Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody

some of the finest malt liquor to celebrate, bitches,” he says. He’s always calling Kathleen and me “bitches,” but we all know that Kathleen’s the only B in the duplex.
Although Jin and I are just friends, I’m pretty sure he wants us to be “more” than friends. I don’t see him that way—he’s more like a brother from another mother. He’s tried to kiss me on more than one occasion, but I’ve always deflected his advances. Both my mom and Kathleen tease me about not having a sexual bone in my body, but that’s not true—there’s one bone I’d like to have in my body, and it’s attached to Mr. Earl Grey . . .
Jin unscrews the cap off the Olde English and pours the beer into three red plastic Solo cups. As he does this, I notice his tanned skin, neatly cropped dark hair, and bulging muscles. He looks up at me, grinning. I smile back, weakly, wondering if he’ll ever stop trying to put his grabby hands on me. Probably not—Jin is the third wheel on this Anna Steal–Earl Grey bicycle built for two.

Chapter Four
I’M WORKING a full eight-hour shift at Walmart on Saturday. My boss assigns me to the cash registers all day. I can’t think of any better motivation for passing my final exams and graduating than the thought of working here for the rest of my life.
By the fourth hour of scanning and bagging diapers and cigarettes, I’m in such a daze that I don’t realize the customer in front of me is none other than Earl Grey! He is dressed in a gray velour sweat suit that compliments his eyes. I didn’t think it was possible for him to look any yummier than he did in his business suit, but damn.
“Hello, Miss Steal,” he says, gazing at me gazingly with his gazing gray eyes.
“Mr. Grey!”
He slides a Nickelback CD toward me, which I scan. “I happened to be in the area and here you are,” he says. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Did you, um, find everything that you were looking for today?” I mutter, bagging the CD. Earl Grey is smiling again like the big bad wolf who wants to eat me. And boy, do I want him to eat my—
“Actually, no,” he says, cutting off my internal monologue. “There were a few things I couldn’t find on my own. Could you help me out?” His voice is cool and gritty like a Wendy’s Frosty, and my mind momentarily goes blank.
I shake my head to gather my thoughts. Like a magic eight ball, a thought pops up for me. “Signs point to yes,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, yes. Of course I can help you.”
There’s a line of fifteen people behind him, but how can I resist that voice? I turn my lane’s light off. I can hear groans from the customers who have been waiting in line, but there are three other cashiers working. There’s only one Earl Grey.
He hands me his shopping list and I lead him through the store in search of the items. Duct tape ? Plastic wrap ? A hacksaw? Who is this guy, Dexter? I lead him toward the aisle with tape, and it takes all of my available mental capacity to concentrate on walking. Left foot, right foot, left foot . . . right foot?
“Shoot, we forgot your CD,” I say.
He waves a hand. “I have ten copies of it at home anyway,” he says. This guy throws money around like a monkey throws crap.
“So what are you doing here in Portland? Business?” I ask him.
“Pleasure,” he says. I feel my womb instinctively heat up, preparing itself to incubate our babies.
I stop. “Here’s the aisle with tape.”
“Thank you, Miss Steal,” he says. He picks up the most expensive brand, which runs $3.99 a roll. This guy is a total baller.
“You like to live large,” I say.
“Does that impress you, Miss Steal?”
I blush. “I’ve never known anyone with so much money,” I say. “That came out totally wrong. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, grinning. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“That I have a lot of money.”
I nod. “Can I ask what you’re doing at Walmart? I mean, you can afford to shop anywhere.”
He laughs. “Oh, Miss Steal. I love your honesty. It’s so refreshing. Usually the only women I meet are sycophantic to the point of revulsion. Not you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say.
“As you should. Now to answer your question: Why would one of the world’s wealthiest men shop at Walmart? For one thing, Walmart has the lowest prices around.”
I don’t want to offend him, but I might as well say what I’m thinking. “It’s just a little . . . low class. If I had your money, I’d shop at Target.”
“I’m not your average billionaire,” he says.
I smile. “No, you’re certainly not, Mr. Grey.”
He flashes that wicked smile of his at me. “Take your finger out of your nose, Miss Steal.”
“Sorry,” I say, pulling my finger out.
“It’s okay,” Earl says. “Care to join me for coffee?”
My heart pounds inside my chest, pumping blood to my organs. Because that’s what hearts do. Is Earl Grey asking me out on a date? “When?”
“Now,” he says.
“My shift isn’t over until six,” I say glumly.
“Hold on,” he says. He pulls a BlackBerry from his pants pocket and taps on it. It buzzes, and he taps on it again before stashing it away. “I think you can take the rest of the afternoon off.”
“We’re so busy on Saturdays. I really can’t—my boss would kill me,” I say.
“I’m your boss now, Miss Steal.”
“What do you mean?”
There’s that smile again, the one with all those teeth. “I just bought Walmart,” he says.
“The whole company? Just so I could take the afternoon off to get coffee with you?”
“Yes, Miss Steal,” he says. “Now take off that ugly blue smock and let’s go.”
He’s so confident and forceful, unlike any boyfriend I’ve ever had. Well, he’s not my boyfriend, and I haven’t ever had a boyfriend, but you know