I’m no pimp.
It was 2:50 AM. Jerry stood by the side of the road in dress pants, a button-up shirt, and suspenders, waiting for a lift to the airport to pick up his girlfriend. Up past his usual bedtime, Jerry relied on homemade kombucha to keep him awake. From what he could tell, it was working—either that, or he was excited.
He hadn’t seen Jen for a week. She was on her way back from Toronto where she had been visiting an old friend from school. He looked forward to seeing her, but he had some unfortunate news. His new job at the Copper Kettle hadn’t worked out. In a fast-paced work environment, it’s very easy to make a mistake. Which one would think could be forgivable… but when one slips and drops two trays of coffee mugs (almost thirty) one is left unemployed, wet, and with shards of glass in unfortunate places.
Jerry told himself “New month, new me!” with the enthusiasm of some peppy university girl going to the gym in January. He had decided he was going to try and sell his homemade products like his fermented-kombucha-tea, shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, even a mouthwash.
If you hadn’t guessed his number, Jerry was odd, having the ambition to save the planet one jar at a time. After seeing documentaries about how plastic is killing the ocean, having a family full of scent allergies, and frankly just being cheap, he had begun to play with these homemade concoctions, and they worked. For him at least. He had tried sharing them for free before, but the people he asked weren’t feeling brave enough. He was sure they worked because he’d guinea pigged himself on them for years.
This is why he had called for a car to pick him up instead of driving himself. He was too thrifty to splurge on a car normally, but figured it was worth the price to go there and back just to greet Jen at the airport… but the approaching car wasn’t as described on the app.
A red convertible pulled up, loud hip hop busting through the trunk and rims that didn’t know the car had stopped.
“Hey man, you Tiffy’s pimp?” the man yelled over the music.
Confused, Jerry shook his head and waved his hands.
“No, no I’m not”
The man turned down his music and yelled, “WHAT?”
Jerry was grateful he didn’t have to holler this early in the morning.
“I’m no pimp.”
“Ha, yeah right man. Look at you, dressed to the nines, standing on the street corner where she said you’d be. I get it man. Cops are everywhere nowadays, hiding and shit like it’s some kinda ‘How to Catch a Predator’ up in here.” He threw a wad of money on the ground. “Enjoy it. I sure as hell enjoyed her.” He hooted and tapped a bump of coke on the back of his hand. With a loud snort, he revved his engine, squealed his tires and was gone. Dazed from being up so late, Jerry coughed and waved his hand in front of his face at the burnt rubber wafting through the humid air.
Approaching the bills, he debated whether he should pick them up or not. Were cops really everywhere? Jerry looked down the road. The man definitely wasn’t coming back for it. Slowly, he took one step forward. Each bill stood out with a different colour, and there was an eye-catching yellow hundred dollar bill. He hadn’t held one of these since the bills became plastic.
Bending over to snatch the wad, he dug around in his pocket for his wallet, then jammed them next to some old receipts and expired almond milk coupons. He took a deep breath, sighed, and rubbed his eyes. Then a panicked thought crossed his mind, I shouldn’t have done that—there’s cocaine on this money—now cocaine’s on my hands and cocaine’s in my eye— Oh, look, my ride.
He climbed into the blue van. The driver said nothing as Jerry awkwardly tried to find the female end of the seat belt, diving through the cushion, past well-loved chewing gum, crumbs, and now what he considered small change. He pulled the buckle from the filthy crevasse, like a sword from a stone, and triumphantly clicked it. Looking up, he saw her large, unimpressed eyes, heavy bags dragging them down as she stared back at him. She exhaled noxious, fake, strawberry clouds of vapour deliberately through the van.
“Where to?”
“Oh, sorry, the airport please!” Jerry said, somewhat embarrassed and mentally exhausted.
She shifted out of gear and back onto the long stretch of road that would eventually lead to the highway, then to the airport within the next forty-five minutes. Interlocking his fingers, Jerry looked out at the clear night sky. It always reminded him how insignificant he was.
As he shifted around in his seat, he could tell his wallet suddenly had curves in all the right places.
There must have been over $300 in that stack, he thought. Considering the cab ride would be at least $100, he shouldn’t have been that excited, but he was. That was a weeks pay scrubbing scuzz. Somewhere, someone stupidly suggested he should slip a submission for his services. But deep breath, that’s done.
I’m an entrepreneur now. I’ll hopefully make ends meet and save the planet while I’m at it. All I need is another $400 before the end of the month to not take an advance on my credit card again, so that’s either one more successful wrongly accused account of pimping or a lot of deliveries.
The plan was to sell the products for at least ten dollars a jar. Subtracting cost for ingredients, he was left with roughly eight dollars profit, plus another five dollars for delivery to ride his bike around town. Jen lovingly reminded him he needed to do this more. The car reassuring this by hitting a bump that sent him and his stomach up almost separately.
Jerry wasn’t big by any means—unless you asked him, or anyone who saw him shirtless. In all honesty, that could be why he dressed the way he did. He grew up poor and overweight, got bullied relentlessly for it, and eventually grew into his body like his grandmother always said he would.
However, once you see yourself as overweight, it’s hard to see yourself as anything else, and to be perfectly fair, he knew there was some he could stand to lose. He was still much better than before though, when sugar had played a larger role in his life than his father.
Fancy clothes made him feel better about himself. Important maybe, and if he could get them for less second hand than what most people paid for a single pair of brand name jeans, then he was all for it. With that deep personal look into his fragile ego, he drifted off, as driving always made him either sleepy or car sick, the sleepless night ended up paying off for a second time.
“Wake up, kid, we’re here.” A gravelly but still nurturing voice croaked with berry undertones. Rubbing his eyes, forgetting he still might have cocaine on his hands, Jerry paid her the money to get here, and asked her to wait for a second while he found his girlfriend. Stepping out of the van, and luckily not having to look that hard, he found her. Jen’s hair was in a messy bun. She wore sweatpants, and not Jerry’s sweatshirt. but he guessed if he wore them it would have been.
Waving his arms like a maniac, he ran at her, scooping her up in his arms with a loving embrace.
“Hi,” she said, her feet dangling. She Looked exhausted from the long flight.
“Oh, I missed you.” His heart fluttered as he swivelled, still holding her, when a horn behind him blared long, loud, and with good rhythm. The cab driver lowered her window.
“Kid, come on, I don’t have all day.” She gasped as she coughed up a lung. As they made their way back to the van. Jerry muttered, “Sounds like you don’t have ’til the end of the week.” Jen giggled,squeezing his hand.
“I missed you, too,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek and using his shoulder as a pillow.
Jerry offered for her to spend the night at his place since they hadn’t seen each other in a while, but she said no. She really needed a good night’s sleep in her own bed, and besides, Jerry sweat like a pig in the summer, no, she needed her own bed and alone time. Respectfully, Jerry agreed and was happy to have her back, having her sleep on his shoulder for the ride home was enough for him.
When they stopped back at his place, he did the gentlemanly thing and gave the driver enough fair to take her back into the city and whatever was left could be a tip. Without so much as a thank you, he climbed out, barely able to keep his eyes open. As the door began to glide shut, in a panic, Jerry yelled, “I love you!”
As the door clicked shut, the front window lowered just to eye level as the driver narrowed her gaze.
“Feeling’s mutual, kid.” And with that, the van continued down the paved hill, turned the corner, and was gone. Shifting his head to smell his shoulder where she slept, he took a deep breath and thought, “’Kid’? Where the hell does she get ‘kid’?” Jerry was 25, dressed like a retired lawyer, had a bouquet of chest hair, a beard, and a patch of grey east of his forehead. He wasn’t thrilled about the grey, but white hair was better than no hair his grandfather had once told him. He agreed, refusing to dye it in a vain hope of maintaining youth.
As Jerry marched toward the door, he fumbled with the two keys on his keychain, the other for his bike lock. He was a little disappointed. Jen had an awful string of headaches, stomach aches, migraines, and period cramps before she left. This left Jerry in well over a month of a dry spell, and of course, he knew the odds of tonight happening were slim, but there was always hope that she would want him as badly as he wanted her. After brushing his teeth, undressing, and tapping off his lamp, the mature thought came to him. He’d waited twenty-one years before… he could wait another few days.
Fare.