They held each other tightly, exchanging soft kisses for a bit, before he finally withdrew his wilted member from her body. A stream of their combined juices ran out and puddled on the surface of the wing. Jake saw that the side of his penis was abraded from rubbing up against the band of her panties. That was the price one had to pay for the old pull-the-panties-to-the-side trick. It was worth it.
“That was incredible,” Laura told him as he helped her back down to the floor. Her face was sweaty and still flushed.
Jake gave his signature see-saw of the hand. “It was all right,” he said.
“Fuck you,” she said, slapping at him playfully. “You know that was hot. How do you come up with ideas like that? I never would have thought of doing it on the wing of a plane.”
He shrugged and then reached down to pull up his pants. “When you think about sex as much as I do, some good ideas will inevitably form.”
She giggled a little, and then turned a little more serious. “Have you ... ever done that before?” she asked. “You know ... with someone else?”
“No,” he assured her, quite truthfully. “That was the first time I’ve ever screwed someone on the wing of my plane. Hell, I’ve never even screwed inside the plane before.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I guess we’ll have to try that one later.”
Jake drove home, not because he wanted to, but because Laura was old-fashioned enough that she insisted the man drive whenever feasible. As they made their way out of the airport and toward Santa Monica Boulevard, Jake pointed out a small paper bag he had stashed in the back seat.
“Why don’t you take a look in there,” he suggested.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Look and you’ll see,” he said.
She picked up the bag and then squealed when she saw what was in it. She reached in and pulled out two CD cases, both of them white with plain black writing on them. “The master CDs?” she asked excitedly.
“Well ... copies of the masters, but yes. Those are them.”
“Oh my God, I can’t wait to hear them. I wish I had a CD player in the car.”
“Maybe we can get you one,” Jake said.
“A CD player?”
“No, a new car,” he said. “This one has almost a hundred thousand miles on it. What kind of car would you like?”
She was shaking her head. “Jake, I can’t afford a car right now.”
“I can,” he said.
She looked at him pointedly. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“I’m pretty serious,” he said. “How about a Volkswagen Jetta convertible? A green one, maybe. You would look so totally cute in one of those.”
She was shaking her head. “Jake, I can’t let you buy me a car.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because ... well ... it’s just ... well, I really don’t know, truthfully, but I just can’t.”
He shrugged. “Well, think it over. I’m going to keep pestering you about this.”
“I thank you for the offer,” she said.
“And who knows?” he said mysteriously. “Maybe this Corolla might meet with some unfortunate accident one of these days and you’d be forced to take me up on my offer.”
She looked at his face for a moment, trying to determine if he was joking or not. A slight smile gave him away.
“Anyway, new subject,” Jake said. “How is Phil’s gig down at the studio going?” Armed with vocal credits on the upcoming Jake Kingsley and Celia Valdez solo albums, and with letters of recommendation in hand, and, with a little phone call from the Nerdlys to certain bigwigs in the recording department at National Records, Phil had gotten himself a few sessions singing backup for various projects that needed a baritone voice. According to earlier conversations Jake had had with Laura on the phone, Phil was making a good impression over there.
“He’s getting called in about twice a week now,” she told him. “Usually working on low end stuff, but they pay him union scale—forty dollars an hour with a minimum of four hours just for showing up.”
“He’s getting by then?” Jake asked.
“It’s not quite enough to make the rent in and of itself,” she said, “but he’s still got most of the recording money banked, so he’s making it okay for now.”
Jake nodded. “Tell him if he ever needs any help to contact me. I owe him a big one for keeping Dr. Dave off of you.”
“I’ll do that,” she said softly, shuddering a little at the mention of the dentist. Though she had not heard a word from him since Jake had had his little talk with him, she was still scarred by her relationship with him and by what had almost happened that day. She had confessed to Jake that she sometimes obsessively thought about how things might have turned out if Phil hadn’t happened to have been home to hear her screams.
“And what about you?” he asked her next. “You have ... what? Three more weeks of the teaching gig before summer starts?”
“About that,” she said.
“Are you going to go down and audition at the studio as well?” he asked. “You know that Nerdly got you an open invitation to blow some horn for the head studio hauncho, just like he did for Phil. And I’m told there’s a much bigger demand for sax session players than there is for singers.”
She frowned a little. “I ... well ... I just don’t know,” she said. “I’m still thinking about it.”
“What’s to think about?” he asked. “You have an in, hon, and they’ll probably put you to work. Don’t you want to play your sax and make some money from it?”
“I do ... but...” She shook her head. “It’s complicated.”
“Explain it to me.”
“I’m ... well ... I’m afraid I’ll do the same thing I did at your audition,” she said.
“The same thing?”
“Yeah ... you know what I did,” she said.
“You mean come across like an aloof, cold fish and then play the horn like shit on the pieces we wanted you to play?”
“Yeah,” she said sourly. “Thank you for putting that so delicately.”
“You’re not going to do that, Laura,” he told her.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’ve learned something from the time you spent with us ... or at least I hope you did. You’ve grown musically and learned to appreciate music that is outside your favored genre. I mean, look at you. You listen to Led Zepplin sometimes now, and Journey, and didn’t I hear you cranking out some Bad Company a time or two back there in Oregon?”
She gave him an embarrassed smile. She had indeed learned to like about half of the albums that Jake had introduced to her during their challenge—as he had learned to like about half of the albums she had introduced him to—but this was not something she was particularly proud of. When she was caught listening to something in the rock genre she always blushed and acted a little like a teenage boy who had been caught masturbating. “I like the technical aspects of that album,” she said defensively.
“Of course,” he said, giving her a little eye roll. “And I read Hustler for the journalistic excellence they represent. Anyway, my point is not what you listen to, it’s your musical growth. Go to the audition and play. I think you’ll surprise yourself.”
“I’ll keep thinking about it,” she told him.
“And I’ll keep pestering you about it,” he promised.
“Deal,” she said.
He made the turn onto Santa Monica and started heading east. “I’m kind of hungry,” he said. “You want to stop somewhere and grab a bite?”
“Uh ... no,” she said, quite firmly.
“Why not?”
“Jake,” she said, “we just had sex. I still have your ... you know ... your stuff up inside of me. It’s leaking into my panties.”