Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody Read online

  “Your name is quite distinctive. Are you an English earl, by any chance?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “If I was, do you think I would have ended up in foster care in the United States? Plus, look at my perfect teeth.”

  “Point taken,” I say. Since he brought it up, I move on to the next question, which is related. “How did being abandoned by your parents affect your business career?” As soon as I read the question, I feel like an even bigger idiot than I usually do. Why can’t Kathleen be here doing this? Oh, yeah—she’s at home getting sick off NyQuil–Red Bull bombs. In other words, a typical Tuesday for her.

  “I didn’t have a conventional upbringing. That’s public knowledge. How has it affected my business career? I honestly don’t know.” Yikes. He’s no longer smiling.

  “Have you sacrificed having a wife and family for the sake of your career?”

  “No, but I have sacrificed many the virgin,” he says, smirking again. His mood changes as often as my mom changes husbands.

  “Are you gay?” Another stupid question that Kathleen has written down!

  A smile spreads on Mr. Grey’s face. “Am I gay? No, Miss Steal. I’m not gay. I’m quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “What’s the opposite of gay?”

  “Sad,” he says. “ You meant 'gay’ as in 'happy,’ right?”

  I take another look at the notebook. “It doesn’t say here, Mr. Grey. It just says, 'gay.’”

  “What kind of questions are these, exactly?”

  “They’re Kathleen’s,” I say sheepishly.

  “Do you work with her at this business magazine?”

  I shake my head and blush. “No. I’m a senior at Washington State, but my major is English, not journalism. This is the first interview I’ve ever conducted.”

  “I see,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Oh, how I’d like him to rub my—

  The intercom on his desk rings, and he answers it. “Supermodel Jezebel Luscious is on the line, Mr. Grey,” the receptionist says.

  “Tell her to wait. I’m not finished with this meeting,” he says, putting the world’s most beautiful woman on hold—for me.

  “Okay, Mr. Grey,” the receptionist says. “Can you ask Miss Steal if she would like her gravy brought into your office? She left her glass in the lobby.”

  Earl cocks an eyebrow at me quizzically.

  I shake my head.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he says. “If she gets thirsty, I’m sure we can find something for her to drink in here.”

  He smiles villainously and hangs up the speakerphone. “Pardon the interruption. Where were we?”

  “I think I’ve asked you all the questions Kathleen had.”

  “I see. Then perhaps you can answer some of my questions.”

  “I’m not that interesting, Mr. Grey.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” he says. “When do you graduate?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  “And afterward, what are your plans?”

  “I don’t have any. I was thinking something in publishing.” I haven’t put much thought into my future yet. I’ve only had four years to contemplate it.

  “The Earl Grey Corporation owns several publishing houses. I can set you up with an interview at one of them,” he says.

  “Um, thanks,” I say. “But I don’t know if I’m someone you want on your team.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nevermind,” I say. I’m nothing like the blonde Barbies he has working for him. Can’t he see that I’m the kind of girl who wears sweatpants to interview billionaires? I have to get out of his office before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

  “Would you like a tour of the building? Perhaps a peek inside my secret sex dungeon?” he asks.

  “Can’t,” I say, gathering up my things and turning the mini–disc recorder off. “I’ve got to work this evening. Thanks for the interview.”

  He extends his right hand. “The pleasure was all on this end,” he says, smiling. I shake his hand, and feel the jolt of electricity again from him. He laughs and raises his hand to show me the joy-buzzer in his palm. What a prankster! “Good day, Miss Steal.”

  “Good day to you, Mr. Grey,” I say, leaving.

  Chapter Three

  I SHARE A DUPLEX apartment in Portland with Kathleen. Her parents bought it for her when she started college over twenty years ago, and, as far as I know, they still think she’s going to school. Kathleen says she’s “taking a break.” Although I have to put up with her drunken antics, the duplex has at least saved me the indignity of living in cheap student housing. As I pull my bike into our driveway, I sigh inwardly. Kathleen is going to want the deets on this handsome young CEO. I’ll give her the mini–disc recording, but the stuff about him practically making love to me with his eyeballs for an hour? I’ll keep that to myself.

  As I step through the door, she launches herself off the couch and bounds toward me, tackling me to the ground and licking my face. She’s like a 135-pound puppy sometimes, I swear. Maybe 140-pounds, since the SpaghettiOs and alcohol fad diet she’s been on for the past three weeks seems to be working in reverse. I shrug her off, and we both stand up.

  “I was worried about you,” she says.

  “Why?” I ask. Because you sent me to Grandma’s house when you knew the whole time there was a big bad wolf?

  “I was worried you wouldn’t find Seattle. I know how you get lost on your way to the bathroom sometimes.” She’s talking about the time I squatted and peed in the kitchen. It was only that one time, and I was on shrooms.

  “Well, I didn’t get lost,” I say, pulling the mini–disc recorder out and tossing it to her. We sit down on the couch. Kathleen turns the volume down on the 16 and Pregnant marathon she’s been caught up in. Isn’t there something better on, like Jersey Shore?

  “So, spill the beans,” she says. “What was the infamous Mr. Earl Grey like?”

  “You didn’t tell me he would be so young,” I say. “How old is he?”

  “Twenty-seven.”

  “He’s a nice guy. Like Mark Zuckerberg, only less autistic,” I say. “He wears a suit, but he also has a peculiar sense of humor.”

  “Just tell me one thing: Is he straight? Did he flirt with you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know if I’m the kind of girl he’d be interested in,” I say. “Just going by his secretaries, he’s into tall, statuesque blondes.”

  “My hair is blond,” Kathleen says. “And I can act like a statue.” She purses her lips and holds her breath. I have to admit she does kind of look like a statue, what with the gray pallor of her skin and empty look in her eyes.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her.

  “Better,” Kathleen says, relaxing her body.

  “Good,” I say. “I have to leave for work.”

  “I can’t believe you’re working tonight. Don’t you have finals to study for?”

  Yes, I have finals to study for—that’s what I was supposed to be doing all day long until it was time for me to go to work. I stare at her incredulously.

  “Sorry, forget I asked,” Kathleen says dismissively. “Do you want to do body shots before you go? I picked up some fresh limes . . .”

  “Sounds tempting,” I say. “But I’m going to be late enough as it is.”

  “Okay, your loss,” she says. “Laters.”

  I’m glad to get to work, because it gives me a chance to do something besides daydream about Earl Grey. Walmart is the first and only job I’ve ever had. I’ve worked there all four years that I’ve been going to Washington State. Once I graduate, I’m going to start looking for a “real” job. I don’t have anything lined up yet, but I’m not one to worry. In this economy, it shouldn’t be too hard for a fresh college graduate to find a new job.

  “I’m so happy you made it in today,” my boss says as I slip on my blue smock in the employee break room. It’s nearly summer, so of course my boss is happy to see me—we’re so busy, wha
t with everyone buying new grills for the summer. Doesn’t anyone ever save their grill from one year to the next? Not in America, I guess.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I say.

  “I’m just glad you’re here. You know that, Anna—I’m always happy to see a full set of teeth around here.”

  I smile.

  “Anyway,” he continues, “someone dropped a massive load in the women’s restroom and I need you to clean it up. It’s the biggest damn thing I’ve ever seen come out of another human being.”

  I head to the women’s restroom with a plunger and a pair of gardening shears, and I’m soon lost in my task. Earl Grey is the furthest thing from my mind.

  The rest of the week I split my time working at Walmart and studying for my exams. Any free time I have I spend fantasizing about “interning” for Earl Grey. And by “interning,” I mean doing two-person pushups with him. Kathleen transcribes the interview and works on her profile of him for Boardroom Hotties. She thanks me for conducting the interview for her and “taking one for the team.” Oh, she has no idea how much I’d like to “take one” for the team.

  On Wednesday, I call my mom. She lives in Florida with her sixth husband, some schlub whose name I can never remember. He reminds me of Louis CK, only without a sense of humor. They live in a nudist colony. I drove cross-country and visited them once, which was one time too many.

  “How are classes going, Anna?”

  “Okay, I guess,” I say distantly.

  “Anna? You sound like you’ve fallen in love with a mysterious older man.”

  “Yeah, right,” I lie. “Like that would ever happen to me.”

  “Honey, you need to put yourself out there. You’ve never had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or a friend with benefits.”

  “Thanks for reminding me, Mom.”

  “I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun,” she says. Maybe she’s right. Who knows more about love and romance than someone who’s on her sixth marriage?

  After we finish talking, I call my dad. He doesn’t like to talk on the phone, but I like to call and bug him anyway. After fifteen minutes of me blabbing my mouth off and him grunting awkwardly, I realize that I haven’t called my dad—I dialed the wrong number, and some creepy guy is making a sandwich on the other end of the line. I hang up immediately. I’ll call my dad another day; I need a shower.

  I spend the rest of the night doing schoolwork. After striking a match and lighting a candle, I sit down at my desk with my quill pen and parchment to write an essay for my ethics class on the legalities of fan fiction. When I finish, it’s one in the morning. I blow out my candle and crash on my bed, where I fall asleep to images of Earl Grey’s gray eyes watching over me . . .

  On Friday night, the doorbell rings as I’m studying and Kathleen is watching Wall Street. I answer the door. It’s my best ethnic friend, Jin!

  “Come in,” I say, hugging him.

  Jin and I have been friends since we were freshmen, though we’ve never dated. He’s graduating this year as well. He’s a communications major, but no one is really sure what that qualifies him to do after college. Like me, he’s clueless about the real world.

  He’s holding a forty-ounce bottle of Olde English. “Good news,” he says. “I’ve been promoted to forum moderator at PonyExpression.net.”

  When he’s not in school or doing homework, Jin spends his free time reading and writing My Little Pony fanfic. He’s deep into the “brony” scene. Who knew that there were so many male fans of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic? I never thought his obsession would amount to anything, but it sounds like I’ve been proven wrong. “Congratulations,” I say, hugging him again. “How much will you be getting paid?”

  He clears his throat. “It’s, uh, peanuts,” he says.

  At least his parents are still footing his bills while he’s in college. “Oh,” I say. “Well. You can eat peanuts, after you shell them. Unless they’re already shelled. Then you can just eat them.”

  Kathleen flashes Jin a thumbs-up from the couch. She hasn’t been feeling well again, but what else is new.

  “Anyway, I brought us some of the finest malt liquor to celebrate, bitches,” he says. He’s always calling Kathleen and me “bitches,” but we all know that Kathleen’s the only B in the duplex.

  Although Jin and I are just friends, I’m pretty sure he wants us to be “more” than friends. I don’t see him that way—he’s more like a brother from another mother. He’s tried to kiss me on more than one occasion, but I’ve always deflected his advances. Both my mom and Kathleen tease me about not having a sexual bone in my body, but that’s not true—there’s one bone I’d like to have in my body, and it’s attached to Mr. Earl Grey . . .

  Jin unscrews the cap off the Olde English and pours the beer into three red plastic Solo cups. As he does this, I notice his tanned skin, neatly cropped dark hair, and bulging muscles. He looks up at me, grinning. I smile back, weakly, wondering if he’ll ever stop trying to put his grabby hands on me. Probably not—Jin is the third wheel on this Anna Steal–Earl Grey bicycle built for two.

  Chapter Four

  I’M WORKING a full eight-hour shift at Walmart on Saturday. My boss assigns me to the cash registers all day. I can’t think of any better motivation for passing my final exams and graduating than the thought of working here for the rest of my life.

  By the fourth hour of scanning and bagging diapers and cigarettes, I’m in such a daze that I don’t realize the customer in front of me is none other than Earl Grey! He is dressed in a gray velour sweat suit that compliments his eyes. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look any yummier than he did in his business suit, but damn.

  “Hello, Miss Steal,” he says, gazing at me gazingly with his gazing gray eyes.

  “Mr. Grey!”

  He slides a Nickelback CD toward me, which I scan. “I happened to be in the area and here you are,” he says. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Did you, um, find everything that you were looking for today?” I mutter, bagging the CD. Earl Grey is smiling again like the big bad wolf who wants to eat me. And boy, do I want him to eat my—

  “Actually, no,” he says, cutting off my internal monologue. “There were a few things I couldn’t find on my own. Could you help me out?” His voice is cool and gritty like a Wendy’s Frosty, and my mind momentarily goes blank.

  I shake my head to gather my thoughts. Like a magic eight ball, a thought pops up for me. “Signs point to yes,” I say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, yes. Of course I can help you.”

  There’s a line of fifteen people behind him, but how can I resist that voice? I turn my lane’s light off. I can hear groans from the customers who have been waiting in line, but there are three other cashiers working. There’s only one Earl Grey.

  He hands me his shopping list and I lead him through the store in search of the items. Duct tape ? Plastic wrap ? A hacksaw? Who is this guy, Dexter? I lead him toward the aisle with tape, and it takes all of my available mental capacity to concentrate on walking. Left foot, right foot, left foot . . . right foot?

  “Shoot, we forgot your CD,” I say.

  He waves a hand. “I have ten copies of it at home anyway,” he says. This guy throws money around like a monkey throws crap.

  “So what are you doing here in Portland? Business?” I ask him.

  “Pleasure,” he says. I feel my womb instinctively heat up, preparing itself to incubate our babies.

  I stop. “Here’s the aisle with tape.”

  “Thank you, Miss Steal,” he says. He picks up the most expensive brand, which runs $3.99 a roll. This guy is a total baller.

  “You like to live large,” I say.

  “Does that impress you, Miss Steal?”

  I blush. “I’ve never known anyone with so much money,” I say. “That came out totally wrong. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, grinning. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
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  “What?”

  “That I have a lot of money.”

  I nod. “Can I ask what you’re doing at Walmart? I mean, you can afford to shop anywhere.”

  He laughs. “Oh, Miss Steal. I love your honesty. It’s so refreshing. Usually the only women I meet are sycophantic to the point of revulsion. Not you.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.

  “As you should. Now to answer your question: Why would one of the world’s wealthiest men shop at Walmart? For one thing, Walmart has the lowest prices around.”

  I don’t want to offend him, but I might as well say what I’m thinking. “It’s just a little . . . low class. If I had your money, I’d shop at Target.”

  “I’m not your average billionaire,” he says.

  I smile. “No, you’re certainly not, Mr. Grey.”

  He flashes that wicked smile of his at me. “Take your finger out of your nose, Miss Steal.”

  “Sorry,” I say, pulling my finger out.

  “It’s okay,” Earl says. “Care to join me for coffee?”

  My heart pounds inside my chest, pumping blood to my organs. Because that’s what hearts do. Is Earl Grey asking me out on a date? “When?”

  “Now,” he says.

  “My shift isn’t over until six,” I say glumly.

  “Hold on,” he says. He pulls a BlackBerry from his pants pocket and taps on it. It buzzes, and he taps on it again before stashing it away. “I think you can take the rest of the afternoon off.”

  “We’re so busy on Saturdays. I really can’t—my boss would kill me,” I say.

  “I’m your boss now, Miss Steal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  There’s that smile again, the one with all those teeth. “I just bought Walmart,” he says.

  “The whole company? Just so I could take the afternoon off to get coffee with you?”