"I want it all, baby," he told her. "I want it all."
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "Are you trying to circumspectly bring up the subject of me moving in with you again?" she asked. "Because if you are... we've been over this a dozen times. I've told you, Jake. I'm not ready for that yet."
"Actually... I was just making a joke," he said.
"Oh... sorry," she said, mistrust evident in her eyes. "Are you sure you weren't hinting just a little bit?"
"Not even a little bit," he told her.
Jake had asked her several times to move in with him over the past month, not because he thought it was time to take their relationship to that level — he was just as uncertain about that as she was — but because of the frightening letter he'd received from Jenny Johansen, a.k.a, the woman who dreamed of stabbing Helen over and over again in that "ugly, slutty face." He was terrified for Helen's safety. She lived in a fairly rural part of Ventura, an area where houses were situated on two to three acre lots and neighbors would not be able to hear one's scream for help. And her address was public record. It would be absurdly easy for Jenny Johansen to drive from her house in the Canoga Park section of LA, stroll up Bennington Lane in the middle of the night, break into Helen's house, and "burn the flesh right off her body" as she threatened to do in her letter.
Unfortunately, Helen didn't seem to take the threat of the letter as seriously as Jake did. He had called her up immediately after reading it for the first time and tried to get her to drive out to his house and stay with him. She had refused, telling him that she didn't want to have to drive forty miles to get to work in the morning. She had similarly refused every further offer to move in with him on the same basis — the commute would be horrible — and because she wasn't sure they were quite ready to "cohabitate in a non-legally sanctioned manner".
"Helen, this woman is dangerous," Jake had told her time and time again. "She could show up on your doorstep any time with a pair of handcuffs and a blowtorch."
"She's just a whacko," Helen insisted whenever the subject was brought up. "You have all that information on her, don't you? Does she seem like she's bright enough to figure out how to look up my address?"
Helen did have somewhat of a point there. The day after receiving the letter, Jake had shown it to Pauline, who had, in turn, showed it to her friend Steve Marshall, head of investigations for Standforth and Breckman, the corporate law firm Pauline had worked for before signing on as Intemperance manager. Steve, using a variety of methods, legal, quasi-legal, and downright illegal, had performed a complete background check on Jenny Johansen and provided Jake with a dossier on her within two days. Johansen was twenty-eight years old, five feet, eight inches in height, and weighed two hundred and sixteen pounds. She worked as a certified nurse's assistant, or CNA, at a skuzzy Los Angeles convalescent home. She had never been married and lived in a rented house in one of the declining LA neighborhoods. She was a high school drop-out with a tested IQ of 87. She had been diagnosed as bi-polar two years before but had never been suspected of being schizophrenic. Her only trouble with the law had been a speeding ticket two years before, which she had promptly paid. She was habitually late with many of her bills but eventually paid them all. She had five credit cards in her name, all of which were either maxed out or close to maxed out. She had never filed for bankruptcy and had never been in jail or in a mental institution. It was true that she did not seem to be the brightest bunny in the forest, but it was also true that in matters of one's life, one could not be too careful.
So far, the only precaution Jake had succeeded in getting Helen to take had been to lock her doors when she was at home — something that the rural setting of her home had never encouraged her to do in the past. And even in this, Jake wasn't quite sure she was one hundred percent faithful. More than once he had gone over to visit and had found her front door standing wide open, with only the unlocked screen door barring entry.
Jake suspected that her attitude might become a little more serious regarding the Jenny Johansen matter tonight. He had received another letter from Jenny the day before. He intended to show the letter to Helen when they got back to his house. But for now, he wanted to keep the discussion on more pleasant things.
"Now that I'm done with my instrument rating," he told her. "I need to start working on something else." He had, in fact, finished up his instrument rating the week before. Though Helen had not been his instructor due to their relationship, he had still been able to take the classes and fly the required hours with Brent Cassidy, one of the new instructor pilots Helen's dad had hired to help fill the increased demand for his school.
"What else is there to work on?" Helen asked. "You can fly your plane day or night, good weather or bad now. Unless you're planning to get your commercial license, you're pretty much done."
"Actually, I'm not," he said. "I need to get certified in multi-engine aircraft and pressurized aircraft."
She looked at him strangely. "Why?" she asked.
"I love the 172," Jake said, "but it's not big enough and it's not fast enough for my needs. I'm looking into purchasing a 414."
Her mouth dropped open. "You want a 414? Are you serious? Do you know how much those things cost?"
The Cessna 414 was a twin engine, propeller driven aircraft that could hold up to eight people, cruised at 200 miles per hour, could be pressurized, and could fly as high as 30,000 feet above sea level. "Yes," Jake said. "I've had Jill looking into it for me — much to her disgust. A mid-seventies model in good condition goes for around $150,000. I think I'd want a newer one though, something early 80's. The 1982 model is particularly nice. With all the avionics I want, they go for around $220,000."
"That's pretty steep, Jake," she said.
He shrugged. "It's only money," he said. "I could finance it on a fifteen year loan. Payments would be around two grand a month. Insurance, storage, maintenance, and other upkeep would run another thousand a month. What's three grand?"
"Three grand is what dad and I clear in about two weeks these days," Helen said. "And we think we're rich."
"I'm not trying to come down on anyone," Jake said. "I make enough money to support this, so why shouldn't I have a 414 if I can afford it?"
"Why should you is a better question," she said. "Our school isn't able to certify you in multi-engine or pressurization. You'd have to go elsewhere for that. You're talking at least five grand, not including plane rental or fuel during the process. Is it really worth it, Jake? You have a very nice plane right now."
"Yes," Jake said. "Like I said, I love the 172. It's just too small for my needs. Take tomorrow, for instance. We're renting one in Martha's Vineyard and because of that, we're limited in how much luggage we can take."
"I don't think two hundred pounds of luggage apiece is all that limited."
"Okay," he admitted. "Bad example. But remember when we went to Bodega Bay with Matt and Kim? Since we had the weight of two other people to deal with, we were only allowed to have twelve pounds of luggage apiece. That's not enough for any sort of trip that involves dressing up."
"So you want to spend a quarter million dollars on a plane just so you can carry enough luggage?" she asked. "Wouldn't it be easier and cheaper to just fly commercial for those situations?"
"Probably," Jake admitted. "But I don't want to have to fly commercial. I like flying myself and my friends wherever we want to go. With a 414 I can fly home to Heritage in about two hours. And I can take you, Nerdly, Sharon, Pauline, and all of our luggage with us. But even that's not the most important reason."