The Crown Is Mine
By
Berlinda Wall
Copyright 2017 by Berlinda Wall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This book is a work of fiction. Name, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental.
This book was published in the U.S.A.
First edition, January 2017
Cover design and interior formatting by Caligraphics.
http://www.caligraphics.net
For my family and friends.
***~~~***
PROLOGUE
All I wanted was the crown. Nothing more. Nothing less. It was my end all and be all. The bright, sparkling, rhinestone diamonds over the silver metal frame forming my cylindrical satellite dish fantasy, and it was going to rest on my head. But I digress.
CHAPTER 1
Clayton, Georgia is a good place to grow up if you want to serve the Lord or some spoiled, pampered ass wipes. Why is it that people with money can only talk about their money? I always thought that was rude to all of us who lived from paycheck to pay check. I don't care what you bought, where you're going on vacation, or where your spoiled child is going to school. A part of my anger, I'm sure, is just jealousy because I couldn't live the life they had so the little green monster kept popping up his ugly little head. Money in their life was their way of life so I guess you would spend all day talking about it.
Located in the northeast corner of Georgia, Clayton is a tourist mountain town that I couldn't wait to escape. It was a simple town with a lake, Lake Rabun, that my family could never afford to live on. These were the homes of the spoiled rich who I had to serve while I slaved away at the Lake Rabun Inn. You could say it was karma the year the tornado came through and chewed up a bunch of their houses. I know I shouldn't be hateful, but you can only eat so much crow from these people. Plus, they didn't tip well.
The Lake Rabun Inn overlooked Lake Rabun and had a scenic wall of glass so that every view of the lake was maximized. It originally had been a quaint, little hotel, but as the tourist traffic increased for the lake, Tallulah Falls, and the changing of the leaves each fall, the owner went ahead and did a massive renovation. The inn got WiFi, flat screens in every room, a spa, and banquet space. It had become a big fish in a very small pond, especially when your closest competition is a Motel 6. All this was courtesy of the new highway from the Georgia Department of Transportation.
I worked in the dining room at first where I started as a bus-boy and slowly progressed through every job you could have at a hotel. By the time I was 22, I was the front desk clerk, and all I had was a badge that read Tyler. I never felt more trapped.
CHAPTER 2
My stupidly expensive iPhone rang. It was my friend Marjorie who had escaped to the emerald city of Atlanta.
"Pumpkin, I keep telling you to move down here with me. You know I have the extra room, and it would be good for your heart. I know how stifling it can get up there."
"I know, sweetie. If Daisy Mae doesn't stop rattling that Bible in my face, I'm going to jump onto the next man I see and ride him all the way to Atlanta."
"How is your mother?"
"She's fine. She keeps asking me if I'm going back to church. I tell her I'll think about it, and all she says is that she will pray for my soul."
"So will you really finally chuck it all and move here?" Marjorie asked. "What is keeping you there when there is so much more you could be doing here?" She knew she was right, and I knew it too.
"I don't really know. Don't have a boyfriend, and I've got a dead-end job that isn't going to take me anywhere." These words sounded strangely bitter as they rolled off my tongue. Fear of change is a terrible thing, and it paralyzes me something awful.
"I can help you with getting a job here, but the boyfriend problem is all yours. There is tons of work here. I miss my boo. It has been way to long," as she turned on her sad puppy dog voice.
I could never resist it. It reminded me of warm puppies playing on a sunny day and all was good with the world. "I promise I will seriously think about it, and I'm not just pulling your leg on this."
"You just want someone to pull on your third leg. There are plenty of boys down here for that, but they're mostly bottoms so you will have a lot of competition. But with your double-bubble butt, you will have a field day," she insisted. I blushed, and luckily, she couldn't see that through the phone.
"Okay already. I will get back to you with an answer soon." But I wasn't sure how soon that was going to be. She was right that I had become stagnant and complacent in my little corner of the world. What a horrible place to be in.
At moments like this, I prayed which is ironic because I shut down Daisy Mae every time she brought it up. It’s not that I am anti-organized religion, but more so anti-supposed to be Christians shoving their beliefs down my throat every chance they get. Yes, I may be gay, but I'm not stupid. I truly believe in all my heart that if you are a good person and treat everyone with respect and love, then you will achieve the next level in life after we depart, whatever that is.
I pray to God to help guide me in making the right decisions. I hear all these athletes and pop stars thank God when they win something, and it makes me wonder, do they really believe it, or is it a great PR stunt? OMG, I just came across as the same pompous asses I hate. "God give me the strength to do what is right and bless the people I meet whose hearts are full. Amen. Love, Tyler. P.S. A boyfriend would be nice.”
CHAPTER 3
The front desk was quiet now that the leaf season was over here in the mountains, and it was time to get some paperwork finished. Mr. Eddie, the owner, was chatting up guests in the gracious front lobby beside the roaring stone fireplace. The heat radiated all the way over to the desk and the dancing shadows meshed with the muzak pouring out over the lobby speakers.
As the last guest parted to their rooms, Mr. Eddie strolled over to the desk. "Tyler, you have been a valued employee here for the past three years."
"It's been five Mr. Eddie."
"Well, you've been a valued employee for the past five years," he continued, "and in those five years, my niece Chelsea has finally come of age. Chelsea, can you come out here?" he bellowed.
From Mr. Eddie's office, a blond bombshell emerged flicking the long, blond strands of hair off her face. If I hadn't seen her with my own eyes, I would have sworn she came out in slow motion. It had been several years since I had seen Chelsea. When I last saw her she was a sullen, thin, little girl with glasses and dark pigtails. This vision walking out of the office would have put any street walker to shame. The pigtails were gone and replaced with a flowing blond mane. I'm pretty sure several hair extensions are involved. And her stick figure was replaced by a curvy, voluptuousness that overflowed from her push up bra. As a gay man a woman's breasts don't excite me, but I still can appreciate a great rack when I see one. I had a friend once who let me touch hers. They were very large and felt like a bowl full of jelly.
After my stupor wore off, I finally realized that on her large right breast was a name tag that read "Chelsea - Front Desk." There were only enough hours a week for two of us on the front desk, and the day front desk clerk was Annie, who was also related to Mr. Eddie.
Crap. This can't be good.
"Tyler," Mr. Eddie said, "Chelsea is going to be taking over the night spot on the front desk. Now that leaf seas
on is over, it gets a little quiet around here. Maybe I can find you some hours helping out back in the kitchen."
"I've already worked the kitchen, and that is a step backwards." My heart was pounding, and every time I got the least flustered, my voice tended to rise. I must have sounded like a canary in a cage. "You can't do this to me. What happened to all that talk about me beginning training to become a manager?"
"I meant every word I said, but little Chelsea here let me know how much she wanted to go into hotel management. I just couldn't let my niece down," he said as he smiled like a wolf at Chelsea, who was twirling a piece of her hair and staring into the ceiling. "She is getting the position in our management training program. Family comes first. I'll have to ask you for your Front Desk badge." And with that he was finished.
There was no arguing on this, and with that I was finished. I couldn't go back to the kitchen. I had scrubbed enough dishes, pots, and pans to work my way out of there. How could I go back? Most of the kitchen staff are lifers who aren't going anywhere. I was going to make something of myself and get a little bit ahead for once.
I took my name tag off and tossed it on the desk. It made that plastic sound as it bounced and landed facedown. Kind of like a face down in a pillow. It seems like you end up getting screwed one way or another. Now to go home to Daisy Mae.
CHAPTER 4
Daisy Mae was sitting at the kitchen table with her Bible open sipping a glass of sweet tea when I got home. "Viola called me and let me know you quit," she spit out. Viola was her good friend who worked in the kitchen at the hotel and never really liked me. As she put it, my "homosexual tendencies" could be fixed.
"It's not like I had a choice, mom.”
"You need to go back there and beg Mr. Eddie for your job back," she insisted. "How are we going to survive?"
"I'll find something else. There is plenty of work up here." But even I didn't believe that. The job market was very limited, especially since we were heading into the winter months and the tourists were no longer driving through.
"I prayed that God would watch over you, but look what happened," she said as she clutched her Bible to her bosom. "Mr. Eddie is a righteous man, and your homosexual ways just don't sit right with such a good Christian man." She was almost crying at this point.
"Momma, please don't cry. It breaks my heart when you do." I gently took her hand. She looked at me for a second, and then I could see the redness rise from her neck and quickly sweep over her face as her blood pressure shot through the roof.
"It breaks your heart?" she screamed. "My heart has been broken ever since you told me you were gay. I've prayed that God would help you find a nice woman so that you could settle down and give me some grand-children."
"Momma, we have had this discussion way too much, and I don't want to go down that road again," I said very plainly. We've been to crazy town over this topic more than I ever wanted to. That's the problem living in a Republican-leaning small town where there is a church every mile.
"Pray with me, sweetie. Pray that God will help us at this hour of need. Get on your knees and pray," she said with a resolute look in her eyes.
I finally broke. "The only reason I would get on my knees is if some big dick man were standing in front of me stroking his hard dick."
Daisy Mae grabbed her sweet tea and threw it in my face. "I taught you better than that," she said as she pointed that accusing finger at me. And we were off to crazy town.
I reached over and grabbed a fluffy dish cloth with a picture of Jesus on it that read, "Idle hands are the devil's work". Before I even had a chance to wipe the dripping tea off my face, Daisy Mae snatched that towel right out of my hands.
"This towel is sacred to me. It was a gift from your father. How dare you blaspheme him by wiping off your potty mouth with our sweet Lord?”
Instead, I was forced to grab a paper towel from the Indian-themed paper towel holder. It was one of those wood posts in the middle of the metal base, except in this case, the wood post was carved to look like a totem pole. Daisy Mae had gotten it in Cherokee, North Carolina at the casino. "So I can use a paper towel inspired by your casino trip? Didn't God have a lot to say about gambling?" I shot back.
"Don't throw all this back on me. I did everything I could to raise you right," Daisy Mae said as she began to cry again.
"Momma, I love you very much, but I need to go and clean up." The sugar from the tea was getting sticky and it dried in my underwear.
"I know you're going to leave me," she said with a whimper and a trail of mini sobs.
"Maybe this is a sign from God that I need to do something else in my life," I said. "I just had this conversation earlier in the day with Marjorie about moving down to Atlanta. As you say, God moves in mysterious ways."
"So you're going to abandon me too?” Daisy Mae looked like a whipped horse. "Your father did it first and now you.”
"Dad did not abandon you. He died." My father had passed away when I was five of a sudden heart attack, so I don't have a lot of memories of my father. What I do remember is he was a very loving and kind man. In my heart, I believe that he would have been okay with me being gay.
"He promised we would be together forever. He's gone, and I'm left here alone. What did I do to deserve this?" she asked.
"You didn't do anything to deserve this. Bad things happen all the time, momma, and heaven knows we have had our fair share. The good thing is we have gotten through it together, and this will be no different. You have always said you wanted to see me happy, and a move will make me happy."
"I didn't mean to disrespect you earlier, and for that I am truly sorry." I meant it.
"I love you, baby boy. I just don't want you to struggle the way I had to struggle to keep food on the table. It makes your heart very heavy worrying about where the money is coming from. It gets very stressful, and I don't want that to happen to you. At least my pills keep the blood pressure in check." She got up from her chair and hugged me. "Now go get cleaned up. You can't go to Atlanta looking like a slob."
CHAPTER 5
Marjorie spent the next days scurrying around getting the apartment ready for her new roommate. The apartment was located at the corner of Piedmont and 14th Street and was a third floor walk-up with a spacious sunroom looking directly into Piedmont Park. The views from here were great all year long as the boys, straight and gay, walked, jogged and strutted their dogs into one of the main park entrances. It was a veritable smorgasbord of men just gliding by all day long.
Every day at 5:30 pm, her favorite object of affection- a tall, muscular dark haired jogger that she called “The Package”-would come running by. She looked at her watch. It was 5:29 pm and I was due at any minute, but she didn't want to miss her daily show. Some days “The Package” wore underwear and some days he didn't, so his kibbles and bits bounced as freely as he did. Unfortunately, she had never had the pleasure of meeting him and her affection remained unreturned. "One day I'm gonna grab those tight buns and just squeeze," she would say to herself.
As she looked out the window, I appeared on the sidewalk carrying an armful of junk and was heading up the sidewalk to the corner turn. Everything was stacked so high she doubted I could even see where I was going. She slid the window open and yelled, "Welcome, baby boy! Watch where you’re going!" At that same moment, “The Package” came bounding up from the other side of the building and was heading for the same corner. Marjorie's attention immediately focused on the buns-of-steel as they went bouncing by. It was a non-underwear day. Unfortunately, I turned the corner too soon and didn't see the low brick retaining wall on his right. As my leg crumpled under the obstacle of the skyscraper of junk I carried, I tumbled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and buried “The Package.”
Marjorie looked in horror as “The Package” was pummeled and dropped to the ground. He was buried in a pile of underwear and other assorted sundries as he hit the ground. Marjorie fled from the window and sprinted down the three flights of stairs a
nd bust out the door. As she was running across the grass courtyard “The Package” started pushing the pile of items off of him. All he could say was, "What the hell?"
I was starting to recover from this inopportune moment of clumsiness, and only realized that someone was under this pile of shit when I heard him speak. I quickly scrambled to my feet and started digging through the pile to uncover the person I buried, only to reveal a strange penis among my underwear.
Marjorie quickly hugged me. "I am so glad you are here! Now let's get him out of there."
We pulled each piece away and started throwing it over our shoulders. "Are you hurt?" Marjorie kept repeating as she flung more items out of the way. Slowly but surely, a profile started to emerge from below. She could see his long flowing hair and tanned body parts start to appear. It made her moist, as this was the closest she had ever been to her dream. "Let me help you up," she said as she stroked the uncovered hairy arm.
"That would be great," “The Package” said as he removed a jockstrap from his face. "My name is Roger."
"I'm Marjorie and this ever-so-apologetic person is my friend Tyler."
"Sorry, Roger. I didn't see the wall there."
As Roger strained to stand up straight, it was apparent that he couldn’t put any weight on his left ankle. He hobbled around grimacing in pain. Marjorie could only stare at his tight, tanned body with her mouth hanging open. Finally, I was able to pull her out of the clouds. "Marjorie do you have some ice? Roger, grab a squat here on the wall. We'll get you some ice for your ankle. What's the door code? I'll go get some ice while you keep Roger company."
The Crown Is Mine Page 1