Monday, March 17, 2014

Fifty Shades of Satire (Chapter 6)

Christian closes the passenger-side door to "the best damn Yugo money can buy."
     And what a magnificent beast it is! It has four tires, all black. The front windshield is transparent so you can see through it. It also has a rear-view mirror and two doors, with front seats that can be moved forward to allow access to the rear seat where he has me laying face-down with my wrists lovingly tied to my ankles behind my back, shaping me into a human triangle. My mouth is duct-taped "for safety."
     Is that Paul's muffled voice I hear coming from the trunk. No, that would be silly.
     The duct-tape eventually comes loose, another benefit of having an oily complexion, and I'm able to speak through it, half on and half off.
     "Nice song," I sputter through the tape as it playfully flutters in and out of my mouth like a lover. I'm rocking gently forward and backward with every press of the gas pedal or brake.
     "You like it?" Christian smiles, liking that I like it. "It's the band Southern Culture On The Skids."
     He thoughtfully checks on me in that conveniently located rear-view mirror I mentioned before.
     "Don't try to get up," he says. "We're still playing Don't-Let-The-Public-See-You-In-My-Car."
     I listen to the words of the song. They're like poetry. Poetry written just for me.
 
Well, she ain't good-looking
but I ain't that smart,
but that ol' woman
done stole my heart.
   
     Is he trying to send me a message?
 

Yes, we ain't got much,
but we got one another,
and when she pulls out them choppers,
she reminds me of mother.
 
     Uh... maybe not.
 
So put your teeth up on that window sill.
Tell the neighbors to let us be.
Oh, can't they see, that we're in love.
That we're in love.
 
     Dang that Christian Grey, I think to myself, only I don't think "dang." He drives me crazy constantly sending me these mixed signals.
     "Do you enjoy the classics?" he asks, interrupting my revery. Reverie. Um... thoughtful contemplation.
     "The classics?" The classics?
     "Yes, the classics."
     "I don't know," I admit, embarrassed by my lack of class and worldliness.
     "If you're good, I'll introduce you to a great singer I'll never forget. Johnny, no, make that Jimmy Soul. You should listen to 'Happy For The Rest Of Your Life'."
     "Really? Why?"
     "You just should."
     We're interrupted by the sound of his cell phone ringing through the car's speakers. He presses a button on the steering wheel, and a voice speaks. I guess when you're a billionaire your life is a constant stream of interrupting phone calls.
     "No, thank you," he tells the caller, "I'm quite happy with my cell phone service," and hangs up.
     He looks back at me apologetically.
     "I'm sorry," he says. "when you're a billionaire, your life is a constant stream of interrupting phone calls."
     He drives, and I'm just enjoying our opportunity for small talk.
     "Yes," he tells me, "it's a dog-eat-dog world, and I love the taste of dog. It's like the old saying: 'The enema of my enemy is my friend.' "
     "Enemy," I tell him.
     "What?"
     "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
     He chuckles to himself, and lifts one sarcastic eyebrow in a John Belushi impersonation.
     "If you say so," he says. "If you say so."
     He grows quiet, thinking. What might be going through that beautiful head of his I'll never know.
     "So, you're telling me and everybody else who can read that you've never been kissed?" he says.
     "That's right," I tell him. "Never."
     "And no one's ever held your hand?"
     "Once, when I was a little girl, I tried to hold my mother's hand, but she wanted to wait until we got to know each other better."
     He's shaking his head. I look at my subconscious. She's shaking her head, too. No, wait. That's just an epileptic attack. My subconscious will do anything for a little bit of attention.
     What the heck... so will I.
     "Like George Washington, I cannot tell a lie... I'm a virginian."
     "WHAT THE ...!" Mr. Grey says, only he doesn't say "...!"
     He slams on the brake--hard! The car lurches to a stop. I jerk forward, bounce off the front seats, and land back in my original position.
     "You're a virginian?"
     "Yes," I admit, sheepishly.
     I've just learned, honesty is overrated.
     "You haven't done the oingo-boingo?"
     "No."
     "Made the beast-with-two-backs?"
     "No."
     "Been given the ol' slippity-slip?"
     "No."
     "Served anybody the poor-man's-caviar?"
     "No, no, No, NO, NO!"
     I'm on the verge of tears.
     Mr. Grey tries to stifle his laughter, but it comes out in a spray of spit and goobers.
     "Ana, sweet Ana," he comforts me. "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you. Okay, I am laughing at you, but I'm also laughing because it reminds me of something that happened when I was on Spring Break in Pensacola."
     "Florida?"
     "No, the soft drink. Anyway, as I was walking along the beach I came across a beautiful young girl, all alone, without even any arms or legs to keep her company."
     "She didn't have any arms or legs?"
     "That's correct. And the poor dear was crying. All by herself.
     "'What's the matter, miss?' I asked her. 'Why are you crying?'
     "She sobbed even harder.
     "'I'm crying because, since I have no arms or legs, I've never been hugged,' she told me.
     "So I kneeled close to her and hugged her tightly.
     "'Now you've been hugged,' I told her.
     "But she was still crying.
     "'Why are you still crying?' I asked her.
     "'Because,' she said, 'since I don't have any arms or legs, I've never been kissed.'
     "So I scooped her up in my arms and gave her a long, lingering kiss.
     "'Now you've been kissed," I told her.
     "But this only made her cry harder.
     "'Jeez!' I said. 'Didn't I just hug you and kiss you? What is it now?'
     "Between sobs, she admitted her deepest, darkest secret.
     "'Because I have no arms or legs, I've never been screwed.'
     "I'll always remember her blue, no, make that brown eyes. I was still holding her in my arms, so, in an act of compassion...  I threw her into the ocean!
     "'Now you're screwed!' I called after her.
     "I like to think that, as she went under, she was grateful."
     His eyes grew distant, lost somewhere in his memories of the past, and again he grew quiet and thoughtful. 
     He pulls up outside my duplex. And walks me to the front door. We make plans to go out later, and he leaves.
     I'm sure it's just by accident that he forgets to untie me.
     When I finally make my way into my duplex I fully expect to see not-Willie-Nelson, but the surprising Kate Kavanaugh manages to surprisingly surprise me one again.
     "Well, look who the cat dragged in," I say, and then stop in my tracks. There are two strange Asian men sitting at the table eating the breakfast of champions. From the bathroom, I can hear some strange noises. I guess Kate ate a bad clam.
     "Who are you?" I asked the one who was obviously in charge.
     "That is correct," he answered.
     "What is correct?"
     "I am Hu."
     "That's what I'm asking."
     "Asking what?"
     "Who you are."
     "That is correct."
     "What is correct?"
     "Hu I am."
     "I don't understand."
     "Hu is my name."
     "'What is my name?' "
     "What?"
     "You mean, 'what' is your name. Not 'who.'"
     "My name is Hu, not What."
     "That doesn't even make sense. You should learn how to speak English."
     "Yu speak English," he says, pointing to his friend.
     "Yes," his friend says.
     "That's not you," I correct him. "That's him. He speaks English."
     "Him not he, him Yu."
     "No, he's not."
     "He not Yu?"
     "No, I'm 'you.'"
     "You Yu?"
     "Yes," I say, pointing to myself. "Me. Me!"
     He points to his friend.
     "Yu 'he'?" he says, and looks at me for confirmation.
     "That's right," I say, nodding my head.
     He points at me.
     "You Yu?"
     "Now you've got it," I say, encouraging him.
     He then points to himself.
     "And me Hu."
     I slap my hand down hard on the kitchen table.
     "That's what I'm trying to find out!"
     Fortunately, that's when Kate finally comes out of the bathroom and straightens the whole thing out. She tells me that once she found out she wasn't diddling with the real Willie Nelson, she dumped that homeless guy like he was, well, homeless, and that's when she picked up China's President Hu, who was in the country to ignore President Obama.
     She took him home, and had wild Asian sex with him.
     "He was insatiable," she tells me.
     "Who?"
     "That's right."
     After they were done, he--Hu--went into the bathroom, and came out a minute later, ready for some more action. This happened five more times. They'd have sex. He'd go into the bathroom. And then he'd come out, raring to go another time. And another time. And another time. And another time. And another.
     Finally, she had to go to the bathroom, and that's where she discovered the six Chinese nationals who had snuck in the bathroom window the original Hu had opened when he first went in there.
     I look at Hu.
     He's nodding in agreement, proud of himself.
     "Mr. Chinese President," Kate tells him, pointing at me, "this is my friend Anastasia."
     "Anastasia?" he asks, his eyes widening, which isn't an easy thing for him to do.
     "Yes," I confirm. "Anastasia."
     "Oooh," he says. "What a funny name."
   
     I'm at Clayton's, bored out of my mind. There's a ton of stuff to do, but I just don't feel like doing any of it. Kate calls that Snagged-Me-A-Rich-Man-itis.
     I had told her of our plans to go out later.
     "Don't forget the way to a man's heart," she reminded me.
     "His stomach?" I offered, hopefully.
     "Further south," she corrected. 
     My boss, Mr. Clayton--the owner of the store and my friend Paul's uncle--asks me if I know where he is.
     "You're standing right in front of me," I answer.
     "Not me, you idiot. Paul! Have you heard from him?"
     "Well, I thought I heard him yelling for 'hep' from the trunk of Christian Grey's car, but why would he be in Christian Grey's trunk and why would he be yelling 'hep'? What does 'hep' even mean?"
     We both get a hearty chuckle out of my ignorance.
 
     Crockett is waiting for me when I finally clock out and leave the hardware store. He's supposed to drive me to Christian's office "or die trying."
     Thanks to Kate, I'm ready for whatever's about to happen. Besides being groomed and deloused to within an inch of my life, she also made me do a short line of a white powdery substance "for energy."
     "What is it?" I asked her.
     "Nose candy," she answered.
     Oh, goody... I like candy.
     And then she had me take a few puffs from a hand-rolled cigarette "to take the edge off."
     "What is it?"
     "Herb."
     Besides their various medicinal properties, herbs are also a nice way to season your food without using salt. Salt is poison! If you don't believe me, just ask Lot's wife.
     "Here, take this," she said, handing me a pill. "It'll keep you from getting the munchies and give you additional energy."
     "What is it?"
     "Speed," she said.
     Speed?
     Only my favorite movie of all time. That's the one that made Sandra Bullock a star.
     "And for that additional energy, take this," she said, handing me another little pill. "It's a 'lude."
     "Allude to what?"
     "Exactly."
     She waited a few minutes, then...
     "How do you feel?"
     "Totally sober."
     "Good," she said, and handed me a little blue pill.
     "And what's this?" I asked her.
     "Insurance."
    
     Once I'm at Christian's office at the top of the building, we immediately catch the elevator down to the first floor.
     "Where are we going?" I ask him.
     "Someplace special," he says.
     We step off the elevator--What is it about elevators?--walk out of the building, and step into the limousine I arrived in. Crockett holds the rear door open for both of us and accidentally slams it shut on my hand.
     "Sorry, ma'am," he apologizes, and then does it again.
     I don't care. I'm in love.
     "Where are we going?" I ask Christian again.
     "You'll see."
     Crockett drives us to the back of the building, where the prickly Mr. Grey's personal helicopter sits on his private helipad. I look up at Christian perplexed.
     "Where are we going?" I ask a final time.
     "Shut your pie hole."
     We climb into the helicopter, and, as Christian straps me in, his hand "accidentally" brushes against my breasts.
     "I wish they were bigger," I admit to him.
     "What?" he says. He seems honestly confused about my confession.
     "My breasts. I wish they were bigger."
     "Try rubbing toilet paper on them."
     "Toilet paper? Does that really work?"
     "Why not? Look what it did to your bottom."
     As it turns out, the hand belongs to Crockett. I accidentally sat on him. Silly me, that's how I lost my cat.
     Mr. Grey straps himself in next as a voice comes over the helicopter's radio.
     "Ground control to Major Tom," the voice says.
     I look at Christian in surprise, and mouth the words, Major Tom? He shrugs sheepishly. Who knew he was into Bowie? What a freak!
     After a gentle reminder to take our protein pills and put our helmets on, ground control okays us for take-off. As I feel the ground move away from us, it reminds me of Chuck Norris. Did you know that when Chuck Norris does a push-up, he doesn't lift himself away from the Earth, he pushes the Earth away from himself!
     That's a fact!
     The helicopter goes up, up, up, and lands on a helipad at the top of the building.
     Helicrap!
     "Weren't we just here?"I ask him.
     "The rich are a curious bunch," he explains. "We all have our quips and quirks, our odds and ends, our Abbotts and Costellos." But apparently no common sense. "Why sit when you can stand? Why stand when you can walk? Why walk when you can drive? Why drive when you can fly?"
     I look at my inner goddess. She fell asleep during his monologue. I wake her up.
     "Hey! Where's my subconscious?" I ask her.
     "She gave me five bucks to take her place once your boyfriend started talking."
     Lucky her.
    
     "And this, Ana, is my Batcave," he says leading me back inside the building, and dang if we don't walk into a room that looks exactly like Batman's Batcave.
     There's the cap and cowl. There's the giant penny. There's the mechanical dinosaur. There's the giant joker card. It's exactly like the comic book. Aw... and there's a cute little kitten dressed in a Batcat costume.
     "That's Fluffy," Christian tells me. "The only thing I've ever loved."
     "Well, riddle me this, Christian," I say. "Am I gonna get lucky here or what?"
     I'm surprised by my boldness, but, let's face it, I'm a 21-year-old virginian whose lower extremities haven't been filled since I accidentally sat on my cat.
     Mr. Grey is surprised, too. He hands me several pages of paper--a contract--and asks me to sign my name at the bottom. I don't bother reading what it says, and sign "My Name" where it indicates.
     "Now, come to mama!" I say, opening my arms and shimmying my shoulders as I waddle toward him seductively.
     "Not so fast," he says, giving me a loving shove back.
     I bump into the giant penny. It falls over, tears the huge joker playing card in two, and lands on the cat.
     OMG!
     Fluffy!
     I look frantically at my inner goddess. Her eyes are wide and her jaw just hit the floor. She wakes my subconscious up, gives her her five dollars back, makes like an amoeba, and splits!
     Fluffy can't be dead, can she?
     "Meow!" comes a plaintive cry from under the giant penny. Oh, thank Goobers... Fluffy's ALIVE!
     Relieved, I put a hand on the mechanical dinosaur to steady myself, and that causes it to take one giant step forward.
     On the penny!
     "YEOW!"
     Splat!
     "Fluffy? Fluffy?"
     Thankfully, Christian has his back to me. He's moved on to talking about onions and doesn't notice. I have to distract him. So...
     "What do you mean 'not so fast'?" I say, feigning anger.
     "I mean, why hurry? We have all night and so many pages to fill. Besides, we have to go over the Do's and Don'ts."
     "The Do's and Don'ts?"
     "Yes, the Do's and Don'ts. The birds and bees. The Simons and the Garfunkles. The things you'll do because I want you to, and the things you don't... unless I tell you to."
     "That sounds fair."
   
   
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