Fifty Shades Fatter - A Sequel (Fifty Shades of Neigh Book 2)

by Anna Roberts

  My mother sighs down the phone. “And you didn’t think to call me?”

  “I...I couldn’t. Not after I broke up with him. It was like I had a hole where my heart used to be. I sat there for five days. I didn’t eat or drink...”

  “...yes, honey. I know, I read Twilight: New Moon.”

  “It wasn’t like that!”

  “No. It was shorter. And there were no blank pages, but it was no less insanely dramatic.”

  “I can’t live without him!”

  “And there it is again. Hanna, have you considered the possibility that you may be co-dependent?”

  I always liked your mother.

  - Shut up, bitch.

  “I beg your pardon, young lady,” says my mother, in tones of pure ice.

  Oh crap. Did I just say that out loud? I sink down in my chair. The popcorn smell is ever stronger and I can hear kernels exploding in a nearby microwave. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I wasn’t talking to you...it was just my Inner...um...”

  “Your Inner what?”

  “Inner nothing. I have no Inner anything. No Inner Child. Nothing there. Not me. I’m empty.”

  “Hanna,” says my mother, her voice dripping with the kind of concern that I know means nothing good. “Have you been talking to the voices in your head again?”

  I sink so far down in my chair that I slide off it. I huddle underneath my desk and clutch the sweaty, tear-sodden phone to my ear. “Not voices,” I whisper. “Just...one voice.”

  tits

  - Shh.

  do not forsake me oh my darling...

  - Be quiet. Do you want her to find out about you as well?

  concur my armistice. i shall be as a dry frog henceforth.

  - Right. Thanks. I think.

  “I’ll be on the next flight,” says my mother.

  “No, really – we’re fine. That is to say, Crispian and me. We’re fine.”

  “You’re obviously not...”

  “No, I am. My life’s going great...”

  “...which is why you’re crying down a phone and you’ve packed the last two weeks with a break-up, a reconciliation, an engagement and a pregnancy scare. I know first heartbreak sucks, Poopkin – it really does. It hurts so bad you think you’re going to die...”

  “...I nearly did.”

  “You didn’t. You got a little dehydrated and I’m told there was some worry about bedsores if you kept it up, but you didn’t. You got over it.”

  “I had to. He wanted me back.”

  There is a long sigh. “Yeah,” says my mother, slowly.

  “I know I’m young, but I know my own mind. And you were young when you had me – and you didn’t regret it, did you?”

  My mother is silent for a while, probably overcome with emotion. Eventually she says “No. Guess not,” in a kind of breath-held voice and changes tone abruptly. “Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just...don’t do anything crazy, okay?”

  “Why would I do anything crazy? I’m sensible, dependable...”

  “...yeah, unfortunately self-awareness is not high on your list of virtues, baby. Hang tight. I do love you, you know.”

  “Okay, thank you. Bye,” I say, and hang up. Liz is louring over the desk at me.

  “Could I see you a moment, Hanna?” she says.

  Oh great. It’s almost five thirty. Please don’t let her ask me to stay late. Please.

  She looks worried. “Close the door,” she says. My heart is pounding in my ears now. Oh crap. I’m going to get fired. I know it.

  “Hanna,” she says. “The manuscript we gave you...”

  “I drew up the contract. Did I do something wrong?”

  “There was a leak,” says Liz. “Someone knew we were buying Sensual Music. Obviously repurposed Twilight fanfiction is big news and there was almost a bidding war for the manuscript.”

  “Oh. Is that bad?”

  “No.” She grins. “Because we’d already secured the rights. On your advice. I think Sensual Music is going to take us into the big leagues.”

  “Oh. I see.” I don’t.

  Liz takes off her glasses. “The reason I called you in here, Hanna, is that I’ve suspected for some time that you have a special gift.”

  “Okay,” I say, glancing at the clock.

  “There’s a kind of...legend....in the publishing business. You see, in every generation there is a chosen one – The One Who Knows. She is born with The Knowledge, knowledge that no other can learn. Sure, the guys down in marketing sacrifice enough yearling sheep in the hope of discovering the next big trend in publishing, but you may as well throw shit against a wall forever and pray some of it sticks. It’s like that for most of us, except for when The One Who Knows comes.”

  “That’s nice,” I say. It’s twenty-five minutes past. “Um...is this going to take long, because I...”

  “Hanna,” she says, leaping to her feet. “I think it’s you. I think you might be The One.”

  Oh crap. Not this again. “Er...I’m very flattered,” I murmur. “But I’m really not that way inclined.”

  Liz groans. “Have you even been listening to a word I’ve said for the last ten minutes?”

  “Yes. I’m not like all the other sheep.” I allow myself a small laugh. “Well, everyone knew that already, I’m sure.”

  Liz leans over the desk and grabs me by the front of my blouse. “It’s the fucking subplot, snowflake. Get it?”

  “No.”

  “Figures.”

  “Can I go now?”

  She slumps back and sighs. “Whatever. Just pick up the manuscripts Tim left on your desk. First four chapters of each. By Thursday at the latest, please.”

  There are no manuscripts on my desk and I decide that if he forgot to leave them there then I can always blame Timothy Grope. I want to get home. The desire to see Crispian again is like a burning ache. It’s going to be wonderful – just him and me again. And probably Kate and Jesús but if they get in the way we can always lock them in the sex dungeon.

  Just the thought of him is enough to make me weak at the knees. We can talk and look at each other and eat off-brand Cheetos and – of course – that. I can’t wait.

  When I get to my car I find the cat-eared girl sitting on the sidewalk. She looks crazy-eyed and even more bloated and dirty than before. She’s holding a cardboard sign that says ABANDONED SUBPLOT – PLS HELP. The sign is dusted with what might be glitter, but it’s hard to tell as the larger patches are stuck on with what is definitely nacho sauce.

  “Watashi wa baka ne,” she says, as she sees me.

  “I don’t know what you’re saying, so stop saying it at me.”

  “Desu ne gaijin.” She lumbers to her feet.

  “Go away.”

  She smells terrible. She grabs hold of my wrist and I feel the gritty rasp of glitter and filth under her fingers. “Where Crispian?” she says. “Where he?”

  “What?”

  She sighs and says in perfect English, “Where’s Crispian, you stupid bitch? You’re his girlfriend, right?”

  I shake her off and get into the car. I’m trembling as I put the key in the ignition and as I drive away I hear the heavy slap of her dirty ballet shoes as she attempts to run alongside. “You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I used to be? Come back, you asshole! I’m your last chance of a plooooooot...”

  I floor it.

  Chapter Nine

  The Perils of Poorly Written Apartments

  When I get back to the apartment everything is still a mess. “Don’t say a word,” says Kate, when I open my mouth to speak. “You would not believe the afternoon I’ve had. Either I’m tripping balls or I was mugged by a pack of bright orange midgets who kept singing songs about feeding me to the fucking squirrels.”

  “But did you find the vacuum cleaner?” I ask.

  “Nope. Jesús found the broom closet but there was nothing in it but a busted Roomba all clogged to fuck with Cheeto dust and a note from the cleaning lady that said
‘Pick up your own used condoms, shitface.’”

  “Is Crispian here?” My heart is all a flutter. I can’t wait to see his face once more.

  “Yeah. Somewhere. Or at least I think he is. As long as he hasn’t wandered back into Narnia again.”

  “Narnia?”

  “Second door on the left. Next to the guest bathroom.”

  I go into the great room and find Crispian sitting at the drawing board beside the window. He’s wearing the same suit as he was when he was arrested, which seems like a million years ago. “Hey toots,” he says, abruptly slamming the lid of the drawing board. “So here we are again.”

  I fly into his arms. He hugs me with one arm and awkwardly padlocks the lid with the other.

  “Why won’t you let me see inside your drawing board?” I murmur.

  “Because it’s a stone-obvious metaphor for my dark secrets and if I gave them away now we’d be even more boring than we are already,” he says. He blinks and rubs his temples. “Whoa. That was meta. Never done that before.”

  “Oh, my darling – what did they do to you in that terrible place?”

  “Meh. It wasn’t that bad. No worse than middle school. I’m gonna order a pizza. You want to get pizza?”

  I nod. I’m so happy to be back with him.

  My happiness is abruptly shattered when Ms. Robinson comes in, all legs and hair and breasts and things. “Sorry I was so long,” she says. “I went to find the restroom but all I found was a transvestite riding a lion.”

  A door opens behind her and Jesús steps out, wearing four inch patent leather heels and Kate’s hot pink babydoll pajamas. “Shh,” he says. “Nobody’s supposed to know about the rides – Aslan only gives them to those who are pure of heart.”

  “Good to know,” says Ms. Handbasket, and sashays to the couch. She opens her briefcase and takes out some papers. “Crispian, these are your bail conditions. Learn them, love them, recite them from memory. Break them and you make my job a whole lot more difficult and your own life a lot more unpleasant.”

  Oh. So it’s Crispian now, is it? “Thank you for your help, Ms. Robinson,” I say, keeping my voice as light as possible.

  She frowns for a moment then flashes me an unconvincing smile. “You’re welcome.” She turns back to Crispian. “Are your family not coming to meet you?”

  I. Hate. This. Bitch.

  I throw myself on the couch between them, almost landing in Crispian’s lap. “He has issues,” I elaborate. “Family issues. Deep, dark, mother issues that only I can fix. Get it?”

  Helena Handbasket nods. “Loud and clear, Ms. Squeal,” she says, and stands up. “Don’t try anything, Crispian,” she adds. “I’m warning you. Any funny business and you know what will happen.”

  He nods. “I know.”

  She tramps out on her five-inch heels. “Hot,” says Jesús. “I like a dominant woman.”

  “Good,” says Kate, landing an audible smack on the back of his bare thigh. “Now go fix the Roomba.”

  Crispian peers up from the couch. “Oh, yeah – that. It’s...”

  “...clogged with Cheeto dust. Yeah. We know.”

  “Off-brand Cheeto dust. For some reason they taste better than the brand name. Pass me the phone, honey – you want to get pizza?”

  Kate frowns at him. “My name’s Kate,” she says. “And the last thing you need is more carbs. Fucking get off the couch and get it yourself.”

  Crispian shakes his head and rolls up the leg of his pants. “Can’t,” he says, indicating a lumpy ankle bracelet. “I’m electronically tagged. I can’t move from the spot.”

  I gasp. Oh my God. “But that’s...”

  “Bullshit,” adds Kate. “That’s not how they work. They go off when you try to leave the apartment, not the couch.”

  I hand him the phone. I can’t take this in. How are we supposed to get married when he won’t leave the couch? How are we even supposed to...you know...if he can’t walk to the bedroom?

  For bland, missionary sex, no doubt. God damn, these books are hot.

  I ignore her. I’m not speaking to her after the incident in the office. “Crispian, you can’t sit there forever,” I murmur. “Please.”

  He taps his ankle bracelet. “Sorry Toots. Tagged.”

  “Bullshit,” says Kate, again. “You just didn’t want to get up off the couch and now you’re committed to the lie.”

  Crispian frowns. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

  Kate doesn’t even blush. “Mooching,” she says. “Your apartment’s bigger than ours and has a gym, a swimming pool, a shark tank, a sex dungeon and a portal to Narnia. You can hardly blame us for wanting to hang out here.”

  “You realise this is exactly the kind of thing Ayn Rand wrote about,” says Crispian, the frown deepening on his masterful, only-slightly-double-chinned face.

  “Ayn Rand wrote a lot of things,” says Kate. “Most of them boring. Although isn’t it funny how she never made it clear who was going to deliver the pizzas, clean the toilets and fix the Roombas over in Galt’s Gulch?”

  Crispian shakes his head and turns back to me.

  “And why does Galt’s Gulch sound like the title of a really nasty gay cream pie porno?” adds Kate, talking more to herself at this point.

  “What’s a cream pie porno?” I ask.

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” says Crispian, gazing into my eyes. “Hanna, you look thin. Have you been skipping meals again?”

  “Yes,” says Kate.

  Crispian glowers at her, shifts significantly on the couch and says “Hand me that vase,” while gesturing to a tall white vase near where the TV used to me. Kate grasps his meaning, swears at him and wanders off in search of Jesús.

  “Alone at last,” murmurs Crispian, romantically sticking a hand up my skirt.

  “Um...I don’t...”

  “Don’t what? Haven’t you missed me?”

  “Of course I missed you. It’s just...well...you know.”

  “No.”

  I blush. “You know.”

  “Nope. Sorry.”

  I sigh. “You mustn’t touch my...you-know-what.”

  He looks lost.

  “She means she’s on the fucking rag,” yells Kate, from somewhere down the hallway.

  “Oh,” says Crispian. The last time we tried to...do that he nearly smashed his brains out on the bidet. He purses his lips. “I’m not liking the whole roommate situation here, Hanna.”

  “I know she’s a little rough around the edges,” I murmur. “But she’s my dearest, dearest friend. Underneath the lazy, loudmouthed, pot-smoking, slutty exterior she’s um...well...er...she’s...”

  “Lazy, loudmouthed, pot-smoking and slutty?”

  Kate marches back into the room, carrying what looks like some kind of Ancient Egyptian staff. “Your mom’s here,” she tells Crispian. “And you missed the part where I can suck a golfball through a hosepipe.”

  He stares at her for a moment. “Is that a staff weapon?”

  “Yup. I don’t know if you knew, but there’s a Stargate in the housekeeper’s ensuite. Oh, and FYI, I told the Oompa Loompas to join a union and you are in deep shit, buddy.”

  Crispian blinks and squeezes my hand. “Do you ever get the feeling that life is not exactly working out the way you meant it to?”

  There is laser fire down the hall and Jesús yells. Kate tilts the staff weapon and barrels off in the direction of his voice, just as Claudia (ugh) comes down the hall towards us.

  “You might have told me when you were getting out, Crispian,” she says. “Your brothers wanted to make a surprise party of it. Casper’s made you a banner and everything.”

  Crispian narrows his eyes at her. “I told you, mother – I’m having issues with my dark past. Didn’t you read the prologue?”

  Claudia opens the fridge and fishes a bottle of vodka out of the ice box. “All the more reason to place you in a family setting then,” she says, dropping ice-cubes into a highball glass.
“God knows this book needs some conflict, otherwise it’s just going to be a long series of meaningless conversations between you and that anodyne Twilight reject you seem to find so fascinating.”

  “Hanna understands me, mother.”

  I glare at Claudia. What kind of awful childhood did she subject him to? Sure, there was skiing in Gstaad and the beach house in Antibes, the private yacht moored in Miami and a pony for every day of the week, but what do all these things count for if you don’t have someone who understands you?

  A lot. Next question.

  Claudia tops up her vodka with just enough orange juice to cloud the spirit. She’s looking at me like a woman who’s thinking very hard about raising her eyebrows but lost the muscle memory to actually do such a thing round about 2006. “Bully for her,” she says. “She must enjoy disappointment.”

  I get to my feet, shaking with indignation. “I love your son,” I say. “I’ve seen him at his worst I know exactly what I’m getting myself into. I know he’s damaged and I know he’s complicated...”

  “...and you’re going to fix him with the magical power of your love,” she finishes, sarcastically.

  “Yes! Yes, I am.”

  “You don’t think it’s a bad idea to marry someone you’ve known for about five weeks, all told?”

  “Hanna knows me, mother,” says Crispian. He moves to stand up but remembers the electronic tag and so settles for kneeling up on the couch so that he’s almost my height. “She knows me better than anyone.”

  Claudia curls her lip. “Better than Alicia?”

  “Alicia?” I murmur. “Who’s Alicia?”

  “My sister,” says Crispian. “My adopted sister.”

  “Ah,” says Claudia. “Is that how you’re justifying it to yourself these days?”