Prologue
Julia was staying at the Ritz. Always the Ritz. Only the Ritz. Like a lot of women, Julia reserved a special place in her heart for the elegant restaurant where a man had popped the question that had changed her life. But instead of a Tiffany ring, Julia walked away that day with a two-book deal, and from that point on, Julia James could afford to buy her own diamonds.
Five years later, Julia had climbed fourteen stories from the hotel restaurant to a luxurious suite where the lights of the city shone through sheer curtains onto her unadorned hands. She flew quickly through a deck of cards and grew lost in the familiar motion, as her mind drifted back to the day Candon Jeffries had told her she was going to become a star. At the time, Julia had nearly laughed at him. Ten pounds overweight and self-conscious about it, she considered herself to be a perfectly ordinary single woman. But Candon had worked side by side with Julia in the trenches of the publishing world, and he knew that she didn't sit at home on Friday nights, waiting for a boyfriend to ask her to the movies. She didn't live on microwave popcorn and bad takeout. Instead, Julia went to the movies alone. She froze individual servings of homemade lasagna and chicken Kiev and never thought twice about the phone that didn't ring. Julia James wasn't just another single girl in the city. She was, he declared, the queen of single girls— the Elizabeth the First of lower Manhattan—so he had proposed that Julia share her gift with the world. That lunch at the Ritz five years ago marked the point when Julia James went pro.
Now she was a guest of the Ritz, on her third trip, promoting her third book, waiting for her third ride to Rockefeller Center and her third conversation with Katie Couric. In the meantime, Julia was playing her billionth hand of solitaire. She could have played on the computer, but she liked the feel of a deck in her hands, the brush against her thumbs as she shuffled, the methodical, even motion of laying out a hand. Plus, Julia liked being able to cheat.
She tried to focus on the cards or the memory of the lunch—anything but the ominous ticking of the clock beside the bed. Four forty-five in the morning and wide awake, Julia pulled the cards together again and shuffled.
Chapter One
WAY #1: See clearly the cards you've been dealt.
If life is a game of cards, then every day, a new card turns over. See it for what it is. Recognize its impact on your life. And if that card is standing in your way, then find a way to cheat.
She had a hard time returning the smile he beamed toward her, brighter than the sun that was still waiting to bring day to New York City. Julia settled herself onto the plush leather of the backseat and said a silent prayer of thanks that the driver had worn a nametag. The face she recognized, but his name was lost among the myriad of others that floated through her subconscious like a fog. Charlie, she told herself. Charlie. Charlie. Charlie. She tried mnemonic devices:
—from 707 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire
Good morning, Ms. James," the driver said, opening the door of the Town Car.
Sleep and fatigue crusted in Julia's eyes, and she Charlie the tuna. Charlie's Angels. Charlie, the male Charlize Theron.
"How are you, Charlie?" she asked once the man had settled himself behind the wheel.
"Well, I'm great, ma'am. And how are you this fine and beautiful morning?"
"I'm very well. Thank you for asking."
"We got early editions of all the papers back there for you. I hope you don't mind, but I peeked already and saw those books of yours are still on the bestseller list. Your folks must be awfully proud."
It was far too early in the morning for Julia to think about her mother, who had probably already scoured the paper and hung Julia's clippings on the refrigerator right next to her report card from the second grade. Instead, Julia picked up a paper.
Breath lodged in her throat as she began at the bottom, scrolling toward mid-list where Table for One, her debut, was holding strong. Her second book, Spaghetti and Meatball: Meals for the Single Person, was just a notch or two above that, on the Advice, How-To, and Miscellaneous list. But as Julia's eyes returned to the main list and continued moving up, she soon stopped breathing completely.
With every passing line, her heart pounded harder, until she crossed into the top ten and saw 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire sitting there, staring back at her, proof in black and white that life is good.
They eased into predawn traffic, and Julia scanned the streets around her. The city's support staff was already hard at work, like the backstage on Broadway, making sure, the props were placed and the lighting was perfect. Beer trucks lined up in front of bars. Laundry vans skirted restaurants. Storeowners washed windows and rearranged displays. Julia watched the world put on its makeup, comforted by the fact that even the greatest city in the world has morning breath.
Charlie was looking at her in the rearview mirror. His knowing stare was enough to make Julia wonder if she had lipstick on her teeth or had missed a button on her blouse.
"I tell you, Ms. James," Charlie said finally, "I see your author photo all the time, but you're even prettier in person."
Relief flooded over Julia as blood rushed to her cheeks. People sometimes told her she was pretty—one even went as far as to say she was beautiful—but, Julia admitted, her mother was probably biased.
"I hope you don't mind my saying so, ma'am," Charlie went on, "but you just get prettier every year."
Bright red now, Julia didn't know what else to do, so she said, "Why, thank you, Charlie," and turned to look out the window.
"You sure do have some fans," the man went on. "I'm sorry to say I haven't read anything of yours. But my sister, she's a big fan—forty-six and not a man in sight. Yep. She's a big fan."
Julia was staring out the window at Fifth Avenue, thinking about the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany's, remembering why, for a short time, New York City had been her kind of town. Not because it was the sort of place where you can window-shop in formal wear at five A.M., but because it was the kind of place where you can do that and trust that no one will stare.