Thursday, November 28, 2013

The Right Address by Carrie Karasyov and Jill Kargman


This book is like Gossip Girl for adults. Melanie, a former stewardess, married a rich man that lives at "right address" in Manhattan. She just wants to be a socialite but the women don't accept her. Cordelia lives in the same building but feels something is missing from her life.  Olivia lives on the floor above Melanie.  Her life is a fraud.
What a sad bunch of people! They are missing out on real life. I know I could not live that way!! Great story.

Summary from goodreads:
The Right Address sears through the upper crust of New York’s glittering Park Avenue scene to dish the dirt on the ladies who lunch, the gents who club, and the desperate climbers who will stop at nothing to join the backstabbing, champagne-sipping, socialite-eat-socialite stratosphere. 

When Melanie Sartomsky, wily Floridian flight attendant, snares billionaire divorcée Arthur “the coffin king” Korn, she is catapulted into the crème de la crème of Park Avenue society, where hiring the wrong decorator is tantamount to social suicide, and where, if you’re anyone, your personal assistant has a personal assistant. But Melanie quickly discovers that in the world of the rich and idle, malicious gossip is as de rigeur as owning twenty pairs of Manolo Blahniks. And despite her frenzied plunge into the charity circuit and the right dinner reservations, her neighbors are Givenchy-clad vultures who see her as nothing more than a reinvented trailer trollop. To make matters worse, when a snide society-rag journalist rakes her over the coals, Melanie’s reputation is toast. 

Meanwhile, Melanie is not the only billionaire in the neighborhood coming unhinged. Kleptomania, adultery, plagiarism, and a grisly Harlem sex murder are just a few of the secrets swirling under the pedigreed patina of furs and emeralds on Park Avenue.

Excerpt from barnes and noble:
Chapter 1
"She has zero taste."
"Zilch."
"What's that outfit all about? One-way ticket on the Tacky Express."
"Like Roberto Cavalli threw up on her."
"And her apartment . . ." "You've been?"
"No. But the Kincaids have."
"And?"
"Constance said it looks as if it was decorated by Charles and Wonder."
"Oh, right, the cheesy firm that just did that new Architectural Digest cover from Hades?"
"No. I'm talking Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder. Only a blind person could select those horrendous fabrics."
"Oh, Joan, you're too much!"
As Wendy Marshall and Joan Coddington reapplied their lipstick and skewered their fellow guests at the Bateses' cocktail party at the Union Club, Melanie Korn sat paralyzed, in earshot but out of view. She had been unlocking the door to her stall in the powder room when she heard her name in the same sentence as the words "cheap," "classless," and "fried hair." She froze. At first she thought they must have been speaking of someone else. But as the duo continued, sharpening their swords and tongues, rendering her a decimated Melanie-kebab before her very ears, the blood slowly crept to her face. With stealth moves, she relocked the door to the stall and crept back to the toilet, where she sat down on the lid and pulled her legs up to her chest so no one would know she was there. She felt like the little boy in Witness, only she was the murder victim.
"I mean, did you see those hideous metal cranes that she gave the Bates as an anniversary gift?" asked Wendy, incredulous. "Ugh! It was like Bangkok exploded in the foyer."
"Tell me about it," said Joan. "The worst."
"Admit it: they look shipped over from some Thai junk shop. You've got to be certifiably insane to buy those."
"Regina said they went right in the trash."
"I'm sure."
"She couldn't even give them to Goodwill. It would be bad will to rewrap those."
"Poor Arthur. He totally downgraded wives. I don't think he has a clue that Melanie is so déclassé and malelevé. Most men trade up with their second wives."
Trying to avoid Oksana Baiul-style waterfalls of Max Factor, Melanie lifted a quivering finger to her eye. She had thought those cranes were so chic. She'd seen something similar in the Powells' apartment in House Beautiful. And hell, they were expensive.
"Diandra Korn, she was another level entirely."
"A class act."
"I heard Arty was devastated when she bailed."
"Destroyed."
"I mean, she was the embodiment of refinement. This one will never have it."
"You wouldn't think it would be possible for one person to get everything so wrong. Her nails? The red is like secretary red. So much orange in it."
"Like I said, what do you expect from a pageant queen-turned-stewardess?"
As their laughter mixed with the sound of compacts snapping shut and Judith Lieber bags being reclasped, the two women exited to the dining room in a flurry of silks, gold, and perfume. As Melanie's knees were shaking both from squatting in a full-on Ashtanga yoga position and from sheer humiliation, she rose unsteadily to her feet. She listened again to make extra sure that her pummelers were gone, then walked out to look at herself in the mirror. What was wrong with her outfit? Roberto Cavalli was on Madison! Maybe it was a little tight, but hell, she had the figure for it, didn't she? Her jewelry seemed right--Catherine Zeta Jones had worn this very necklace to the Oscars. Arthur had told her...
Pages: 293
Published: 2004

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