Saralee Rosenbergauthor
speaker
humorist

Synopsis

Lots of married couples keep secrets from each other. But what happens if they discover they’ve kept the SAME secret?

Whether running a 5k or competing in a cycling race, Professor Paula Berman and her husband, Dr. Martin Winter, are the power couple you can’t catch. That is until they face rough roads and coast on avoidance. But just when their relationship is spiraling downhill, a bike crash and a scandal slam the brakes on a looming separation. Suddenly, life with their twin sons raises the question about who they really are as a family.

Has Paula been searching for the baby she gave up for adoption? Did Marty have an affair and father a child? After Paula stumbles on a mysterious note Marty wrote, and he opens an important letter addressed to his wife, they must either confess or just keep pedaling. But soon they are facing insurmountable odds to fix what they broke and arrive at a crossroad in their marriage. If they reveal their desperate choices, they may never make it across the finish line.

WHERE THE F IS FREDDIE is an edgy, razor-sharp comedy that promises readers an exhilarating ride exploring unusual paths to mending broken hearts and promises.

Excerpt

Paula Winter was pleased with the therapies she was using to manage her anxiety. Holistic therapy (Breathe!). Cognitive Behavioral therapy (Journal!). And her favorite, gummies laced with THC (ZZZZZ!). But after being kept on hold and listening to menu options that had recently changed, not even her go to’s could regulate her overstimulated vagal nerves. And though cutting down on coffee might have a calming effect, she was no longer a patient of the doctor that dared to suggest this non-negotiable.

After pouring her second cup of the morning she sat at the maple dinette she inherited when her mother moved to Florida and stared out the sliders. How long before their kitchen renovation could resume? She had long since abandoned her Pinterest board, but even replacing the yellowed floors and dull countertops would be nice.

If only her husband, Marty, hadn’t suffered near-fatal injuries in a bike crash, they would still be financially stable. Of course, there would eventually be a settlement with the driver who hit him, but until then they were responsible for paying the exorbitant medical bills while fighting with their insurance carrier over reimbursements.

Your call is very important to us.

“If it was so important, you’d pick up the damn phone,” she said.

Did you know you can find the status of your claim by visiting our website?

“Did you know you can go fuck yourself?”

We are experiencing higher than normal call volume.

“I am experiencing higher than normal rage. Live agent. Human being. SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE!!!!”

Paula almost flung her phone but resisted. If she cracked the glass, she would have to fill out more claim forms and learn that devices were also subject to preexisting conditions. Suddenly her mounting angst was diverted by the Today show and she looked up at the wall mounted TV. “Dr. Golden, tell our audience how hypnotherapy helps people who suffer from anxiety. And is it true it also allows past lives to be examined?”

Great news, Paula! We’ve discovered why you have panic attacks.

In two seconds, Paula Googled the doctor and prayed that virtual visits were an option. Then Dr. Reyna Golden’s location flashed on the screen, and she thought she might be hallucinating. Did it say her office was located in White Plains? Paula could leave her home in Scarsdale and arrive in fifteen minutes. Twelve if she ran the yellows.

She jotted the information and did a hallelujah. She was unfamiliar with hypnotherapy but hopefully it was akin to playing the home game of general anesthesia. A way to naturally relax or at least to stop yelling at customer service reps on a recorded line that were being monitored for training and quality purposes.

And how fortuitous to catch the interview when Paula’s frustration level had reached a breaking point. Once upon a time she was fearless in pursuit of her pilot’s license, yet now she couldn’t pry open a bottle of liquid soap without jabbing a steak knife through the center.

Was fifty-four the age when both hormones and inertia magically evaporated?

She stood and stretched, her eagle-length arms nearly knocking over the pile up of supplements on the table. A probiotic for gut health. Collagen and peptides to stop her hair from falling out. Magnesium Oxide so she pooped every day. Glucosimane and Chondroitin for aching joints. Fish Oil for she couldn’t remember why. And two recent additions, Black Seed oil and Shilajit, which claimed to be the secret longevity weapons of Himalayan monks.

Would any of these miracle cures deliver on their promises? According to Dr. Chat GPT, a good outcome was unlikely. What she knew for sure was that she was a damn fool for wasting hundreds of dollars to achieve longevity when more time on earth meant one thing. Holding until her call was answered in the order it was received.

That afternoon, Paula planned to vent about her angst-ridden life over lattes with best friend, Judith Segal. And to share a secret.

As she made her way inside the cozy cafe, she inhaled the rich aromas and mused how much easier it was to bear her soul to her best friend than to Marty. Especially now that he was in the habit of wearing passive aggressive earbuds. If she talked long enough, he would remove one side but clutch it until her mouth stopped moving. And always she could count on seeing his embittered look. The one that meant she had interrupted an important podcast discussing players’ contract talks with his beloved New York Mets as if he was handling the negotiations.

But this was also true. Paula grew up watching I Love Lucy reruns with her mother and knew that Ricky got Lucy’s poker face while Ethel would be shown Lucy’s real hand.

Best friends don’t judge. They ride at dawn.

Yes! Judith had claimed a booth in back, a perfect choice as today’s conversation would feel more private without a nosy neighbor in earshot. And as was their tradition, the first to arrive ordered the coffee with a pastry to share. Soon, Paula swallowed a bite of blueberry scone and took a deep inhale.

“Ever feel like a mathematical equation?” Paula asked. “Someone who is less than. Less sharp. Less sure. Less interesting… less needed.”

“Every day.” Judith replied. “Plus, I’ve turned into my mother… I call everyone honey and darling because I can’t remember a friggin’ name.”

Paula nodded at her comrade. A post-menopausal woman saddened by memory loss, dry vaginas and mood swings yet despite their long friendship they had little else in common.

Paula was a championship tennis player and cyclist. When Judith felt a burst of athleticism, she binged Netflix until the urge waned. Paula paid little attention to fashion. Judith didn’t walk to her mailbox without wearing a designer label. Paula and Marty were always in a financial bind. Judith, a wealthy widow, shopped at Costco yet never experienced the blood rush to the head that others said they experienced.

Though on this they agreed. Family mattered. Friendship mattered. And trust mattered to a point that it was sacrosanct. So, whether they pondered their latest challenges or laughed about recent mishaps a secret shared was a secret kept including the one Paula planned to divulge.