The coffee smelled funny to Jake. He found out why when he took the first sip. It was heavily spiked with whiskey, whiskey that tasted suspiciously like Chivas Regal. He shook his head in consternation and drank it anyway. What the hell? It's what they expect of me.
Ten minutes after they reached cruising altitude Laura propositioned him.
"Do you want to come back and see the flight attendant quarters?" she whispered in his ear.
"Uh... no, thanks," he told her. "I thought maybe I'd just get a little sleep."
"But I'll show you everything," she said. She looked around and, seeing no one paying undo attention, added, "Including the bathroom that we use, if you know what I mean." She blew softly in his ear as she said this.
He, of course, knew what she meant. And, as intriguing as the thought of joining the mile-high club with a stewardess might be, he didn't think it would be a terribly good idea right now, not with the scrutiny the captain had told him he was under. "I don't think that's a good idea, Laura," he said. "We might get caught. And if we did, they'd fire you, wouldn't they? I wouldn't want to be responsible for that."
"We won't get caught," she said. "Trust me. And even if we did, it would be worth it."
"I'll... uh... have to take a rain check on that," he said. "Sorry."
She pouted a little but didn't push the issue any further. At least not yet.
What she did do was keep feeding him drinks. She gave him another cup of spiked coffee and then a Chivas and Coke. By the time he finished these he was starting to buzz, his better judgment retreating towards the back of his brain... again.
It was after his fifth drink, as they were cruising at 38,000 feet over central Missouri, and as Janice was snoring lightly beside him, that he gave in. He exchanged a few words with Laura, receiving his instructions, and then she disappeared. He waited five minutes and then stood up and walked back to the far end of the first class section, past the staircase and into the flight attendant's quarters. There was a warming kitchen, several coffee pots, and a bar back here. The bartender was a fortyish woman who looked at him knowingly.
"I think you need the bathroom, don't you?" she asked him, giving a wink. "It's that door right there. Just go on in."
He went on in. Laura was waiting for him there, her pantyhose and panties wadded up and tossed into the small sink, lust in her eyes. She kissed him hotly, sticking her tongue into his mouth. He let his hands go to work, squeezing her bare ass with one, fingering her wet vagina with the other. She moaned into his mouth and then broke the embrace. She dropped to her knees, unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them to his feet. She took his hardness into her mouth and began to suck, delivering a blowjob with a precision and skill that equaled that of the best groupie he'd been with.
She brought him nearly to the brink and then suddenly pulled free.
"Sit on the toilet," she hissed at him. "I want to fuck you."
He sat on the toilet. She stepped forward and pulled up her skirt, showing him that she was indeed a natural redhead. She squatted over him and started to lower herself down. He grabbed her butt and stopped her.
"Wait a second," he told her.
"What?" she asked, panting.
"I need to put a rubber on," he said, reaching down to extract his wallet from his pants. He never left home without at least two condoms in there.
"You don't need that," she told him, trying to force herself down now that one of his hands had come free. "I'm on the pill."
"Actually, I do need it," he said, pushing her back up a little. "It's in my contract."
"In your contract?" she asked, confused.
"Yeah," he said, finally getting the wallet. "One of those clauses they put in. You know how it is?"
While she puzzled over this he extracted the wallet and then the condom from within it. It was not actually a part of his contract of course, but he'd had enough lectures on the horrors of sexually transmitted diseases and paternity suits to make sure he never rode bareback. He opened the condom and rolled it expertly into place.
Laura sighed a little. Though Jake would never know it, she actually was not on the pill and was in fact in the middle of the most fertile period of her cycle. Her vague hopes of getting herself pregnant by what she assumed was a filthy rich rock star were dashed but at least she still could still get half of what she was after. She sank her body down on Jake's cock, engulfing him within her. She then began to buck up and down, moaning while she kissed him.
Jake knew there was little chance of actually giving her an orgasm in such a cramped and nervous environment. He held on for about five minutes — enough time to qualify as a respectable performance — kissing her, feeling her ass, whispering nasty things in her ear, before allowing himself to let go and fill the condom with his sperm.
When they stood back up he removed the rubber and tied a knot in it. He then personally flushed it down the toilet, adhering to another rule that had been ground into him by National's security experts: If you're going to leave a used rubber lying around where some bitch can pick it up, you might as well just fuck 'em without it. By this point in his career his mind was so jaded by his profession he didn't even stop to think that normal men didn't have to worry about such things.
They cleaned up and then exited the bathroom. The bartender gave them both another wink but said nothing. They did not get caught.
Jake returned to his seat and was soon fast asleep. He didn't wake up until they were on final descent to LAX.
A limousine dropped Jake off in front of the twenty-eight-story Esnob Pinchazo Tower building in downtown Los Angeles. The driver opened the door for him and he stepped out, duffel bag in hand.
"Now remember," Janice told him, "we have that movie premier on Saturday night."
"I remember," Jake told her. As if he could forget. He had been dreading the experience ever since being told about it two weeks ago.
"I'm sure Manny will remind you and see that you're dressed in the tux we're sending over." She was referring to Manny Mariposa, the live-in maid/butler/cook who had been hired for him.
"I'm sure he will," Jake said.
"And do try on that pentagram medallion we gave you," she said. "It would look so... you know... Satanic if you wore it with your tux."
"I threw the pentagram medallion in the garbage," Jake said. "Don't send another one."
Janice feigned hurt feelings. "That was a gift, Jake," she said. "Mr. Acardio himself picked that out for you."
"And deducted the cost of it from my recoupables, no doubt. I'm not wearing a pentagram or anything else besides the tux, Janice. That's final."
She shook her head. "Sometimes you're just so resistant to the image enhancement program we're running, Jake. Don't you know we're just trying to look out for your interests?"
Jake snorted in disgust. "Goodbye, Janice," he said. "Nice traveling with you."
Before she could say anything else, he walked away, heading for the main lobby door.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Kingsley," said the uniformed doorman who guarded the entrance to the upscale residential building. "Did you have a nice trip?"
"Did you catch Wake Up USA this morning?" Jake asked him.
"Yes sir, I did," he said.
"Then you know what kind of trip I had."
The doorman nodded, unfazed. "Can I get someone to help you with your bag, sir?"
"No, thanks," Jake said. "I think I can manage."
"Very good, sir," he said and held the door open.
Jake entered the plush lobby and walked directly to the elevators. There were two other residents of the building standing there waiting. One was Steve O'Riley, a flamboyant weatherman on one of the local news channels. The other was Tanya Harrigan, an aging character actress whose specialty was playing a mother in made-for-television movies and after school specials. They both nodded to him, displaying as little recognition as they could socially get away with. Though the building was full of two-bit actors, local television personalities, and other minor league celebrities, most of them chose to snub Jake when they ran into him. They seemed to think that a Satan-worshipping rock musician didn't belong in their beloved high-class building. Jake had been told by one of the doormen he was friendly with that there had even been a meeting of the owner's group in which they had tried — unsuccessfully — to initiate the eviction process on both him and Bill, who also lived in the building. The only time any of them talked to him at all was when they were out of cocaine and couldn't find their dealer and, assuming Jake was a raving coke-fiend, tried to beg some off of him.