"Wow," Jake said as the jet lifted off the ground and began to climb into the hot summer sky. "I never really thought of it that way."
"You will," she assured him as the DC-10 banked to the left and the undercarriage whined with the retraction of the gear. "The more hours you get at the stick the more you'll hate putting your fate in the hands of others."
"Thank you for planting that thought in my brain," Jake said.
She giggled nervously as the plane completed its bank and nosed down a bit. "Anytime," she said.
Jake had been a little nervous about being in close proximity with Helen after what had happened the other day. His worries, however, seemed to be groundless. So far she was talking to him as she always had, with no indication whatsoever that she'd made a pass at him and he'd rejected her. He did wonder about her manner of dress though. She was wearing a sleeveless spaghetti strap top that displayed an impressive amount of her ample cleavage and a pair of denim shorts that showed off her tanned and muscled legs to their best advantage. Her hair was also styled and hanging loose instead of tied up in a ponytail and stuffed under her flight school baseball cap. And was that make-up she had on her face? It was a light coating to be sure but it was there. He wondered where she had even learned to apply make-up. Had her father taught her? And what did all of this mean? Had she not taken "no" for an answer? And if she hadn't, what was he going to do about it?
Yesterday he had been firm in his resolve not to get involved with Helen romantically. But Celia's words about soulmates and cynicism — as naïve and innocent as they seemed on the surface — were spinning around and around in his head. Was there really any reason to deny himself what seemed at first glance an opportunity for a connection with a woman? He had warned Helen that she could get hurt if she hooked up with him hadn't he? Now that she had been told of the potential consequences of her actions didn't that absolve him of responsibility if he did, in fact, hook up with her and those consequences eventually came to pass?
You're rationalizing, his brain told him warningly. You're getting tired of sleeping with sluts all the time and you want another girlfriend figure in your life. Stay away from her or you'll treat her just like you did Rachel.
Jake could not deny that he missed having someone to call his girlfriend, that he missed being involved with a woman. But was that all he saw in Helen? Wasn't there something else there as well?
As soon as they passed through ten thousand feet the first class stewardesses began to make their rounds, offering complimentary drinks to all who cared to imbibe in them. Jake ordered a rum and coke. Helen ordered a beer.
"I didn't know you drank," Jake said.
"There's lots of things you don't know about me," she said with a smile.
They talked of neutral things during the four-hour flight. She told him about the softball league she was in and how they were poised to take the playoffs next month. They talked about the upcoming football season and how their respective teams were looking. She favored the Broncos since a big chunk of her childhood had been spent in Colorado Springs. Jake was still a Raiders fan even though they had defected from Oakland and were now taking up residence in Los Angeles, the city he hated perhaps more than any other. Jake told her of his golf game with Celia Valdez and Gregory Oldfellow the day before, including the Nassau he'd beaten Greg out of. She seemed fascinated with the story.
"It's just amazing, Jake," she said, her eyes shining. "You're telling me a story about playing golf with two famous people and I know you're not bullshitting me. That's a really weird feeling, you know?"
"I suppose," Jake said, although he really couldn't relate to that.
They landed at 6:33 PM, Omaha time (with Helen breathing an audible sigh of relief as the wheels thumped down on the runway) and managed to make it through the airport without anyone recognizing Jake's face. A limousine was standing by for them outside the terminal and they climbed inside for the twenty-minute trip to the Ferriday Hotel of Omaha, perhaps the nicest hotel available in this particular city. Jake had reserved two suites for them here. The plan was for them to stay overnight in Omaha and then go check out his new plane in the morning. They would then fly in hops to Albuquerque where another pair of suites was waiting for them. The day after that they would hop the rest of the way to Brannigan Airport.
"This is where we stay when the tour passes through here," Jake told her as they walked through the lobby with their carry-on bags to check in. "Not much of a view but the rooms are nice."
"I've never stayed in a suite before," she said as they waited for the elevator. "You're spoiling me."
"It's what I do best," he told her.
As they rode up to the tenth floor she asked nervously, "What... uh... are we going to do about dinner? Can we eat in the restaurant down there?"
He shook his head sadly. "Trust me on this, it really wouldn't be fun to be in a public restaurant with me. Once I'm recognized a third of the room will come over and ask for autographs, another third will start demanding that we be kicked out, and the other third will sit there and sneer at us. Before we're even served our main course someone will call the local news media and they'll show up in news vans and bring their cameras in and start filming us. They'll ask what we're doing here, who you are, and how many times I've beaten you up and raped you so far."
"Wow," she said, wide-eyed. "Is it really that bad?"
"In a place like Omaha, yeah, it's really that bad. Sometimes even worse."
"I guess being famous isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"
"It does have its down side."
The stopped at the top floor and the doors slid open. They stepped out into a spacious hallway and started heading for their rooms.
"So what are we going to do for dinner then?" she asked.
"Room service," he said. "Order anything you want. It'll go on my tab."
"Oh," she said slowly. "I see."
"Is something wrong?"
She gave him a small smile. "You're not really going to make me eat all alone in my room, are you?"
"Uh... well..."
"Come on, Jake," she said. "You made me endure four hours of hell on a commercial jetliner. The least you could do is invite a lady over to your room for dinner."
She had a point there. "Okay," he said. "Come over as soon as you get settled in and we'll eat."
Her smile grew wider. "I'll be looking forward to it."
Jake tried to suppress the thought that he was looking forward to it as well.
Ronald Dithers was the night manager of the hotel. He was thirty-eight years old and at the pinnacle of his career in hotel management. He hated his job and regretted each and every day his decision to drop out of college back in the late sixties in order to pursue a career in music. The music thing had never gone anywhere. Ronald had some talent as a guitar player but not enough to count. Instead of moving on to Hollywood, a recording contract, and a career filled with fame and fortune, Ronald had ended up working in the Ferriday Hotel and slowly making his way up the ladder of underlings. Without his college degree he could advance no further than his current position. He had not picked up his guitar in more than ten years now and it was doubtful he would even remember how to play it at this point in his life. His was a sad but common tale. For every Jake Kingsley or Matt Tisdale who made it, there were perhaps ten thousand Ronald Dithers' staffing hotels or driving garbage trucks or changing oil in Speedy Lube establishments.
Ronald had just returned from the sixth floor where he'd been dealing with a guest who had been trying to get a free room upgrade by complaining about a small stain that had been left in his bathtub. His stomach was sour as he walked through the reception area and his ears perked up as he heard Brittany Daniels and Meghan Jones, the two nineteen year old night clerks he often fantasized about but who had laughingly rejected his flirtations, talking excitedly to each other in whispered tones.