Fifty Shades Effed (4 page)

Wow!

My eyes water with delight. She’s stunning. Eric hands her off to me, and we begin the quick ceremony. We exchange vows we’ve written for each other, slide rings over fingers, and share our first kiss as wife and husband. Our guests applaud as we turn and wave.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion on the beach. Two military Jeeps approach and stop at the base of the platform. A helicopter appears and begins circling above us.

“What’s this?” I ask Bea.

“I’m not sure, but I have an idea who it might be.”

As the helicopter approaches, blowing sand, I notice a name written on the side: Chunky Salsa, or something.
Who names his fucking bird? Only the most pretentious of asses.
The copter lands, and Chris emerges with a bodyguard. They approach us. The bodyguard hands an envelope to Bea as I glare at Chris.

“Ma’am, this is a wedding gift from my boss.”

She opens it and reads the notice within, as she turns pale.

“What is it?”

“An eviction notice. Chris bought the Hyatt. I have ten days to move.”

Chapter Twelve

Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. – Confucius

“May I see that?” I request. Bea hands me the notice. I look at it briefly, then sneeze into it, and crumble it like a tissue. “I’m sorry, I’m allergic to fuckwads. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, the missus and I have a life to attend to—a life with lots of love, sex, and children, regardless of our financial situation.”

Chris smirks at me, then he and his bodyguard leave. Grandma and Eric are first to console Bea.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” Grandma explains. “I tried everything to block him, but we’re too far behind and the bank insisted.”

“At least we’ll have the proceeds from the sale, right?” Bea asks.

“Actually, there
are
no proceeds. It was a short sale,” Grandma laments. “I’m being tossed out as well. We’ll both be homeless for a bit.”

“Nobody’s going to be homeless. I have plenty of room at my place. I’d be honored to have two guests to try my recipes on.”

“He does make a mean French toast,” Grandma remarks.

“I’ll prepare a chore list for each of you, and we’ll discuss your allowances.”

Bea smiles, finally.

“Hey, let’s deal with this tomorrow,” I suggest. “It will work out.”

“I know, husband. Eric and I have been working on a project that should solve this predicament,” Bea recovers.

“Husband. I like the sound of that, wife,” I assure Bea. I hold her face between my hands, wipe the tears with my thumbs, and kiss her. “Let’s save what’s left of the day and have fun with our guests.”

The sunset reception is wonderful, but Chris floats around the back of my mind. When I visit the bar to freshen my bourbon, Eric joins me.

“So, Eric, tell me about this project you’re working on.”

“Not yet, Mormon. We need a few more commitments. You’ll be blown away, if we can pull this off.”

“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I will.”

“I don’t want my expectant wife to stress over this.”

“Agreed. She’s a strong woman. She’ll be fine.”

“Cool. What are you drinking?”

“Lemon drop.”

“Refreshing!”

When we sit for dinner, I tease Bea about her dress.

“That was a great fucking idea, right there. You have no idea the butterflies you gave me when you came through that door.”

“Aw. I’m so glad you like it.”

“We do need to find an air vent, though, so we can have the true Marilyn effect.”

“Hm, can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not wearing underwear.”

“None?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a thong?”

“Commando,” she insists as she slides my hand from her knee to her sexiness.

“Here comes the bride ... again,” I tease.

We agree to postpone our honeymoon until after we deal with the move. There must be a way to extract Chris from our lives. Our wedding night in the suite is memorable and exhausting. Although the bed is cushy, Lovergirl insists we do it on a wooden chair because “we haven’t done that yet.” I’ll never say no to love, regardless of the playing surface. Still, my sore ass wishes I would be more discerning.

Chapter Thirteen

Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me and be my friend forever. – George Fox

It was a difficult night to sleep through with the crazy wedding day we had. Bea is up before me, as usual. She pokes me with a hockey stick to wake me.

“Hey!”

“Get out of bed, husband. We’re going to the Ice Arena. I need to blow off some steam.”

“Did you just poke me with a stick?”

She jabs me again.

“Let’s go. Move it!”

“Jesus. Really? And, why do you have a hockey stick with you here, in our honeymoon suite?”

“I don’t leave home without it.”

“Ugh.”

I drag my groggy butt out from under the soft sheets, and slide into board shorts, flip flops, and a T-shirt.

“Ready.”

“You’re going to skate in that?”

“It’s all I have. I wasn’t planning on a morning on ice.”

“OK, then.”

We jump into the Jeep and head to the skating arena. I hate ice skating because I suck at it. In fact, I can’t think of anything I suck at that I enjoy. That’s why I hate golf too: I suck at it, I don’t want to invest the time to suck less, so I don’t golf. Well, this is marriage. A man has to learn to compromise, or he’s going to ride a lonely sofa into the sunset.

At the arena, we strap on skates. Yes, I look ridiculous and I’m half asleep so I don’t fucking care.

“Why do we need hockey sticks?” I ask, fearing the worst.

“It’s time for Olympic event number four. Canada needs a boost, and I’m pretty confident we can even the medal count with this event.”

“All right, hoser, bring it! I predict Italy clinches the series this morning.”

We carry our sticks out to the ice. Bea reaches behind the boards, grabs two pucks, and flips them out onto the ice.

“Now what?” I ask while stretching my hamstrings, which ache in anticipation.

“We race around the arena. The first one to skate with the puck around each net three times wins.”

“Can’t we just have sex in the penalty box or something?”

“Maybe.”

“Yes! I forfeit.”

“Not so fast. If you beat me, we’ll do it in the penalty box.”

“You hear that, Pippino? Daddy’s getting lucky on ice again.”

“Ready? Set? Go!”

She takes off. I manage to fall on my face in two strides. I struggle back to my feet, as I see Bea’s lovely butt wiggle, while she kicks up ice shavings.
I’m hosed.
Before I make it around the first net, she has already cleared the second and is threatening to lap me. She catches me in no time and knocks my stick from my hands as she passes me. Players make it look so easy: You drop your stick, you bend over, you pick it up, you keep skating. I bend over and fall. I get up on one knee, grab the stick, get up, and fall backward, as she approaches to pass me again.

This time I hold my stick tightly. I make it halfway to the second net as she scoots by, throwing a hip into me, which sends the stick and me flying. She steals my puck and fires it into the net behind me as she whips around the final time. I helplessly sit on my clumsy ass as she finishes the third lap and slides to a halt, spraying me with an ice shower from her skates.

“Canada two, Italy two.”

“Feel better?” I ask, as I crawl to the boards, and pull myself up.

“I do actually.”

“OK. Now let’s get out of here and figure out what we’re going to do about this Chris situation.”

“Not so fast. Get in that penalty box, mister. I’m not done blowing off steam.”

Sometimes the silver isn’t so bad.

Molto bene!

Chapter Fourteen

People with goals succeed because they know where they are going. – Earl Nightingale

We manage to move most of Bea’s and Grandma’s belongings into storage, except some knickknacks and furniture they insist upon to make my place less of a bachelor pad. They also request I remove the plastic fruit and stop using my kitchen nook as a giant mailbox.

“What’s this contraption?” Grandma asks as she and Bea survey my space.

“A foosball table. Wanna play?”

“I think it would look better in the garage,” Bea suggests.

“Oh, definitely,” Grandma agrees. “This space needs an antique chaise lounge with a side table and decorative lamp.”

“Fine. Can I at least keep the poker table?”

“Well,” Bea considers, “perhaps we could make use of that.”

The three of us catch
Fox 5 News
while sipping our morning stimulant. The special guest they have on this morning is none other than his dickiness, Chris.

Host: How are your renovations coming along?

Chris: We’re nearly finished with the first phase. As you know, I was the chief architect on the guestroom redesign back in January, and now that I own the building, I plan to return the site to the splendor it once was. The Grey Towers will once again be the crown jewel of San Diego.

Host: That’s exciting.

Chris: Indeed. We’re making the resort more family friendly as well. If I may, I’d like to invite your viewers to an open house and ribbon cutting event we’re hosting on Friday. Bring the kids, as we’ll have a bounce house and other fun activities for them. There will be tours of the redesigned suites and pool deck, and complementary beverages.

A light bulb, while slightly dim in my advanced years, sparks to life in my mind.

“Ugh, he’s disgusting,” Bea reacts.

“Say, do either of you have any contacts at Fox?” I ask.

“I think Eric is good friends with one of their reporters, Matt,” Bea suggests.

“Perfect. See if Eric can put me in touch with him. I have an idea.”

“Let’s hear it,” Grandma insists.

“Let me hash it out a bit more, then I’ll run it by you both. Oh, I also need a clown costume.”

“You’re scaring me,” Bea laughs.

“Good!”

Bea leaves for the office, and Grandma visits the farmer’s market while I write a few more blog entries and work on my plan of vengeance. I call my buddy, Jeff.

“Dude, do you still coach that Little League team?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“What ages?”

“Eleven and twelve.”

“Perfect. I’m going to rent a bus and take the team to the open house of the former Hyatt. I’ll try to get my new pal, Trevor Hoffman, to speak.”

“Sounds fun. When is it?”

“Friday at six. Let’s all meet at the La Costa Park & Ride at five.”

“I’ll start contacting parents.”

“Excellent.”

That arrogant prick is going down.

Chapter Fifteen

Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars. – Les Brown

On the day of my uprising, I pick up my clown costume, makeup, and a large banner. I take it all to Bea’s office so she can put my face on. Eric greets me as I enter.

“How are you, Mormon?”

“Insanity in progress, and today should prove it. Make sure you watch the news tonight. Did you get in contact with Matt from Fox?”

“You bet. Here’s his mobile. He said to text him when ready.”

“You are the man, Eric.”

“... but, I’ll play the woman, occasionally.”

“TMI.”

“Something looks different on you. Have you lost weight?”

“I shaved.”

“Ah, sexy.”

“Thank you.”

Bea greets me and we go into her office.
Ah, this is where the lovin’ started.

“OK, baby face, what are you up to?” she asks.

“I’d rather not say. This way, if my plot blows up, you won’t be implicated. But, if this goes as planned, Chris will get his comeuppance.”

“Ooh, you said ‘come.’”

“Behave. I need you to put this clown makeup on my face.”

“Hm, never had sex with a clown.”

“All right. Do this and my red nose and I will fuck you silly.”

“Yes!”

Bea does a great job making my face match my maniacal thoughts. Naturally, she mounts me the second I finish putting on the costume.

“Leave that zipper down, Uncle M. You promised.”

“All aboard, Lovergirl,” I demand.

The clown outfit is ridiculous: over-sized, white shoes, silver argyle socks, a black and white jumpsuit rolled up to my knees, a silver wig, and a black top hat. I hope I don’t cause any accidents on the way downtown.

When I arrive at the Park & Ride, most of the kids are already there, playing catch in the parking lot. I’m wisely armed with candy, which I hand out while greeting the kids. My friend, Jeff, doesn’t recognize me.

“Hi, did Mormon hire ... oh, Jesus.”

“What do you think?”

“You have completely lost your mind.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” I tease while I honk my toy horn.

The limo bus arrives and we climb aboard with fourteen kids all hyped up on sugar. We sing, dance, and tell fart jokes on the way to the Grey Towers. I send a text to Matt from Fox as we pull up.

Mormon: Hey, Matt. Please meet us on the second parking level underground. Look for the black limo bus.

Matt: On our way.

Mormon: Will you be able to use a live feed from there?

Matt: Won’t be a problem.

Mormon: Excellent.

When we arrive, I ask the kids to wait in the bus while I open the fun house. I pull the banner from my bag and stick it to the wall. It reads, “Grey’s Funhouse,” and has a big arrow, which points to the doorway. I pull out my iPhone and cross my fingers as I click the link. I hear the buzzing and unlatching.
Yes!
I open the door to the Blue Room.

“Come on in, kids!”