Chapter 2
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My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once but fortunately not sprawling onto the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and suddenly I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool, refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.
No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. What was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and when I can breathe normally again I head for the car.
AS I LEAVE THE city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely I'm overreacting to something that's imaginary. Okay, so he's very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself—but on the flip side, he's arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be—he's accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I'm irritated that Kate didn't give me a brief biography.
While cruising toward Interstate 5, my mind continues to wander. I'm truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic—as if he had a hidden agenda. And Kate's questions—ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can't believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine Kavanagh!
I check the speedometer. I'm driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it's the memory of those penetrating gray eyes gazing at me and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Grey's more like a man twice his age.
Forget it, Ana, I scold myself. I decide that, all in all, it's been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn't dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the stereo and turn the volume up loud, sit back and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit Interstate 5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.
WE LIVE IN A small community of duplex apartments close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I'm lucky—Kate's parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It's been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the digital recorder. I hope I won't have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.
"Ana! You're back." Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals—she's still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.
"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."
"Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I wave the digital recorder at her.
"Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?" Oh no—here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.
I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?
"I'm glad it's over and I don't have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know." I shrug. "He's very focused, intense even—and young. Really young."
Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown.
"Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research."
Kate clamps a hand to her mouth. "Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry—I didn't think."
I huff.
"Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy—like he's old before his time. He doesn't talk like a man of twentysomething. How old is he, anyway?"
"Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the recorder and I'll start transcribing the interview."
"You look better. Did you eat your soup?" I ask, keen to change the subject.
"Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch.
"I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's."
"Ana, you'll be exhausted."
"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."
I'VE WORKED AT CLAYTON'S since I started at WSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sell—although ironically, I'm crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad.
I'M GLAD I CAN make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Christian Grey. We're busy—it's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton looks relieved to see me.
"Ana! I thought you weren't going to make it today."
"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours."
"I'm real pleased to see you."
She sends me to the storeroom to start restocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.
WHEN I ARRIVE HOME later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained, exhausted by the long drive, by the grueling interview, and by being swamped at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was holed up with … him.
"You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.
I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn't the reason, surely. He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I'm biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn't notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription.
"I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?" she asks.
"Um … no, I didn't."
"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"
"I suppose so." I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.
"Oh, come on, Ana—even you can't be immune to his looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.
Crap! I feel my cheeks heating so I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.
"You probably would have got a lot more out of him."
"I doubt that, Ana. Come on—he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.
"So what did you really think of him?" Damn, she's inquisitive. Why can't she just let this go? Think of something—quick.
"He's very driven, controlling, arrogant—scary, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination," I add truthfully, hoping this will shut her up once and for all.
"You, fascinated by a man? That's a first," she snorts.
I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can't see my face.
"Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked, too." I scowl at the memory.
"Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date."
"It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I'm glad I'll never have to lay eyes on him again."
"Oh, Ana, it can't have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you."
Taken with me? Now Kate's being ridiculous.
"Would you like a sandwich?"
"Please."
WE TALK NO MORE of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Damn, that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for a Monday.
I curl up in my white iron bed, wrap my mother's quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak, cold white floors, and gray eyes.
FOR THE REST OF the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Kate is busy, too, compiling her last edition of the student newspaper before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck on my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candlemaking—my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally, she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope Bob—her relatively new but much older husband—is keeping an eye on her now that I'm no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.
"How are things with you, Ana?"
For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom's full attention. "I'm fine."
"Ana? Have you met someone?" Wow … how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable.
"No, Mom, it's nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do."
"Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me."
"Mom, I'm fine. How's Bob?" As ever, distraction is the best policy.
Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV (and going bowling or fly-fishing, or making furniture, when he's not). Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.
FRIDAY NIGHT, KATE AND I are debating what to do with our evening—we want some time off from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers—when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend José clutching a bottle of champagne.
"José! Great to see you!" I give him a quick hug. "Come in."
José is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each other that day, and we've been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we also discovered that Ray and José Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become good friends, too.
José is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. José has a great eye for a good picture.
"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.
"Don't tell me—you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.
"The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month."
"That's amazing—congratulations!" Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him, too.
"Way to go, José! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last-minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She feigns annoyance.
"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." José looks intently at me and I flush. "Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.
José and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. He's more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven't met anyone who … well, whom I'm attracted to, even though part of me longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly moments.
Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that.
Until very recently, the unwelcome, still-small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Grey? I wince at the memory. I know I've dreamed about him most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely.
I watch José open the bottle of champagne. He's tall, and in his jeans and T-shirt, he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair, and burning dark eyes. Yes, José's pretty hot, but I think he's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and José looks up and smiles.
NOVEL - FIFTY SHADES OF GREY
AUTHOR - E. L. JAMES
Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once but fortunately not sprawling onto the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and suddenly I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool, refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.
No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. What was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and when I can breathe normally again I head for the car.
AS I LEAVE THE city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely I'm overreacting to something that's imaginary. Okay, so he's very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himself—but on the flip side, he's arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to be—he's accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I'm irritated that Kate didn't give me a brief biography.
While cruising toward Interstate 5, my mind continues to wander. I'm truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so cryptic—as if he had a hidden agenda. And Kate's questions—ugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can't believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine Kavanagh!
I check the speedometer. I'm driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it's the memory of those penetrating gray eyes gazing at me and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Grey's more like a man twice his age.
Forget it, Ana, I scold myself. I decide that, all in all, it's been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn't dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the stereo and turn the volume up loud, sit back and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit Interstate 5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.
WE LIVE IN A small community of duplex apartments close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I'm lucky—Kate's parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It's been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the digital recorder. I hope I won't have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview.
"Ana! You're back." Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals—she's still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.
"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."
"Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I wave the digital recorder at her.
"Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?" Oh no—here we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.
I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?
"I'm glad it's over and I don't have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know." I shrug. "He's very focused, intense even—and young. Really young."
Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown.
"Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research."
Kate clamps a hand to her mouth. "Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry—I didn't think."
I huff.
"Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy—like he's old before his time. He doesn't talk like a man of twentysomething. How old is he, anyway?"
"Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the recorder and I'll start transcribing the interview."
"You look better. Did you eat your soup?" I ask, keen to change the subject.
"Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch.
"I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's."
"Ana, you'll be exhausted."
"I'll be fine. I'll see you later."
I'VE WORKED AT CLAYTON'S since I started at WSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sell—although ironically, I'm crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad.
I'M GLAD I CAN make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Christian Grey. We're busy—it's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton looks relieved to see me.
"Ana! I thought you weren't going to make it today."
"My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours."
"I'm real pleased to see you."
She sends me to the storeroom to start restocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.
WHEN I ARRIVE HOME later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained, exhausted by the long drive, by the grueling interview, and by being swamped at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was holed up with … him.
"You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.
I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn't the reason, surely. He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I'm biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn't notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription.
"I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?" she asks.
"Um … no, I didn't."
"That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?"
"I suppose so." I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed.
"Oh, come on, Ana—even you can't be immune to his looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.
Crap! I feel my cheeks heating so I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy.
"You probably would have got a lot more out of him."
"I doubt that, Ana. Come on—he practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen.
"So what did you really think of him?" Damn, she's inquisitive. Why can't she just let this go? Think of something—quick.
"He's very driven, controlling, arrogant—scary, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination," I add truthfully, hoping this will shut her up once and for all.
"You, fascinated by a man? That's a first," she snorts.
I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can't see my face.
"Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked, too." I scowl at the memory.
"Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date."
"It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I'm glad I'll never have to lay eyes on him again."
"Oh, Ana, it can't have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you."
Taken with me? Now Kate's being ridiculous.
"Would you like a sandwich?"
"Please."
WE TALK NO MORE of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Damn, that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for a Monday.
I curl up in my white iron bed, wrap my mother's quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak, cold white floors, and gray eyes.
FOR THE REST OF the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Kate is busy, too, compiling her last edition of the student newspaper before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck on my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candlemaking—my mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally, she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope Bob—her relatively new but much older husband—is keeping an eye on her now that I'm no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three.
"How are things with you, Ana?"
For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom's full attention. "I'm fine."
"Ana? Have you met someone?" Wow … how does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable.
"No, Mom, it's nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do."
"Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me."
"Mom, I'm fine. How's Bob?" As ever, distraction is the best policy.
Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV (and going bowling or fly-fishing, or making furniture, when he's not). Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him.
FRIDAY NIGHT, KATE AND I are debating what to do with our evening—we want some time off from our studies, from our work, and from student newspapers—when the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend José clutching a bottle of champagne.
"José! Great to see you!" I give him a quick hug. "Come in."
José is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each other that day, and we've been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we also discovered that Ray and José Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become good friends, too.
José is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. José has a great eye for a good picture.
"I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling.
"Don't tell me—you've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and he scowls playfully at me.
"The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month."
"That's amazing—congratulations!" Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him, too.
"Way to go, José! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last-minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She feigns annoyance.
"Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." José looks intently at me and I flush. "Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.
José and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. He's more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven't met anyone who … well, whom I'm attracted to, even though part of me longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly moments.
Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that.
Until very recently, the unwelcome, still-small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Grey? I wince at the memory. I know I've dreamed about him most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely.
I watch José open the bottle of champagne. He's tall, and in his jeans and T-shirt, he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair, and burning dark eyes. Yes, José's pretty hot, but I think he's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and José looks up and smiles.
NOVEL - FIFTY SHADES OF GREY
AUTHOR - E. L. JAMES
My heart is pounding. The elevator arrives on the first floor, and I scramble out as soon as the doors slide open, stumbling once but fortunately not sprawling onto the immaculate sandstone floor. I race for the wide glass doors, and suddenly I'm free in the bracing, cleansing, damp air of Seattle. Raising my face, I welcome the cool, refreshing rain. I close my eyes and take a deep, purifying breath, trying to recover what's left of my equilibrium.No man has ever affected me the way Christian Grey has, and I cannot fathom why. Is it his looks? His civility? Wealth? Power? I don't understand my irrational reaction. I breathe an enormous sigh of relief. What in heaven's name was that all about? Leaning against one of the steel pillars of the building, I valiantly attempt to calm down and gather my thoughts. I shake my head. What was that? My heart steadies to its regular rhythm, and when I can breathe normally again I head for the car.AS I LEAVE THE city limits behind, I begin to feel foolish and embarrassed as I replay the interview in my mind. Surely I'm overreacting to something that's imaginary. Okay, so he's very attractive, confident, commanding, at ease with himselfbut on the flip side, he's arrogant, and for all his impeccable manners, he's autocratic and cold. Well, on the surface. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine. He may be arrogant, but then he has a right to behe's accomplished so much at such a young age. He doesn't suffer fools gladly, but why should he? Again, I'm irritated that Kate didn't give me a brief biography.While cruising toward Interstate 5, my mind continues to wander. I'm truly perplexed as to what makes someone so driven to succeed. Some of his answers were so crypticas if he had a hidden agenda. And Kate's questionsugh! The adoption and asking him if he was gay! I shudder. I can't believe I said that. Ground, swallow me up now! Every time I think of that question in the future, I will cringe with embarrassment. Damn Katherine Kavanagh!I check the speedometer. I'm driving more cautiously than I would on any other occasion. And I know it's the memory of those penetrating gray eyes gazing at me and a stern voice telling me to drive carefully. Shaking my head, I realize that Grey's more like a man twice his age.Forget it, Ana, I scold myself. I decide that, all in all, it's been a very interesting experience, but I shouldn't dwell on it. Put it behind you. I never have to see him again. I'm immediately cheered by the thought. I switch on the stereo and turn the volume up loud, sit back and listen to thumping indie rock music as I press down on the accelerator. As I hit Interstate 5, I realize I can drive as fast as I want.WE LIVE IN A small community of duplex apartments close to the Vancouver campus of WSU. I'm luckyKate's parents bought the place for her, and I pay peanuts for rent. It's been home for four years now. As I pull up outside, I know Kate is going to want a blow-by-blow account, and she is tenacious. Well, at least she has the digital recorder. I hope I won't have to elaborate much beyond what was said during the interview."Ana! You're back." Kate sits in our living area, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finalsshe's still in her pink flannel pajamas decorated with cute little rabbits, the ones she reserves for the aftermath of breaking up with boyfriends, for assorted illnesses, and for general moody depression. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard."I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner.""Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I wave the digital recorder at her."Ana, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was he like?" Oh nohere we go, the Katherine Kavanagh Inquisition.I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?"I'm glad it's over and I don't have to see him again. He was rather intimidating, you know." I shrug. "He's very focused, intense evenand young. Really young."Kate gazes innocently at me. I frown."Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a biography? He made me feel like such an idiot for skimping on basic research."Kate clamps a hand to her mouth. "Jeez, Ana, I'm sorryI didn't think."I huff."Mostly he was courteous, formal, slightly stuffylike he's old before his time. He doesn't talk like a man of twentysomething. How old is he, anyway?""Twenty-seven. Jeez, Ana, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was in such a panic. Let me have the recorder and I'll start transcribing the interview.""You look better. Did you eat your soup?" I ask, keen to change the subject."Yes, and it was delicious as usual. I'm feeling much better." She smiles at me in gratitude. I check my watch."I have to run. I can still make my shift at Clayton's.""Ana, you'll be exhausted.""I'll be fine. I'll see you later."I'VE WORKED AT CLAYTON'S since I started at WSU. It's the largest independent hardware store in the Portland area, and over the four years I've worked here, I've come to know a little bit about most everything we sellalthough ironically, I'm crap at any DIY. I leave all that to my dad.I'M GLAD I CAN make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn't Christian Grey. We're busyit's the start of the summer season, and folks are redecorating their homes. Mrs. Clayton looks relieved to see me."Ana! I thought you weren't going to make it today.""My appointment didn't take as long as I thought. I can do a couple of hours." "I'm real pleased to see you."She sends me to the storeroom to start restocking shelves, and I'm soon absorbed in the task.WHEN I ARRIVE HOME later, Katherine is wearing headphones and working on her laptop. Her nose is still pink, but she has her teeth into a story, so she's concentrating and typing furiously. I'm thoroughly drained, exhausted by the long drive, by the grueling interview, and by being swamped at Clayton's. I slump on to the couch, thinking about the essay I have to finish and all the studying I haven't done today because I was holed up with him."You've got some good stuff here, Ana. Well done. I can't believe you didn't take him up on his offer to show you around. He obviously wanted to spend more time with you." She gives me a fleeting quizzical look.I flush, and my heart rate inexplicably increases. That wasn't the reason, surely. He just wanted to show me around so I could see that he was lord of all he surveyed. I realize I'm biting my lip, and I hope Kate doesn't notice. But she seems absorbed in her transcription."I hear what you mean about formal. Did you take any notes?" she asks."Umno, I didn't.""That's fine. I can still make a fine article with this. Shame we don't have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn't he?""I suppose so." I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed."Oh, come on, Anaeven you can't be immune to his looks." She arches a perfect eyebrow at me.Crap! I feel my cheeks heating so I distract her with flattery, always a good ploy."You probably would have got a lot more out of him.""I doubt that, Ana. Come onhe practically offered you a job. Given that I foisted this on you at the last minute, you did very well." She glances up at me speculatively. I make a hasty retreat into the kitchen."So what did you really think of him?" Damn, she's inquisitive. Why can't she just let this go? Think of somethingquick."He's very driven, controlling, arrogantscary, but very charismatic. I can understand the fascination," I add truthfully, hoping this will shut her up once and for all."You, fascinated by a man? That's a first," she snorts.I start gathering the makings of a sandwich so she can't see my face."Why did you want to know if he was gay? Incidentally, that was the most embarrassing question. I was mortified, and he was pissed to be asked, too." I scowl at the memory."Whenever he's in the society pages, he never has a date." "It was embarrassing. The whole thing was embarrassing. I'm glad I'll never have to lay eyes on him again.""Oh, Ana, it can't have been that bad. I think he sounds quite taken with you."Taken with me? Now Kate's being ridiculous."Would you like a sandwich?""Please."WE TALK NO MORE of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. Once we've eaten, I'm able to sit at the dining table with Kate and, while she works on her article, I work on my essay on Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Damn, that woman was in the wrong place at the wrong time in the wrong century. By the time I finish, it's midnight, and Kate has long since gone to bed. I make my way to my room, exhausted, but pleased that I've accomplished so much for a Monday.I curl up in my white iron bed, wrap my mother's quilt around me, close my eyes, and I'm instantly asleep. That night I dream of dark places, bleak, cold white floors, and gray eyes.FOR THE REST OF the week, I throw myself into my studies and my job at Clayton's. Kate is busy, too, compiling her last edition of the student newspaper before she has to relinquish it to the new editor while also cramming for her finals. By Wednesday, she's much better, and I no longer have to endure the sight of her pink-flannel-with-too-many-rabbits PJs. I call my mom in Georgia to check on her, but also so she can wish me luck on my final exams. She proceeds to tell me about her latest venture into candlemakingmy mother is all about new business ventures. Fundamentally, she's bored and wants something to occupy her time, but she has the attention span of a goldfish. It'll be something new next week. She worries me. I hope she hasn't mortgaged the house to finance this latest scheme. And I hope Bobher relatively new but much older husbandis keeping an eye on her now that I'm no longer there. He does seem a lot more grounded than Husband Number Three."How are things with you, Ana?"For a moment, I hesitate, and I have Mom's full attention. "I'm fine.""Ana? Have you met someone?" Wowhow does she do that? The excitement in her voice is palpable."No, Mom, it's nothing. You'll be the first to know if I do.""Ana, you really need to get out more, honey. You worry me.""Mom, I'm fine. How's Bob?" As ever, distraction is the best policy.Later that evening, I call Ray, my stepdad, Mom's Husband Number Two, the man I consider my father and the man whose name I bear. It's a brief conversation. In fact, it's not so much a conversation as a one-sided series of grunts in response to my gentle coaxing. Ray is not a talker. But he's still alive, he's still watching soccer on TV and going bowling or fly-fishing, or making furniture, when he's not. Ray is a skilled carpenter and the reason I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. All seems well with him. FRIDAY NIGHT, KATE AND I are debating what to do with our eveningwe want some time off from our studies, from our work, and from student newspaperswhen the doorbell rings. Standing on our doorstep is my good friend Jos clutching a bottle of champagne."Jos! Great to see you!" I give him a quick hug. "Come in."Jos is the first person I met when I arrived at WSU, looking as lost and lonely as I did. We recognized a kindred spirit in each other that day, and we've been friends ever since. Not only do we share a sense of humor, but we also discovered that Ray and Jos Senior were in the same army unit together. As a result, our fathers have become good friends, too.Jos is studying engineering and is the first in his family to make it to college. He's pretty damn bright, but his real passion is photography. Jos has a great eye for a good picture."I have news." He grins, his dark eyes twinkling."Don't tell meyou've managed not to get kicked out for another week," I tease, and he scowls playfully at me."The Portland Place Gallery is going to exhibit my photos next month.""That's amazingcongratulations!" Delighted for him, I hug him again. Kate beams at him, too."Way to go, Jos! I should put this in the paper. Nothing like last-minute editorial changes on a Friday evening." She feigns annoyance."Let's celebrate. I want you to come to the opening." Jos looks intently at me and I flush. "Both of you, of course," he adds, glancing nervously at Kate.Jos and I are good friends, but I know deep down inside he'd like to be more. He's cute and funny, but he's just not for me. He's more like the brother I never had. Katherine often teases me that I'm missing the need-a-boyfriend gene, but the truth is I just haven't met anyone whowell, whom I'm attracted to, even though part of me longs for the fabled trembling knees, heart-in-my-mouth, butterflies-in-my-belly moments.Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high. But in reality, nobody's ever made me feel like that.Until very recently, the unwelcome, still-small voice of my subconscious whispers. NO! I banish the thought immediately. I am not going there, not after that painful interview. Are you gay, Mr. Grey? I wince at the memory. I know I've dreamed about him most nights since then, but that's just to purge the awful experience from my system, surely.I watch Jos open the bottle of champagne. He's tall, and in his jeans and T-shirt, he's all shoulders and muscles, tanned skin, dark hair, and burning dark eyes. Yes, Jos's pretty hot, but I think he's finally getting the message: we're just friends. The cork makes its loud pop, and Jos looks up and smiles. NOVEL - FIFTY SHADES OF GREY AUTHOR - E. L. JAMES
