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Posted August 12, 2013
Sierra Lavotini has mountainous hooters. It’s not really relevant to the story, but I just thought I’d throw it out there, since this kind of information is important when you’re a guy. It’s mentioned early on (page four to be exact), along with the exact dimensions (38DDs), so it takes all suspense and mystery out of the equation, and I can focus on the task at hand. Which is writing my review and engaging your attention for the next few minutes or so.
What struck my attention wasn’t the cup size of the main character, although it did hold a certain appeal, but the potential contained within this bite-sized tale. Sure, the dialogue was a bit cheesy at times, and Nancy Bartholomew resorted to the tried and true mistake of a beginning author by dropping character’s names over the course of a conversation much more often than would happen in real life, and sure, the plot of THE MIRACLE STRIP might have exceeded the potential of even my own imagination at times. But the voice sold me on page one, and I would have followed Ms. Lavotini back to her trailer park home, just to hear her tell me her tale over the course of a few hours, and I probably would have left with a smile on my face, even if I didn’t get a glimpse at the merchandise.
Sierra’s a stripper with machine gun jubblies and an attitude to match; a female companion named Fluffy, who has more bite and bark than her pint-size and name would otherwise entail; a redheaded knockout named Denise who often exudes more trouble than sense; she’s the marquee act at the Tiffany Club, but she’s got plenty of competition; and she drives her Camaro Z28 like a bat out of hell, tearing down the road with more purpose than sense. With a heart as big as her breasts, she’s a loyal friend to have.
The plot focused more on nude dancing (interesting research material), pole face time, and Sierra’s relationships with Raydean, Fluffy, John Nailor, Lyle, and Vincent Gambuzzo than it did on dognapped Arlo and dead bodies. But I went along for the ride with the top down and my hair blowing in the breeze. If you’d rather not dig your five inch stilettos in too deep, and you’re looking for a light, breezy read, you may find yourself having a party with all of your clothes still on and finding some enjoyment in the process.
Author of Falling Immortality: Casey Holden, Private Investigator