“What are you doing?” I squeeze the words out.
It’s tightening its hold on me.
Don’t touch me.
This was how it was.
Always.
Me fighting my fear as she laid her hands on me.
“Don’t touch me.” I withdraw my hand from hers.
She pales and frowns, her eyes on mine. “Isn’t this what you want?”
“No!”
“That’s not why you’re here?”
“No, Elena. No. I haven’t thought about you like that for years.” I shake my head, wondering how she could have so badly misread my intentions, but my thoughts aren’t as clear as they should be. “I love my wife,” I whisper.
Ana.
Elena studies me, her formerly pale cheeks reddening with wine or embarrassment or both. She frowns and looks down at the table. “I’m sorry,” she mutters.
Apology number three.
My cup runneth over.
“I don’t know…what came over me.” She laughs—but her laughter is loud, forced. “I have to go.” She gathers her purse. “Christian, I wish you and your wife well.” She stops and looks me squarely in the eye. “I miss you, though. More than you know.”
“Good-bye, Elena.”
“The way you say that has a finality about it.”
I don’t answer her.
She nods. “It would be difficult. I get it. I’m glad you came to see me. I think we’ve cleared the air.”
Have we? Cleared the air about what? Us? There is no us.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Lincoln.” I know it’s the last time I’ll ever say these words to her.
She nods. “Good luck, Christian Grey.” She slides out of the booth. “It was good to see you. I hope whatever it is that’s bothering you sorts itself out. I’m sure it will. If it’s about being a dad, you’ll do great.” She tosses her sleek hair over her shoulder and exits the bar without a backward glance, leaving me with a half-empty bottle of pinot noir and an uneasy feeling of guilt.
I want to go home.
To Ana.
Shit.
I put my head in my hands. Ana will be mad as hell when I get home.
Grabbing the bottle and my glass, I head toward the bar to settle my tab. There’s a stool free, so I sit down and replenish my glass.
Waste not, want not.
I nurse my drink. Slowly.
Hell. I hate it when Ana’s mad at me. If I go home now, I may say something else I’ll regret. Besides, I’ve had too much to drink, and I don’t think Ana’s ever seen me drunk. Of course, I’ve seen her drunk—that first night I slept with her at The Heathman, and the night of her bachelorette party…
Her words float through my slow, intoxicated brain.
Are you going to punish me?
Punish you?
For getting so drunk. A punishment fuck. You can do anything you want to me.
Stop. Grey.
I wonder when she got pregnant.
On our honeymoon? In our bed? In the Red Room?
Fuck…
Junior.
We’ll need a fucking minivan.
Will he have Ana’s blue eyes? My temper? Shit. My glass is empty. I refill it, finishing the bottle.
There will be hell to pay if Ana ever finds out I’ve had a drink with Elena. She loathes Elena.
Christian—if that were your son, how would you feel?
Oh, Ana, Ana, Ana.
I don’t want to think about that.
Not now. It’s too raw and too painful.
I need oblivion.
I want to forget who I am, and how I’ve behaved.
The way I used to…before…everything.
Before Mrs. Robinson.
The barman looks my way.
“Bourbon, please.”
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
We’re here.” The driver turns and flashes me a wide big-toothed grin.
“Wha?” I’m in a car… A cab. My face is pressed against cool glass. My head is spinning. Shit. Closing one eye, I squint up at the building we’re parked outside. The brass lantern beckons bright in the darkness.
“Escala?” the driver says.
“Oh. Yeah.” From my inside pocket I fumble for my wallet and paw through the notes. I hand one to the cabdriver and hope it’s enough.
“Wow! Thanks!”
I open the car door and fall onto the sidewalk.
“Fuck.”
“You okay?” he calls.
“Yeah.” I lay there for a second, staring up at the night sky, waiting for the world to stop spinning. It’s clear and there are a few stars shining down, winking at me. It’s peaceful.
I’m lying on the sidewalk.
Get up, Grey.
A man looms over me, blotting out the light from the lantern, and for a moment a chill grips my heart. “Here.” He offers me his hand.
Oh, he’s here to help… Cab guy? Maybe. He hauls me to my feet.
“One too many, eh?”
“Yeah. More than one. I think.” I make a half-assed attempt to brush myself down, and the driver climbs back into his car. Turning around, I start to sway and use forward momentum to stagger into the building and over to the elevator. I’ll be okay if I can just get to bed. The elevator doors open and I stumble inside. I punch in the code…the elevator doesn’t move.
I try again.
Nothing.
Hell.
One more time.
I close one eye and jab at the buttons. That does the trick! The doors slide shut and the elevator hums, indicating some movement on its part… Wait, no—everything is moving. I lean against the wall and close my eyes to stop the spinning. The ping sounds. I’m here! I open my eyes and stumble out into the foyer.
Fuck. I bump into something.
Who the hell moved the foyer table?
“Shit!” Placing my hands on the table, I steady myself, but it fucking moves again, the scraping sound grating on what’s left of my nerves.
“Shit!” I make it to the double doors.
“Christian, are you okay?”
I look up, and there she is, dressed like a goddess on the silver screen.