I Left My Back Door Open by April Sinclair

From the Publisher

Chicago deejay Daphne "Dee Dee" Dupree is sassy and successful—but a series of catastrophic relationships has left her gun-shy. Now with her own life and the lives of those closest to her seemingly coming apart at the seams, she's going to have to leave the safe cocoon of her broadcasting booth to face her world, her secrets, and a new promise of mature love fearlessly and head-on.

Essence Magazine - Martha Southgate

Any sister who has ever felt unlucky in love will identify with Sinclair's smoothly written tale.

Publishers Weekly

"I am not young, or thin, or white, or beautiful,'' says the narrator of Sinclair's worldly-wise and entertaining new novel. Gun-shy after several catastrophic relationships, Chicago deejay Daphne (Dee Dee) Dupree is an outwardly successful African-American woman aching for self-realization. Sassy from the safety of her broadcasting booth, the heavy-set 41-year-old jauntily offers her weight as the cause of a recent breakup ("The brotha didn't 'preciate my meat"). In reality, Dee Dee struggles with the shame of being fat and bulimic. She yearns for mature love and the self-confidence she's sure will accompany finding the right man. Meanwhile, relationships she's relied on as stable fall into flux: the 20-year marriage of her high school friends Sarita and Phil is falling apart; her best friend, Sharon, has come bursting out of the closet, an enthusiastic lesbian at 40; Jade, her belly-dancing instructor and fellow deejay, is on the cusp of ending an unhappy marriage. Dee Dee's only constant is her cat, Langston. The mixed blessing of a sexual harassment suit at work brings union mediator Skylar into her life. Attraction notwithstanding, their romance is tentative and obstructed; his (white) ex-wife is trying to reconcile with him and his eight-year-old daughter relentlessly blocks her father's new interest. In the course of sorting all this out, Dee Dee takes stock and faces some long repressed childhood memories. Refreshingly upbeat and robustly spiritual, the novel steers clear of sentimental inspirational writing by means of its frank and funny dialogue.

The New York Times Book Review - Sarah Vowell

A Bridget Jones's Diary for Black women.

Entertainment Weekly

...[T]he dialogue is sharp and the characters refreshing...

Kirkus Reviews

A witty narrative and sympathetic characters rescue (but just barely) a story that overexerts itself to include nearly every anxiety known to pop culture. "Let's get real," says Dee Dee Dupree. "What are the chances of an overweight, over forty, black woman meeting Mr. Right?" This concern is at the center of almost all the other elements of Dee Dee's life: her job as a radio DJ in Chicago, the souring romantic relationships of her friends, and her struggle to make peace with being an incest survivor. As the story opens, Dee Dee is hardly excited about her arranged meeting with Skylar, a mediator brought in to settle a sexual harassment complaint filed by her friend Jade at the radio station. When Dee Dee and Skylar meet, however, the attraction is mutual, and they begin a tender if at times troubled relationship. As things go on, however, Dee Dee learns both through her own experience and observation of others that love is a briar patch. Jade considers leaving her domineering husband; high-school friend Sarita becomes increasingly detached from her husband, who then makes a move on Dee Dee; and best friend Sharon comes out as a lesbian, slightly rocking the friendship but most of all affecting Sharon's teenaged daughter, Tyeesha, who does all she can to rebel. Most worrisome to Dee Dee is her own tenuous relationship with Skylar's young daughter, Brianna, and with his ex-wife, who just won't go away. Playing unofficial counselor to everyone in sight, Dee Dee has a full emotional plate—while she desperately tries to reduce the portions on her literal one. Sinclair (Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice, 1996, etc.) realistically weaves together a variety of characters, offering apanoramic view of black women approaching 40. Unfortunately, much of the realism flies out the window at the close, when all strings are tied together happily and very quickly. Uneven at the end, but an amusing read.

What People Are Saying

Dorothy Allison
April Sinclair is an extraordinary storyteller.
— Author of Bastard Out of Carolina

Product Details

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Read an Excerpt

I am not young, or thin, or white or beautiful. I'm a slightly thick sista, but I know how to fix myself up. And I'm on the radio. My name is Daphne Dupree, and I play the blues.

I liked everything about speaking into a mike. I even enjoyed positioning my mouth in front of one. And I loved the way my voice sounded, so rich and full, when it came out. Maybe I just liked to hear myself talk.

"We opened the set with the incomparable Etta 'Miss Peaches' James doing 'At Last.' That was by special request from Dianne, a blue-eyed soul sister who knows that when you make a potato salad, you don't leave out the mustard.

"Speaking of food, we're gonna be broadcasting live from Taste of Chicago, in Grant Park next Saturday. I hope to see some of my listeners. You know I'm gon' sho' 'nuff be tastin', too. 'Cause, honey, there's no such thang as a black anorexic!" I laughed. "You heard it here first."

I kept right on b.s.in,' 'cause I was on a roll. And I was in control. "Y'all remember, last year, my boyfriend didn't hit me, but he up and quit me? Yeah, he said, 'Dee Dee you too big,' sho' did. The brotha didn't 'preciate my meat. He wasn't no natchel man. Finally had to tell 'im, I was built for comfort, not for speed!"

I paused for air. "You know, it's funny, there was a time when a skinny woman was almost looked at as deformed. She damn near had to run away and join the circus." I sighed. "When I was a child, nobody wanted the woman with the skinny legs And don't let her have the nerve to be flat-chested, with no booty too. You had to have something to shake back in them days."

I noticed a lighted button. "I got a callcoming in on the board. Somebody out there must be feeling my pain."

"Girlfriend, you need to come on back home to the soulful South Side," the voice on the line urged.

"It sounds like my friend, Sarita."

"Yeah, it's me, girl. Anyway, it's plenty of men on the South Side who like full-figured women.'

"Sista, you say I'm just dealing on the wrong side of town? You think that's what it is?"

"I know that's what it is. You drive around the South Side, and you see big behinds everywhere. And it ain't keeping nobody from getting no man, or putting on no pair of shorts, either."

"Big behinds are all over the North Side, too," I insisted. "You need to get out more. Big behinds are everywhere now, and they come in all colors. And they're coming to a theater near you.'

"Girl, you crazy! We don't have no theaters around here. I'm calling you from the 'hood."

"It was just an expression."

"Anyway, Dee Dee, you need to come on back to church, 'cause, honey, there're plenty of women heavier than you. In fact, they'd run and bring you a plate of food, girlfriend. Try to fatten you up."

"All right, I'll be in your church on Sunday. So save me some pew. And give some sugar to my play nephew. I just can't help but rhyme, almost every time."

"Okay, then, you put on Koko Taylor for your good girlfriend."

"A request for the reigning Queen of the Blues is always good news! But, first, it's time for the tips, and I'll shoot 'em from the hips. If you want your holiday to be a blast, when you barbecue, put your sauce on last. You can baste it with vinegar, you can baste itwith beer. But, Koko fixin' to pitch a "Wang Dang Doodle" then I'm outta here! That concludes this edition of Deep Dish Blues on WLUV, 98.6 on your FM dial. And I'm your hostess with the mostest, Dee Dee Joy, born in Alabama and raised in Illinois."

I'd taken off my headphones and unglued my hips from the one-size-don't-fit-all swivel chair. Jade was at the mike now. I listened to her sultry voice as I sauntered through the air-conditioned state-of-the-art studio on Chicago's waterfront.

"Welcome to the world of Belly," Jade said mysteriously, in her Chinese accent. "Slip on your finger cymbals. Toreador your veils. Put your camels to bed. We've got two hours of Egyptian pop ahead."

I swayed to the beat as I entered the spacious but deserted reception area. My ears were filled with the moaning of Egyptians, but my eyes were drawn to the view of the cluster of boats navigating the lake. Outside the picture windows, people strolled along the water's edge or sat in open-air cafés. On summer nights like this one, a jazz band played below a Budweiser sign. Navy Pier was a tourist attraction, pure and simple. But I admired the colorful Ferris wheel lit up against the darkening sky.

Suddenly, I felt someone's presence and my body jumped. I turned around. It was Rob, the station manager. He looked like Mike Moore, the guy who made the movie Roger and Me.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Rob said, apologetically.

"I didn't know you were still here," I answered.

"Yeah, I'm still pushing papers." Rob sighed. "Anyway, I gotyour memo, " he continued. "But, guess what, you don't have toworry about doing that stinking fund-raiser this year, you're off thedamn hook"

"I didn't mind doing it," I answered. "It was for a good cause. Besides, I can think of worse things than emceeing an event at the Four Seasons. Plus, they've always requested me."

"Yeah, and all these years you've been a trouper." Rob patted me on the shoulder.

"Well, what happened?" I asked, confused. "Have they decided not to do it this year? It was always so successful..."