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"I'm like the breadwinner," explained Robinson. "The kids will tell you I ain't got a clue. The only thing I know is where the beer, cognac, bed, and bathroom are. And the Jag and the Jeep."
Then Evangelina, Ramona, and Lamica were ready to head out to a nearby recording studio to do their voice touch-ups. Mack and Robinson decided to stay behind. Polishing off a malt liquor, Robinson asked Roz to drive the girls. A flicker of annoyance passed over her soft features, but only for a moment.
"No problem," she said breathily, and picked up the keys to the Jeep.
Robinson has sunk his family's savings into the media projects, gambling heavily on the success of the Gospel of the Game movie, book, and CD.
"Soon we'll be countin' our millions," Roz said cheerily. But both of them know the projects are far from sure things. All could flop miserably.
"If it does not fly, I'll simply pick myself up and dust myself off," said Robinson. "I told a portion of my life. I left a legacy."
On the November evening after the Examiner published its story about his mack-daddy past, Robinson drove home from Woods in a funk. The article had quoted a vice squad inspector about the evils of pimping, and Robinson felt betrayed by the reporter. The vice guy didn't even know him! Robinson feared the story would turn off union voters and he would lose the election for the second time.
As a black man with a questionable history, Robinson recalled thinking, "Some people want to kick you or push you down or keep you down, when you're trying to go up." He began writing poetry in his head as he crossed the Bay Bridge.
I was condemned before birth. Robbed of self-worth.
The words kept flowing and before he knew it, he had the lyrics to a rap. Titled "Heaven for Ps and Gs," now his favorite track on his CD, the song asks whether society ever will allow pimps and gangsters -- Ps and Gs -- to redeem themselves. Is there salvation, the song asks, for Ps and Gs?
A few months later, his victorious union campaign behind him, Robinson was sworn into his new post at Local 250-A's offices in the Fillmore -- the same neighborhood where he'd once clamored for the attention of local pimps.
After the ceremony, Robinson celebrated in Rasselas jazz bar downstairs with a few friends and relatives. He, Rosebudd, and Burleson sat in one booth. Roz and Jackie Anderson sat in another. As the men talked, the statuesque Anderson rose and approached their table. She held something shiny in her hand, which she slid onto Robinson's finger.
Without a word, Anderson returned to her table.
Robinson looked at his hand, took a sip of Rémy Martin, and smiled. It was his star-shaped gold-and-diamond pinkie ring -- a glittering reminder of the career he'd mastered and then abandoned.
Jimi Starr knows there are rewards for doing the wrong things in life. James Robinson is about to find out if there are also rewards for doing the right things.
