Mindy Sherman spends her days like most suburban moms...in
the car. From one end of town to the other, her day can
best be accounted for by the mileage she puts on her not-so-
new mini-van. Add laundry, household chores, and a part-
time job at her father-in-law's office, it's a wonder she
gets any sleep at all. And if that weren't bad enough, she
just happens to live next door to the most perfect Ivy
League Barbie-doll-type imaginable, named Beth Diamond.
Where is the justice in this world?
From cat fights to petty squabbles, these two women
are constantly at each other's throats. Sadly, Mindy just
wants someone to share the daily fodder but as far as Beth
is concerned, sharing fences is close enough. Health
conscious upper class socialites and bargain basement
middle-class housewives simply don't have much in common.
Despite Mindy's best efforts to raise the white flag, these
two moms are like oil and water. They just don't mix.
As luck would have it, an innocent mistake turns
Beth's idyllic life upside down. Before she knows it, her
marriage is on the rocks, her children hate her, and God
has thrown her a curveball that she never could have
expected. With nowhere else to turn, she chooses to
befriend the only person she has left...Mindy. Armed with
compassion and humility, these two women find themselves
exploring the beauty of falling into an unexpected
friendship as they face the drama and harsh reality of the
trials of life.
DEAR NEIGHBOR, DROP DEAD is a hilarious spin on
what happens when two polar opposite housewives join forces
to battle the daily grind better known as life. From her
tongue-in-cheek slap-happy humor to the poignant moments
depicting the fragility of life, Rosenberg adeptly captures
the true essence of friendship and love. Move over
Desperate Housewives. Here comes the true
grit.
Nora Ephron hates her neck, but Mindy Sherman hates her
whole body. A forty-one year old mother of three, she is
still trying to squeeze into jaws-of-life jeans, for in her
Long Island neighborhood, size four is, well, fat. Not
even her husband, Artie, is immune. “Someone called us
Shrek and Fiona,” she cried.
That someone is next door neighbor, Beth Diamond, a tall,
toned *MILF who seeks perfection in everything from her
kids to her carpools, referring to her BlackBerry for
infractions when Mindy disregards either. Lucy and Ethel
they are not, so can they play nice when they both enter
Downtown Greetings’ talent search and realize they have to
compete as a team? Exactly.
In this story of fences and defenses, two women who have
never shared a recipe suddenly must join forces in order
to keep their messy plates spinning. It’s a delicate
balancing act, what with out-of-their mind in-laws, an
errant husband, a troubled step-son, a failing business, an
unplanned pregnancy, a possible relocation and a contest
that might be a corporate hoax.
Their reality check nearly bounces until they uncover a
startling secret. Neither would have been born if not for a
chance encounter of their mother and grandmother on the
Kindertransport, the rescue train that saved thousands of
Jewish children during World War II.
DEAR NEIGHBOR, DROP DEAD is a hilarious, heartfelt romp
through bedrooms, boardrooms and backyards, making unlikely
heroines out of two suburban moms who never imagined
themselves as successful entrepreneurs, let alone as best
friends.
Excerpt
“Have you seen my Costco card?” Artie brushed and spit. “I
could have sworn it was in my wallet.”
“It was.” Mindy dried her face. “Then I confiscated it.”
“I knew it!” His baby browns were on high beam. “What the
hell did you do that for?”
“Because normal people who go in for batteries and a roast
chicken don’t walk out with six cases of Gatorade and a kayak.”
“Not just Gatorade. Fierce Grape! You know the kids go
crazy for that flavor.”
“Fine. But a kayak?”
“It called out to me.”
“Hello? I’m your wife. I can prove you once got seasick in a
hot tub.”
“I was on medication.”
“It’s not funny, Artie. We are so broke right now.”
“You still shouldn’t have returned it without asking.”
“Hey, you bought it without asking. Besides, I had to get it
out of here before you gave it a name. Remember Fluffy Cat?”
“You were just as sad as me when she ran away.”
“Whatever,” she shrugged. “Just tell me what’s so important
that you have to get.”
“Can’t. It’s a surprise.”
“You want to surprise me?” She swatted him with a towel. Say
to me, ‘Mindy honey. I made a big deposit. We get to keep
the house for another month.”
“Why do you always have to be so negative?”
“Damn! Was I supposed to pop the champagne when our checks
bounced?”
“I told you that wasn’t my fault. It was a bank error. Now
can I have my card back?”
“After you tell me what you’re up to.”
“Okay, but you’re ruining my secret... They got in these
really nice sheds for the backyard and I thought, wow,
perfect birthday gift for Mindy.”
“A shed from Costco,” Mindy repeated. “For my birthday.”
“Yes!” Artie cheered. “Aren’t you always hocking me about
getting all the crap out of the garage so we can get a car
in there? If we had a shed, we’d have a place for the crap.”
“Or... we could throw out all the crap, skip the shed, and
buy me a new dryer.”
“No. Then you’d accuse me of being one of those jerks who
buys his wife house gifts.”
“A shed isn’t a house gift?”
“Technically it’s for the outside, and I was going to let
you pick the color. C’mon. Think about it. In the winter,
you wouldn’t have to stand out in the freezing cold cleaning
off your car.”
“I thought that’s why we had kids.”
“I’m serious. You’ll thank me for this... Plus, where else
would I put the kayak?”
“Doesn’t matter. I returned it.”
“That’s true. Fortunately Ira found the same one at his
Costco, and you know my brother. Had to brag that he saved
me money ‘cause the tax is less in Jersey.”
“Oh my God. What don’t you get, Artie? I don’t want a kayak,
I don’t want a shed...”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want what every woman wants. A masseuse named Ivan and a
closet full of boots.”
“Not me.” He hugged her. “I just want a shed.”
Mindy shoved her cell phone under her pillow, fearing that
the constant vibrations would wake the kids. She had hinted
to her best friend to please stop text messaging so early in
the morning, but when Nadine was bored, everyone had to feel
her pain.
did u open the letter? Nadine wrote.
Mindy laughed. She knew her so well. no 2 scared... u do
ity do I hafta do everything ‘cause lifesabitch n ur my friend
She lay back down, careful not to land on an arm or a leg.
With her luck, she’d end up in “Newsday”: Merrick Mom
Squishes Child to Death. Failed Mediterranean Diet to Blame.
Now that the kids were getting older, she and Artie were
trying to crack down on this co-sleeping habit. "C'mon
guys. Give us a break. Stay in your own beds!” Only to have
their pleas ignored when the eldest translated for the
younger two. “They’re chill. They full out love us.”
So no surprise when Mindy awoke to find body parts dangling
in every direction, as if this was the set of a horror
flick. But who was she kidding? She felt well rested, and as
every parent knew, sleep was the new sex. Besides, nothing
pleased her more than pajama scent and taking attendance.
All three children were here and blessedly safe.
Ten-year old Jamie and her orphan Annie curls were burrowed
under a pillow. A gentle nudge found six-year-old Little
Ricky lying at the edge of the bed. And when she groped the
floor, there was thirteen-year old Stacie, a former delight
now turned pre-menstrual shrew.
Still, Mindy was not naive. She fretted about the proper age
to break up this party, much as she’d agonized over how old
the kids should be when they stopped showering with her.
Thankfully her mother-in-law, Rhoda, VP General Motives, was
happy to second guess her.
“In the old days families slept together ‘cause they had no
choice. But you’ve got a four-bedroom house and the kids are
big now... What are you waitin’ for? To get knocked
unconscious from a kick in the head?”
Artie had his doubts, too. Would their kids grow up thinking
orgies were normal?
Mindy drifted off. Maybe the true story of the Sherman
family bed could be the inspiration for a book, plus or
minus some dramatic license. The saga would begin when a
nosy neighbor reported their scandalous sleeping
arrangements to the child welfare authorities. Then faster
than you could say bed-in-a-bag, the community would be in
an uproar. There would be the requisite death threats, the
innocent kids being pummeled at recess, and naturally, the
fledgling civil liberty lawyer who took the case to the
Supreme Court and won!
Enter TV’s title weight champs, Larry King AND Barbara
Walters, duking it out over who would get the exclusive
interview with the brave mom from Long Island who had come
out of the linen closet to defy the child experts.
But the best would be the “People” magazine spread featuring
Mindy and her new, svelte body, which would drive her next
door neighbor, Beth, crazy. “That can not be Mindy Sherman.
She’s never looked that good. Bet they Photoshopped her.”
Sadly the alarm rang, the fantasy faded and Mindy had to
rejoin the show in progress, a duet of gushing water.
Outside the heavy March rains were testing their aging
gutters while in the master bath, Artie sang in the shower.
During the week he was so fastidious about his morning
routines, Mindy could tell the time without having to peek
at a clock. God forbid he should miss the 6:40, as if he was
traveling on the Long Island Railroad and the rates were
lower if he showered off-peak.
At least his daily ritual offered her a little solitude
before she had to make lunches, look for lost sneakers and
write notes to the teachers, most of which were filled with
lies about homework. It was the main reason they’d gotten
their dog, Costco (Dollar Tree was too long).
But maybe Nadine had a good idea. She should open the letter
from Downtown Greetings to find out if she’d made it through
the first round of their contest, not that she actually
expected the popular card company to like her entry. This
way when they informed her that she’d been eliminated, she
wouldn’t have to fake her disappointment, like actors who
lied that it was an honor just to be nominated.
Still, the idea of participating in a talent search did seem
as exciting now as when she’d read the article in the paper.
The writer and artist who teamed up to develop the most
original new greeting card line would split a hundred grand
and receive a one-year contract.
She may have been too pitchy to perform on “American Idol,”
she thought when she downloaded the entry form, but compete
with other writers to create a hilarious line of cards?
Hello destiny! And if she God forbid won? She would use the
prize money to pay off the loan from Stacie’s bat mitzvah.
Maybe even shop at Bloomingdales instead of use it as a
cut-through to Sbarro pizza.
Plus, this could be her chance for career advancement, not
that she was suggesting that anything could top working
reception three days a week at her father-in-law’s
ophthalmology practice. “Mrs. Katz, you shouldn’t drive yet.
You just had your eyes dilated. No, a cab home is not
included in the fee.”
Mindy was especially encouraged after Nadine read her entry.
“I'm dying this is so funny. They'd never know you just were
flying through the house on your PMS broom."
But while waiting to hear back from the judges, Mindy
vacillated between euphoria and dread. In one fantasy, they
were so enthralled they said, "To hell with the
contest. We have a permanent position for you." Other
times she could hear a Simon Cowell type skewering her.
"You call this funny? I got more laughs reading the
instructions for my Chia Pet."
Now as she dug through her end table drawer for the
envelope, she felt the tension mounting. She so wanted to
participate in this competition, if for no other reason than
it gave her a good out to abandon the much ballyhooed
project she’d begun on her fortieth birthday, a memoir
entitled, WHERE HAVE I BEEN ALL MY LIFE?
Sadly, in the year that passed, she, a former flower child,
still had no clue what her purpose in life was, or how
several decades had come and gone with her biggest
achievement being that she had two recipes everyone wanted.
Trouble was, whenever she fretted about her lack of
inspiration, Artie would tell her to stick to what she knew-
stain removal and getting through on Ticketmaster. Also,
that she needed to have a better attitude. But this was so
unfair. Most days of the month she was a very positive
person. In fact, not only was she cautiously optimistic
about this contest, she even had faith. Maybe if she held
the envelope to the light, she could make out the word
congratulations.
“Great. You’re up.” Artie peeked from behind the bathroom
door. “Gotta talk to you.”
She jumped, stashing the letter under the comforter.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I guess... did you recently buy a kayak?”
“Me? The guy who’s going to need a Dramamine drip on the
cruise? Yeah, absolutely. I went over to Yacht World with
Thurston Howell III and we picked out a nice one.”
“Never mind. I must have dreamt it.”
“I thought you spent every night with Dr. McDreamy.”
“Used to... now I think he’s co-sleeping with your Dr. House.”
“No! Not Dr. House!”
“Why are you guys talking so loud?” Stacie grumbled.
“You want it quiet?” Artie snapped. “Sleep in your own god
damn room for a change.”
“Shhh,” Mindy scolded. “They don’t have to be up yet.” She
scrambled to the bathroom.
He stared at the envelope in her hand. “Is that an eviction
notice?”
“And you call me negative?” She closed the door. “No, it’s
the letter from Downtown Greetings... It came yesterday but
I was too chicken to open it.”
“You’re kidding. You’ve been waiting weeks to hear from
them... although I still think it’s stupid that they didn’t
just e-mail everyone.”
“True. Why would a greeting card company have any use for
the post office?”
“Good point.” The five-nine teddy bear in brown curls
laughed. “So let’s open it.”
"I’m afraid. It’s like when I had to open all those
letters from the college admissions offices. Big envelope,
you're in. Little envelope, you're calling Antoine’s School
of Beauty... I just don’t want to be disappointed by one
more thing.”
“Why do you always have to assume the worst? Why can’t you
ever think, hey, today could be the day everything goes my way?”
“That’s exactly how I think. It just never happens.”
“Fine. Then don’t open it ‘til Christmas.”
“But what if they loved me? You think I’m hilarious! And
besides, whenever I work on my memoir, I never get past the
second page, and what are greeting cards? Two pages!”
The sound of a loud, hacking cough coming from their bedroom
stopped them cold. “Little Ricky!” They eyed each other and ran.
“Mommmm!” Jamie screamed. “The little dweeb just coughed all
over me.”
“Did not.” He coughed again.
“He’s gonna puke,” pre-med Stacie presented her case.
“No he’s not!” Artie stared her down. “Come here buddy.” He
carried his son to the bathroom in case Stacie got lucky
with her diagnosis. “You okay?”
He said yes, but Mindy felt his forehead. He was warm and
the coughs were coming closer and closer together like
contractions.
Please God. Not when they were T-minus four days until lift
off... the start of their first vacation in years. A
Caribbean cruise, courtesy of her in-laws, who wanted the
family together to celebrate their fortieth anniversary.
Even Mindy’s widowed mom, Helene, had been invited.
Granted, the week would be a mixed bag. Mindy would have to
celebrate her birthday with her in-laws, eye doc Stan and
Rhoda, a woman with more opinions than a retired judge,
Artie’s brother, Ira, Mr. Hedge Fund, his wife, Dana, Queen
of Tofu, their two children, Brandon and Abigale, aka
Satanic Cretans. And adding to the merriment? A relative
newcomer, literally.
Artie’s seventeen-year old son from his first marriage,
Aaron, with whom he’d only recently been reunited, had
unexpectedly said yes to the invitation to join them,
forcing a fast, unrehearsed explanation to the kids as to
how they had a half-brother in Oregon who had tattoos and a
garage band called Pee-Nis.
“Sounds like an amazing time,” Nadine said over lunch. “I
can see the headline now: Long Island Mom Jumps Ship...
Mother-in-law denies involvement.”
“I’ll be okay,” she laughed. “If I have to, I’ll barricade
myself and conduct a scientific study on exhibiting patience
in confined quarters... maybe I’ll be an Intel finalist.”
“Sorry hon, that ship sailed in high school. Besides, the
only study you should do is calculating how long it takes
you to punch out Rhoda for all her kvetching... ‘My
soup is cold... I asked for well done...what do you mean
there are no more feather pillows’?”
Normally Mindy loved Nadine’s Rhoda impressions but now it
only added to her angst, for no matter how much she dreaded
being pent up with the whole, annoying Sherman family, she
had waited an entire year for this vacation and would cry
for the entire next one if she didn’t get the chance to
sunbathe, island hop and drink like Cinderella on her night off.
At least now she finally had a convincing reason why her
kids should be sleeping in their own beds: contagions that
screwed up important plans. But what to do? This was her
only day off before they left and she had a thousand errands
to run.
“Ricky honey. Throw up if you have to,” she suggested.
“You’ll feel much better.”
“No.” he shook. “Don’t like to. Do I have to go to school?”
“Yes,” she replied to her husband’s of course not.
Sure. Would Artie have to cancel his color appointment at
the swanky Maximus Salon and have to spend the whole cruise
wearing a Mets cap? My that would look lovely on formal
night! Maybe she could leave Ricky home for an hour and run
over there. Too crazy! This was a touch-up, not an emergency
appendectomy... What if she picked up Stacie early from
school and she babysat? No. She had play practice and Mrs.
Morgan was threatening to kick out anyone who missed another
rehearsal. And with all Jamie’s mishegas about scary
noises coming from the attic, how could she be left in
charge? Not even her mother could bail her out as she was
already in Florida visiting her twin sister, Toby, who
she’d invited on the cruise as it would have been her
anniversary, too, if only Toby’s husband hadn’t dropped dead
two years earlier.
But Artie was right. Why think the worst? Ricky was just
congested. “Don’t worry sweety.” Mindy kissed him. “You’ll
feel better after you take some medicine.”
“Okay,” he said, then vomited on the rug.
Mindy tried reading the clock on the microwave but didn’t
have her contacts in yet and her glasses were upstairs. What
good was it having family in the optical business if perfect
vision wasn’t part of the deal?
She tore through a junk drawer and found a red frame with
rhinestone elephants that screamed, hello, I have no taste.
Who would ever wear anything this ghastly? Apparently her.
And who cared what time it was anyway? Her son was sick, her
day was shot, and if Rhoda got on the plane and felt a
sniffle, she would diagnose it as pneumonia and never let
Mindy forget that HER child had ruined THEIR special
anniversary trip, for which they paid an ungodly sum AND
generously invited her mother, Helene, who then had the
NERVE to invite her sister.
As Mindy contemplated this disastrous turn of events, she
searched for medicine, then caught a whiff of after shave.
No matter how she pleaded, Artie was so heavy-handed, his
scent trumpeted his arrival.
“Hey, nice glasses.” He opened the fridge. “Maybe I should
carry those in the store.”
“That's where I got 'em. Which probably explains last
month’s sale figures.”
"Impressive! Shermy gets a three-pointer." He
pretended to shoot hoops. "Anyway, I never got to tell
you what I needed to tell you before."
"Oh yeah." Mindy gathered enough cold medication
to knock out Ricky’s entire first grade class. “What’s up?”
"I got Mr. Waspy Banker to take another meeting with
me."
"How is good ol’ Waspy?" She grabbed the
thermometer too. "Maybe this time you'll believe me.
The guy's a blue-blood. You have to wear a navy
suit."
"I will if you will." Artie took a large gulp of
juice.
"No-no. Between the dandruff and his little breath
mints, he creeps me out.”
"Please?" He fell to his knees. "My only
experience begging is in bed with you."
Mindy laughed, but saw the worry in her husband's forlorn
face. “When is the meeting?"
Artie bounced up. "Today at nine."
"You sound like a commercial for Regis and Kelly,”
Mindy sighed. If only her optometrist husband hadn’t been so
quick to buy into a new optical chain called Eye-Deals, he
might have heard that the franchise fees were exorbitant and
customers hated the selection and prices. The only clear
vision she had now was of bankruptcy court.
“We’ll take Ricky with us,” Artie persisted. “By this
afternoon he’ll be bouncing off the walls like always.”
“No he won’t. He’s got a fever, a cough and he threw up.
What if it’s strep?”
“See what I mean? You always have to think the worst! It’s
not strep. Let’s just send him to school and if he doesn’t
feel good he can go hang out with the nurse.”
“I hate parents who do that and you know it. What is wrong
with you?”
“I’m a desperate man, that’s what. I’ve been reworking the
numbers and I think I can prove we’ll have a decent cash
flow for the next fiscal year, but you’re the better talker.”
"You’ll do fine. Besides, it’s my day to drive.”
“Let the kids take the bus for God’s sake. Why do you have
to take them every day?”
“Stop! I’ve explained this a hundred times. It’s just
easier, okay?”
“How is it easier? You have to get up, get dressed, drive to
the middle school, then come back and drive to Lakeside.”
“It’s easier becomes the buses come so early, and the kids
always have so much stuff to shlep with their
instruments and sports gear, and then they call me from
school anyway to tell me they forgot their lunch or the
envelope with the field trip money... trust me, it’s a lot
less stressful when we drive and make sure everyone has
everything they need the first time.”
“Fine. Whatever. I’m tired of arguing over this. Just call
Beth and see if she’ll switch.”
“I can’t. As soon as she sees it’s me on the caller ID, she
won’t answer.”
“Then go on line and IM her.”
“Can’t do that either. She blocked me.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s Tuesday and I have type O blood! How the hell
should I know?”
“What if you create a new screen name, then you can at least
see if she’s on line?”
“Oh screw it. This is getting stupider by the second. I’ll
just be brave and call her. ”
“Thatta girl.”
“I mean what’s the worst she can do? Report me to the
National Association of Minivan Moms? ‘Mrs. Sherman, one
more violation and we’re taking away your five year jacket’.”
When Artie laughed, his whole body erupted like a shaken can
of Coke. It was one of the things she loved most. That and
his capacity to eat anything she made without complaint, as
long as it didn’t up and bite him first.
“Oh. And out of curiosity,” she asked, “what happens if the
bank turns us down again?”
“No big deal,” he hugged her. “We’ll lose the store and
probably the house.”
“Fantastic!” she shrugged. “At least then you could stop
feeling bad that we never got to buy a shed.”
“Oh man,” Artie sighed. “I always wanted a shed... I wonder
if they come in three-bedroom, two-bath.”
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