Fifty Shades of Shade - "The Fifty Shades of Grey Parady" (3 page)

             
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad I’ll never get to see him again. I’ll-never-get-to-see-him-again.”
             

             
“Why did you say it twice, and slower the second time?” Melissa asks.

             
I thought about it. “Y’know…I’m not sure.”

             
For the rest of the week I throw myself into studying and doing whatever it is I do at the hardware store. Melissa was busy, too, compiling her last student newspaper as editor.

             
I call my mom in Alabama. The one in the South. She starts talking to me about her life or some crap and I get bored. My mother. Always doing life stuff.

             
“How are things with you,
Chastity
?”

             
I hesitate. “I’m fine.”

             
“
Chastity
,” she notices, “have you shot a bear recently?”

             
“Um…no.”

             
“Oh,” my mother pauses, thinking. “Then have you met someone?”

             
How does she do that?

             
“Mom, it’s nothing.”

             
“
Chastity
, you really need to get laid more.”

             
Oh,
moms
. Later I call my mom’s second husband, my stepdad Rick. I consider Rick more of a non-stepdad dad. In other words, a dad. But he didn’t really say anything back. In fact, he hung up while I was in mid-sentence. Rick always gives me the best advice.

             
Friday night came and Melissa and I needed a break. Suddenly, our friend Ramiro showed up at the door with a bottle of champagne.

             
“Ramiro, come in.” I give him a completely nonsexual hug.

             
Ramiro was the first person I met at WSU. He’s studying engineering. His passion, though, is photographing. Pictures.

             
We were kindred spirits. Lost and alone on the first day of school. We were both curled up in
the “Lost & Alone” section of the orientation room.

             
“Guess what?
” he says to me.

             
“Who?”

             
“No,
what?
”

             
“What?”

             
“The Portland Picturegraph Gallery is displaying my work in an exhibit.”

             
“That’s amazing!” We hug again. Non
-
sexually.

             
“Let’s celebrate. You’re invited—both of you,” he gestures to Melissa.

             
Melissa has asked me about Ramiro, why we haven’t gone anywhere. Ramiro is more like a little brother I never had, but that I’m currently having.

             
And I’m sure Ramiro harbors no suppressed romantic feelings for me. Straight guys that are friends with a girl almost
never
want to become anything more than that. I look at Ramiro. He’s all muscle, perfect body, one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met…but he still doesn’t do it for me.

             
Sometimes I think my expectations are too high. So what if I want
better
than perfect from a guy. Just call me a romantic. Nobody’s met my expectations.

             
What’s that? My subconscious is speaking to me again.
Until now!
What, with Shade? No. Never. My subconscious just won’t let the thought of him go. It’s being kind of a dick.
Are you gay, Mr. Shade?
I cringe remembering.
Chastity
, he said. That’s my name. It echoed in my mind.

             
Ah, but it was probably nothing.

             
Crapburgers!
Saturdays at Ricklin’s are busy as crap. Do-it-themselvers wanting to do things themselves. Mr. and Mrs. Ricklin, me, and the two part-timers, Billy and William, are
being eaten alive
by customers.

             
During a break, Mrs. Ricklin asks me to check on some rusty nails left lying around loose on one of the shelves under the register. As I was feeling through them with my bare hands I look up.

             
Double crapburgers!
It was him. Of all people, it was him. Mr. Shade, in the flesh. Standing before me at Ricklin’s hardware store.

             
Heart failure
.

             
“Mr. Shade,” I mouth, without any sound actually coming out.

             
He looked at me with that smile that’s not really there. Like he’s making fun of everyone in his mind. Which isn’t very nice, but he’s hot, so it’s fine.

             
“I was in the area,” he says, by way
of explanation
(also known as ‘explaining’). “I need to stock up on a few random items of little interest. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss
Stool
.”

             
I shake my head furiously, like a Looney Tunes character that just got hit on the head with a comically oversized mallet. What is it about this man that charges my blood and speeds up every organ in my body, even the messy ones? The very sight of him standing in front of me is enough to make me explode with
various sticky love oils. He’s not just hot and beautiful, he’s sexy and gorgeous. He’s the epitome of male beauty. Even more than William H. Macy. And he’s here, in Ricklin’s. Right now. I finally gather up my basic life functions and speak words out the front of my head.

             
“
Chastity
. My name is
Chastity
,” I mutter (or murmur, whatever).
“How can I help you, Mr. Shade?
”

             
He smiles. His teeth sparkle. And the sparkle itself whispers a word to me:
intriguing
. It was a weird moment.

             
“To start, I’m looking for the most jagged strangling wire you have.”

             
“I don’t think we sell anything like that here.”

             
“Okay. I’ll take some cable ties.”

             
Cable ties
.

             
“Sure,” I say, voice quivering. “Follow me.”

             
Keep it together, dumbshit
.

             
“They’re with the electrical cords. Aisle eight.” My voice is prepubescent.

             
“After you,” he gestures, with his smoked, cured, and honey-glazed hands.

             
With my heart giving my throat Indian burns and purple nurples I head down the aisle.
Why is he here?
In Portland of all places.

             
And then I think, crazily,
he’s here to see me
. The thought puts me in a headlock and noogies me.
No way!
Wh
y would this perfect, beautiful
beauty of a man come to see
me
?

             
“Are you here on business?” I ask. My voice is glass-splittingly high.

             
“I was visiting the farming division in Oregon. Checking on soil
solvents.”

             
“Being eco-friendly?”

             
“Something like that.” His lips smirk at me in a smirky way. My heart is aflutter. Like a centipede.

             
“Anything else I can get you?”

             
“Masking tape.”

             
Masking tape
.

             
“Yes, masking tape,” I repeat to my subconscious. “Why do you need masking tape?” I turn and ask him. “Redecorating?”

             
“No, not exactly.” He’s laughing at me on the inside. I can feel it. Mostly because he’s laughing at me on the outside too.

             
“Well, right this way. It’s in
the decorating-slash-suspicious
activities aisle.”

             
As I bend down and grab the masking tape we stock, I can’t shake how awkward and nervous I feel.

             
“Have you worked here long?” he asks.

             
“Oh, well it’s six ninety-nine per roll,” I say, holding out the tape.

             
“No, I asked if you’ve worked here long.”

             
“I agree. It’s gotten much colder out.” I hope he doesn’t notice how nervous I am. Our fingers brush as I hand him the masking tape. The electricity is sent through my body down between…well, whatever it is I have down between my legs.

             
“Anything else you need?”

             
“Five yards of natural filament rope.”

             
“It’s right here, in the same suspicious activities aisle,” I casually point out. I take out a knife and cut exactly the amount of rope he needs.

             
He’s watching me cut. “Were you ever a samurai assassin,
Chastity
?”

             
“No.”

             
“A girl scout, then?”

             
“Organized group activities are not really my thing.”

             
“What is your thing,
Chastity
?” His smile is cool, his voice deep and husky, like a suave
wolverine in a smoking jacket would be, if it spoke human language.

             
My subconscious is having an epileptic attack
!
You are my thing,
I want to say. But instead I murmur, “Books.”

             
“What kind of books?”

             
“British literature. Also
literature from Engla
nd, Wales, and Scotland
.”

             
He rubs his chin and looks at me. Chin-rubbing must mean he’s brain-thinking.

             
“Anything else I can help you with?”

             
“How’s it coming along?”

             
“What?”

             
“The article.”

             
“Oh, well, I’m not writing it. Melissa—Miss McCallahan, she’s writing it. She’s happy with it but she wishes she had some photos.”

             
“What kind of photos does she want?”

             
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “The kind of photos that are, um, graphed?”

             
“I’ll be around tomorrow.”

             
“A photo shoot, you mean? Melissa will be thrilled.”

             
He hands me a card. It’s made of glass and steel. “Call my cell. It’s on the back.”

             
“
Chastity
!” I hear from the other end of the aisle. It’s Doug, Mr. Ricklin’s youngest brother. Home from DeVry. I didn’t realize. He walks over and gives me a big hug. Shade looks on, watching us like a hawk watching an eagle watching us.

             
“Doug, I’m with a customer. You should meet him. Sebastian Shade.”

             
Doug raises his eyebrows. “Not
the
Sebastian Shade, of Shade Enterprises?”

             
Shade nods the coolest little nod ever. Doug is practically in awe.

             
“Is there anything I can help you with?” he asks Shade.

             
“No, thank you.
Chastity
’s been very attentive.” I don’t get him. His words don’t sound like words when he speaks. They sound like letters put in small groupings, formed to express his thoughts.

             
“Cool…nice to meet you.” Doug turns away. “Catch you on the flipside,
Chastity
.”

             
“Bye, Doug. Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Shade?”