Better Luck Next Time: A Novel

By Julia Claiborne Johnson

A 1930s cowboy learns about friendship & love while working at a Reno divorce ranch in this comic novel by the bestselling author of Be Frank with Me.

It’s 1938, and women seeking a quick, no-questions split from their husbands head to the “divorce capital of the world,” Reno, Nevada. There’s one catch: they have to wait six-weeks to become “residents.” Many of these wealthy, soon-to-be divorcees flock to the Flying Leap, a dude ranch that caters to their every need. 

Twenty-four-year-old Ward spent one year at Yale before his family lost everything in the Great Depression; now he’s earning an honest living as a ranch hand at the Flying Leap. Admired for his dashing good looks—“Cary Grant in cowboy boots”—Ward thinks he’s got the Flying Leap’s clients all figured out. But two new guests are about to upend everything he thinks he knows: Nina, a St. Louis heiress and amateur pilot back for her third divorce, and Emily, whose bravest moment in life was leaving her cheating husband back in San Francisco and driving herself to Reno.

A novel about divorce, marriage, and everything that comes in between (money, class, ambition, and opportunity), Better Luck Next Time is a hilarious yet poignant examination of the ways friendship can save us, love can destroy us, and the family we create can be stronger than the family we come from.

“Doesn’t a romantic comedy set on a 1930s Nevada dude ranch teeming with about-to-be-divorced women owe a certain debt to the era’s big-screen classics? Then again, it’s hard to believe a cinematic version could be any more fun.” —New York Times Book Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jan 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9780062916396

Julia Claiborne Johnson

Julia Claiborne Johnson is the author of the bestselling Be Frank with Me, a finalist for the American Bookseller’s Association Best Debut Novel Award. She grew up on a farm in Tennessee before moving to New York City, where she worked at Mademoiselle and Glamour magazines. She now lives in Los Angeles with her comedy-writer husband and their two children.

Book preview

Dedication

FOR

MY FATHER,

briefly the cowboy;

AND

MY MOTHER,

always the doctor.

Epigraph

A girl must marry for love, and keep marrying until she finds it.

—ZSA ZSA GABOR

Marriage is a wonderful institution. But who wants to live in an institution?

—GROUCHO MARX

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Acknowledgments

P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

About the Author

About the Book

Praise

Also by Julia Claiborne Johnson

Copyright

About the Publisher

Prologue

TENNESSEE, 1988

Yes, you have come to the right place. Dr. Howard Stovall Bennett III at your service.

Hand me that magnifying glass, will you, and I’ll have a look at what you’ve got there. That’s me, all right, the tall one in the beat-up Stetson, surrounded by all the ladies. When I first got that hat I had to run it over with the ranch’s station wagon so it didn’t look too new. I must have been, let me see now, twenty-four, twenty-five years old. Hard to believe I was ever that young. I was flat broke, but I was pretty then, and jobs were hard to come by during the Depression. If somebody offered me one, I took it. Working on a dude ranch outside Reno that catered to the divorce trade beat the heck out of digging ditches, I can tell you that.

Some men are born gigolos; others have it thrust upon them. That’s a little joke I always told myself in later years when a nurse or one of my fellow doctors noted the excellence of my bedside manner. Some knuckleheads seem to think bedside manner can’t be taught. Hogwash. Anybody with a lick of sense and a little compassion can pick up the essentials. Make eye contact, let the person hurting tell you what pains them, and for heaven’s sake, if you have cold hands, run them under hot water or rub your palms together before you start examining a patient.

Of course I’m joking when I say that. A gigolo? Far from it. The cowboys at the Flying Leap were there to look at, not to touch. Fraternization with our guests was in fact grounds for getting yourself fired. We were on hand to do chores around the ranch, of course, but mostly we were hired to squire rich, brokenhearted ladies around Reno, hold their purses while they shopped, and lead them on trail rides through the high desert. We chatted with them about the weather, offered a sympathetic ear when they wanted to talk about their troubles, told them they looked good when they needed to hear it most. All excellent training for a career in medicine, if you ask me.

So, sure, pull up a chair. I’d be happy to tell you what I know. No, I don’t mind if you record our conversation. This will be a treat for me, particularly after all these years. I learned long ago not to talk about my cowboy past because people have such lurid tabloid sensibilities that it was hard to make anybody understand what that job was like. I’m as bad as anybody, I guess, making light of something I have no business making jokes about. It was serious work, taking care of our ladies during such a painful time in their lives. I think I learned more about the subtleties of suffering and the milk of human kindness working on the ranch than I did in all the years that came after. I wouldn’t take anything for that experience.

Let’s see if I can identify the other characters in this photograph for you. First and last names? Well, I’ll try. Here’s the other cowboy who worked alongside me. Sam. He favors Gary Cooper in High Noon, don’t you think? What? You’ve never seen it? Well, you’re missing out. It’s a good one. Was on the late show just last week. I stayed up half the night watching it. An upside of retirement, knowing nobody needs you to be anywhere that matters in the morning. Nobody cares anymore.

Sam’s last name was Vittori, that I know. Now, this gentleman in the sharp-looking suit, that’s Max. Maxwell Gregory. Used to be some kind of businessman in Chicago. Came to Reno looking for fresh air and investment opportunities and a way out of the big bad city. Margaret, here, with the curly black hair and Shirley Temple dimples, his partner in business and in life, ran the house, kept the books, dispensed wisdom. She’d read about divorce ranches in a movie magazine, as I remember, and convinced Max to buy a washed-up cattle ranch and set up shop. The idea of busting out of failed marriages and starting fresh was more or less a new idea then, you see, and Reno was the place to do it. After six weeks hand-running of residency there our guests were legally unhitched by the great state of Nevada. Free to roll the dice again, if they so desired. Many a second marriage I know of has outperformed the first. Yes. Exactly. Not going in with blinders on. It’s when you get up into the third and fourth and seventh ones that people may start to wonder, but who’s to say? It might take that many tries to pick a winner.

Anyway. Max hired a Hollywood set designer to make the place over into the movie-magazine version of the Old West—boulders, sagebrush, a corral, what have you. Margaret renamed the ranch The Flying Leap and got it outfitted with the modern amenities the clientele they were after wouldn’t want to do without—electricity, indoor plumbing, a telephone. The two of them were such delightful hosts that the well-heeled and often-married set came back there for all their divorces, or tried to.

This blonde on my left who’s as tall as I am, for example, was one of our repeat customers, Nina O’Malley. Max and Margaret loved her. So did Sam. So did I, eventually. Her partner in crime that go-round was this one, Emily Sommer. Nina and Emily must be old women now, or dead. Imagine that. These other half a dozen ladies, give me some time and maybe their names will come to me.

You know, I used to have a copy of this very photograph. Funny, isn’t it, how you’re sure you’ll never want to see a thing again but after it’s lost to you, you wish you had it back again. How much time you got? I believe I could fill your whole book with the shenanigans from that single six-week cycle. It came right at the tail end of my time there, as it happens, so I remember it better than I might otherwise. Something like fifty years ago now. Hard to believe.

Chapter One

NEVADA, JUNE 1938

I drove the stagecoach to the airport to pick up Nina.

Back when Max and the Hollywood set designer had been shopping for frontier paraphernalia for the ranch, they’d stumbled onto it rotting under a tarp in a shed over in Virginia City. Max bought the stagecoach on the spot, figuring it would be a smart promotional gimmick, the ideal vehicle for picking up ladies at the train. He got that creaky old gut-juggler refurbished and painted a Pegasus on its doors. The winged horse, yes, jumping through a hoop of words that read The Flying Leap Dude Ranch. Max wanted to add a slogan, a line a Reno judge used every time he gaveled a woman from wife to divorcée: Better luck next time. But Margaret, always the voice of reason, put the kibosh on that.

I don’t know how much Max paid for our antediluvian taxi, but it was worth every penny. It was all but guaranteed a guest’s face would light up when she realized the coach had come for her. You could see her thinking that her once-upon-a-time might not be over and done with yet if such a good-looking cowboy awaited her, ready to relieve her of her baggage and hand her inside that carriage. Max called that old rattletrap conveyance the Mixmaster because he swore an hour of being shaken half to death inside it could make friends of women with little in common other than great wealth and marital distress. Friends, if not for life, at least for their stretch with us, which was what we cared about.

The day Nina arrived I’d shucked off my shirt while I hitched four of our six horses to the coach. My mother would have had the vapors if she’d caught me working shirtless anyplace where a lady might lay eyes on me. Max, however, instructed us to strip to the waist whenever we did chores, weather permitting. A little perk for the clientele, honest labor and rippling muscles being two things our affluent ladies might not have seen very much of lately, or at all.

But that afternoon was hotter than the hinges of hell, so I had no qualms about going around half-naked. There was no one around to see, anyway, Sam having volunteered to drive all our other guests into town in the wood-paneled Chevrolet. Margaret was busy with the endless chores inside the house that came of taking care of the eight ladies, give or take, we had in residence at any one time. Max had gone to the courthouse to stand witness for a departing guest, swearing on a Bible that Suzy had not set foot outside Nevada for the past six weeks. As soon as the judge proclaimed Suzy Nevada’s newest legal resident and Reno’s freshest grass widow, she’d board a train for her real home, Chicago.

Emily, as it turned out, had stayed behind while the others went into town. She’d arrived at the ranch a few evenings earlier behind the wheel of a Pierce-Arrow she’d driven solo the two hundred or so miles from San Francisco, sitting on top of a big square pillow to make her tall enough to see over the steering wheel without getting a crick in her neck. She’d pulled into the barnyard just before dusk, the top of her convertible lowered for the breeze, her uncovered hair whipped into a rat’s nest. Darkness fell around 9:00 P.M. that time of year, so Emily’s arrival had raised quite a ruckus among our guests and also the chickens, both groups just starting to make noises about settling in for the night. By the time her luggage was unloaded and the cooling engine had stopped ticking, some of the poultry had roosted on the Pierce-Arrow’s windshield and the barn cats were sharpening their claws on its upholstery. I shooed the critters off and put the sedan in an outbuilding next to the stagecoach, then covered it with the Mixmaster’s antique tarp.

The other women congratulated Emily on her bravery for undertaking such an epic voyage alone. Not brave, she said. Desperate. If I hadn’t left when I did, I wouldn’t have left at all. She had the plummy accent of women who cycled through the Seven Sisters colleges back East, but her voice was surprisingly deep and gravelly for such a little thing.

My dear, your voice, one of our older ladies said. You sound absolutely exhausted.

Oh, I always sound like this, Emily said. I’m sure it was cute when I was five years old, but now— She shrugged and shook her head. Fingernails on a chalkboard. According to my darling husband, anyway. But yes, I am very, very tired.

A COUPLE OF days in Margaret’s care, however, had perked Emily up considerably. Just as I was hitching up the last of the horses to head over to the airport, she appeared at my elbow saying, Well, if it isn’t Cary Grant in cowboy boots.

She had on a pair of cowboy boots herself, with a loose summer dress, a look I’d never seen back then that I’ve noticed some of the young girls go for now. Emily always put her own spin on the rich-lady uniforms our guests wore at the ranch: the tight-legged, baggy-seated jodhpur pants and tall English boots they all brought along for horseback riding, for example, that they’d replace with cookie-cutter fancy western wear bought in Reno, which they’d abandon as soon as they were home again. There was a sameness about our guests’ coiffures, too, lacquered into submission usually and blond more often than could be natural from a statistical standpoint. What Sam used to call suicide blondes, as in dyed by their own hands. Emily’s hair, however, was an untamable mass of dark ringlets, the bedspring kind that begged to be pulled straight and released back into coiled spirals. She had huge, wide-set brown eyes and a Kewpie doll’s little curved mouth, which, along with her small stature, gave her the appearance of an unusually wise and solemn child. Until she spoke, that is, in a rasp that suggested her vocal cords had been freshly tuned up on a cheese grater.

As I’d thought Emily had gone into town with the others, I like to have jumped out of my skin when I heard her voice. I’m sorry, she said. I didn’t mean to startle you.

I confess you got the drop on me, ma’am, I said. While I was hitching up the team I’d fallen to brooding about a departed lacquered blonde just a year older than I was who I’d risked my job to be with the summer before. Now, what was her name? Rachel? Mitzi? Laura or, perhaps, Laurie? Funny, there was a time I believed I’d never forget that woman. Go figure. I do remember she always wore door-knocker-sized emerald earrings, day and night, that matched her green eyes. I know that because I remember thinking she must have paid as much for those earrings as my parents’ house was worth before the Crash.

From the way Emily had her eyes fastened on the bandana I had knotted at my neck, I suspected my naked chest was making her uncomfortable. I untied my shirt from around my waist, wiped my face on the sleeve, and pulled it on. What can I do for you, ma’am?

So this is the stagecoach I’ve heard so much about, Emily said. Where are you taking it?

To pick up a guest.

Can I come, too?

I’m not going to the train depot, if that’s what you’re thinking, I said. The airport is in the opposite direction. If you wanted to go into Reno you should have gone in with Sam and the others when you had the chance.

I’ve been into town already. Yesterday. I bought these boots. Her boots were red, intricately embroidered, and possibly cost more than a semester of Ivy League tuition. Emily seemed surprised to see them on her feet. I didn’t think I needed cowboy boots, but the salesman said I had to have them if I was staying on a ranch. He told me they were the best insurance there was against rattlesnakes and other varmints. He used ‘varmint’ in a sentence. How could I resist that? My daughter’s feet are as big as mine are already, so I thought there was a chance she’d insist on taking these boots from me when I get home. I’ve already sent her a postcard telling her all about them. I figured she’d read a postcard whether she wanted to or not before tearing it up and throwing it in the trash, which is what she said she’d do with my letters so I shouldn’t waste my time writing any.

She cleared her throat, then cleared it again and swallowed hard, all signs I’d come to recognize by then as precursors of a come-apart. The other ladies said they were either going in to shop or gamble this afternoon, she added with forced cheerfulness. I decided not to go with them because I don’t like shopping much and I really don’t like gambling.

And yet you got married, I thought but did not say. By the summer of 1938 I’d seen plenty of evidence that matrimony was about the biggest crapshoot going. There’s nothing like working a divorce ranch to make a person question the likelihood of happily ever after. I dug a bandana from my pocket and offered it to Emily just as her brimming eyes spilled over. Max equipped each of his ranch hands with an endless supply of these brightly patterned cowboy hankies for moments just like this. What’s your daughter’s name? I asked.

Portia. I tried to get her to come with me, but— She shook her head and looked away. She’s thirteen. You know how that is.

I didn’t, not then, but I nodded anyway. Portia, I said. The pound-of-flesh girl in Shakespeare.

Oh. You know that play? Emily asked, surprised. It’s one of my favorites. All the characters get what’s coming to them. It almost makes a person believe there could be justice in the real world. What’s your name, cowboy?

Ward, I said.

How old are you, Ward? If you don’t mind me asking.

I’m twenty-five, ma’am. Almost.

She smiled. I remember being twenty-five, almost. Just barely. Portia was three years old. I don’t think I’d slept through the night once between then and the day she was born. I know Portia hadn’t. Do you know, I almost miss that time? She used to start crying if I left the room, and now she wants nothing to do with me. Before I left, my daughter told me I’m the dullest, most predictable person she’s ever met. That she can’t believe I waste my breath talking when she always knows exactly what I’m going to say. Can you imagine saying something so hurtful to your mother?

No, ma’am, I cannot, I said. My mother, Pamela, and I were close, as close as people could be when one lived in Tennessee and the other in Nevada, back when nobody made long-distance phone calls unless somebody had died.

Emily gave me a watery smile. Oh, well, she said. Would it be all right if I came along to the airport? The other women keep talking about riding in the stagecoach. I feel left out.

I’d been looking forward to my solo journey out, me all by my lonesome up in the driver’s box, a double fistful of reins in my hands, parched sepia fields scrolling past, a Sam-rolled cigarette I’d never smoke tucked behind an ear. Somewhere some tattered scraps of poetry I wrote about such a day might still exist, but I sure hope not. Maybe another time, I said. It’s hot as blazes inside the coach this time of day. I stepped on the front carriage wheel and hoisted myself up top. If you’ll pardon me, ma’am, I really have to get going now. I don’t want to keep our guest waiting.

If it’s so hot inside I could ride up there with you, Emily said. I promise I won’t say a word. You won’t even know I exist.

I couldn’t have it getting back to Margaret that I was refusing such an innocent request. All right. Put your foot on the spoke of the wheel there, like I did, and hop on up. I leaned over and offered her my hand. Thanks to the looseness of her dress I guess I hadn’t realized how slight she was, because when she hopped and I pulled I almost threw her clear over the stagecoach instead of into the driver’s box. She landed more or less on top of me.

Sorry about that, I said after I scraped her off and settled her on the seat beside me. You’re lighter than I thought you’d be considering how big your head is.

I have a lot of hair, she said. Also I’ve lost weight lately. Not on purpose.

Ah. The Heartbreak Diet. Food on the table, but no appetite for it. Lots of our ladies came to us looking famished from it. In my early days on the ranch I confess I begrudged them the luxury of pushing a full plate away when so many people were going hungry. But it didn’t take me so very long to come to understand that our ladies’ brand of anguish counted, too. No fair saying their suffering wasn’t genuine just because they had money in the bank and a bed to sleep in. Pain is pain.

I dug around in my pocket and handed Emily another bandana.

I won’t need that. I’m done with crying, she said.

It’s to keep dust out of your nose and mouth, I said. Come to think of it, you need a hat. Did the salesman talk you into one to go with those boots? I wasn’t excited about handing over mine once the sun started scrambling her brains. Also, once she went inside to fetch her own hat she might decide she didn’t want to come along after all. Then she would be Margaret’s problem.

No, she said. How far are we going?

About four miles.

Is that all? I won’t need a hat for that.

The sun is fierce this time of day, I said. Tell you what. You wear my hat. It should fit. I’ve got an awful big head, too.

I couldn’t take your hat, she said. What will happen to you?

Me? I’m like an old piece of leather already. Please, take it. Margaret will have my hide if I let you get sunburned on my watch.

Well, in that case.

My hat was a little sweaty, so I tucked yet another bandana inside before I put it on her head. It fit nicely. Then I showed her how to tie the other bandana over her nose and mouth, bandit-style, against the dust the horses were about to kick up.

Thanks, she said, knotting it in place. So the new guest is coming in an airplane? How exciting! I’ve never been on an airplane. Have you?

About as often as you’ve ridden a stagecoach, ma’am. I picked up the reins and squinted off toward the road. The sun was so bright that I could still see the afterimage of the ranch house projected on the back of my eyelids when I closed my eyes against the glare. While I had them shut Emily touched my elbow and I jumped.

I didn’t mean to startle you again, she said. I should have said your name instead. Ward. Like an orphan in a Victorian novel. Taken in by a relative.

Yes, I said. Like that.

Chapter Two

I believe Emily had a crush on Nina from the beginning. I could hardly blame her. I was pretty dazzled by Nina, too.

Is she some kind of gold digger? Emily asked before either of us laid eyes on her. "I’ve heard of women burying three husbands over the course of a lifetime, but a woman anywhere close to my age who’s divorced three! None of my friends have gotten divorced even once."

As promised, Emily hadn’t said a mumbling word on the way out, just raked the surroundings with those eyes of hers and furrowed her brow a few times. The stagecoach traveled at a blistering speed of six miles an hour, tops, so she had plenty of time to take everything in. Once we arrived and I had the horses settled, she turned her headlamps on me and let loose with, So who’s this Nina?

When I’d asked Sam more or less the same question, he’d resettled

Reviews for Better Luck Next Time

[jacsun · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The book starts with an interview by Dr. Howard Stovall Bennett, III (Ward) who reflects back on the days when he was working as a cowboy at the Flying Leap ranch in Reno, Nevada in 1938, during the Depression. His job - like the other men - was to assist women staying at the ranch who were broken hearted. Reno was one of the few places at that time where women could file for a divorce and it took six weeks for them as residents to make the claim. As the reader can easily guess, this cowboy not only helped one lady with her shopping, there was also romance in the picture. The historical novel presents itself well with the times and gives the reader lots to think about from those days. When Ward gave the interview in 1988, he said, "divorce isn't a big deal anymore." Let's hope it stays that way with women's rights.

[clue_4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In 1938 Wade dropped out of Yale when the family money was lost in the Depression, and went West to work. Handsome and friendly, he ended up on the Flying Leap dude ranch in Reno, Nevada. The ranch catered to wealthy women needing to establish the six weeks residency requirements for divorce.All went well for Wade until Nina, an heiress who pilots her own plane and has come for her third divorce, and childlike and spoiled Emily who is trying to make it through her first, arrive and become friends. Wade takes them on trail rides, chauffers them to town, and breaks the hardfast rule not to become personally involved with a guest.I had trouble settling into this and thought it boring for awhile. The description of it claims it is hilarious but I didn't think so. There are amusing moments, but it isn't comedy. It was the ending that made me glad I stuck with it. Wade returned to Tennessee and a lifetime later gives a poignant summation of what happened to the three and to the beloved owners of the ranch once they were seperated.

[quondame · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Outside Reno in 1938 a young man works at a ranch for well off women spending the 6 weeks in Nevada to establish residency for devorcing under that state's laws. Two young women, one returning for the third time, catch his particular attention, partly for their interactions with him, partly for the connects between them and partly for themselves. The author never quite manages to inflate the the 4 named but otherwise absent women who are resident at the same time, using only 2 of 6 to add in a bit of interaction outside the main characters, so that rather than a full constant mix of people in a small set there is a jarringly, clearly inaccurate sense that there is significant space around all the actors in every scene within the house. The book is very readable and not at all unpleasant, just not all that.

[sturlington_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A very light read - something of a palate cleanser, if you need that. This historical story is set on a Reno ranch during the 1930s. The ranch is where rich women go to wait out their time before they can divorce (six weeks' residency in Nevada is required). The ranch employs handsome cowboys to keep the ladies amused--generally the innocent kind of amusement. The narrator is one of these cowboys, a 24-year-old trying to figure out his life. He befriends Nina, a feisty lady who seems like she stepped straight out of a Lauren Bacall movie to be in this book, and her roommate, Emily, who Nina is bringing out of her shell. Of course he falls in love. It ends up about how you'd expect. My main quibble is the author giving us a totally adorable horse named Dumpling and then killing him to bring about the resolution. Seems like a cheap shot. My favorite bit was the other cowboy having an affair with one of the estranged husbands. I don't think this book will be particularly memorable, but it was an easy read.

[etxgardener · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In 1938 a group of wealthy women check into the Flying Leap dude ranch near Reno, Nevada to wait out their six-week residency so they can get a quickie, no questions asked divorce. Twenty-four year old Ward is also on hand to cater to their needs – especially those of Nina, a wealthy St. Louis heiress and aviatrix, and Emily whose bravest act was leaving her husband in San Francisco.But Ward discovers that he really knows a whole lot less than he thought about these women and along the way finds out a whole lot about himself.

[justacatandabook · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In the 1930s, women seeking divorce--no-questions-asked--could come to Reno, Nevada. The only catch was they had to spend six weeks there to become residents. Enter the Flying Leap, a dude ranch for the wealthy that facilitates the divorces by giving them a lovely stay and helping take care of everything. Ward, age 24, spent a year in college before his family lost everything to the Great Depression. Now he's working at the Flying Leap. Handsome and helpful, he's quite adored by the women. Soon, his life will be upended again by the arrival of two of the latest guests: Nina, who is back for her third divorce, and Emily, who is struggling after leaving her cheating husband.I adored Julia Claiborne Johnson's book BE FRANK WITH ME and was so excited to read this one. The books are very different, but she's such a good writer and brings you into the worlds she creates. LUCK is told in a conversational style by Ward, about the time period when he wasn't quite 25, though he's now quite an older man. It's not the kind of book you'd typically come across, but it's fascinating too. It's honestly refreshing to read such a unique book with such memorable characters. The plot is so interesting and while it certainly covers serious topics, it's also really funny and witty in places and could make me laugh out loud.The characters could be totally frustrating at times, but also truly real. If you're looking for a read unlike most, I recommend this one. 3.5 stars.I received a copy of this book from Custom House and LibraryThing in return for an unbiased review.

[cjordan916 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Slow, didn't really care about any of the characters. Be Frank with Me was much better

[pomo58 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Better Luck Next Time from Julia Claiborne Johnson was a fun and light read that highlights the period and locale that was 1930s Reno. The dude ranch is every bit as much a character here as the actual people.I did enjoy the book but I think for me this is a case of being let down by my own expectations. I don't mean to imply this book let me down. But I so enjoyed Be Frank with Me that I set myself up for disappointment. I actually stopped reading this book after about 50 pages and set it aside. When I came back to it and started over with realistic expectations a few weeks and a few dozen books later, I was able to appreciate this book for what it is.While the story was fun and a bit quirky I was far more interested in simply reading the characters. This isn't meant to be a deep psychological study of any of them, though I think we learn enough to gain some such understanding. This is simply a fun character-driven romp through a time and place that lent itself to strange entanglements.I would recommend this to readers who want fun characters in a historical novel in the not too distant past. If you are looking for a complex plot or more depth, this may be one you will want to set aside for when you just want a lighthearted read with good characterization.Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via LibraryThing Early Reviewers.

[mm_jones · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A heart tugging story of friendship and family set in a Reno, NV Dude Ranch in the 1930's. Known as the divorce capital of America for a few short years, a six week residency in Reno would allow a quick divorce. Unfortunately, the much shorter amount of time the author spent in the location didn't allow Reno to be anything other than a minor character in the story. Not much chance you'll stumble upon a roadrunner that far north.Light weight for a book, reminiscent of Women's Magazine fiction of years gone by.

[jphamilton-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I just read the last half of Better Luck Next Time in one setting, and I found it a very curious and funny book with a well-crafted and touching conclusion. Reading this book was a great example of the power of concentrating on a book and of appreciating the writing. You see, my liking of the book’s ending was the flip side of the book’s first half, which was read only a few pages at a time, scattered over several days, and that left me profoundly unimpressed. Granted, the ending had all the book’s juicy storylines to bring together, but the whole experience clearly illustrated the disservice to literature of distracted reading. The book was a sad, sweet and somewhat lusty, loving remembrance of one of the handsome “cowboys” that saw to the women waiting for their divorces to come through on a “divorce ranch” near Reno during the Great Depression. A divorce ranch was where the wives waited out the two-week period that the courts required before a divorce was finalized. The owners of The Flying Leap Dude Ranch obviously hired their two employees/cowboys based on their good looks and youth. Our 24-year-old storyteller went by Ward, as a cowboy hat wouldn’t have fit as convincingly on his full name, Howard Stovall Bennett III. He was a “Cary Grant in cowboy boots” and was used to the rhythms of the job, until two more wives (Emily and Nina) showed up. Nina made a much flashier entrance by landing her own plane. She was an heiress and amateur pilot who often wore a sidearm, and constantly looked to enjoy herself. In contrast, Emily’s bravest moment in her life was to have come to the divorce court and the ranch. Yet, she couldn’t resist the wild time that Nina was always ready for and they were constantly together. The happenings on the ranch are often bigger-than-life and told with great humor. On one of the book’s first pages, there’s a quote from Zsa Zsa Gabor, “A girl must marry for love, and keep marrying until she finds it.” It is in the book’s conclusion where there’s a tenderness that’s revealed, and it’s very touching. By the end, we see that not only was this a funny look back at Ward’s time on the ranch, but a revealing look at people making huge changes in their lives, on how wealth and security can change everything, and also how emotions and love were at work all around the ranch. Ward and Emily become very close, and Ward is ready to leave the ranch and start a new and exciting life … but then there’s how Ward’s story ends. I’m not going to give the ending away, just know that it made the book for this reader.

[dgmlrhodes · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really enjoyed the "voice" of the narrator of this novel. The story came easily and naturally. The book is set in the 1930's at a "divorce ranch" in Reno. The characters have to stay at the ranch for six weeks so that they can achieve residency and obtain their divorce. The main character is that of Ward, a young handsome ranch hand. The ranch hands are asked to work with their shirts off and there are many funny stories along the way during the novel. The characters are big, witty and very enjoyable with subtle humor and many situations. Reader received a complimentary copy of the book from GoodReads First Reads.

[bookchickdi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Julia Claiborne Johnson’s new novel, Better Luck Next Time is a lighter read. She takes us to the Flying Leap, a dude ranch in 1938 Reno where wealthy women go to complete a six week Nevada residency in order to obtain a quick divorce.Told from the perspective of a handsome young cowboy Ward, we meet some of the women staying there one summer. Nina is an aviatrix who arrives to stay for the third time in order to divorce her latest husband. She is a lively one, always ready with a quip or cutting insult.Nina takes a shine to Emily, who came from San Francisco to await her divorce from her wealthy husband. Emily misses her teenage daughter terribly, but her husband has left her for a younger woman and she has no choice.The writing is crisp and very witty; I laughed out loud several times at some of the dialogue between the characters. Ward is such a wonderful character, you can see while some of the women fall in love with him. Better Luck Next Time would make a delightful movie.

[leslico · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Hilarious, entertaining and heartwarming, a quirky story of a divorce ranch in Reno in the 1930s, about wives who book a 6 week stay at the Flying Leap ranch in Reno to establish themselves as residents of Nevada and qualify for a quickie divorce. While they are there, the ranch has plenty of activities (and cowboys) to entertain them and they meet lots of women in a similar situation to commiserate with.. sounds like the perfect way to get over a divorce! The story is told through the eyes of Ward, a young ranch hand who had to leave medical school to work after his family lost everything in the Great Depression and learned a lot about life from some very spunky ladies, including Nina, an amateur pilot, and Emily, a kind young lady who has finally worked up the nerve to leave her cheating husband. I was surprised by the ending, and thoroughly enjoyed the both the light and serious parts of this story!

Thank you very much to NetGalley, William Morrow and Custom House for allowing me to listen to this story in exchange for an honest review.

[rglossne · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was the escape I didn't know I needed! Twenty-four year old Ward is a handsome Yale dropout working at a Reno divorce ranch in 1938 when his world is upended by two new residents: Nina, a St. Louis heiress who is a repeat customer of the ranch; and Emily, a young San Francisco beauty who drives herself across the desert to escape her marriage. The novel is told as his reminiscences as an old man, to an unseen visitor. Ward, Emily, and Nina have adventures, laughs, and heartaches and bring the reader along with them. A little contrived, but lots of fun.

[dallenbaugh_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This novel of historical fiction set on a divorce ranch in Reno during the Great Depression was interesting, but ultimately failed in feeling like real life was happening, but more being aware that the author was rearranging scenes in front of our eyes to make for an interesting story. There was very little plot . The characters were well fleshed out but Ward, the narrator, kept intruding into the story to remind us he was telling this story as a retired doctor. Often he would directly appeal to the reader to pay attention to what was happening. Knowing what eventually happened to Ward lessened the impact of Ward's actions in the story. With that being said I was still interested in finding out what happened to these characters.

[andsoitgoes_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Set in Reno, NV in 1938 this book introduces us to the Reno quickie divorce where people established residency after living there for 6 weeks to get a quick divorce. The ranch the women stay at hires only handsome men to wait on the soon to be divorcees. I found most of the book interesting and entertaining but one of the main characters, Nina, was very hard to relate to. Really didn't believe her "act". A nice, quick read that does keep you turning the pages. The wrap up at the end was somewhat predictable.

[lorelai2_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In Better Luck Next Time, Julia Claiborne Johnson introduces us to Wade, who has fond memories of his time working at a resident cowboy at the Flying Leap Dude Ranch, which wasn't involved in cattle drives.The Flying Leap was a temporary residence for women seeking divorce in Reno during the 1920s(you had to live within the state for at least six weeks in order to get a quick divorce) and Wade was meant to be a guide on the local trails as well as a dance partner for the ladies.Some of his best times back then were with Emily, a soft spoken woman whose daughter Portia shows up unannounced and Nina, a tough talking pilot who takes Portia under her wing. While Wade doesn't wind up with any of them in the long run, he has great tales to tell of their wild times to last him the rest of his life.This story has the flair of an old school film with snappy dialogue and engaging characters full of lively wit, which offers a good time had by all here.

[kimkimkim-7 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Some days you get lucky and pick up the perfect book for your mindset on a rainy, danky, miserable day. The Flying Leap Dude Ranch in Reno, Nevada in June of 1938 is host to a group of women seeking divorces that are not obtainable in their home states. They arrive, stay for six weeks, and then as residents of the state of Nevada are entitled to file for divorce. These women are wealthy, some are wronged by their husbands also called “infidels”, some are just bored, some have secrets, some will cave and return home still married, others will go through the process and return on multiple occasions shedding husband #2, #3, #4 .The story is narrated by Ward, now an octogenarian, who was a major player in the story back in 1938. He relates his experience at the tender age of twenty five and introduces us to Max, Margaret, his bunk mate Sam, his favorite horse Dumpling and the women waiting for their divorces, Nina, Emily, the Zeppelin, Mary Louise and others with lesser stories. Six weeks is enough time for these women to come together and come apart, reveal some of their history and make new relationships. They can be rude, inconsiderate, shrewish, caring and irreverent. They will act up, act out, embarrass themselves and each other. Whether they find and get what they have come for is often as surprising to them as it is to the story. I often go hunting for the rhyme and reason of a title to a book after I have finished it. Usually it is a great frustration. I loved that the title to this book is dispensed with in the first few pages when a judge slams the gavel declaring the divorce and “Better luck next time.” Thank you LibraryThing and Custom House for a copy and keeping me entertained on a nasty day.

[w.mdo · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I really liked this book, which was the perfect light read for the end of 2020. The premise was delightful, the characters all more or less likable and interesting, and even if it became a bit predictable toward the end I still enjoyed it to the very last chapter.

[fastforward-46127 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I always welcome the opportunity to read a historical fiction book that does not take place during World War 2 as that seems to dominate the genre. A story revolving around a 1930s dude ranch in Nevada where wealthy women come to stay as they await their divorce paperwork to be finalized was certainly enough to convince me to check this one out. An interesting idea and I appreciate the author's attempt to bring something different to the genre. Unfortunately, I can't say I loved the actual reading experience of it all.Way back when, Reno, Nevada was known as the divorce capital of the world. If you wanted a quickie divorce, you stayed in the state for 6 weeks in order to become a "resident", and there you go, divorce granted. In 1938, Ward was 24 years old and working as a ranch hand at the Flying Leap dude ranch. Nina and Emily are two of the guests staying at the ranch as they are both going through the process of divorcing their husbands. Nina is an amateur pilot and a frequent guest at this ranch as she is back for her third divorce. Emily left her husband in San Francisco to kick him to the curb so to speak, but it also meant leaving her daughter behind as well.The story doesn't have much action and that's part of the reason it was a slow read for me. The main issue though was I struggled with my interest level in the characters. Every single one fell flat, including Nina, who I believe was set up to be the fascinating one of the bunch. I wanted to feel more invested in their lives.Having said that, when I finally finished the book, I had a much better understanding of what the author was trying to accomplish with the story. There are complex layers to each character but it doesn't come across very well until you have the time to sit back and reflect. So while it is frustrating it wasn't that much of a fun read at the time, I do think I got something of value from the experience.Thank you to William Morrow for sending me an advance copy of this book! All thoughts expressed are my honest opinion.

[fjumonvi · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In 1931, Nevada shortened its residency requirement to obtain a divorce to just six weeks and, unlike most states, did not require proof of fault. For at least the next 40 years, it was the self-proclaimed divorce capital of the world. To cater to the divorce trade, “divorce ranches” sprang up, providing accommodations for the women, mostly, who were waiting out their six weeks. Anyone who has seen the 1939 movie “The Women,” set in part on a divorce ranch, will instantly recognize this curious practice. Better Luck Next Time takes place on a divorce ranch and does an excellent job of evoking this unfamiliar setting. Characters include the proprietors of the ranch, the two cowboys they employ to help in the kitchen and chauffeur the “guests” to town for shopping and appointments with their lawyers, and, of course, the eight or so guests, along with a daughter and a couple of husbands on the brink of becoming exes.This is a slice-of-life narrative, chronicling the six weeks in 1938 when two particular guests dwelt at the Flying Leap Ranch, causing havoc and changing several lives forever. It focuses on Ward, one of the cowboys who, as an old man, recounts his life—with emphasis on his employment at the ranch—for an interviewer. Ward has a way with words, and his story is, by turns, amusing, romantic, and sad. Better Luck Next Time is different, well plotted, and well worth the reader’s time.

[nancyadair-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I had heard good reviews of Julia Claiborne Johnson's debut novel Be Frank With Me. I was intrigued by the cover of Better Luck Next Time, the vintage photo of women at play. I am so, so happy that I put in my name in to win an ARC. This was a bright, warm, and happy light in the midst of Michigan's dismal winter and COVID-19 self isolation.I laughed out loud, starting with the first page with the narrator's epigram, "Some men are born gigolos; others have it thrust upon them." In 1988, Dr. Howard Stovall Bennett III (Ward) tells his story to an unnamed interviewer, recalling six weeks in 1938 that changed his life. He took any job he could find during the Depression after his family lost their wealth and home. A Cary Grant look-a-like, he leaves his manual labor work to become a fake cowboy on a Reno dude ranch that offers wannabe divorcees a six-week residency to qualify for a quick divorce.Ward was hired to perform ranch chores, provide eye-candy, and to "squire rich, brokenhearted ladies around Reno," which he proclaims was good experience for his future career as a doctor.But that career was far in the future in 1938 when Nina and Emily arrive at The Flying Leap ranch. Nina is a 'repeat customer' with all the vibe and audacity of a Flapper, and she determines to help Emily loosen up and live a little.OK, actually live it up a LOT. Like teenage schoolgirls, they go on larks and involve Ward as their chauffeur and partner in crime. Over-the-top scenes involve skinny dipping and Bottom's head and fairy wings from the theater department.I loved all the women at the ranch, and the other cowboy Sam, and the ranch owners, and even the husbands and insolent daughter; it's an ensemble that lends itself to insight and humor.The writing is so clever, the setting so unique and bizarre, the characters flawed and zany but human and lovable. Warm and generous, with a heartwarming twisted ending, this was a real delight. I received an ARC from the publisher through LibraryThing. My review is fair and unbiased.

[librarian1204 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

In the 1930’s wealthy women looking to divorce their husbands had a dude ranch option. Spending 6 weeks of residency in Nevada was the choice for the ladies at the Flying Leap Dude Ranch. The ranch offered shopping excursions to Reno, horseback riding and good looking, cowboy ranch hands.Ward is a college drop out, working at the ranch and enjoying watching and learning from the ladies who cycle in and out every 6 weeks. Two of the latest ladies to arrive are Nina and Emily. They will change Ward’s life forever.The setting is very well done, as is the description of the role of women and their options which are not the same as now. Good characters and good character interactions. An enjoyable read .Read as an ARC from LibraryThing.

[susan.h.schofield · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

3.5 stars. This was an enjoyable and entertaining book. Who knew there used to be such a thing as a 'divorce ranch'? I loved the author's first book, Be Frank With Me. While this book was written in a similar style with quirky characters, it just didn't grab me in the same way. But I like her writing and look forward to reading more by her. Thanks to Book Club Girls and NetGalley for the digital ARC.

[jsbancroft · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

*I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review*I really loved Julia Caliborne Johnson's previous novel, Be Frank With Me, so I was looking forward to reading Better Luck Next Time. While I enjoyed this book, I didn't love it. I felt no connection with any of the main characters. In fact, I intensely disliked the 2 main female characters. I did enjoy the narrative device of the main male character, late in his life, speaking with an unidentified visitor and remembering the people and events of a summer of his youth. The depictions of a summer in Reno were beautiful, and reminded me of the time I lived there (though I didn't move there just to get a divorce!).

[bookczuk · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Utterly delightful pandemic read courtesy of Library Thing Early Reviewer's program and the publisher. I'd read the author's earlier book (Be Frank With Me) and had enjoyed the fresh approach, good writing, and interesting characters. Thankfully, the same held true here. I kind of knew where the journey would play out, but enjoyed the ride (by horse, Pierce-Arrow, stagecoach, bicycle and plane) just the same.

[strongstuff · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Ah, this scratched an itch. Better Luck Next Time is an enjoyable bit of escapism, back to the 1930’s, out in the Nevada desert, and with a memorable cast of characters. Our man Ward is empathetic, the ladies are eccentric and outspoken, and Sam has the best lines. Fun!

[bale_5 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

A fun, light-hearted read that takes place during the Great Depression. Sound impossible? Not so for a young man working at a divorce ranch in Reno. Well written and enjoyable.