THE SUMMER
SET
Author:
Aimee Agresti
ISBN:
9781525823589
Publication
Date: May 12, 2020
Publisher:
Graydon House Books
Book Summary:
With a setting inspired by the real-life Williamstown Theatre Festival in the Berkshires where stars like Bradley Cooper, Gwyneth Paltrow, Lauren Graham, and Chris Pine have performed, THE SUMMER SET (Graydon House Books; May 12; $17.99) is a salacious rom-com, beach read perfect for Broadway nerds and Hollywood gossips alike.
Charlie Savoy was once Hollywood's hottest A-lister. Now, ten years later, she's pushing forty, exiled from the film world back at the summer Shakespeare theater in the Berkshires that launched her career—and where her first love, Nick, is the artistic director.
It's not exactly her first choice. But as parts are cast and rehearsals begin, Charlie is surprised to find herself thriving: bonding with celebrity actors, forging unexpected new friendships, and even reigniting her spark with Nick despite their complicated history.
Until Charlie's old rival, Hollywood's current “It Girl,” is brought on set, threatening to undo everything she's been working towards. As the drama amps up both on the stage and behind the curtains, Charlie must put on one heck of a show to fight for the second chance she deserves in her career and in love.
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Excerpt:
2
I MISSED YOU TOO
Charlie studied
herself in her bathroom mirror. In just a week her bruised eye had faded to the
dull gray of rancid meat, now easily disguised by concealer. She flat-ironed
her raven hair, securing it in a sleek, low ponytail, then rummaged the closet
for her most professional-looking getup: that slim black suit, pale pink silk
blouse with the bow at the neck and the stilettos she only wore when she felt
compelled to impress. Her wardrobe from that perfume ad a decade earlier but
timeless nonetheless, just like the moniker that had been etched in script on
the curved bottle of the fragrance.
Outside, Boston did
its best impersonation of her supposed hometown, London. (Though she had lived
away from there enough during childhood to have eluded the accent.) The dreary
May rain made her think of her mom: the estimable Dame Sarah Rose Kingsbury.
News of Charlie’s incident had warranted mentions in a few celebrity weeklies
and, unfortunately, made the hop across the pond. Her mother had called, texted
and finally, after no response, emailed: Charlie, Did you receive my voice mail
and text? I trust you’re alright. Another of your stunts? Please respond. Love,
Mum. Her mom’s correspondence always scanned like a telegram, full of stops and
full stops—much like their relationship itself. Charlie, reveling in being
briefly unreachable and not in the mood to answer questions, hadn’t yet
bothered to replace her phone and had indeed missed the call but wrote back
assuring her mom that she was fine, though the accident had not, in fact, been
performance art.
By the time Charlie
reached the foreboding Suffolk County Courthouse, her lawyer/friend Sam—who had
shepherded her through the theater purchase (while questioning her sanity)—was
already there pacing, barking into her phone.
“This should be easy,”
Sam told her, hanging up, hugging her while scrolling her inbox. Sam wore suits
and radiated responsibility, two
things Charlie found comforting in a lawyer. “Be contrite and it should be
open-and-shut for community service.”
The sterile
courtroom’s pin-drop silence made Charlie shiver. Next to her, Sam tucked her
phone in her bag and rose to her feet, gesturing for Charlie to stand as the
judge materialized at the bench. Charlie found it oddly reassuring that the
judge was the kind of woman who wore pearls and a frilly collar outside her
robe.
“You were okay with my
email, right?” Sam whispered, as they sat again.
“What email?” she
whispered back.
“My email. An hour ago? You have got to get a new phone,” Sam scolded.
“I know, I know—”
“There was this
arrangement, last minute, I hope you’ll be amenable to but—”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charlie pleaded.
The judge had begun
speaking, so Sam hushed her. Too late.
“Ms. Savoy, this is
the part where I get to talk.” The judge looked up from the paper she had been
reading aloud. “Maybe it was different in your episodes of Law & Order?”
“No, ma’am, I mean,
Your Honor, sir, ma’am, no,” Charlie stumbled. She had been wrong about the
judge. The woman continued on about the damage Charlie caused and the
significant hours of service required like Charlie was the honoree at one of
those Comedy Central roasts, albeit one that could end with her in a jail cell.
Until finally, the
judge cut to the chase: “…an assignment has presented itself,” she said slowly.
“Which will make fine use of Ms. Savoy’s expertise…” Charlie caught Sam’s
side-eye. “So Charlotte Savoy shall be required to complete sixty days with the
Chamberlain Summer Theater in—”
“NO!” Charlie expelled
the word, an anaphylactic response. The judge scowled as though jail might
still be an option. “Sorry, Your Honor, I just mean—can I object?” Sam shot her
a lethal glare. “It’s just that, well—” Charlie tried again as a door at the
back of the courtroom creaked open, footsteps echoing. She turned to discover
the equivalent of a ghost.
Nick Blunt—director,
ex, first love, disappointment, invertebrate—heading her way.
“Mr. Blunt, thank you
for joining us,” the judge said, unimpressed.
Charlie’s posture
straightened, heartbeat ticking faster than seemed medically sound. She felt
betrayed by her own being, muscles, nerves, ashamed of this reaction.
“Sorry, Your Honor,”
he said in that deep rasp.
Charlie wished she
hated that voice. And it seemed an abomination that he could still be attractive—physically
at least.
Rugged with an
athletic build, he wore black jeans, a blazer and aviator sunglasses, which he
pulled off as he walked (pure affectation since, to her knowledge, it was still raining outside), tucking them
into the V of his slim sweater.
He took his place
beside Charlie, flashing that smile he deployed when he aimed to be his most
charming.
“Hi there,” he said,
as though surprised to be meeting this way.
“Shouldn’t you be
wearing a cape?” Charlie rolled her eyes, focused on the judge reading again,
and returned her body to its proper slouch, recalibrating her expression
between boredom and disgust.
“I missed you too,
Charlie,” he whispered back.
From the corner of her
eye, Charlie spotted the sharp beak of that tattoo—the meadowlark—curving
around from the back of his neck. It was still there, which gave her a pang of
affection, a flare-up she forced herself to snuff out. She imagined how they might
look to those few people sitting in the rows behind them. Nick and her with
these identical birds inked onto the backs of their necks, midflight and gazing
at each other anytime he stood on her right side, as he did now. Mirror images,
bookends, the birds’ once-vibrant golden hue as faded as the memory of the hot,
sticky night she and Nick had stolen away from campus to get them together.
Over the years, she
had considered having hers removed or morphed into some other design, but why
should she? She liked it. At face value. Charlie sighed again, more loudly than
intended, as her mind sped to how this summer would now be.
“Ms. Savoy, is there a
problem?” the judge asked, irked.
“Your Honor, I just
wondered—is there a littered park or something? Instead?”
“We’re fine, Your
Honor.” Sam patted Charlie’s arm in warning.
“Ms. Savoy will report
to service June 1.” The judge slammed the gavel, which, to Charlie, sounded
like a nail being hammered into a coffin.
“I had a client last
week who’s cleaning restrooms at South Station this summer,” Sam said
apologetically as they walked out.
Charlie just charged
ahead down the hall, an urgent need to escape, her mind struggling to process
it all.
“So, craziest thing
happened,” Nick launched in, catching up to them at the elevator. “I was
reading the news and saw about your little mishap—”
He sounded truly concerned for a moment.
“Don’t pretend like
you don’t have a Google alert on me,” Charlie cut him off, stabbing the down
button too many times.
“You always were a
terrible driver—”
“That river came outta
nowhere—”
“But a stellar
swimmer—”
She nodded once. She
couldn’t argue with that.
He went on, “So I made
a few calls and—”
“Don’t be fooled by…that.” She waved her hand back toward
the courtroom. “You need me more than I need you.”
The elevator opened.
“We’ll see about
that.” He let them on first. Charlie hit the button again-again-again to close
the doors, but he made it in. “How long has it been, anyway?”
“You know how long
it’s been,” she said as the doors closed so she was now looking at their
reflection. It had been six years, three months, two weeks and two days since
they last saw each other. At the long-awaited premiere for Midnight Daydream—which should’ve been a thrilling night since a
series of snags had pushed the film’s release date back two years after
filming. But instead of celebratory toasts, it had ended with a glass of the
party’s signature cocktail—a messy blackberry-infused bourbon concoction the
shade of the night sky—being thrown. In retrospect, she thought, there’d been
so many signs the movie was cursed.
“You’re just mad your
self-imposed exile is over.” He smirked.
“Always with the
probing psychoanalysis.” She watched the floor numbers descend, doors finally
opening.
Sam scurried out ahead
of them. “My work here is done. I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to
do.” She gave Charlie an air-kiss before striding off.
“Wait, no, I just need
to—” Charlie tried to stop her, but Sam had already hopped in a cab.
“So, I have an office
not too far, off Newbury Street, off-season headquarters for Chamberlain—” Nick
started.
“Luckily you’re
usually phoning it in, so I haven’t had the privilege of running into you
around town.” She walked ahead in the cool, pelting rain.
He stayed where he
was. “I’d invite you out for a drink—”
“It’s, like, 10 a.m.
That’s too early. Even for you—” She glanced back.
“Summer is gorgeous in
the Berkshires, as you may recall,” he shouted, sunglasses back on, absurdly,
and that smile again. “Welcome back to Chamberlain, Charlie.
Excerpted from The Summer Set by Aimee Agresti, Copyright © 2020 by Aimee Agresti.
Published
by Graydon House Books.
Author
Bio:
Aimee
Agresti is the author of Campaign Widows and The
Gilded Wings trilogy for young adults. A former staff writer for Us Weekly, she penned the magazine's
coffee table book Inside Hollywood.
Aimee's work has also appeared in People,
Premiere, DC magazine, Capitol File, the Washington Post, Washingtonian, the
Washington City Paper, Boston magazine, Women’s Health and the New York Observer, and she has made
countless TV and radio appearances, dishing about celebrities on the likes of Access Hollywood, Entertainment Tonight,
E!, The Insider, Extra, VH1, MSNBC, Fox News Channel and HLN. Aimee graduated from Northwestern
University with a degree in journalism and lives with her husband and two sons
in the Washington, DC, area.
Social Links:
Twitter: @AimeeAgresti
Instagram: @aimeeagresti
Facebook: @AimeeAgrestiAuthor
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