by Lila Felix
It was innocent and fluid, something she did all the time.
My hands jerked, knowing I should help her pick up, but I could just picture myself stumbling and fumbling over myself and this bum knee. The leftover food would probably end up all over the floor.
She came back a few seconds later and grabbed the rest of the stuff on the table. I sat there like an idiot, not knowing if she was coming back or not. I wanted her to. I needed to spend time with her, getting to know why she did all the things she did. The weird thing was, I didn’t know if that was part of the deal or not. After waiting longer than I thought necessary, I finally got up and limped my way back.
Halfway to my door, I heard her behind me.
“Don’t you want this?”
I closed my eyes, imagining all the things she might be offering up. I wanted every single one of them.
Every—single—one.
Turning around, I was instantly disappointed since all of my options for whatever she was giving me included her, with nothing on.
They certainly didn’t involve her being fully dressed, with a blanket wrapped around her, shoving a book at me.
“I’m gonna start the fire pit. It’s getting cold, cold out here.”
“Why did you say it twice?”
She shrugged. “That’s what we coonass women do. We say cold, cold and hot, hot. It’s our thing. Get used to it.”
I’d do no such thing. I was only there for a minute amount of time. Hopefully enough time to keep up appearances and heal up my knee. Other than that, this was all just temporary.
I took the book from her hands and then went back to my apartment. I needed to get a handle on myself. At that point, Lyra was getting under my skin way more than I was getting under hers.
~~
Three times I’d picked up the phone and dialed my uncle’s number. I didn’t really want him to think he’d won anything by me caving and calling him. I just needed him. He was a means to an end.
“Hello?” Finally.
“Eric, this is Crown.”
“Crown! How are you? Blake said you’re doing well. We saw him the other day at the grocery store.”
I couldn’t even take a shit in this place without everyone knowing.
“I’m okay. It hurts like a bitch, but that’s part of it, I guess. Listen, Lyra told me to ask you about some swamp tours or something.”
He chuckled a little. “Yeah, I run a company that does tours. You want to go on one?”
“Well, yes, and I was thinking Lyra could come too.”
The silence beat between us for one too many seconds.
“Crown, Lyra is a good girl.”
My hackles raised at his passive aggressive accusation, no matter how close to the truth it was.
“I’m not gonna defile her on a boat, Eric. She mentioned it over dinner. I said I’d ask. If you don’t want her to come then just forget about it. It’s not like you’ve ever done anything else for me.”
“Hold on, Crown.”
He muffled the phone and began speaking to someone else.
“Crown, I will take you on the tour myself, just name the time. And your aunt wants to know if you would like to see where—she wants to know if you’d like to go to the cemetery.”
I knew this place was a little void of the normal entertainment options, but the cemetery?
“I don’t…” I meant to turn him down, a little creeped out that my aunt would want to take me to a place like that.
“…To see your mother’s grave.” He said at the same time.
I almost lurched up my dinner. I’d never known where my mother was buried. I didn’t know that she was buried at all. My dad had always told me that she was cremated.
“She was cremated.”
His voice changed from declarative to cradling. “No, Crown. She’s buried in Brusly, not far from here. She was born in Brusly. Her parents are buried right next to her. Who told you she was cremated?”
“My dad.”
“Well, I suppose we can talk about that later. Why don’t you take some time to think on it and let me know about the tour and the other thing?”
“Okay.”
He hung up first while I just sat there, letting the impact of what he’d told me settle. Whether or not my mother was buried or cremated wasn’t the issue. The issue was that my father had lied to me my entire life. If I hadn’t hurt my knee and come down here, I would’ve never known.
I needed air.
As I opened the backdoor, the cold air hit the brakes on what was about to be a monumental break down. I’d begged my dad to tell me more about my mom on an almost daily basis until one day he’d shoved me up against a wall with his hand on my throat and threatened that if I ever asked about her again, that I’d pay for it.
Other than yelling and taking away privileges, it was the only time I was ever scared of my dad.
“Are you okay?” Lyra’s voice took away the piths of anger still left. No, I wasn’t angry. I was hurt.
I took a few more drags of the cool, but still humid air into my lungs before I answered.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. You look like you saw a ghost.”
With a sharp tick of my head, I looked at Lyra. She sat on one of her perfect, refurbished chairs in front of the fire with a book and that damned blanket.
“Come sit.” She patted the chair next to her. I didn’t want to go back inside, but I would not endure another question and answer session.
“What’s going on?” Her genuine tone nearly had me spilling my guts again, but I refrained and decided that some things she just couldn’t know.
Like anything that made me look like less of a man.
Like the fact that I was about to freak out over my mom.
I chose not to answer, but did opt for the seat next to her. Staring at the fire, I felt her eyes on me. Any other time, I would’ve soaked it in, fed off the attention she was giving me.
Eventually, she opened her book back up and went back to reading. Confusion flooded me. I had so much ill will toward my dad at that moment. I’d done everything he ever wanted me to. I’d lived the life he wanted me to because he couldn’t.
So the least he could’ve done was to tell me the effing truth about things.
It was a sick, symbiotic relationship we’d had. He relied completely on me to live the life he couldn’t. And I relied on him to constantly boost my ego until others took his place. In some instances, he would tear me down and build me back up within an hour. I never knew if I was coming or going. I lived for his praise.
And after he’d died, I looked for it in anyone who would give it to me.
Demanded it.
I must’ve sat there for hours. Looking over at Lyra, who hadn’t said a word the entire time, I chuckled at her awkward position. She had fallen asleep. My watch told me that it was past ten o’clock. I’d stayed out way later than I’d thought.
I didn’t wake her up immediately.
She looked too peaceful, the blanket clutched around her shoulders and even in slumber was hanging onto that book for dear life. Wisps of her brown hair blew around her face, encouraged by the cool breeze of fall. I’d called her Halo several times, since the people around here seemed to put her on the pedestal of an angel.
She’d earned that name.
That tug of remorse took hold of me as I watched her. She had this peaceful, calm life and I was about to be the wreckage of it all.
She should’ve been more careful.
No one gets in the way of my career, especially innocent girls who didn’t know any better.
She definitely should’ve been more careful.
Chapter Fourteen
Lyra
Chicken thighs, extra dirty
“Lyra, wake up.” A warm hand on my bicep shook me gently. I knew the voice, clipped and baritone. What I didn’t know was why Crown was waking me up.
“What?” I was crabby when woken up, another reason why not keep
ing an eight to five job worked in my favor.
“You can’t sleep outside. It’s not safe.”
I grunted, which probably wasn’t the most attractive move. “Outside is way safer than inside, sometimes.”
“No, it isn’t. Don’t make me worry about whether or not someone has grabbed you up in the night and stole you away.”
“Pfft.” I threw the blanket off and staggered toward my back door. “Shut up. You wouldn’t give two rat’s patooties if I lived or died. Crown Sterling worries only about Crown Sterling.”
I didn’t turn around to see his reaction to my pathetic insult or my use of the word patootie. He was probably in total agreement.
I would end up being some locker room story that he told his teammates. Crown Sterling nailed coonass girl in bayou country. I would forever reign as some high school paradigm, the country bumpkin who gave the celebrity soccer player the lay of his life.
There would be no laying or lying or anything else.
I slapped myself on the forehead before collapsing into bed, too tired to go through all the precautions that made me feel safe.
New rule: no thinking until fully awake.
The next day, I couldn’t even face him. I’d said some nasty things to him the night before, simply because I was grouchy. I took off early, going in to meet with my agent.
Plus, I needed some serious time away from him to think about his little deal. At first, I’d been caught totally off guard.
“Look at this bullshit.” Pauline, my agent, slapped a photograph on the desk in front of me. It was from the jewelry shoot. They’d made me look twice as beautiful and completely flawless which I kind of cringed about. They’d chosen the shot where my face was hidden by my hair, which, in the picture, was now a shade of red I was sure wasn’t present in nature.
“No one will ever know that’s me. And that, my friend, is a thing of beauty.” We laughed. Pauline had a hard time booking me on shoots and I appreciated her loyalty to my rules and her tenacity in making sure they were followed.
“There’s one in New York, next week.”
I leaned over the desk and took the paper she now held out for me.
“Already?”
She shrugged. “Got to make that money. You’ve almost got enough saved, right? Think about it. This one is seventy-five grand, all expenses paid and they’ve already agreed to your rules.”
“Let me think about it. I will let you know tomorrow.”
“Do you want this for your portfolio?”
“Might as well.” I took the photo and for the duration of the day, it stayed loose in my binder, full of my best pictures.
“I need to tell you about something else. And I need you to be objective, because at this point, I can’t. I also need you to keep quiet about it.”
“Lyra, honey…” She tapped her way too red, way too long fingernails on the desk. “Since I’ve had you as a client, I’ve learned to be as quiet as a bride’s fart.”
“Wow. That was descriptive. So, I’ve been offered an opportunity to get more jobs, better jobs.” Her eyebrows bunched and I realized that I’d approached the subject from the wrong angle. “What I mean is, I’ve been offered a publicity deal of sorts and if I take it, you will be an integral part of it.”
“Have you been working with another agent?” She leaned back in the chair.
“What? No. Just listen.”
I gave her the whole spiel. I told her about Crown and about what he’d told me and tons of other details that I didn’t really need to include. It was embarrassing the way I went on and on.
She turned around in her swivel desk chair and looked out the window. “What about your rules, sugar pie?”
“That’s where I’d need help—from you.”
“Let’s figure this out. So, he’d have to prove it somehow, those stupid selfies or instapics.”
I cringed at the thought. “But not my face.”
“He’d have to understand that. And he’d have to use your working name.”
No one knew I was a model because I worked under a pseudonym. It kept the stalkers away and protected my identity. Pauline booked all my jobs over the internet or by e-mail so they couldn’t link it all up. I was sure if they tried hard enough, they could. I just hoped no one wanted to try hard enough.
“No face, working name only, what else?”
She turned around again, “The most important thing…What if he’s bullshitting?”
I hadn’t thought about that at all. I was way too trusting. Whatever lay beneath his shell let me know that it was okay. I sounded like someone trying to excuse a demon.
“I guess that’s just a chance we take. The publicity should bump up my jobs. It can’t get worse. I have to save as much as I can here.”
“I know.” She patted my hand. “We are gonna keep you safe, Lyra. No matter what. Let me know what you decide. But from that gleam in your eye, it looks like you’ve already made up your mind.”
She was right, I had. But not for the right reasons at all. I needed something to hang onto, if only temporarily. I boasted about living and enjoying life, but really, I hungered for a connection, real and alive.
A girl could pretend, right?
Maybe in the process, I could save him—help him shred the costume a little.
Oh, what bullshit we will tell ourselves when we make up our minds to do something stupid.
I left her office and went home. I had to face Crown.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw a woman standing on the other side of the road, staring unabashedly in the direction of my house. I’d seen the woman before, she frequently walked, holding tiny weights, around the area.
What was she looking at?
I pulled in the driveway and avoided looking at Crown’s side of the building. Getting some things from the passenger side of the car, I glanced across the street again. The woman, middle-aged, was in the same exact spot, but now her mouth was completely open.
I turned around, following her stare and found the target of her intoxication. Sweet babies in heaven.
I fell prey to the scene for a few seconds before realizing the impact of it. Crown was in the bay window of his apartment, blinds tilted open just enough to let everyone get an eye full. And what an eye full it was.
He sat on the seat in the window. A grin rose on my face seeing that he was reading my book. But the book, nor the reading were keeping the attention of the woman across the street. It was everything else about him. It was his posture, cool and relaxed, like that was his life, hard body and a book—reading in a pair of those black boxer shorts. And he was so into it. I didn’t know if he needed glasses or he was just sucked into the reading material so deeply that his face was mere inches from the text.
There was something so innocent yet tantalizing at the same time.
I hoped it was the latter, the boy needed some Thoreau.
Hell, maybe I did too. I was the one about to accept his deal. It would be a means to an end. That would be the way I had to think about it for my own sanity.
Oh man, I hoped that woman wasn’t a soccer watcher. She would tell the world where he was and this whole deal would go to shit.
Rushing over to his door, I knocked on it like an angry cop. I saw him move to the door.
“Hey!” His face was a little happier than I expected.
“Can I come in?”
He moved over to let me in and I went straight for the window, twisting the sticks on every set of blinds until the sunlight couldn’t even penetrate it.
He chuckled. “What are you doing?”
“Come see,” I beckoned him with my finger and then opened one blind for him to see. “That woman was getting her eyeful. I swear, you were about to cause the first across the street orgasm ever.”
He laughed at me, but I found no humor in it. “Trust me. It wouldn’t be the first one.”
My fists landed on my hips in an effort to be shocked. “Are these the things that I�
�m going to have to put up with?”
He sat back down on the seat and put the book aside. “Are you accepting the deal?”
“Yes. But I have rules and you may not like them.”
“Name them.”
His knee was pumping up and down. It was making more and more nervous by the second. “You have to put some pants on first.”
Crown looked down and then met my eyes again with a smirk. “It’s just boxers, Lyra.”
“Just do it.”
“Okay.”
He got up and went to his bedroom. I looked around the place while he was gone. I felt sorry for the guy. His home, just like his life was void of comfort or belonging. It didn’t even look lived in. The place could pass for one of those hotel-like apartments for people who were staying an extended amount of time.
No matter what they said, those places weren’t anything like home.
He came back in with a pair of jeans on, the tops of which didn’t cover very much more than the boxers.
“Name your terms.” He clapped and sat on the couch.
“Are those on?” I pointed to his array of electronics on the wall across from the couch.
“No.” He looked perplexed.
“I have three rules. One: No pictures of my face.”
He grunted. “Then there’s no point.”
I sat down and the black leather made a sound of disapproval. “I don’t ever show my face when I’m modeling, Crown—ever. They cover it up, or crop it out. Sometimes they even put my hair over my face or whatever they have to do. It’s my rule. Take it or leave it.”
“What else?”
“You have to use my pseudonym instead of my real name.”
He flung an arm over the back of the couch. “What is it?”
“Amber Lyons.”
He shrugged. “Okay, Amber. What else?”
This was the big one. It wasn’t really big in terms of the deal, but it was a big deal to me. He would probably just shrug it off as nothing.
“No kissing on the mouth.”
“What? Like Julia Roberts?”
I rolled my eyes. The boy didn’t know Thoreau but he knew Pretty Woman. Tragedy.
“Yes. Exactly.”
Pouting out his bottom lip, he made a face that showed how much he didn’t care about the rule at all.