Award-winning author Denny S. Bryce and USA Today bestselling author Eliza Knight collaborate on a brilliant novel that uncovers the boundary-breaking, genuine friendship between Ella Fitzgerald, the Queen of Jazz, and iconic movie star Marilyn Monroe.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Denny S. Bryce and Eliza Knight’s Can’t We Be Friends, which is available from March 5th 2024.
One woman was recognized as the premiere singer of her era with perfect pitch and tireless ambition. One woman was the most glamorous star in Hollywood, a sex symbol who took the world by storm. And their friendship was fast and firm…
1952: Ella Fitzgerald is a renowned jazz singer whose only roadblock to longevity is society’s attitude toward women and race. Marilyn Monroe’s star is rising despite ongoing battles with movie studio bigwigs and boyfriends. When she needs help with her singing, she wants only the best—and the best is the brilliant Ella Fitzgerald. But Ella isn’t a singing teacher and declines—then the two women meet, and to everyone’s surprise but their own, they become fast friends.
On the surface, what could they have in common? Yet each was underestimated by the men in their lives—husbands, managers, hangers-on. And both were determined to gain. Each fought for professional independence and personal agency in a time when women were expected to surrender control to those same men.
This novel reveals and celebrates their surprising bond over a decade and serves as a poignant reminder of how true friendship can cross differences to bolster and sustain us through haunting heartbreak and wild success.
EXCERPT
My cousin gives me one of her sideways glances—which is damn hard to do when she’s not facing me. Even with her back turned, I can feel her withering glare. “Ms. is writing a huge spread in the August issue about Marilyn.”
Her hand drops to her side. “I’m not going to harm your precious flowers.” She grabs the sliding door handle and jerks it so roughly that I fear she’ll pull it out of the grooves. “The reporter will be here any moment.”
My stomach is in knots. “Don’t act as if it’s news that I dislike talking to reporters. I’ve never liked them.”
“I thought you wouldn’t mind as much this time,” she says.
“I am what I do, Georgiana. I sing. Drilling me about anything more than that is unnecessary. How I feel or felt about Marilyn is my business.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Georgiana grumbles. “Gloria Steinem isn’t someone to play around with, Ella. I mean, she is the new generation. It wouldn’t hurt for you to have your name appear in a magazine read by these young people.”
I know she will not give in, but I refuse to give up.
“The magazine may or may not last.” She glances over her shoulder. “That’s what Norman said, but what you say about Marilyn will be remembered.”
“When did you talk to Norman?”
“The other day. He heard about the article and mentioned it.”
Norman Granz had been my manager for decades and now lives in Switzerland, but he still keeps tabs on me. “Yes, you’d better. In case I can’t come up with something to say.”
Georgiana rolls her eyes. “Don’t be like that, Ella.”
“Some things I can’t help.”
I watch her walk away, open the sliding door, and step inside the house, and then I start thinking about Marilyn and how we met: the highs and the lows.
Imagine you are in a race, driving a Jaguar at Le Mans, the Grand Prix of Speed and Endurance. To stay ahead of the pack, you turn corners fearlessly, accelerating on the curves, pedal to the metal, and a flat-out sprint on the straightaway. The past can’t catch up when you move that fast. When you are on the go because you know if you stop, you lose.
I don’t stop. Marilyn didn’t want to stop moving, either. Like me, she tried to leave the past on the fairway and the pain in her rearview. Like me, she wanted to keep beating back the memories we shared of lost mothers, evil stepfathers, orphanages, and early marriages that go bad so fast that you think they were a dream.
I never wanted to remember the past. It is a struggle to let go of such a large part of yourself. When I met Marilyn, I was somewhere between the past and present. I was the Queen of Jazz, and she was the Queen of the Silver Screen, but like any successful entertainer, the girl we show outside vastly differs from the girl behind closed doors.
There was no reason for us to have met anywhere other than at the usual spots where the chosen of Hollywood and the music scene gathered—nightclubs, award shows, smoky back rooms where we let down our hair.
But that was not the scene for us. Our meeting was not an accident or a publicity stunt; it was because of a song.
It wasn’t roses and valentines at first. Not for me. I was too busy hanging on to a long-gone love and hiding my failure behind as many live performances or studio sessions as my manager could book. Still, somehow Marilyn found a way in. And I’m not easy. But that girl. Determination should’ve been her nickname. For I swear, she was something else. Reminded me of me. And I think, vice versa, until things, well, until things went haywire.
The doorbell rings. Georgiana opens the sliding glass door.
“She’s here. Do you want me to stay?”
I shove my hand into my skirt pocket and remove a pack of gum. “No, I’m fine. I know what I’m going to say. You tell that reporter she can come on out. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
From Can’t We Be Friends by Denny S. Bryce and Eliza Knight. Copyright © 2024 by Denny S. Bryce LLC and Eliza Knight. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
