Palm Beach Massage

Not many people have my phone number. Friends, family, my wife and mia noi, so I was surprised to see a Thai phone # appear on the LCD. At first I thought it might be the Bangkok cyber-crime police wondering whether I wanted to work for them as a spy, then I recognized the # as belonging to Jamie Parker.

“Where are you?” I asked wishing I was wherever he was rather than Palm Beach.

“Soi 6 and having a good time. Any go-gos where you at?”

“One named Rachel’s. $20 for a three minute lap dance.” About the price of a short-time visit to the upstairs chambers of any Soi 6 establishment.

“Any skinny girls?” Jamie was privy to my predilection for skin and bones.

“I wouldn’t know.” I hadn’t enough money to visit the West Palm go-go bar and bicycling in that area was potentially offering your possessions and life to the various gangbangers dominating the nightlife of West Palm Beach.

“What are you doing for money?”

Three months ago my faux F1 business was providing my family with more money than the average Thai banker and allowing me to live like a duke in Pattaya. Now I was mansion sitting for $50/day. Main duty consisted of walking an Airedale named Cujo.

“Not much.”

“How you like to make some money?

“Love to,” I answered cautious since Jamie Parker loved to take risks with other people’s freedom, but at this point I really was dying to return to Pattaya and any other city in Thailand as long as they had cold beer. “What you have in mind?”

“How about opening a massage parlor on Palm Beach. One girl, one guy, and a ladyboy for anyone in-between? I know the rents are expensive, but I’m sure you could recoup any expenses within the first week.”

Jamie was right about that. Bentleys, Rolls, and Maseratis would be double-parked on Worth Avenue. Sex in Palm Beach was mostly extra-marital with surgical-enhanced blondes. Only one problem.

“I think it would be hard getting the licenses.” The Palm Beach cops would be difficult too. “This isn’t Thailand.”

“Hey, I’ve been to Florida.” He had spent two months in Dade County jail for vagrancy in 1978. The charges stemmed from his falling asleep in a Miami Beach movie theater. “You have to admit you’d clean up if you opened a massage parlor in Palm Beach.”

“Better to have an escort service. These rich people like to be discreet.”

“The trio are already in New York. You want them to come down. Maybe they could stay with you at that mansion.”

“I’ll let you know.” I hung up before I could think about too much, for while Jamie’s plan was a sure-fire way of making money, it was also guaranteed to place me in jail and Florida jails are no fun in the summer time. Still Palm Beach Massage has a nice ring to it.

Especially in florid neon.

Oh so Palm Beach.

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