Carole Radziwill

Carole shares her thoughts on the whole Housewives experience -- and a glimpse into her new novel.

on Oct 2, 2012

Tripp takes my hand, “Carole, this is George. He’s from Miami. He wants to have your baby.” George looks like Johnny Depp but before I can tell Tripp this, Lydia proposes a toast. “Oh my,” I say. “You all seem so. . .familiar.”

I shake my head. No. It was just a dream. In the other room, my piano begins to play. “Hey, baby, I was worried about you,” Russ yells. I smile. Then someone starts to sing ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

“Is that. . .Cara Quici?”

“Shh,” Eric says. “Take a drink.” I do. I felt better. I scratch Margaret behind the ears. A parade goes by under my window. A tuba plays on the street. Someone screams something about f---ing in the ass. Coats go to charity. Dresses to moviestars.

“Oh, but anyway, Mags,” I say, “We’re home! And this is our room, and we’re here. And we’re not gonna leave here ever, ever again because it’s crazy out there! They yell. And no one knows what they’re yelling about and there are too many lunches. But it’s okay. It is. Because there’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

And. . .cut. Fade to black.

This was a heck of a ride. Thanks for sticking with me, you guys. I miss you already.

Until we meet again. . .

[Editor's note: Read on for an excerpt from The Widow's Guide to Sex and Dating]