Circles: Hooker Boots

The circle is oddly quiet. There are no ladies of the night, no drug dealers, not even a crazy out on a porch. The streetlights give the neighborhood a soft, effulgent glow and the stars are visible in the navy sky. It is peaceful. Therefore, something bad must be brewing.

Artemis’ car screeches to a stop, half on the curb. “That’s good right?”

“I think so.”

Artemis and Mercutio, step out into the night air, and are immediately put ill at ease.

“What’s that smell?” Mercutio asks.

“Speekougphie.” Pronounced Spee-coffee, it is in upstate, well, really midstate, lower midstate at that, but to New York City, anything north of it is upstate, New York.

“Smells like regret and dead hooker.”

“Yeah, that’s about right.” Artemis rounds her car to inspect her parking job. “Eh. I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“I’m fine with that.” They then enter the house of flowers.

Everyone knows the house of flowers. It is the only house on the circle that bursts with life, amidst all the rot and decay. To understand the circle, one must live on it. Technically, it’s called a square. Reservoir Square, to be exact. But a square has corners and sides, something like four, whereas Reservoir Square was clearly a circle. Or at least an oval. To the neighboring streets, though, it was referred to fondly as the Hooker Circle. You’d see them all times of the day, decrepit, cracked out, in nothing but a bra and a short denim skirt that was out of fashion when they fished it out of the garbage five years ago. They were rather nice though. Artemis’ mother was friends with many of them. Which is why what happened next was no big surprise.

“Did you hear the doorbell?”

Mercutio coughs and chokes in response.

“I wonder who it is? It’s like…what time is it?”

Mercutio begins to cry from the lack of oxygen, while putting up two fingers.

“Really? That late?”

Mercutio nods then falls on the floor.

“You okay?”

Mercuito extends one limp hand out to pass the marijuana wrapped in a hollowed out cigar, what the kids refer to as a blunt, to Artemis. Then, lifting his head off the carpet of Artemis’ bedroom floor, remarks, “Mmm, that’s good stuff. I’m just going to look for that lung I coughed up.” He flips over onto his stomach and begins to examine the floor.

“Check under the bed. But seriously, who the fuck’s ringing our doorbell at two in the morning?”

“I dunno. Someone’s always ringing our doorbell at random times.”

“And mommy stayed opening the door. And she wonders why hobos sleep in her garden.”

“She’s practically inviting them in. Found it!” Successful, Mercutio returns to his seat on Artemis’ bed.

“Yay! Where was it?”

“I was laying on it. You wanna go see who it was?”

“Not really.” Artemis continues to puff on the blunt, while watching apes attack and eat each other for dominance in the jungles of Africa or Asia. Or maybe it’s the Phillipines. Or somewhere in the ocean. But apparently, these apes are no joke. When one gang of apes’ territory is threatened by another gang, a war breaks out. It’s all screeching and feces flying, apes falling out of trees, it’s pretty brutal stuff. Then, the losing gang, aside from losing the battle for the territory, get their skulls bashed in and are eaten by the victors. “Hmm, I’m hungry.”

“Yeah me too. Monkey brains?”

“Mmm. Yes please. “

“I also feel the desire to beat some crackheads down in the streets.”

“Let’s get on that.”

Down the darkened stairway, they journey to find nourishment in the kitchen notorious for its lack of sustenance. On the last step, Artemis trips over something.

“Ow, son of a BITCH, what is that?”

Mercutio turns on the hall light. At the bottom of the stairs sits a pair of white go-go boots.

“Yes, let’s put our shoes right there, at the bottom of the steps, the most convenient place in the world. I hate my mother.”

“Are they her shoes?”

“I dunno, I just hate that bitch.”

“Whose shoes are these?”

From her tower, Hera hears the commotion downstairs and asks from behind closed doors, “Hello?”

Artemis, slowly getting up while favoring her left leg asks, “Did you put these damn shoes at the bottom of the steps?”

“I didn’t put them at the bottom of the steps. They were next to the door.”

“No, they were at the bottom of the steps.”

“Well, I didn’t put them there.”

“Who did then? Moo? Dragon?” The house of flowers is also the house of menagerie. Five cats, from youngest to oldest, Moo, FuzzFoot, Evil, Blue and Woola, one severely aged dog, Dragon, a snake, Alice, a lizard, Samson, a hamster, Swan and a little freshwater turtle that has yet to be named.

“You’re mean.”

“Whose shoes are these?” Mercutio interjected.

“Starla’s.”

“Starla?” The kids wondered in conjunction.

Hera opened her door and descended the staircase. “Yeah, Starla.”

Mercutio and Artemis looked at each other.

“And Starla is...?’

“You know, Starla. She’s a lady of the night.”

“These are hooker boots?”

“I broke my ankle and almost died on a pair of freaking hooker boots?”

“Oh stop it,” Hera insisted, “you did no such thing. You’re ankle’s fine.”

“You can tell that to my lawyer, Sir.”

“Why are hooker boots at the bottom of our staircase?” Mercutio persists.

“I swear they were next to the door.”

“Yeah, well I swear my ankle’s broken.”

“She just asked me to hold onto them for a little bit.”

“Do you see how she just ignores me like I don’t exist?” Artemis inquires to both of them and neither of them at once.

“How long’s a bit?”

“I don’t know, I said okay. She’s a good woman. She once helped me bring my groceries inside.”

“If it’s okay with you both, I’m just going to limp off to die somewhere.” Artemis drags her left leg over to a couch and sinks into it.

“What size are they?” Mercutio wonders, not so secretly hoping he can try them on, then realizing that perhaps that would not be the most kosher thing in the world is relieved when Hera tells him they are “like a seven/eight.”

“Well, then…I’m hungry.”

“Me too and there’s nothing to eat.”

“I’m hungry too, and I’m pretty sure I need to go to the hospital.” Artemis sits with her leg elevated on a pillow.

Mercutio cranes his neck and asks her if she’s all right.

“Um, no. I think my ankle’s broken because of my stupid mother and her stupid hooker friend’s stupid hooker boots.”

“Well, if you’re going to be unpleasant, I’m going back upstairs. Good night,” Hera says airily and ascends the staircase to her tower.

“I hate that woman.”

Mercutio walks over to his friend and taps her ankle.

“Ow! Why did you do that?”

“I don’t know. Does it hurt?”

Artemis and Mercutio drive to the emergency room, narrowly avoiding hitting a truck as Artemis swerves from a sudden shock of pain. Halfway to the hospital, Artemis decides to turn around since neither of them have health insurance nor the money to pay for a hospital visit.

Screeching to a stop on the circle, this time not on the curb, the kids re-enter the house of flowers, Artemis tripping over the hooker boots yet again. This time they are next to the door. After some cajoling, she convinces her mother to give her some pain pills, which she occasionally has in abundance, to deal with the pain. After another blunt Mercutio and Artemis retire to bed. In the morning they discover that Starla, real name Ivanka Munroe, age 42, has been shot and killed overnight.