GOLDIE PT. 02: THE MAN WITH A GOLDEN PENIS
To understand this story, it would help to read Part 1. Please be patient with Goldie's story, he is not well educated and writes mostly in dialect, but he is fighting for his life. Goldie is a light-skinned black man with a golden-colored penis.
GOLDIES' JOB AT JOY GARDEN MASSAGE PALACE
If you read 'Part One' of my story, you know I am here in the Texas Penitentiary, serving a death sentence for a murder I did not commit. I am innocent! The man they say I kilt was like a father to me, and his wife was way more than motherly. I keep asking the Sheriff,
"Where is the body of this man?" But I get no answer.
Why would I wish good Christian folk like him no good? There is no reason.
I swear I am innocent, but the excellent jury people of the Whipsaw, Texas, found me guilty. Unless the Governor intervenes, like the bread commercial says, "I'm toast."
Meanwhile, I'm writing this history of my brief life in the hope that it reveals my long journey to arrive here. I'm hoping this here story will reveal my innocence and show that I'm a God-fearing man.
When I stopped working part-time for Mr. Bentley and his wife, I got a job as Security Man at 'Joy Garden.' When the Employment Agency sent me over there to be interviewed, I thought this was a Chinese restaurant or a nursery. The Chinese are forever naming their places Joy Luck, Joy House, Joy Floy, and such.
To my surprise, 'Joy Garden' turned out to be a high-class massage parlor, which means they didn't just rub your back, but also whatever part of you was sticking out and in need of digital adjustment. I learned that these massage girls are some kind of sexual chiropractors. It wasn't unusual for a client to receive a happy ending. I didn't quite understand what that expression meant, but I learned later that a customer might order an entire slice of pussy pie right there on the massage table.
I thought I passed the job interview. Then the chubby Chinese man said,
"Why I should hire you. Everyone afraid of black men, but you not very black."
Fearful that I'd lose the chance at a full-time job, I piped up,
"That's what they said about Obama, and he made it to be President. I'm tough enough, and I was a champion wrestler in high school.".
"Ok, chop-chop," said the Boss, I never knew his name, but he had a thick neck and kinda looked like a frog.
"We pay you good, minimum wage. You start tomorrow. You work morning ten o'clock to eight or nine at night. If busy night, you work till no more busy. You watch safe. Never take eye off. You eat lunch with girls, but you no mess with them; you cock too big."
That comment made me grin.
"It no funny, no happy-panky. You watch safe."
"I gotcha, Boss."
"I serious, no happy-panky," said the Boss, "and you be here in time ebery day."
"Ok, Sir, I'll always be on time,"
I figured the "Sir" would end his concern, but he just ran on.
"But you no mess with girls, you big cock ruin them for other customers."
Then he put his hand on my knee,
"You cock velly big, yeah?"
I didn't answer. He let go of my knee, and quick as a Chinese firecracker, he pinches my dick right through my pants.
"Aiyee," I shout out in pain.
"Oh, you tuff guy, you no know what tuff is?"
"Ok, I gotcha, no happy-pan'ky, Yes Sir."
"Ok, you go now, come tomorrow."
So I got up and walked out. My dick was still hurting like hell as I got out to the street, and the hot sun was making me wish I'd worn my plastic sunglasses that I bought at the dollar store. I tried to adjust my burning cock through my pants without looking like I was playing with myself. Some old lady walked past and frowned at me, thinking I was jerking off.
I didn't quite understand all the things the Boss said, but the gist of it was, watch the safe and don't fuck with the girls. That was Ok with me. I wasn't gonna say nothin with my new Boss about that stinging dick pinch. If'n I was going to buy that red motorbike I saw at the Used Motor Emporium last week, I was in need of money this job promised.
When I arrived at work the next day, the Boss handed me a brown paper bag. Inside was a gray belted security jacket with a patch on the side and a belt with a red can of pepper spray in a leather holster.
"Here, tuff guy, you put this on-- now."
I did as he said, the jacket sleeves were a little short, and there was a moth hole under the left arm even though the clothes smelled of mothballs, but the jacket fit. I buckled on the belt and felt official, like the guy in that mall cop movie.
"You sit here now, in front of the greeting room," the froggy Boss guy pointed at a worn brown oak chair. I sat down. Then he turned and pointed,
"There in corner is safe. Safe have a slot in top. Girl collect money from massage client. She put house money in envelope and time stamp it, he pointed at a time stamp machine on the wall above the safe. You watch safe, all time you watch, never take eye off safe, you no let anyone near safe— that you job."
"Yes, sir, never take eyes off, I gotcha."
He walked right up to me and stared into my eyes, them flicked his fist in my face.
I flinched, remembering the cock sting.
"Oh you tuff guy, velly tuff guy, and he laughed."
So I started work, it wasn't bad job, just sit'n that hard chair and or stand'n up when your ass got to hurt'n.
My job was to greet the customers. If there no girl was at the desk, I'd tell the client to ring the little chrome bell on the table, and presto, a girl would appear. She'd ask the customer how long a massage he wanted, take his money, put the money in an envelope, time-stamp it, and insert the envelope into the slot on top of safe. All pretty simple.
Some guys wanted the rub down for an hour, and other guys who seemed a little nervous or in a rush would opt for the half-hour. Some of the older clients I got to know wanted the ninety-minute massage cause it took them longer--to relax.
It seemed like a fool-proof system. The Boss was always there when I arrived, but often he'd leave around midday, telling me,
"Watch the safe always." and pat my knee. Sometimes he'd repeat,
"Big dick, no mess with girls." then he'd laugh a high-pitched laugh and flat foot it out the door with a small tweed-brimmed hat.
Every once in a while, froggy'd appear out of one of the booths with a girl I'd never seen, quickly zipping his fly when he saw me.
"She new girl," he'd say. Before long I realized this was the tryout session where he tested the massage applicant. Then he'd throw a balled-up paper towel into the trash can and look very serious at me.
"What you looking it big tuff guy. Ha, ha, ha."
I got to know all the girls. Most worked a two-day shift and then went to work at another of the massage parlors. I was never quite sure if Froggy was the owner or the manager. Occasionally two dark-suited men would arrive and conference with Froggy in rapid Chinese lingo, before leaving briskly with a large envelope under their arm. Were they the real owers or messengers from the Chinese mafia?
Although I was always seated in the "greeting room" as they called it, I never knew what went on inside the locked booths where the girls plied their trade. On occasion, I'd hear animal-like noises and see the relaxed expressions on the men's faces as they left; as if the nervous energy they'd arrived with had been drained out and their faces had a happy glow. Sometimes I'd strain to hear what went on in the booths, but the girls would turn on these little CD players with sing-song Chinese music that overpowered the conversations.
When the men left, the girls would offer them a plastic bottle of cold water or hard candies from a tray. Sometimes the men would just nod, other times I'd hear, especially the older men say,
"I love you," and the girls would respond, "I love you too Honey."
I sat there and guarded the safe and the girls. I stood up when my ass got sore, but I never took my eyes off the safe.
The first month passed, and the Boss paid me every two weeks. Then the months began to pass rapidly. There was a red envelope in my pay for the Chinese New Year with an extra $20. Before long, I'd been there about eight months. I was paying off my red motorcycle. Life seemed to have no downside, except in March, my Aunt Hildi. We had a nice funeral for her, and everyone admired my motorbike. I kept working. The money was good, the Chinese food was fine, and the girls were pretty.
Most of the massage girls were from different cities in China, places I'd never heard of except for Beijing, I think that place used to be called Peking Duck. Occasionally a girl from Korea would show up. They spoke Chinese but looked different, a bit less graceful with heavier features, but the men seemed to like them a lot.
Very few of the girls spoke English, but someone had taught them to say,
"I love you Honey."
I'd hear that refrain a hundred times a day. As the girls got used to me, they would sometimes linger in the front office when business was slow. One of them, "Tiger Girl," would touch my hand or shoulder and say,
"You big man," and wink.
I guessed I was "big man" because I was six foot tall. The girls were all about five feet tall or a few inches more, but I was never quite sure if it was my height or something else they were thinking about. Unlike Westerner women, most of the girls had small breasts. A few girls with larger breasts were requested by the clients for those fast half-hour slots.
Tiger Girl was taller than most girls and had a pretty face, dark eyes, and shoulder-length hair she wore in a ponytail. Her long legs were clearly visible in the mini shorts she wore.
.
By now I completed my first year working at Lin Gardens. I was careful not to ask questions about the safe. I just watched the safe every day. It was an old heavy metal safe, about 4 feet tall and 2 1/2 feet wide. The front door still had most of the shiny black enameling but with plenty of scratches. The sides at some time were painted a dull grey color. A fancy old-fashioned golden script ran across the front door that said "Empire Safety Company." Below the script was a black round dial with numbers and a worn but shiny chrome lever just below the dial. The Boss never opened the safe in my presence. I figured the accounting was done after I left.
