Fifty Shades of Thrifty (a Parody) (2 page)

"I thought
you'd like it," I said, still working on my ice cream sundae.

"Now we just
have to figure out who ate the free dinner."

We both laughed
as the check arrived. I fished through my purse and handed the waiter the
coupon while my date gave him a credit card. The waiter disappeared as I
continued to search through my purse. I pulled out a fistful of coupons and set
them on the table.

His eyes grew wide.
"Whoa, you're really serious about this stuff."

"Hey, a
single girl's gotta save a buck anyway she can."

"You
know," he said, looking at my huge stack of coupons, "I can give you
an organizer for those."

"That would
be great." I playfully bit my lower lip while smiling and raised my
eyebrows. "Scott, I have an idea."

"What's
that?"

"Well, I was
going to invite you back to my house but I was wondering if you'd like to drop
by a supermarket on the way." I pulled a few coupons from the pile.
"I have a few more... assets... that are about to expire."

I handed him two
coupons and he blushed a bit as he read them. "Reddi-Wip.... chocolate
sauce..."

I popped the
Maraschino cherry from my sundae into my mouth, did a little trick with my
tongue, then pulled out the stem which was now tied in a knot. I held it up for
him to see.

Now it was his
turn to gulp.

"Anyway,"
I said, dipping my head so that I was now looking up at him through my long
eyelashes and trying to lower my voice into a sultry tone, "I thought you might
like to help me make another... dessert."

***

The Coupon King
rolled over, spent, grinning ear to ear.

"You look
like you enjoyed that," I said, propped up on one elbow as I surveyed my
conquest.

"That was
incredible."

"All that
fun and we saved three dollars. Cha-ching!"

He laughed and
shook his head. "You're something else, Cassie. I must say, it's a real
turn-on for me to meet such a smart, attractive woman who actually knows how to
save a buck. Along with some fascinating uses for products from the dairy and
produce sections of the supermarket."

"I am a girl
of many talents. And if saving money turns you on, maybe in the morning we can
drop by the hardware store." I climbed on top of him, straddling him as I
pinned his wrists behind his head. "I've got a fifty percent off coupon
for any length of rope, which would leave my hands free for... other things.
And we can pick up a half-price riding crop at the tack shop."

"A single
girl's gotta save a buck," he said, leaning up and giving me a long kiss.

A knock on the
door interrupted us. "You expecting someone at this hour?" he said.

"Bogo,"
I said, sliding out of bed and slipping on a short red robe.

He furrowed his
brow, confused. "Bogo?"

"Bogo,"
I said. "Be right back."

I walked from the
bedroom to the front door, opened it and led my guest back to the bedroom.

His jaw hit the
floor as he saw her. Six-one in heels, turquoise halter top, short black skirt,
killer legs, red hair, big green eyes. "You gotta be kidding."

"Meet my
twin sister Rachel," I said. "Bogo. Buy one, get one free."

***

Two weeks
later...

I left the
following note for my teenagers, which was handed to them by the assistant I'd
hired:

Sam and Kathy,

This will
introduce you to your new nanny, Ms. Heckle. She'll be taking care of your
needs while I'm gone. By the way, I've cancelled the contracts for your cell
phones so you will actually have to speak to your friends should you wish to
communicate.

I will be
traveling with my sister and a friend for, well, an undetermined amount of time.
Should I not return by the time you turn eighteen, you're free to go.

-Mom

***

After lathering
on a ton of sunblock (redheads burn very easily) I leaned back in the
Adirondack chair on the veranda as the sun began to send fingers of light into
the sky. A cool breeze blew off the ocean, caressing my skin and filling my
nostrils with salt air. I unfolded the morning paper and there it was, right on
the front page. After years of writing stories, it was kinda cool to read one
about myself in the London tabloid.

COUPON KING
ENJOYS TWO-FOR-ONE DEAL

Scott
Farelli, known worldwide as the Coupon King, is apparently doubling down on a
good situation while globe-trotting.

The hunky
Farelli was spotted squiring not one but two stunning redheads around London's
hotspots. The statuesque copper tops are identical twins, making Farelli the
envy of every man in England.

My sister emerged
from the condo, carrying a tray with a pitcher of orange juice and three
glasses. "Morning, slut," she said, as she put her tray down on the
table and proceeded to pour two glasses.

"Morning
yourself. Mimosas?"

"But of
course. A day without a mimosa is like a day without sunshine." She
adjusted her black string bikini, a perfect match for mine, and stretched out
in her chair. (We've discovered Scott likes us in identical outfits.)

"You
packed?" I asked. "We're leaving for the south of France
tonight."

"Ready to
roll. Couldn't locate my red thong for the longest time, but I found it on the
ceiling fan."

"I hope
you're not going to try that practical joke with my luggage again."

"Aw, c'mon
sis, it was fun watching you try to explain the trapeze to the TSA agent."

"Yeah, real
funny."

"Hey, it got
us on Page Six in the Post and Scott's book sales skyrocketed."

The image from
the newspaper flashed through my mind. "You weren't the one photographed
holding the trapeze bar in a suggestive way. Speaking of flying trapezes, how's
our
daring young man
doing?"

"He was just
staggering into the shower. We did, after all, drain him of all bodily fluids last
night."

"That's our
motto," I said. "Leave nothing but an empty husk." I tossed her
the paper. "By the way, we're front page news here."

Her eyes widened
as she saw our photo and began to read the story. A sly smile grew across her
face. "Ah, good to know someone thinks we're stunning."

I looked out onto
the water, still amazed at how my life had changed in such a short time. I
heard footsteps, turned and saw Scott walk onto the deck in a white bathrobe as
he ran a towel through his hair.

"Good
morning, girls," he said. His gravel voice told me he was still not wide
awake. He stretched his eyes open as he took in the view. (The twins in
bikinis, not the water.)

"Morning,"
we both said in unison. (He's also turned on by the fact we have that identical
twin thing going where we speak in stereo or finish each other's sentences.)

"So,
anything on the agenda before we leave for France?"

We both stood up
and moved closer to him.

"Well...
there
is
a special sale today,"
said my sister.

Scott nodded.
"Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh,"
I said, running one long red fingernail down the gap of his robe. "And
you're the only customer with a coupon." I looked at my sister and winked,
giving her the cue to start. We both began to undo our bikini tops.

"Women's
swimwear, half off," we both said in unison as we dropped our bikini tops
to the floor.

"Now
that," said Scott, losing eye contact as his gaze drifted lower, "is
my kind of coupon."

Copyright 2012
© N.J. Harlow / Accio Books

(If you
enjoyed Fifty Shades of Thrifty,

 
check out the following excerpt from
N.J. Harlow’s novel...)

WING GIRL

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright 2013
© N.J. Harlow

Published by Accio Books

"Dating you
would be like dating Mike Wallace," said the dark haired hunk who could
easily be considered for a certain magazine's Most Beautiful People issue.

Before you get
the wrong idea about that comment, let me say that I do not in any way, shape
or form physically resemble the legendary reporter. I'm actually a slender
redhead with emerald green eyes, classic high cheekbones with a constellation
of freckles, little dimples when I smile, a whiskey voice that sounds like it
lives in a smoky bar and channels Demi Moore. Though tonight it's all packaged
in a brown paper wrapper consisting of a bulky sweater and pants, while my hair
is always up in a tight bun and the eyes peer through Coke-bottle glasses.
Gotta maintain the journalistic credibility. If you wanna be taken seriously as
a woman in my business, you can't play the glamour card.

But as for the
Mike Wallace comment, I am the city's most recognizable and feared
investigative reporter who channels the
60 Minutes
icon every chance I get.

So I sorta get
what the guy's saying, but then again I don't. Does he mean that he admires my
work as much as that of the broadcasting legend? Or that when he kisses me
he'll be thinking of an eighty year old guy who's dead?

So I asked.
"I'm not sure how to take that."

He leaned forward
and I felt his knee gently brush mine, sending a bit of electricity through my
body. "Oh, it's a compliment," he said with a smile. "I mean,
everyone knows you're the best reporter in town."

I tried to hold
back a smile but couldn't as I looked at this Greek god with the chiseled jaw
line sitting before me in a dark gray windowpane suit. The rest of the bar
faded to grayscale as he provided the only color in the room. His deep blue
eyes became beacons as I caught a faint whiff of Fendi cologne. A subliminal
daydream whipped through my mind and I saw myself being carried to the bedroom
by those broad shoulders, my legs wrapped around his slim hips.

However, given
enough ointment, there's always a fly.

"But..."
he said.

Oh shit, here
it comes.

Again.

"I just know
if I asked you out you'd probably run a background check on me and unearth any
skeletons I have in my closet. And I would never be able to lie to you. I mean,
no one lies to Belinda Carson and gets away with it."

Investigative
reporter
red flag alert.
"Does that mean you lie to all the women you
date?"

"I didn't
say that—"

I leaned forward,
eyes narrowed a bit. "But you
have
lied to women before or you wouldn't have brought it up."

"Why do you
think that?"

"Your
previous statement implies that you have been less than truthful with previous
girlfriends. What aren't you telling me?"

He looked to one
side, flashed a crooked smile. "Geez, lady, turn it off."

"Turn off
what?"

"The
investigative reporter thing. What's next, hot lights and thumb screws?"
He downed the rest of his drink and stood up. "Look, I don't think this is
gonna work. It was nice meeting you, Belinda." He shook his head and
smiled. "Wait till I tell the guys at the office I got interrogated by the
Brass Cupcake."

Yeah, that's my
nickname in the Big Apple, courtesy of those clever headline writers at
The
Post
. Great for journalism, a killer when
trying to meet men.

The colors
returned to normal in the trendy watering hole. Half the crowd leaned against
the brass rail running the length of the dark oak bar, while the tiffany lamps
above the small round tables provided subdued light to the other half. My best
friend Ariel Baymont slid her tall, willowy frame into the next chair and
quickly noticed the previously occupied seat at our table was now empty.
"What happened to the total package who was here five minutes ago?"

I exhaled, shook
my head and looked down into my nearly empty glass.

"You did it
again, didn't you?"

"Yeah,"
I muttered, then slugged down the remainder of my rum concoction.

"Trying to
drown your sorrows?"

"I would,
but the little bastards have learned how to swim."

She wrapped her
arm around my shoulders and I leaned my head on hers. "Aw, sweetie, we're
going to have to work on your bedside manner."

"You're
assuming a man has been remotely close to my bed."

She pulled back
and gave me a soulful look with her ice blue eyes. "Well, all is not lost.
We'll try again this weekend. Anyway, the cute guy who was hitting on me
earlier wants to
go someplace where we can talk
."

"So you're
taking him home."

She shrugged,
then started to twirl her shoulder length straight honey blonde hair with one
finger. "We can talk there as well as anyplace."

I raised one
eyebrow. "Talk. Right."

"You know, I
can see why you're such a good reporter. You really are a human lie
detector."

"Yeah, I
might as well change my name to
Polly Graph
."

"Cute.
Anyway, we still on for Saturday night?"

"Thanks to
my aforementioned bedside manner, my dance card is clear."

She leaned over
and kissed me on the side of the head. "Great. I'll see you then. Hang in
there, Wing Girl."

***

Before we go any
farther, I should explain the "Wing Girl" concept and how it applies
to me, since that is my current after hours nickname.

As most women
know, a good looking guy will often cruise the bars with a "wing man"
at his side, the theory being that men in pairs can separate women in mismatched
pairs (one attractive, one not), using a divide and conquer tactic designed to
liberate the good looking woman from the skank. This presumes that the hot girl
will not take off and leave her unattractive friend to fend for herself. The
wing man swoops in like a dog after a pork chop and takes one for the team,
chatting up the skank while his friend moves in on said hottie, who no longer
feels obligated to keep her homely friend company and is thereby freed to
engage in extracurricular activities.