Aside from being physically attracted to Helen, Jake found he enjoyed her personality as well. She was not a girly-girl by any means. She was very tomboyish, in mannerisms, speech, and actions. She enjoyed playing golf and baseball. She liked drinking beer and shooting pool. And, of course, she loved piloting aircraft and teaching others to do the same.
Her tomboyish persona was really not that surprising once she told Jake her basic biography. She had been born an Air Force brat in 1964 and raised primarily by her mother for the first six years of her life while her father deployed to a series of bases around the world and, eventually, to Vietnam from 1966 to 1970. In 1971, less than a year after John Brody's return from that unpopular war, Cynthia Brody, his wife, Helen's mother, had been killed in a car accident while driving home from the grocery store. From that point on Helen, an only child, had been raised by her gruff and masculine father. She had become the son he'd never have through default, learning to play sports and drink beer and, most significant, to fly airplanes long before she learned to drive a car. When John had retired from the Air Force six years before and started up his flight school, Helen was right there by his side, an equal partner in every way.
This tomboyishness was something that intrigued Jake. The idea that she was better than him at golf (which she was — although they had never played each other, her handicap was a solid 5 while Jake's was currently a 12), that she could beat him in poker, that she could out-cuss a longshoreman, that she knew how to change the oil in her car, when contrasted with her obvious femininity made him want to get to know her better. Much better. So far he'd resisted the urge to ask her out even though he knew she would say yes if he did. He liked her, but he didn't want to date her or get involved with her on that level. He didn't want to treat another girl the way he'd treated Rachel. He didn't want to hire a new girlfriend.
Unfortunately Helen, tired of waiting for him to ask her out, decided to take matters into her own hands. After Jake finished his last two touch and goes she directed him to climb back up to 3100 feet and navigate them to a small airport just outside Santa Barbara. Jake turned the plane to a northwest heading and climbed up to his assigned altitude. Once there he quickly figured out which navigation beacons he would be using and programmed his equipment.
"What's our flight time?" Helen asked him.
"Thirty-five minutes," he responded.
"Very good. And what's the ATC frequency we'll use for our approach?"
He rattled off a frequency number to her.
"Bitchin," she said. "Do you want to actually land there and stretch our legs a little? We have privileges at that field." This meant they had an arrangement with the flight school based out of that airport and would not have to pay a landing fee for touching down.
"Sure," he said. "I'd like to try it at a different field. We've never been into that one."
"Okay then," she said. "What's the elevation and runway configuration for our destination?"
"Elevation 148," he said. "Runway is a 27/9."
"And what is our likely approach going to be?"
"Winds are probably onshore this time of day," he said. "So most likely we'll use 27."
She smiled, looking at him warmly. "Not bad for a dumb rock star," she told him.
"I still have a few brain cells left," he replied.
They flew on in silence for a few minutes, the plane bumping a little as it passed over the mountains below.
"So listen," Helen said. "Maybe after we land we could grab a taxi and head into town for a little bit. There's a nice restaurant I know down on the waterfront. I'll buy you dinner."
Jake's hands clenched the tiniest bit on the controls. "Uh... that's very nice of you to offer," he said, "but my housekeeper is already making dinner for me. She gets upset with me if I don't come home for dinner without telling her in advance."
"Oh..." Helen said. "That's very... accommodating of you." She considered for a moment. "Maybe I could come over to your place and have dinner there? Would there be enough?"
Jake let out a little sigh. She was persistent like a man as well, even when she shouldn't be. "Helen, listen," he said. "I like you — don't get me wrong — but I just don't think it would be a good idea for us to get together in that sort of way."
"I don't understand," she said softly, her face expressionless. "I thought you and I were... that we... uh... you know, had some sort of a connection. Was I imagining that?"
"No," he said. "You weren't. I am attracted to you and I enjoy being around you."
She held her hands up in a gesture of confusion. "Then what's the problem, Jake? You've told me several times you don't have a girlfriend — not a permanent one anyway."
"The problem is me," Jake said.
She looked at him perplexed, and a little angry. "The old it's-not-you-it's-me speech already?" she asked. "I think you're getting them mixed up, Jake. You're supposed to use that one for breaking up, not for turning down a date."
He didn't laugh. "I'm not using a standard line on you, Helen. I'm being honest with myself and with you. You don't want to get involved with me. Every woman who has ever done that has ended up hurt — well, except for Mindy Snow, that time it was me who ended up hurt. My point is that I don't seem to do real well in intimate relationships."
"Don't you think I should be the one to evaluate my chances on that?" Helen asked.
"No," he said. "You don't know me like I know me."
"I know you well enough, Jake," she said. "I know you well enough to know that I'm incredibly attracted to you, that I love your personality, and that I want to spend more time with you."
Jake was shaking his head. "I can't, Helen," he said. "I'm sorry. I think our relationship needs to stay where it's at."
She nodded and said nothing else about it. In fact, she said nothing else that wasn't related to instruction the entire flight. They did not land in Santa Barbara. They simply navigated to the beacon and then turned around and flew back to Brannigan. The day's lesson was over.
As they pushed the Cessna back into it's hanger Jake turned to her. "Are you still going with me to Omaha this weekend?" he asked her. "Maybe your dad might go if you're uncomfortable doing it." For the past month Jake had been working on purchasing a plane of his own so he wouldn't have to rent one when he started flying solo. He'd finally located exactly what he was looking for in Omaha. An insurance executive was trying to unload a 1986 Cessna 172 with less than a thousand hours on it. It was a more modernized version of the plane Jake was training in. He had just closed the deal two days before and Helen had volunteered to fly down to Omaha with him and sit with in the cockpit as he flew it home. That was before he'd rejected her advance, however.
"I'll be there," she said quietly. "I made a promise to you and I intend to keep it."
"Thank you," he said.
She did not tell him he was welcome. They finished stowing the aircraft for the night and went their separate ways.
The Pacific View Country Club was one of the most exclusive and expensive private golf courses in the greater Los Angeles region. Located in the hills above Malibu it was a links style course with — as the name suggested — spectacular views of the ocean from eleven of its eighteen holes. The waiting list for membership at the club was reputed to be more than five years in length and each new member had to be approved by an executive committee who were notoriously (and perhaps illegally) stringent about the sorts of people they admitted into their sacred ranks.
At just past 7:00 AM the day following Jake's rejection of Helen, he pulled up to the gate that guarded entrance to the grounds and showed his identification to the guard manning the booth.
"Mr. Kingsley," the guard said politely after giving his license a thorough look. "You are indeed on my list. Go right in."