Dethroning Crown

by Lila Felix

  That is, until he proves me wrong.

  I was still recuperating from the trip to Italy when I heard the first peep from the dastardly beast. It had been a week since I’d heard anything from next door.

  I spied on the scene from my bedroom window with more interest that I wanted to admit. The whole thing was like a car wreck. I didn’t want to look—I had to look.

  A guy in scrubs was cheering him on—he was now on crutches. No, one crutch. Scrubs was bidding him forward. The whole thing looked like a mother encouraging her toddler to make the first steps. My neighbor was giving him hell the whole way. It seemed like his mouth never stopped moving once. He had no shirt on and only a pair of gym shorts riding low on what was a fine tuned machine of a body.

  I couldn’t help myself. Reaching over, creeping the whole way, I unlatched the window and cracked it open just the tiniest bit. Why I found this whole scenario so devastatingly interesting was beyond comprehension, but I did.

  The F word was flying out of this guy’s mouth like it was hallelujah.

  His dark black hair shone in the sunlight, but it was clumpy—not at all like I’d seen it before. A shadow of a beard was growing on his face and I wondered why. When the guy in scrubs would turn around or overt his eyes, my new neighbor’s face would fall. It was like watching a real, breathing showcasing of the comedy and tragedy masks.

  I continued to stare, so enraptured by him even though I knew he was a bastard. But from this distance, and with the barrier of my window to keep me safe, he looked harmless enough.

  Then Scrubs took the crutches from him.

  And all hell broke loose.

  Before I knew it, they were in each other’s faces. I got up on my knees to get a better view, which was sick considering it was a fight. Words about being a self-absorbed brat and replies about being, well, less than a man, were flying back and forth.

  “You’re an ass, Crown Sterling. A rich, pampered ass. How you ever thought of yourself as an athlete is beyond me. Say hello to Dr. Sorenson for me when you see him on the operating table.”

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, the guy in scrubs took three steps back, shrugged his shoulders and left. He just left.

  His name was Crown Sterling. It sounded like a name of a jewelry store or a place that sold three piece suits for big and tall men.

  Also he was rich, spoiled, and an athlete.

  For an athlete, he sure was wobbling a lot on his feet. His crutches were now leaning against my iron-rod garden table far away from him.

  He’s gonna fall flat on his ass.

  Against my better judgment, I raced out my back door. I barely slid in under his arms before he tumbled onto the grass I’d lovingly planted last year. The heaviness of his torso leaned against my chest. He grunted and clasped down on my biceps, trying to regain his composure and his balance. His heart pounded against me—or maybe it was mine.

  He smelled putrid. I hefted breaths through my mouth to keep from gagging.

  I knew that smell. I’d know it in a sea of soap. It was the smell of a person who’d let themselves go and didn’t care. I’d once been there.

  “Crutches.” He grunted.

  “Stand up straight.” I demanded. With another weighted ‘humph’ Crown straightened. As quickly as possible, I grabbed the crutches and settled them in under his arms. I didn’t understand the paradox. This guy was obviously someone important. He had droves of people at his beck and command. Entire fleets of movers, painters and construction workers did his bidding in twenty four hour time lapses.

  I half expected an entourage of wild admirers to come flying out of the backdoor, berating me for taking such ill care of this important person.

  Whoever he was important to must not care about him getting a shower or eating properly. He’d thinned in the small time frame I’d known him.

  “Better?” I asked. He repositioned the walking sticks to a more comfortable spot and then shrugged.

  “Better than falling down.”

  I should tell him. I should tell him that he smells a little rank. Baby Jesus is plugging his nose. I hated these awkward situations. Like when you see a person’s zipper down. You don’t want them to walk around embarrassing themselves anymore, but then again, you don’t want them to think you were looking at their junk, either.

  I didn’t want this guy to know that in some lewd moment, I’d sniffed him, hoping that he smelled as good as he looked—minus the attitude.

  Deciding to just go for it, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “Your apartment comes with a shower, yeah?”

  Probably not the smoothest way to approach—but there it was. I felt sorry for the guy.

  “Do they make apartments without showers?”

  A question with a question. I slapped my hand over my forehead. Of course he wouldn’t make this easy.

  “Well, you need a shower.”

  I didn’t even know this person. For some godforsaken reason the call to treat him like one of my friends rang so strongly inside me. If one of my friends stank, I told them.

  Not that any of them did.

  “I can’t.”

  “Aren’t they sending a nurse out to help you? Did you tell the other guy?”

  “No. he hates me. Just go back to your nice quiet life. Eric told me to leave you alone. I don’t want to lose my place to stay. Just—just screw off Halo.”

  He turned ad left me standing there without a second glance.

  Not that I cared.

  Crown Sterling was an ass—and he smelled like one too.

  Chapter Five

  Crown

  Donkey Ass

  It’s not like it hadn’t been my intention of showering. I needed a shower. I wasn’t stupid. I could smell myself.

  The problem was, I’d run off three different nurses in the past week. One—well, I’d grabbed her boob. I supposed she had a legitimate reason for leaving. But the other one, she was a big girl. All I did was thank God that they finally sent someone who could help me—someone who had a bit of meat on their bones.

  I wasn’t calling her fat.

  She just looked like she could lift a fella or two.

  The home health company had probably called me, but the day before, after not receiving any calls, I finally just let the phone die.

  Certainly they must’ve been so busy with press from my incident that they haven’t had time to call. Or maybe it’s just this horrible damned service around here.

  Anyway, who asked the perfect neighbor to help? I could’ve gotten my crutches on my own. Nobody rang her bell.

  She was so perfect, she had to help the disabled too?

  I wasn’t falling for her bullshit. She wanted something from me.

  I crutched over to the refrigerator and jerked it open. The only thing in it was three protein shakes. Geraldo had managed to get me what I needed for a week, but only what I needed. I hadn’t had solid food since I’d choked down the Salisbury steak at the hospital—my last meal at the hospital.

  Grabbing for one of the bottles, I sat down and surveyed my options. I’d done more managing of my options since this accident than I had in my entire life.

  I didn’t want options—I just wanted my life back.

  A knock at the front door scared me. The empty bottle that was my lunch got chucked into the now full trash can under the sink as I made my way to the door.

  “Hi, Uncle Eric. I didn’t know you were coming over.”

  He cleared his throat and wedged a space between his polo collar and neck with a pudgy finger. “I was wondering if you needed any help with anything. I called, but you didn’t answer. Chela said I should come and check on you.”

  “I’m—uh…“ I was two seconds away from breaking down from hunger and funk was what I was. But my mom’s long lost brother was the last person I wanted to ask for help from—I didn’t know who the first was—but I knew he was the last. “Actually, I could use some groceries. I can’t drive
.”

  He stepped inside without me inviting him in, but I found that I didn’t care. It was a reprieve from the silence I once found comforting.

  “Sure. We can go to the grocery store. Why don’t you get washed up and changed. I thought you may be running out of garbage bags and duct tape. Chela sent some over with me. When I had my leg broken, I always had to wrap a bag around the cast and tape it up before showering. You’ve probably run out by now, huh?”

  Shit! Probably if I’d allowed a nurse to stay more than five minutes without insulting them or groping them I would’ve learned that trick.

  “I—um—I did run out. Thanks.”

  I took the bundle from him and bolted—as much bolting as I could with my ugly metal appendages—straight for the shower. Sitting on the toilet, I must’ve wrapped three garbage bags around my bandages and duct taped it all in place.

  The moment the hot water hit me, I realized exactly how nasty I was.

  And how pathetic in life.

  It was the bum knee. This broken down hinge in my leg was making me weak—and not just physically. I’d never needed help from anyone. I had help—hired help—but that wasn’t because I couldn’t handle everything. It was because I didn’t have to handle everything.

  If I was back in California, there would’ve been nurses lining up to help me with all my needs.

  Right?

  Three passes of soap and steaming water later, I emerged from the shower my old self. I threw on my last pair of clean boxers, shorts and some charity t-shirt that I couldn’t even remember sponsoring.

  I wondered how opposed this Chela chick would be to doing my laundry.

  After tearing the bags and tape off, I was set to go. I reached for my wallet and trusted that whoever was taking care of my money had cleared out enough on my credit cards to let me buy groceries.

  This is not something Crown Sterling should have to worry about.

  “I’m ready.”

  When I hobbled into the living room, Eric was talking to Chela. I didn’t know where she came from, but the pleasantly plump woman was wiping down surfaces. And there was a vacuum in the middle of the room. Did I own a vacuum?

  “Thank you. How much do I owe you for cleaning?”

  Chela turned and waved me off. “Crown, please. We are family. I would’ve been here sooner if I knew you were in this deep.”

  I didn’t even see a speck of dust in the place. But I must be blind because when her dusting rag came away from the mantle above the fire place—it was no longer white. It was brown.

  I choked on a thank you before Eric motioned for us to leave. The last time I’d been grocery shopping was when I was seventeen and dad had asked me to stop for milk on my way home from practice.

  “They have protein shakes here, right?”

  Eric started up his ratty minivan while I maneuvered my leg into the shoddy vehicle.

  “I don’t know, son. What else do you eat?”

  I didn’t suppose they had any decent beef in this place. Shit, I didn’t even know how to cook.

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  The store he brought me to smelled like moldy bread and bleach. The floors were cracked and worn as we strolled through the aisles with what had to be the worst grocery cart in history. The front wheel was like its own tilt-a-whirl just spinning to its own rhythm.

  All I could see were carbs, carbs and sugar. Now wonder Eric and Chela were chubby.

  “I eat meat and vegetables. That’s about it.”

  Eric nodded once, seeming unfazed by my request. A few steps later we were in front of an enormous tunnel looking counter, filled with meat and fish.

  This was why I had avoided grocery stores. These kinds of things were menial.

  I pointed to what I wanted, mostly steaks, and Eric ordered for me. He probably questioned my ability to speak to the man with any kind of manners.

  Maybe he was right.

  We picked up the makings for salad and Eric showed me these little bags of vegetables that would steam in the microwave. Before we left, I remembered eggs and we doubled back to get two dozen.

  My stomach twisted and turned as I approached the checkout. I hoped to God I had at least some money—enough to buy groceries. As soon as Geraldo or Gina called me, I would need to know where I was, financially. No more of this wondering.

  Thankfully, the credit card was approved and before I knew it, we were back at that horrible place I now called home.

  Except home was now clean. It sparkled. And it smelled like lemons and something else I couldn’t place.

  “I wonder where Chela is.”

  Eric put away my groceries and began scouring the house for his wife. I heard a noise outside and looked to see Chela and the supposed angel next door laughing.

  “She’s here.” I called out. I didn’t dare go out there. That girl, who smelled like some sweet kitchen spice—one I couldn’t place—had told me that I stunk. I didn’t blame her—I was pretty disgusting. I smelled like the inside of a fat man’s belly-button.

  For the first time—I was embarrassed. I had to get ahold of myself. Just because I was down didn’t mean I was out.

  Lyra crossed her legs. As she did, her dress rode up the side of her thigh. It had been too long since I’d seen that much skin. But there was more to her than that. Even from the confines of this place, I could see her vibrancy, the life that emanated from her smile.

  “Come on Crown. Come meet Lyra. She’s made sweet tea and some of her killer scones.”

  Scones—what was she—British?

  “Fine.”

  I took a sniff of myself just for good measure and followed Eric out the door. Just in the week I’d been here, the weather had changed dramatically. One day I had the air conditioner on and the next I woke up freezing.

  “Crown, this is Lyra. Lyra, this is Crown Sterling, my nephew. But wait, you’ve met, correct?”

  Lyra looked down into her tea before answering. She was ashamed of how she’d treated me and my music before. That’s what it was.

  “Yes. We’ve met unofficially.” She said. “At least I know your name now.”

  There was a fourth chair empty at the rod-iron table they all sat at. But the brutal honesty of the situation was too much for me to handle. The fact was, I wasn’t good at talking to people. It’s not that I couldn’t—Crown Sterling could do anything he wanted to.

  Out of practice—that’s what I was.

  I took a seat on a lounge chair even though the chair by the table would’ve been far easier to get comfortable in. Lyra—what a name. It sounded like Lyric, which reminded me of harps—angels play harps, right? Eric said something and both women threw their head back in laughter. I’d made women throw their heads back, but never in laughter.

  Crown Sterling wasn’t funny.

  He was fierce.

  “Crown, would you like some tea or a scone? They’re delicious.”

  “No, Crown is on a special diet. He only eats protein and vegetables.”

  Lyra looked like someone stole her halo. “No pasta?” I shook my head. “Ever?” Another shake of the head. “I’d die without pasta.”

  They continued on with their conversation as I enjoyed the sun. Kicked back on the lounge chair, I could feel it beating down on me. If I concentrated hard enough, the roars of the crowds came back to me, the smell of the grass, and the feel of the cleats on my feet.

  I could feel the pentagons, the seams of each one that made a soccer ball in my hands.

  I heard my dad shouting to tighten up my dribble, watch the players around me, and to shoot true.

  That was the only thing I remembered about my dad. I couldn’t place a time where we just had fun or watched a movie. There wasn’t time.

  Opening my eyes at the sound of another round of laughter, I realized a cold, hard fact.

  Soccer was my life—because I didn’t have a life.

  Chapter Six

  Lyra

  When I eat ste
ak, I can hear the moo.

  Crown had looked over at us once and then sometime later has fallen asleep on the lounge chair where I usually laid out to get a tan. He was back to the ornery guy I’d met before, physically and mentally. That black hair wasn’t in clumps anymore and he wore clean clothes. I knew I’d embarrassed him before. I felt awful for it.

  A hand patted mine. “Thanks for calling.” Eric whispered. My gaze darted over to Crown, making sure he didn’t hear. The poor guy, no matter what level of jerk face he was, didn’t deserve to be humiliated.

  No one deserves to be humiliated for something they have no control over.

  Smiling back at Eric, I nodded.

  “Good idea with the trash bags too. I’d forgotten about that trick. I called the physical therapy place too. That Blake guy will be back day after tomorrow.”

  “That’s a good idea. He’s got a long way to go. How about y’all come over for dinner tomorrow night? My treat.”

  Chela sipped her tea and then responded, “That would be nice. Let me bring dessert.”

  “As long as you make it bread pudding, that’s fine.”

  She giggled. “I do make a fine rum sauce.”

  “You make the best everything, Mama.” Eric always called Chela mama even though their kids were grown and had left the nest decades ago. It was truly endearing. My parents still did the same thing—I hoped. I hadn’t seen them in months.

  It was better that way.

  We reminded each other of worse times, not better.

  “The weather is pretty cool. Let’s drag the table out here and eat under the stars.”

  Wow, I was a Gouda head.

  “Good idea. Come on, Eric. Let’s go. My dogs are barking.”

  Chela had cleaned Crown’s apartment from top to bottom after doing all of her regular housework and sewing. She was the only seamstress I used for my dresses, but she had arthritis issues. I was shocked she’d lasted this long.

  They both looked to Crown in sync and frowned. Chela had expressed concern over him and Eric. Eric desperately wanted a relationship with what was his only nephew, but with the family history, it wasn’t going to be an easy journey.

  “Go. I will wake him up and make sure he gets in.”