From Barnes & Noble

In this sequel to Savannah Blues, BeBe Loudermilk has hit bottom. Cheated out of all her earthly possessions by a devilish hunk named Reddy, BeBe retreats to a rickety motor court patronized mainly, it seems, by alcoholics and giant mosquitoes. There the ever-feisty southern belle ekes out an existence in the midst of squalor, gradually reconstituting her life and improving the village. When somebody reports a chance sighting of Reddy in Fort Lauderdale, BeBe is ready to roll for total revenge. An engaging, entertaining read.

From the Publisher

Southern belle BeBe Loudermilk loses all her worldly possessions thanks to a brief but disastrous relationship with the gorgeous Reddy, an "investment counselor" who turns out to be a con man. All that's left is a ramshackle 1950s motor court on Tybee Island.

Breeze Inn is a place where the very classy BeBe wouldn't normally be caught dead, but, with no alternative, she moves into the manager's unit, vowing to make magic out of mud. The work is grueling, especially dealing with the cantankerous caretaker, a fishing captain named Harry. With the help of Harry and BeBe's junking friend Weezie, she soon has the motel spiffed up and attracting paying guests.

Then there's a sighting of Reddy in Fort Lauderdale, and BeBe decides to go after him. She puts together a posse and heads south. The plan is to carry out a sting that may be just a little bit outside the law but that with any luck at all will retrieve BeBe's fortune and put the dastardly Reddy in jail where he belongs.

Publishers Weekly

Keating is simply delightful in the first-person role of BeBe Loudermilk, a thrice-divorced Southern belle and restaurant owner who falls for a gorgeous, smooth-talking con man who tricks her out of all her money and possessions. Putting on a lively Southern accent, Keating embodies BeBe perfectly, evoking her theatrical personality (wailing melodramatically over her loss), her self-deprecating humor and her never-give-up determination as she tries to pick up the pieces by getting a dilapidated motel up and running. Keating also creates distinct, believable voices for the other characters: a lazy drawl for BeBe's grandfather, whose absent-mindedness hides a shrewd mind; a gritty tone for Harry Sorrentino, the cantankerous hotel caretaker who alternately exasperates and attracts BeBe; and even voices of minor characters, including a Valley Girl-sounding young woman named Emma and a Spanish-accented bank teller. The audiobook is abridged, but you'd never know it: it flows seamlessly. It's a rollicking, entertaining story from beginning to end. This audiobook production makes an already enjoyable book even more fun, perfect for beach listening. Simultaneous release with the HarperCollins hardcover (Reviews, Jan. 30). (Apr.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

A great businesswoman but a ditz in the romance department, BeBe Loudermilk, whom we met in Andrews's Savannah Blues, returns having just signed over her real estate holdings, home, and successful restaurant to a con man who sweeps her off her feet. Poor BeBe is nearly broke and completely humiliated; she does have a wreck of a 1950s motel down by the beach though, inhabited by a wreck of a caretaker trying to get his fishing boat out of hock. BeBe and her friend Weezie, helped out by Harry the caretaker (who turns out to be a lot more appealing that BeBe first thought), get the motel back in shape for guests, and BeBe is starting to make money again when she hears that the con man has been sighted in Florida. The weasel doesn't stand a chance! Reader Isabel Keating does a great job with all the voices and accents, bringing the characters alive. Her pacing keeps the story moving right along. Recommended for public libraries where light summer fiction is popular. Barbara Valle, El Paso P.L., TX Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Andrews brings back characters from Savannah Blues (2002) for a new set of misadventures. BeBe Loudermilk is a member of Savannah's glitterati, a successful restaurateur and, thanks to some real-estate serendipity, a budding Donald Trump. While BeBe is a whiz at spotting a business opportunity, she is a washout when it comes to picking men. At 35, she has three divorces under her belt. Yet BeBe can't seem to help herself when a gorgeous man, Reddy Millbanks III, pours on the charm. Blinded by his physical prowess and distracted by other developments in her disorganized personal life, BeBe fails to catch wind of his schemes. She wakes up one morning to find that Reddy has stolen her small fortune; virtually penniless, BeBe learns the only thing left in her portfolio is a beat-up beach motel on Tybee Island. It's a painful fall from her lofty society-girl perch. BeBe is forced to scrub toilets and sweep floors in order to salvage her finances-if she can quickly rehab this property and turn it over for a profit, she might be back in business. While making cheap improvements at the motel, BeBe butts heads with taciturn manager Harry. Though Harry bristles at BeBe's bossiness and acquisitiveness, the two find common ground as they commiserate about the cards they've been dealt. Predictably, sparks fly when the uptown girl and salty dog get together. Meanwhile, BeBe and her best pal, Weezie, drum up a kooky scheme worthy of Lucy and Ethel to hunt down Reddy and out-swindle him-zany costumes and numerous cocktails are involved. A successful combination of romance and action make this sunny novel a beach-ready treat.

Product Details

• Table of Contents
• Reading Group Guide
• Read a Sample Chapter

Table of Contents

Reading Group Guide

Mary Kay Andrews's latest novel has everything: love, a little revenge, and even two great recipes. Her lively main character, BeBe Loudermilk, has great energy and drive, but even the resourceful BeBe takes a hit when a gorgeous con man seduces her and walks away with everything she owns. Well, almost everything. All that's left is a dilapidated 1950s motel on Tybee Island. The Breeze Inn is not this former Savannah deb's kind of haunt, to put it mildly. Soon, though, with her spirit of can-do and the help of a few good friends, BeBe picks herself up and pitches in. What happens along the way, including an attraction to the also dilapidated but fast-improving manager of the Breeze Inn and some innovative decorating ideas, will keep readers staying up late. This is a delectable romp, masterfully written, and it hits all the right notes: serious, fun, and truehearted.

Questions for Discussion

Question:Question: 1. Were you fooled by Reddy? Were there any clues that he was trouble?

Question: 2. Can you imagine losing everything you own in the world, even your clothes? What do you think that you would do?

Question: 3. Is this a particularly Southern novel? If so, what are the elements that make it that way?

Question: 4. BeBe is a woman who thinks she knows what she wants in life. How does this stand in her way?

Question: 5. What does Andrews's portrayal of BeBe's grandparents have to say about aging? Did you find these characters frustrating, charming, or both?

Question: 6. Do you believe that people can really change? How do BeBe and Harry change each other? Is this change believable?

Question: 7. On page 162 Bebe says, "Up until the day I realized that my second husband, Richard, had that unfortunate penchant for computer porn, I'd always thought of myself as somebody who was naturally lucky." Do you think there is such a thing as "natural luck"?

Question: 8. Each of the characters in this story has pride, and shows it in different ways. How do we see this, and what part does pride play in what happens?

Question: 9. Would you say that this is a feminist novel? Why or why not?

Question: 10. Savannah Breeze definitely has a happy ending. What is it about happy endings in general that has such a powerful effect on readers? Are there happy endings in real life?

Read a Sample Chapter

Savannah Breeze LP

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

He was introduced to me as "Reddy" -- short for Ryan Edward Millbanks III. And I should have known better. He was younger. Too young. Sexy. Too sexy. Dead sexy. Exquisite manners. And as he leaned in, kissing me lightly on the cheek, I nearly fainted from the pheromones the man emitted. "I've heard so much about you from your ex-husband," he whispered, his mustache tickling my ear.

Alarms should have gone off. Sirens, blinking lights. Robotic voices should have warned me away. But the band was playing something Gershwinish, and I wouldn't have listened anyway. I only heard what I wanted to hear.

At the mention of my ex, I looked around the tightly packed ballroom with alarm. "Richard? What's Richard doing here? They were supposed to notify me when he was released."

Reddy looked confused and laughed to cover up his embarrassment. "Richard? But . . . Sandy Thayer told me, I mean, well, Sandy said you were his ex-wife. That is, he pointed in this direction and suggested I come talk to you. In fact, he suggested you might need rescuing from your date. You are BeBe Loudermilk, have I got that right?"

Now it was my turn to laugh. "Oh, Sandy. Yes, you've got that right. Sandy is my ex. Or I'm his. Twice, in fact. Sorry, I've been drinkingwine all night. As for my date, I'm not sure he remembers he brought me." I grimaced in the direction of Tater Love, my so-called date, who'd spent most of the evening drooling down the front of my ball gown, and who was now draped over the bar, consuming one beer after another.

Tater was a last-minute fix-up, and I should have known better, but it was the Telfair Ball, which was the social event of the year in Savannah, and I'd already paid for the tickets, and it wasn't as though my former fiancé, Emery Cooper, would be joining me.

Emery, one of the Cooper-Hale Mortuary Coopers, had called long distance, the previous week, to let me know that he and his ex-wife were on their way to Jamaica, to be remarried on the beach, which was the site of their first wedding. And their second honeymoon.

I thought I handled the news rather well. I took the salmon steaks I'd bought for our dinner that evening, drove over to his town house on Lafayette Square, and slid them through the mail slot in the door. That way, when Emery and his new bride returned home in a week, they'd have something to remember me by.

There was no way I was going to skip the Telfair Ball. For one thing, I was on the host committee. For another, by now, everybody in town knew that Emery had thrown me over for Cissy Drobish, the bucktoothed millionairess mother of his three children. It wouldn't do to have people talking about me behind my back. If they were going to talk, by God, they could just do it to my face.

"Hold your head up high, girl," I could hear my late father saying to me, nudging me as I slumped down in the pew in church. So I did as I was taught. I'd spent the whole day of the ball getting ready for battle: manicure, pedicure, facial, herbal massage, and new honey-blond highlights in my hair. I'd gotten all my big-girl jewelry out of the safe-deposit box, and had Roi, my hairdresser, pile my hair on top of my head so everybody could see that I hadn't returned Emery's diamond earrings.

However fabulous I looked, however, did not change the fact that I was stuck for the evening with Tater Love, friend of a friend of a friend, confirmed bachelor, who'd been too cheap to rent the evening shoes to go with his tux. Scuffed-black-loafer Tater Love. Cocktail-sauce-on-his-shirtfront Tater Love. It was going to be a very long evening. Which was why I'd decided to anesthetize myself with chardonnay as soon as we arrived at the dance.

Reddy took my elbow and guided me firmly from the dance floor to a remote corner of the ballroom occupied only by a grotesque marble statue of an unidentified Greek goddess and a large potted palm.

"About my exes -- " I started to explain.

"Shhh," Reddy said, putting a finger to my lips. "Be right back," he promised. And when he reappeared, he had a plate of lobster in one hand and a pair of crystal flutes in the other. He lifted the front of his dinner jacket -- it looked Armani, but I couldn't be sure -- and extracted an unopened bottle of Moët & Chandon from the waistband of his trousers.

Which should have signaled another set of alarms -- beware of men bearing gifts in their pants.

He popped the champagne cork with one smooth, expert motion -- I was soon to learn that he was an expert on many, many things -- and poured a glass for each of us. Reddy clinked his flute lightly against mine. "To new beginnings," he said, and he smiled that rogue smile.

And that was the end of all my good intentions.

Continues...

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Excerpted from Savannah Breeze LP by Mary Kay Andrews Copyright ©2006 by Mary Kay Andrews. Excerpted by permission.
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