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"You're the man of the hour on the bus," he said. "You've got a uniform, which appeals to women." Perhaps less plausibly, he described the bus as "a big penis symbol, which you're controlling."
When Robinson showed Hare some of his writing, the shrink encouraged him to keep at it.
"If they can have some outlet that can give them a taste of the bright lights, big city, like writing," said Hare of guys like Robinson, "they can really ride the bus and dream of even more."
The result was The Gospel of the Game: Pimp Tales, Book One, a rambling document that alternates between self-aggrandizing soliloquies and disconnected but graphic scenes of his life as a mack daddy.
Robinson's effort to cash in with a literary tell-all isn't unique. In 1969, former Chicago pimp Robert Beck, aka Iceberg Slim, wrote Pimp: The Story of My Life. A cult classic that's sold more than 5 million copies, Pimp describes Beck's education and career in unflinching detail and humorous, colorful vernacular. There's even a hustler's glossary that explains some of Beck's more obscure terminology, like "Jasper" (lesbian).
Beck served as a role model for other pimps hoping to parlay their experiences into straight-world notoriety without losing their coolness factor. A search of Amazon.com reveals a few other ex-mack reminiscences, including Rosebudd the American Pimp, penned by Robinson's moody friend and filmmaking partner, John Dickson of Vallejo.
But not every pimp can create a hit. Rosebudd's book failed to vault him from Coke-machine repairman to literary star. Beck's publisher, Holloway House, has gotten about 30 unsolicited manuscripts from pimps since Beck's book came out, according to its president, Bentley Morriss. But he sniffed that they are mostly "very bad rip-offs of Robert Beck."
Similarly, pimps have been inspired to put their lives on film by the success of two recent documentaries. In 1999, Pimps Up, Hos Down and American Pimp aired on HBO and in art-house theaters around the country. The latter featured extensive interviews with Rosebudd and Fillmore Slim. Both films showed pimps in a sympathetic, humorous, even groovy light.
Robinson and Rosebudd later cooked up a plan for their own flick. With Rosebudd's experience in such matters, gleaned from being interviewed for American Pimp, and Robinson's relationship with his former mentor, they'd make a documentary about Fillmore Slim. They are relying heavily on the services of a video production house, since neither of them has ever actually directed, filmed, or edited a movie.
Robinson plans to enter the documentary, also titled The Gospel of the Game, in film festivals when it's finished.
As his dad talked to a reporter on that Saturday afternoon, Robinson's oldest son, James Junior, shyly emerged from his bathroom and ducked out of the house. The muscle-bound J.J. is a Muni bus driver, has never been in jail, and competes as a weight lifter, according to his proud dad. At 24, he's the oldest of Robinson's kids. The others are 17-year-old Evangelina, Marc Anthony, 15, and Napoleon, 13.
As his real son left, Robinson's "adopted" son, Rich Mack, arrived. Mack, 22, met Robinson through a mutual friend at a San Francisco club and immediately became the older man's groupie and main rapper on the CD version of The Gospel of the Game, along with Evangelina and Marc Anthony. Mack is handsome and doe-eyed, with long eyelashes and a mouth plate that fits over his upper teeth, framing each one in gold.
"Me and Jimi has a connection," he said. "I came up without a father. I look up to all these cats. Him and Fillmore [Slim] -- he had a lot of success, and got a lot of respect."
Robinson and Mack sipped cognac from cut-crystal glasses and smoked mentholated cigarettes on the patio, as sunlight glinted off the kidney-shaped pool. "I've put myself into him," said Robinson. "He feels what I'm sayin' ... I use Rich to project the image of hip hop."
Soon, nearly all the CD performers had assembled. Robinson's nieces, Ramona and Lamica Tevis, are sunny, confident young backup singers in tight jeans and meticulously styled hair.
"When I first found out [Robinson] was a pimp, my first reaction was embarrassment and shock," said Lamica, 21. "But seeing how my family reacted, I became OK with it. My dad was like, "You didn't know he was a pimp?!'"
Roz arrived with Evangelina, a pretty high school senior and aspiring model with a Burberry print scarf tied around her long hair. She's got a big-screen TV in her room, and Robinson lamented that he "spoils" her.
His kids, Robinson said, are all ears when he talks about his life as a pimp.
Now, they're rapping his memories for him. "They don't know none of this shit," said Robinson. "They've never experienced anything like that. This is my life."
Merry and gracious, Roz -- a dead ringer for Gladys Knight -- responds to Robinson's every need with the attentiveness of a '50s housewife. As soon as she put down her keys and purse, she refilled drinks and busily emptied bottles of salsa into glass bowls, assembled plates of corn chips, and sliced a summer sausage for her guests.
Since tearing a rotator cuff last year, Roz has been on leave from her job at the San Francisco Department of Parking and Traffic. She wakes every day at 4 a.m. to lay out Robinson's uniform and make him breakfast. She helps him with his media projects on weekends. At first glance, they seem to have a master/servant relationship, especially when he barks at her, "BABE! A coupla business cards, PLEASE!" and she jogs upstairs to get them. But upon closer observation, they appear to work as a team.
Asked what she thinks of her husband's memoir, Roz responded chirpily, "It's what you call dy-no-mite!" Then husband and wife joked about his inability to find his way around the kitchen.
