I’m baaaack. After a few days off from Fifty Shades of Grey – a much needed break to restore my mental well-being – I have returned, rejuvenated. The reason for this restored enthusiasm is twofold – one, there is this article I read recently, linking the book’s popularity to the recent increase in sales of vaginal exercise balls, a reminder that, as boring as it has been so far, the book must get more interesting at some point (“not enough vaginal exercise ball scenes” was also one of my chief complaints about The Da Vinci Code).
The other reason I’m excited is the trip I took to the Motor City Comic Con this past weekend. Remember, one of my main reasons for reading this book and chronicling my progress is to try and improve my standing with the ladies of the world. The Comic Con was a nice reminder of what it is I’m fighting for, as I saw scores of cute nerd girls (my preferred kind of girl), and realized that all of them are missing out on the sensual delights I could be exposing them to. Granted, I’m probably also missing the skills necessary to do so, but then that’s the point, right? Once I have consumed all the knowledge of Fifty Shades, perhaps I will be ready to begin building my harem of nerd girls…or, really, I’ll just take one. I’m not greedy or anything. Not yet.
So, yes, I finally return to Fifty Shades, refreshed and ready to rock. And how does the book thank me?
By delivering the most painfully boring chapter yet.
It’s almost like this book is taking great delight in pissing me off at this point, as if it has somehow gained sentience like Skynet, but instead of raining missiles down upon the earth and necessitating a bunch of really confusing time-travel crap, it is instead just making my life miserable by increasing its suckiness as it goes along.
But that’s fine. I can do this. I won’t let one lame chapter end this for me (and I say that knowing full well that there are certainly many more lame chapters coming, but hey, baby steps).
If you remember, last chapter ended with the long-awaited (not really) first kiss of Ana and Christian, during an elevator ride. Christian’s question afterwards, “what is it about elevators,” brings up a good point. You can’t really blame either of them for what happened – it’s the elevator’s fault! Elevators are known for this kind of thing. Really, elevators are little more than architectural sluts, and everyone knows it.
As Chapter Six starts, Christian, Ana, and Ana’s swollen lips are out of the elevator and getting into Christian’s Audi SUV. Hey…her swollen lips from kissing, guys! Not those lips! Get your minds out of the gutter! Anyway, as Christian drives Ana back to her place, he pulls some “look how fancy I am” shit by playing “Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera Lakmé” on his stereo, which of course gets Ana going (“It’s a gentle, slow, sweet, and sure assault on my aural senses”). The he switches it to Kings of Leon. I shit you not. Well, hey, good news for the guys in Kings of Leon – looks like they’re locked in for a soundtrack spot when the Fifty Shades movie comes along. Same goes for Delibes, I suppose. And really, it’s about time those two artists were featured together on one album, don’t you think?
As the drive comes to an end, Ana muses to herself that she would like to run her fingers through Christian’s “decadent, untidy hair,” a quick, fleeting thought, but nonetheless one that suggests author E.L. James has no idea what the word “decadent” means.
Back at Ana’s apartment, she discovers Kate did indeed spend the night with Christian’s brother, Elliot, who in their brief encounter here seems like a much more lively, fun person to be around than Christian. I mean, Ana has to fight to get even the smallest hint of a smile from Christian, but here Elliot is fawning over Kate, giving her lingering kisses in front of others, even literally swooping her off her feet and dipping her so low that “her hair touches the ground as he kisses her hard.” He also says “laters, baby” to her when he leaves – which, alright, actually sounds sort of douchebag-ish, but at least it’s still real affection. All I’m saying is I think Ana might have drawn the short stick with her choice in Grey brother. Maybe that’s just me.
After convincing Kate she did not sleep with Christian the night before, Ana informs her of his plan to take her to his place in Seattle later tonight. Kate, excited to see Ana actually interested in a guy for once, puts aside her concerns about Christian long enough to help Ana prepare for her big night (“my legs and underarms are shaved to perfection, my eyebrows plucked, and I am buffed all over”). Nothing wrong with a little makeover before a big date, but here’s hoping they didn’t go too overboard with it.
Soon, Ana is a passenger on Christian’s private helicopter (SWOON!!), and the two are on their way to Seattle. For a brief moment, the book sounds more like a Tom Clancy novel than an erotic romance, with a whole bunch of pilot-tower talk like “PDX this is Charlie Tango Gold – Golf Echo Hotel, cleared for take-off” and “PDX to call, proceed to one four thousand, heading zero one zero, over.” Riveting, I know, but shortly interrupted by Ana’s staring at Christian’s profile and thinking about how she would like to “run my tongue along his jaw.” Personally, I’ve never been on a helicopter, so I can’t say for sure whether this is just an extension of the attraction Ana already feels for Christian, or something that happens between every helicopter pilot and passenger.
As they enter Seattle airspace and approach Christian’s building, Ana thinks to herself, “it looks otherwordly – unreal – and I feel like I’m on a giant film set; José’s favorite film maybe, Bladerunner.”
Wait, what is that shit? Bladerunner? It’s Blade Runner, not Bladerunner! Two words, dammit! I guess Ana fails my “nerd girl” test. Sorry, babe. Or, as Elliot Grey might say, “laters, baby.”
Sigh, alright, anyway…moving on. So Christian and Ana get to his place and…
No, you know what, I’m still not over this “Bladerunner” thing! I know, it probably seems like I’m a making a big deal out of nothing. After all, it’s not like this is the first instance of poor writing in this book. But seriously, would it have been that hard to get it right, even (or especially) on an editorial level. I mean, granted, Blade Runner isn’t one of the most financially successful mainstream hits ever or anything, but it’s a pretty fucking well-known film. Would it have killed anyone involved with this book to do a little fact-checking and make sure they have the freaking name right? UGH.
By the way…in case it isn’t clear, I fucking love Blade Runner.
So now the two of them are in Christian’s ultra-fancy Seattle apartment, which takes up an entire floor of a swank Seattle skyscraper. And, you know, it sounds pretty nice, with sofas that seat ten, breakfast bars that seat six, dining room tables that seat sixteen. There’s a fireplace, a grand piano (Christian can play, excellently of course), a bunch of original art on the walls. It’s never mentioned, but I’m assuming it probably has a really bitching home theater set-up. It would probably be killer for watching something like Blade Runner.
Ana has barely settled in before Christian has given her the first piece of paperwork he has brought her here to sign, this one a non-disclosure agreement guaranteeing she will tell no one any details of the time she spends with him. Because that’s a perfectly normal way to start any budding relationship, Ana gladly signs it without even reading it, asking if this means they are going to make love tonight.
“No, Anastasia it doesn’t,” he replies. “Firstly, I don’t make love. I fuck…hard.”
“Secondly,” he continues, “there’s a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don’t yet know what you’re in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom.”
Although it would be pretty hilarious if Christian’s “playroom” consisted of a ball-pit and lots of Sesame Street plush dolls, I think we can all guess what he really means. And sure enough, though we don’t get to actually see the room until next chapter, we get a sneak peek as Ana enters the room and says “it feels like I’ve time-traveled back to the sixteenth century and the Spanish Inquisition.”
I’d just like to take this moment to sincerely apologize to Monty Python for possibly sullying their great name by referencing them on a Fifty Shades of Grey blog. Also, to Blade Runner, though that one was hardly my fault, right?