Labor Day weekend was one of much anticipation. What would the last weekend in the beach house be like following a summer of drama and drunken debauchery? Would I get so wasted during the 4-day soiree that my summer would end in a blur of good times remembered? What would I do that next weekend in September once the tide receded? I knew withdrawal would be difficult, but I had a plan in place.

Oh, I had a plan alright; one that started at 9am on September 7^th on the corner of Washington & Observer Highway, at Barnes and Noble Bookstore; the day I had been waiting 2 months for since putting in my advance order of Candace Bushnell’s new book. If anyone could get me over the tragic ending of summer, I new Candace would open a new chapter for me, literally.

September 7, 2005, Bushnell, famed author of Sex in the City, Four Blondes and Trading Up released her fourth novel, Lipstick Jungle.

The first 90 pages read so quickly and the pages weren’t turning fast enough. Wendy Healy, President of Parador pictures, Victory Ford, owner of her own fashion company, and Nico O’Neily, Editor in Chief of Bonfire Magazine had entered my world and consumed my thoughts.

Yet, I patiently waited.

I waited for, well, I waited for drama.

I waited for men.

I waited for men with leer jets (that weren’t 80, senile, or an ADD-ridden boss).

I waited for martinis and pino noir in Paris.

I waited for blow jobs in the Hamptons.

I waited for Manolo Blahniks.

For Christ’s sake where the hell were they!?
Well, as it turns out, the queen of chic lit is all grown up. We all know Candace found her Prince as her third novel, Trading Up, was released, and tied the knot in 7 weeks after their first encounter. Yes, 7 weeks! What we didn’t know, or expect for that matter, was for her prose to mature along with her.

I wanted Mr. Big! Where was Comstock Dibble? I prayed for Janey Wilcox to come back to me, I needed her!

Turns out Janey did get one mention in the end, about how her model-obsessed husband divorced her after she cheated on him with a younger, wealthier man. That’s my Janey! However delighted I was by Janey’s cameo, by that time I was beyond Janey Wilcox and had fully embraced the messages Candace filtered through her every word.

Void of drama, as defined in true "Sex in the City" fashion, which most urban city-chic social atmospheres have succumb to since 1995, this novel speaks to a different woman. The woman who has been through the terrible 20’s, the thirsty 30’s and has tunnel vision on attaining uber-corporate success that is a rarity in society’s current professional landscape. Wendy, Victory and Nico, all women on "New York’s 50 Most Powerful Women" list are best friends whose personal and professional lives are interwoven through their 4-story West Village brownstones, Chelsea lofts, psychosocial shortcomings and career aspiration overhauls.

Wendy, mother of 3 and married to a metrosexual screenwriter who hasn’t worked in a decade, has her own issues in movie-land in regards to Oscar worthy films being sabotaged by certain males on testosterone overload. Victory Ford, owner and lead designer of her own line of high-end fashion struggles with the pressures lingering beneath of the tents in Bryant Park and has no time to realize the joys that lay right before her eyes. Nico is groomed to take over the job of the man who brought her into the company, is married to a devoted husband who lectures once a week for Columbia, most admires her daughter for her polished and pretentious demeanor, and begins an affair with a young hot actor/model out of personal boredom.

Society’s design of gender roles implode, and the abilities for a woman to build and nurture her great career into a fabulous one, have a family (or chose not to), and succeed in keeping a relationship and/or marriage together, all not withstanding bumps in the road, are reinforced.

Most importantly, the focus was on the friendship of 3 women, all high powered/paid executives, all at the top of their professional fields. These women aren’t perfect. They cry at work (in private), they struggle with maintaining a balance between personal and professional matters, get over-served at Cannes, cheat on their spouses, steal the company jet to fly across the country during a nervous breakdown, and indulge in helicopter trips for cross-town meetings during which they stare down in amazement at the jungle that is New York City, and relish in all they have accomplished as women in a man’s world.

I liked it, but I was left craving a dirty Grey Goose martini with extra olives.

Jessica lives in Hoboken and prefers to stay away from too many dirty Grey Goose martinis in fear of forgetting the fond memories of her thirsty 30’s, only buys Manolos at Century 21 and hates the Hamptons.