Men and Murder - Prologue

Prologue

Those first steps towards a new Manhattan apartment would make most anyone excited. Anyone, except for me. The glamour and appeal of the big city was entirely lost on me, and I knew we wouldn’t end up staying. It was just another move. We had arrived at the very beginning of winter. It was cold, but not freezing. Many trees had shed their leaves; though there was a certain appeal to seeing them naked and exposed. As we walked down the sidewalk, surveying graffiti-marked poles and listening to the hustle and bustle of the working class, I couldn’t help but look back and reflect. If this city was going to paint another story of my life, where had all the old stories gone? I felt like they were all slipping away. Some of them I wanted to remember, and some of them I wanted to forget. As my dear mother rambled on about her excitement, my mind was somewhere else.

The homes we’ve had started to blend together. I started to question myself- did this incident happen in this house, or this house? I was certain we moved around a lot when I was younger. Then, at some point, we settled somewhere for a while. Those are where I recall some of my early childhood memories. I must have been five, or six. I was a plain looking girl. I never thought I was ugly, but I didn’t think I was anything special. Not back then. Long, dark brown hair and green eyes- that much hasn’t changed. My skin was fair, but not pale. Our house was small, but perfect for just the two of us. Except, there was always more than two of us there. I understood from an early age that I didn’t have a father. What I didn’t understand, was my mother seemed to have so many husbands. There were more men in and out of that house in a week than in a bar. Some of them were nice to me, and some of them didn’t seem to notice me at all. I didn’t mind that, so much. Back then, a lot of them were intimidating to me. They came in all shapes, and sizes- a man for each day of the week. I don’t remember any of their names..., except for Hank. Hank was my friend. He was nice enough, and he really liked mom. After Hank started hanging around, I saw other men less and less. I always hoped that I would grow up to be as pretty as mother, so that I could have a nice guy like him. Always such a gentleman: opening doors, bringing me juice, pulling out my chair when I wanted to sit. He told me stories about how he used to work at a train station, and how he met all kinds of interesting people: tales of traveling musicians, star-crossed lovers, and hopeful youths. I’d watch him kiss mom until her lipstick would smudge all over his face. It always made me giggle. Unlike with most of the men my mom saw, she didn’t mind me hanging around Hank. But that didn’t last forever.

“We’re leaving.” I remember the expression on her face when she said those words. She was stuffing suitcases with whatever she could grab, piling in her make-up and fancy perfumes. Mother had so many nice things; trinkets and hats and fancy heels. She packed it all up, and shoved me out the door. I don’t know why we left, but mom didn’t look sad. We spent a night in a motel room, but she ended up, ‘asking,’ me to go play. I wandered around the parking lot, imagining I was at Hank’s old train station, and wondering what people I might meet. My mom had a visitor that night. I waited until he was gone before I went back inside to sleep. The motel room hopping lasted a while. I never had any friends- only mom. Sometimes we stayed in fancier hotels, and sometimes we stayed in drab rooms. Mother never let them be drab for too long. She’d spruce them up with her trinkets and fine blankets, and we’d call it, ‘home,’ for however long she insisted. She used to dress me up, and let me put on her make-up. “Be in love with yourself, Shay. You don’t need anyone else,” she used to say. I felt lonely, a lot. I had little to do but play with my mom’s stuff. But I learned how to cope by imagining other worlds, other places.

She was always happy. I didn’t understand it, back then. She was always laughing, and dancing- even when we were in rough, noisy neighborhoods. Eventually, motel rooms turned into apartments. We’d stay in one for a month at a time, sometimes two. I never went to school. Mom didn’t believe in school. She told me stories about the world, and everything I learned, I learned from her. I watched her, did as she did. When she was gone, I learned how to take care of myself. Sometimes I’d go out, make a few friends. But I always told them I wouldn’t be able to stay. I tried really hard not to be sad when we’d go. She tried to explain to me, once, what her job was. So I’d have something to say when people ask me. ‘Personal Relations Expert,’ was what she told me. We were all kids, then. We pictured her going away with people in her fancy Chanel suit and her decorative chapeaus, carrying around a briefcase. I mean, she did go out with a briefcase, sometimes. As I got older, I didn’t see as many men around. Sometimes, they drove mom home, or picked her up. The men, while still diverse, were different now than they used to be. They were far from the alcohol-scented, tattooed, jean wearing boys of the past. They were, ‘suits.’ I assumed that mom knew them from work- the well dressed men with their nice cars and cell phones. A few of them said hello to me, but they rarely stayed over.

As I got older, there were more questions. “Why do we have to move around so much for your work, mommy?” “Because we get payed a lot of money to do so.” “If we’re rich, why do we have to keep doing it?” “Because mommy loves her job.” It was true, she really seemed to love whatever it was that she did. She loved her fancy clothes, and her lacy underwear. She had closets full of them: ornate drawers full of feminine things: jewelry, lingerie, hair dressings. Sometimes, we’d go days just spending time together. And other times, we’d spend days apart. Life was like this for some time. I got to see all kinds of neat places, and meet people. There was a part of me that wanted life to be normal- to go to school, live in one house, have friends. But at the same time, there was an adventurous flair to the life that we lived. These were two very conflicting thoughts, in my mind. I had never experienced real pain, or suffering. I always had food to eat.

On my twelfth birthday, mom took me to a carnival outside of town. We were staying in a small town, back then. The great faire that came by once a year was the most exciting thing that occurred to the people who lived there. There were clowns, and little people, and big tents. Games, prizes, attractions, magicians, fire breathers, fortune tellers- I could go on and on. I was so excited, and having so very much fun. I remember running around in the autumn leaves that had fallen upon the dirt, holding onto a giant teddy bear that I had won. I also remember stopping; I had felt a strange sensation in my stomach. I realized I hadn’t seen mother in a while, so I turned and called out to her, looking for her. I walked down the road, peaking around tents and whistling loudly, hoping to catch her attention. The sun was starting to go down, and a cold breeze was starting to nip at my neck and hair. It was behind the petting zoo, that I found her. She was behind the crates, and a man was with her.

“You can’t do this to me, Cloe! How can you just leave me like this? Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll pay you double!”

“You couldn’t afford to pay me double, I’m afraid. You’re just going to have to look me up some other time. My contract is running up at the end of the week.”

“You don’t understand!” The man put his hands on my mother’s shoulders and started to shake her. “I love you, see! You can’t walk out on me now! Why don’t you just stop all this and come live with me! I can’t give you the kind of money that he can, but- don’t you want to settle down? Surely, this isn’t the life you want to live- the life of a whore!” Mother laughed, jerking her shoulders out from his grasp. The man wasn’t all too intimidating. He was thin, middle-aged, and wearing a corduroy suit.

“Your accomplishments are impressive, but after this week, our contract is up. Do you know why I refuse to take less than what I’m offered? Because I’m the best damn whore there is. Don’t fall in love with someone like me. I’m a wild bird, not a caged one. I desire finer things in life than the love of a man, and I get what I desire. Don’t feel bad, please. I promise I’ll make it up to you, tonight. We have a week, and until then, I can be whoever you want. I can be your adoring housewife, and in the evening, your sultry little minx...” From around the edge of a barrel, I watched my mother drag a blue-painted fingernail along the front of the man’s throat. For a moment, he stammered and stood there, seeming transfixed by her. But then, he gave a frustrated snarl, and pulled out a small, black-handled switchblade.

“Mom!” I cried out, leaving my cover behind and emerging out into the dirt alleyway. Though, mother didn’t look my way. She pulled something from the cleavage of her dress: a small spray-bottle. Pointing it at the man, she fired away, and he was soon consumed with screaming. The knife fell to the floor, and mother picked it up with a sigh.

“Really, now. You’ve made me resort to that. In front of my little girl, even.” He wasn’t listening. He was too busy scratching at his eyes, howling. “I’m ending my contract now. If you don’t provide me with my final payment, I have people who will be paying you a visit.” I remember that moment rather vividly. She looked at me, now, and flashed a brilliant smile. There was no fear in her; she wasn’t rattled in the least bit. Unlike myself, who was suddenly trembling and hugging that teddy bear all too tightly.

“He was going to hurt you, wasn’t he?”

“Some men are scum, Shay. Scum of the earth. But not all are like him. He was so lonely, and liked my work so much, that he wanted me to stay with him forever. But the only person I’m going to stay with forever, is you. Let’s go home. We need to pack.”  One of my hands held to mom’s, and the other, my bear. We walked through those autumn leaves, admiring all of the sights on our way out of the fairgrounds. Everything was grey, and orange, and red. But mother, in all of her rebellion, was wearing a strapless, silver gown, and had her nails painted a bright, royal blue. For a moment, the world seemed to still- except for her.

“Here we are~” Mother chimed and woke me out of my stupor. We had finally made it to our new Manhattan apartment. It was no Park Avenue suite, but it wasn’t in a shady part of town. The building had a classic feel about it, a small flight of stairs with a black-iron railing, leading into a hall. From there, we took the elevator to the fourth floor, which contained our newest place of residence. I sat the suitcases down once we got to the door, reached for the knob and- for the first time, felt somewhat excited to be in the big city. And as I looked inside at the already furnished apartment, I knew that even if we wouldn’t be here for long, I was going to enjoy it while I could.

“Welcome to our new home, honey.”