Sunday, November 20, 2005
My Pimp, My Friend
One night I went to a dance club in LA. After a while it grew hot inside of the club, and I stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air.
I saw a young, good-looking man leaning against a rail, smoking a cigarette. He saw me too, and we both held our gazes for a while, before I looked away. He walked over to me and introduced himself. I did the same, and we began talking.
We talked for an hour outside on the patio of the club. Within that first hour I found out a lot of information about my new friend-he was born in LA, but lived in a new city; his mother was Puerto Rican, he had no brothers and sisters-and he was a pimp.
As soon as he told me, I said, "Wow. Gotta go." "No, don't leave," he said. "I'm enjoying our conversation." "Yeah, but, well, you're a pimp. I'm a college graduate. I'm not interested," I answered honestly. "Look, I'm not looking for a girlfriend or an employee. I just like the conversation," he said. I looked into his eyes, and for some reason I instantly trusted him.
My new friend left LA the next morning, but not without getting my phone number. He called me as soon as he reached his city, just to say hello. "Hey," I said. "Where do you think this is going? I mean, I would never date you." "Let's just be friends," he said. And this is what we were.
He would often call me while driving in his car. "What kind of car do you drive?" I asked. I was pretty sure it must have been a huge Cadillac. "A Cadillac," he answered, confirming my guess. I started laughing. "So it that protocol or something? All pimps drive Cadillacs?" I asked. "Yeah, something like that," he answered, laughing. Another time we talked on the phone, making small talk, when I suddenly heard a woman's voice. "Is that one of them?" I asked. "Yeah, hold on," he said. I heard him talking gently to a woman, who was laughing hysterically. "She sounds happy," I said when he got back on the phone. "Jaimie, I'm not a mean guy," he said. "I'm a pimp, but don't believe everything you see on t.v."
For my birthday, he sent me a card, which I thought was nice enough. But when I opened the card, a one hundred dollar bill fell out. I called him to thank him, then suddenly realized something. "Wait...what does this money mean? Am I your officially your 'bitch' now or something?" I asked. He giggled and said, "No. Happy Birthday." I spent the money on new dishes for my kitchen.
One late night I received a collect phone call. He sounded like he was inside of a tunnel, and there was a rustling noise in the background. "Where are you?" I asked. "In the pen," he answered. "What are you calling me for?" I asked, defensively. "I'm not bailing you out, if that's what you want. Whatever you did, I have no money for you." "Jaimie, no, I don't want your money. I need you to call my cousin, and tell her to get money out of my account and pay a bondsmen to get me out of here. I've been trying to call, but there's no answer. I can't keep using the phone in here." "Oh, okay," I said. I got the information from him and called his cousin.
After he was released, he called me once more, just to see how I was doing. I never asked him what jail was like, or what he was charged with. We talked about LA, his city, and life in general. This was the last time I talked to him. I don't know what happened to him, but I feel like he's probably still surviving-able to see the beauty and hilarity in his life. My pimp, my friend. Life is so strange.
Posted by Jaimie ::
9:57 AM ::
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