#ManicMonday: Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy, Pt. 2


Jackson Fischer is the quintessential boy-next-door meets bad boy. He’s the type of guy that you want to date and meet your parents. He’s also the type of guy – in his words – that’ll blow your back out anytime you want it. I have to admit, he’s, by far, the most charming man I’ve ever met and believe me, I’ve met quite a few.

There’s an old-school type of chivalry that you only read in romance novels and see in rom-coms. He pulls out the seat for you. He orders for you over dinner. When he asks a question about you, he intently listens and then asks follow-up questions. He shares little antidotes about his past and every so often, flashes a brilliant smile.

It’s really easy to see how every woman he’s met as fell for his charm and why his Facebook page boasts a stunning ten million likes, with comments from women all over the world saying in a variety of ways how much they love him and want to be with him. He’s fluent in Spanish and German, loves to ski, and has a deep love for hip-hop. “Yeah, I know,” he chuckles, “a lily-white guy from Calabasas who loves hip-hop. It’s not really as far-fetched as you think.”

“What’s your favorite hip-hop album of all time?”

“Hmm…” He stops walking and seriously ponders. “I need to think about that. Off the bat, I want to say Aquemini. Ready to Die is a very close second.”

“Do you ever check your Facebook page?” I ask.

“All the time,” he smiles.

“And you respond?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugs, “not as often as I would like, though.”

“You’re a rock star to a lot of girls.” I mention and he shakes his head. “No? You don’t think so?”

“There’s nothing rock star about me,” his baritone voice rumbles, “I’m just Jackson.”

Except he’s not just Jackson. He’s a fixture on red carpets and high-profile sporting events. Rappers shout him out on their records. A-list celebrities have openly boasted about watching his show, though none will admit actually visiting his ranch. “And I’ll never admit if any of them do,” he reveals.

As he shows me around the Honey Ranch, I learn a few details about his business. Each girl who stays there signs a nine-month contract (“School year terms,” he explains, “how you are in September isn’t necessarily the same person come June.”) and they stay in those rooms the entire length of their contract. If a girl wants out before the end of her contract, she has to pay a substantial fee and her likeness will be removed from the website. The girls who only perform on the weekends, have special rooms behind the main ranch (“It’s more for convenience. No one wants to give up their room for the fly-by-night girls.”).

“Do you see yourself doing this forever?” I cautiously ask. “It seems like you’re pretty content with your life.”

“I don’t know,” he answers after a brief pause, “I’m set for life so I don’t have to do anything, really. I’ve invested very well.” And he’s right. Jackson’s net worth is rumored to be around the $125 million mark. Besides the four homes he owns in Carson City and Vegas, he also owns properties in Florida, the Hamptons, and New York. He’s currently building an adult bookstore in Los Angeles and he’s gearing up for a huge publicity push for the grand opening.

As he shows me around his estate, I see a side of Jackson that not many see and hardly anyone speaks of. Pictures of his family adorn the hallways. Pictures of his friends – both famous and non – are on a bookcase. His home is extravagant but quite simple. You don’t get the feeling you can’t touch anything or you can’t sit anywhere. I’m sure everything in his home is pricey and expensive, yet when we sit on the plush leather sofa, he pats a spot down next to him for me to sit. He’s a multimillionaire but doesn’t live like one. Other than the shiny toys he owns – his garage boasts of a Lamborghini, Mercedes, and a tricked-out Hummer SUV – he’s quite humbled in his home.


“So you do this so you won’t get bored?” I ask.

“Something like that.” His answer isn’t indicative of someone who gets easily bored. “Golf is an old man’s game. I don’t like to spend too much time in any casino. As much as I love sports, I can’t see myself spending all day everyday watching them. So I guess you can say I’m doing this partially so I don’t get bored.”

“There’s charity work? You can always donate time and energy to charity.”

“And I do,” he nods, “I’ve donated quite a bit of money to charity.”

It’s true. He’s one of the biggest donors behind such charities for Alzheimer’s research. His ALS ice bucket challenge, where the girls poured ice cold water over a shirtless Jackson, was viewed over 7 million times (and counting) on YouTube. He also donated a chunk of money in addition to the challenge.

I get the feeling there’s more to Jackson than money, hoes, and clothes, as the famous late rapper Notorious B.I.G once stated. One gets the feeling there’s more he wants out of life and maybe, the brothels are holding him back from achieving that goal.

“Do you ever want to get married and have children?”

“Ah, I was wondering when you were going to bring that up.” His eyes twinkle as he contemplates the answer. After a seemingly long silence, he finally answers. “Eventually.”

“Is there someone to fill that role? I’m assuming it’s not one of the girls in the homes?”

“It’s definitely not one of the girls,” he emphatically answers, “though, she has been here.”

He’s dated all of the prostitutes that’s worked for him. And when I say date, I don’t mean he brought them home to meet his parents. Not one girl can claim she was ever Jackson’s girlfriend and he is very quick to correct those who hint. While Jackson doesn’t admit to a girlfriend, it’s pretty clear he’s not available. “There’s someone,” he slyly reveals, “she prefers to remain hidden.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,” he honestly answers. His eyes soften to a glacier blue and it seems the would-be romantic pairing has come to some sort of impasse. One wonders if the hesitation is on his part. “But we’ll see.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?” I ask for every woman who pines after him.

Jackson chuckles and lets out a deep breath. “That only means one thing…” He turns to me and smiles that beautiful smile. “I simply didn’t deserve her.”

When Love Calls, the second book in the Jackson and Liane trilogy, will be out later this month.

Fire We Make, the first book, is available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Apple, and All Romance.