Tangled Up in Daydreams by Rebecca Bloom

From the Publisher

The enchanting, heartwarming story of a young woman's journey toward true love and self-discovery

Girl Anatomy, Rebecca Bloom's debut novel, marked the arrival of a fresh new voice on the contemporary women's fiction scene. Now Bloom is back with her shimmering sophomore effort, Tangled Up in Daydreams. Bloom takes the themes that put her on the map — navigating L.A.'s social landscape with the help of trusty friends, a family's unconditional devotion, and the heartbreaking roller coaster of true love — and creates another irresistible novel.

Molly is a sweet, funny, and occasionally klutzy Los Angeles hipster with a blossoming new business and a supportive family. When she and Liam, a talented, up-and-coming musician, meet, their attraction is instant, their connection unparalleled.

But when Liam's recreational dabbling in the darker side of fame turns into a full-blown addiction, Molly must decide if her love is enough to change Liam. . . or if she should let him go to save herself.

Rebecca Bloom's exploration of a woman's emotional crossing — through the search for the love of a lifetime — is a stylish and sparkling novel. Tangled Up in Daydreams confirms her place as one of the brightest young creative talents today.

About the Author

Rebecca Bloom graduated from Brown University in 1996. From her Los Angeles home, she manages a small jewelry and clothing design business and writes full-time.

Publishers Weekly

Cliched and clunky, this second novel by Bloom (Girl Anatomy) chronicles the romantic troubles of an L.A. party girl. Molly Stern, a salesgirl and wannabe painter who hasn't outgrown glitter as an artistic medium, loves Liam McGuire, a gorgeous rocker she meets in a club ("Nothing could interrupt the twirl between them"). At first, everything is perfect, but then Liam starts screwing up: not only does he ruin a series of parties (including her 27th birthday bowl-a-thon), he's also got a weakness for drugs and female attention. Sometimes Molly and Liam have a "balls-out good time," and their sex is all about "incredible intimacy and kicking orgasms," but Liam always has to "have one more drink than everyone else, one more hit, one more line." Fed up with his substance abuse and general obliviousness as a boyfriend, Molly gets in her Rover and returns to Sun Valley to sort out her feelings, where her sweet, open-minded parents welcome her with freshly made lattes and food from their restaurant. Much of the novel takes place in flashback, with Molly and her intrepid gal-pal Jaycee letting their Marc Jacobs jackets lead them through the L.A. party circuit, amid the "babes, booze, and big shots." While the setting and characters could be frothily funny, Bloom's wooden dialogue, bad prose and juvenile sensibility disappoint. "It's like I'm caught in the midst of every bad Lifetime tearjerker," Molly cries, but readers-even tender teens and 20-somethings-will find her plight singularly unmoving, and the happy ending improbable. Agent, Jan Miller. (Dec.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

All about a hip young woman, her cool job, dependable best friend, and love-life turmoil: Bloom's second is still the kind of book that gives chick-lit a bad name. It's almost love at first sight when Molly and Liam meet in LA-and why not? Liam is gorgeous, an up-and-coming rock star, romantic and honest, and Molly is a struggling artist and all around good girl. Two years later, Molly is leaving Liam in a hospital and driving to her parents' place in Idaho. Flashbacks give us the whole story of what comes after that first love: many sweet moments and romantic gestures, but also a lot of disappointment for Molly. Liam's perfection is haphazard and too often augmented by some kind of illegal substance. His low-level drug abuse becomes more serious when he almost overdoses, and Molly can't take it anymore. In Idaho, she recuperates, reconnects with her fabulous family, and even decides to open a boutique in LA where she can sell her funky jewelry. Now, if only she could stop crying about Liam (he's somewhere in rehab) and figure out why she keeps throwing up (uh, huh), she could get back to LA maybe sadder but at least restored. Does she deserve better than a drug-addicted boyfriend, whose promises of rehabilitation become emptier as the years go on? Sure. But should Molly turn her back on true love, her soulmate? That's harder to answer as decisions for Molly become increasingly muddled by her well-meaning family. Plenty of good work has come out of this (dare we say) genre, but Bloom's stab misses the mark-lacking the humor, style (in spite of references to cashmere sweaters aplenty), and endearing characters (here, they all talk and act the same here) that make other chic-lit titles suchguilty pleasures. Hipster chic can't save this one from mediocre prose and poor plotting. Agent: Jan Miller/Dupree, Miller

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Chapter One

Her hair would just not cooperate. No amount of Green Tea shine extract or crushed bamboo Bed Head spread was going to tame the cherry-stained poof. Molly stared at her reflection and tried to smooth the frizz that was only getting slicker and stiffer with each layer. However, if not for the fro, she could focus on the scaly patch of skin just below her left eye that was beginning to sprout tiny red bumps. How come facials created freakish post-visit breakouts in spots that, even in the past, never succumbed to the hellish wrath of teenage acne? Molly hastily dabbed on some cover-up lotion and grabbed a polka-dot scarf from the drawer. She could only focus on one flaw at a time. If she dwelled on them and two or three managed to squeak by, her full self-conscious body chorus,which can usually drown out one off-key harmony, would get all worked up into a tizzy of wrong notes and caterwaul too loud to ignore. Molly had no time for the self-doubting symphony tonight. She was already late, and Jaycee was going to arrive in seconds to pick her up.

Molly rummaged through the pile of semi-clean clothing draped on the side of her dresser. She grabbed a pair of worn-in cargo pants, a red studded belt, and a black partially wrinkled but passable tank. With a few jeweled cat collars fastened to her wrists, a spritz of Trapeze, her favorite new perfume that she had just picked up from a little store in Venice, a black vintage band uniform blazer, a black suede bag, and a pair of Costume National boots, she was put together and perfectly timed to the first car honk. She got in and threw her coat in the back of Jaycee's car. Her friend had also paper-dolled it quite well. In her tight cropped jeans, yellow one-sleeved ruffled sweater, strands of fake pearls, camo kitten heels, and short spiked hair, which still had pink tinges, Jaycee had fashioned herself into a pint-sized, punk country club girl.

"Nice look." Jaycee gestured to Molly's head scarf. "Very Ali MacGraw."

"Thanks." Checking in the mirror to see if it was tight enough. "You don't even want to know what's under here. I think 'nest' is not even an adequate adjective."

"Who cares? It's just me and you tonight, baby. You have no need to impress." Flipping on the radio. "This is Alison. The girl we are hearing tonight."

"Is this what you played the other night when we made dinner?" Picking up the CD case and turning it over. "Like the pearls by the way."

"Yeah, I was going for a debauched debutante thing. This..." skipping tracks, "is my favorite song."

"Nice." Leaning back and enjoying the music. "She sounds a bit like early Natalie Merchant.Very throaty."

"But, not so round, and a little more punk rock. It should be a good show."

The girls gabbed and listened all the way to the bar. They parked in front of Goldfinger's and walked in. The show had yet to begin, so they pulled up two bar stools and ordered martinis from the cute Australian whom Jaycee used to sleep with.

"Hey,Mark," Jaycee said as she kissed the tall, burly bartender on the cheek. "How's it going?"

"Terrible since you dumped me, love," he answered as he winked at Jaycee. "What would you two like?"

"Martinis and my friend Molly here likes hers very dirty."

Mark went to the other end of the bar to make their drinks, and Molly and Jaycee settled onto their perches. Goldfinger's was dark in that perfect bar way. You could see everyone clearly enough to know whom you were talking to, but they fortunately couldn't see all the flaws you carefully masked behind the carefully spackled foundation and last-minute accessories. With the focus blurred in just the right way, everyone looked somewhat attractive. Besides being dark, the bar had gold, padded walls and a cool go-go-girl cage set up in the corner. Very James Bond. Very LA. There were about twenty other patrons there, milling, checking, and scanning about. No one looked familiar, so Molly and Jaycee continued in their own little world of conversation.

"Jay, I'm so pissed at you for introducing me to John."

"What's wrong now?" Pulling up the back of her jeans. "I knew I should have worn a belt."

"It's fine. I only see a peek of thong." Checking her friend's ass. "Anyway, it's the same shit .He overtalks everything! I'm just so sick of him calling to order these summit meetings every friggin' week on the state of our relationship," Molly complained while she sipped her cocktail. "It's exhausting."

"Isn't that, like, your fourth 'relationship' talk in what, a month? And, what's the deal? He's being more of a chick than you ever could!"

"Yep. He needs me to be aware of all the nuances of his feelings about us, and how close we are, and what he wants, and what I want, and how we can get to the next level. After an hour we figure out some steps to take and for a short time things are great, but then it's another talk and we're back to square one. It's so annoying."

"I'm sorry I tried to play cupid," Jay apologized as she chugged her drink. "I thought you guys would be a good match. You have so much in common,and he fits right into your whole struggling artiste thing."

"Mentally we are, and I love that he is so communicative because usually guys flee the minute anything resembling feelings comes up, but everything is so cerebral all the time. It's sort of stopped being fun and sexy ...