Here is “tongue-in-cheek” entertainment at its wackiest—and most subtle. If anyone ever doubted that sex makes the world go around, author Sarah Daniels will put your mind, and body to test. Non-stop humor and wisdom are bundled together to deliver one of life’s most important unheeded lessons: each of us has a unique destiny to discover, and until we find and embark on that destiny, life may be one bowl of cherry pits after another.

 Enter CoCo Bernstein, fresh from an ugly divorce, determined to finally do what she loves and let the money follow. Enter Ralph Leavitt, with his bargain Early Bird Special coupons and septuagenarian sex drive, whose only goal is to bed CoCo down forever as his Spiritual Slave and Body of Choice. The net result is a comedy of errors that keeps getting better as the characters begin to shape-shift into the personas of their own undoing.

 Come As You Are is loaded with lacy subliminals straight from Frederick’s Hollywood memoirs and Victoria’s secret chest. Adult language and scenes.

 About the Author:

Sarah Daniels is the pen name for a corporate executive in the book industry. Daniels, a veteran writer, editor and publisher, is also the author of  The Woman With Qualities.

 Excerpt:

 

One . . . 

 “Hello, is this CoCo Bernstein?  This is Josh Skillman.  You don’t know me, but Richard Westbrook said I had to talk to you.  He said I’ve got one hell of a good book.  As far as I’m concerned, it’s trash.  Most of it isn’t even written but he said that didn’t matter.  He said I had to call you.  Who the hell are you?”

“Well actually I suppose it depends on who you want me to be.”  CoCo leaned back in her chair, grimacing as it squeaked. It needed some oil; so did she. She was working too hard and needed a vacation, a cruise, a weekend at a health spa, or maybe just a good fuck. “How do you know Richard?”

“I attended one of his seminars last week and showed him what I’d written. Like I said, I don’t think much of it, but he got very excited.  He said it looked like it was channeled material.  Now let me tell you at the outset, I don’t go much for any of this ‘channeled’ crap.   I write what I write.  I like the sound of your voice, CoCo. You sound exciting, like we’re on the same wavelength.  I know I’m going to like you.  How soon can we get together?”

“Why don’t you first send me what you showed Richard?”  CoCo picked up a purple pen and started making a series of spirals on the pad in front of her. Richard Westbrook. ClearView Press, her publishing company, was about to release his latest book. He did a lot of things in other dimensions, the “now you see it, now you don’t” type of thing that turned people on, so his books sold well. Exciting technology, experimenting with ghosts and gooey-looking stuff called ‘ectoplasm’ that looked like the insides of a roasted marshmallow. 

Most people thought Richard was a quack or charlatan until they attended one of his séances.  But it took just one experience of calling forth dead Uncle Charley from The Other Side and having a real live conversation with him to get them hooked.  The new book, with over 50 photos of live materializations, dated and signed, promised to be a best seller like the other four. ClearView’s bills got paid when Richard came out with a new book.

“My wife LuLu--Isn’t that interesting--CoCo, LuLu–of course it’s Lucille–Did you ever consider using the name CoCo Bean as a pen name? Ha ha!–My wife LuLu takes care of all the business matters in our household. She’s a good secretary and she’s really got her act together. I’m the crazy one. This manuscript is crazy. I don’t where it’s coming from. LuLu will mail it to you. I won’t blame you if you think I’m off my rocker.”

“Where do you live?” CoCo drew a slant-roofed house and placed two stick figures beside it.

“Delray Beach. You probably don’t know where that is.”

“I do indeed. I used to live in West Palm Beach.” CoCo put a hat on one stick figure and curly hair on the other. Why had she answered the phone just now? Usually Dolores or Wendy screened the calls for her, but both were out sick today. Another TGIF South Beach weekend. They thought CoCo didn’t know about their Real Life, so she pretended not to because she liked them. “You’re a sucker for charity cases, CoCo,” people always teased her. Dolores was a veteran NDE, Near Death Experience recoveree, and Wendy had been orphaned twice already in one lifetime. CoCo didn’t ask questions except she could smell the pot in her hair and in the frills of the lacy silk low-cut blouses she wore with skin-tight Levi’s. Wendy was an excellent bookkeeper when she was present; CoCo was not, past or present.

 “CoCo, I’m so grateful that you’re not hanging up on me.  I know you’re a busy lady. Richard said you’re a good writer yourself and very successful.  I like the sound of your voice. I’m 82 years old and I’ve been married four times.  My second wife was crazy. She was a psychic. I have a psychic advisor. I showed her this stuff before I gave it to Richard to read and she’s the one who said I had to do something with it. I tell you, it’s confusing. I don’t even know what I’m writing half the time.”

CoCo’s pen stopped on the pad. “What is her name?”

“My second wife or my psychic advisor?”

“Your psychic advisor.”

“Hannah. Hannah Fields. She’s a trance medium. She talks to dead people. If you ask me, it’s all loony, but she likes my stuff. She says I’ve got something.”

“I know Hannah.” CoCo put down the pen and leaned forward in her chair. This time she didn’t even hear the squeaking.

“And Ralph?  You know Ralph Leavitt too?”

CoCo closed her eyes and breathed deeply, gently massaging her temples.  “Yes,” she sighed. “Oh yes. I know/knew Ralph!”

“He rented a room from me awhile back. According to Hannah, it was Ralph who was responsible for everything. Did you know that?”

“Everything?” CoCo repeated hollowly, drawing a fence in front of the house.

“Her psychic stuff. The whole damn career thing that she made out of it. He was a clever fellow. He sure knew how to pick his women.  I met a coupla his chicks when he was living here.” Josh let out a long low whistle. “Man oh man!  Hannah used to stay with him even after the divorce. She used his apartment in West Palm for her ‘Consultations,’ she called ’em.”

CoCo ripped off the drawing, crumpled it up and shot it into the wastebasket. She hadn’t thought about Ralph in a long time, and even now, the mere mention of his name made her pubic hairs bristle. “Why don’t you send me some samples of what you’re writing,” suggested CoCo, “and then we can arrange to meet.”

“Do you really mean that?” Josh yelped into the phone.

CoCo reached over to her computer, scanned her phone directory for Richard Westbrook’s number and punched it in. No luck. The message on the answering machine said that he was out of town until the end of the month, two weeks from now.