WHY ISN'T ANYONE READING THIS
WHY ISN'T ANYONE READING THIS
I WANNA DELETE THIS
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Harry sauntered over to a Yamaha Grand Disclavier given to him by Mariah Carey in the living room. A fantastic black lacquered behemoth with a fabulous gold signature slashed across the Yamaha logo. Harry fumbled his fingers over the porcelain keys. The house suddenly came alive with music. The rock star smiled to himself.
It has been weeks since he picked up an instrument.
He still got it.
Harry got up and pressed a button on his Bang and Olufsen disk player. Harmonious melody started playing in the background. Music to his ears. The room was suddenly overwhelmed the with full orchestra. Harry removed his briefs and tossed it to the hamper in the laundry area.
Time for a good rub a dub-dub.
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Fresh from the shower. Harry enters his walk-in closet. The size of a narrow small house, a long row of all the designer brands you could imagine. The black velvet tuxedos and the evening wear all hung at the end of the room, right across the diamante covered jackets and the delicate furs. The colorful Guccis, Versaces and Balmains hung in the middle of the section, those are for regular wear. The overly Avant-garde clothes hung at the front of the space, all tucked under their fabulous plastics. Harry paused and inhaled the scent of the leather bags that lingered in the room.
This room makes Selfridges look a mini-mart.
Harry glided in the room, snatching a fantastic oversize Gucci sweat shirt, some old sweat pants that he had for decades and a pair of Ray Bans.
The rock star looked at himself in the tall gilded mirror at the corner of the room. Just the right amount of rock star and I-can't-be-bothered coolness.
"It's alright."
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Harry grabbed an elegant camel hair overcoat from the hanger and his wallet. A proud smile etched on his face. He was still humming the tune of the music from that morning. Maybe he can write a song or improve on the music for today's generation.
He opened the door and hopped down the stairs. Harry stopped as he saw Françoise Bettencourt Meyers, the billionaires in her fabulous pink mink coat and large thick glasses walking across the street.
"Mrs. Bettencourt," greeted Harry, waving to her from his front porch.
"Hey, Harry. Don't stop playing that fantastic music. I like it. Is it new?"
"I'm working on it," said Harry loudly. "So, when are you going to leave that old Mr. Meyers and run away with me?"
YOU ARE READING
The family man
RomanceHarry and Niall have been together since they were kids. The Family Man is a heart-warming, humorous story of a famous and wealthy international rock star who wakes up one morning to find himself living an alternate version of his own life in which...
