Before I start the second part of this chapter, I just want to share something disturbing about the Heathman. The no longer are annoyed by the fans. They now embrace them, for a fee. I haven’t had a chance to talk to any of the doormen since this package was started, but before it did, I talked to them as I’d pass, and none of them were thrilled to be connected to Fifty Shades, and one of them told me the manager was pretty ticked since fans have clogged up the place without buying anything. And the doormen? They have to pose with every fan who comes along. As if they don’t already have to dress like this on hot days….
Since the Heathman now supports this book, I know where I’m no longer going to have tea, which sucks since I was planning to take my daughter there after her last ballet intensive summer class in a couple weeks.
To pick up where we left off, Grey internally whines about the Bicyclist of Doom. Get over it. In downtown Portland, you’re not getting anywhere very fast, whether in a car, on foot, by train, or by bike. He gives her another one of those brooding-bad-boy warnings about how he finds it impossible to stay away.
It’s easy, Grey. I promise. You just…stay away. That’s all. Easy-peasy mac-and-cheesy.
Poor, dumb girl tells him, “Then don’t.” Knowing what I know about Ana from the first books makes it hard to see her in a favorable light since she does have some racist and very classist tendencies, and she does use her friends. But she doesn’t deserve what Grey does. As he admits, she’s innocent to the point of impossibly ignorant, to the point that she really doesn’t know his warning should be taken to heart.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Enlighten me, then.”
Her words travel straight to my cock.
“You’re not celibate?” she asks.
“No, Anastasia, I’m not celibate.” And if you’d let me tie you up I’d prove it to you right now.
Her eyes widen and her cheeks pink.
I have to show her. It’s the only way I’ll know.
Only way he’ll know what? I don’t know. Maybe the only way he’ll know if she’s a virgin? He has every reason to think she is. She’s so shy that the knowledge that he’s not a virgin embarrasses her.
He demands to know her work schedule for reasons obvious to us. He wants to sex her up. After that, he wants to know her new address in Seattle, which she doesn’t know, but the general area is close to him. That thrills him. No more traveling to stalk her. He does get annoyed that she hasn’t applied for an internship as his company.
Run! Run! Abort! Danger, Will Robinson!
We get some lopsided flirting that would be cute given almost any other couple. Instead we’ve got Ignorant Girl and Jerkass Boy. But he won’t kiss her until he has her written consent.
Run! Run! Abort! Danger, Will Robinson! Faster! GET AWAY!
If a guy won’t even KISS until there’s something in writing, something’s wrong! Maybe he’s been in legal trouble before. Maybe he plans to do things you don’t agree to, and wants the consent to say, “She did TOO say I could shove ginger root up her ass, Your Honor! See? She signed saying I can kiss her!”
In Fifty Shades, we can tell she’s got an adrenaline rush going on, which is a normal response to fear as well as excitement. It started when she woke up in his bed, and she does become convinced it’s her own arousal.
They agree that he’ll fly her to Seattle that night so he can better…inform…her of what he’s talking about by his “singular” taste.
Please, Ana, run!
“Eat!” My voice is more forceful. “Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food. Eat.”
“I can’t eat all this.” She studies all the food on the table and I feel guilty once more. Yes, there is too much food here.
“Eat what’s on your plate. If you’d eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be declaring my hand so soon.”
He doesn’t really feel guilt. People who feel guilt try not to repeat their actions. He never changes but to get worse. And if he has an issue with wasted food, he shouldn’t have ordered so much, especially without asking what she even likes.
“You’ll need all your strength for tonight, for what I have to show you.
Suddenly, she gets up from the table and I have to stop myself from telling her that she doesn’t have permission.
She’s not your submissive…yet, Grey.
On the way back to the bedroom, she pauses by the sofa.
“Where did you sleep last night?” she asks.
“In my bed.” With you.
“Yes, it was quite a novelty for me, too.”
She said the s-word…and the telltale pink cheeks appear.”
Yeah, he knows full well she’s a virgin, and he’s so, so, so obviously intending to take her from virgin to full-blown sex slave very fast. I wonder how James is going to explain away his supposed shock at finding out she’s a virgin when he’s already sussed it out.
While she dries her hair, at his insistence that she will get sick if she doesn’t, he’s full of self-congratulations for getting that far in the fame, and then calls the valet to bring his car up. Protip: If you don’t have a car valet-parked in Portland, they can’t get it for you. Not only will they not have a key, but they won’t have any idea where on earth it is.
He calls Ros, and we have no idea why. We are informed she says something about Darfur, but Grey isn’t paying attention to anything but Ana. Goes to show how much Darfur matters to him. When Ros wraps up the call, Grey self-congratulates again because Ros is pushing a food shipment forward. Grey’s so interested in all of this that he tunes it out and does nothing. I guarantee you that anything sent to Darfur is nothing more than a tax write-off and PR move. This isn’t like Taylor Swift personally making an unannounced donation to a badly injured firefighter. She just gives, and to no fanfare. Grey does nothing without expecting something in return, such as with the books, and if he can get out of doing anything, he’ll outsource the work to Andrea or Ros.
Frankly, it’s disgusting that James is using Darfur like this. She could have had Grey arranging donations to real-life charities that fans could learn about and maybe donate to as well. But no, charities are below Grey, and so she uses a real-life, tragic situation to try to make her abusive asshole of a
herozero look of so caring even while showing how little he’s emotionally invested in it when there’s a vagina on legs that he hasn’t penetrated nearby.
They leave, and he grabs the car keys (yeah, about that valet…), and then we get that scene the movie fluffed up for promotion. In the elevator.
I want her.
In the elevator.
“Oh, fuck the paperwork.” The words come from nowhere and on instinct I grab her and push her against the wall. Clasping both her hands, I pin them above her head so she can’t touch me, and once she’s secure, I twist my other hand in her hair while my lips seek and find hers.
Yeah, about all that. On instinct? INSTINCT? How deranged do you have you be that your instinct is to just take what you want of another person’s body?
When was the last time I lost control?
Three men in business suits give us knowing looks as they join us.
And I stare at the poster that’s above the buttons in the elevator advertising a sensual weekend at The Heathman. I glance at Ana and exhale.
And my lips twitch once more.
What the fuck has she done to me?
Ignoring the part about those “knowing looks” which would, in reality, be either glares or those men openly ignoring what they just interrupted, I don’t like how he’s blaming Ana for his lack of self-control. As for when the last time he lost control, that’s happened several times. No, actually, he hasn’t lost control. He still hasn’t. Grey sees. Grey wants. Grey takes, and nothing you can say will stop him.
They reach the car, and James ruins another classical song for me. Delibes’s “Flower Duet” plays in the car, and I’ll bet anything James looked up some songs to sound all impressive. I grey up on this stuff, know what that song is, and fuck her for ruining it. A lot of stupid fans praise her for the music mentioned in these books, but she has nothing to do with them. Fifty Shades of Grey: The Classical Album, is just a compilation of classics, most which aren’t even named in these books. She’s making money off of someone else’s work, just like she did with Stephenie Meyer. Even this stupid Grey book is a stolen idea. It’s a rip on Midnight Sun, which is Twilight from Edward’s perspective. James has nothing original in that thick skull of hers.
Grey drives down Jefferson to the Fremont Bridge, and then to I5 to go north to Vancouver. Input from a local: You aren’t going to take Jefferson to the Fremont bridge unless you like taking what is ultimately a longer way. The Fremont Bridge, going north, splits off into four different freeways, and is often low for it. The most direct way to Vancouver, taking Jefferson, is to take Jefferson, take a right on Park, right on Alder (lots of one-way roads), go over the Morrison Bridge, and the I5 entrance is right there. Buuuuut what do I know? I only live here, and am downtown four days a week, minimum.
Anyone ready for more filler? Too bad. Welsh calls with info on Jose’s background check, but Grey deflects it for the time being. Can’t piss off Ana yet. He calls Andrea, who tells him the NDA he wants Ana to sign has been sent.
Great. He’s got an office assistant involved in his sex life. Ana’s not paying attention. She’s admiring the scenery. What, the buildings? There really isn’t anything to admire, whether you take the longer Fremont way, or the typical Morrison.
Elliot calls and asks if his brother got laid, and somehow this doesn’t tip off Ana to Grey’s intentions.
I’ll spare you the rest. It’s no not relevant that I must be channeling the mythical 3-second goldfish brain since I forgot it all as soon as I read it. Now for some more disregard of Ana’s wishes, and creepiness.
“Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?” she asks.
“Because it’s your name.”
“I prefer Ana.”
“Do you, now?”
“Ana” is too everyday and ordinary for her. And too familiar. Those three letters have the power to wound…
And in that moment I know that her rejection, when it comes, will be hard to take. It’s happened before, but I’ve never felt this…invested. I don’t even know this girl, but I want to know her, all of her. Maybe it’s because I’ve never chased a woman.
Doesn’t matter what she wants. Nope. Only what he wants. He’s used to getting what he wants right away, whether that’s to pick a woman’s name, which many of us connect with our identities, or their bodies. His investment is some stalking. Even he admits he doesn’t know her.
He does tell her nothing will happen again that isn’t “premeditated,” which makes what happens in two nights that much worse.
Once they get to Ana’s apartment, they walk in, and Kate’s visibly relieved.
Kavanagh jumps up and gives me a critical once-over as she hugs Ana.
What did she think I was going to do to the girl?
I know what I’d like to do to her…
Kate was thinking you were going to do what you almost did, that think you want to do to her right now.
“Miss Kavanagh.” And what I want to say is something sarcastic about how she’s finally showing some interest in her friend, but I hold my tongue.
“Christian, her name is Kate,” Elliot says with mild irritation.
Maybe it’s just me, but that sounds like Grey disregarding what people want to be called is a normal thing for him, which makes him ruder.
Also “finally”? “FINALLY”?! She’d been texting all morning trying to check up on Ana, and it was only when Elliot texted did you respond!
Grey and Elliot leave, and Elliot tries to tease his uptight brother. Before the time-skip, Grey gets in a pot-shot at his mother.
I envy my brother: his ease with women, his ability to sleep…and the fact that he’s not the son of a bitch.
Get over it, Grey. Every memory you have of your mother was her being affectionate, making you cake, trying to protect you. That reeeaaally sounds like a bitch to me. You want a bitch? Take my mother. I’d gladly trade you for yours.