Jake had turned her down, politely but firmly. During the last six months they had hit every large and medium-large city in the United States and Canada, playing before well over a million people. He had fucked or had at least some sort of sexual contact with more than two hundred women during that time period, every last one of them a girl he'd known for less than an hour, every last one of them a girl he didn't dare kiss on the lips since the groupies, as they were called, gained admission to the backstage area where the band changed and partied by orally servicing members of the road crew and security force. The tour was over now. Jake was more than ready to deprogram himself from the road. He was burned out on meaningless sex. He wanted a real woman, someone he could have meaningful sex with.
Nerdly began to grunt in that high-pitched whine of his right about the time that Jake felt the plane heel forward and start its descent toward the Los Angeles region. The whines grew louder and more frequent before being climaxed (as it were) by a high-pitched teakettle noise.
"Exquisite," Bill sighed when he got his breath back. "Your oral skills are first rate."
"Thanks," Julie said shyly, as if unable to believe what she'd just done. Quite possibly she couldn't.
Jake finished his wine and handed Julie his glass when she went by on the way to the bathroom to freshen up. "How about another shot?" he asked her.
"Of course, Mr. Kingsley," she said, taking it from him. She smiled sheepishly. "I don't suppose you'd care for a little of... you know... what I gave Mr. Archer?"
"Some other time, perhaps," Jake told her, lighting a fresh cigarette. "Now, I'd really love another glass of that Chardonnay."
"Right away," she said, not the least bit perturbed by his refusal. She disappeared into the bathroom.
"Jake," Bill said once the door was closed behind her, "have I ever thanked you for talking me into this band thing?"
"A couple times," Jake said, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke at the window.
"Well allow me to express my gratitude yet again," Bill said, sipping from his milk. "If I would have listened to my mother and kept up with my studies at UCH, I would right now, at this moment, be a computer systems engineer in some office building in Heritage and probably still a virgin. Now, I'm getting oral copulation from flight attendants on a Lear Jet. This is the life."
"Yeah," Jake said with a smile. "It is, isn't it?"
The Lear Jet circled in over the smoggy San Fernando Valley and touched down gently at the Van Nuys Airport. It taxied over to the general aviation terminal where a stretch limousine waited. Jake, Bill, and Julie stepped out onto the tarmac. The air temperature was sixty-six degrees, not exactly balmy but compared to the forty-two degrees it had been in Seattle and especially the eighteen degrees it had been the week before in Minneapolis, it was paradise. Jake turned his face to the sun and luxuriated in it. He had never thought of Los Angeles as home and probably never would, but at least it had pleasant weather most of the time.
The limousine driver was named Mark. An aspiring screenwriter, he was one of the regulars that drove for Buxfield Limousine Services — the small, family-owned company that all five of the band members used on an unlimited basis without charge. This was a deal that had been brokered by Pauline Kingsley — Jake's older sister and the band's manager — in which they allowed Tom Buxfield to film and photograph the band in his limousines and to use their images for advertisements in exchange for the service. So far it had been mutually agreeable to all parties. Jake and the rest of the band (as well as Pauline) got free limos and Tom's business had increased by eighteen percent since signing with them. There was also the added benefit that the drivers were not snitches for National Records executives as they had been when National had provided the limos (and, adding insult to injury, had actually charged the band's recoupable expenses account for each ride).
"Wassup, Mark?" Jake greeted as Mark held the rear door open for him. He held out his hand and shook with him.
"Jake, my man," Mark replied. He had long since been forbidden to call him 'Mr. Kingsley' when the boss wasn't around. "Welcome home. How was the tour?"
"Full of sex and drugs, like usual," Jake told him. "Such is rock and roll. Did you catch the show when we came through?"
"Damn right," Mark said. "That bunch of tickets you guys scored for us were premo seats. Right up in front."
The tickets he was referring to had been for one of the three shows in Los Angeles near the beginning of the tour. Against National Records' stern objections, Jake and Matt had reserved forty-six tickets in the first two rows — two for each driver employed by Buxfield Limousines and one for each member of the Buxfield family. A few of the drivers had sold their tickets — fetching more than $500 apiece for them — but most had attended the show.
"I'm glad you had a good time," Jake said. "Did Alex go with you?" Alex was Mark's 'life partner', as he called him.
"Sure did," Mark agreed. "He's got the total hots for Darren. He just loves the way he looks in those tight jeans."
Jake chuckled. Darren was perhaps the most homophobic member of the band and the one who still hadn't accepted that the entertainment industry was full of gays and bisexuals. "I'll be sure to tell him that next time I see him."
"Tell him if he wants to borrow Alex for a night it's okay with me. I don't mind... as long as I get to watch."
Jake wasn't sure if Mark was joking or not. He simply chuckled again and sat down in the plush seat of the custom limo. Bill stepped up to Mark next and they greeted each other as well.
"What are you doing after you drop Jake and I off?" Bill asked him.
"I was just gonna go grab some lunch," Mark replied. "I have a pick-up in Beverly Hills at five tonight. Until then, I'm pretty much free."
Bill reached in the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out his wallet — a nylon, velcro closure job his mother had given him when he was fifteen. He pulled a one hundred dollar bill out of it. "Any chance I can get you to swing back by the airport, pick up my stewardess friend over there, and bring her over to my place for me?"
"Well sure," Mark said. "Anything for you guys, but why doesn't she just come with us now?"
"She has to help put the aircraft back into serviceable condition and replace all the booze that Jake drank."
"Hey now," said Jake, who was mixing up a rum and coke from the bar, "no cheap shots."
Mark took the C-note and made it disappear. Technically only the band members and Pauline were allowed the use of the limousine service but Mark, like most of the drivers, was usually more than happy to provide a little extra service during down times, especially when hundred dollar bills were added as an enticement. "I'll have her to you fresh and hot in less than an hour," Mark promised.
He closed them into the limo and then spent five minutes collecting their luggage from the cargo hold of the Lear Jet and putting it in the trunk. Once that was complete, he pulled out, heading for Bill's house first.
Nerdly lived in a luxury apartment building on Mulholland Drive near Mt. Olympus. It was a fifteen story structure that featured apartments ranging anywhere from 1500 square feet to 2500. Bill had one of the 2500 square foot ones. He hopped out and retrieved his own luggage, slinging one bag over his shoulder and hefting one in his hand. A doorman rushed out from the front of the building and quickly relieved him of them.
"Catch you later, Bill," Jake said, draining the last of his drink.
"Yep," Bill said. "It's good to be home."
Mark dropped the limo into gear and drove off, heading back down Mulholland Drive to the Hollywood Freeway. A short drive through the congested traffic brought them to Franklin Avenue where they cut across North Hollywood to Beachwood Drive. From there, they headed north, into the exclusive neighborhood of Hollyridge nestled in the Hollywood Hills. Jake's condo building was on the east side of Beachwood, just a hundred yards from the rugged terrain of the western edge of Griffith Park. Mark pulled into the entryway and came to a stop, jumping out to open Jake's door.