"Dammit HO!!!! Das all the money you brought me!?"
Eustace wound up and laid a back-hander on the side of Chipita's head. Her silken hair followed the motion of her head as she fell to the grainy concrete of the parking garage. As much as his abuse hurt Chipita, it hurt Eustace a thousand times more inside. If there was one thing pimpin' wasn't, it was easy.
"Eustace baby, you know I loves ya," gasped Chipita, looking up at Eustace with salty eyes.
"Den why do you treat me like dis' baby? You know I look out fo' ya, don't I?" Eustace asked. Chipita nodded.
"You know I won't let anybody hurt y'all…dey be messin' with Eustace Jones if they be messin' wit' my hos," Eustace continued. Chipita nodded again. "You just betta have my money by FrIZday, HO!!!"
Chipita nodded once more, got up off the ground, gave Eustace a peck on the cheek and stumbled off. Eustace maintained a hard stance as he watched her leave the Eaton Centre's parking garage, or his "office", as called by the pimpin' industry–one of the world's oldest industries.
As soon as the garage was clear, Eustace fell to his knees and began to sob. Masses of tears streamed down his face until his frill collar was soaked.
"Man, I gotsta get myself a pint o' Strongbow. DAMN!!" He wiped his face on his velure cloak and slowly got to his feet..
He decided to walk to Gumpy's pub–the fresh air would do him some good, plus his Cadillac was getting too many miles. He had just come back from checking up on his rackets in Thunder Bay and Sault St. Marie–he ran most of Northern Ontario's prostitution. In Toronto, he only had a small harem. Like the old adage went: "Don't shit where you live." Hence, he tried to keep his home town on the low down.
As he walked down Yonge Street, he began to question his motives for getting into pimping. He had expected it to be a laugh riot–and it was. The coke parties, the late-night anal sex, the free tickets for Woodstock '99–it was a dream come true. But at what cost? Few saw the downside of pimping–giving out beatings, hassling "indy" hos, telling cops you dress like that because you're gay–Eustace's self esteem took a beating because of it. Everything compounded, it was more than Eustace wanted on his plate.
"Hey Gumpy. Hey Bill," greeted Eustace as he pushed open the door to Gumpy's pub. As usual, the dimly-lit place was empty, except for good 'ol Bill–Eustace's best friend. Since grade school, they'd been tight. Sure, their lives took different paths, but they managed to retain that special bond that's hard to keep hold of once through the door to the rat-cage.
Eustace pulled up a stool next to Bill and asked Gumpy for the usual. As Gumpy tipped the tap, the golden Strongbow trickled down the side of the glass, and Eustace watched sadly. Billy wasn't used to this kind of silence from Eustace–he was always talking about something crazy. In fact, Bill kind of looked forward to Eustace's stories of meeting famous adult film stars: Jenna Jameson, Sylvia Saint…even Debbie! After all, the life of an accountant, for all its "plusses", had considerably less flair than that of a pimp.
Without looking up, Eustace spoke in a soft, resigned tone. "I'll be honest with you Billy. I'm not feeling too hot."
Billy's face changed as he noticed tears welling up in Eustace's normally sparkling eyes. He put his hand on his friend's back to let him know he was listening.
"Eustace, I put my hand on your back to let you know that I'm listening." Billy was a simple man.
Eustace continued. "It's like…I mean, when were kids, we'd spend Saturday afternoons talking about everything from girls to Rocket Robin Hood, you know? Things seemed so simple then. Remember that time our parents took us to the Rockies, and you dared me to try and catch on to a bald eagle's legs while it was flying by and see if it would carry me, and I ended up breaking eight ribs and both my legs?"
"Yah," laughed Bill. "You had to get home-schooled for, like, two years." Eustace chuckled and snorted through his tears, then continued.
"Well, I did a lot of thinking those two years. I remember the day I told my parents I wanted to be a pimp. They looked down at me and laughed. My dad laughed. My mom laughed. My brother and sister laughed. Everyone always though I was kidding." Eustace paused, then turned to face Bill. His eyes were now bloodshot and glassy, and his face was red with his salty tears. He stared at Bill with unmatched intensity.
"Well I meant it. I really meant it. How can the only thing I've ever wanted to do make me this miserable?" He collapsed into Bill's chest and stopped holding back his sobs. The sound of his crying filled up the pub, and Gumpy uncomfortably pretended to wash some glasses.
Pimpin' wasn't easy, but it sho' was fun.