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Love, Sex and Money

by Sharleen Cooper Cohen

564 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1302; ISBN 1-4120-0933-2; US$41.50, C$48.95, EUR34.50, £24.00

Three women, three dreams, three destinies, three reasons to make it to the top, but can any one woman have it all?

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book It begins on graduation day in Berkley 1962: the story of three women, friends for life, whose passion and ambitions are fueled by love, sex and money, and whose dreams are shaped by the torrent of history that changed women's lives forever. Pam dreams about what no woman has ever achieved--creating new buildings in that city of buildings, New York. Escaping from the poverty of her youth, Pam races east across the continent to join her divorced father, who was in real estate himself, and is stunned by his rejection. Alone, with no resources but her unique beauty, she must make a detour in her plans through the world of high-fashion modeling. A torrid affair with a dangerous and powerful man from the world of organized crime threatens to destroy her, but the city-building dream remains her guiding star. The friendship of her classmates from Berkley is the one constant in her turbulent life. Trish, born into a conservative Southern California family, is drawn by her artistic gift to the "love culture" of the sixties. Her uncontrollable passion for a seductive art professor and a degrading interlude with drugs traps her in a profound despair from which she struggles to return to her artistic vision. Hillary, who discovers domestic fulfillment in an early marriage, is content to watch her friends succeed professionally, until a desire to protect her family and a love for environmental justice whet her appetite for a political career. Three women, three dreams, three destinies--love, sex, and money form the tapestry of their lives, but friendship remains the loom in this unforgettable tale of pleasure, passion, and power.

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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

A feeling of disorientation made Trish dizzy, that and the hot sun beating down. The chancellor's voice floated out of time. "And, as you approach your adult lives, you will recall your days in this institution..." His voice drifted on the airless day. On her left, Hillary seemed to listen to every word, absorbed in the emotion of her college graduation. Her hands were folded in her lap, her full breasts jutted forward in the graduation gown; even in this shapeless getup she looked like an Italian actress. The bridge of her turned-up nose was moist with perspiration, her green eyes filled with the tears of sentiment, her thick auburn hair curled around her face. The longer Trish knew her, the more beautiful she became, or had Trish ceased to see her as she really was, and now only saw her friend's inner beauty?

On her right, Pam sat tall, nearly a head taller then either Hillary or Trish, looking cool and serene even in this heat. Her legs were crossed, and her right foot tapped in time with the inner energy that filled her with a constant hum. She bet Pam would remember every word of this ceremony, quote it in years to come.

How Trish loved these two friends, loved them from that first week in the dorm in her sophomore year when they'd discovered one another, forming the bond that kept them close all through college. Hillary was always ready to listen to Trish's problems, but then she listened to everyone's; Pam's beauty had set the dorm abuzz from the moment she'd walked in the door with two guys carrying her luggage, but she'd also turned out to be a brain. And then there's me, Trish thought, my sketchpad in hand, pretending indifference while I study everyone for their secrets, the pseudointellectual, quoting passages from Proust. She almost blushed to remember how badly she'd wanted to be their friend, and yet it happened easily. The three of them had soon recognized that they were different, special, that the complemented one another; each added her special strength to what the others lacked. Trish emulated Pam's sense of purpose, applying it to her own burning desire for expression in art. And Trish's unswerving ability to work hard was what Hillary needed to inspire her plans to be a teacher. But Hillary had what they both needed, a loving warmth. The three of them had made other friends at Berkley, but no one else was a close. And yet Hillary and Pam were leaving for Berkley: Pam for New York, and Hillary for a student teaching job in Los Angeles. She would be lonely left behind. The thought of it gave her a feeling of emptiness inside.

* * * *

"Breaking into the construction business has been more difficult than I thought, even with a degree from Berkley, magna cum laude. Nobody in the East is very impressed by a University of California degree. But maybe an M.A. would help, and some engineering classes, don't you agree?" She glanced at her father, who had pulled down the invisible mask again. The smile on her face was becoming a grimace. "Of course, classes are expensive, and I need to get an apartment, find a roommate, save up some money. Unless you could see your way clear to make me a loan?" She hurried to assure them, "I'd pay back any tuition you might advance me." Jennifer's tension was apparent, but Pam's appeal was to her father. "I really am serious about working for you, you know," she said finally when he didn't comment. "I know I could be an asset."

"I remember telling you, Pamela," he said calmly, but with intensity, "that after I paid for your college tuition, there would be no more money from me once you graduated. And yet here you are, asking me for more. And not only that, you're still clinging to that harebrained idea of working with me in the business. I was sure you'd given that up long ago, in spite of what you wrote in your letters. I've never encouraged you have I? I've told you over and over that it's not a good idea." He shook his head. "But you and your mother have always had crazy ideas. The construction business is a tough, dirty business. It isn't like selling typewriters for IBM, or soap for Proctor & Gamble, or dresses at Bergdorf's. That's where you belong. Why don't you try those places? Ever since you got the idea about coming here, I've tried to discourage you. It wasn't a good idea for you to move to New York, but you never listened--stubborn just like..." He didn't have to finish the sentence. But she was picking up something else beneath his painful words, a kind of desperation to keep her away from him. Why? She kept wondering. Was she so bad? "You belong in California," he went on with that same need to convince, "away from my business. Frankly, I don't even like the idea of you being in the secretarial pool. No. Gray-Con is not the place for you. You say you're a grown woman; then prove it. Stand on your own two feet, and not in my world."

* * * *

Arthur introduced her to a gallery in Oakland whose owners offered to include two of her knitted webs in a group show with the idea of signing her on if her pieces did well, whatever that meant. It wasn't a prestigious gallery, but their interest gave them an advantage. The effort it took to find a gallery, have slides taken of her work, and then convince the owners of her talent was terribly frightening, and after a few hits of pot it never seemed worth it.

Mondays were Sober Days. After a long weekend of doing drugs, she'd vow to lay off for good. But Monday afternoon would find her lonely again. She'd clean house, change the litter box, make an attempt at laundry, go to the market, plan her week, and put drugs out of her mind. If Arthur was in a good mood, which wasn't likely because he too was usually sober on Monday, she might last until Wednesday without a joint. But then she'd have a glass of wine with dinner on Tuesday, and that usually led to a toke or two; the rest of the week would take on a haze that never lifted.

Arthur handled the details of their lives. And he handled drugs better than she; he'd been doing them longer. He also managed to be productive, when she found it increasingly hard to work when she was wasted. But if she said no, it made him angry. "You're such a spoilsport," or "I don't want to get high alone. Come on honey, just a few tokes."

It didn't take much to persuade her. Facing her own work, or the loneliness, or the fears that manifested themselves in her creations, especially those as yet undiscovered, was impossible without assistance. No matter how strong her resolve was on Sunday to go straight, she never threw out her stash on Monday morning.

* * * *

"Mel, people are dying. Children the same age as ours. People are getting poisoned, breaking out in rashes, babies are being born deformed, pregnancies aborted. Even fish and game are being massacred, and you talk about the dinner."

"Not this again," he said.

She felt him stiffen. This was not the time. It was just that she was so filled with horror, she didn't know how to express it. Wait until she showed him what she had read; then he'd understand her obsession. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to attack you. You're right, I did say that I would be cooking tonight. And I'd planned to, but I got so busy with this brochure about pesticide control that I didn't have time." Lately, since Kevin's illness, she'd been too preoccupied with environmental issues to bake her usual double fudge mousse cakes, or iron Mel's shirts herself. The environmental situation in what was ironically called the Garden State was appalling, dangerous, and all-pervasive. It embarrassed her that it had been going on around her for years and so little was being done. She'd been incensed by the articles about the death of wildlife and the illegal dumping in the wetlands, and she'd been involved in committees to help, but it had been a side issue with her. Those things happened in other people's backyards, not hers, so she'd told herself that others would take care of them. Now she was ashamed of her negligence. She'd forgotten her parents, the altruists, and how they'd raised her. Well, no more. She was about to declare her own war.

The facts were these. The state of New Jersey, the most concentrated centre of the chemical manufacture in America, was one of the worst polluted states, with a shockingly high incidence of cancer. There were so many offenses and probable causes that it was impossible to know where to begin. But she would begin; that was a promise.

She put her hand on Mel's thigh and pulled her feet away, now that they were warmed. "I'm sorry for boring everyone tonight, sweetheart. You're right, talk is cheap. Actions count."

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Catalogue Information

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