fifty-shades-of-grey

message. If he wants me to stay away, he should leave me alone. I suppress a drunken grinand hit the automatic re-dial. He answers on the second ring.“Anastasia?” He’s surprised to hear from me. Well, frankly, I’m surprised to ring him.Then my befuddled brain registers… how does he know it’s me?“Why did you send me the books?” I slur at him.“Anastasia, are you okay? You sound strange.” His voice is filled with concern.“I’m not the strange one, you are,” I accuse. There - that told him, my courage fuelledby alcohol.“Anastasia, have you been drinking?”“What’s it to you?”“I’m – curious. Where are you?”“In a bar.”“Which bar?” He sounds exasperated.“A bar in Portland.”“How are you getting home?”“I’ll find a way.” This conversation is not going how I expected.“Which bar are you in?”“Why did you send me the books, Christian?”“Anastasia, where are you, tell me now.” His tone is so, so dictatorial, his usual controlfreak. I imagine him as an old time movie director wearing jodhpurs, holding an old fashionedmegaphone and a riding crop. The image makes me laugh out loud.“You’re so… domineering,” I giggle.“Ana, so help me, where the fuck are you?”Christian Grey is swearing at me. I giggle again. “I’m in Portland… s’a long wayfrom Seattle.”“Where in Portland?”“Goodnight, Christian.”“Ana!”I hang up. Ha! Though he didn’t tell me about the books. I frown. Mission not accomplished.I am really quite drunk - my head swims uncomfortably as I shuffle with theline. Well, the object of the exercise was to get drunk. I have succeeded. This is what it’slike – probably not an experience to be repeated. The line has moved, and it’s now myturn. I stare blankly at the poster on the back of the toilet door that extols the virtues ofsafe sex. Holy crap, did I just call Christian Grey? Shit. My phone rings and it makes mejump. I yelp in surprise.“Hi,” I bleat timidly in to the phone. I hadn’t reckoned on this.“I’m coming to get you,” he says and hangs up. Only Christian Grey could sound socalm and so threatening at the same time.Holy crap. I pull my jeans up. My heart is thumping. Coming to get me? Oh no. I’mgoing to be sick… no… I’m fine. Hang on. He’s just messing with my head. I didn’t tellhim where I was. He can’t find me here. Besides, it will take him hours to get here fromSeattle, and we’ll be long gone by then. I wash my hands and check my face in the mirror.I look flushed and slightly unfocused. Hmm… tequila.