Fifty Shades of Shade - The Fifty Shades of Grey Parady Page 3

  Holy Crapsicles! What’s this about? I pause as Shade comes out of the room.

  “I’ll call you, Cheryl,” he tells the buzzcut face tattoo guy. Cheryl nods, then wanders his brutish frame back down the hall.

  Shade turns his volcanic gaze to me.

  “I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning?”

  My heart poops in my mouth. A date? Sebastian Shade is asking me out on a date.

  “I have to drive everyone home,” I murmur.

  “Cheryl,” he calls. The man he calls Cheryl runs back down the hall to us. “Cheryl can take them home. He’s my driver. I have a large 8 x 8. It’s the size of two 4 x 4’s. Enough room for the equipment too. Now, will you join me for coffee?”

  “Um, er, Mr. Shade, er, ar, um, this is really, er, ud, um, look, Cheryl doesn’t have to take them. I’ll switch vehicles with Melissa.”

  Shade smiles a dazzling mouthsmile at me.

  I walk back in and go up to Melissa. “Sebastian Shade invited me for coffee.”

  Her mouth drops. She bites into my arm and drags me across the room to talk to me in secret. “There’s something about him,” she says. “I think he’s dangerous. And you’re so innocent.”

  Usually, hearing someone that you’re attracted to is dangerous makes them less attractive. But, this time, it was different.

  “Melissa, it’s just coffee. I have to study anyway. I won’t be long.”

  She purses her lips, as if considering my request. Finally, she gives me her keys. Ramiro gives me a frowny face.

  “Don’t be long, or I’ll hunt you down with vicious bloodhounds,” she tells me lovingly.

  We walk four blocks to the Generique Coffee House. Shade holds the door open for me, letting it shut behind him on some old lady in a wheelchair and respirator.

  “Why don’t you find a table and I’ll get the drinks. What would you like?”

  “English breakfast tea, bag out.”

  “English breakfast tea?”

  “I know, it’s like I’m a makeshift American character written by a British author. I don’t get it either.”

  He smiles. “Sugar?”

  First I think that’s his cute nickname for me. But then I realize he’s asking if I want any in my tea.

  “No thanks.”

  “Anything to eat?”

  First I think that’s his cute nickname for me. But then I realize he’s asking if I want anything to eat.

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  I retreat to the table and watch him wait on line. He’s tall, broad-shouldered and his pants hang from his hips…well, like most people’s pants come to think of it. But his hang differently. They hang…mysteriously. He runs his fingers through his hair. Hm, I’d like to do that. With my tongue. Then I realize it wouldn’t be as pleasant as my mind made it sound. Hands and fingers would be better.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Shade comes back. He startles me, even though I was watching him dead on the whole time. He sets the tray down and hands me a cup, a saucer, a small pot, a teabag, and a garden gnome. I set the garden gnome aside and pour out my tea. I look at his coffee and it has a leaf pattern imprinted on the milk. How do they do that? I’m amazed. I look over at the front door and I see a knob on it. I’m equally amazed. How do they put those knobs on doors? And aprons. The miracle of aprons. How do those baristas manage to tie them around their waists every day? The modern world is a hoot.

  “Your thoughts,” he prompts me.

  “This is my favowite tea in the whowe wide wuld.” He makes me so nervous I’m talking in a toddler’s voice.

  “I see. So…is he your boyfriend?”

  Whoa. Whatty what what?

  “Who?”

  “The photographer, Ramiro.”

  I laugh. “No, Ramiro’s just a good friend of mine. Why did you think that?”

  “The way you smiled at him, and he at you. And I at he. And you at you.” His gaze spellbinds me.

  “He’s more like family.”

  He seems happy with the response. “And the guy I met yesterday at the store? Is he your boyfriend?”

  “Doug? He’s just a friend, too.” I wonder where he’s going with this.

  “And the man who pumped my gas this morning on the way to the hotel? Is he your boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know, I wasn’t with you at all. But no.”

  Shade smirks, pleased with the answer. “You seem nervous around men.”

  Crapshit, that’s personal. “I find you intimidating.”

  “You should be intimidated by me.” He nods for no reason, except as an excuse for a literary pause. “You’re very honest. You’re a mystery, Miss Stool.”

  Me? Mystery? Miss Stool? You’re? All his words confound me.

  “There’s nothing mysterious about me.”

  “I think you’re very self-contained.”

  Am I? How am I managing that? I don’t know, Subconscious, stop asking me so many questions.

  “Except when you blush, of course, which is often.”

  “Do you always make such personal observations?”

  “Have I offended you?” He takes a bite out of a blueberry muffin. Even the piece of muffin being chewed in his mouth is sexy.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “But, you’re very high-handed.”

  He raises his eyebrows. They sparkle, somehow.

  “I’m used to getting my own way, Chastity. In all things.”

  “Why haven’t you asked me to call you by your first name?” I feel brave asking him. I even puff my chest out a little before losing my breath. How did this conversation turn so serious? Is he trying to turn me off?

  “The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That’s the way I like it.”

  What a control freak. Maybe Melissa and him should hook-up instead. Melissa-Shade. I slap myself in the head for thinking it. The person at the table next to me looks at me weird. Shade gives me a sidelong glance.

  “Tell me everything about your family,” he says.

  “My mom lives in Alabama with her husband. My stepdad lives in Montesano.”

  “And your father?”

  “Died when I was a baby.”

  “And is he still dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.” A troubled look crosses his face.

  “And your mother remarried?”

  I snort, loud and drawn-out. “You could say that.”

  “You’re not giving much away. I remember you asking me personal questions.”

  Holy high-heeled crap nuggets! He remembered the “gay” question. I’m mortified. I start babbling nonsense to not think about it.

  “Mango stamp wiggle waggle.”

  “That was gibberish,” he coolly point out.

  “My mom is a hopeless romantic. She’s on her fourth husband.”

  Sebastian raises his eyebrows. They had gone back down from the last time he raised them.

  “Do you get along with your stepfather?”

  “Rick?...He’s taciturn.” That was my word today on my word-a-day calendar.

  “Taciturn like his stepdaughter,” Shade prompts.

  My eyes begin to roll at him, but I stop them halfway with my two fingers. The rolling of my eyes is so strong it eventually won.

  “You lived with him?”

  “Yes, my mom met Hubby number three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Rick.”

  He frowns, curiously.

  “Tell me about your parents,” I ask.

  He shrugs. His shoulders making an ethereal chime sound.

  “My dad’s a lawyer and my mom is a pediatrician.”

  “What do your siblings do?”

  “Windsor is in construction and my little sister is in Paris, earning Michelin stars or something.” He doesn’t like to talk about himself or his family. I wonder why. It’s almost psychological-like.

  “I hear Paris is nice. But it’s England I re
ally want to visit.”

  “Because?”

  Concentrate, Stool. Stop getting girl boners.

  “It’s the home of Shakespeare, Jane Austen, the Brontes, E.L. James. I’d like to see the places that inspired them to write great books.”

  “I see,” he says, vacantly.

  Books remind me of studying for some reason. “I better go. I have to study.”

  “For your exams.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll walk you back to your car.”

  “Thank you for the tea, Mr. Shade.”

  He smiles a smile that hides a secret smile.

  “You’re welcome, Chastity. It’s my pleasure.”

  He holds out his hand. I take it, bemused, befuddled, bewildered, besmirched, bereft, bedazzled. We walk out of the coffee shop.

  “What are those on your legs?” he suddenly asks.

  I look down. “Jeans.”

  “Jeans.” He sounds out the word. “Do you always wear those?”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Okay, so I don’t like to segue.

  His lips quirk up in a half-smile—or half-not-smile, depending if you’re an optimist or cynic.

  “No, Chastity, I don’t do the girlfriend thing.”

  Does that mean he’s gay? Or maybe he’s attracted to farm animals. Picturing him kissing a dog, I stumble headfirst into the road.

  “Shit, Chastity!” Shade cries. He pulls me back into him, just as a cyclist is whizzing by, barely missing me.

  It happened so fast. I was suddenly in his arms, against his chest. I inhale his scent. He smells like soap and clothing. Richboy.

  “Why are you smelling me?” he asks. Then I open my eyes and stop. “Are you okay?”

  My brain answers him. Kiss me! I need to be kissed by you. Why won’t you kiss me?

  “Chastity, you should stay away from me.”

  What?

  “I said you should stay away from me.”

  Weirded out by him answering the question in my mind, again, I move on. What did he mean he’s not for me?

  “I’m going to stand you up and let you go.” He let’s go and I immediately fall to the ground. I don’t know why my brain didn’t relay the message to my legs. I stand up.

  The adrenaline that spiked through my body goes away. I just realized the one man that I wanted, Sebastian Shade, rejected the crap out of me. I was devastated. He really doesn’t want me.

  “Thank you,” I say, hiding humiliation.

  “For what?” he frowns.

  “For saving my life and then ripping my heart out, you bastard.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, for saving my life,” I correct, voice lowered.

  “Well, he was riding the wrong way that idiot cyclist. I’m having him killed as we speak.”

  I hear a blood-curdling scream of torment from nearby.

  The realizations come back and haunt me—He doesn’t want me. What was I thinking? Sebastian Shade is out of my league. How do they get that leaf shape in the coffee milk?

  I make my way to the front of the hotel with Shade walking behind me. I just want to leave.

  “Thanks again for the tea and the photo shoot,” I say, walking away.

  “Chastity, I—” This make me stop in my tracks. I hear an anguish in his voice that gets my attention. I just want to leave this embarrassment behind and go. But something makes me stay another moment. Maybe the decision-making part of my brain just got a temporary cancer.

  “What, Sebastian?” I snap.

  “Good luck with your exams.”

  That’s freakin it?

  “Thanks.” I can’t disguise the dry sarcasm in my voice. I think it’s the English tea I drank.

  “Good-bye, Mr. Shade.” I turn and leave him for the hotel garage.

  Stop! My subconscious tells me. But I don’t. I continue on. I’ve never felt this way about any man before, and he rejects me. I knew I didn’t have a chance with Sebastian Shade, but still. I find myself crying on the shoulder of a person who just got out of their car next to me.

  “Can I help you, Miss?” the kindly old man asked me, confused.

  I take a deep, steadying breath and I collect myself. I head for Melissa’s car, wiping tears as I do. I tell myself to put Sebastian Shade out of my thoughts. No more, finished, finito. I will not think of him ever again.

  Sebastian Shade.

  Damn it!

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I put my pen down. Finished. My four hundred and thirty-second and last final exam is over. That’s it. A Cheshire cat grin spreads on my face (cliché #5). I look over at Melissa who is across the room still scribbling. She finally finishes. A Cheshire cat grin (duplicate cliché, bonus points!) spreads across her face as well.

  It’s Friday, we should celebrate. I’m going to get drunk tonight. For the first time ever. What could go wrong?

  Melissa and I get back to the apartment.

  “Chastity, there’s a package for you.”

  Odd, I haven’t ordered anything. And there’s no return address. I hope it’s not a Hello Kitty vibrator from my mom again. Moms.

  “Open it!” Melissa exclaims. She grabs the champagne from the kitchen, in celebration of no more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks.

  I open the parcel. There’s a note inside:

  Why didn’t you tell me there was danger? Why didn’t you warn me?

  Ladies know what to guard against, because they read the novels that tell them of these tricks.

  I recognize the quote from “Tess of the D’ubervilles.” I look in the rest of the box. It’s

  the remains of someone long dead. Then I realize by the Victorian-era hat on the skull: it’s the remains of Thomas Hardy, author of “Tess of the D’ubervilles.”

  “First edition skeleton,” I whisper.

  Melissa’s eyes are wide with disbelief. “Shade?”

  “Who else?”

  “What’s the card mean?”

  “I think it’s a note.”

  “Right. But what does the note mean?”

  “I don’t know. A warning?”

  I have not let myself think about Sebastian Shade for the past week—except when he haunts my dreams and waking thoughts. That’s the only time.

  “I have to send this back. I can’t accept them. They must have cost a fortune.”

  “Wait,” Melissa said. “Let’s keep the fancy hat.”

  “Okay.”

  Melissa proceeds to pour out some champagne. We toast.

  “To the end of exams.” We clink glasses so hard they shatter. We drink anyway, careful not to cut our lips.

  Let the celebration begin.

  The bar is loud and hectic. Full of soon-to-be-graduates getting trashed. This is probably the only time these college students really drink. Ramiro is with us, as is Ariel, Kate’s usual photographer at the school paper. He’s in love with Melissa, masturbating quietly under the table while she sits next to him. Who wouldn’t be in love with her? She’s all tiny camisole, tight jeans, high heels, and hair piled so high I thought a tall girl standing behind her had her pubic hairs out. Me? I’m a sneakers and jeans and ‘kinda’ kinda girl.

  “More drinks, Chastity!” Melissa implores.

  I’ve already had twelve margaritas, plus the bottle of champagne, plus the GHB some frat kid slipped in my drink. I was already past my limit.

  “Lemme take a piss at the bar and then I’ll get a pitcher of beer from the bathroom,” I say drunkenly.

  “Other way ‘round,” Melissa reminds me.

  “Yep.” I stumble away to the restroom.

  While waiting on line I take out my cell phone to pass the time. Who did I call last? Ramiro, yeah. But before that? I don’t recognize the number—oh, right, Shade. Dare I?

  Do it!

  My subconscious is drunk too. I suppress a grin and hit the call button.

  After two rings: “Chastity?” He sounds concerned and surprised.


  “Why did you send me the remains of Thomas Hardy?”

  “Chastity, are you okay? You sound strange.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I remove the voice modulator and put it back into my purse. “Is that better?”

  “Yes. Much.”

  “So…why did you send me the remains of Thomas Hardy?”

  “Chastity…have you been drinking?”

  “Yeah. So?” I blow a drunken raspberry into the phone.

  “Where are you?”

  “In a bar, in Portland.”

  “I’ll come get you and drive you home. You shouldn’t be out like this.”

  “Ha! Try finding me. The author doesn’t even know the name of this bar.”

  “Tell me what street you’re on.”

  “As if you’re going to get that kind of story detail either.”

  “Chastity, just tell me where you are!”

  “You’re so domineering.”

  “Chastity—”

  “Good night, Sebastian.” I hang up.

  I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I have a twin suddenly. I wave and it waves back at the exact same time. Twins really do have ESP.

  When I stumble back into the bar it hits me that I don’t have a twin and that I’m really wasted. I somehow make it back to the table with a pitcher of beer.

  “There you are, finally,” Melissa scolds me.

  “I gotta step outside for some fresh air,” I slur. I then dump the pitcher of beer all over the table and walk out. A few patrons behind me start licking the table top.

  When the cold air outside hits me, I realize I’m completely shitfaced. This is what being drunk is like? Nope. Not for me. I’ll stick to eventually being addicted to prescription pills instead, thank you very much.

  Suddenly, I notice Ramiro outside next to me.

  “Hey, there you are you person of ambiguous Latino descent,” I say to him.

  “Chastity, are you okay?”

  “I’ve just had a bit too much to drink.” I’m swaying this way and that.

  “Do you need help?” Ramiro holds me up.

  “I got this.” I try to push him away but he holds on.

  “Chastity, please.”

  “Ramiro, what are you doing?”

  He grabs the small of my back and leans in with his lips puckered and his eyes closed, which means only one thing: he thinks I’m a margarita.