Last time on Dusk Spank….
Naïve *Mary-Sue, I mean, Bel - I mean,
Annie met enigmatic, rich entrepreneur Cullen Grey and she hasn’t stopped
thinking about him since.
*Mary-Sue:
an idealised and seemingly perfect fictional character that is often recognised
as an author insert or wish
fulfilment.
My heart
is like, going really fast. As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I scramble
out stumbling once but not sprawling on the sandstone floor. I love alliteration, don’t you?
The air outside is really refreshing, cleansing, bracing and
cool because it’s raining. I let the rain rain on my face until I feel normal
again.
I CAN’T STOP thinking about the interview as I drive home. OK, so Grey is really handsome (I forgot to tell you how handsome he is) he’s confident, commanding, self-assured….but he’s also arrogant. But then he should be, he’s so young (I didn’t tell you how young he is) and he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. ‘Doesn’t suffer fools gladly’ means he doesn’t put up with shit from anybody. I a 21 year old American, but I say things like ‘doesn’t suffer fools gladly.’
I don’t know what it is about him that makes me feel this
way. Is it looks? [HINT it’s his looks) his money? (HINT it’s also the money)
his civility? [Ed's note…..??]
I really don’t understand why someone would be so driven to
succeed. I mean, I don’t care about empty, meaningless things like success and
money, I’m happiest when I’m curled up with my books and a cup of English breakfast
tea. I am American, but I really like tea.
But Karen’s questions! Asking if he was gay! Cringe! Karen is so insensitive! Like, who
cares if he’s gay, Karen! Not me! I really
love gay people, they’re so twinkly and jolly and ‘out there’, aren’t they? It’s
totally Karen’s fault I asked that
gay question without reading it first.
I should just forget about Cullen Grey. He’d never be interested
in me anyway, because of my big blue eyes, soft wavy brown hair and skinny
figure. The thought that I never have to
see him again really makes me happy, so I put on some indie rock music. I don’t
know any indie rock bands, so I’m going to be strangely vague about what
exactly I’m listening to, but then later on I’m going to be strangely specific
about music, like those interludes in American
Psycho where Patrick Bateman goes on and on about really liking Phil
Collins.
I LIVE
PRACTICALLY rent free in the apartment Karen’s parents
bought for her. After our exams, we’ll move to another apartment in Seattle.
This should tell you how rich Karen’s parents are, they can just buy apartments
all over the place.
Erggn, Karen is going to want a really detailed account of
the interview, and Karen is really stubborn as well as selfish.
‘Annie!’ she says. She’s sitting in the living room
surrounded by books. GOD why can’t she revise in her bedroom like a normal
person? She’s so annoying.
She’s still got her ugly pink pyjamas on, the ones she wears
when she falls into deep depressions and struggles to function properly. God,
it’s so annoying when she’s moody like that, shuffling round the house crying
and stuff. She actually has no idea what
it’s like to be really, really unhappy because she’s lead such a charmed life. She’s
so pretty and confident, all the things I’ll never be. She’s got nothing to be
sad about and I have, but you don’t see me moping around feeling sorry for
myself.
‘How did it go?’ she asks. OH NO, the Karen Cartwright
Interrogation!
It’s gonna be hard answering this question, what can I say?
I say, ‘He’s sooooo young. And arrogant,’
Karen gazes at me innocently quizzically questioningly with
her head tilted to one side.
I frown, and say, ‘Don’t you look so innocent. Why didn’t
you give me a biography? He made me feel very foolish for not bothering to do
any research,’
Karen sometimes gets this look on her face that I find hard
to understand. It sort of looks like
she’s really angry, but then kind of
looks like she’s trying to squash all the anger.
‘Annie-’ She says, ‘OK, yeah, I’m really sorry,’
I hurrumph, to let her know I’m still annoyed with her.
‘He seems old before his time,[LIKE A VAMPIRE???] though he
looks really young. How old is he, anyway?’ I ask.
‘27. Give me the recorder so I can make a start on the
interview,’
‘Here you go. I have to run, I’ve got work this afternoon,’
I say that last bit a little bit snidely, so she knows it’s her fault I have to
revise, go to work and interview a hot young man all in one day.
‘Annie, you’ll be exhausted,’ she says. God Karen, not all of us have rich parents, you know! Some of us have to work. You don’t have to rub it
in!
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, bravely. ‘See you later,’
SO THIS
NEXT BIT doesn’t actually have anything to do with the plot, it’s
just another needless information dump. I’ll sum up: I work in a hardware shop.
PAY ATTENTION to the hardware shop bit, it’s going to be important later on. Kind
of.
SO
AFTER WORK AT THE hardware shop I go home, and me and Karen have this super interesting
conversation about Cullen Grey: how cold and arrogant and young and handsome he
is and how weird it is that he’s never seen with a woman and how he might like
me. I’m guessing this is so you, the reader, understands that me and Karen are
really good friends who have good bantz. Then I make sandwiches.
OK, SO
IN THIS bit, I write my essay on Tess
of the d’Urbervilles. This is so you know that I am clever because I’ve read
and understood books that are more than a hundred years old. Books that are
that old are really hard to read and understand. It is also so the reader can
make comparisons between Tess and me.
It’s really late when I’ve finished my essay. I go to bed. I
have a dream about gray stuff and white stuff and steel stuff and glass stuff
and eyes. WHAT DOES IT MEAN???
BECAUSE
I HAVE A LIFE I throw myself into my studies and working in
the HARDware shop (the HARDware shop is going to be important later on, so PAY
ATTENTION)
By Wednesday that selfish bitch Karen is feeling much better
and I don’t have to put up with the sound of her constantly sniffing and
coughing, and EVEN BETTER I don’t have to endure the sight of her in the ugly
pink rabbit pyjamas. For some reason, those pyjamas make me irrationally angry.
I phone my mom, because she’s like the world’s worst mom and
never phones me, because she’s too busy starting lame businesses and hanging
around with her MUCH older husband, Barry. Seriously, it’s gross how old Barry
he is. He’s not YOUNG like Cullen Grey. I didn’t tell you how young Cullen Grey
is. He’s 27. That’s young.
It was so weird, though, when I’m talking to mom, she asks
if I HAVE MET SOMEONE!!! I think my mom might be psycho or something, like, she
can read my mind. I tell her I haven’t, because who talks about boyfriends with
their moms? Ewww, AS IF! So I distract
her by asking about Barry. My mum is a bit like me, she can get easily
distracted by shiny things or things with little bells on them.
Then I phone my stepdad, Roy. This is because you, the
reader, needs to know I have a stepdad and what sort of man he is. He’s a ‘Merican
man. He likes tool belts, carpentry, beer, and soccer. I am going to say
something super clever now – it’s because
of Roy that I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. See what I
did there? I have referenced *Hamlet AND the hardware shop!
FRIDAY
NIGHT (I dropped the ‘on’ so you know that I am a normal, 21 year
old American and not a 45 year old English woman with a lady-boner for teenage
vampires) Karen and I are deciding what to do. We could do with a break. Well,
I could, I am the one that has a job.
Anyway, the doorbell rings. It’s my good friend Jake, and
he’s bought some champagne. I have known Jake since my first day here, and we’ve
been friends ever since.
Jake is studying engineering, but it’s not really relevant
to anything. What is important is that his real passion is photography. Clue:
pay attention to the bit about photography. Jake fancies me, which is weird, because I am
so unattractive. Jake’s sort of hot, but he’s not a pasty Englishman with a
stiff upper lip and emotional retardation issues; he’s olive-skinned, dark-eyed
and muscular, so you can see why we’ll never be anything more than just
friends.
Anyway, this bit just happens so you know 3 things: Jake
likes photography, he likes me (but I don’t like him in that way) and he has an exhibition soon that he wants me and
Karen to go to.
SATURDAY
AT THE STORE IS A NIGHTMARE I hate paying customers coming in and
asking for my help.
It seems like an odd way to run a store, but I have to eat
my lunch while sitting at the counter AND doing purchase orders. I’m going to
assume it is purchase orders and not customer orders I’m doing, because:
‘checking items we need against items we ordered’. I don’t think Mary-Sue has ever worked in a
shop.
So I am looking at the computer (THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE
CALLED!!) screen and then the order book, because this order is bought to you
by 1995 and velvet scrunchies.
For some reason, I look up and find myself imprisoned in the
misty mountain morning gray of Cullen Grey’s gray eyes.
My
heart literally stops.
Psych! I’m still alive and we’ve got another 490 pages of
this slush-pile fuck-fest to go.
‘Miss Mallard, what a coincidence,’ he says, never once
taking his intense pewter eyes off me.
Holy
chocolate fingers, what he doing here? He's looking all outdoorsy, in
his khaki trousers, navy blue Peter Storm fleece, walking boots with an Ordnance
Survey map in a plastic pouch around his neck.
I can’t locate my brain or my voice. I think I keep both of
them in my head. I have a lot of weird
ideas about brains and their functions.
‘Mr Grey,’ I manage to say.
‘I was just randomly passing the store I had no idea you
worked in. I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you
again, Miss Mallard,’
His voice is warm, like a sexy oven-fresh cherry pie with a
blob of whipped cream on it, like French bread spread with Primula cheese, like
a hazelnut hot chocolate, like Nutella on toast (hmmm, smooth AND crusty) like
cake batter, like ice-cream, but you know, warm
ice-cream.
I shake my head to see if I can start my brain up.
I am so surprised to see him; he is utterly breath-taking. Like, the top pepper on the man version of the
Scoville Scale.
Shaking my head restores my cognitive functions, but only
some of them, because over the next 7 painful pages, I am going to almost amputate a finger and lose the ability to speak several times.
Cullen Grey buys:
Cable ties
Masking tape
Rope
Coveralls
I wonder what he wants it all for? He says it’s for
decorating. I didn’t know billionaires did their own decorating. He’s so mysterious!
The whole time he’s following me round the store l am thinking
about how sexy he is, his beautiful mouth, his messy copper hair, the way his
snug jeans hug his perfect butt.
He then suggests that we do photoshoot to go with the
interview! If only we knew a photographer! Perhaps someone from the student
newspaper can do it….?
When he gives me his number, ‘the earth shifts slightly on
its axis, the tectonic plates sliding into a new position.’ Cullen Grey can cause earthquakes. This magical, sexy moment is totally ruined
by stupid, ugly Phil. His older brother owns the store. Me and Phil have always
been good friends, and it’s good to see him, but he’s always been a bit too
touch-feely. I don’t know why – it’s not like I am really attractive. Cullen
Grey looks annoyed that Phil interrupted us, and the atmosphere turns a bit
frosty. I introduce them, Phil is super impressed because he’s studying
business administration, he knows exactly who Cullen Grey is. He even has the
cheek to try and take over from me! But Cullen Grey is having none of it.
‘Annie has been very
attentive…to my…needs,’ he says.
His face remains inscrutable, yet…yet the way he says needs. I can’t help thinking he’s
hinting at something else. I’m so confused.
‘OK, good to meet you Mr Grey,’ Phil says. ‘See you soon,
Annie,’
‘Bye, Phil. Do you need help finding anything else today, Mr
Grey?’
For some reason, Grey’s tone has changed. It’s all clipped
and cold and short and brusque and terse.
‘That’s everything,’ he says, and we go to the till so I can
ring it all up and put it in a bag and he can pay. This bit takes half a page.
HALF A PAGE!!!! I’ve been through queues in Tesco at Christmas in less time than
that.
‘So call me, about the shoot,’ he says, when I hand him the
bag, which he slings over his shoulder. ‘Oh, and Miss Mallard, I’m glad that
Miss Cartwright couldn’t do the interview,’ and he strides out of the store, leaving me feeling like this:
I will never see him.
I mean, I’ll see him at the photoshoot, but after that. I’ll have to admire him from
afar. That will have to do, because he’ll never like me in that way.
For now I have to phone Karen, we’ve simply got to find a
photographer!
Bonus Round (BING!)
‘For some reason’ : 2
Hot: 4
* And in case you're wondering... Both hawks and handsaws are types of bird. Hamlet is saying that he is able to tell the difference between friends and enemies. So is 'Roy' an ornithologist, or did he help 'Annie' work out who is her friend and who isn’t? If anyone knows what Annie means when she says this, comment.
