A pimp in the sunset of our lives

Jordan played with his cup in silence. The other gray-haired men who sat at the MacDonalds table with him looked to each other with raised eyebrows and smug looks.
“Is that so Jordo? You really married to that idea?” One of them said slyly smirking at another who sat across from him.
“Yes. I’m not changing my mind, and I’m not having a break-down!” Jordan blurted out, his scowl growing deeper as he continued to stare intently at his cup of coffee. “I’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Well, it’s just strange that you’ve come up with this plan and never said a word all these years that we’ve been meeting here each morning…”
“I didn’t think I could tell any of you! And this just proves it…” Jordan said, looking up at his accuser with a wild expression.
“Ok, ok. Calm down. We’re just concerned for you, that’s all. No one is stopping you. We just think it’s a little silly…”
“Don’t you judge me.” Jordan snapped, his eyes still piercing. The table fell silent. Janice, the slightly overweight eighteen year old with a weak chin came over and asked if anyone wanted a re-fill.
“You boys staying out of trouble?” She said, smiling at them. She hadn’t worked the morning shift very long, but she clearly loved the idea of being a wize-cracking waitress to these regulars, and dove into the role eagerly.
“Oh you just wait.” One of the men boasted, going through the motions of witty banter. “I still have another hour yet before I have to go to work.” All the men laughed, and as she left the laughter faded into sighs, then silence.

“Pimp, Jordan?” Micky, the skinnier and quieter of the group asked.
“Yep.”
“Doesn’t that go against yer upbringing?” He asked with a pleading look.
“It isn’t about that. All my life I’ve held back against the things I always wanted to do, and after the bypass…” Jordan trailed. Another at the table fiddled with a corner of the sports section from the morning paper. The door opened and all but Jordan looked to see who entered.
“Looks like the breakfast rush is coming in.” One said flatly.
“A little later than normal.” Said another. Jordan sighed and looked dispondantly out the window to the highway which contrasted from black to dark blue in the pre-morning light.
“Where did you get this from anyway?”
“Dead Wood.” Jordan said as bright, white headlights sped alone down the highway.
“Dead Wood?”
“Yeah, a show on HBO.”
“Oh, I don’t get HBO. When did you decide to get that? I thought Martha didn’t like you spendin’ your money on those types of things.”
“Remember all the arguing he had to do to get the Internet?” Another added light-heartedly. The others laughed.
“Damn near ruined their marriage didn’t it Jordo?”
“Yeah, well. Things are different now.”
“How so?”


“I’m not living with Martha anymore.”
One man cleared his throat as another loudly stirred the settled sugar in the bottom of his cup.
“Aren’t you worried about the police?”
“I’m tired of letting things get in the way of what I want.”
“Whores Jordo? That’s your life dream?”
“It’s not about the whore’s Ken! Damnit! It’s about the danger, the complexities of life! It’s about making decisions that effect human lives but it’s all done in the name of business, no preservation! I want henchmen who I order to kill a priest who’s been hanging out in my brothel, because it’s bad for business. I want that henchman to take pause, and consider the weight of his soul against his ideals of dedication to his boss! I want to strike one of my bitches for getting out of line, then tell her stories about the way I found her on the streets- and how I’ve made her life better. I want complexity in my life. I want to be multifaceted. I want to be intimidating and compassionate, gaining the respect from people of all walks of life…”
“I don’t know if you realize this, but being a pimp isn’t like it is in ‘Dead Wood’ anymore. That was during the Gold Rush. Now it’s more like ‘New Jack City’.” Ken said, interrupting Jordan. “I don’t think you’re cut out for it Jordo.”
“Don’t call me ‘Jordo’ anymore.”
“What? Uh, alright. What do you want to be called?”
“Swan.”
“Oh dear God.” Another exclaimed, throwing down his paper dramatically. “I can’t take this anymore.” He muttered as he dug in his wallet and pulled out three dollars to toss into the center of the table. “I’m leaving. And I’m not coming back here anymore as long as ‘Swan’ is here.” Taking his cue, the others got up and followed him out. As they filed out the door, Jordan called back to them. Shouting how he would prove them wrong.