Don’t get mad, get cable.
Fiftyish, foolish Nora Buckley, devoted doormat to husband Jeff, just found out that the lout’s leaving her for a younger woman. So what’s she going to do without his footprints on her face? Gather round, female friends of suburban Ansley Court, and offer sage counsel on wising up, getting a lawyer, establishing credit in your own name, and other practical matters. Unfaithful husbands are a fact of life, and now that the kids have left home and the dog has died, it’s time to get down and dirty with the mysterious interactive service for sex-starved women known as The Channel. Here, Nora meets Kyle, an imaginary stud whose supersize penis and indefatigable willingness to please don’t remind her one bit of mean old Jeff. Strike a Faustian bargain with the cable company? Why not, says satisfied Nora. Let Jeff rot in hell, and pass the remote. Small, the author of innumerable steamy historicals, serves up a fusty contemporary told for the most part in a 1950s schoolteacher singsong: “This was certainly the wildest dream she had ever had. While she was a little afraid of it, it was also very exciting. None of it was really happening, of course. Yet what if it was real?”
Bottom line: the dated dialogue and empty-nest milieu don’t make romantic (or erotic) magic, and the crude language may offend some readers.