“I am,” she said, smiling a little. “Thanks, Elsa.”
“Travel safely,” Elsa told her.
Jake’s departure was a little less emotional. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, Elsa,” he told her. “I got nothing going for the entire first week of January.”
“Any special request for dinner tomorrow?” Elsa asked.
“Chicken parm would be nice,” he said.
“You got it,” she told him. “Fly safe, Jake.”
“Always,” Jake told her.
They drove to the airport and parked the BMW in front of the office. Twenty minutes later, they were airborne, heading for the San Fernando Valley. It was a bit windy and the ride was bumpy as they flew along the spine of the coastal mountains. Both were quite accustomed to this level of turbulence on this route by this point.
“Still no word on the new plane?” Laura asked him once he was leveled off and the autopilot had control.
“No, nothing yet,” Jake said, frustrated. Ever since his trip to Phoenix, when he had first seen then flown the Avanti 180, he had been trying to find one for sale. He had used all of his connections—Dave the manager of Oceano Airport, Austin the pilot of the PetShop 180, Jill (much to her disgust), and even Nerdly, who was searching the internet bulletin boards and websites—but with no luck. It seemed that the 180 was such a well-loved aircraft among those who bought one, they never wanted to get rid of them. About the only useful information he had come up with was that his supposition of how much a used 180 would cost had been wildly underestimated. When he suggested to Austin that he was willing to spend up to six hundred thousand, Austin had laughed at him.
“Six hundred thousand?” Austin scoffed. “Are you kidding me? Where’d you come up with that number?”
“Well ... I just kind of figured that’s how much a used twin-engine prop plane of that size would cost,” Jake said weakly.
“You figured wrong,” Austin told him, chuckling. “There’s only about fifty of these planes in existence right now, if even that. And they’re the fuckin’ Maserati of the air, comparable in performance and comfort to the Citation or the Lear, but with only half the fuel consumption, and half the flight crew requirement. You ain’t gonna get your hands on even a 1990—that’s the first year they came out—with ten thousand plus hours on the engines for anything less than two and a half mil, my friend.”
“Two and a half million dollars?” Jake asked, astounded.
“That’s the bare minimum,” Austin assured him. “In reality, you’re probably looking at close to three and a half, maybe even four mil for a ninety-two or a ninety-three model.”
This was information that Jake had since verified with Jill and Nerdly. It was also information he had not yet shared with Laura. She probably would consider that a little too much to pay for the convenience of a bathroom—and Jake certainly agreed with that school of thought—but ... well ... he was in love with the plane and really wanted one. And ... well ... he probably could afford it ... couldn’t he? KVA’s latest releases were both charting well, both approaching Platinum status, which meant a steady stream of royalty income was flowing into the LLC’s coffers with each passing quarter. And they were planning to get Brainwash back into the studio over the summer as well. He was not yet committing to anything—since nothing was available—but it did not cost much to keep searching, did it? He thought not.
“Well, I hope something pops up soon,” Laura said. “It would be nice if when I came home from the first leg for the break you could take me for a ride in the new plane.”
“I’m going to keep looking,” Jake promised, smiling a little.
“You do that,” she said. “And when I take that first ride, I want it to be someplace at least two hours away and I’m deliberately not going to pee before I board.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Jake said, reaching over and caressing her leg.
They landed at Whiteman Airport just before 10:30 and then drove to the supermarket closest to their Granada Hills home. Jake planned to make chicken enchiladas and Spanish rice for their dinner with Molly tonight (but no refried beans. He figured that causing any of the cast of characters to experience intestinal gas might be counterproductive to the mission). He picked up a large package of boneless chicken breasts, an onion, some peppers, some Monterey Jack cheese, some sour cream, some regular cream, some chicken broth, some sliced olives, twenty flour tortillas, and some scallions. All of the spices, he already knew he had on hand. He also picked up the ingredients to make margaritas on the theory that the frozen concoction might serve to loosen things up a bit.
They parked Jake’s truck in the garage and carried the groceries inside. Jake went immediately to work on the enchiladas since they could be prepared in advance and then heated up in the oven in forty-five minutes when dinnertime rolled around. He listened to the radio as he cooked, tuning it to KRON, the most popular of the local hard rocks. In the two hours and ten minutes it took to construct the meal and then clean everything up, he heard his song Teach Me played twice and Celia’s song It Never Happened (which was currently number 8 on the Billboard Top Ten, falling from the number 2 position it had peaked at) played three times.
Laura used this time to make sure the rest of the house was clean and shiny for their guest tonight. She dusted the furniture and cleaned the toilets. She vacuumed where there was carpet and mopped with floor cleaner where there was hardwood. She also washed the bedding in both the master bedroom and the guest bedroom and then remade the beds.
At six o’clock, they took showers, getting themselves ready for the evening. Laura shaved her legs, her armpits, and made sure her private area (which would hopefully not be so private tonight) was nice and smooth. Jake also shaved carefully, making his face as smooth as it was possible to make it. They then got dressed. Laura had specified to Molly that dress in the Kingsley household was comfortable casual (unless you were Greg Oldfellow) no matter what the occasion. Keeping in that tradition, they both put on jeans and t-shirts. Laura’s shirt was green, to compliment her pale skin and red hair, and quite tight, to accent her small breasts and her feminine curves most appealingly. She combed out her hair and left it down, flowing across her shoulders. She then added just a dab of Estee Lauder Beautiful perfume.
“You look incredible,” Jake said when he got a look at the finished product. “And you smell good too.”
“You really think so?” she asked, checking herself out in the mirror.
“Absolutely,” he assured her. “Good enough to eat.”
She giggled a little and then went back to checking herself out.
“Nervous?” Jake asked her.
“Yes, of course I’m nervous,” she said. “I’ve never done anything like this before—uh ... well ... you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “Just relax, hon. Let the evening go where it will. If nothing else, at least you know you’re going to get laid by me, right?”
She looked at him pointedly. “You’re making yourself sound like a consolation prize,” she said.
He shrugged. “I’m okay with that tonight,” he said.
Molly showed up exactly on time, at 7:00 PM, parking her 1992 Toyota Camry in their driveway. She was dressed mostly in comfortable casual, in a simple pair of jeans and a red button-up blouse. She carried a bottle of wine with her despite having been told by Laura that she need not bring anything. The wine was a Merlot from the Napa Valley, probably quite expensive by Molly’s standards, but considerably cheaper than what Jake or Laura typically drank. Nevertheless, they accepted it with gratitude and Jake even gushed a little about the winery and the year.
“Did you find the place okay?” Laura asked her once the greeting ritual was complete.