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Summary
Summary
Scruples, Judith Krantz's electrifying, world wide bestseller appeared fifteen years ago and made book publishing history. Now that unforgettable story, a story that marks an era, a story that millions of readers wish had never ended . . . continues. Only a single night's sleep seperates the lives of the characters in Scruplesfrom this mesmerizing sequel. Billy Ikehorn is a contemporary woman living on a grand scale. A self-made beauty and the exquisite owner of a fabled Beverley Hills boutique called Scruples and married to the Oscar-winning producer Vito Orsini. To those who only know her from afar, she seems to lead a dream existence, wrapped in all the power of glamout, riches, and success. Then a stranger arrives in Billy's life--Gigi Orsini, Vito's sixteen-year-old daughter by an early marriage. Independent, deeply interesting, street-smart, and enchantingly humorous, Gigi captures Billy's heart and sets in motion a train of utterly unexpected events. Life with Gigi hold both joy and pain for Spider Elliot and Valentine O'Neill, Billy's partners in Scruples. The many new freinds Gigi makes during the next five years will grow important to Billy in ways she could never have forseen.Scruples Twomoves swiflty and unexpectadly, filled with breathtaking change, from California to New York to Paris, following two of the most fascinating and touching females in modern fiction, Billy Ikehorn and Gigi Orsini. From the Paperback edition.
Author Notes
Judith Krantz was born on January 9, 1929 in New York City. She graduated from Wellesley College in 1948. She was a fashion publicist in Paris in the late 1940s. She was the fashion editor for Good Housekeeping magazine, a contributing writer to McCall's magazine and Ladies' Home Journal, and the contributing West Coast editor of Cosmopolitan.
Her first novel, Scruples, was published in 1978. Her other novels include Princess Daisy, Mistral's Daughter, I'll Take Manhattan, Till We Meet Again, The Jewels of Tessa Kent, and Lovers. Her autobiography, Sex and Shopping: The Confessions of a Nice Jewish Girl, was published in 2000. Although she did not publish her first book until she was 50, Krantz's 10 novels have together sold more than 85 million copies in more than 50 languages. Most of her books also became TV movies or mini-series, often produced by her husband, Steve Krantz.
Because of her love for reading and writing, Krantz was an enthusiastic supporter of the Library Foundation of Los Angeles and an active member of the Council of the Library Foundation. In 2014, she received the Light of Learning Award from the LFLA. In recognition of her many years of support, the Los Angeles Public Library named the Judith Krantz Fiction Collection in her honor.
Judith Krantz passed away on 06/22/2019 at the age of 91.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (3)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Picking up on Oscar night, where Krantz's 1977 blockbuster first novel left off, this sequel is long on background filler, short on suspense, rarely exciting or even steamy. Wealthy and gorgeous Billy Ikehorn has a secret, but when her movie producer husband Vito Orsini's never-before-mentioned teenage daughter shows up, Billy's secret, and her marriage, become irrelevant. She mothers Gigi, starting her off, naturally, with an expensive new haircut and wardrobe. Meanwhile, Billy's Beverly Hills-based designer clothes store, Scruples, is so successful she opens new branches. Then a tragedy involving her key staff sends the distraught Billy fleeing to Paris, where she has an affair with a sculptor. Gigi moves to New York, lives with lingerie model Sasha (the ``Great Slut'') Nevsky, and falls for Sasha's brother Zach. Ultimately, Billy realizes that having scads of money doesn't buy happiness (though it does make it possible to dine in five-star restaurants, live in groovy houses, wear fabulous clothes, stay forever young-looking, and finance your own business venture to design less expensive clothes for average-income folks--``Scruples Two''). Perhaps in ``Scruples Three'' Billy will donate excess clothing to the homeless. 500,000 first printing; $500,000 ad/promo; Literary Guild and Doubleday Book Club main selection. ( June ) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus Review
Krantz gives fans another dizzying spin around the glitter world of high fashion, hot sex, and Hollywood, picking up in 1978 with a pregnant Billy Ikehorn (of Scruples, 1977) the night after her new husband, Italian producer Vito Orsini, wins the Oscar (but, of course). Billy's marital bliss lasts a nanosecond before Vito cheats, she miscarries, they divorce, and Billy once again is glamorously jet-setting to New York, Hong Kong, Paris, wherever, opening namesakes of her famous boutique worldwide. We're reacquainted with the old gang, especially partners Spider Elliot and Valentine O'Neill, as Krantz interweaves their lives with those of Billy's new and ever widening circle, which now places her teenage stepdaughter Gigi (from her marriage to Vito) right in the center and ripe for picking. Billy continues to pour her passionate energy into projects--her stores, Gigi, a mansion, and a double life with sculptor Sam Jamison in Paris, and--ultimately--a mail-order boutique called Scruples Two. Meanwhile, tragedies strike, loves are won and lost, loyalties betrayed, backs bitten, and sex--always hot and sometimes kinky--is had by almost all. Krantz's all-knowing narrator, the quintessential gossip mogul who has the goods on everyone, knowing each inside out, dishes it out with such relish and appeal that it's hard not to be hooked from beginning to end, even when the designer and dominatrix references begin to grow stale. Pure, delicious fun. (Literary Guild Dual Selection for August)
Booklist Review
Vito's won the Oscar, Dolly's had her baby, and one of Billy Ikehorn's fabled diamond earrings has, it seems, been lost forever. This sequel to Krantz's popular Scruples begins the day after the first book ends, with Billy testily trying to find a few minutes alone with Vito to tell him that she's pregnant. Vito has a secret of his own, though, and it arrives on the doorstep in the form of Gigi, his 16-year-old daughter from a previous marriage. Gigi is one of several fresh characters who brighten up Krantz's already glittering landscape, and the book as a whole is a smart blend of new passions and old friends. There isn't much of a plot for the first 200 pages (after which it suddenly gets going with a real heart stopper), but fans will still enjoy getting back in touch with Spider and Valentine, Dolly Moon, Maggie MacGregor, and Vito, whose incipient caddishness reaches full flower. The rich, beautiful, and exasperating Billy Ikehorn remains the core of the story, and while Krantz has deepened (and darkened) the portrait, Billy gets some funny, off-guard moments. Krantz's chatty, confiding style is altogether engaging; unlike many of her imitators, this author always likes the characters she has created, writing of their feats and foibles with contagious enthusiasm. The sex scenes, fewer than in the first book, have Krantz's trademark ladylike vulgarity (and humor: there's a humdinger with studio superwife and dominatrix Susan Arvey wielding power over a call boy). As usual, Krantz works in plenty of high-concept details, here involving the catalog business and the "Five-Minute-Fire-Drill Wardrobe." Although the story has a few dropped threads, the sequel is satisfying, with a happy ending that's entirely justified if perhaps a little hard to get used to. Scruples (One) is a landmark in contemporary popular fiction; a re- or first reading of that book is a happy obligation for those intent on enjoying this account of what happened next. (Reviewed May 15, 1992)0517582287Roger Sutton
Excerpts
Excerpts
Billy woke reluctantly from a dream of such poignant happiness that she tried to cling to it as long as possible. She was running in the dream, bounding effortlessly up a flight of circular steps that led to a platform at the top of a tower from which, she knew even as she ran, she would see a radiant springtime woodland leading to the adventure of a beckoning turquoise sea. She opened her eyes with a sigh and waited for the emotion of the dream to fade, but all the joy stayed with her. Blissfully disoriented, confused even as to the date and place, she mistily consulted the high ceiling until memory floated back. She was in her own bed in her own house in California. It was April, it was 1978. Last night Vito had won the Oscar for Best Picture and Dolly Moon, her dear friend, had won for Best Supporting Actress. Four hours later Dolly had, with dispatch and composure, given birth to a magnificent baby girl. Billy and Vito, with Lester Weinstock, Dolly's publicist, had skipped the post-Oscar party and waited at the hospital together. Then they had all returned here, to celebrate with scrambled eggs, English muffins and champagne. Billy remembered cooking the eggs and she had a clear vision of Vito opening champagne, but after that everything blurred into a haze of toasts and laughter. Perhaps both men were in bed with her? A quick peek revealed that she was alone, and on Vito's side of the bed the covers were thrown back. Yawning, stretching, groaning with pleasure, Billy eased herself cautiously upright. Her bedside clock told her that it was past noon, but she didn't feel at all guilty. If a woman couldn't sleep late after enduring the many nervous tensions of yesterday, when could she? Especially in her condition, her incredible condition, her excessively interesting, newly discovered condition that was still a secret. But now the time had come to make her announcement. She heard Vito's voice on the phone in the sitting room next to their bedroom. Good, that meant she could throw some water on her face and brush her teeth before he realized she was awake. As Billy brushed her hair, dismissing as always the bugle call of her insistent beauty, even she couldn't fail to notice the vivid freshness of her skin, the artless brightness of her smoky eyes, the deeply gleaming abundance of her dark brown hair. She looked ten years younger than her thirty-five years. It must be hormones, she thought, up to their notorious tricks. When she emerged from the bathroom Vito was still on the phone, so Billy was inspired to take a quick shower. From the instant she told Vito about this baby, he'd be so excited, so thrilled, so blind to distraction that everything else would become unimportant while they spent hours talking and planning, so she might as well grab this opportunity. A few minutes later, still damp from her hurried shower, barefoot and all but dancing in eagerness, Billy threw on a peignoir made of almost transparent crêpe de chine and flung open the door to the sitting room. In quick, reflex confusion, she stepped back into the bedroom. What the devil was Vito's secretary, Sandy Stringfellow, doing sitting on Billy's favorite chair in her very own, very private and off-limits sitting room, murmuring discreetly into Billy's private phone, whose cord Sandy had dragged over from Billy's desk? Neither Vito nor Sandy had noticed her, so absorbed were they in their separate conversations. Billy shrugged out of her indiscreet peignoir and put on slippers and a robe made of heavy toweling. "Good morning," she said, beaming at Sandy and Vito. Sandy made an apologetic grimace and continued talking. Vito looked up quickly, waved, smiled, blew her an abstracted kiss and continued listening intently. "Yes, Mr. Arvey, Mr. Orsini will take your call as soon as he gets off the other phone," Billy heard Sandy say. "Yes, I know how long you've been waiting, would you rather he called you back? No, I can't say exactly when, that's the problem. We don't have a switchboard here, and the phone hasn't stopped ringing all morning. Mr. Orsini hasn't even had time to dress to go to his office. It shouldn't be long now, Mr. Arvey, but this phone doesn't have a hold button. Yes, I know that's ridiculous, but I'm on Mrs. Orsini's private phone." Billy scribbled a question mark on a piece of memo paper and thrust it at Vito. He shook his head at her and pointed toward Sandy. "Who's he talking to?" Billy asked. "Lew Wasserman, about The WASP," Sandy answered, putting her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. The two women made wide-eyed faces of mutual congratulation at each other. The combination of the most influential and powerful man in Hollywood and Vito's cherished new project, in which he hoped to star Robert Redford and Jack Nicholson, explained everything about Vito's intensity. "Where's Josie?" Billy asked. Surely Josie Speilberg, her own secretary, should be running herd in here. "Terrible stomach flu. She called in sick," Sandy answered. "Great," Vito said, "that's great, Lew. Yeah ... yeah ... uh-huh ... I understand your point.... Right. Listen, Lew, thanks again for the advice. Breakfast tomorrow morning? You're on. Seven-thirty? No problem. Good-bye, Lew." He hung up and gave Billy a quick, violent hug and a brief, hard kiss, triumph and victory making him move twice as quickly as usual. "Sleep okay, darling? No time to talk, I absolutely have to take the other phone and talk to Curt Arvey. That miserable sucker should never have bet me that Mirrors wouldn't win. Now he's going to shell out the million and a half for the rights to The WASP, and I want to make sure he's closed the deal with that New York literary agent. If ever there was a hot property...." He had picked up Billy's private phone and was deep in conversation with Arvey while Sandy jumped to answer the other phone, which had started ringing the minute Vito put it down. Billy looked at the two of them and realized they had forgotten her. Well, her news would wait, she told herself, and she needed breakfast. She waltzed down the staircase and through the sun-dappled double living rooms of her very large yet supremely comfortable house. It was an old house, as houses go in California, built in the 1930s, and in spite of its size it managed to retain an intimate, human scale. It was a house rich in personal, non-fashionable accumulation. Each room beckoned the passerby with asymmetrical bouquets of upholstered furniture, interestingly covered in slightly faded, succulently flowered English linens and ribbon-striped French cottons; there were fine old needlepoint rugs on the irregular, polished floorboards; no room was without several working fireplaces in which firewood was newly laid. Clusters of blooming plants, ferns and small trees stood in nooks and corners and were grouped near the French doors, piles of books overflowed the bookcases, everywhere a multitude of paintings stood propped up and against the walls. Small, splendid bronzes, well-used silver candlesticks, inlaid tea caddies and birdless birdcages covered the tabletops; baskets brimming with magazines stood by the chairs and everywhere were gloriously idiosyncratic antiques, bought for their charm and exuberance. There was no gilt, no formality, no grandeur or opulence, not so much as one jeweled snuffbox among the hundreds of whimsical objects, yet it was obvious that Billy had never refused to be tempted when she happened across something she wanted. In spite of their fascinatingly disorganized clutter, the rooms were so big that they were characterized by crisp space and carefree freshness. It was not the house of a woman who had to please or impress anyone but herself, yet only huge expense could keep this great house in the customary immaculate perfection of unstudied disorder that Billy loved. She made her way through the library and the music room and the dining room, on her way to the pantry, smiling gaily at her three maids as she crossed their busy paths. Two of them had their arms filled with flower arrangements that had just arrived, and the third clutched sheaves of telegrams. In the kitchen Billy's chef, Jean-Luc, concealed his surprise at the appearance of his employer; twice a week he conferred with Miss Speilberg about menus for the week, but Mrs. Orsini rarely visited the kitchen, and certainly never in her bathrobe. Billy asked him to send Vito and Sandy a platter of club sandwiches and make her a dish she saved for very special moments: three slices of white toast covered thickly with Tiptree's Little Scarlet strawberry jam and topped by carefully layered slices of very crisp bacon. This combination tasted like sweet and sour Chinese food for infants, and was a masterpiece of empty calories. Sugar, salt, white flour, and animal fat, Billy gloated while she waited in the breakfast room for the bacon to be browned to the point of almost burning. This would be her last hurrah before she began her pregnancy diet, a bravura farewell gesture that could be appreciated only by a woman as compulsive as she was, a woman who knew the value of every calorie she had ingested since the age of eighteen, when she had lost a lifetime's accumulation of fat and determined successfully to stay thin forever. Nothing but melon, broiled tomatoes and steamed fish tonight, Billy thought, without regret, as she sipped orange juice and considered the scene in her sitting room. This phone marathon couldn't go on much longer. Presumably it had started hours ago, since Vito, an early riser under all circumstances, still hadn't had time to shave or dress. Soon the calls would taper off, most people would be out to lunch, Sandy and Vito would go to his office to handle things more efficiently. Of course there'd be more calls to the house and more flowers and telegrams, but this post-Oscar frenzy couldn't last more than a few hours. After all, the world had a million really important things to focus on, no matter how significant this big win was to Vito and her. Excerpted from Scruples Two by Judith Krantz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.