fifty-shades-of-grey

The phone rings again. It’s Elliot. Kate winks at me and skips off to her bedroom likeshe’s fourteen. I know that she should be writing her Valedictorian speech, but it seems Elliotis more important. What is it about the Grey men? What is it that makes them totallydistracting, all-consuming, and irresistible? I take another slug of wine.I flick through the TV channels, but deep down I know I’m procrastinating. Burninga bright red hole in the side of my purse is that contract. Do I have the strength and thewherewithal to read it tonight?I put my head in my hands. José and Christian, they both want something from me.José is easy to deal with. But Christian… Christian takes a whole different league of handling,of understanding. Part of me wants to run and hide. What am I going to do? Hisburning gray eyes and that intense smoldering stare come into my mind’s eye, and my bodytightens at the thought. I gasp. He’s not even here, and I’m turned on. It just can’t be aboutsex, can it? I recall his gentle banter this morning at breakfast, his joy at my delight withthe helicopter ride, him playing the piano – the sweet soulful oh-so-sad music.He’s such a complicated person. And now I have an insight as to why. A young mandeprived of his adolescence, sexually abused by some evil Mrs. Robinson figure… nowonder he’s old before his time. My heart fills with sadness at the thought of what he musthave been through. I’m too naïve to know exactly what, but the research should shed somelight. But do I really want to know? Do I want to explore this world I know nothing about?It’s such a big step.If I’d not met him, I’d still be sweetly and blissfully oblivious. My mind drifts to lastnight, and this morning… and the incredible, sensual sexuality I’ve experienced. Do Iwant to say goodbye to that? No! Screams my subconscious… my inner goddess nods insilent zen-like agreement with her.Kate wanders back into the living room, grinning from ear to ear. Perhaps she’s inlove – I gape at her. She’s never behaved like this.“Ana, I’m off to bed. I’m pretty tired.”“Me too, Kate.”She hugs me.“I’m glad you’re back in one piece. There’s something about Christian,” she adds quietly,apologetically. I give her a small, reassuring smile – all the while thinking… How thehell does she know? This is what will make her a great journalist, her unfaltering intuition.Collecting my purse, I wander listlessly into my bedroom. I am weary from all ourcarnal exertions of the last day and from the complete and utter dilemma that I’m facedwith. I sit on my bed and gingerly extract the manila envelope from the bag, turning it overand over in my hands. Do I really want to know the extent of Christian’s depravity? It’sso daunting. I take a deep breath, and with my heart in my throat, I rip open the envelope.