And now, here was Njord right before her, stepping out of the elevator wearing a pair of dress slacks and a button-up shirt, his mullet neatly styled, his skin reeking of Old Spice cologne. He actually had a pair of wings pinned to his shirt. He really was shameless.
His eyes lit up happily when he saw her. This was usual. He made a point to hit on her pretty much every time he found a reason to speak to her despite the fact that she had shot him down every single time and given him absolutely no encouragement whatsoever. “Hey, Teach,” he greeted, completely ignoring Eric. “Fancy running into you here.”
“Yes,” she said tonelessly, not returning his smile—she never did. “Fancy that.”
His eyes took in the groupie standing next to her and got a little wider. It was obvious that he liked what he was seeing, although, in truth, there were not many human beings between the age of fourteen and sixty he did not like as long as they had a functional vagina. “And who is this lovely lady?” he enquired.
“She’s a friend of mine,” Laura said, feeling awkward again. She would have preferred that Njord had not seen or even known about her companion. “We’re just going up to my room to have a drink or two.”
“Is that a fact?” Njord said, his smile widening. He turned to the groupie. “I’m Njord.” He tapped the wings on his shirt. “I’m Celia Valdez’s pilot.”
“I’m Connie,” Connie said blandly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Well, we’ll be heading up now,” Laura said, stepping toward the elevator.
“Maybe I could join you two up there?” Njord suggested. “Of course, I can’t drink alcohol, but I could sip some ginger ale while I keep a couple of lovely ladies company.”
“Hey now,” Connie said, “I didn’t sign up for any sausage tonight. I paid the price I had to pay, but that’s as far as I swing in that direction.”
Njord was looking at Connie in confusion now, obviously trying to piece together what she was talking about.
Laura was now angry. How dare this sleazeball intrude on her pressure release time! Where did he get off inviting himself up to her room? And hitting on her lesbian groupie! “Njord,” she said slowly, her eyes now boring into him.
“Yeah, Teach?”
“Get the hell away from me right now,” she said.
“Whoa ... hey,” Njord said, holding up his hands in appeasement. “No need to get all hostile here or anything.”
“Get away from me,” she said again. “And furthermore, never attempt to hit on me, flirt with me, or charm me again. Never. In fact, I would prefer it if you don’t even talk to me.”
“Now, listen, Teach,” Njord said. “I think maybe you misunderstood what I...”
“I misunderstood nothing,” Laura said. “Go away. Do not speak to me unless necessary. And do not call me Teach. I am Laura to you. If you hit on me one more time I will start complaining to Celia and to Suzie and I will make every effort I can to have you removed from this flight assignment. I don’t know if I can do it, but I’ll try. And even if that doesn’t work, Jake will be visiting us soon. I don’t think you want to find out what Jake will do if I tell him that you are constantly harassing me.”
This speech seemed to have a sobering effect on the copilot. Whether it was the threat of trying to have him removed or the threat of Jake, Laura was not sure, but it was obvious she had struck a nerve. “All right, all right,” he said, holding up his hands again. “I guess I can see when I’m not wanted. You don’t want me to be friendly to you, that’s fine.”
“Good,” she said.
He turned and resumed his trek toward the bar. Laura heard him mutter “that’s some wicked PMS there,” as he went.
She let this go and turned back to Connie, Eric, and Eric’s groupie (she had already forgotten his name). “Now then,” she said. “Shall we head on up?”
“Yeah,” Connie said, a twinkle in her eye now. “Let’s do that.”
They got into the elevator and rode it up to the top floor, where the suites were. Laura turned right when they exited, Eric turned left.
Laura could not vouch for anyone else, but she had a rather enjoyable evening of pressure release. It was just a shame she couldn’t kiss Connie. Connie had some very pouty lips and Molly and Neesh had both taught her that she rather liked kissing girls.
Jake’s flight landed at LAX just past 3:00 PM on the afternoon of January 27 after the three hour and forty-five-minute trip from New Orleans. He had just spent the last ten days on tour with Gordon and his band, making his special guest appearances for two shows in Dallas, one in San Antonio, two in Houston, and two in the Big Easy itself. Once again, the word of mouth would spread that Jake Kingsley could show up at any Bigg G concert, thus keeping the demand (and the price) for his tickets high. And the fact that Jake was paid three percent of the gross revenue for each show he appeared in (not to mention two percent royalties on all album sales in perpetuity) wasn’t bad either.
Jake traveled light out on tour, so he did not need to go to baggage claim with the other sheep. Outside the terminal building a limousine was waiting for him. Tony was the driver for this mission. Jake greeted him politely—Tony was a good guy he had known for years—and allowed him to stow his carry-on bag with his clothes in it into the trunk.
“Home, Jake?” Tony asked him once they were both settled into their respective seats.
“Well ... the Granada Hill house anyway,” Jake replied. “My home is in Oceano.”
“Sounds good,” Tony said, dropping the gearshift into drive. He pulled smoothly away from the curb and started heading for the airport exit.
They made a little small talk for a few minutes; Jake telling him a few anecdotes from his trip, Tony updating him on his wife and children and slowly growing career apart from limo driving. By the time they got to the freeway, the conversation had petered out.
“I’m gonna close the partition, Tony,” Jake told him. “I need to make a phone call and check in with the boss.”
“Laura?” Tony asked.
Jake chuckled. “The other boss,” he said. “Pauline.”
“Ahhh,” Tony said. “The big boss.”
Jake slid up the partition and then pulled his recently purchased cellular phone out of his back pocket. It was made by Motorola, was a so-called flip phone (one of the latest trends) and had cost him one hundred and twenty-nine dollars, plus the activation fee, and, if he went over the two hundred minutes per month his sixty-nine dollar a month plan allowed, he would be charged twenty-five cents a minute extra. He did not think he was going to be in danger of going over two hundred minutes.
He turned the device on and stared at it, having to wait nearly three minutes before it was fully powered up and ready for use. He then extended the little plastic antenna thingy and dialed Pauline’s home number. The connection was a little scratchy—it would never be mistaken for a landline—but he could hear it ringing in his ear.
“This is Pauline,” his sister’s voice answered after four rings.
“Hey, Paulie,” Jake greeted. “You told me to call when I got back to LA, so ... I’m calling. Just landed at the airport a little while ago.”
“How was the touring?” she asked him.
“It was fun,” he said. “We had a good time. Lots of partying. Now I just need to catch up on my sleep for a day or two.”
“Are you flying back to Oceano tonight?” she asked.
“No. I had a few drinks on the flight from New Orleans. I’ll sleep tonight in the Granada Hills pad and then head home when I wake up.”
“I see,” Pauline said. “Any chance you could stop by my place on the way to Granada Hills?”
“What for?” he asked. He did not really want to stop by Pauline’s house right now. He wanted nothing more than to heat up one of the pre-made Tupperware dinners he kept in his Granada Hills freezer just for such occasions, have a little scotch on the rocks, and then crash out and sleep the entire night away.