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Innocent Gestures

by Sharleen Cooper Cohen

208 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #02-1320; ISBN 1-55395-604-4; US$26.00, C$31.95, EUR20.80, £14.40

FBI Agent Jack Barton is haunted by a former affair in France that threatens his marriage and career when he is summoned to Paris to search for a serial killer.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts or Table of Contents      catalogue info

About the Book One glorious summer on the banks of the Loire, James Barton fell irrevocably in love with Catherine D'Aumant. But their love affair was not to last. The Duke D'Aumant did not consider an American idealist a suitable match for his daughter. Nineteen years later, despite a reasonably happy marriage and a successfully career with the FBI, memories of Catherine and their all-consuming passion continue to plague James and he is haunted by a desire to return to France. Then James is summoned to France to help solve a series of the most bizarre murders in national history. There he encounters Paul D-Aumant - Catherine's manipulative brother and the current duke - and is disturbed by a beguiling young girl whose sensual behaviour arouses sexual desires beyond his control. James also discovers that Catherine is no longer the woman he remembers... Struggling to come to terms with this, James tracks a heinous killer and pieces together the events of the last nineteen years to reveal an intricate pattern of forbidden passion, sexual obsession and revenge.

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About the Author Sharleen Cooper Cohen began her business career by creating a highly successful interior design firm. After a decade as a designer, she turned to writing novels. Seven published novels later (The Day After Tomorrow, Regina's Song, The Ladies of Beverly Hills, Marital Affairs, Love Sex and Money, Lives of Value and Innocent Gestures), over two million copies of her books are in print in the U.S., Italy, Spain, Norway, Sweden, China and The United Kingdom. Three of them have been optioned for film and television. During her career as a novelist, she toured the United States numerous times, appearing at speaking engagements, book signings and on television and radio. In 1995, her interest turned to the theatre and she wrote her first musical, Sheba, which she co-produced with the Jewish Repertory Theatre, Off-Broadway in New York. Sheba was one of the JRT's most successful productions and garnered an excellent New York Times review. The Sheba CD was released in January 2000 by Original Cast Records. Since Sheba premiered, she was associate producer of Street Corner Symphony on Broadway and also produced Jerry Herman's The Best of Times at the Vaudeville Theatre in London's West End. In January of 1999, she produced Cookin' at the Cookery, the story of Alberta Hunter, in conjunction with the Arkansas Repertory Theatre. Her musical, Stormy Weather, the story of Lena Horne, had its first reading in New York in December 1998. Readings produced by Broadway On Sunset in Los Angeles in September 1999, featured a cast that included Barbara McNair, Tamara Tunie, Kelly Britt, Dennis Cole, and Ron Glass. Additional readings, directed by Billie Allen, were held in New York in October 2000. Produced by Amas Musical Theatre, the cast included Phylicia Rashad, Ruth Williamson, Tamara Tunie and Dennis Parlato. Stormy Weather was awarded Honorable Mention in the Stage Play Script Category of the 2000 Writer's Digest Writing Competition. Amas Musical Theatre also produced readings in New York in September and October 2001 with choreography by Hope Clarke. Billie Allen directed a cast that included Phylicia Rashad, Richard White, Ruth Williamson and Tamara Tunie. Luther Henderson was the orchestrator, arranger and musical supervisor. Her original musical, Blackout, with music by award-winning composer Debra Barsha, had its first reading in April 2002, presented by The Amas 6 O'Clock Musical Theatre Lab. Directed by Allison Bergmann, the cast included Marcy McGuigan, Joseph Sirvano, Nina Hennessey and J.T. Horenstein. A production of Sheba, a community outreach project bringing together the African-American and Jewish communities in an entertainment experience, is planned for 2004 in Los Angeles. This production, which has the support of both religious communities, may be the first of its kind and will serve as a blueprint for a national tour. Visit Sharleen Cooper Cohen's website at www.sharleencoopercohen.com.

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Sample Excerpt

Prologue

Pierre Fontelle was an important man. Chairman of Etoile Industries, he supplied the French government with their copying machines, their telephones, and half of their computers. But since his wife had died he was lonely; life had lost its excitement except for an occasional visit to a prostitute. But one had to be so careful of disease these days. That was why when he received the tape, it was such a surprise.

It came in the mail, marked 'Personal'. Curious, he opened it and began to watch. It was the most incredible gift anyone had ever sent him, and anonymous. There was no one to thank and he couldn't bring it up in conversation. He waited, but no one claimed the credit.

At first he'd watched it in amazement, after locking his door. Now he'd seen it so many times, he knew it by heart. But it never failed to drive him wild with pleasure.

Then he got a phone call from a woman. Her mature voice was low, soothing, intimate.

'Pierre? Did you like my gift?'

He knew immediately what she meant. 'Who are you?' he demanded.

'A good friend,' she told him.

'What gift do you mean?'

'The tape.'

'It's extraordinary,' he admitted.

'Would you like an appointment to meet her?'

'Possibly.' He had so many questions. Why had she sent it to him? How did she know his most intimate fantasies? His hand trembled on the phone. Never in his life had he felt such conflicting emotions: a fever of anticipation and terror of the consequences. He ought to walk away, but the possibility of pleasure overwhelmed him.

'Did you look at it, Pierre?'

'Yes.'

'Wouldn't you like to see more, to fulfil all the promises she made?'

He wanted to say yes, mortified by the raw ache of his desire, thrilled by the response of his body; yet his heart pounded so wildly in his chest he feared an attack. And that wasn't the only danger.

He shoved aside his better judgement. There was always danger in life, wasn't there? Where would he be if he'd let danger stop him. No more would he accept the leftovers of the elderly, nothing but the bitter dregs of ageing. This tape made him feel young again, in the full flush of youth where forbidden games were a matter of course.

Still, that voice of reason whispered: How did she get your name? Why did she single you out? What does she really want? 'Have you decided?' she asked.

'I'd like to see her in person,' he heard himself say.

'Then listen carefully.' She gave him a list of instructions. Be at his office by 11 pm on 23 December. Tell no one where he was going. Bring nothing but himself and the tape. Take off his tie, and unbutton his shirt collar for comfort.

'What is this going to cost?'

'There is no charge unless you are fully satisfied. Then you may pay me what you wish. I depend on your generosity.'

Perfect, he thought, knowing how firmly he hung on to his money.

'Be discreet,' she warned him, as though he would tell anyone. And now the adventure had begun, beyond his wildest dreams. He was more excited than he'd been in decades. And he'd kept it from those who knew his every move.

Nobody could know about this; they would want it for themselves.

At 11 pm he sat in his office, behind his desk, waiting. The throbbing in his groin pulsated like an engine pumping back his youth. This encounter would re-ignite him, spread warmth through his body, infuse him with new life. He could hardly wait.

The phone rang and he picked it up. 'Oui?'

'Bonsoir, Pierre,' the woman's voice spoke, low, controlled, cultured. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes,' he whispered, his throat dry with anticipation.

' Good,' she said. ' We've come to take you to paradise.'

By the time the elevator door opened his heart was pounding so hard he thought it would break through his chest. The lights were dim in the foyer so he couldn't see her clearly as she entered. But she was beautiful. A tall slim blonde, wearing a man's overcoat. Her make-up was perfect, her hair falling over one eye like Veronica Lake. She removed her coat and dropped it to the floor revealing a tall slim body in a tight black dress, a diamond pin on the shoulder. Sheer class.

'Good evening, Pierre,' she said, offering her hand. She wore black leather gloves to the elbow. Then she walked over to the VCR and turned it on. Instantly the other image he knew so well appeared, and like Pavlov's dog, his erection sprang up begging to be released. But before he could unzip himself, the blonde woman stepped aside and beckoned to her companion; he held his breath.

She stepped through the door and stood there as he'd imagined, only more breathtaking. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

The blonde spoke to him from behind his chair. 'Isn't she wonderful?' the voice whispered in his ear. ' And she's here just for you. Show her how you feel, Pierre. Take it out so we can see it.'

But he suddenly grew shy, willing only to rub himself on the outside of his pants. He wanted the girl on the tape to do something first.

'Aren't you going to take it out?' the blonde asked in his ear. Her warm breath sent shivers down his spine.

'Maybe later,' he said, breathlessly.

'All right, there's no hurry,' she agreed.

The tape was still playing and it had reached his favourite part. He rubbed himself harder in anticipation.

Then suddenly an iron grip grabbed his forehead, yanking his head back against the chair, exposing his neck. He gasped in shock. But before he could utter a sound, his throat had been slit from ear to ear.

excerpt from Chapter 1

'In all my years with the Prefecture this was the first time I've known the victim. Have you ever?' he asked me.

I shook my head. 'I get to know them afterwards, through the grief of their families.'

'Well, knowing them in person makes a difference. It makes me that much more anxious to find the killer. But so far I haven't come up with a damned thing, not even a suspect. I can barely face Jacques and his family; they're counting on me and I'm letting them down.'

'I'm really sorry, Emile.'

'And now, with these other two killings, my boss has come down on me hard. He's under pressure from the Minister. But I'm no closer now than I was last year. Three prominent businessmen have had their throats cut. Believe me, the whole country is affected.'

'How can I help?'

'First thing in the morning we'll go to the Prefecture and look at the files.'

excerpt from Chapter 5

I ordered coffee at the bar. The man with the handlebar gave it to me and I carried it to a table. Now what?

Prove that this place has no hold on you.

Well, here I was where I'd found my greatest pleasure and most agonizing pain. And I was meeting it head on, putting it to rest.

What if Catherine walked through that door right now? My heart leaped at the thought. What would she be like? Seventeen years old, wearing a light summer cotton dress, and she'd sit down opposite me. The, in a breathy Melanie Griffith voice (which she didn't have, but I know attributed to her), tell me she'd never stopped thinking of me, missing me, wanting me back. Seeing me again made her delirious with happiness. Somehow her husband had conveniently disappeared along with my wife, and there was no obstacle in our way. The two of us would walk off into the sunset, after fucking our brains out.

excerpt from Chapter 15

Despair accompanied me down the stairs and the long driveway to the road, out of the front gates and all the way up the street to my pension, the heavy kind, like the grinding of gravel in my guts. I needed to talk to Paul about Catherine and Chloe, but a social dinner wouldn't give me the opportunity. And now the feeling that I'd hoped to shed by coming to France was back full force. Why the hell wasn't I happy being married to a beautiful, intelligent woman? What was wrong with me, or with her? Nothing. That was the stupid, damned fact of it all. Like a cloud of smog that hung over my life, I couldn't blow it away and it was poisoning me. Emile's words came back to me: somewhere inside was anger.

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Catalogue Information

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