Thirty-seven year-old Gemma, newly divorced and a little insecure, meets pop star Emilio Caliente, several years her junior, on the Isle of Ibiza. You will fall in love with Emilio as he gently and seductively claims Gemma’s broken heart. Real love and romance, told in a playful manner, rich with laughter, antics, and comedic adventures, will keep you turning the pages. Francesca’s clever, witty, first-person sophisticated style is stellar! Definitely a Five Star winner.
*****
I want you to know the author, Francesca Prescott, as I do. This lovely lady—who could have been the model herself for the cover—is much like her heroine, Gemma. While she writes in a style that’s merry and exuberant, she can also pull emotion from the reader with a few choice words. Her e-mail messages could be stories in themselves. She is a delightful young woman, a dedicated mother and wife, and a loyal supporter of her author friends.
Francesca, now that I’ve introduced you, tell the readers about your life in Switzerland, your own travels to Ibiza, and your journey in the world of romantic fiction. Celia Yeary
Hi Celia! Hello everyone!
My goodness! I’m terribly flattered and think Celia should come to Switzerland and live in my house so she can plump up my ego whenever it’s feeling a bit smushed! Right now, however, since she’s just picked it up and given it a good shake, I might as well tell you that I actually did some modeling about a hundred years ago, when I was in my twenties. I was never very good at it though, because I was (and still am) extremely shy. I have an excruciating memory of blanking out on the dance moves of an intensely rehearsed, heavily choreographed catwalk show in San Francisco, and having to go out there and improvise in front of hundreds of people. Goodness me! I was absolutely mortified, and the choreographer was absolutely livid. Sympathetic friends in the audience assured me that nobody had noticed but, nevertheless, I was traumatized and stuck to print work after that. I’ve discovered over the years that I’m far more of an extrovert on the page than I am in front of a camera!
Speaking of cameras and photoshoots, I’ve just come back from a promotional week in Ibiza, where my début romantic comedy, “Mucho Caliente!” is set. I was lucky enough to be interviewed by the editor of “Ibiza Style”, the island’s mega cool, glossy magazine. The following day, “Ibiza Style” sent a photographer to where I was staying, and he spent hours taking photos of me! We’re talking a real photoshoot, with different outfits, push-up bra, mucho hair flicking, sad attempts at smoldering, sexy sideways glances, everything! I haven’t seen any of the photos yet, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed there will be some nice ones. And if worst comes to worst, they can always Photoshop me into glossy, smooth, streamlined fabulousness, right?! Please tell me they can…
Anyway, apart from promoting my book in various trendy locations, being interviewed, and posing for the paparazzi (haha!), I had a lovely, relaxed, very floppy time in Ibiza. I’d never been there at this time of the year before, and couldn’t believe how lush and green the island was. There have been unusual amounts of rain recently, and the wild flowers are out en force, dancing across the countryside, enjoying a multicolored fiesta.
I first fell in love with Ibiza about ten years ago, when my friend Victoria bought an old farmhouse on a hill overlooking a terracotta-earthed valley, located in the tranquil, north-western part of the island, and moved there permanently with her family. It was a brave move as the house needed extensive renovation, forcing them to spend the first year and a half living in a tiny, converted old almond mill included in the property. There was no electricity, no hot water, and living conditions can only be described as seriously rudimentary.
Victoria’s son, Emile, was two years old at the time, and her husband, François, worked as a doctor for the World Health Organization, spending most of his time on duty travel in Africa, so Victoria’s new life in Ibiza began as a grueling, round-the-clock, one woman show. Years later, a single glimpse is all it takes to see that her hard work has paid off: the property is a romantic, Mediterranean dream. She is one talented lady!
It was while staying with Victoria and her little boy in the old almond mill that I was first inspired to write a novel set on the island. It was a hot, bright, blue and yellow summer, and I wasn’t staying long enough to be bothered by the lack of mod-cons. On the contrary, I found the “back to nature” concept utterly charming. I was enchanted by the warm climate and the breathtaking scenery: the sea, the rolling hills, the deep red earth, the endless, dusty, rocky caminos leading to stark white fincas (farmhouses) swathed in hot pink bougainvillea. I couldn’t get enough of the island’s rich, heady scents, nor of its intense, golden light. I wanted to write about Ibiza’s authentic, stunningly beautiful, heart-piercingly romantic side, which contrasts sharply with her full-on, frenetic, party-animal reputation.
Not that I have anything against partying; somehow, partying comes naturally in Ibiza, but (as far as my friends and I are concerned) doesn’t have to involve downing ludicrous amounts of alcohol, inhaling mood-altering substances, and staying up dancing until beyond the break of dawn. For me, Ibiza has a unique, bohemian vibe which somehow manages to turn the simplest of activities into happy, memorable moments. This could be sharing a meal and a glass of wine with close friends, taking a quick dip at the family-friendly Cala Salada (Salty Beach), enjoying a long walk in the countryside, horseback riding in the hills, or visiting the clashingly colorful Las Dalias hippy market in San Carlos. I sometimes think there must be endorphins in the air, because as soon as I set foot on the island, I seem to tap into an uplifting, relaxed, creative vibe. Last weekend was no exception: I stepped off the plane and headed towards Victoria’s house in my rental car with a big, goofy smile on my face. Go figure!
I spent eighteen exciting months tuned into Ibiza’s happy vibe while writing “Mucho Caliente!”. The idea for the book developed after Victoria and I spent the day on one of Ibiza’s particularly trendy beaches. We were hanging around the beach-bar, sipping margaritas and feeling languidly sundrenched when, all of a sudden, my heart flatlined. There he was, one of my favorite pop stars! I don’t think I’ve ever been so star-struck in my life! Victoria kept on nudging me, telling me to go and say hello to him, but I couldn’t move. And - wouldn’t you know? - the guy was even better looking close-up than he was on television! However, his girlfriend didn’t exactly remind me of Quasimodo, either…
Anyway, I never worked up the courage to go and introduce myself, which is probably just as well. You see, if he’d brushed me off, he’d have tarnished the image I had of him and I might never have written the effervescent, fun-filled, “Mucho Caliente!”.
Apart from being a love story, “Mucho Caliente!” is also about daring to believe in yourself and to have faith in other people when you’ve been burned. It is about attempting to take control of your life even though you’re terrified of making mistakes, and about taking chances while remaining true to yourself. It is about the angst of falling in love with a (very famous!) younger man. But it’s also very much about all the wonderful, long lasting friendships between women, often spiced by a touch of rivalry.
In this short excerpt, Gemma, the main character, suffers a close encounter with the largest and meanest jellyfish in the Mediterranean, while trying to save Latino pop superstar Emilio Caliente from hordes of hysterical fans! I hope it makes you smile...
***
I suppose things could be worse. There was a moment when hara-kiri seemed like an attractive alternative.
First of all, Emilio didn’t recognise me in the water. Of course, the wet look isn’t really moi, hairstyle speaking. Maybe the sun was in his face. But still…
It was when I collided with the largest and meanest jellyfish in the Mediterranean that, fearing imminent death, I started screaming for help. Did Emilio jump in to save me? No, he did not. He ignored me and continued to grind his pelvis towards his foot mike, lip-synching to his horrendous remix of Besame Mucho.
It was only when his bass guitarist pointed out to him that someone might consider doing something about the drowning nutcase in the water, that Philip, the skipper, a rather gorgeous, very gentle and polite young man with black hair, abandoned ship, swam towards me, flipped me over, grabbed me around the neck and put his lifesaving skills to good use. He dragged me through the water towards the boat where Emilio and his merry mariners were shouting febrile instructions.
Being rescued by a strong and sexy mariner still held its fair share of glamour in a damsel-in-distress-ish way. It was when we reached the foot of the ladder, and, to my horror, Philip placed a hand between my legs and pushed me out of the water and skywards from underneaththat the sheer ridicule of my situation hit home. It was a move similar to the one performed by world class ice-skating couples: the man places his hand on the woman’s crotch, picks her up and twirls her gracefully through the air. I’d often wondered about that. Now I’ve experienced it. But I wasn’t wearing anything. At all. Nor did I get to twirl.
My gut feeling is that the overall effect had little in common with an old Esther Williams aqua-spectacular. I was thrust out of the water bare bottomed, my bikini top flapping around my ears, watched from the beach by a gaggle of hysterical Caliente’s Chicks, watched from the boat by a wide-eyed Emilio and his buddies. I caught a glimpse of surprise on Emilio’s face as he recognised me, rolled up his sleeves, grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the deck where I lay sprawled, gasping for breath, the inside of my thighs red, raw and blistered from the jellyfish sting, most of my goodies on show.
It was one of those red hot and icy cold paralysing moments when you don’t quite know what the next best move might be. You’re not feeling bad enough not to care what you look like, yet you’re too embarrassed by the way you look to actually move. So you wonder whether you should pretend to be, if not on the verge of death, then at least more or less comatose, therefore possessing a valid excuse for looking, such as I did in that particular instance, like a limp and battered dodo.
Worse, my wild, paranoid imagination kicked in and began to meddle with reality.
Shit, I thought, he thinks I’m one of them. One of Caliente’s Chicks. And hey, guess what? I am! Should I bring up the subject and test the ground? Or should I adopt a hoity-toity attitude towards the women on the beach? A member of Caliente’s Chicks? Who? Me? No way! But then - thanks so bloody much Celeste! - he knows about the T-shirt. If I deny any connection whatsoever to the Chicks, will he check? My name is probably on a computer somewhere. The truth is out there. Sooner or later, I’ll be exposed. I’ll be sentenced to ten years of forced labour on the pink and white boat in a baby pink sequinned bikini, serving cheap champagne to mindless twits like myself. My hair will be massacred by peroxide. Kirsten will spend hours smooching Emilio in front of me. I’ll have a choice between marrying the porky captain with the perky package or walking the pink plank.
I felt dizzy. I suspect my eyes might have rolled most attractively in their sockets. I might even have dribbled seawater. I probably had seaweed stuck between my teeth.
Yet some pathetic part of me was still hoping that it might cross Emilio’s mind that the lady doth need a touch of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. That he might seize the moment. Use it as an excuse.
I would have.
I waited, trying to squint through my eyelashes to see what level of concern I was causing. So far, silence. Should I roll overboard and turn myself into fish fodder?
Oh, before I forget, I’d like to mention that “Mucho Caliente!” was voted Best Long Book of the Year (2008) by the Long and Short Reviews ! How cool is that??!!
It’s getting late here in my pretty little Swiss village, so I’d better go. My plane landed late last night, I’ve been on the computer all day, and have yet to unpack my very colorful, horribly messy suitcase! I’m also looking forward to a quiet evening with my husband and my two, gorgeous, teenage children. I thoroughly enjoyed my week in Ibiza, but you know what? I couldn’t wait to get home to my family…
Thank you, Celia, for inviting me to Authors and Books. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate; I’ll be more than happy to answer them!
Lots of love,
Francesca
“MUCHO CALIENTE! – Wish upon a Latino Superstar”
Francesca Prescott
BookStrand
