Day:
1,702
I have
finally escaped from the basement where I have been kept prisoner by Erika LaLa
James since 2012. Though my name appears in the dedications of her best-selling
‘novel’, I want to make it clear that I had nothing to do with it. NOTHING.
In this
chapter I hope put right the wrongs, making good use of the red pen and the
delete key. For the benefit of this post, and to avoid confusion, I will call
the characters by their original names.
This
post will also be done in a few parts, as this chapter reaaaallllly long.
Salvation
lies within!
Thwarted
Editor, FSOG
PS, the
thought of typing out this whole chapter made me want to weep, so I’ve copied
and pasted from a PDF. That will explain any formatting errors.
ONM
= omit needless words
Kate is ecstatic.‘But what was he doing at Clayton’s?’ her curiosity oozes through the phone. This always reminds me of
this bit in A Nightmare on Elm Street
(just the first 30 seconds from the 1984 original):
I’m in the depths of the stockroom, trying to keep my voice
casual. I’m
imagining her voice dressed in jeans and a t-shirt.
“He was in the area.”
“I think that is one huge coincidence, Ana. You don’t think
he was there to see you?” My heart lurches at the prospect, but it’s a short-lived
joy. The dull, disappointing
reality is that he was here on business.
“He was visiting the farming division of WSU. He’s funding
some research,” I mutter.
“Oh yes. He’s given the department a $2.5 million
grant.” Wow.
“How do you know this?”
“Ana, I’m a journalist, and I’ve written a
profile on the guy. It’s my job to know this.”
“Okay, Carla
Bernstein, I don’t know who ‘Carla Bernstein’ is.
There’s a CARL Bernstein who is an investigative journalist, so is it a play on
his name? If this is the case, it seems like an odd choice. I’d have just cut
this out because a joke isn’t funny if no-one understands it. keep your
hair on. So do you want these photos?”
“Of course I do. The question is, who’s going to
do them and where.”
“We could ask him where. He says he’s staying in
the area.”
“You can contact him?”
“I have his cell phone number.”
Kate gasps.
“The richest, most elusive, most enigmatic I don’t think you need
both elusive and enigmatic here bachelor in Washington State, just gave
you his cell phone number.”
“Er... yes.”
“Ana! He likes you. No doubt about it.” Her tone
is emphatic. She says emphatically
“Kate, he’s just trying to be nice.” But even as
I say the words, I know they’re not true - Christian Grey doesn’t do nice. He
does polite, maybe. And a small quiet voice whisers, perhaps Kate is right. My
scalp prickles at the idea that maybe, just maybe, he might like me. After all,
he did say he was glad Kate didn’t do the interview. I hug myself with quiet
glee, rocking from side to side, entertaining the possibility that he might
like me for one brief moment. Kate brings me back to the now.
“I don’t know who we’ll get to do the shoot.
Levi, our regular photographer, can’t.
He’s home in Idaho Falls for the weekend. He’ll
be pissed that he blew an opportunity to photo one of America’s leading
entrepreneurs.”
“Hmm... What about José?”
“Great idea! You ask him – he’ll do anything for
you. Then call Grey and find out
where he wants us.” Kate is irritatingly cavalier about José.
“I think you should call him.”
“Who, José?” Kate scoffs. ONW
“No, Grey.”
“Ana, you’re the one with the relationship.”
“Relationship?” I squeak at her, my voice rising
several octaves. “I barely know the
guy.”
“At least you’ve met him,” she says bitterly.
“And it looks like he wants to know you
better. Ana, just call him,” she snaps and hangs
up. She is so bossy sometimes. I frown at my
cell, sticking my tongue out at it. Infantilising
main character. I’d just leave it at ‘she is so bossy sometimes’.
I’m just leaving a message for José when Paul
enters the stock room looking for sand-paper.
“We’re kind of busy out there, Ana,” he says without acrimony. (bitterness,
resentment, ill-feeling or hostility.) So, he’s caught her skivving but ‘acrimony’
seems a bit strong. CUT.
“Yeah, um, sorry,” I mutter, turning to leave.
“So, how come you know Christian Grey?” Paul’s
voice is unconvincingly nonchalant.
Paul
tries to sound nonchalant.
“I had to interview him for our student
newspaper. Kate wasn’t well.” I shrug, trying
to sound casual and doing no better than him.
“Christian Grey in Clayton’s. Go figure,” Paul
snorts, amazed. He shakes his head as
if to clear it.
“Anyway, want to grab a drink or something this
evening?”
Whenever he’s home he asks me on a date, and I
always say no. It’s a ritual. I’ve never considered it a good idea to date the
boss’s brother, and besides, Paul is cute in a whole- some all-American
boy-next-door kind of way, but he’s no literary hero, not by any stretch of the
imagination. Is Grey? My subconscious asks me,
her eyebrow figuratively raised. I slap her down. I
really hate the whole ‘subconscious / inner Goddess thing. I know they are used
to represent Ana’s conscience and what I assume is supposed to be her sexual
arousal, but no. Just no. CUT.
“Don’t you have a family dinner or something for
your brother?”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“Maybe some other time, Paul. I need to study tonight.
I have my finals next week.
“Ana, one of these days, you’ll say yes,” he
smiles as I escape out to the store floor.
“But I do places, Ana, not people,” José groans.
“José, please?” I beg. Clutching my cell, I pace
the living area of our apartment, star-
ing out of the window at the fading evening
light.
“Give me that phone.” Kate grabs the handset
from me, tossing her silken red-blonde
hair over her shoulder.
“Listen here, José Rodriquez, if you want our
newspaper to cover the opening of your
show, you’ll do this shoot for us tomorrow,
capiche?” Kate can be awesomely tough. Or a big fat bully.
“Good. Ana will call back with the location and
the call time. We’ll see you tomor-
row.” She snaps my cell phone shut.
“Sorted. All we need to do now is decide where
and when. Call him.” She holds the
phone out to me. My stomach twists.
“Call Grey, now!”
I scowl at her and reach into my back pocket for
his business card. I take a deep,
steadying breath, and with shaking fingers, I
dial the number.
He answers on the second ring. His tone is clipped, calm and cold. As
‘clipped and cold’ = brusque and rude, how can his tone also be calm? Cut calm,
or cut ‘clipped and cold.’ You can’t have all 3, EL James!
“Grey.”
“Err... Mr. Grey? It’s Anastasia Steele.” I
don’t recognize my own voice, I’m so ner-
vous. There’s a brief pause. Inside I’m quaking.
“Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you.” His
voice has changed. He’s surprised, I
think, and he sounds so... warm – seductive
even. My breath hitches, and I flush. I’m suddenly conscious that Katherine
Kavanagh is staring at me, her mouth open, and I dart into the kitchen to avoid
her unwanted scrutiny.
“Err – we’d like to go ahead with the
photo-shoot for the article.” Breathe, Ana, breathe.
My lungs drag in a hasty breath. “Tomorrow, if
that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”
Foreshadowing, BING!
I can almost hear his
sphinx-like smile through the phone. I imagine him with a sphix-like smile
on his face.
“I’m staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall
we say, nine thirty tomorrow morn-
ing?”
“Okay, we’ll see you there.” I am all gushing and breathy – like a child, not a
grown
woman who can vote and
drink legally in the State of Washington. Ana can’t vote or drink legally
in any other State, apparently. Also, ‘gushy and breathy like a child’ YUCK. I
know EL James is trying to say Ana sounds out of breath, but ‘breathy’ means
rasping, throaty or gruff. Does Ana smoke 40 a day? Why not say, ‘my voice is
husky’? Husky sounds sexier than a child with croup and norovirus.
“I look forward to it, Miss Steele.” I visualize
the wicked gleam in his gray eyes. How
can he make seven little words hold so much
tantalizing promise? I hang up. Kate is in the kitchen, and she’s staring at me
with a look of complete and utter consternation on her face.
“Anastasia Rose Steele. You like him! I’ve never
seen or heard you so, so... affected
by anyone before. You’re actually blushing.”
“Oh Kate, you know I blush all the time. It’s an occupational hazard with me. I actually laughed out loud at this, because I imagined a
Kristen Wigg SNL sketch where she plays Ana as the world’s most prudish sex toy
tester.
“Don’t be so ridiculous,”
I snap. She blinks at me with surprise – I very
rarely have hissy fits No, you’re normally just
really mean about your friend behind her back– and I briefly relent. “I just find him...
intimidating, that’s all.”
“Heathman, that figures,” mutters Kate. “I’ll
give the manager a call and negotiate a
space for the shoot.”
“I’ll make supper. Then I need to study.” I cannot hide my irritation with her I don’t get why Ana irritated with Kate. Kate only suggested Ana
fancies Christian, which is true. I’m guessing it’s because at this point, Ana
hasn’t admitted her own feelings yet. as
I open one of cupboards to make supper.
I am restless that
night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of smoky gray eyes, coveralls, long legs,
long fingers, and dark, dark unexplored places. I wake twice in the night, my
heart pounding. Oh, I’m going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep,
I scold myself. I punch my pillow and
try to settle. James relies
on dreams to explain state of mind far too often. And IRL, dreams are never so
clear. Do know what I dreamed about once? That there was a lion living at the
bottom of my back garden. Starting and
ending of chapters with characters waking up / falling asleep is lazy writing. Sleeping/ waking was used really effectively
in Mulholland Drive because it
represented a narrative shift, but in FSOG, it’s really clunky and used because
James doesn’t know how to pace a plot.
The Heathman is nestled in the downtown heart of
Portland. Its impressive brown stone edifice was
completed just in time for the crash of the late 1920s. Just cut all this José,
Travis, and I are traveling in my Beetle, and
Kate is in her CLK, since we can’t all fit in my car. Car ex machina! Travis is José’s friend and gopher, is here to help out with the lighting. Kate has managed to acquire the use of a
room at the Heathman free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. It
seems unlikely ro me that students are going to be able to afford to stay at
this hotel, unless all their parents are as rich as Kate’s. When she
explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Christian Grey CEO, we are instantly
upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mr.
Grey is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive
shows us up to the suite – he’s terribly young and very nervous for some
reason. I suspect it’s Kate’s beauty and
commanding manner that disarms him, because he’s putty
in her
hands. The
rooms are elegant, understated, and opulently
furnished. A room can’t be both opulent and understated
at the same time.
It’s nine. We have half
an hour to set up. Kate is in full flow.
“José, I think we’ll shoot against that wall, do
you agree?” She doesn’t wait for his
reply. “Travis, clear the chairs. Ana, could you
ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments? And let Grey know where we
are.”
Yes, Mistress. Clumsy foreshadowing!She is so domineering. I roll my eyes,
but do as I’m told.
Half an hour later, Christian Grey walks into
our suite.
Holy Crap! He’s wearing a white shirt, open at
the collar, and grey flannel pants that
hang from his hips. Where does everyone else wear their trousers??
His
unruly hair is still damp from a shower. My mouth goes dry looking at him...
he’s so freaking hot. Grey is followed into the suite by a man in his mid-thirties,
all buzz-cut and stubble in a sharp dark suit and
tie who stands silently in the corner. His hazel eyes watch us impassively.
What, the suit and tie stand silently in the corner? Is
the stubble wearing the suit? Also, how
can Ana tell what colour his eyes are, unless she goes right up to him and
stares at his face?
Grey is followed by a man in his mid-30s. The man has
stubble and a buzz-cut. He is wearing a dark suit and tie. He goes and
stands silently in the corner.
“Miss Steele, we meet again.” Grey extends his
hand, and I shake it, blinking
rapidly.
Oh my...
he really is, quite... wow. As I touch his hand, I’m aware of that delicious
current running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I’m sure
my erratic breathing must be audible.
“Mr. Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh,” I
mutter, waving a hand toward Kate who
comes forward, looking him squarely in the eye.
“The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?” He
gives her a small smile, look-
ing genuinely amused. “I trust you’re feeling
better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week.”
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Grey.” She shakes his
hand firmly without batting an eyelid.
I remind myself that Kate has been to the best
private schools in Washington. Her family has
money, and she’s grown up confident and sure of her place in the world. She
doesn’t take any crap. I am in awe of her. Ana
assumes money = confidence. More Kate bashing.
“Thank you for taking the time to do this.” She
gives him a polite, professional smile.
“It’s a pleasure,” he answers, turning his gray
gaze on me, and I flush, again. Damn it.
“This is José Rodriguez, our photographer,” I
say, grinning at José who smiles with
affection back at me. His eyes cool when he
looks from me to Grey.
“Mr. Grey,” he nods.
“Mr. Rodriguez,” Grey’s expression changes too
as he appraises José.
“Where would you like me?” Grey asks him. His
tone sounds vaguely threatening. But Katherine is
not about to let José run the show. No hint that
José wants to run the show.
“Mr. Grey – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting
cables. And then
we’ll do
a few standing, too.”
She directs him to a chair set
up against the wall.
Travis
switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Grey, and mutters an apology.
Then
Travis and I stand back and watch as José proceeds to snap away. He takes
several photographs hand-held, asking Grey to turn this way, then that, to move
his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, José takes several more,
while Grey sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes.
My wish has come true: I can stand and admire
Grey from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock as Grey poses in the chair and I have to tear myself
away from his cloudy gaze. Does he have glaucoma?
“Enough sitting.”
Katherine wades in again. “Standing, Mr. Grey?” she asks. ‘Can we have some photos
of you standing, Mr Grey?’ Kate says.
He
stands, and
Travis scurries in to remove the chair. The shutter on José’s Nikon
starts clicking again.
“I think we have enough,” José announces five
minutes later.
TBC.... if you can stand it.
