Chapter 7c

Jake and Helen boarded a DC-10 the next day for their trip to Omaha to pick up Jake's plane. Jake had booked them first class, a form of air travel that Helen, with more than two thousand hours of flight time, had never experienced before. She marveled over the plush seats and the attentive stewardesses but seemed a little nervous as the aircraft actually began to accelerate for it's take-off roll.

"Something wrong?" he asked her as he watched her fingers gripping the armrests.

"I hate flying in these things," she told him.

He raised his eyebrows a little. "But you're a pilot," he said.

"That's exactly why," she said. "I'm not in control of this aircraft and I have no way of taking control. How do I know what kind of idiot they have flying this thing? How do I know what kind of morons they have maintaining it? How do I know what dimwits they have staffing the air traffic control computers? All it takes is one little mistake by any number of people and we're all a bunch of body parts scattered over a mountainside."

"Wow," Jake said as the jet lifted off the ground and began to climb into the hot summer sky. "I never really thought of it that way."

"You will," she assured him as the DC-10 banked to the left and the undercarriage whined with the retraction of the gear. "The more hours you get at the stick the more you'll hate putting your fate in the hands of others."

"Thank you for planting that thought in my brain," Jake said.

She giggled nervously as the plane completed its bank and nosed down a bit. "Anytime," she said.

Jake had been a little nervous about being in close proximity with Helen after what had happened the other day. His worries, however, seemed to be groundless. So far she was talking to him as she always had, with no indication whatsoever that she'd made a pass at him and he'd rejected her. He did wonder about her manner of dress though. She was wearing a sleeveless spaghetti strap top that displayed an impressive amount of her ample cleavage and a pair of denim shorts that showed off her tanned and muscled legs to their best advantage. Her hair was also styled and hanging loose instead of tied up in a ponytail and stuffed under her flight school baseball cap. And was that make-up she had on her face? It was a light coating to be sure but it was there. He wondered where she had even learned to apply make-up. Had her father taught her? And what did all of this mean? Had she not taken "no" for an answer? And if she hadn't, what was he going to do about it?

Yesterday he had been firm in his resolve not to get involved with Helen romantically. But Celia's words about soulmates and cynicism — as naïve and innocent as they seemed on the surface — were spinning around and around in his head. Was there really any reason to deny himself what seemed at first glance an opportunity for a connection with a woman? He had warned Helen that she could get hurt if she hooked up with him hadn't he? Now that she had been told of the potential consequences of her actions didn't that absolve him of responsibility if he did, in fact, hook up with her and those consequences eventually came to pass?

You're rationalizing, his brain told him warningly. You're getting tired of sleeping with sluts all the time and you want another girlfriend figure in your life. Stay away from her or you'll treat her just like you did Rachel.

Jake could not deny that he missed having someone to call his girlfriend, that he missed being involved with a woman. But was that all he saw in Helen? Wasn't there something else there as well?

As soon as they passed through ten thousand feet the first class stewardesses began to make their rounds, offering complimentary drinks to all who cared to imbibe in them. Jake ordered a rum and coke. Helen ordered a beer.

"I didn't know you drank," Jake said.

"There's lots of things you don't know about me," she said with a smile.

They talked of neutral things during the four-hour flight. She told him about the softball league she was in and how they were poised to take the playoffs next month. They talked about the upcoming football season and how their respective teams were looking. She favored the Broncos since a big chunk of her childhood had been spent in Colorado Springs. Jake was still a Raiders fan even though they had defected from Oakland and were now taking up residence in Los Angeles, the city he hated perhaps more than any other. Jake told her of his golf game with Celia Valdez and Gregory Oldfellow the day before, including the Nassau he'd beaten Greg out of. She seemed fascinated with the story.

"It's just amazing, Jake," she said, her eyes shining. "You're telling me a story about playing golf with two famous people and I know you're not bullshitting me. That's a really weird feeling, you know?"

"I suppose," Jake said, although he really couldn't relate to that.

They landed at 6:33 PM, Omaha time (with Helen breathing an audible sigh of relief as the wheels thumped down on the runway) and managed to make it through the airport without anyone recognizing Jake's face. A limousine was standing by for them outside the terminal and they climbed inside for the twenty-minute trip to the Ferriday Hotel of Omaha, perhaps the nicest hotel available in this particular city. Jake had reserved two suites for them here. The plan was for them to stay overnight in Omaha and then go check out his new plane in the morning. They would then fly in hops to Albuquerque where another pair of suites was waiting for them. The day after that they would hop the rest of the way to Brannigan Airport.

"This is where we stay when the tour passes through here," Jake told her as they walked through the lobby with their carry-on bags to check in. "Not much of a view but the rooms are nice."

"I've never stayed in a suite before," she said as they waited for the elevator. "You're spoiling me."

"It's what I do best," he told her.

As they rode up to the tenth floor she asked nervously, "What... uh... are we going to do about dinner? Can we eat in the restaurant down there?"

He shook his head sadly. "Trust me on this, it really wouldn't be fun to be in a public restaurant with me. Once I'm recognized a third of the room will come over and ask for autographs, another third will start demanding that we be kicked out, and the other third will sit there and sneer at us. Before we're even served our main course someone will call the local news media and they'll show up in news vans and bring their cameras in and start filming us. They'll ask what we're doing here, who you are, and how many times I've beaten you up and raped you so far."

"Wow," she said, wide-eyed. "Is it really that bad?"

"In a place like Omaha, yeah, it's really that bad. Sometimes even worse."

"I guess being famous isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

"It does have its down side."

The stopped at the top floor and the doors slid open. They stepped out into a spacious hallway and started heading for their rooms.

"So what are we going to do for dinner then?" she asked.

"Room service," he said. "Order anything you want. It'll go on my tab."

"Oh," she said slowly. "I see."

"Is something wrong?"

She gave him a small smile. "You're not really going to make me eat all alone in my room, are you?"

"Uh... well..."

"Come on, Jake," she said. "You made me endure four hours of hell on a commercial jetliner. The least you could do is invite a lady over to your room for dinner."

She had a point there. "Okay," he said. "Come over as soon as you get settled in and we'll eat."

Her smile grew wider. "I'll be looking forward to it."

Jake tried to suppress the thought that he was looking forward to it as well.

Ronald Dithers was the night manager of the hotel. He was thirty-eight years old and at the pinnacle of his career in hotel management. He hated his job and regretted each and every day his decision to drop out of college back in the late sixties in order to pursue a career in music. The music thing had never gone anywhere. Ronald had some talent as a guitar player but not enough to count. Instead of moving on to Hollywood, a recording contract, and a career filled with fame and fortune, Ronald had ended up working in the Ferriday Hotel and slowly making his way up the ladder of underlings. Without his college degree he could advance no further than his current position. He had not picked up his guitar in more than ten years now and it was doubtful he would even remember how to play it at this point in his life. His was a sad but common tale. For every Jake Kingsley or Matt Tisdale who made it, there were perhaps ten thousand Ronald Dithers' staffing hotels or driving garbage trucks or changing oil in Speedy Lube establishments.

Ronald had just returned from the sixth floor where he'd been dealing with a guest who had been trying to get a free room upgrade by complaining about a small stain that had been left in his bathtub. His stomach was sour as he walked through the reception area and his ears perked up as he heard Brittany Daniels and Meghan Jones, the two nineteen year old night clerks he often fantasized about but who had laughingly rejected his flirtations, talking excitedly to each other in whispered tones.

"He actually touched my hand when I handed him the key," Brittany was saying, her voice full of worshipful awe. "He touched it. Oh my Gawd! I can still feel it tingling."

"I am soooo jealous," Meghan said. "Did he like, just touch it, or did he, like give you a little rub."

"He rubbed," Brittany said dreamily. "He like totally slid his thumb over the back of my hand. And, you know, he like had this look in his eye while he did it too. Oh Gawd. I think I need to go change my..." She stopped as she saw Ronald standing next to her, listening in on the conversation. She blushed a little, embarrassed. "Oh... hi, Ron," she said. "What's up?"

"Uh... nothing," Ronald said. "What were you two just talking about?"

Brittany was too embarrassed to answer. Meghan, however, was not. "Jake Kingsley just checked in a few minutes ago," she said. "Why didn't you tell us he was going to be here?"

"Jake Kingsley?" Ronald said. "The singer?"

"What other Jake Kingsley would we be talking about?" Meghan asked snootily. "What's he doing here anyway? Intemperance isn't in town."

"Are you sure it was Jake Kingsley?" Ronald asked. "I wasn't told anything about a VIP visit. Maybe it was just someone who looked like him?"

"It was him," Brittany said. "I have every album Intemperance has ever made. I've stared at that face on those album covers a thousand times. Besides, he paid with a credit card. It had his name on it."

"Why didn't we know about this advance?" Ronald asked. "Was the reservation in his name?"

"His name didn't come up until I ran the reservation number," Brittany said. "So you really didn't know he was gonna be here?"

"No, I don't think anyone did. When we know that a VIP is going to be here we generally clear out the adjoining rooms, especially when it's a rock singer. Was he with anyone?"

"He had some slutty looking girl with big boobs with him," Brittany said. "Her name was..." She quickly checked her registration log. "She was someone named Helen Brody. They checked into two different suites up on the top, 1012 and 1014."

"She looked like a total slut," Meghan added. "And she's not even all that hot. I'm totally hotter than she is."

"Totally," Brittany agreed. "Both of us are. I wonder why they're in different rooms?"

"Why would they even be here?" Meghan asked. "Maybe they're gonna make a new video or something?"

"Yeah... totally!" Brittany said. "That has to be it! Why else would he be in Omaha?"

Ronald took a quick glance at the paperwork and the computer registration system. Within a minute he was able to satisfy himself that Jake Kingsley was, in fact, staying in the hotel and that he had paid for two suites with his credit card. The more he listened to Meghan and Brittany speculate about the possibility of Kingsley being here to shoot a music video, the more sense it seemed to make. After all, as Brittany had pointed out, what other business could he possibly have in Omaha?

"What's the name of that chick that does the Intemperance videos?" Megan asked. "Wasn't it Helen Brody?"

"No way, chick," Brittany said. "It's Erica Wilde. I saw her at the MTV awards. She's some fat slut with big-ass glasses. She's also doing the Earthstone and the Nevermind videos."

"Well then who is she?" Meghan asked. "We totally should have asked him when they checked in."

"Totally," Brittany agreed.

Ronald left them to their conversation and continued to his office. He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. He flipped through his rolodex and located the home phone number for a man named Jim Stinson. Stinson was the head of the entertainment department at the Omaha Register. As one of the managers of the most prestigious hotel in Omaha it was consequential that Ronald had contacts — albeit weak ones — with several local reporters and media types. After all, when someone famous did visit Omaha — something that happened from time to time — they inevitably stayed at this hotel. Entertainment reporters loved to dig up dirt on celebrities wherever it could be found and employees of the hotels they stayed in were a particularly rich source. This would not be the first time that Ronald had contacted Stinson on an Intemperance related subject. When the band had passed through on their last tour Ronald had provided him with a detailed list of how many girls had gone up to the rooms with the band after the show, exactly what had been ordered from room service, and exactly what the maids had cleaned up from the room the next morning (including an exact count of the empty condom wrappers recovered). This information had been printed in the Register two days later citing "an anonymous hotel employee" as the source.

Ronald dialed the number and Stinson answered on the third ring. They passed a few pleasantries and then Ronald got down to the business at hand.

"Do you know anything about Jake Kingsley being in town?" he asked.

"Jake Kingsley?" Stinson said. "No. I haven't heard a thing. Why do you ask?"

"Because he's staying here in the hotel tonight. He checked in just a few minutes ago with some woman named Helen Brody."

"Are you sure it's Kingsley?" Stinson said. "I haven't heard so much as a whisper about this."

"My two night clerks positively identified him and we have his credit card number and signature on the register. Also the two of them are in two different suites."

"Interesting," Stinson said. "And you have no idea what they are doing there?"

"My two clerks seem to think that he's here to shoot a music video."

"Where did they get that information?"

"I don't know," Ronald said. "Maybe Kingsley told them that."

"I've heard absolutely nothing about Intemperance shooting a video in Nebraska or anywhere else. They've already done all the videos they're going to do from their last album and they haven't even started recording their next album yet."

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Ronald said a little defensively.

"I know," Simpson soothed. "It's obvious there's something going on here. I'll start looking into this. You start looking into things from your end. Find out anything you can. Get a description of this Brody chick from your clerks. Get me a report on what they order from room service. Let me know about any phone calls they make or any visitors they have. Call me back if anything interesting pops up."

"Will do," Ronald said, knowing that if anything panned out from this information Stinson would lay some legal tender on him, maybe as much as a hundred dollars.

Jake's suspicions that Helen had not quite given up her aspirations of instigating a relationship with him were all but confirmed when he let her in the door to his suite an hour after they'd checked in. She had changed into a flowered summer dress that clung to her body, accenting her curves and her femininity in just the right way. The material of the dress was very light and very thin, the hem falling to just above her knees. The way her large breasts jiggled as she walked into the room told him that she wore no bra beneath it. Her hair was still damp from the shower she'd taken and the smell of freshly bathed female came drifting in with her.

"Thank you for inviting me, Jake," she said casually, as if her appearance hadn't been custom designed to give him an erection.

Jake smiled, fighting the urge to lick his lips. "No problem at all," he said. He waved to the couch in the sitting room. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," she said, going over and taking a seat. As she sat, the hem of her dress rode up quite high on her thighs. She didn't bother pulling it back down.

"I see you showered and changed your clothes," Jake said, making no move to join her.

"Yes," she said. "I was all hot and sticky from the flight. I just loved that shower stall in my bathroom. It's so big."

"It is very nice, isn't it?"

She smiled sweetly, her eyes sending him a definite message. "Do you have the room service menu?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, picking it up from the table. He carried it over and handed it to her. "Why don't you take a look through it and see what you want?"

"Okay," she said. "Can you sit with me so we can look at it together?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting from her exposed thighs to those jiggling breasts to those seductive eyes. "I don't think that's a real good idea," he said.

She patted the couch insistently. "You're not afraid of me, are you, Jake?" she asked.