Fifty Shames of Earl Grey: A Parody

realize that might be too forward, so instead I say, “Black.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I mean, not that I exclusively like black men,” I say. “I like other kinds of tea. And men.”
“Have you ever tasted . . . white tea, Anna?”
Oh my. “I’ve never heard of it,” I say.
“White tea is a lightly oxidized tea grown and harvested almost exclusively in China, primarily in the Fujian province,” he says. “White tea comes from the delicate buds and younger leaves of the Chinese Camellia sinensis plant. These buds and leaves are allowed to wither in natural sunlight before they are lightly processed to prevent oxidation.”
Wow. “Where does the name ‛white tea’ come from?”
“It derives from the fine silvery-white hairs on the unopened buds of the tea plant, which gives the plant a whitish appearance,” he says, sipping his coffee.
“How do you know all of this?”
He pulls his BlackBerry out, opens an app, and pushes the device across the table to me. A web page is open to the “White tea” entry at Wikipedia. I read a few lines, and realize he just quoted the article word for word to me. “You copied Wikipedia! Even I know not to do that,” I say. “My professors are always warning us about what an unreliable source that is.”
“Your professors are idiots, Anna.”
“So you weren’t just reciting this article word for word?”
“Who do you think wrote the article, Anna?”
Woah. This guy writes for the Internet!
Earl takes the BlackBerry from me and stashes it back into his velour sweatpants pocket. He sips his coffee.
“Why did you ask me out, Mr. Grey? I don’t think I’m your type of girl.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “And how would you know my ‛type,’ Anna?”
I shrug. “I saw the kind of girls you hire: tall, blond hair, well dressed.”
“So, based on a couple of receptionists who happen to look a certain way, out of the billion employees who work for me, you think you know my type?”
“I may have made a generalization there,” I admit.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions,” he says. “For instance, if I had assumed Jin was your boyfriend, I may not have asked you out today.”
“How do you know about Jin?”
“I had your duplex outfitted with a surveillance system,” Earl says.
Gulp.
“He’s just a friend,” I say. “We’ve never dated or anything.”
“That’s good to know,” Earl says.
I sip my tea. Earl pulls a banana out of his pocket and peels it with his long fingers. “Want some?”
“No thank you,” I say. So we’re down to just one banana in his pants.
“Do I intimidate you, Anna?” he says.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you seem nervous around me. You sound much more relaxed on the surveillance tapes I’ve watched.”
I sigh heavily. “Yes, I’m a little nervous. I’ve never had a boyfriend, let alone a billionaire CEO stalker flying me around in his private helicopter and holding my hand and buying me tea.”
“You’re a mystery to me, baby,” he says, biting the tip off the banana.
I blush. “Oh, stop.”
“No, it’s true,” he says. “I have no idea what’s going on inside that pretty little head of yours . . .”
“To be honest, I have no idea either,” I say, looking down at the table to avoid his powerful gaze. “Most times, my mind is just an ongoing, present-tense, first-person monologue. It’s like I’m writing a novel, constantly, but only in my brain. A really bad novel.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No,” I say.
“I knew that,” he says. “We’re both only children. Are your parents still together?”
“No, they’re—”
“Divorced?” he says, finishing my sentence. “I knew that as well.”
I eye him suspiciously. “You’re a strange man, Mr. Grey.”
“You have no idea,” he says, finishing his banana off.
“Then why play twenty questions?”
“You interviewed me. I don’t think I finished . . . probing you,” Earl says, sipping his coffee.
“Probe away,” I say, deliberately trying to shock the mighty Earl Grey. I succeed, because he accidentally spits his coffee out all over my face. Oh my.
“Sorry,” he says, using a napkin to wipe me down. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Sure,” I say.
He takes me by the hand and we leave Starbucks together. Are we going steady? This is all happening so fast! I ask him if he has a girlfriend.
“I’m not a ‛girlfriend’ kind of guy,” he says.
Okay, so he’s not a “girlfriend” kind of guy. And he’s not gay. Or is he? He said he wasn’t gay as in “happy,” but he never explicitly said anything about not being homosexual. I’m trying to decode what he means, but the words keep bouncing around in my head like a broken magic eight ball, the answer never surfacing.
I step onto the sidewalk and trip over a homeless guy, flying headfirst into the street. Damn my clumsiness!
“Look out, Anna!” Earl screams. He pulls me back with both hands just as a hipster on a unicycle zips by, narrowly missing me by inches.
One minute I was walking along, happy to be alive—and the next, my life was flashing before my eyes. I’m not that interesting, so the slideshow of my life was painfully dull and mercifully short, but still. I was almost crushed to death by a hipster with a twirly mustache. Now Earl Grey is cradling me in his arms, and I feel like I’ve been born again. Like I have a second chance at life. I sniff him, and inhale his manly scent: Coconut Lime Breeze body wash from Bath & Body Works’ Signature Collection. It retails for $12.50. This guy sure knows his body washes.
“My God, Anna,” he says. “I almost lost you.” He has me in his powerful grip. I’ve never felt this safe before.
“Never let go,” I say, looking into his beautiful gray eyes.
“That could be problematic,” he says. “I’ll have to let you go at some point. What if I have to pee? What if you have to pee?”
“I don’t care,” I say.
“What if I have an important business meeting, and I’m holding you and we’re both covered in