Highballs in the Hamptons (Ebook)

City Lights, Love Fights, and New York Nights!
Natalie's finding her groove in the heart-pounding rhythm of NYC.

Gone are the days of doubting her every move; she's now the epitome of urban sophistication.

But when you're juggling a job you love with a man like CJ, who looks like he just walked out of a GQ magazine, decisions get a tad bit complicated. Love or livelihood? Suddenly, her impeccable NYC resume seems on the brink of getting a "complicated relationship" status.

Then there's Lulu, never one to shy away from life's high notes.

She's head-over-designer-heels for Andrew, an Upper East Side doctor with pedigree tags that might as well say "hands off" to someone as free-spirited as her. But Lulu's never been one to play by the rules.

The real challenge? Winning over 'Tippy,' Andrew’s frosty, society queen mom. When charm meets class warfare, the sparks are bound to fly.

Dive into the next installment of the Girlfriends of Gotham series, where love, ambition, and friendships are tested against the electric backdrop of 90s New York.

USA Today bestselling author, Delancey Stewart, delivers another cocktail of humor, heart, and that undeniable NYC hustle!

Waxing and Other Dangerous Pursuits: Natalie

The dense night air hung thick around our small group as we wandered down the sidewalk, arm in arm. Moving as one, we were an intimidating force in stilettos and platform boots—a group of four women in our early twenties—loud, tipsy, silly, and in love with one another and with life in New York City. 

That evening we were in search of a place we’d been to several times before in ones and twos, but never all together. The bar may have had a formal name, but we just called it “Speakeasy.” We found the place by the single blue light sticking out of the side of a building on 52nd Street near Ninth Avenue. You had to lift a phone receiver next to a dark, anonymous-looking door to get into the long and narrow space on the garden level of a building that had been there for over a hundred years, and maybe did operate as a speakeasy during the supposedly dry days of the Volstead Act. Prohibition-reminiscent bars had become fashionable in the Internet days of New York’s late nineties. There were numerous hidden venues, intimate little bars, and even full-blown clubs, with no name posted outside. It was a test of your knowledge of insider cool to find one of these spots. 

“Here it is!” Lulu called back. She’d run ahead at the sight of the blue light and was motioning and pointing as if she were part of a charades game. “I found it.” She watched us approach from the top of the stairs. “Pepper, why are you walking funny?”

I did not want to tell her why I was walking funny. I really didn’t want to be walking funny at all and thought I’d done a pretty good job of covering up my issue that night. Evidently, a few cocktails were enough to bring back the awkward gait that allowed me to move forward without piercing pain. 

“Never mind,” I said.

Now Candace and Maggie were both staring at me.

“It’s nothing,” I hissed. “It’s embarrassing. I’ll tell you later.”

“Now you totally have to tell us.” Candace was grinning her evil grin. 

“Well, I’m not telling you anything on the sidewalk. Think we could maybe just go inside?”

“Good idea,” Maggie smiled, patting my arm. “We’ll get you a drink and then you can tell us all about it.” Maggie was always the caring one, but the huge smile on her face told me that she was just as eager to hear about my issues as Candace was. It was going to be a long night.  

Lulu was down the steps and lifting the receiver. “How many are we?” she called back to us. 

“Four, Lu,” Candace said. “Just like we were four a minute ago. Do they count differently in Brazil?” Candace didn’t always have patience for Lulu—especially when Lulu was tipsy and silly.

The door swung inward, and we filed into the bar, momentarily quiet, hushed by the low yellow lighting and the soft jazz floating on the air. As we moved through the long space, eyes fell on us. Aside from one older gentleman in a black turtleneck, staring from the end of the bar, the other patrons were mostly couples, heads together, locked in various stages of intimacy. The bartender shook his head as we sauntered toward a set of low couches in the back, looking none too happy to be the host of a noisy group of silly girls. Once we seated ourselves, the atmosphere regained its momentum, and hushed conversations picked up again.

We procured drinks and settled in. The ability to hear one another in a bar was a novelty; one that was missed only by Lulu, who talked loudly enough for every table in the venue to hear. 

“Tell us why you’re walking funny, Natalieeeee.” Lulu always drew out my name. There was something about it that charmed me, even as everyone around us now turned to see if my walking problem was perhaps written across my face. 

“Keep it down,” I said in a harsh whisper. “I’ll tell you. I just don’t really want to share with everyone in the bar.” I took a sip of my martini and prepared myself for the inevitable laughter, but the girls were already guessing. 

“Did you meet someone new?” Lulu asked, her eyes wide. “Someone … large?” 

“Or is something stuck in there?” Candace’s green eyes flashed. 

“Candace!” Maggie said, looking shocked. “Maybe she just tried something new,” she said. “A different … venue?”

“Will you guys keep it down?” I said, embarrassed by the couple leaning towards us from a nearby table, clearly eavesdropping. “None of the above, and you guys suck, by the way. It was a waxing accident.” 

Candace snorted and spit out a mouthful of her drink, grabbing a handful of cocktail napkins from the table and covering her mouth. “What?” she shrieked.

“You heard me. I had a little issue.” 

“How do you have a waxing accident?” Maggie said. She managed to look genuinely concerned. 

Lulu just looked confused. 

“I bought a do-it-yourself kit at the drugstore. It’s still weird to me to go to one of those places and let some woman I don’t know deal with my lady parts.” I stared into my martini. I wondered if this admission would lead Candace to call me “Midwestern” again. I was from California, but she seemed to think I had some kind of sheltered naiveté about me, and used the term “Midwestern” like a slur. I glanced at her, but she was smiling, waiting for me to continue.  “Maybe we could talk about this another time? Somewhere more private?”

Lulu was still staring at me, a question on her face. “That’s so silly. You can’t see your own parts. You have to have help to do that. Why didn’t you call me?” 

“Sure. That’s a fun invitation: ‘Lulu, please come help me wax my pubes.’” 

“I would have helped.” She looked mildly offended. 

“What, you know about waxing because you’re Brazilian?” Candace said, rolling her eyes. 

“I know about waxing because I keep things neat down there,” Lulu told her. “It has nothing to do with Brazil.” 

“Whatever,” Candace said. “So tell us what went wrong.” 

“Fine,” I said. “The kit had those strips. They’re supposed to make it easy. You warm them up in your hands, and then slap them on, and rip them off after a minute or two. So I slapped one on and then my sister called, and I left it there for longer than I should have. When I went to rip it off, it was all cold and wouldn’t rip right. It kind of peeled, and all this wax was stuck. I got up to get a washcloth to try to wash it off, and the wax kind of got into some … areas … where it didn’t really belong. And it was very hard to get off, and it’s still there, so things are sticking together, and it just hurts, okay?” 

“Oh my God!” Lulu shrieked. 

“That’s pretty funny,” Maggie said, her brown eyes wide as she patted my arm. 

“Not to me,” I told her. “Can we change the subject, please?”

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