The Piano Man Project Page 0,17
their relationship that he’d initiated conversation and chose to let his sarcasm slide.
‘Not today. Sold two pairs of shoes and a cardigan with a hole in the pocket though, so all’s not lost.’
‘Wow, your life is one long thrill ride. How the fuck do you cope?’
Honey rooted around in the crinkled corners of her chip packet. ‘I get by. How’s your dinner?’
‘Gourmet. I’m just glad you didn’t attempt to cook again.’
‘You don’t know how right you are,’ Honey confessed. ‘I’m crap in the kitchen.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘You first.’
‘Me first what?’
‘You tell me something I don’t know, and I’ll tell you something you don’t know.’
Hal grunted. ‘You want to play drinking games, lady, you have to supply more whisky.’
Honey shrugged. ‘I’ll go first then.’ She cast around for something interesting. ‘Er … I’m wearing red cowboy boots?’
‘Dull. Something more interesting please.’
‘Well, that was rude.’ She frowned and considered alternative facts. If he’d found her boots dull, it was a sure fire bet he’d find the rest of her outfit even duller, with the possible exception of the colour of her knickers. Well, she did want to shock him out of his superior sarcasm mode …
‘My knickers are bright red and say Sunday even though it’s Tuesday, and I’ve got a hot date on Friday night.’
She was rewarded with something that sounded like a half laugh on the other side of the door.
‘May I suggest you go for more alluring underwear for the occasion? Or accuracy, at least?’
‘Oh, he won’t be seeing my knickers. I haven’t even met him yet. It’s a blind date.’ Honey sucked in her breath. ‘Fuck! Hal, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
Surprisingly, he opened the door a fraction more. ‘Don’t say sorry. The fact that you keep putting your foot in it is the best thing about you.’
Honey smiled at the strange, small compliment and cracked open a can of cola from the shopping bags. ‘Drink?’
‘It’s not whisky, is it?’ he said mournfully, knowing full well that it wasn’t.
Honey pushed the can into his hand when it appeared around the door. ‘Nope.’
She heard him take a drink, and when she closed her eyes she could see him sitting behind the door, feet spread, knees bent and his elbows propped on them, his Adam’s apple moving as he tipped his head back and swallowed. Hmm.
‘So who’s your date?’
His question brought her out of her Diet Coke moment with a bang. ‘Some guy called Deano. He’s in a band and likes blondes.’
‘Wow.’ Hal whistled. ‘I underestimated you. You’re a groupie with bad taste in knickers.’
‘I’m not a groupie,’ Honey bristled. ‘I didn’t arrange the date, my friends did. They’re on this weird crusade to set me up with a pianist, because …’ The words dried up in Honey’s mouth. This talking through the door thing was a dangerous game. The physical barrier had the bizarre effect of removing the usual conversational barriers.
‘Finally she tells me something interesting. Carry on.’
Honey stared at the ceiling. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘All the more reason why you’re going to.’
Honey screwed up her nose. ‘Honestly, it’s stupid.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he said. ‘Tell me, Honeysuckle. Why are you dating pianists?’
‘Tell me Hal, why do I suddenly feel like Clarice Starling in Silence of the Lambs?’
‘I’ll let you live as long as you answer the question.’
Honey puffed out hard. ‘I’m dating pianists because … because my friends think my sex life needs spicing up, okay?’
Hal laughed. Actually laughed. And then he stopped, and said, ‘But why a pianist? Aren’t they all dull as fuck?’
Honey scrubbed her hand over her forehead. Why was she telling him this stuff? It felt akin to being on a therapist’s couch.
‘I don’t know any pianists yet to tell you whether they’re dull as fuck or not. I’ll let you know after Friday night.’ She paused. ‘Although strictly speaking, Deano plays the synthesiser, not the piano.’
‘I’m going to ask you again, Honey, real slow,’ Hal said. ‘Why pianists in particular?’
‘Jeez, Hal! Do we have to do this?’
‘Stop avoiding the question. I’m your poor blind neighbour and you’re my only contact with the outside world. Have a heart.’
Honey gasped at his blatant manipulation. ‘That’s not fair and you know it.’
‘Life’s not fair. Take it from someone who knows. Why pianists?’
‘Christ, Hal!’ she burst out. ‘Because they’re bound to be good with their hands, okay? My friends have this crazy-ass idea that a pianist will make the perfect lover for me because they’ll be all skilled and clever and sensitive.’
Hal replied to