Plan B: A Novel
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In his debut, acclaimed bestselling author Jonathan Tropper captured the anxiety and humor of a group of friends as they near their thirtieth birthdays and have to come to terms with a milestone that they never thought would be like this. Ten years ago, they went into the world full of dreams for the future. But now Ben's getting a divorce, Lindsey's unemployed, Alison and Chuck are stuck in ruts, and Jack is getting more publicity for his cocaine addiction than his Hollywood success. Suddenly, turning thirty seems to be both more meaningful and less than they'd imagined it to be.
Tropper's endearing novel is about more than love, celebrity, addiction, kidnapping, or even turning thirty; it's a heartfelt comic riff on what it means to be an adult against your will.
faces at us, but she didn’t seem to really mind. If anything, his clowning around seemed to calm her down. Jack returned about twenty minutes later, looking clean and composed in black jeans and a denim shirt he’d taken from my suitcase. While the makeup guy worked on him, Jack chatted amicably with Sally, listening attentively as she mapped out her plans for the interview and offering a few suggestions of his own, which she hastily scribbled down. The rest of us retreated to the back of the
S.A.G. card and a walk-on part in a Harrison Ford thriller. Some on-site rewrites gave him three additional lines and a twelve-second gunfight sequence in which he blew away a Chinese body-builder before getting shot himself. It took three weeks in LA for Jack to shoot his scenes, and he came back disappointed that he didn’t get to meet Harrison Ford. “He wasn’t even there,” Jack said bitterly. “He’s already working on another movie.” A casting agent working on a modestly budgeted action movie
“He needs us.” She looked at Lindsey and me, her eyes accusing and pleading at the same time. “I think we need to lay out the options, Alison,” Lindsey said softly. “I mean, none of us is thinking very clearly right now.” “My thinking is perfectly clear,” Chuck said, raising his voice. “And I don’t need to decide this on committee. I’m going home. Jack’s gone. He’s either found his way to a phone and called Seward to come get him, or he got high, or. . .” his voice trailed off. “Or what?”
OJ flashback,” Chuck said. “We’d better lock the gate,” I said. “We don’t have a gate,” Alison said. “Oh. Don’t bother then.” “Man,” Chuck said, indicating Sally Hughes again. “Is it just me or is she seriously hot?” “Are you ever not thinking about sex?” Lindsey said. “Sex is like air,” I said. “It isn’t important unless you aren’t getting any.” “Point taken,” Lindsey said, patting Chuck sympathetically on the shoulder. “Screw the both of you,” Chuck said. Within an hour there were six
alone. Over on Central Park West, you didn’t have any of that. The co-op boards wouldn’t stand for it. Each building lobby had at least two doormen to keep the neighborhood peaceful and the sidewalks clear of the urban dredges that found my neighborhood so appealing. Alison’s neighbors were Mia Farrow, Diane Keaton, Tony Randall, Carly Simon, Madonna, and a host of other celebrities who could often be spotted between their canopied lobbies and their taxis, hailed for them by uniformed doormen