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Romance and revenge from the atuthor of the City Love trilogy. Rhiannon is devastated after the breakup with her boyfriend and wants him back. Nicole's ex is still pining for her, but she can't help having a new crush. And then there is James, hopelessly in love with Rhiannon, who can't see that their friendship can be so much more. Just when things couldn't get more complicated, the school's resident mean girl decides she is intent on ruining everyone's life. James, Nicole, and Rhiannon are not going to let this slide, but will their desire to take down the mean girl bring these three friends exactly what they want?
When struggling photojournalist Harper tries to return a dress she bought that morning for a job that's fallen through something catches her eye: the same little girl who was waiting there that morning is still there. The sales assistant doesn't know whose she is. The security guard at the mall hasn't had anyone come looking for her. Same goes for the local police, and the media. In fact, no one seems to be looking for little May at all. Harper knows from bitter experience what awaits May in Child Protection Services. But, without any clues, how do you put the needle back in the haystack? And who would just leave a child like this? And what if finding her home was the worst thing you could do? From the chilly streets of New York City to the electric blue skies of coastal Florida - this is an emotional, page-turning road trip that follows a trail of theories, all the way to a devastating revelation.
The amusement parks which first appeared in England at the turn of the twentieth century represent a startlingly novel and complex phenomenon, combining fantasy architecture, new technology, ersatz danger, spectacle and consumption in a new mass experience. Though drawing on a diverse range of existing leisure practices, the particular entertainment formula they offered marked a radical departure in terms of visual, experiential and cultural meanings. The huge, socially mixed crowds that flocked to the new parks did so purely in the pursuit of pleasure, which the amusement parks commodified in exhilarating new guises. Between 1906 and 1939, nearly 40 major amusement parks operated across Britain. By the outbreak of the Second World War, millions of people visited these sites each year. The amusement park had become a defining element in the architectural psychological pleasurescape of Britain. This book considers the relationship between popular modernity, pleasure and the amusement park landscape in Britain from 1900-1939. It argues that the amusement parks were understood as a new and distinct expression of modern times which redefined the concept of public pleasure for mass audiences. Focusing on three sites - Blackpool Pleasure Beach, Dreamland in Margate and Southend's Kursaal - the book contextualises their development with references to the wider amusement park world. The meanings of these sites are explored through a detailed examination of the spatial and architectural form taken by rides and other buildings. The rollercoaster - a defining symbol of the amusement park - is given particular focus, as is the extent to which discourses of class, gender and national identity were expressed through the design of these parks.
New York, 1952. From the shadowy docks of Athens, Greece, to the elegance of a Fifth Avenue penthouse, to the neon glare of Coney Island, art smuggler Cantor Gold must track down an ancient artifact, elude thugs and killers, protect a beautiful woman who caters to Cantor’s deepest desires, and confront the honky-tonk past which formed her. Memories, murder, passion, and the terrible longing for her stolen love tangle in Cantor’s soul, threatening to tear her apart. Book Three of the Cantor Gold Crime Series
A kid of Italian immigrants grows up in South Brooklyn and Flatbush during the 20s, 30s, and 40s, playing Johnny-on-the-Pony, Ringalevio and Spin-the-Bottle. Life was simpler then, before the breakup of Ma Bell, the corporate takeovers, and junk mail. His generation was deeply affected by the Great depression; the Big Band music of Goodman, Dorsey, Ellington; movies of Cowboy and Indians, Fred and Ginger; Mickey and Judy; the New York Worlds Fair; and Pearl Harbor, which forced them to leave home and go to war in places they could hardly find on a map. REVIEW What great fun! Ive never been to Brooklyn, and I feel I know the old place - and love it. Although those simple, innocent, carefree, halcyon pre-war days of 50, 60, 70 years ago are long gone, they surely come alive in this charming, laugh-out-loud poignant memoir of Brooklyn. DGuido writes as if hes talking to his reader over a beer, making the story both appealing and very accessible - a la Neil Simon, in tone and the story itself. Thanks to the author for recapturing a kinder, sweeter, gentler time with such wonderful recall. Id love to send this book to several former Brooklyn-ite friends. I cant imagine anyyone from that era or place whod not enjoy this breezy, good read.
* * * Senor Morales sighed heavily and reached into the top pocket of his Cuban jacket. He took out a long, roughly-made cigar, and slowly, savoring the smell of the fine tobacco, bit off the end, spitting out bits and pieces of frayed tobacco onto the grass floor of the summerhouse. He gazed across the ocean that fronter his property in the Key West, and sighed again. The hazy, oppressive August afternoon held a promise of rain. The air was thick with the smell of fog and oncoming wet. It was difficult for him to breath, more so now after the fine Sunday afternoon meal his wife had prepared. He spat again, loosing the fragments of tobacco from his tongue, and slowly licked the end of the cigar, tasting the bitter, pungent taste of the outer leaf tobaccos. He matches, orhorrorsa lighter. The lighter would absurd the smell of the fuel to the cigar and spoil its taste, ruining the expensive tobacco, and making it unfit to smoke. The only way to light a real cigar was with a wooden match, and he kept a good supply of them available for just this purpose. He struck the match and smelled the sulphur smell that flared up with the white heat of the flame. He waited just a moment until the match was well lit, and the head of sulphur had burned away, and then he slowly, lovingly, placed the flame to his cigar, drawing in huge drafts if air and smoke. He circled the cigar around the match obtaining a full, regular and even light to the end of the cigar. He watched carefully as the flame shot upward for a moment, and then died as he removed the fire from the cigar. He held the flame away, inspecting the lit end of the cigar, making certain that it was drawing properly. Then he shook out the match and dropped it into the huge coach shell that served as an ashtray. A magnificient cigar should have a magnificient ashtray, he thought, grunting with pleasure as he began drawing on the cigar, and holding one hand on his huge belly in contentment. Maria brought him his glass of rum arriving alienfooted across the green scrub grass that blanketed the back lawn, carrying the smokey amber liquid carefully in the wide-mouthed glass. He looked at her, admiring again her slim waist and the handsome long, black hair that fell across her face like a curtain, and her finely chiseled cheekbones. He smiled at her and said, Gracias. She smiled back at him, handing him the tumbler and planting a kiss on his cheek. She left him now, smiling and returning to the kitchen to be with her Mother and her Sisters, to talk and to giggle among themselves, and to clean up the remains of the mid-day feast they had just finished. Senor Morales sipped at his drink and stared off across the water. The gray of the late afternoon and seemed to give him vision of what lay across that water. Ninety miles, he thought. Ninety miles, it seemed to say to him. And he watched the gulls wheeling in the fetid air, turning and dipping ,chasing each other and the elusive fish they needed for food. They could fly there right now, he thought, half aloud. And he began to remember. The white sands of Verdadero Beach, where he had spent so much of his childhood. The sun glancing off the water, the green seaweed, caught in the tidal flow, and moving with the water, the small grass huts that dotted the beach and offered shade from the sometimes merciless sun. Gone now, he thought. Gone forever. Gone with the madam who came from mountain and ruled that tiny Island that had been his home from birth to middle age. And now he sat, comfortable, wealthy, the cigar smoke drifting lazily around his head as he looked out across the ocean that lay calm and serene at his feet, that spread ninety miles to the sandy beaches of his beloved homeland. But now it was too late for him. The years had quickened and sped by, and he had grown old. His chance was gone, in failed midnight sotties that he had supported and that ended in broken bodies and patriots blood mingling with the silv