Fifty Shades of Shade - "The Fifty Shades of Grey Parady" Read Free

“Would you like me to show you around?”
                  “I have to go. I have a long drive back.”
                  “You’re driving back to Somewhere?” he asks, sounding concerned. He looks outside, it’s raining. In Seattle, of all places. “Drive carefully, out there.”
                  “Thank you for the interview, Mr. Shade,” I say, packing up my stuff in characteristically awkward fashion.
                    “The pleasure’s been all mine,” he says, polite as ever. He stands and holds out his hand. “Until we meet again, Miss Stool .” He said it like a challenge, or a threat. He then said, “Maybe it’s a challenge, or a threat.”
                  Hmm, I wonder.
                  “Mr. Shade.” I nod and leave.
                  “Wait, did you have a coat?” he asks.
                  “A jacket.”
                  One of the blonde secretaries is lowered down from the ceiling holding my jacket. Before she puts it on, Shade steps in and does it himself. The secretary is reeled back up to the ceiling. He places his hands on my shoulders for a moment. I freeze, and my you-know-what down there tingles nervously.
                  He summons an elevator to open by simply pointing at it. I get in to leave.
                  “ Chastity ,” he says, as a farewell.
                  “Whatever your first name is,” I reply.
                  Mercifully, the elevator doors close.
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
                  As I drive back, replaying the interview in my head, I feel foolish. And embarrassed. And hungry. Well, I’m hungry because I haven’t eaten. But the other two things are from interviewing Shade.
                  He’s attractive, confident, commanding, warmly homicidal, at ease with himself—but on the flipside he’s cold, tyrannical, autocratic, and cold. And tyrannical. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly, nor does he pamper toes sadly. He’s accomplished so much at his age. Doesn’t he deserve to be like that? Oh, I can’t stop thinking about him but I want to. Why didn’t Melissa give me a brief biography? Or at least a notebook and recorder that didn’t touch her sick hands.
                  We live in a small duplex close to the WSU campus. Melissa’s parents bought the place for her and I pay peanuts for rent. Literally. I buy Melissa a box of Planters Honey-Roasted every month.
                  “ Chastity , you’re back!” Melissa sits in our living room, surrounded by books. Her Ebola is looking much better.
                  “How was it? What’s he like?”
                  “I’m glad it’s over and I don’t want to see him again.”
                  “So, it went well?”
                  “He’s so…intense. Intimidating. And young. Why didn’t you give me some background info? I looked like a nincompoop there.”
                  “ Chastity , I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I was busy being crippled by a deadly fever.”
                  I huff. “Mostly he was courteous. Slightly stuffy—like he was old before he was young, or something.”
                  “Old before his time, you mean?”
                  “What?” Anyway, I move on, “You look better. Was it the soup?”
                  “No. Life-saving vaccine in my dying moments,” she said casually.
                  “Well, I gotta go. I can still make my shift at Ricklin’s.”
                  “ Chastity , you’ll be exhausted.”
                  “I’ll be fine. It’s only a cramped hardware store with heavy machinery all around.”
     
    I’ve worked at Ricklin’s since I started at WSU. It’s the largest independent hardware store in the