“It’s the best one I’ve had today,” she said. “I’m a first-time mom. Even if I do go into labor in flight, the odds are the clump isn’t going to come squishing out before you can land. And as for the bathroom, I just won’t drink anything for six hours before takeoff and then I’ll pee right before we board. Hell, I’ll get some of those adult diapers and wear them for the trip in case that isn’t enough. I need this to happen, Jake.”
Jake sighed. What she was saying made sense (even though the diaper thing was more than a little disgusting of a thought), but he was still quite uneasy. Still, it seemed the only logical solution to the problem. A commercial airliner and even a private jet would likely not allow her to fly with her pregnancy so advanced. “All right,” he said. “If I can, I will.”
“Great,” she said. “When can we do it?”
“Well ... not today, that’s for sure,” he said. “I heard on the news that all the LA area airports have been closed until they can be inspected for damage. And even if they were open, I don’t think we’d be able to get there with the roads being how they are. Hell, I haven’t even been out in the garage to make sure my car is still functional. For that matter, I don’t know that my plane is undamaged either. For all I know, the goddamn hangar it’s parked in might have collapsed on top of it.”
“If that’s the case, we’ll have to come up with a Plan B,” she said. “For now, however, how about we assume your plane is still in good shape. It probably is, right?”
“Probably,” he had to agree. “Those hangars were built to live through an earthquake.” He hesitated for a second. “At least, I would assume they were.”
“As soon as they open that airport then, let’s bust ass,” she said. “We’ll fight our way through the surface streets to the airport and get the hell out. I need you to make this happen for me, bro. I don’t want to push this baby out in my fucking house with Obie—as fond as I am of him—serving as the catcher.”
“I’ll make it happen, Paulie,” he promised.
“Thanks, Jake,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “I know I can count on you.”
“Always,” he said. “What about those meetings with the big four? It seems pretty apparent that we’re going to have to reschedule.”
“Yeah,” she said. “It’s probably going to have to wait until after the clump is born. I’m sure they’ll understand. And even if they don’t, fuck ‘em.”
“Should we at least find a way to get those masters to them so they can give them a listen and start putting together their bids?”
She pondered that for a few moments and then said: “That would be cool if we can pull it off. I wouldn’t want to send those master copies through the mail though. We’d have to have someone drop them all off once the roads get back in traveling shape. Maybe one of the Nerdlys?”
“No deal,” Jake said. “I haven’t got hold of them yet, but assuming they’re all right after the quake, I’m pretty sure they’re going to want to come to Heritage and be with you when you have the baby.”
“Yeah,” Pauline said. “I’m guessing Bill is hoping to catch a glimpse of me nursing the clump so he can finally lay his eyes on my tits.”
“Uh ... yeah, sure,” Jake said. “Maybe Celia and Greg?”
“Have you checked in with them yet?”
“No, you’re the first one I’ve talked to, but I’ll call them as soon as I hang up with you.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said. “You call the Nerdlys and Celia, and I’ll call Mom and Dad to let them know we’re all right and that we’re coming to visit soon.”
“Deal,” he said.
Jake got hold of Celia about an hour later. She and Greg were both uninjured and their LA house was still standing as well, although, like almost everyone else in the region, they’d suffered a considerable amount of interior damage from falling objects. Jake updated her on the plan to get Pauline out of the area and asked if she and Greg would be able to get the master copies to the big four suits while they were gone.
“Greg can do it,” Celia told him.
“What about you?” Jake asked.
“I’m going with you,” she said matter-of-factly.
“You are?”
“I am,” she said. “There’s no way in hell I’m not going to be there when Paulie has her little bebita. I’m calling dibs on one of the seats on the plane right now. In fact, I’m calling shotgun.”
“Um ... well, okay, I guess,” Jake said. “But shouldn’t you talk to Greg about this first?”
“No,” she said plainly. “I shouldn’t.”
“I see,” Jake said slowly. And he really did.
It actually took two days before the Santa Monica airport was declared safe for operations and re-opened to traffic. Jake got hold of someone in the administration building and was able to confirm that there had been no damage to the private hangars and that no one had reported damage to any aircraft stored within them. A good sign.
They planned the trip for Thursday morning, their hope to be one of the first aircraft off the ground once the night time restriction on takeoffs expired at 7:00 AM. It was a plan that did not quite work out.
The trip from Jake’s house in the hills beneath Griffith Park to the Santa Monica airport was just over twenty miles. It usually took him about thirty-five to forty minutes to make the drive as long as he was not so foolish as to attempt it during the peak traffic hours. The problem was that, since the earthquake and the subsequent damage to the arteries of LA’s circulatory system, all hours were peak hours now and the most direct route was cut off. Interstate 10 was completely closed between the 110 and the 405. The 405 itself, the most obvious alternate route, was a slowly crawling parking lot at all hours, moving an average speed of less than two miles per hour. Jake left his house at 5:00 AM and ended up taking the 101 far out of his way and inching along that at an average speed of maybe seven miles per hour all the way to Sherman Oaks and then taking winding, twisting Cahuenga Boulevard back over the pass, crawling along with thousands of others who had had the same idea, all the way to Wilshire Boulevard, where a right turn got him heading west, toward Santa Monica. From there, it was only a matter of waiting through at least three light changes at each intersection until he was able to start working his way south through the grid of streets paralleling the 405, all of which were becoming steadily more congested as the morning progressed. It was, without a doubt, the absolute worst traffic jam he had ever experienced in his life.
He finally pulled into the airport just before 8:00 AM. It had taken him two hours and fifty-six minutes to go thirty-eight miles. Cranky, out of sorts, and desperately needing to drain the dragon, his mood was not improved when he discovered that, although Pauline and Obie were there—they had arrived only ten minutes before Jake—the Nerdlys and Celia were still unaccounted for. Since both Pauline and Nerdly had cell phones—Jake, Celia, and Obie did not, as of yet, see any need to have one—they were quickly able to determine that Bill and Sharon were still at least thirty minutes out, stuck in gridlock on Lincoln Boulevard just north of Marina Del Rey. Celia’s whereabouts was unknown.
“All right, I’m going to get the plane ready to go and file a flight plan,” Jake told his sister after relieving his straining bladder. “You stay here, near the bathroom, and wait for the others.”
Jake found his plane just as he’d left it the day before the earthquake. The only thing amiss in the hangar was that a few of the tools hanging on the wall had fallen off. He cleaned everything up and then wheeled the aircraft out through the doors so he could look it over. After performing the initial preflight check, he headed for the operations building to compose and file a flight plan to Cypress Municipal Airport.