains an elusive affair." Fever was first published in 1936. It has been translated into four
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"When two women are 'accidently' killed by gas leaks, Sergeant Studer investigates the thinly disguised double murder in Bern and Basel. The trail leads to a geologist dead from a tropical fever in a Moroccan Foreign Legion post and a murky oil deal involving rapacious politicians and their henchmen. With the help of a hashish-induced dream and the commons sense of his stay-at-home wife, Studer solves the multiple riddles on offer. But assigning guilt remains an elusive affair." Fever was first published in 1936. It has been translated into four languages. This is its first publication in English and the third in the Sergeant Studer series published by Bitter Lemon Press.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Bernice McFadden (Sugar) returns as the pseudonymous African-American chick lit author Holliday with this juicy but slow-building sequel to Groove. The four-friend cast of New York City singles is back, putting out fires and issuing advice they really should consider for themselves. Geneva Holliday, the plus-size waitress and 30-something single mother of two, thinks she's too old and fat for love, but her son's 23-year-old friend enthusiastically proves her wrong-much to her son's discomfort. Crystal Atkins is professionally successful but "snappish" and celibate, so her mother obliges her to host childhood friend Neville. It's no surprise that Neville grew into a fine specimen, but sparks fly between him and Crystal for unexpected reasons. High-maintenance fashionista Chevy Cambridge lands a glamorous but grueling job as personal assistant to a female radio personality, Anja the Anaconda-whose facade conceals a bizarre truth. Noah Bodison lives in London with his boyfriend and continues to dispatch hilarious advice and gossip from abroad, but he finds his relationship challenged when he and his mate are approached for a menage a quatre. The fluffy rising action, audaciously detailed sex scenes and the novel's final risque revelations offer Groove fans more trashy fun. (Apr.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
Holliday's sequel to Groove takes place a few years later with the same group of childhood friends from New York City. Geneva is now trying to raise her two children; Crystal is still mending a broken heart; Noah has moved to merry old England and is sharing a flat with Zahn, the love of his life; and, finally, the conniving, gold-digging Chevy might have found the one job that will give her the life of luxury she so desperately wants. Fever deals with issues of friendship, body image, self-acceptance, and the search for love. Will a couple of indecent proposals, a trip to a swingers' club, and an affair with a younger man be able to quench these friends' sexual appetites, or only make them hungry for more? With this page-turner, Holliday once again takes her readers on an extraordinary sexual adventure that will keep them captive until the very end. For all libraries. [Geneva Holliday is the alter ego of literary writer Bernice McFadden.-Ed.]-Leslie Hayden, Univ. of Pittsburgh Lib. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
In this sexually frank sequel to Groove (2005), Holliday (the alter-ego nom de plume of novelist Bernice L. McFadden) details the misadventures of friends Geneva, Crystal, Chevy and Noah. Geneva and Crystal have taken a vow of celibacy after too many bad relationships. Slippery opportunist Chevy, meanwhile, is broke and unemployed, and dependent on the grudging generosity of Noah, who lent her his New York digs when he moved to London to be with his British lover Zahn. Their lives soon take a turn for the steamy, starting with good girl Crystal, when Neville, a childhood pal visiting from Antigua, comes to stay with her. She is pleased to discover that the once awkward boy has grown into a stunning man with dreadlocks. She happily falls into Neville's muscular arms, but is livid when she finds out not only that her island hunk works as a gigolo, but that her mother and Noah conspired to have him visit her. Single mom Geneva has a reversal of fortune when Deeka, the manager of her teenaged son Eric's band, starts to pursue her romantically. But as taken as she is with Deeka, Geneva, a plus-sized waitress, finds it hard to believe that he would actually be interested, and she worries about how their relationship will affect Eric. When Eric does discover Deeka and his mother together, he is not happy, forcing Geneva to make a tough choice. Noah, for his part, finds his relationship with Zahn tested when an attractive gay couple moves into their neighborhood and suggests a partner swap. And finally there is Chevy, who lands a coveted gig as assistant to a high-maintenance radio personality, Anja. When Chevy accompanies her boss to the Caribbean, she receives a scandalous-and franklyimplausible-proposition. A raunchy and funny novel that would have benefited from stronger connections between the characters' stories.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780758280220
  • Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corporation
  • Publication date: 6/4/2013
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Edition description: Reissue
  • Pages: 361
  • Product dimensions: 4.10 (w) x 6.70 (h) x 1.20 (d)

Meet the Author


is the alter ego of an award-winning author who also writes novels.

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Read an Excerpt


By Geneva Holliday

Random House

Geneva Holliday
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0767921151

Chapter One


Pfizer and other pharmaceutical companies that have jumped headfirst into the sexual-stimulant market are in for some bad news. It seems that there is a new, natural sexual stimulant on the marketplace called Cupid. It's cheap, it's organic, it doesn't require a prescription, and it can be purchased from your neighborhood incense dealer. The makers of Cupid, Roscoe and Jo-Jo Barker of Cambria Heights, Queens-by way of Kingston, Jamaica-say there are no side effects associated with the stimulant, but in order for it to be 100 percent effective, large quantities of water need to be consumed when taking it.

This story and more tonight on the six o'clock news.

I gave news correspondent Sade Baderinwa one last look before I pressed the Off button on the television remote. I would try to remember to watch the news that evening. Not that I had a man to use that Cupid stuff on, but I would one day-sooner than later, I hoped-and it wouldn't hurt to have a little extra ammunition in the bedroom when I finally met that special someone.

I settled myself flat on my back again.

The lights were off and the candles lit, and I even had a little oil burning in a simmering pot on the windowsill. Clean sheets, a little Jean Nate dabbed behind each ear, and Barry White's greatest hits playing in thebackground.

Eric was out somewhere, and my baby girl, Charlie, was napping in the other room.

I'd been taking care of myself for some time now. I mean after I got pregnant from my ex-husband and that bastard had the nerve to demand that I get an abortion, I vowed that that would be the last time that man got any more of my good loving! And to sock it to him good-I had that baby!

Not that that lowlife son of a superbitch acknowledges her. When I announced I was keeping the baby, he told me that he wasn't going to be involved. He said, "Geneva, if you have this baby, you're having it and raising it on your own!"

I just looked at him and said, "How's that different from the first time around? I was married to your sorry ass when Eric came along, and I raised him on my own!"

Well, she's here now, and I gotta tell you, she drives me crazy, but I can't imagine life without her. She is the second best decision I ever made. Eric Jr. was the first.

Since Charlie's been born, I've been practically sexless. Oh, there's been a little stink finger here and there, a little caressing of the breast, some tongue kissing... but none of the toe-curling booty calls I was used to getting from my ex-husband. So I had to take matters into my own hands, literally! And plus, Crystal and I made a celibacy pact. No more of this senseless sleeping around. We would save ourselves for Mr. Right and stop giving ourselves over to Mr. Right Now!

I learned about ten different ways to pleasure myself, and that alone has kept me from stripping naked and running through the streets like an insane person!

"Right, Mandingo?" I whispered as I turned. Mandingo was waiting patiently beside me. Well oiled, he glistened beneath the candlelight.

"Okay, baby, I'm almost ready," I whispered as I stretched my body alongside Mandingo's and slowly began to caress my nipples. "Ohhh," I moaned, then glanced over at Mandingo and said, "You should be doing this for me, you know?"

I chuckled as I moved my hand up to the soft mound of flesh beneath my chin. There I allowed my fingers to feather-stroke my skin.

That really turned me on.

"Mmmmm," I groaned, already feeling moist between my legs. "I'm going to make it nice and wet for you, sweetie," I told Mandingo, even though I was thinking about the mocha-colored cutie who frequents the diner where I waitress.

He always sits at my station, always orders a decaf, two slices of whole-wheat toast, followed by a glass of orange juice. He reads The New York Times while he's eating, and when he's done, he leaves me a $5.00 tip, even though his meal costs only $3.50.

I like to pretend that he comes there just to see me, even though he doesn't say much more than "Good morning" and "Thank you" to me.

But, hey, it's nice to dream, right?

Now when I see him coming, I imagine that he's Mos Def and I'm Alicia Keys, and I start humming the melody to "You Don't Know My Name" as I reach for the decaf coffeepot.

And he don't know my name because we don't wear nametags on our uniforms.

Anyway, it's just a fantasy; besides, he don't look too much older than my own son. I probably remind him of his own mother.

Slowly I moved my hand from my breast and pushed it down to my belly and the triangle of black hair below.

My clitoris was already pointed and erect, so when my pinky finger accidentally brushed against it, my body shuddered and my toes curled. "Shiiit," I squeezed out between clenched teeth. "Okay, Mandingo, I'm more than ready for you, baby."

Reaching over, I plucked the little red and white striped plastic penis from the pillow, hit the On switch, and set it to HIGH.

Mandingo pulsated into action; vibrating so hard, he almost slipped from between my sweaty fingers. "Aren't we the eager one," I laughed before I closed my eyes and guided his pointed head to my pleasure place.

Mandingo bucked as I eased him in and out, in and out, in and-

"What's going on, Manny?" I asked, my eyes flying open and my head jerking up off the pillow.
Mandingo's vibrations were becoming spastic.

"C'mon now," I urged, and rolled the tip of his head across my clitoris. The joy was minimal. Mandingo was losing power.

"No, no!" I screamed, and brought Mandingo to eye level. "What? What? It can't be your batteries, I just changed them."

I slapped Mandingo upside his narrow head a few times, but all he did was sputter weakly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I cried. "Just please don't do this to me, not now!!"

Mandingo coughed, buzzed once, and then died.



I thought, My life must really be bad, because I was standing in a liquor store on a Saturday afternoon, and it wasn't even two o'clock yet. But I needed some merlot; I had to have some merlot.

Some merlot, Jill Scott, and a hot bath.

"Yes, how can I help you?" The Asian storekeeper stared out at me from behind two sets of glass-the one shielding him and the bifocals that made his eyes look as large as serving platters.

"Um," I said, and pressed my finger against my lip, "what type of merlot do you have?"

He smirked at me. "What kind you like, lady?" he yelled. "I got Australian, California-"

"Um," I cut him off, "you know, I think I'd rather have a Shiraz. You have Shiraz, right?"

He shot me a look that said: What the hell do you know about Shiraz?

His eyebrows climbed to his receding hairline.

"Or, uhm, maybe a petite syrah?"

Now I was just showing off. I knew my wines. He was so used to black people coming into his store and asking for a pint of Bacardi white or E&J that he became tongue-tied when someone my color asked for something different.

"Ohhhh, you got good taste, lady." He grinned, and two rows of blanched teeth appeared. "I got something very, very nice for you," he said, and disappeared through a narrow opening in the wall behind him.

When he returned, he was holding two bottles of wine.

"This from my special collection," he said, then leaned in close to the glass and sputtered, "Reserves."

I blinked at the pale cloud his breath left on the glass and watched as it faded slowly away. "Really?"

"Oh, yes. You see, I'm a big-how you call it?-um, wino!"

I burst into laughter.

"What so funny?"

"You called yourself a wino!"

"So? That's not what you call someone who likes good wine?"

I could barely talk, I was laughing so hard. "N-No," I managed to say.

After setting the bottle down, the shopkeeper threw his hands up in the air. "So what you call it then, since you are such a Miss Smarty-Pants?" he spat.

"A wine connoisseur."

"That a funny word. You just make it up?"



He eyed me for a moment before he snatched up the bottles and held them up for me to see again. "Okay, which one you want, Miss Smarty-Pants?"

Back in my apartment I immersed myself in a tub of warm sudsy water. My head was swimming from the wine, and my hands were trying to do things they ought not to have been doing.

"Stop it!" I shrieked, snatching my hands out of the water. Looking down at them, I began to scold them. "You know what happens when you start touching places that have been neglected for too long, don't you?" I used my left one to slap the right one and then vice versa. "Don't you?" I stressed as the suds dripped guiltily away from my fingers.

I hadn't had sex in more than two years. "Whose big idea was it for me to become celibate?" I asked out loud, my voice bouncing off the blue glass tile and back to me.

After my live-in boyfriend turned out to be a drug addict, and the old boyfriend Earl whom I'd turned to to ease my pain turned out to still be the same womanizing creep that he'd promised he no longer was, I decided that I would become celibate.

Well, that promise lasted a little over four months, and by then I was so horny, I started foaming at the mouth every time I saw a good-looking man.

And so rather than continue making a fool out of myself, I pulled out my black book and started calling up exes of mine that would not mind a roll in the hay with no attachments.

That went on for about a good three months before I got tired of giving myself up over and over again. So I just stopped having sex altogether. I changed my number, started chanting, and committed myself to celibacy.

I told myself that the next man that lay on top of me would be my husband-so help me God.

Hey, it worked for Jackee Harry!

So I began masturbating-not that I hadn't before, but two years into my celibacy, it was nearing chronic levels.

I'd found all sorts of ways to get myself off.

Lying on my stomach with my hands beneath me while I did a slow grind in my fists. On my back, my middle finger up inside of me while I rolled my clitoris between my thumb and index finger. In the tub, me up on my elbows as I scooted my behind across the porcelain until my vagina was directly under the water that rushed out from the spout. That was a hell of a climax, but it left my elbows sore.
And then there was my "toy"-the butterfly vibrator that was wrapped in a silk handkerchief and hidden beneath my Bible in the nightstand drawer.

But three months ago, I'd stopped the self-pleasuring. I mean, it seemed to me that I wasn't staying true to my promise of celibacy.

Sex was sex, whether it involved two people, my hands, the faucet, or the butterfly, right?

So I stopped getting myself off and took up yoga and started running five miles a day.

The good thing that came out of not masturbating was that my body had never looked better. The bad thing was that I was a bit nasty. Well, at least that was what my mother, Peyton Atkins, kept telling me.

"Crystal, you're always blowing your top. You're so snappish. Are you getting some on a regular basis?"

Peyton, in her early sixties, had suddenly shed her conservative views on sex and had become my own personal Dr. Ruth! It seemed as though every conversation we had, my mother found a way to bring up sex.

For instance, I would mention a particular television show, and her response would be something like, "Have you found your other erogenous zones yet?"

It was damn annoying was what it was, not to mention embarrassing. Who the hell wanted to discuss their sexual activities, or lack thereof, with their mother!

She'd even gone so far as to send me a gift certificate for my birthday to White Lotus East. I didn't know what the hell a White Lotus East was, until I went on the website, and oh, my God! I knew my mother had flipped the fuck out! The website had all this information about sacred-spot massages, female orgasms, and performance anxieties!

I was horrified and called my mother up and told her so.

"My sex life is my personal business," I kept reminding her.

"Yes, it is, dear," Peyton would calmly reply, "but it seems to me that the Out to Lunch sign hanging on the front door of your business has been hanging there for three years too long."

I loved my mother, but sometimes I just couldn't stand her.

"Goodbye, Mother!" I would say before slamming the phone down.

She was right, of course. I had been a bit uptight since I'd stopped fucking. But I was determined to stick to my commitment, even though I felt a meltdown coming on. I just hoped it didn't happen when I was anywhere near the male persuasion, because there was no telling what I would do.

The bathwater turned cold, and all of the bubbles were gone by the time I stepped out and wrapped myself in a powder blue oversized bath towel.

I moved from the bathroom into my bedroom and dropped the towel to the floor. In front of my full-length mirror, I took a moment to admire my slim waistline, washboard stomach, and bootylicious bottom.

After I moisturized myself with baby oil and slipped into my favorite oversized T-shirt, I headed out to the kitchen where the rest of my merlot was waiting for me.

Alongside the glass of wine was my day planner. My eyes were drawn to April 22, a date that I'd encircled in red, scrawling beneath it: "Lunch with Karen Shaw." Around the date I'd also drawn daggers dripping with blood.

Karen Shaw, like the rest of us, had grown up in the projects. She was part of our little crew growing up; well, at least until Geneva popped up pregnant and Noah came out of the closet. After those two incidents, Sonia, Karen's mother, decided that we were a bad influence on her little girl and forbade her from being in our company at all.

The poor child spent her last two years of high school with her nose in every book the library had to offer; Sonia was determined to make her little girl a success.

And she had succeeded, to some extent anyway.


Excerpted from Fever by Geneva Holliday Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

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Sort by: Showing all of 5 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 5, 2006

    Good book

    I just finish reading this book it was nice. If you want to read a book to forget your problems and just indulge yourself this is the book for you.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 4, 2006

    BOOTY CALL 101


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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 14, 2006


    I think my headline says it all, it's a really good book that's face paced. It did a lot of switching between characters. Each short chapter is written in the first person. Lots of action and some romance (Hope you have an open mind!) Also made you wonder how the four people that are so different can really be friends. The characters will likely remind you of some people you know. All and all a very excellent read!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 2, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted August 20, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

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