Chapter Twenty-Two
I am manicured, massaged, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne. The first-class lounge has many redeeming features. With each sip of Moet, I feel slightly more inclined to forgive Christian and his intervention. I open my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Over-Extravagant Gestures
To: Christian Grey
Dear Mr. Grey,
What really alarms me is how you knew which flight I was on.
Your stalking knows no bounds. Let’s hope that Dr. Flynn is back from vacation.
I have had a manicure, a back massage, and two glasses of champagne—a very nice start to my vacation.
Thank you.
Ana
From: Christian Grey
Subject: You’re Most Welcome
Date: May 30 2011 21:59
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
Dr. Flynn is back, and I have an appointment next week.
Who was massaging your back?
Christian Grey
CEO with Friends in the Right Places, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Aha! Payback time. Our flight has been called, so I shall email him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee.
There is so much room in first class. Champagne cocktail in hand, I settle myself into the sumptuous leather window seat as the cabin slowly fills. I call Ray to tell him where I am—a mercifully brief call, as it’s so late for him.
“Love you, Dad,” I murmur.
“You, too, Annie. Say hi to your mom. Good night.”
“Good night.” I hang up.
Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac, and with the same childish glee building, I open my laptop and open up my email.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Strong Able Hands
Date: May 30 2011 22:22
To: Christian Grey
Dear Sir,
A very pleasant young man massaged my back.
Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge—so thank you again for that treat.
I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to email once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I’ve not been sleeping so well recently.
Pleasant dreams, Mr. Grey…thinking of you.
Ana
Oh, he’s going to flip out—and I shall be airborne and out of reach.
Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge, then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me.
He was a very nice young man, in a blond, perma-tanned way—honestly, who has a tan in Seattle?
It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay—but I’ll just keep that detail to myself.
I stare at my email. Kate is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him.
My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth.
Do you really want to wind him up? What he’s done is sweet, you know!
He cares about you and wants you to travel in style.
Yes, but he could have asked me or told me.
Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in.
I press send and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl.
“Miss Steele, you’ll need to stow your laptop for takeoff,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work.
“Oh, sorry.”
Crap. Now I’ll have to wait to know if he’s replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my knees. It’s nice to feel pampered sometimes.
First class has filled up, except for the seat beside me, which is still unoccupied.
Oh no… A disturbing thought crosses my mind.
Perhaps the seat is Christian’s. Oh shit.
No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? I told him I didn’t want him to come with me.
I glance anxiously at my watch, and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces, “Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.”
What does that mean? Are they closing the doors?
My scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation.
The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin.
The plane jolts as it pulls away from the gate, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too—no Christian for four days. I take a peek at my BlackBerry.
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Enjoy It While You Can
Date: May 30 2011 22:25
To: Anastasia Steele
Dear Miss Steele,
I know what you’re trying to do—and trust me, you’ve succeeded. Next time you’ll be in the cargo hold, bound and gagged in a crate. Believe me when I say that attending to you in that state will give me so much more pleasure than merely upgrading your ticket.
I look forward to your return.
Christian Grey
Palm-Twitching CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Holy crap. That’s the problem with Christian’s humor—I can never be sure if he’s joking or if he’s seriously angry. I suspect on this occasion he’s seriously angry. Surreptitiously, so the flight attendant can’t see, I type a reply under the blanket.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Joking?
Date: May 30 2011 22:30
To: Christian Grey
You see, I have no idea if you’re joking—and if you’re not, then I think I’ll stay in Georgia. Crates are a hard limit for me. Sorry I made you mad. Tell me you forgive me.
A
From: Christian Grey
Subject: Joking
Date: May 30 2011 22:31
To: Anastasia Steele
How can you be emailing? Are you risking the life of everyone on board, including yourself, by using your BlackBerry? I think that contravenes one of the rules.
Christian Grey
Two Palms Twitching CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Inc.
Two palms! I put my BlackBerry away, sit back while the plane taxis to the runway, and pull out my tattered copy of Tess—some light reading for the journey. Once we’re airborne, I tip my seat back, and soon I’m drifting off to sleep.
The flight attendant wakes me as we start our descent into Atlanta.
Local time is 5:45 a.m., but I’ve only had four hours’ sleep or so.
I feel groggy but grateful for the glass of orange juice she hands me.
I glance nervously at my BlackBerry. There are no further emails from Christian.
Well, it’s nearly three in the morning in Seattle, and he probably wants to discourage me from screwing up the avionics system or whatever prevents planes from flying if mobile phones are switched on.
The wait in Atlanta is only an hour. And again I’m luxuriating in the confines of the first-class lounge.
I am tempted to curl up and go to sleep on one of the plush, inviting couches that sink softly under my weight.
But it will just not be long enough. To keep myself awake, I start a long stream-of-consciousness email to Christian on my laptop.
From: Anastasia Steele
Subject: Do you like to scare me?
Date: May 31 2011 06:52 ET
To: Christian Grey
You know how much I dislike you spending money on me.
Yes, you’re very rich, but still it makes me uncomfortable, like you’re paying me for sex.
However, I like traveling first class, it’s so much more civilized than coach.
So thank you. I mean it—and I did enjoy the massage from Jean-Paul.
He was very gay. I omitted that bit in my email to you to wind you up, because I was annoyed with you, and I’m sorry about that.
But as usual you overreact. You can’t write things like that to me—bound and gagged in a crate.
(Were you serious or was it a joke?) That scares me…
You scare me… I am completely caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn’t even know existed until last week, and then you write something like that and I want to run screaming into the hills.
I won’t, of course, because I’d miss you.
Really miss you. I want us to work, but I am terrified of the depth of feeling I have for you and the dark path you’re leading me down.
What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I’m curious, but I’m also scared you’ll hurt me—physically and emotionally.
After three months you could say goodbye, and where will that leave me if you do?
But then I suppose that risk is there in any relationship.
This just isn’t the sort of relationship I ever envisaged having, especially as my first. It’s a huge leap of faith for me.
You were right when you said I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body…and I agree with you now. Having said that, I want to be with you, and if that’s what I have to do, I would like to try, but I think I’ll suck at it and end up black and blue—and I don’t relish that idea at all.
I am so happy you have said you will try more. I just need to think about what “more” means to me, and that’s one of the reasons why I wanted some distance. You dazzle me so much I find it very difficult to think clearly when we’re together.
They are calling my flight. I have to go.
More later.
Your Ana
I press send and make my way sleepily to the departure gate to board a different plane. This one has only six seats in first class, and once we are in the air, I curl up under my soft blanket and fall asleep.
All too soon, I’m woken by the flight attendant offering me more orange juice as we begin our approach to Savannah International.
I sip slowly, beyond fatigued, and I allow myself to feel a modicum of excitement.
I’m going to see my mother for the first time in six months.
Sneaking another covert look at my BlackBerry, I remember vaguely that I sent a long, rambling email to Christian—but there’s nothing in response.
It’s five in the morning in Seattle; hopefully he’s still asleep and not up playing mournful laments on his piano.
The beauty of carry-on rucksacks is that one can breeze out of the airport and not wait endlessly for baggage at the carousels. The beauty of traveling first class is that they let you off the plane first.