The Book Club is just that. It has no other name. Frances Chauvin told me it had been in existence for 48 years. A guest author is invited to speak about his/her book and a formal lunch served afterwards--china, silver, crystal, linen tablecloth, flowers and candles. The food is always delicious, but it doesn't really matter because the setting is so elegant, reminiscent of times when entertaining was an art. I've been a member for twenty-five or thirty years, and we ladies have grown old together, shared not only books, movies, art, but our griefs and joys. When a member departs forever, a new one is invited to join. So there's not a huge turnover, just a gradual descent.
Rena Dameron was the hostess. Her friend, Betty Meador helped. I was flattered and excited to be the guest author at my own club! I talked about my childhood in Cuba and about my book Secuestro, an informal chat with cherished friends. Rena gave me a dozen roses as a token thank you. She didn't really have to, but you should see how absolutely lovely they look on my hall entrance table. Who ever thought retirement would be this much fun?
Thoughts about my book, Secuestro, and the childhood recollections that inspired the story.
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