Fifty Shades of Shade - "The Fifty Shades of Grey Parady" (6 page)

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.

             
Then, quickly, I realize it’s another thing altogether: he’s trying to kiss me.

             
“No, Ramiro, stop.” I struggle in his grasp.

             
“
Chastity
, please,
biblioteca
,” he whispers to me in romantic Spanish.

             
“Ramiro, no!”

             
“I think the lady said no,” a heroic voice proclaims.

             
I glance over. It’s Sebastian. How did he find me?

             
“Mr. Shade,” Ramiro says, tersely.

             
“Mr. Ramirez,” Shade shoots back, coolly.

             
“Mr. Shade,” Ramiro says.

             
Not this again. I start throwing up just to stop another repetitive exchange. Also because my stomach made me.

             
“
Dios mio,
Chastity
,” a grossed-out Ramiro says, watching me heave.

             
Shade walks over and gently guides me to a different place.

             
“Here, throw up here. I’ll hold you.” He directs me to a sleeping homeless man on the sidew
alk. I blow chunks all over him
while Shade holds my hair back. “He won’t even notice,” Shade reassures me.

             
After a few moments of throwing up, I’m exhausted. Shade
gives me a panda-skin handkerchief to
wipe my mouth. I’m deeply embarrassed and ashamed to be in this state. Ramiro slides back inside.

             
“I’m sorry,” I tell Shade.

             
“Sorry for what?”

             
“I don’t know. Calling you, vomiting on the sidewalk, not returning my Redbox movies on time.”

             
“Let me take you home.”

             
“I…I have to tell Melissa first.”

             
“My brother Windsor will tell her. He’s with her now. They’re dancing and dry humping inside.”

             
I was very confused. What kind of
a
first name is Windsor?

             
“How—how did you find me?”

             
“I tracked your cell phone.”

             
I shrug. Seems like a perfectly normal thing for a private citizen to do.

             
“I…need to tell Melissa myself before we go.”

             
Shade nods then follows me back into the bar. He kicks the sleeping, vomit-soaked homeless guy in the stomach before entering.

             
When I walk in I see Melissa on the dance floor going at it with Shade’s brother, who, I guess, would also technically be Shade. Good thing they have different first names.

             
I lean into Sebastian’s ear and scream. Being drunk means I can’t control my volume, I guess. “She’s on the dance floor.”

             
Shade rolls his eyes. He glances at the bartender, controlling him telekinetically. The bartender leaps over the bar and hands Shade a glass of water. Shade holds it out to me and orders me to drink it. The whole thing. He’s so overbearing. What’s his problem?

             
I look at Melissa and she is dancing her booty off. Looks like Windsor will be waking up with us tomorrow. I notice Shade’s arm around me. I turn around and we begin to dance. What a dancer he is! The floor clears away as he starts break-dancing, spinning on his head and hands. Before I knew it, his urban maneuvers were making me dizzy. A moment before I go unconscious I hear Shade’s
soft,
mellifluous voice caress the air around me:

             
“Shit. She’s passing the fuck out.”

             
It’s very quiet. The light is muted. I’m comforted and at peace in a big quiet bed. Then I realize I don’t know where I am. I look around. It’s vaguely familiar. I’m starting to remember things from the night before—Ramiro, kiss, Melissa, dry humping, the phone call—Shade! I figure it out. I’m in his suite at the Wealthman Hotel.

             
I look under the covers. I’m only in my t-shirt, bra and panties. No jeans and—even more scandalously—no socks!

             
I glance next to me and the table has a glass of orange juice, two
Advils, and a framed picture of Shade. Something about that picture reminds me of him.

             
There’s a knock on the door. I jump without saying anything. The door opens anyway.

             
Holy physique, Batman!
He’s been working out. He’s the only man who can look
this
hot in sweatpants. His sleeveless gray shirt is drenched in his sweat.
Sebastian Shade’s sweat. I’d like to drink some of that.

Ew.

Oh,
You know you like it.

             
“How are you feeling?” he asks.

             
“Better than I deserve,” I mumble. He sits down at the edge of the bed. I smell him. He smells like springtime and Fight Club all rolled into one.

             
“How did I get here?”

             
“I didn’t want the leather upholstery in my car to get dirty, so I rented a crane to lift your unconscious body into the suite from the outside.”

             
“Did you put me into bed?”

             
“Yes.” His face impassive.

             
“Did I throw up again?”

             
“No.”
             

             
“Does a right triangle have one angle that is exactly ninety degrees?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Did you undress me?”

             
“Yes.” He quirks an eyebrow, whatever quirking is. I blush.

             
“Did we…you know?”

             
“
Chastity
, you were comatose. I only smuggle dead bodies, not have sex with them.”