Charlize Benett: Fifty Shades of Lies

“Gray-Ana I’m sorry.” Bleu-Rae blurted back, as she stabbed the TV controller, turning down the volume.

“You know I have never told a lie in all my twenty-one years. This is going to kill me. I just don’t—” She interrupted me.

“You have to do this for me,” she whined. “It took me six months to get this interview. That’s a lifetime for me. I am aging fast. It will take another six to reschedule. Between Global warming and the dry air here I will look like a raisin, Botox won’t even help me.”

“Lighten up… you will only be twenty-two, by then.” I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, in Cali that’s like forty-two, by then, all I will be considered for is that stupid has-been reality show. That’s it. That’s it.” Her behavior was so dramatic. She was good, reality show fans will love to hate her.

“C’mon Rae, can’t I just blow him off… please?” I pleaded giggling at the realization of my double entendre. I think this went over Rae’s head.

“No.” She stammered. “As one of the finalist—I can’t blow him off. It would ruin my reputation. Well,… on second thought, blowing him off might do wonders for my chances, if you know what I mean.” Bleu-Rae laughed and began to cough pretentiously. Of, course I knew what she meant. I said it first. I think she was milking this a bit. She wanted me to feel guilty.

“Oh and that would be good for your reputation, huh?” I remarked factiously.

“Jeez, just kidding. Please, just don’t be late.” She begged me in her rasping, really sore, throaty voice. “You’re going to do this for me, aren’t you?” Her lips curled outward, as she pouted. God, she had me wrapped around her pinky finger.

I stared at her red-rimmed runny eyes, snot was draining from her celestial pink nose… I threw her a handful of tissues.

“Of course, I’ll go Bleu-Rae. I just wish I didn’t have to lie about who I am. Maybe, if I don’t say… in so many words that I am you, it won’t count as a lie.” I murmured, my eyes flashed to the television.

“Sure. Tell me tough, how are you going to that?” Rae’s voice blurred into Judge Judy’s, ranting voice.

“I’ll think of something…” My voice trailed off, as I focused on the television.

Judge Judy: You know how I tell when a 17 teen year old girl is lying? When her mouth moves!

My stomach twisted in fifty-thousand knots. What Judge Judy was said was a sign, it was a bad omen. I was a virgin at lying. Something was going to go terribly wrong. I felt it in my soul. This was going to be the worst day of my life. I was going to lose my honor, my self-trust—If you can’t trust yourself, who can you trust? I may as well cut my wrist right now. Okay that’s a bit extremely—suddenly, Judge Judy’s eyes, they locked with mine; she scolded me. Don’t lie… that’s the devil’s drug. Once you taste it you will burn—burn—burn in hell.

“Grey-Ana—Grey—Ana—Ana.” My sister’s voice jolted me back to reality. “You are not lying. You are just passing my lie onto Mr. Maximillion,” she firmly said, speaking with conviction.

I stared at her for a millisecond trying to make sense of this. There was no use. I would have to work it out on my own.

“Rae, you should go back to bed. Would you like a Vicodin to help you sleep?”

“Yes, please, they’re in the kitchen cabinet.” I quickly retrieved her pain medicine, and poured her a glass of water.

“Here, Sweetie.” I knelt on the floor next to her, and gave her the horse pill and water.

“Thanks,” she sniffled, swallowing her medicine. “Here are my answers, please don’t fuck this up for me. I have faith in you.” Blue-Rae handed me a small sheet of paper. I stare blankly at her pre-proposed questions for the interview and her replies. “Memorize them,” she snapped, ordering me around.

“He is going to know I am not you,” my voice was anxious. “I know nothing about this kind of thing,” I wistfully expressed, trying but failing to suppress my rising panic. “You’re the one who wants a husband, not me.” I shrieked, tearing off the fake lashes that I really didn’t need in the first place. Rae insisted that I wore them.

“Why did you do that?” she hollered.

“They’re ridiculous. I look like spider woman.” I argued, plastering the lashes on Rae’s forehead. She laughed and then so did I.

“Okay fine. Forget the lashes. I guess you’re pretty enough without them. Almost, as gorgeous as me. So go. I don’t want you to be late,” her voice cracked, sounding like a dying victim. Using guilt tactics, again , I thought. “You can take my car.” Bleu-Rae said.

My eyes brightened. I couldn’t believe that she offered me her car. Wow, she really wanted this opportunity. I actually felt very sorry for Rae. It was her dream to be on this show. There was no way I would let her down. If the shoe were reversed she would do it for me. I thought.

“Okay… I‘m going… I’m going. Now, go back to bed, but, please make sure you eat something. You need to get well, so you can do this show.” I turned to leave. “Oh yeah, I made some soup for you. All you have to do is heat it up.” I stared at her fondly… only for you Bleu-Rae would I do this.

“I will. Good luck… and thanks Grey-Ana. You’re a life saver.” Rae flopped back between the sofa cushions.

“Yeah… yeah. See you laters,” I smiled wryly at her, grabbed her keys and headed out the door into our attached garage.

The roads were clear as I set off from Calabasas. It was early, twelve-forty five to be precise. I loved that we lived near Los Angeles, the city that never wakes up. I didn’t have to be in Santa Monica until two this afternoon. I was excited that Rae had lent me her car. If nothing else the ride would be fun.

My stomach knotted—second thoughts—doubts were getting the best of me. I could not believe I had let her talk me into doing this interview. But, then again, Bleu-Rae could talk anyone into anything. To be honest, I couldn’t wait to see her on the show. God have mercy on the man she chooses. It was not that she would not make an exceptional wife—I think she might when the time comes. Hum, was that a double negative, followed by a positive? I hoped I didn’t just jinx her. God I was obsessing. Internal—dialogue—overload. I was feeling way too analytical. This is a nervous habit of mine.

I swiftly made the curve speeding onto the ramp heading towards the 405 highway. I have to say her sporty BMW i28 convertible is so much more fun to drive than my Audi SUV. The miles had slipped away, when I put my foot to the petal.

It was a very cloudy day, but, at least, it was not raining; it rarely does in southern California. The Los Angeles traffic was heavy. I only had an hour to go. I was feeling fairly confident that I should be able to find somewhere to park. Thank heavens for the Sat Nav on the i28 otherwise I’d be royally screwed.

As the miles melted away, I thought about what kind of wife my sister would make.

Rae is super outgoing, creative and everyone falls in love with her charms. She can be a bit argumentative, lazy and extremely messy, but most men overlook these character flaws because she is so beautiful, slender and stacked with a perfect set of C cup tits. The rest of her figure—36-23-34—is perfect, as well. Identical to mine. Did I mention she loves to have monkey sex, too?

Life is about give and take, a fine balance, like a good wine. By the way, Blue-Rae loves expensive wines. The man she picks will definitely have to learn the meaning of the word compromise . He will have to know how to cook, do her laundry and train her little shit-head dog. Prince, is three years old and still poops and pees all over our house. On second thought, her new hubby will have to do all the housekeeping. Forget compromising. I know Rae will not be doing any of the chores, making beds, cleaning toilets, or dishes. Nada. If Rae has to lift a finger, it will be to pick her nose. At home her skinny-girl ass will be plopped down on the sofa, with a glass of vino in one hand, and the TV remote in the other. I hate how she flips through the channels like a fish out of water, tuning into every reality show—she even records them, and tweets about them. She’s obsessed.