Am brain dead.
But I thought, while I’m brain dead, that I’d post a couple of deleted scenes from Spirit Willing, Flesh Weak. Just because.
This is one that went because my agent thought it was too cheesy. I like it. Then again, I like cheesy, far too much for my judgement to be trusted. It was from chapter ten. And I really did lie on a piano to research it, though I can’t sing that well.
Rosie, the fake psychic and professional liar, is playing a game of drinking Truth or Dare with Harry, a gorgeous journalist obsessed with the truth.
Harry walked me over to the grand piano in the centre of the room. He dropped my hand and I opened my mouth to protest but then his hands were at my waist again, lifting me up and setting me on the cover of the piano.
I giggled again. I was sitting on a grand piano, in a bar, in a hotel, in Milton Keynes, England.
I seemed to be a little bit drunk.
Harry sat down on the piano stool and opened the cover over the keys. He hit a key or two, experimentally, and then nodded, satisfied.
“I dare you to sing a song,” he said.
“Do you play the piano?” I asked.
“My parents made me take lessons from the age of eight.” He played several quick, jazzy chords. “I can play Mozart, Chopin, and most of the Monkees’ songs. So what are you going to sing?”
Why was I not surprised that Harry Blake, the well bred, had taken piano lessons as a child? Briefly, I wondered what my parents would have said if I’d asked for piano lessons at age eight.
Get a job, probably.
“‘I Wanna Be Sedated’ by The Ramones?” I suggested.
Harry’s long fingers danced over the keys, feeling out the Ramones tune briefly. “I think that song needs some electric guitars, not a grand piano.”
I watched his hands. Had I always found a man who could play the piano sexy?
I couldn’t remember any other occasions. In fact, I couldn’t remember watching a male play the piano since junior high school when geeky Donnie Deconzo used to play the intro to “Axel F” from Beverly Hills Cop whenever he got near a keyboard.
But Harry’s hands were so dextrous. I leaned over towards him, so I could see them more clearly.
“What are you going to sing, then?” he asked, still strumming out a vague, jazzy, improvised melody.
“You decide,” I said, mesmerised by the movement of his fingers. “It’s your dare.”
Harry looked up from the keys and met my eyes. Slowly, he smiled.
He stopped his melody and picked out another. Immediately I knew the tune, and the first line, and why he’d chosen it.
“‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,’” I said, but what I was thinking of were the first words of the lyrics. About someone being too good to be true.
Sneaky so-and-so.
“Do you know it?” Harry asked, filling in more of the chords as he continued with the melody.
“I know it. Do you want the Andy Williams version?”
“I don’t think the Ramones do a version,” he replied.
I crossed my legs and leaned back on one hand in “lounge-singer vamp” style. “I’m ready whenever you are,” I said.
He immediately segued into an introduction. Watching him, addressing every word to him, I sang.
I’d trained my voice, though for rather a different purpose, and when I began singing, I heard the room go quiet around me.
And Harry’s eyes were on me. Blue, steady, keen, smiling. I looked back and told him I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
I told him touching him would be heaven.
I saw him moistening his lips with his tongue when I sang how much I wanted to hold him.
His eyes told me that for once, he believed me. And then some.
Oh, this was fun. And sexy as hell, I thought, and then as I finished the first verse, I realised suddenly that I had no idea what the second verse was.
I paused, and Harry filled in with an improvised chord progression. “You okay?” he asked.
I had it. I gave him what felt like a catlike smile. “I’m great. Ready when you are.”
“You can really sing,” he commented.
“All that time in the shower must’ve paid off,” I said, and waited for him to work through his improvised bridge.
On my cue, I began singing again:
“You’re like a dream, Harry Blake,
Am I asleep, or awake?”
I saw his eyebrows raise themselves in surprise and amusement when he realised that I was making up the words. I reached forward and twirled a lock of his silky, wild hair around my finger as I sang.
“You have the funkiest hair,
C’mon and dare me a dare.
I don’t need E.S.P.
To know you want to touch me.”
And then I was telling him again how he was too good to be true.
And he was. Too honest, too principled, too well-bred for me to even think about getting tangled up with.
But I still couldn’t keep my eyes off him.
I shimmied on the piano to the build-up to the chorus, and then sang it out to the room and to Harry Blake. Loud, dramatic, throaty and full of all the desire I felt sitting on this piano feeling Harry touching the keys and sending musical vibrations through my body.
The next verse was a repeat of the first, and I lay on the piano to sing it. My belly and chest pressed against the cool glossy surface of the instrument. I could feel every note against my skin. I propped myself up on my elbows, my face only a few inches from Harry’s, and sang the verse and the chorus, my voice getting softer, huskier, and more intimate with every line. I slowed down the pace, a caress of a chorus instead of a flourish, and Harry followed me. Or maybe I followed Harry.
All I knew was that we were together, note for note, beat for beat.
We finished the song with a whisper and a tickling of keys. There was applause, but I barely heard it. I was caught up in Harry’s blue eyes, and couldn’t look away.
The last echo of the music died off. It felt very quiet, and Harry felt very close.
“Truth or dare?” I murmured.
Cheesy! Is she bonkers? That’s good stuff…there is something to be said for a man who can tinkle on the old ivory…wow! Did you mould Harry on anyone famous? I’ve pictured him as a Matthew McConoughy…
I didn’t think it was cheesy – I liked it!! Oh, well, at least you shared it with us – thanks.
Hope your brain revives soon.
Cheesy??? Oh, my good Lord, never!
Take heart — I would have let you keep that. I promise.
I think I’ve asked you this before, but can I be you when I grow up?
As I said, my cheese judgement is flawed and so I rely on my agent and editors to tell me when something could be used for a fondue. In any case, in the final book the same thing is accomplished in less words without (I hope) sacrificing the sexual tension, so this is just posted here for fun.
My agent did tell me afterwards that I could have kept it. But by then it was gone. Fortunately Harry has other talents besides piano playing.
Leo, I did base Harry on someone famous, but the last time I told someone who I meant my hero to be, she was disappointed. So I’ll let you keep Matthew McC. if you like. I do always put hints of who I used as a hero-model in the book–in this case it was the last name of another character.
Julie, I thought it was brilliant. With maybe a bit of cheese but enough ingenuity to pull it off fabulously.
I’m with Kris. Can I be you when I grow up?
I liked it. But I was a bit worried about the piano. I mean, could having someone rolling around on top of it harm the piano? Would it make it go out of tune? What would the owners of the bar think about people clambering onto their piano?
It was surely a sturdy piano, and Rosie isn’t an elephant…
Toe-curlingly good, Julie!
And you know Harry as MMcC isn’t such a bad idea… mmmmmmmmmmmmmm
I quite liked it, mind you, I don’t know what sort of things are classed cheesy. Maybe you could use it in another book. Never throw away scenes that have been deleted from one book.
Laura, that is a very practical concern. I don’t know enough about pianos to know if it would cause damage. I do know that I spent some time lying around on a grand piano in New York in a full-length ball gown (and have a photo to prove it), and the piano seemed none the worse. I think, had I kept the scene, a hotel worker probably would have protested in some way.
Kris and Donna, I appreciate the sentiment, but remember if you’re me you’re going to have to put up with heartburn 100% of the day. You should really stick to being your own talented selves.
I don’t really fancy Matthew McC. I know I am weird on this one. But I think he looks a bit too much like a blond Ken doll. But honestly you can picture Harry as anybody you like.
Julie, you are right, and I never throw away anything at all!
I rather liked it
Not cheesy at all, now I’m going to have that song in my head all day lol
As long as she doesn’t have any rings or buckles that might scratch the surface of the piano it would probably be OK. It still makes me nervous as a concept, but I know I have very prosaic tendencies. On the other hand, I can see the romance in a sieve (one of the best Valentine’s Day presents I’ve had).
LOL Julie! You got me pulling the book out of the shelf and rereading chapter 10 but I draw the line at combing the book for that last name!!!
Love your version of the lyrics BTW.
See, now I’m just worried that Rosie was wearing a piano-damaging necklace or something.
Probably a good idea the scene never made the cut. I’d have outraged piano owners writing me emails. To say nothing of Andy Williams fans.
Hey, since your talented in so many areas, do you happen to play the piano? I’m really wanting to learn, but don’t know where to start. Any tips or advice?