Suzy Duffy's 5 Things I'd Tell The Teen Me plus EXCLUSIVE excerpt!

Our guest today: Suzy Duffy Why we love her: She's freakin' SASSY and we love it!

Her latest: Wellesley Wives (Out September 27th!)

The Scoop: Popsy Power - a Boston society-wife and her best friend, Sandra seem to have it all with billionaire husbands and beautiful daughters. But things change.

From Bollinger to basic-wage, it's a roller coaster for the ladies who lunch. When the daughters land in a heap of trouble too, it's hardly surprising that their mother should worry about the next generation of Wellesley Wives.

Life can't always be fun in the sun, but that's why there's fur!

Our thoughts: This one definitely put a smile on our face!

Giveaway: FIVE copies!  Leave a comment and you'll be entered to win!  We'll choose the winners after 6pm on Monday, September 3rd.

Fun fact: Suzy provided CLIND with an exclusive excerpt-see below!

Where to read more about Suzy: her website, Facebook and Twitter.


To a teen me, I’d say … SMILE

Style. Don’t buy a pair of jeans just because they’re three bucks.  Chances are, there’s a reason they didn’t sell at full price.  Save your money. Buy one quality item instead of four flashy fiascos.  Classic style always wins over this year’s fad.  (Ankle warmers were my personal downfall – what was I thinking??)

Men.  They really aren’t as complicated as we make them out to be!  A guy will usually say what’s on his mind – up front, straight out. We women overanalyse everything they mumble. If he likes you, he’ll call. If he doesn’t call, he not into you. It’s that simple.  Don’t try to convince yourself otherwise. Just move on to the next one.  There are loads of them!!

Intent. Live your life with Intent. This isn’t a dress rehearsal – push yourself to be the best you, you can be.  Work hard at school because you’ll get a better job and have more money to blow on the things you love. It’s worth the effort. I remember thinking that life was lame when I was a teenager. I was wrong. It was me who was lame (those bloody hormones!) Your life is what you make it. This is your shot, your adventure, your rules. Gulp down life, enjoy every moment and make yours great.

Love your parents; even if they’re driving you nuts at the moment.  Believe me, if they’re annoying you, then you’re annoying them too. This will pass and if you’re lucky, one day you’ll be friends.  Sadly, they’ll be leaving this world before you, so cherish the time you have with them. Love your close friends too. Respect them. Be a loyal friend and never speak about them behind their backs.  Even when you move up and on in life and meet lots of other great people, nothing will ever take the place of your best friends through your teenage years. Fall in Love. Don’t be afraid.  You’ll probably get your heart broken once or twice before you find the final love of your life but we all go through that. The pain will pass and it’s better than watching from the sidelines.

Everybody else. I remember the teen years being very rough in the friend department.  Everybody seems to blow hot and cold. Nobody is fun and the cool girls are all bitches.  The good news is you’re not going nuts. Your world really is like that – it’s not your imagination.  All teens are wildly neurotic and moody. It’s the hormones, the same ones that bring along all those zits.  Hey, I’d forgotten how tough being a teenager is! But, when your hormones are done, you’re going to look like the X factor winning version of yourself. Having come through it - let me tell you, it’s worth it. Hang in there. Regarding the bitches; it’s a fact of life that the girls on the top through the teen years are never on top in later life. They’ve peaked too soon and your time to shine is just around the corner, when it really matters…

And if all else fails – SMILE, it makes everybody feel you know something they don’t.

Any questions just mail me

Lots of love,

Suzy Duffy (ex-teen)



Jenny Lennox was a consummate hostess. Because she’d chosen to live farther out of town, she had more land. In Wellesley, where Popsy lived, real estate was at its priciest. To have a pool at the end of the garden, which of course she had, was considered an achievement. But living just fifteen miles west meant tennis courts and swimming pools were the norm. The paddocks and the helipad were the new “must haves,” and now Jenny had a Renoir to top it all off.

Popsy couldn’t help but be a little envious as she glided up the perfectly landscaped, one-mile driveway. She watched a chopper take off just as they arrived at the front of the house.

Sandra, it seemed, felt likewise. “Who would be so tacky as to arrive in a chopper?”

“We would, if we could,” Popsy said, thinking about the Ferrari she’d test-driven only a few hours earlier.

The Victorian-style house looked exquisite in its country setting, and at this time of year, it was festooned in a blaze of deep crimson Virginia creeper. Enormous oaks flanked the house, magnificent in their autumn color. It was impossible to look at it and not long to live in the country. As the thud-thud-thud of the chopper faded into the distance, a flock of crows cawed overhead, reclaiming their territory in the large and ancient trees along the front driveway. The house had perfect symmetry with three windows on the right and three on the left of the grandiose front door. Steps swept up to the door, which for today’s event was left open. Popsy took a moment to admire the huge urns on either side.

Pyracanthas had been clipped to look like a giant ball and were in full bloom; they were covered in bright orange berries. These were under-planted with variegated ivy, which spilled out of the urns and down to the ground. It gave a feeling of understated opulence with a Halloween twist. Popsy made a mental note to do something similar in twelve months’ time.

Once inside, they were greeted by beaming caterers offering a choice of sparkling water or even more sparkling champagne. Both women went for the champagne.

Jenny Lennox descended upon them in a flurry of air kisses and exclamations of how good everybody looked. Popsy gave her the flower arrangement she’d brought, and Sandra presented her with a jar of limited-edition caviar. As usual, Jenny insisted that they “shouldn’t have” but took the gifts with grace.

Checks were deposited into an aquamarine objet d’art that was stationed just inside the front door. It was, doubtless, a terrifyingly expensive piece of glasswork, but Jenny was blasé.

“Just toss the donations into the vase there and come in to where all the fun is.”

Stripped of their checks and armed with a champagne flute each, they were ushered into the drawing room. Popsy got the distinct impression that they were being herded like cows.

“Cheers, to your health and future decisions.” She winked and clinked glasses with Sandra, and they headed into the fray.

Popsy and Sandra had a way of working a party. They would arrive together, then drift apart to mingle, but then they would drift back together again at regular intervals when either one of them needed moral support. This way they got to meet interesting new people but had each other as backup if they were a little lost. This method had worked well for them over the last thirteen years.

It didn’t take long before Popsy was standing in front of the much-discussed Renoir. It was larger than she expected, almost two feet by two feet, and the frame made it look even bigger. It was hardly surprising then that it took pride of place over the mantelpiece in Jenny Lennox’s enormous drawing room.

“Exquisite, isn’t it?” the lady beside Popsy inquired.

“It is beautiful. Isn’t she lucky? A genuine Renoir.”

“It better be genuine. Eddie paid a cool $100 million for it.”

It was enough to make Popsy snap around to face the lady she was talking to as opposed to admiring the painting. “I’m sure it can’t have been that much. $100 million dollars? That’s too expensive, isn’t it?”

“Cheap at the price.” The lady sniffed.

Popsy wondered if perhaps her companion had drunk a little too much champagne. “How do you work that out?”

“That’s what Jenny told him it would cost to stay in the marriage.” The redhead moved closer to whisper. “I understand that poor Eddie was caught being a naughty boy, and when Jenny discovered it, she threw him out. He begged her to take him back, which of course she did, but for a price. This little token of affection.”

Popsy was incredulous. “That’s a lot of affection,” she said and looked back at the painting.

“Yes, I hear it is a really good painting—La Petite Fille. Jenny tells me it’s a charming and irreverent portrayal of the hedonistic life and subtlety of lust in the late 1800s.”

“Ah.” Popsy felt the need for more champagne. “Good to know.” As far as she was concerned, it was just a really pretty painting done by a very famous artist. But wasn’t art full of hyperbole like that?

Before she had to expand on her views, mercifully her art critic companion took her leave, which gave Popsy a few moments to admire the painting by herself. It was a true gem, beautiful, but how in tarnation did anything get to a value of $100 million? She understood how it could happen with diamonds and precious stones, but art? Wasn’t that subjective?

“So what do you think?” Sandra asked as she came up beside her.

“I think it’s gorgeous, and did you know that it was a ‘charming and irreverent portrayal of the hedonistic life and subtlety of lust in the late 1800s’?”

Sandra looked at Popsy, arching her eyebrows. “I never would have guessed.”

Popsy nodded. “I also heard that Eddie Lennox paid $100 million for it.”

“In fact, I had heard a rumor, but I wasn’t sure that it was true. Nice round figure. You know, in all likelihood it’ll be worth double that in twelve months. Do you get taxed on fine art appreciation?”

Popsy pulled her friend closer and glanced around to ensure that nobody was within earshot. “Yes, but did you hear why he bought it? I heard Jenny discovered he was having an affair. This is the peace offering, his ‘get out of jail free card,’ if you will. A frigging Renoir.”

Sandra said nothing and studied the painting.

“Did you hear me, Sandy? Did you know about this? Was Eddie Lennox offside? Evidently he had a mistress. Well, I assume it’s had and not has if he’s bought the painting and the Lennoxs are all happy family again.

At last, Sandra tore herself away from the painting and looked at her friend. “Who told you this?”

“That woman over there. The tall, striking strawberry-blonde.” Popsy gestured discreetly.

“Figures.” Sandra sighed.


“Because she’s the mistress.”