Standing On Top

Chapter 8b

"We do?" Jake asked.

"What the fuck?" asked Matt. "Nobody told us nothing about no meeting."

"What's it about?" Nerdly wanted to know.

Pauline answered them one by one. "Yes we do, nobody told me anything either until an hour ago, and I don't know what it's about. They just said it was important and that all five of you and myself should be there."

"Freak-boy is still in Birmingham, isn't he?" asked Matt, using his recently coined nickname for Charlie.

"Yes," Pauline said. "He's been there for the past month. And Coop is in some place called Glamis with his motorcycles. It's down in the desert somewhere about three hours away. He won't be able to make it either."

"They specified that you should be here?" Jake asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I don't know if that means anything though. I've specified that I be included in any meeting that takes place in any sort of official capacity that involves plans for the band or any changes or additions to the income stream."

"So this could be either good or bad?" Matt asked.

"Or completely neutral," she said. She looked at Nerdly and smiled. "Hey, Bill," she said. "You're being kind of quiet."

Nerdly blushed a little. "It's been kind of a trying day," he said.

"I understand it's been kind of a trying few weeks," Pauline said. Jake and Matt had both complained endlessly to her about Nerdly's over-anal perfectionism. Likewise, Nerdly had complained quite extensively to her about Jake and Matt's lack of pride in their product. "You'll get through it. The important thing is to work together and stay focused, right?"

"Right," he mumbled.

"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" Pauline asked him, obviously with the intent of teasing him. Ever since they were children, Nerdly had had a romantic crush on Pauline.

"Uh... sure," he said. He made the introductions. Pauline and Sharon shook hands and exchanged nice-to-meet-you's. Pauline kept any further teasing to a minimum in light of the obvious tension between the three musicians.

They made their way out of the cavernous recording studio and to the elevators, riding up to the top floor where Doolittle's office was located. They arrived five minutes early but Doolittle did not make them wait as he would have with anyone else. They were ushered into his spacious office with the view of Hollywood Boulevard and given seats in the plush chairs before his desk. Doolittle and Crow were both present.

Doolittle offered both refreshments and cocaine to them, as usual. As usual, they all declined the offer. He simply nodded and called the meeting to order.

"I'm sorry that Coop and Charlie couldn't make it," Doolittle said. "I trust you will fill them in on the details of what is discussed here?"

"Of course," Pauline said. "As soon as I know what those details are. So how about we skip over any further preliminaries and get right to the point. Why did you call us in here on less than an hour's notice?"

"It's nothing negative," Doolittle said reassuringly. "We've got a new project for the band in mind to fill in some time and increase our international revenue stream once the live album is complete and in production."

"A new project?" Jake asked. "What kind of new project? Are you saying you don't want us to start work on a new studio album?"

"Not just yet," Doolittle said. "You see, sales of It's In The Book are still quite healthy and are not showing any signs of slacking off in the next two quarters. Once we release In Action, we'll be enjoying a fresh onslaught of album sales and radio airplay from that. It would not behoove any of us to throw another album out into the mix just yet. Sure, it would undoubtedly sell multi-platinum — anything you boys put out at this point is guaranteed to sell at least three million copies — but your next studio album will sell so much more if it's not in competition with your other works. Strictly speaking, people aren't clamoring for new Intemperance material yet. They're still enjoying the old material."

"So what's the new project you're talking about?" Matt asked. "Let's get to the meat here, Doolittle. What do you want us to do?"

"It has to do with international sales of your albums," Doolittle said. "As you're aware, we released all of your albums in all markets we cover ever since the first one. You've done really well in Canada but sales of the early Intemperance recordings were marginal at best in Europe, Japan, and Australia. Your first three albums didn't even chart in any of those markets."

"They're selling like a motherfucker there now though," Matt said. As of the last marking period, both Balance Of Power and It's In The Book had each sold over two million copies in Europe and Australia and more than a million in Japan. In addition, all of the singles that had sold in the United States and Canada had been equally popular in the foreign market.

"Well... they're selling well, but not quite 'like a motherfucker', as you put it," Doolittle said. "We think that with a little promotion, we could sell many more copies of everything you've done in this market."

"What kind of promotion?" Jake asked.

"A tour," Crow said. "We going to have you guys hit the road on a full-fledged, European, Far East, and Oceania tour starting in mid-January and lasting through late April."

"The tour will be simultaneous with the release of In Action." Doolittle said. "It will be perfect timing. And as you swing through every geographic location and the media covers your impending arrival, our international contacts will work on increasing Intemperance airplay in each market. As airplay increases and as people fight and squabble over concert tickets, the album sales of everything you've put out will begin to pick up exponentially. These foreigners will buy In Action and It's In The Book first and then they'll start to buy your earlier albums to see what they've missed. It's a gold mine just waiting to be opened."

"What if we don't want to go out on another tour?" Nerdly asked. "We just got back a few months ago from a rather exhausting excursion throughout North America. I, for one, am not quite refreshed enough to undertake another such venture."

"You're contractually obligated to go out on tour whenever a new album is released," Doolittle told him. "I'm sorry you're not feeling refreshed, Bill, but this is something you're going to have to do."

"Whoa, hold on a second," Pauline said, holding up her hand.

"What?" Doolittle said.

Pauline went aggressively on the offensive. "I really hate it when you sit there and lie to my face, Doolittle," she said. "It's insulting on so many different levels. First, there's the lie itself. Second, there's the condescension toward me when you assume that I'm too dumb to catch you in your lie."

"What are you talking about, Pauline?" Doolittle asked innocently. "You know as well as I do that the Intemperance contract demands a tour with each new release. It's in black and white right there in that copy of the contract you carry in your little briefcase."

"Now wait a minute," Matt jumped in. "Before we start getting all hot and heavy into this argument, I'd just like to point out that I'm totally down with this tour. I like being on the road and I've already filled in all the states and cities on my fuck-map for the US and Canada."

"Matt," Jake said, driving an elbow into his side.

"What?" Matt asked. "What's the big fucking deal? I'm want to go score me some foreign pussy. Do we get to stop in Iceland? Can you imagine how cool it would be to get some Icelandic trim?"

"Matt," Pauline hissed, giving him an evil glare.

He finally got the clue. "Sorry," he said.

"I think Matt is right, Pauline," Doolittle said, doing exactly what Pauline had warned her band members he would do if they showed any sort of crack in the armor of unity. "Before you start accusing me of lying and telling me I have no right to force the boys out on tour, why don't we just see if they are willing to do it? Now it seems obvious that Bill here is a bit reluctant, but Matt seems to be showing the spirit. What do you think about this idea, Jake? Are you up for a little excursion around the globe to promote your music?"

"I'll withhold my opinion for now," Jake said. "I want to hear what Pauline has to say first."

"There's not really much she can say," Crow said. "Like Mr. Doolittle said, you are contractually obligated to tour whenever a new album is released. Failure to do so without just cause is grounds for breach of contract."

"And that's where you're talking out of your ass," Pauline said. "And not only that, you know you're talking out of your ass. Did you really think I wouldn't pick up on that?"

"Pick up on what?" asked Nerdly, who, for reasons of his own, didn't want to go traversing around the world playing in front of audiences night after night.

"Do you want to tell him, Doolittle?" Pauline asked.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Doolittle said huffily. "The way I read the contract, the issue is quite clear."

"The way I read it, it's quite clear as well," Pauline said. "Although the way I read it is the same way a judge and jury would read it too." She looked at Matt, Nerdly, and Jake. "The mandatory touring obligation clause only applies to the release of a new studio album. In Action is not a studio album. It falls under the umbrella of 'live albums or greatest hits re-releases'. The same reason that releasing In Action does not fulfill one of the contract periods makes it impossible for them to compel you to tour in order to promote it. And even if it did, the touring obligation clause is for North American tours only. They can't compel you to do an international tour under any circumstances."

It was obvious by looking at the faces of Doolittle and Crow that they knew this to be true.

"I suppose," offered Doolittle, "that one could make an argument — albeit a weak one — that the semantics of the contract could be interpreted in that way."

"It's black and white, Doolittle," Pauline insisted. "You can't make them do this tour and you damn well know it."

"So what are you saying here, Pauline?" Doolittle asked. "Are you saying the band will not tour? Pardon me for saying so, but that would be an asinine position to take. The amount of money we could all make from such a tour is considerable. Our foreign album sales could potentially increase by more than sixty percent over the next two quarters. At a minimum, our analysts predict at least a twenty-five percent increase. Think about that in terms of band royalties, which is where your primary source of income comes from. Are you really going to throw that away just so you could say you got one over on us on a contract point?"

"Yes," Nerdly said happily. "I think that's exactly what she's doing."

"No," Pauline corrected. "I never said the band would not go out on this tour. I'm just saying that you do not have the ability to compel them to undertake this tour under the current contract. If you want them to do this, a separate, foreign travel tour contract will need to be negotiated and signed beforehand."

Doolittle rolled his eyes upward. "Pauline," he said. "I understand you're trying to impress us all with your legal knowledge. I also understand that you lawyers all like to put things into writing. But is there any reason why the standard touring terms for North American tours can't just be carried over to this foreign touring contract? After all, our terms with the band in that regard are quite generous from an industry standard standpoint."

Pauline shook her head. "I don't have much experience setting up an overseas tour, Doolittle, but I'm not an idiot. North American tours are done primarily on the ground, are they not? The equipment is trucked from place to place in tractor-trailers and the personnel, including the band, are bussed. And even with the fairly low budget that Intemperance requires — since they don't use all the laser lights, pyrotechnics, and other glitter — they barely make a profit."

"The purpose of a tour is not to make profit," Doolittle said. "That's something that I've tried to make you understand all this time and you still don't get it. A tour is to promote album sales. That's where the profitability comes in."

"I understand that very well," Pauline said. "And album sales, while they do benefit the band, benefit National Records a lot more."

"We're a business," Crow said. "We're here to make profit."

"I understand that as well," Pauline said. "Where we're running into problems with this foreign tour concept, however, is that it will be much more expensive to carry out, won't it? We'll have to fly all of the band members and the roadies to each geographic location. You'll have to move all of the equipment by ship. You'll have to fly the people to England, ship all of the equipment there on a freighter, and then rent the busses and trucks to transport everything around once you're there. When the England portion of the tour is over, you'll have to fly all the people to the European mainland again, ship all the equipment again, and then rent a new set of trucks and busses to move it around there. And then, when it's time to move on to Japan, you'll have to do it all over again. All of that takes a lot of money. And then there is foreign taxes, visas for every member of the tour, customs charges, hotel rentals in places where the currency exchange is not in American favor. There's no way in hell a tour like this could do anything but operate in the red. And quite a bit in the red. Am I correct?"

"Well... I don't have exact figures in front of me, of course," Doolittle said. "But yes, it is a little more expensive to run a foreign tour then a domestic one, for all the reasons you mentioned. Once again, however, the purpose of the tour is not to make money. The profit comes from the increased album sales."

"And once again," Pauline said patiently, "I understand that. It is you who do not understand where I'm coming from, or at least you're pretending not to."

Doolittle sighed. "Suppose you tell me where you're coming from," he said.

"Under the current contract, the band pays for half of the tour costs for North American tours," Pauline said.

"Yes, we remember negotiating that point ad nauseam when we put together the contract," Doolittle said. "As I told you before, it's more than fair considering that most first time contract bands have to pay one hundred percent of the tour costs."

"Uh huh," Pauline said. "Don't even get me started on that one. My point, however, is that fifty percent of the tour costs for a foreign tour is considerably more money then fifty percent of the cost for a domestic tour. In return for putting up more money, the band will not be receiving any greater percentage of the increased album sales the tour will generate. In short, the advantage goes mainly to the record company in this deal."

"I suppose you could look at it that way," Doolittle said carefully, plainly not liking where this was going. "And how would you suggest we rectify the situation?"

"Easy," Pauline said. "You pay for the tour since it is you who will be benefiting the most from it."

Crow's eyes widened almost comically. "You want us to pay for one hundred percent of the tour costs?" he asked. "Are you high? You must be if you think we're going to take that proposal under any sort of consideration."

Pauline simply shrugged. "I haven't discussed this in length with my clients as of yet," she said. "After all, you did just spring this on us. I am quite sure, however, that they will demand considerable concessions if you want them to go out on this tour. Remember who is in the position of strength here, Doolittle. You cannot compel them to go out on tour for you in this situation. There is no reason for them to do your bidding if it's going to end up costing them short-term money. If you want them to do it, you'll have to make it worth their while."

"That's blackmail," Doolittle hissed angrily.

Pauline simply shrugged again. "When the circumstances are in your favor, you call it good negotiating. When it's in our favor, you call it blackmail. Refer to it however you want. None of us really give a damn. But think it over. We're going to end this meeting for tonight and get back together again on... oh, say Wednesday. By that time, we should have Charlie and Coop back with us and fully briefed in. In the meantime, I'll talk with the band and see just what it is they want out of this tour."

"You'll get no concessions from us," Crow said.

"Then my guess is you'll get no tour from us," Pauline told him. She pushed her chair back and stood up. She looked at Jake, Matt, and Nerdly, all of whom were looking at her in stunned respect. "Are you ready, guys?"

"Yeah," Jake said. "I think I am."

"Fuckin' A," said Matt. "Let's get out of here."

At five o'clock that evening Nerdly, Jake, and Matt emerged from one of the side doors of the National Records Building into the VIP parking lot. Matt and Jake each had backpacks stuffed with several days' worth of clothing, shaving gear, and other overnight accessories. They would be spending the night in Ventura and then flying to Bodega Bay — a small oceanfront town north of San Francisco — in Jake's plane the next morning.

Nerdly was empty handed as he was not going with them. Jake had invited him along back when the trip was in the planning stages, back before they'd even started fighting with each other over the overdub issue. Nerdly had politely declined, stating he didn't like torturing innocent fish (the main purpose of the trip was to do some deep sea fishing) and even if he did, he wasn't about to climb into a small, single-engine plane with a new pilot at the controls. As he left now, escorting Sharon out to his Geo Metro so they could make their dinner date (they were going out as "just friends"), he didn't even say goodbye.

"You think he's gonna get over this one?" Matt asked.

"I don't know," Jake said. "I've never seen him like this before."

"He'd better fuckin' mellow out before we hit the road," Matt said. "It's bad enough having to deal with freak-boy and all of his pathological fears about germs and viruses and tapeworms. I don't need to deal with a homicidal nerd on top of that."

A white Mercedes convertible pulled into the VIP parking lot from the guard booth. It circled around through the parked cars and headed for the yellow zone where Jake and Matt were standing. The top was down on the car and an attractive woman was behind the wheel. She had a head of blonde hair that was not natural but dyed so perfectly a casual observer wouldn't be able to tell. She wore a spaghetti strap top that did little to hide the cleavage of her considerable, obviously enhanced breasts. Her face was deceptively innocent looking. She waved as she saw the two musicians standing there, waiting for her.

"Right on time," Matt said, glancing at his watch. "You gotta like that in a bitch."

"I'll agree that's it's a favorable attribute," Jake said, unconsciously using a Nerdly-ism.

The woman driving the car was Kimberly Kowalski. That was the name her mother had given her, although only a select few knew her by that name. Most knew her by her "screen name" of Mary Ann Cummings. Ms. Cummings was perhaps the most famous and sought after pornographic movie actress in the industry. To date she had starred in more than twenty adult movies, including the critically acclaimed To Fill A Mockingbird, Blonde Faith, and Ball Street Blues. What set her apart from the rest of the adult film actresses of the day were her looks, which, despite the life she'd lived to get where she was, remained wholesome looking, sweet and innocent; and, perhaps more impressive, her amazing ability to portray an on-screen orgasm in a way that looked and sounded utterly realistic. Her facial contortions, moans of passion, pelvic thrusts, and leg quivering were so realistic looking that fans endlessly delighted themselves in speculating that she wasn't faking any of them, that all of her on-screen orgasms were, in fact, genuine explosions of sexual pleasure.

Matt had met Kim, as he called her, three weeks before at the Flamingo Club when both had happened to be there at the same time. Since then, they had been seeing each other on a regular basis — the first such relationship Matt had ever engaged in. Though he did not refer to her in conversation as his "girlfriend", it was quite obvious that he was taken with her in some way that was fundamentally different then all the other women he fucked and then threw away. They went out to dinner together several times a week, had gone fishing together twice, and she'd even spent the night at his house a few times — something that no other woman had ever done.

This was only the third time that Jake had met her in person and, like always, being in her presence and talking to her like she was a normal person was strange considering the fact that he had seen several of her feature films. He had watched her taking nine-inch penises into her mouth, vagina, and anus, had seen her engaging in smoking hot lesbian sex with up to three other women, and had witnessed her convincingly real orgasm scenes. He had even masturbated a few times while watching some of her more erotic depictions (his favorite was in To Fill A Mockingbird, when she'd engaged in a threesome with two actors who were supposed to be brother and sister in the movie).

"Hey, guys," she said brightly as she turned off the engine and stepped out of the Mercedes.

"Hey, baby," Matt said, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her body against his. They engaged in a semi-lustful tongue kiss that lasted the better part of fifteen seconds.

"Nice to see you too," she said, reaching down and giving his crotch a discrete squeeze. She turned to Jake and held out her arms to him.

"How are doing, Kim?" he asked her as he gave her a hug. He felt the press of her surgery-enhanced breasts pushing into his chest (breasts he'd not only seen bared on many occasions, but had once seen three guys spray their semen on in Ball Street Blues).

"I'm ready for some softball, some flying, and some fishing," she told him, kissing him wetly on the cheek (with lips that he'd once seen deep-throat Mark Snake — a man with a ten incher).

"Well you're in the right place then," Jake said, embarrassed to feel that his penis had started to fill with blood at the contact with her.

"Did you pack lightly?" Matt asked. "Remember, no more than twelve pounds of luggage per person."

She rolled her eyes. "That's totally barbaric to ask that of a woman," she said. "But, yes, I managed to keep it at eleven point nine pounds. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Jake said. "Having an overweight plane is just not a good idea."

"Do you wanna drive, Matt?" she asked, waving him toward the driver's door.

"Fuckin' A," he said. "Jake, looks like you're in the back."

"No problem," Jake said. "It'll do my ego good to be stuck in the back once in a while."

They stowed their bags in the trunk of the Mercedes and then climbed in, Jake in the back seat, Matt behind the wheel, Kim in the passenger seat. They pulled out onto Hollywood Boulevard and began fighting their way toward the freeway so they could begin the trip to Ventura, where Helen's softball team was engaging in their regional championship game at 6:30 that evening.

As soon as they hit the freeway, Matt pulled a fat joint from his cigarette pack and lit it up using the Mercedes' cigarette lighter. He took a tremendous hit and then passed it to Kim, who took an even bigger hit. She passed it back to Jake. He sucked up a lungful of the potent greenbud and then handed it back to Matt.

"So you're sure that your girlfriend won't mind having a porn star at her softball game?" Kim asked Jake.

"I'm sure," Jake assured her. "She said to bring you along. She doesn't give a shit what the media think about it."

"How many media people are going to be there?" asked Matt.

"Well, ever since that clusterfuck in Omaha, they've been on us like stink on shit," Jake said. "The game is actually going to be broadcast live on ESPN."

"No shit?" Matt asked, shaking his head. "A fuckin' women's softball championship in Ventura County, on ESPN?"

"They say it's to help promote regional women's sports," Jake said, taking another hit and feeling the drug go rushing blessedly to his brain.

Helen Brody, flight instructor, pilot, and amateur softball athlete, had suddenly found herself smack in the middle of her fifteen minutes of fame, or infamy if you prefer, after that "clusterfuck in Omaha", as Jake termed it. After spending the night together in a suite in the Ferriday Hotel, they had emerged the next morning into a full-blown media circus, with camera crews set up all over the lobby and dozens of Omaha reporters shouting questions at them about what their relationship was, how long they had been seeing each other, and, inevitably, how many times Jake had beaten her, whether or not she was a willing participant in the sexual activity, and whether or not Helen knew about Jake's past abuses of his girlfriends.

What they hadn't had to ask was who Helen even was. By the time Jake and Helen had emerged into the fray, all of the reporters knew everything about her, including her address and profession. They shouted questions about whether or not she was teaching Jake to fly, about whether she was passing him because he was sleeping with her.

"No comment," Jake whispered to her as he began dragging her through the lobby toward the entrance. "Don't say anything to them but 'no comment'."

He prayed that their limo would be waiting for them out there. Under the circumstances, Jake decided to forgo the formality of checking out. He would call the hotel from the airport where his new plane was being kept and have a little chat with the manager.

The limo was there and they made it safely away — or so they thought. What they didn't know was that the limo driver had already been approached by several reporters, handed a few twenty dollar bills, and had given up the location where he would be taking the couple that morning — Executive Airport in suburban Omaha. When they arrived there, another gaggle of reporters and were already waiting, cameras flashing, video machines filming.

"Why are you here at the airport, Jake?" one shouted. "Are you taking a flight somewhere?"

"Are you in Nebraska to complete your flight training because California refused to certify you?" asked another.

Jake had been forced to give an impromptu press conference to them just so he could get on with his business transaction. After shooing Helen into the safety of a hanger he had stood before them and told them that, yes, he was taking flight lessons, that yes, Helen was his instructor, and that his business in Omaha was to pick up an airplane he'd just purchased. Helen was along only because he was not yet certified to fly solo and she needed to be in the cockpit with him when he flew. They had stayed overnight in the Ferriday Hotel and had had separate rooms.

"We have information you both stayed in the same hotel room last night," one of the reporters asked after this statement. "Is that true?"

"How would you have come by information like that?" Jake asked.

"An anonymous hotel employee let it be known that the two of you ordered room service sent to your room last night and that Ms. Brody did not, in fact, sleep in her room."

"We had dinner in my room in order to avoid being in public down in the restaurant," Jake said. "Ms. Brody slept in her own room."

"Our sources tell us that she never returned to her room last night," another reporter said.

"Your sources were wrong," Jake said. "And that's the end of the discussion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go check out my new plane."

He left them and went into the hanger, dozens of inflammatory questions following in his wake. Once inside, he found Helen and Bill Misterly, the insurance executive who was selling him the plane, watching a television set in the office. Jake and Helen were the top story of the morning. The news reports were repeating the allegations that had been leveled at Jake just a few minutes ago and were showing a picture of Helen — a picture she identified as having come from her purse, and which was now mysteriously missing.

"They went into my room, Jake!" she yelled, outraged at the invasion of privacy. "They went into my room and took things out of my purse! And now the picture of me and my dad is up on the television screen!"

Jake nodded apologetically. "Welcome to my life," he told her.

By the time they made it back to Ventura, every entertainment magazine, television show, and tabloid was splashing Helen's face, biography, and ever sordid thing she'd ever done across their medium. They had dug up and interviewed former students of the school who had not passed and printed their inflammatory accusations. It was suggested that Helen and her father were both in the business of offering pilot's licenses for sexual favors or money. They had dug up a retired FAA official who speculated that if, in fact, Jake and Helen had a sexual relationship going on while Jake was a student that it might constitute an ethics violation on Helen's part. He then opined that the FAA should probably open an investigation into Helen as an instructor and into Brody Flight School as an entity.

John Brody, Helen's father and the owner of the flight school, was infuriated on several different levels. He did not appreciate the fact that Jake and Helen were intimate with each other (they admitted to him that they'd slept together in Omaha). He most assuredly did not appreciate the vile slander that was being leveled against his previously well-respected business. His initial reaction was to try to kick Jake out of his school. The confrontation became borderline ugly when Jake refused to go.

"I signed a contract with you, John," Jake told him. "That contract states that you will provide all necessary training to me until I'm certified as a private pilot. I've already paid you the money for this. You can't just kick me out because the news is slandering you on my behalf. You have to have a reason to drop me from the school."

"Sleeping with my daughter is not a good enough reason?" he'd asked.

"No, it's not," Jake said. "I have to flunk out or prove myself unsafe in some way. If you try to kick me out for this, I'm afraid I'll be forced to get my lawyer involved and file a breach of contract suit."

"That's what you rich rock stars like to do, isn't it?" John asked. "Hide behind your high priced lawyers."

"Daddy," Helen said. "There's no need to be so dramatic. Jake is right. We can't kick him out for this."

"You're defending him?" John asked. "After what he did to you? After smearing your reputation all over the news? After smearing our school's reputation? After possibly getting an FAA investigation going on us?"

"Jake didn't do any of that, Daddy," she said. "And he didn't do anything to me that I didn't want done. I was the aggressive one. I practically raped him in that hotel room."

"I really don't need to hear about this," John said, shaking his head in disgust.

"I just wanted you to know that it wasn't Jake who put all this in motion. It was me. I didn't realize the consequences, true, but I'm the one who went after Jake."

"This might bankrupt us, hon," John warned. "After all the bad publicity we're getting from this, I think it's quite possible we'll never get another student."

"Do you really think things will be that bad?" Helen asked, seemingly near tears.

"No," Jake interrupted. "It won't be bad at all."

"What the hell do you know about it?" John asked venomously. "You're a multi-millionaire rock star. What do you know about running a business?"

"Not very much," Jake admitted. "But negative media attention is not exactly a stranger to me. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with what sort of effect all of this will have on your business."

And, of course, Jake was right. Within two days of the first reports, there were literally hundreds of people calling Brody Flight School enquiring about flight lessons. So many people wanted to enroll that John had to develop a waiting list and hire two additional instructors. He also had to purchase a new plane in order to accommodate the increase. Jake managed to get back into his good grace by loaning him the twenty thousand dollar down payment on the aircraft and co-signing the loan for the rest.

"Are all these people signing up because they think they're going to be able to sleep with me?" Helen asked him at one point.

"No, that's not the reason at all," Jake said. "They're doing it because it's the same flight school where Jake Kingsley learned to fly, the same one that's been in the news. They'll be able to tell all their friends that they're going to Brody Flight School, that they actually learned from you, or your dad, or an instructor who knows you or your dad. They're doing it on the hope that they'll run into me out on the airfield some day. If I were your dad, I would raise my rates by at least twenty percent. People will pay it."

This was advice that John took and soon the money was rolling in like it never had before. John was still worried, however, about the possibility of an FAA investigation. Jake, in order to assuage that worry, had his "high-priced" lawyer look into the possibility. Pauline checked with some of her contacts and the information she got was exactly what Jake had suspected it would be.

"There is nothing specific in the regulations about sexual activity between a student and an instructor," Jake reported to him. "They could conceivably apply an ethics violation against the instructor but that would only be if they had convincing evidence that a sexual relationship existed between Helen and I — which they do not, since media speculation does not constitute evidence — and they were able to show that the sexual relationship was causing Helen to overlook faults in the student. Since that is not happening, they would not have a leg to stand on."

"Nevertheless," John said, "I think you two oughtta keep your hands off of each other. I don't think you should socialize outside of the classroom either."

"I'm not making any promises about that, Daddy," Helen told him.

John didn't like this, but he was forced to live with it.