A Coupla Shades of Taupe: A Parody

By Court Burback

CHAPTER ONEI gasp with horror at my reflection in the mirror. I’m drenched in

blood, my eyes bulging and demonic, and I look as if the devil himself has taken up shop inside of me. It takes me a moment to realize that I’m staring at my roommate’s Carrie poster, and when I do, I vow not to mix Red Bull and Everclear together again.

I sidestep to the mirror and discover that I don’t look as bad as I thought I would. I’ve got some fierce circles under my eyes, and my hair looks like the site where a squirrel fought off a hawk, but I still have an aura of pomposity and determination. Like Courtney Love back when she was trying.

Ugh. Damn the manufacturers of Red Bull, and damn Candy Box for waking me up at the crack of noon to drop her whiny bombshell. Candy is my roommate, and she has chosen today of all days to succumb to syphilis. Therefore, she cannot attend the interview she’d arranged to do, with some mega chain store tycoon I’ve never heard of, for the student newspaper. Do it for me, she said. No, I said. Please, she said. No, I said. I’ll call your mom and tell her you said sometimes you wish you and your older brother weren’t related, she said. That was told to you in confidence, I said. Do it for me, she said. Fine, I said. Then I added a word that rhymes with ditch.

I thought I’d be starting my day with that really hard maze on the back of the Honey Nut Cheerios box, but instead I have to get ready at warp speed so I can drive 102 miles to downtown Little Rock to meet the CEO of Taupe Enterprises, Inc. As an extraordinary entrepreneur and major benefactor of University of the Ozarks, his time is incredibly precious—much more precious than mine—but he has granted Candy an interview. Never mind that I’ve got my final exam in colors and shapes today and that I’m supposed to be working this afternoon at the pet store.

Candy is curled up on the couch in the living room, vigorously scratching her bathing suit area.

“Alexandra, I’m sorry. It took me, like, ten minutes to get this interview. And who knows how long it’ll take to reschedule? As the editor of Okie Dokie, I can’t blow this off. Please,” Candy begs.

“Yeah, yeah.”With a shaky hand she gives me her materials.“Here are the questions and my digital recorder. The big record

button—”“Yeah?”“You press that.”“I know nothing about him,” I say, a burst of panic rising in my

chest.“The questions will guide you. Now you’d better leave soon or—”

She frowns. “Is that what you’re wearing?”I give her a little-itchy-girl-best-stop-talking look and she interprets

it wisely.Before I leave I tell Candy that yogurt is supposed to be good for

infections of the ladyplace, but have to clarify when I watch her grab a Yoplait from the fridge and drop her panties.

I’m already late and it doesn’t help that my vehicle of transport is a 1976 Chevette. The Chevette groans and creaks like a barn in a gale, steadily undermining my confidence in General Motors with each passing mile. I’m pretty sure that if I hit a leaf this car will explode on impact.

There’s a family of bunnies trying to cross the road, but I don’t have time to stop and I hear six cute little bumps beneath my wheels.

I’m halfway to Little Rock when my stomach lets out a roar that could scatter a heard of impalas. I realize I can’t go into this interview with my stomach growling like a Wookie. I stop for some Chipotle, and then ten, twenty, and thirty minutes later I stop for bathroom breaks.

When I finally arrive at the headquarters of Mr. Taupe’s national enterprise, I’m impressed with the twenty-story building. It’s sleek and steel, and I like that it’s shaped like a duck.

When I walk into the giant lobby, a woman with the unfortunate combination of curly red hair and gapped teeth smiles at me from behind a desk. When she rises I see that she’s wearing a sharp

charcoal suit, and I laugh because it’s like somebody stuffed Pippi Longstocking into Calvin Klein.

Her eyes narrow on my outfit, and I stand self-consciously before her. I suddenly wish I’d just done my laundry instead of wearing my old Hot Dog on a Stick uniform from high school. Or at least left the hat at home.

“I’m here to see Mr. Taupe. Alexandra Aluminum for Candy Box.”She asks me to sign in, and then asks if Hot Dog on a Stick still

makes “those really good cheese poppers.” I tell her Hot Dog on a Stick has never made cheese poppers. She insists that they do and that they’re zesty. We agree to disagree.

She instructs me to follow the elevator to the twentieth floor. Soon I’m in another large lobby and I’m confronted with another redheaded woman, this time dressed meticulously in black and white.

She takes my neon vest and offers a cool smile.“Miss Aluminum, can you wait here, please? He’ll be with you

shortly.”I take a seat on a charcoal couch and gaze out the floor-to-ceiling

windows. Except for the dead bird splattered against the glass, face frozen in an “Oh, shit!” expression, the windows offer a picture-perfect view of the Little Rock skyline.

The silence quickly catapults my brain toward panic as I ponder my situation. I know nothing about the man I’m about to interview. He could be ninety or he could be thirty. Or he could be a midget, and then I’ll have to put all my effort into not spending the entire interview gaping at his little sausage fingers.

Another elegantly dressed redhead with freckles the size of cornflakes comes out of a large door to the right. Sheesh. What’s with all the immaculate gingers? It’s like somebody threw Ron Howard’s daughter in a cloning machine and had at it.

“Miss Aluminum?” the latest redhead asks. “Can I offer you a beverage?”

I say that I could actually really go for a Crystal Pepsi. She informs me that they no longer make Crystal Pepsi. This is news to me, and I do my best to hold myself together.

When I hear “Mr. Taupe will see you now” I wonder if I look as terrified as I feel as I’m shown to the door. I take a deep breath and assume a professional aura. I force my chin up, walk with poise through the door, and…

Trip over a raccoon.I have just enough time to fall on my face and see the raccoon

make an obscene gesture before scampering out of the room. But soon gentle hands are around me, helping me to stand.

“Miss Box, are you all right? Would you like to sit?”I stumble to a leather couch facing a desk that’s the size of my first

apartment.“We’ve been having a raccoon problem lately. I killed one and put it

on a pike outside as a warning to the others, but…”He breezes toward the desk and, for the first time, I get a good look

at him. He’s young—he looks old enough to rent a car but young enough to still be a Democrat. His taupe eyes are as sharp as his crisp taupe suit, but the NO FAT CHICKS shirt beneath his jacket hints at a playful side.

“I’m Pagan Taupe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Box.”His voice is smooth and rich like Nutella, and just like Nutella I want

to smear it all over my body.“Miss Box is indisposed, so she sent me. I hope you don’t mind, Mr.

Taupe.”“And you are?”“Alexandra Aluminum. Candy and I are books and stuff majors at

University of the Ozarks.”“I see.”He gestures to my uniform.“Hot Dog on a Stick.” He nods approvingly. “I’ve always been the

kind of man that enjoys a footlong inside him.”That voice—it was sexy and commanding and intoxicating all at

once.He stares at me with the intensity of a dachshund eyeing a

Snausage, and I suddenly feel shy. My eyes drift around the office. The room is cold, clean, and clinical, and, like his garments, bathed in colors that a lazy romance novelist might describe to insinuate his personality.

As I fish the tape recorder and list of questions from my backpack, I ask, “Did Candy tell you what the interview was for?”

“Yes. To appear in the graduation issue of the student newspaper.”“Right. So I’ve got some questions for—” I drop the tape recorder

and scramble to pick it up. “Sorry. Just let me…”

“Take all the time you need, Miss Aluminum. Just let me know when you’re…” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “…under control.”

I clear my throat, press the record button, and glance at the first question.

“You’re very young to have amassed such an empire. How did you come up with the concept for your successful chain?”

“Taxidermy has been a passion of mine since I can remember, Miss Aluminum. When I was little, it brought me great joy to stuff animals with cotton soaked in formaldehyde. But when my mother pleaded with me to wait until the animals were dead, an idea was born. What if there was a reasonably priced chain of taxidermy/frozen yogurt stores where people could enjoy chocolate-dipped cones while they waited to have their pug stuffed? And what if, Miss Aluminum, this taxidermy chain allowed customers to select from a variety of action poses to compliment their pet? A surfing hamster. A snake tied into an elegant bow. A German shepherd giving the Nazi salute. All of these things are now possible thanks to Stuffed with Love Taxidermy and Froyo.”

“And how do you explain the incredibly rapid growth of your business?”

He scoffs. “A meticulous attention to detail, of course. I command every facet of my business like that short French general with the funny hat. I like things a certain way, and it’s important that anyone…beneath me obey without hesitation.”

“You sound a bit like a control freak,” I say.“Oh, I exercise control in all things, Miss Aluminum.”He holds my gaze steadily and my heart thunks against my ribs.“Do you, um, have any interests outside your work?”“I have several absorbing and expensive hobbies, yes.”When he doesn’t elaborate, I joke, “Like hunting men for sport?”“Who told you—no, of course not. That’s ridiculous. And anyway,

dropping a hobo into a methodically designed seven-mile maze and chasing him with a functional light saber would hardly be morally unsound because—”

“Hobos aren’t people,” we both say at the same time.He smiles. I think I blush.I clear my throat and glance at the next question. “You also invest

in genetically modified food technologies. Why are you interested in that area?”

“We can’t eat cash, Miss Aluminum, and there are too many people on this planet that don’t have enough to eat. So I’ve invested in a network of labs that use exciting new radiation technologies to clone food that has the aesthetic bonus of glowing in the dark. The labs donate new batches of product to children in the Congo because they’re very hungry and because growing a third eye should be the least of their worries.”

“So you’re a philanthropist as well.”“I’m whatever I want to be in a given day. That’s the advantage of

always being in complete…control.”His eyes are glittering with something that both unnerves and

intrigues me. I try to keep my mind focused on the interview, but the image of him motorboating my C-cups pops into my head like an unwelcome guest. Focus, Alexandra!

“It says that you were adopted. Is that correct?”“Yes. My biological parents were killed by carnies when I was four.”“Did that have a heavy influence on you growing up?”“It added an extra layer of creepiness to carnies.”I nod.“And I have to take Xanax if I want to attend a state fair.”I glance at the next question without thinking, and I’m horrified the

moment the words leave my mouth.“Are you gay, Mr. Taupe?”He inhales sharply. I cringe.“Is this because of that photo of me and Ricky Martin at that charity

event?” he demands. “Because he hugged me.”“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer. “These questions…they’re not mine. My

roommate compiled them.”“She drafted you unprepared, hmm?”He smiles at me appraisingly, and I worry I might blush again.“The conversation has been rather one-sided thus far. I’d like to

know a little about you, Miss Aluminum. I think it’s only fair. I suppose you can chalk it up to my need to be in…control.”

I shiver a little, the way you do when a tongue flicks your skin or when you see someone with a harelip.

“You’re a senior at University of the Ozarks?”“Yes. I’ve almost got enough smiley-face stickers to graduate.”He nods. “What are your plans after graduation?”“I want to be an astronaut or a pet therapist.”

I sigh a little.“But I think you need extra training for those,” I add.“We run an excellent internship program here.”I’m confused. Is he offering me a job?“Oh,” I say. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I’m not sure I’d fit in

here.”“Why do you say that?” He tilts his head and gives me a smile that

could melt palladium.“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” You’ve got kind of a ginger-vitis thing going

on around here.“Not to me.” His gaze is intense, all humor gone, and strange

muscles deep in my sphincter clench suddenly. I rip my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare down at my tensely clasped hands. I have to get out of this room—now.

“Would you like me to show you the employee lounge? There’s a snow cone machine. We run out of cherry a lot but it’s still—”

“I’m sure you’re far too busy, Mr. Taupe, and I do have a long drive.”

He glances out the window. It’s begun to rain. In a low, almost authoritative tone he says, “You’d better drive carefully.”

“Believe me, after your first DUI you learn to drive carefully everywhere.”

He walks me to the door.“I’m sorry if I came off as a bit…controlling,” he says with a

mischievous grin. “But I’m a man that enjoys exerting control, you see. And I believe that there are those that would actually enjoy relinquishing their will to feed my—” He sighs. “I don’t know how many other ways there are to insinuate that I like control, Miss Aluminum. But it’s important that someone, say, a bored, sexually frustrated housewife, understand that we’re blatantly and unimaginatively setting up a future sexual dynamic here.”

“Gotcha.”He walks me to the foyer and we stand before the elevator, him

smiling rakishly, me gulping at his beautiful white teeth marred only by a piece of jerky between the lower incisors.

His hand brushes my arm as it reaches for the elevator button, and I gasp at the contact. How did he manage to do that? He barely touched me and I’m giddy as a Catholic priest at a Kindercare. If he notices my flustered state, he gives nothing away.

The doors open and I dive in, desperate to escape. I have to get out of here. I have to—

“Alexandra,” he says as a farewell.“Pagan,” I reply.He grins.The elevator doors start to close and I sigh and prematurely begin

to break wind. But when the doors suddenly jolt back open and he reaches out to hand me my vest, I nearly scream with horror. His nose crinkles and he looks at me without blinking.

“Chipotle?” he says.I nod.The doors start to close again, and he gives me one last glimpse of

his stunning smile.As the doors swing shut I hear him call out, “Control!”And then he’s gone.

Buy the eBook from

Amazon Barnes & Noble iBookstore | Kobo

****

Connect with DIVERSIONBOOKS:

If you liked this book, connect with Diversion Books for updates on new titles and authors:

@DiversionBooks

Facebook.com/DiversionBooks

Monthly eNewsletter