Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody Fanny Merkin (the giving tree read aloud TXT) 📖

Brent says. “But I did get tired of saying, ‛Not only is this model fully functional, it’s also fully loaded.’ Even if I have to wear this olive-green bodysuit and dye my hair black, working for Mr. Grey pays much, much better. As I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Mr. Grey doesn’t pay me anything,” I say defensively. Unless you count the iPad, and the Hotmail account, and him buying Walmart and Washington State University. “I’m not a prostitute.”

“Oh,” Brent says. “I’m sorry. I just assumed . . .”

Oh no. This is what Earl meant when he said he doesn’t “do the girlfriend thing.” He doesn’t have girlfriends, because he pays women to dress up as elves and magicians and whatever else and get spanked and screwed in his Dorm Room of Doom.

“I have to go,” I say, sliding past Brent. I change into my own clothes and run from Earl Grey’s apartment in tears as his weird android butler watches me, unable to compute my emotions with his circuit board brain.

Chapter Fifteen

I ORDER A GREEN TEA at the Starbucks across the street from Earl Grey’s apartment. I pull my phone out and call Kathleen.

She answers after one ring. “Anna!”

“It’s me,” I say glumly.

“Are you okay?” she asks. It doesn’t sound like she’s as angry with me as her text messages indicated.

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I say.

“Did that control freak kidnap you? Where did he take you?”

I sigh. “To his apartment.”

“I’ll come pick you up, girl,” she says, sensing my dour mood.

“Would you?” I say. “I’m at the Starbucks in Seattle.”

“Cool. Hang tight—I’ll be there in forty-five minutes or so.”

I thank Kathleen and end the call. Now I’m stuck in this coffee shop with nothing to do . . . Should I turn the iPad on? I took it from the apartment, probably against my better judgment. But it’s an iPad. C’mon. Who would turn down a free iPad?

I start it up and look it over. It’s loaded with tons of apps, including Words With Friends, Angry Birds, and . . . Mail. Do I dare open it? What could it hurt? I tap the envelope icon and it expands to fill the screen.

From: Earl Grey <earlgrey50@hotmail.com>

Subject: Your New iPad

Date: May 22 6:49 AM

To: Anna Steal <annasteal@hotmail.com>

Dear Miss Steal—

I hope you slept well. It sure as hell sounded like it! How do you not wake yourself up with your own snoring?!!! Ha ha, j/k. But not really kidding.

Anyway, let me know if you need anything!

Earl Grey

CEO, The Earl Grey Corporation

It’s not the only e-mail in my inbox from Earl. There’s a new e-mail, dated five minutes ago.

From: Earl Grey <earlgrey50@hotmail.com>

Subject: Baby?

Date: May 22 10:56 AM

To: Anna Steal <annasteal@hotmail.com>

Dear Miss Steal—

Data contacted me and said that you were compelled to leave the apartment most unexpectedly. Is everything okay?

Earl Grey

CEO, The Earl Grey Corporation

P.S. I tried calling your phone, but it went straight to voicemail (it was either off, or you were talking on it?). I’m buying you a second cell phone, just to field my calls exclusively. Don’t argue with me, Anna.

Uh-oh. What do I do? I start composing a response . . .

From: Anna Steal <annasteal@hotmail.com>

Subject: RE: Baby?

Date: May 22 11:05 AM

To: Earl Grey <earlgrey50@hotmail.com>

I did leave, yes. And I was on the phone. Not that it’s any of your business.

I am not one of your LARPers. Or should I say “whores”?

Anna

I tap “send” and then close the Mail app. That’ll show the rich bastard.

I open the Words With Friends app.

There’s a small avatar of Earl Grey. I tap on it, and it brings up a new screen: “Earl Grey has invited you to play a game. Would you like to accept?”

Do I accept? I have time to kill. It’s an easy enough game, and one that I’ve played before on my mom’s iPad. You’re given seven letters, each with a different point value, and must place them on the board by connecting them with at least one letter of a word that the other player has spelled. For every letter you use, you get a new one in the next round. Perhaps I can vent some frustration at Earl Grey through the game.

I tap “yes.” I’ll play, if only to beat him and show him he’s not as smart and clever as he thinks he is. Earl has played the first word: “KINK.” Of course.

I look at the letters available to me. Hmmmm . . . I move four letters to the board, spelling “PRICK” off one of his Ks. His move.

Almost immediately, I receive a notice that he has played. His word? “PRICKS.” Damn! Bastard! He just added an “S” to the end of my word. It’s a legal move, but one only a prick who wants to piggyback off someone else’s hard work would do.

I spell “CHEAP” off of the “C.” Because he’s a cheap prick, if he’s going to just add “S” to the end of every word I spell.

He plays “HO.” Oh, hell no.

I turn the iPad off. The nerve of that man! I head to the women’s restroom to fix my hair, which I can feel is out of control again. I should have tamed it before I left Earl Grey’s apartment, but I was in such a hurry to get out of his little whorehouse that I didn’t even put on my underwear—I couldn’t find them. He’ll probably cook them up for dinner or something. What a creep.

I lock the door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. What does Earl Grey see in me? I’m so plain; I don’t wear any makeup. My skin is as pale as Steve Jobs’ corpse.

“Anna,” a voice says from the closed stall behind me. It’s a voice so hunky that it can only be . . .

“Mr. Grey!” I say, turning my head to find him swinging the door open. The toilet flushes and