Thursday, May 15, 2014

Fifty Shades of Satire (Chapter 9a)

Light fills the room. I open my eyes to a sleeping Christian Grey beside me. He looks so cute in his jammies. Transformers. I could lay here and gaze at him forever, but I've got to see a man about a horse, if you get my drift.
     I walk into his bathroom. Wow, what a view. It looks like you could perform surgery in there, all white and chrome. There's an interesting touch on the floor's white tiles. Red splatters painted by hand. It looks like a Jason Pollock painting.
     After making room for breakfast, I leave the fan running and shut the door behind me. I look around his apartment because I'm nosy. Speaking of my nose, it leads me to the kitchen where I discover an old friend, the refrigerator. A smile comes to my lips. I know exactly what I'm going to do.
     I'm going to make Christian breakfast.
     When he wakes up hours later, he walks in on me dancing playfully in the kitchen.
     "I didn't know you could Charleston?" he says.
     OMG! I'm so embarrassed.
     "I... I... made you breakfast," I stammer, and point with my hand toward the table. "Captain Crunch for two?"
     He smiles appreciatively.
     "And she can cook," he says, playfully.
     "Would you like some tea?" I ask, blushing in embarrassment.
     "What are you, British? This is America, gimmie coffee."
     We sit and have a delightful breakfast. There's playful banter, bantering playfulness, and continued usage of the word "playfully."
     "Didn't you say you never sleep with anyone?" I tease him.
     "My life," he says, "like this story, is full of contradictions."
     "Yeah... you're full of it, all right."
     My subconscious walks into the kitchen. Hungover, as usual.
     Ignoring my subconcious, I check the messages on my phone. There's about fifty texts. ALL from Kate.
"RU OK Ana?"
     What does the word "ruok" even mean?
"Bring home some milk. We're out."
"And toilet paper."
     "Fan mail from some flounder?" Christian asks, subtly pointing out my rudeness and his fondness for Rocky & Bullwinkle in one dusty pop culture reference.
     "It's Kate," I tell him. "I should call her. She's worried."
     "By all means," he says, waving his hand toward my phone magnanimously. He's like the snake giving Eve the okay to eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. He's like Caesar giving a thumbs up to a fallen Roman gladiator. He's like Siskel & Ebert. The skinny one, not the fat guy.
     I call, and Kate answers.
     "Hi, Kate. It's Ana."
     "With one 'n' or two?"
     "Well, she's still in bed, but I can take a message."
     "No, Kate. I'm not calling for Ana. I am Ana. I called because I knew you'd be worried."
     "About who?"
     "About me. Ana. Ana Steele."
     "How do you spell that?"
     "Steele. With an 'e' at the end."
     "Now I know you're lying. 'Steel' isn't spelled with an 'e' at the end."
     And she promptly hangs up on me.
     I stand there, holding a dead phone in my hand.
     "Did you allay her fears, my dear?" Mr. Grey asks me, cocking an eyebrow. What hasn't this guy cocked?
     I nod and put my phone down.
     "Hey," he says playfully, "whoever doesn't need a bath, take a step forward."
     As I'm about to take a step forward, Christian puts up a hand.
     "Not so fast you," he says.
     The bath is wonderful. The water's warm, the bubbles are plenty, and the water from the water-hose he's spraying me with has just the right amount of force.
     When we're done he wraps me in a towel. It's a cute one with pictures of little doggies on it.
     "This is so plush," I tell him.
     "I don't remember saying you could talk," he says, cutting me short. And then, "There's something I want you to do, Ana. Are you willing?"
     I nod my head.
     He takes off his tie. What he's doing wearing a tie with his pajamas, I don't know, but the rich are different than you or I, my friends. He walks behind me, and ties the tie around my eyes like a blindfold.
     "It is a blindfold, you idiot," he says.
     OMG! I think to myself. WTF's gonna happen next?
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