Standing On Top

Chapter 7c

Jake and Helen boarded a DC-10 the next day for their trip to Omaha to pick up Jake's plane. Jake had booked them first class, a form of air travel that Helen, with more than two thousand hours of flight time, had never experienced before. She marveled over the plush seats and the attentive stewardesses but seemed a little nervous as the aircraft actually began to accelerate for it's take-off roll.

"Something wrong?" he asked her as he watched her fingers gripping the armrests.

"I hate flying in these things," she told him.

He raised his eyebrows a little. "But you're a pilot," he said.

"That's exactly why," she said. "I'm not in control of this aircraft and I have no way of taking control. How do I know what kind of idiot they have flying this thing? How do I know what kind of morons they have maintaining it? How do I know what dimwits they have staffing the air traffic control computers? All it takes is one little mistake by any number of people and we're all a bunch of body parts scattered over a mountainside."

"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.

"He actually touched my hand when I handed him the key," Brittany was saying, her voice full of worshipful awe. "He touched it. Oh my Gawd! I can still feel it tingling."

"I am soooo jealous," Meghan said. "Did he like, just touch it, or did he, like give you a little rub."

"He rubbed," Brittany said dreamily. "He like totally slid his thumb over the back of my hand. And, you know, he like had this look in his eye while he did it too. Oh Gawd. I think I need to go change my..." She stopped as she saw Ronald standing next to her, listening in on the conversation. She blushed a little, embarrassed. "Oh... hi, Ron," she said. "What's up?"

"Uh... nothing," Ronald said. "What were you two just talking about?"

Brittany was too embarrassed to answer. Meghan, however, was not. "Jake Kingsley just checked in a few minutes ago," she said. "Why didn't you tell us he was going to be here?"

"Jake Kingsley?" Ronald said. "The singer?"

"What other Jake Kingsley would we be talking about?" Meghan asked snootily. "What's he doing here anyway? Intemperance isn't in town."

"Are you sure it was Jake Kingsley?" Ronald asked. "I wasn't told anything about a VIP visit. Maybe it was just someone who looked like him?"

"It was him," Brittany said. "I have every album Intemperance has ever made. I've stared at that face on those album covers a thousand times. Besides, he paid with a credit card. It had his name on it."

"Why didn't we know about this advance?" Ronald asked. "Was the reservation in his name?"

"His name didn't come up until I ran the reservation number," Brittany said. "So you really didn't know he was gonna be here?"

"No, I don't think anyone did. When we know that a VIP is going to be here we generally clear out the adjoining rooms, especially when it's a rock singer. Was he with anyone?"

"He had some slutty looking girl with big boobs with him," Brittany said. "Her name was..." She quickly checked her registration log. "She was someone named Helen Brody. They checked into two different suites up on the top, 1012 and 1014."

"She looked like a total slut," Meghan added. "And she's not even all that hot. I'm totally hotter than she is."

"Totally," Brittany agreed. "Both of us are. I wonder why they're in different rooms?"

"Why would they even be here?" Meghan asked. "Maybe they're gonna make a new video or something?"

"Yeah... totally!" Brittany said. "That has to be it! Why else would he be in Omaha?"

Ronald took a quick glance at the paperwork and the computer registration system. Within a minute he was able to satisfy himself that Jake Kingsley was, in fact, staying in the hotel and that he had paid for two suites with his credit card. The more he listened to Meghan and Brittany speculate about the possibility of Kingsley being here to shoot a music video, the more sense it seemed to make. After all, as Brittany had pointed out, what other business could he possibly have in Omaha?

"What's the name of that chick that does the Intemperance videos?" Megan asked. "Wasn't it Helen Brody?"

"No way, chick," Brittany said. "It's Erica Wilde. I saw her at the MTV awards. She's some fat slut with big-ass glasses. She's also doing the Earthstone and the Nevermind videos."

"Well then who is she?" Meghan asked. "We totally should have asked him when they checked in."

"Totally," Brittany agreed.

Ronald left them to their conversation and continued to his office. He closed the door behind him and sat down at his desk. He flipped through his rolodex and located the home phone number for a man named Jim Stinson. Stinson was the head of the entertainment department at the Omaha Register. As one of the managers of the most prestigious hotel in Omaha it was consequential that Ronald had contacts — albeit weak ones — with several local reporters and media types. After all, when someone famous did visit Omaha — something that happened from time to time — they inevitably stayed at this hotel. Entertainment reporters loved to dig up dirt on celebrities wherever it could be found and employees of the hotels they stayed in were a particularly rich source. This would not be the first time that Ronald had contacted Stinson on an Intemperance related subject. When the band had passed through on their last tour Ronald had provided him with a detailed list of how many girls had gone up to the rooms with the band after the show, exactly what had been ordered from room service, and exactly what the maids had cleaned up from the room the next morning (including an exact count of the empty condom wrappers recovered). This information had been printed in the Register two days later citing "an anonymous hotel employee" as the source.

Ronald dialed the number and Stinson answered on the third ring. They passed a few pleasantries and then Ronald got down to the business at hand.

"Do you know anything about Jake Kingsley being in town?" he asked.

"Jake Kingsley?" Stinson said. "No. I haven't heard a thing. Why do you ask?"

"Because he's staying here in the hotel tonight. He checked in just a few minutes ago with some woman named Helen Brody."

"Are you sure it's Kingsley?" Stinson said. "I haven't heard so much as a whisper about this."

"My two night clerks positively identified him and we have his credit card number and signature on the register. Also the two of them are in two different suites."

"Interesting," Stinson said. "And you have no idea what they are doing there?"

"My two clerks seem to think that he's here to shoot a music video."

"Where did they get that information?"

"I don't know," Ronald said. "Maybe Kingsley told them that."

"I've heard absolutely nothing about Intemperance shooting a video in Nebraska or anywhere else. They've already done all the videos they're going to do from their last album and they haven't even started recording their next album yet."

"I'm just telling you what I heard," Ronald said a little defensively.

"I know," Simpson soothed. "It's obvious there's something going on here. I'll start looking into this. You start looking into things from your end. Find out anything you can. Get a description of this Brody chick from your clerks. Get me a report on what they order from room service. Let me know about any phone calls they make or any visitors they have. Call me back if anything interesting pops up."

"Will do," Ronald said, knowing that if anything panned out from this information Stinson would lay some legal tender on him, maybe as much as a hundred dollars.

Jake's suspicions that Helen had not quite given up her aspirations of instigating a relationship with him were all but confirmed when he let her in the door to his suite an hour after they'd checked in. She had changed into a flowered summer dress that clung to her body, accenting her curves and her femininity in just the right way. The material of the dress was very light and very thin, the hem falling to just above her knees. The way her large breasts jiggled as she walked into the room told him that she wore no bra beneath it. Her hair was still damp from the shower she'd taken and the smell of freshly bathed female came drifting in with her.

"Thank you for inviting me, Jake," she said casually, as if her appearance hadn't been custom designed to give him an erection.

Jake smiled, fighting the urge to lick his lips. "No problem at all," he said. He waved to the couch in the sitting room. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," she said, going over and taking a seat. As she sat, the hem of her dress rode up quite high on her thighs. She didn't bother pulling it back down.

"I see you showered and changed your clothes," Jake said, making no move to join her.

"Yes," she said. "I was all hot and sticky from the flight. I just loved that shower stall in my bathroom. It's so big."

"It is very nice, isn't it?"

She smiled sweetly, her eyes sending him a definite message. "Do you have the room service menu?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, picking it up from the table. He carried it over and handed it to her. "Why don't you take a look through it and see what you want?"

"Okay," she said. "Can you sit with me so we can look at it together?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting from her exposed thighs to those jiggling breasts to those seductive eyes. "I don't think that's a real good idea," he said.

She patted the couch insistently. "You're not afraid of me, are you, Jake?" she asked.

"No," he said, "but I'm beginning to think that your intentions are less than honorable."

"I won't do anything that you don't want me to do," she promised.

He chuckled. "That's supposed to be the guy's line."

"Well, I was raised by a man," she said. "Come on. Sit with me. What's the worst that could happen?"

Jake tried not to think about the worst that could happen. For the most part, he succeeded. He came around the couch and sat down about a foot from her. She immediately scooted over until her bare thigh was touching his. Jake looked at her pointedly.

"We have to be next to each other to read the menu, don't we?" she asked.

"I suppose so," he said.

They held the menu between them, both looking over the selections of steak dishes, chicken dishes, and pork dishes. Gradually Helen leaned even closer, until her shoulder was in contact with his. Jake ignored the contact until her hand dropped down onto his leg.

He gently reached down and removed it. "Behave yourself," he told her with mock sternness.

"I was never taught to do that," she said, putting her hand right back where it was.

Jake removed her hand again and then pulled himself away from her. The room service menu fell to the floor at Helen's feet. "Look, Helen," he said. "I thought I made my position quite clear the other day. You're my instructor, I'm your student. It's not right for us to get involved with each other. And even if that were not the case, I'm not someone you want to get involved with."

"Who said anything about getting involved?" Helen asked, unfazed by his words.

"You're trying to seduce me," he said. "If I were to give into you wouldn't you consider that getting involved?"

"No," she said simply.

"No?" he asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"I call it getting laid," she said. "It's been more than six months since I got laid last and that asshole was one of the deadest fucks I've ever had. I want sex from you, Jake, nothing more, nothing less at this point in time."

"That's real easy to say," Jake said. "Pretty hard to stick to in practice though."

"I was raised by a man," she said for the second time. "I've never had any meaningful female influence in my life except for those slutty bimbos my dad was always bringing home when I was growing up. I can take sex as it comes and keep my emotions out of it, just like a man. And I can pursue sex aggressively, like I'm doing now, just like a man."

"You do seem to have a knack for that," Jake admitted, his eyes drawn as if by magnetism to her upper thighs, which had spread apart just the tiniest bit.

"Are you attracted to me, Jake?" she asked him.

"Well..."

"Not as a person, not as a friend, but in a sexual way?"

He nodded. "Yes," he said. "Very much."

"And I'm very much attracted to you. I want to fuck you, Jake. I want to feel your cock slamming into me from behind. I want to suck you until you come and then swallow every drop. I want to feel your face between my legs, licking my pussy until it squirts all over you. Did I mention that I squirt?"

Jake swallowed slowly. "No," he said. "You didn't."

"Do you wanna see it?" she said, twisting a little so she was leaning back against the couch. "I can give you a demonstration. Right here and right now." Her thighs opened a little bit more, almost, but not quite, allowing him to see her heavenly gates. He was about half hard in his pants now, his big head fighting to remain in control of the situation.

"Helen, look," he said. "I think that maybe things are moving too fast here."

She shook her head. "No such thing," she told him. "We can do this, Jake, and not let it affect our friendship or our student/teacher relationship. I'm not like most women. I can fuck you today and act like nothing happened tomorrow. So why don't we do that? Why don't we enjoy each other on this little trip and then forget it ever happened when we get home?"

"I don't know," Jake said, still staring at her thighs, at the jiggle of her breasts beneath the summer dress. "I'm incredibly turned on right now but I don't want that to affect my judgement. I've had nothing but trouble with that in the past."

"Fuck judgement," she said, leaning forward and scooting close to him again. She reached out and grabbed his right hand in hers. Her fingers caressed his in a gentle, sexy manner. She put her mouth next to his ear. "I want you to touch my pussy," she whispered. "It's very wet right now and it wants your fingers to touch it instead of mine."

"Helen..." he croaked, the last vestiges of his self-control starting to crumble.

"Here," Helen said, taking his hand and pushing it downward. "Let me get you started."

She spread her legs apart and pulled his hand between them. He did not resist and he discovered she had left her panties in her room as well as her bra. He found himself touching a hot, slippery wetness and he was all but lost. He plunged two fingers into her and began to move them in and out.

"Oh... yes, Jake," she said, her eyes shining with lust. "That's it. Fingerfuck me. Do it hard!"

He fingerfucked her, doing it hard. She ripped open the front of her dress so hard that several of the buttons went flying across the room. Her breasts spilled out and he was completely lost. They were huge orbs, firm and obviously natural, perfectly shaped. Her nipples were large too and they were standing up proudly, just waiting for someone to put his mouth upon them. He buried his face between those magnificent mammaries, shaking his head back and forth, feeling the warm, soft flesh rubbing against the side of his face.

"Suck them, Jake," Helen groaned, her fingers running through his hair. "Suck my tits!"

He took one in his mouth and feasted upon it while continuing to jam his fingers in and out of her body. He slurped and suckled first one nipple and then the other while she moaned and encouraged him with unladylike profanity. When he began to smell the odor of her clean musk rising into the air around him he unlatched from her breasts and began to move south.

"Oh yes," she said as he dropped to his knees on the floor and pushed her knees apart. "Fuck yes! Eat my snatch! Make me squirt in your fuckin' face!"

Jake had never been squirted in the face before, or on any other part of his body for that matter. In truth, he thought the whole female squirting thing was nothing but a myth. He had been with countless women and had eaten dozens of pussies in his time and never had he encountered a woman who had done anything other than juicing a bit more than usual at the moment of orgasm. Though he had seen pornographic videos of alleged squirtings they had all looked like nothing more than urination to him. That thought gave him a bit of a start. Though Matt and Coop had been known to engage in water sports on occasion Jake thought the whole concept was disgusting.

"You're not going to pee on me, are you?" he asked her. "I'm really not into that."

"No," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "It's not piss. Trust me. You'll like it. Now eat me!"

He was still a little dubious but he did as requested. He pushed his face forward and began to lick up and down her lips. He gave her his best pre-treatment and then went after her clitoris, sucking it between his lips.

"Yes," she panted, her pelvis starting to rise and fall on the couch. "Now put your fingers back in me and angle them upward. Fuck me hard with them while you suck my clit."

"Mmm hmmm," Jake agreed, doing as requested.

"Suck harder!" she demanded. "More upward angle!"

He tilted his wrist lower so his fingers were putting considerable pressure on the upper wall of her vaginal passage. He sucked harder, hard enough that his mouth threatened to cramp up on him.

"Yes... yes!" Helen cried, her head shaking back and forth. "That's it! Keep doing that!"

He kept doing it and soon the unmistakable signs of approaching orgasm began to manifest themselves in her body. Her pelvis slammed up and down. Her vaginal walls clenched and released on his fingers. Her skin flushed and broke out in goosebumps.

"Almost... almost there," she panted, spreading her legs as wide as they could possibly be spread.

He sucked harder and kept plunging his fingers in and out. A high pitched whine emitted from her lips and suddenly she said, "Pull... pull your face away or... or you're gonna get a mouthful!"

He pulled his face away about six inches but kept up the finger action. She was moaning continuously now.

"Here it comes!" she squeaked as she put her left hand down just above her clitoris and pushed down with her fingers.

A shot of clear liquid blasted out of her and splattered across his face. Holy fucking shit! he thought, amazed. He knew instantly it was not urine. It had the strong, almost overpowering odor of sexual musk. It was the same liquid as the juices that made her slick and wet. Another shot squirted out and struck him directly in the mouth and then another shot him in the left eye, blinding it, making it sting. Two more shots came out but they didn't have the force to reach his face, they simply dribbled down on the couch and made a rather large wet spot.

Jake exhaled and the juice sprayed from his mouth. "Wow," he said, in awe of what he'd just witnessed. "It's not a myth."

"Fuck no," said Helen, who was still panting. "Did you like it?"

He licked his lips, tasting the strong tang of her juices on his lips. Slowly he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I did."

"Good," she said, reaching down and grabbing him at the armpits. She pulled on him. "Now get up here and fuck me!"

He didn't need to be told twice. He didn't even bother taking off his shirt. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, quickly grabbed a condom out of it, and then dropped his pants and underwear in one motion.

"You won't need that rubber," Helen told him as he struggled to open it. "I'm on the pill."

Jake hesitated, having an instant flashback to Rachel and the fights they'd had over this very subject.

"What's the matter?" Rachel panted, reaching out and putting her hand on his erection. "Get this fucking thing in me!"

"Are you really on the pill?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

She opened her mouth to yell something at him and then stopped, seeming to think better of it. Her expression softened a little. "I'm really on the pill, Jake," she said. "I'm not looking to be a mommy yet, not even to a rich rock star's kid."

He sensed no deception in her eyes. Making a snap decision he tossed the unopened condom aside and sank himself into her body, bareback for the first time since Mindy Snow. The sensation was exquisite and the feeling of danger that came with it only enhanced it.

They coupled hard and fast on the couch, Jake still wearing his shoes, Helen still wearing her now-tattered dress. They grunted and groaned like animals, Helen licking the juices she'd squirted from Jake's face and then driving her tongue into his mouth. Jake basked in the sensation of slamming into her without a condom on, of the feeling of her tight walls clenching and releasing him.

Soon she was approaching orgasm again, her pelvis slamming back at him in the age-old rhythm.

"Back up a little," she told him, pushing him upright. "I can do it again."

He brought himself up straight and continued to thrust in her. She put her hand back on her pubis, just above her clitoris, and pushed. With a scream and a cry she came, squirting a less powerful but still substantial amount of juice out of her body, drenching his pubic hair and the shaft of his manhood.

This sensation was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. The circuit breaker that kept his orgasm at bay sizzled and fried and almost before he knew what was happening, he was pouring himself out into her body.

They collapsed together, lying skin-to-skin, clothing-to-clothing, exchanging a few deep, sexual kisses that were not the least bit romantic. When he was able to breathe normally again he raised up a bit and looked at her.

"I've had a lot of sex in my life," he said. "At times I started to think I'd seen and done it all. It's nice to know there really is something new under the sun."

She giggled, kissing him harshly on the neck and nipping at his skin. "And we've only just begun," she said. "We haven't even made it off the couch yet."

"I still have my shoes on," Jake said, making both of them laugh.

"Why don't we order dinner now?" Helen suggested. "I'll have the filet mignon with a baked potato and a salad."

"Okay," Jake said, climbing off of her, marveling at the huge wet spot they'd left on the couch. It was more than a foot in diameter. He had seen a lot of wet spots in his time but never one that large, not even during the last tour when he'd successfully completed a two by six and won a thousand dollars from Matt.

"I'm gonna take a shower while you're doing that," she said, standing up and letting her ruined dress fall to the floor, leaving her gloriously naked. "Why don't you join me while we're waiting for the food. I'll see if I can get you recharged for round two."

"Sounds like a plan," Jake said, his penis already starting to twitch in anticipation of more.

At 9:45 that night Ronald Dithers called Jim Stinson again. At this point Stinson was down at his office coordinating the group of photographers and reporters that would be descending on the Ferriday Hotel early the next morning. The editor of the paper was happy with the story his entertainment section was working on. There was really nothing else going on in the world at the moment that was newsworthy. Sure the Middle East was alive with strife but when wasn't it? And the election was approaching and both candidates were slinging mud at each other but there was nothing new on that front. And, of course, an Omaha police officer had shot an armed robbery suspect after a pursuit but he hadn't killed him so that story would only be a short blurb on the Metro page. This Jake Kingsley thing was news. Especially if it turned out he was with a new girlfriend and shacked up in one of the local hotels.

"What do you got for me?" Stinson asked once Ronald identified himself.

They had talked on the phone several times now since the original notification with Ronald sharing every detail he could glimmer. "I've confirmed that they're both in the same room," he told the reporter.

"How so?" Stinson asked.

"Kingsley ordered two room service meals sent to his room about forty minutes ago," he told him. "When our delivery guy brought the meals up there Kingsley answered the door wearing nothing but one of our robes."

"Was the broad anywhere to be seen?"

"No," Ronald told him, "but the server said the whole room reeked of pussy like he'd never smelled before."

"Nasty pussy?" Stinson asked, wincing at the thought.

"No, fresh pussy," Ronald said. "He said it smelled very clean, very fresh, just overwhelming."

"Hmmm," Stinson said, finding that interesting but knowing he couldn't very well print something like that in a family newspaper. "Intriguing, and slightly arousing, but not concrete. Do you have any facts that can put these two together other than the two meals and the robe? I mean, for all we know this Brody broad was in her room and Kingsley was getting it on with some cheap whore."

"Cheap whores don't smell like that," Stinson said.

"Good point, but again, unprintable."

"Well... there is one other thing," Ronald said hesitantly.

"Lay it on me," Stinson said.

"Well... I had reason to believe that maybe there was a faulty toilet up in Ms. Brody's room."

"Oh really?" Stinson said, grinning.

"Yeah," Ronald said. "So I went up there to check it out. I knocked on her door and no one answered. In the interests of my guest's safety I went inside just to make sure everything was all right. Ms. Brody wasn't there."

"She wasn't, huh?" Stinson asked. "Can quote you on that?"

"As an anonymous employee, of course," Ronald said.

"Excellent," Stinson said. "Did you get any other information from her room?"

"Well... as a matter of fact, it seems that Ms. Brody left her purse open on the counter and her wallet lying out. I couldn't help but get a glance at the contents."

Stinson's grin widened considerably. This guy was one of the best sleazebags he'd ever employed as a snitch. "And what might you have observed?"

"Her full name is Helen Anne Brody," Ronald said. "Her address is 22355 Templeton Road in Ventura, California. Her date of birth is..."

"Slow down," Stinson said. "I need to write this down."

Ronald slowed down, repeating all the information again. "Her date of birth is 3-27-64. Her social security number is 346-66-2130. She has a MasterCard and an ATM card from the Bank of Ventura. She holds a pilot's license and an instructor pilot certificate."

"A pilot?" Stinson asked. "No shit?"

"I saw them with my own eyes. The number on her pilot's license if C7886554. It was originally issued to her on March 27, 1982. She received her instructor certificate on September 24, 1986. I also... uh... found a picture that had apparently fallen out of her wallet out in the hallway in front of her door."

"Did you now?"

"Yeah," Ronald said. "It's a picture of her and some old guy standing in front of an airplane. I'll fax it to you as soon as the line is clear."

"Excellent," Stinson said. "You've done well indeed, Ron."

"Do you have any idea what Kingsley is doing here?"

"Not yet," Stinson said. "But you can bet your ass we're going to find out. The public has a right to know after all."