I need your opinions on a change I am considering for the opening of Hair Raiser, #2 in my Bad Hair Day Mysteries. I’m wondering if a less suggestive first page would attract more readers. Please read on and see what you think.
Original Version
“You must treat her like a lover. Stroke her tenderly, undress her, and zen unleash your desire when you devour her. I guarantee you will be satisfied.”
Chef Pierre Chevalier fixed his class of fifteen wannabe cooks with a stern glare. Holding up an unblemished banana, he waved it in the air like a giant phallic symbol. “Observe ze proper technique. To make Bananas Foster, first begin by peeling ze skin with a gentle hand to avoid bruising.”
With infinite care, he pared one piece after another as though stripping off his lover’s garments. His gaze deepened as he stared longingly at the naked fruit glistening in his hand. “You see? Look at ze velvety smoothness of zis shaft. Ze moist tip and firm inner core remind you of something, no?” A chuckle rumbled from his throat. “Zis we can put in ze mouth, but only after it is properly prepared.”
Marla watched his movements, amazed that such a stout man with a round face could be so sexy. Perhaps that accounted for the popularity of Pierre’s culinary classes. “Never mind the innuendos, I’m gaining five pounds just by sitting here,” she commented to her friend Tally Riggs beside her.
The chef finished slicing the banana into a bowl. Several more fruits met the same fate before Pierre melted a chunk of butter in a skillet. He added the banana slices, sprinkling cinnamon on top until a delicious fragrance filled the air.
Tally’s blue eyes widened in admiration. “I could never get brown sugar to melt that way without scorching the pan.”
“Wait until he adds the rum,” Marla said. “Did you ever think food could inspire such passion? No wonder people flock to his restaurant. Pierre will be a big draw at Taste of the World.”
“Ken and I bought tickets already. He feels it’s important to support Ocean Guard’s annual fund-raiser. You know how he gets a kick out of joining their beach cleanups. It makes me think Ken is a beachcomber at heart.”
“My cousin is getting nervous about hosting the event at her estate. It’s less than two months away now. I can’t believe I let her con me into working as liaison to the chefs. At least I’ve met most of the major participants, including Pierre.”
As Marla watched, he removed the skillet from the heat. His fingers flew through the practiced motions of warming a measure of rum in a separate saucepan. “Zis is le grand finale, ze moment of ecstasy,” he cooed, pursing his lips in an air kiss. “All zat foreplay was just building up to zis eruption of heat. You are hungry, no?”
“Yeah, but not for what you have in mind,” Marla muttered. She watched him lift the smaller pot and pour the rum over the bubbling bananas. A sugary fragrance wafted into her nostrils, making her stomach growl. It was nine o’clock on Wednesday evening, and she hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Everyone was waiting to sample the dishes after Pierre finished his demos. Let’s wrap it up, she thought, folding her packet of recipes and stuffing them in her purse.
Pierre’s tall white toque bobbed on his head as he lit a match and tilted it toward the warmed rum in the skillet. The flame had barely touched the liquid when an explosion rocked the room, sending a wall of fire shooting into the air.
Revised Version
Marla Shore couldn’t help admiring Chef Pierre Chevalier’s deft wrist movements as he sliced several bananas into a bowl. He stood at a counter facing his class of fifteen wannabe cooks. Everyone had a good view of his workspace while he worked.
She nudged her friend Tally beside her. “If I sliced bananas like that, I’d cut my finger off.”
“Hah. You have more risk of hurting yourself with a hot curling iron.”
“Excuse me? I’m a hairstylist. I know how to use my tools.”
“The chef is just as skilled at his trade as you are,” Tally told her. “Practice makes perfect. If you did this all day, you’d learn the same skills.”
“No, thanks. I’d rather have an assistant do the prep work.”
Chef Pierre glared at them. “In case you are wondering about the origins of this dish, Bananas Foster was created in the early nineteen-fifties at Owen Brennan’s restaurant in New Orleans.” He spoke with a French accent in a loud stage voice to command attention. “Owen asked his sister Ella to create a new dessert for a dinner honoring Richard Foster, who’d been appointed Chairman of the New Orleans Crime Commission. Ella took some bananas, split them in half, and sauteed them with butter and brown sugar. Then she poured rum and banana liqueur on top, set it on fire by the table, and served it with vanilla ice cream. Voilà, a new recipe was born!”
Marla watched, amazed that his description alone could make her crave sweets. “I’m gaining five pounds just by sitting here,” she said to Tally.
Tally patted her stomach. “So am I.”
“I doubt it. You can eat anything and not gain weight.” Tally’s model-thin figure didn’t change no matter what she ate. Marla wished she could say the same.
Pierre melted a chunk of butter in a skillet over medium heat. He stirred in brown sugar then added the banana slices, sprinkling cinnamon on top until a delicious fragrance filled the air.
Tally’s blue eyes widened. “I could never get brown sugar to melt that way without scorching the pan.”
“Did you ever think food could inspire such temptation?” Marla said. “No wonder people flock to his restaurant. Pierre will be a big draw at our Taste of the World fundraiser.”
“Ken and I bought tickets already. He feels it’s important to support Ocean Guard.”
Marla frowned. “Cynthia is getting nervous about hosting the event at her estate. I can’t believe I let my cousin con me into taking charge of the chefs.” She’d taken on the job while already having enough to do managing her salon and tending to her clients. One of the reasons she’d come tonight was to see Chef Pierre in action.
He removed the skillet from the heat and then warmed a measure of rum in a separate saucepan. “This is le grand finale. You are hungry, non?” As the class watched, he lifted the smaller pot and poured the rum over the bubbling bananas.
A sugary scent made Marla’s stomach growl. It was nine o’clock on Wednesday evening, and she hadn’t eaten dinner yet. Everyone was waiting to sample the dishes after Pierre finished this last demo. Let’s wrap it up and eat the food already, she thought, stuffing her packet of recipes into her purse.
Pierre’s tall white toque bobbed on his head as he lit a match and tilted it toward the warmed rum in the skillet. The flame had barely touched the liquid when an explosion rocked the room, sending a wall of fire shooting into the air.
What do you think? Is the second version better than the first, or should I leave things as they are in the original?
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