Fifty Shades of Thrifty (a Parody) (5 page)

"We already
know you need help," said Serena. "But we really needed a man's
opinion. Rox said she knew her cousin would help out, and you two might
actually hit it off."

"Vincent was
just doin' what I asked," said Roxanne. "You'd like him if you took
the time to know him. He's really a great guy."

"Yeah, a
regular Mister Wonderful," I said. "He's just so.... so...."

"Honest?"
said Roxanne.

"And suppose
I'd really liked him? It wasn't real."

"It might
have been if you'd given him a chance," said Roxanne.

"You're a
reporter," said Serena, clicking her pen again. "Did you learn
anything from that interview?"

I played with my
wine glass, swirled what was left before I downed the whole thing. "Yeah,
you all think I'm a total loser."

Ariel wrapped one
arm around my shoulder. "You're a winner, Wing Girl, and tomorrow we're
going to start showing the world."

***

Most people go to
church on Sunday mornings. Since sermons have bored the hell out of me since I
was a little girl and I am ruled by Catholic guilt, I donate my Sunday mornings
to a good cause. I figure it's better than sitting in a rock-hard pew like a
member of the parish undead.

As mentioned
before, I love cats. So I help out at the local cat rescue shelter every
weekend for a few hours, play with my furry friends and deal with things like
cat food and furballs.

Cats don't judge
me, especially shelter cats. They don't have homes yet, so they appreciate any
attention they can get.

And after last
night, I felt the same way.

"Morning
Belinda," said a cheery Diane as I opened the door to the shelter that
jingled a little brass bell hanging off the top. She's the petite blonde
middle-aged millionaire animal lover who runs the place, often working weekends
since more kitties get adopted on those days.

"Hey, Diane.
How'd the week go?"

"Pretty
good. Two in, five out. Somebody even took that huge tabby."

"Great,"
I said, heading toward the back of the building where the kitties lived.
"Jabba the Cat was eating us out of house and home."

"Oh, hey,
we've got a new volunteer who started today. He's just about to leave so go
introduce yourself. Name's Scott. Cute guy, Belinda." Her voice went up as
she said my name, like a suggestion hanging in the air.

Like I've got a
shot. I'm wearing old torn jeans, a ratty New York Giants sweatshirt with
frayed cuffs, didn't sleep a lick last night and have a full set of Samsonite
under my eyes.

Not that it would
make any difference if I were dressed for a ball. I'm
unapproachable
, remember?

I headed down the
long mauve hallway to the back and heard a soothing man's voice float around
the corner.

"Oh, yeah,
there it is. That's the spot. Ooooh, you like it when I rub you like that,
don't you?"

Sounds like some
dialogue from a porn movie, but I realized it was a man talking to a cat. If
only one would talk to me that way.
"Hey, baby, come home with me and
I'll make you purr..."

I turned the
corner into the shelter area and saw a man sprawled on the floor, scratching
the belly of a purring Siamese who was obviously in cat nirvana. The man looked
up at me and smiled. "Hey."

"Hi. I see
you've made a friend."

"Yeah, she's
a sweet cat." He got up off the floor, brushed off the cat hair and
extended his hand. "I'm Scott."

I shook it.
"Belinda."

He didn't have
what I call
the look
. The one that tells
me he recognizes me from television, the one Wing Girl gets when we're out on
the town. The smile looked sincere. He was maybe five-ten, slender with broad
shoulders, tousled brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes. Classic anchorman's jaw
with a little cleft in his chin, one day growth of stubble. Maybe thirty-five.
More cute than handsome, but he's got that boy-next-door thing going along with
nice-fitting jeans, a button down blue oxford and docksides with no socks. He
had an old money look, like many members of Ariel's family.

I smiled back.
"So, you're new here."

"Yeah, I
decided it was time to give something back instead of just writing a
check."

"Most men
don't like cats."

"My mom was
a vet. She had a practice that only took cats. You could say it's in my blood.
I just like their independence. And they're self-cleaning."

Cute line.
Cute guy. This bears investigating.

"To a point.
They don't have hands."

"Yeah, I
already did the cat boxes." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So,
you been volunteering here long?"

"Every
Sunday for the last four years. Ten till noon."

"I signed up
for the same hours but I have a wedding to go to today, so I got here at nine
and Diane sorta gave me a quick orientation. But I guess we'll be working
together."

I nodded.
"Guess so."

He glanced at his
watch, then fished his car keys out of his pocket. "Well, I gotta run and
get cleaned up. See you next week." He headed for the hallway.

"Yeah. See
ya."

So much for
that.

He stopped,
turned and looked at me. "Hey, maybe we could go for lunch
afterward."

I said,
"That would be nice," before I even had a chance to think about it.

He pointed at me.
"Belinda, right?"

I nodded.
"Yeah."

"I'm bad
with names. Just wanted to make sure. See ya."

I'm bad with
names too. We have something in common.

But for some
reason I won't forget yours.

He disappeared
down the hall, obviously having no idea about the superhero known as the Brass
Cupcake who prowls the streets of New York making life safe for women and
children while repelling the hell out of men.

Meanwhile, I just
got asked out to lunch looking like absolute shit.

Now I'm totally
confused.

Copyright 2013
© N.J. Harlow / Accio Books