Two years passed.

On the whole, they were peaceful and contented ones for Jennlynn. Which is not to say that everything went well, because not everything did all the time, but those that went wrong weren’t major disasters, just irritations easily overcome. It is also not to say that she wasn’t busy, because she was very busy, but that happened to be how she liked it, saw little wrong with it, and hoped to stay that busy.

Soiled Dove proved to be a pretty good deal all the way around. It opened several doors for her that would have remained closed otherwise, and made a small change in direction, though not an entirely unexpected one in her work at Lambdatron. The outcome was totally positive in her mind, so that was just fine.

Soiled Dove’s considerably higher capabilities meant that it was possible to use it for Lambdatron on occasion. The Mooney could easily beat airline times to Los Angeles under almost any circumstances except runway-to-runway; office-to-office was about even with airlines as far away as Houston. The convenience of being able to set their own schedules and not have to worry about overbookings meant that Lambdatron often called on Jennlynn to fly people somewhere, usually for a presentation or consultation. She was often involved in these, anyway, so it simplified a lot, and was often cheaper than airlines, too.

Fairly quickly she became the unofficial Lambdatron pilot. It meant that she was often away from the office, but as time went on Stan and the other managing shareholders shifted her responsibilities a little, so she’d have a little more time to fly without having to work all night to catch up when she got back. One of the things that had frustrated her a little in her first year at the company was the fact that she had been so busy that she’d barely been able to find the time to get out and buzz around with Magic Carpet very much, and she could feel her carefully and expensively learned skills deteriorating. Now, the pendulum began to swing back; she was getting just about the right amount of flying in to feel that her minor at Caltech hadn’t been wasted after all. Rather than just buzzing around, she was out flying to go somewhere, and that made it all the more satisfying.

People at Bettye’s, and later at the Redlite Ranch, had become used to her puttering into the airstrip in the little Cessna; as the mechanic at Hernando’s had commented, it was a big step up in the world when she first put Soiled Dove down on the crumbling old bomber runway in Antelope Valley.

It wasn’t long after she acquired the Mooney that the first stage of the new building was completed at the Redlite. George pulled out some promotional stops, and there was a ceremonial ribbon cutting with fifteen prostitutes, including Jennlynn, all taking shears to the ribbon – there were only ten rooms in the new building, but for that ceremonial weekend both the doublewide and the new building were used. After some careful publicity – which involved some surreptitious planting of some freebies in a few places – there was a pretty good turnout for the first weekend. George was not above making sure that there were a few demonstrators out there, so they even got some air time on the Las Vegas TV stations; that only added to the limelight. George was not a believer in the adage that it doesn’t matter as long as they spell your name right, and he was careful to put a positive spin on stories whenever he could. One of the stories that he managed to get some spin on was the unnamed prostitute who flew her own airplane in to work on the weekends – it just helped underline that the place was being staffed with quality professionals who gave good value for the money.

The opening weeks went so well that George decided to go ahead with the first expansion phase right away. That may have been a little premature, but only by a few months. In the long range, business built up slowly but steadily, and they’d have the rooms available later when they needed them. In spite of some empty rooms the first couple of years – usually eight to ten girls could handle the traffic – they staffed up when they expected a big weekend, such as a major sporting event or show in Las Vegas. Those extra rooms came in handy then, even if they weren’t paying their way all the time.

There were hitches, of course. Claudia had always enjoyed cooking at Bettye’s and in the early days of the new Redlite, and always did more than her fair share, but when they opened the new building it was decided that it might be best if there was a regular cook on the staff so Claudia wouldn’t have to miss lineups, keeping her primary expertise and experience in the income stream.

The first cook George hired proved to be a disaster. She was a lousy cook to begin with, didn’t much care about the quality, was disgusted that she had to cook for prostitutes, and didn’t think they deserved any better. She only lasted a few days before she was out the door on her ass, and Claudia was back in the kitchen. Cooks kept coming and going for a while, and Claudia frequently had to fill in. But she’d been looking forward to taking some time off; it had been long overdue, and when the last cook was fired just a couple days before Claudia was due to leave, a crisis arose. Shirley settled it by getting in her pickup and driving up to Ely, where she hunted up a high school classmate by the name of Sarah Ferguson.

Sarah was a heavy-set widow Shirley’s age, not very talkative, and since she was a serious Mormon, George was very dubious when Shirley showed up with her. However, she proved to be a magnificent cook, easily Claudia’s equal on non-Cajun stuff. Most people thought she wasn’t very bright, and really she wasn’t, but she’d been cooking for miners for about as long as Shirley had been servicing them, and Sarah figured that the prostitutes were less trouble and better behaved. She actually preferred the lighter stuff that the girls liked for the sake of their figures, and very quickly everyone started calling the kitchen, "Sarah’s kitchen," rather than just "the kitchen." She and Shirley shared the latter’s apartment out in the back part of the fenced lot, and within days she was as important as Shirley at keeping everybody in the house and the customers happy.

What’s more, word soon got around not just Antelope Valley, but a long ways off that the food at the Redlite was great. George invited the locals to drop in to use the restaurant for breakfasts and lunches. Local resentment around Antelope Valley dried up and blew away immediately afterward, and people who would otherwise never have set foot in a bordello were now often to be found in the dining room – one of them was the Mormon bishop from Piute Wells. He wasn’t exactly all that thrilled about the business being carried on there, but was hooked on the way Sarah did salmon steaks.

Claudia eventually returned from a swing back home with the news that her next shift was going to be her last one; she was going to hang up her spiked heels, get out of the business she’d been in for over ten years, and head back to Louisiana to stay. Jennlynn made a special trip up from Phoenix just to attend the formal going-away party; it was attended by a number of girls who had long been out of the business, and no small number of former customers who were really going to miss her bright smile, her joyous laughter and her Cajun cooking. There was, however, a catty remark or two made that there was going to be a lot less farting around in the lineups.

Claudia’s long-time co-worker, compatriot, and friend Cindy hung on for another couple of shifts, then went on a long break herself, telling George and Shirley she’d call when she was ready to come back onto the schedule. But, she never called and never came back, and there was no word of her. With those two gone, Jennlynn’s connections to the idyllic early years at Bettye’s grew thin, but it really wasn’t all that unexpected – they’d both been in the business much longer than the average worker, and were highly respected and liked. Their time had come and everyone wished them well.

In the years since Jennlynn bought Soiled Dove, she was up there fairly often; sometimes once a month, sometimes twice – just enough to keep it interesting without it being a drag. Most weekends something interesting or unusual happened, which kept it amusing without getting odious, and it might have been if she’d been there more often. It became just a settled corner of her life, a hobby, a diversion. Once in a while, someone from Lambdatron might make the trek up there, but usually not, and when they did, they might not necessarily party with her. There were often interesting new people to meet, sometimes customers, sometimes other girls.

The girls who worked at the Redlite Ranch were always coming and going anyway, and while there were a core of regulars there more often than not, it wasn’t unusual for her to come in late on a Friday afternoon and not know half of the girls she would be spending the next couple days working with. But, that could be fun, too – and sometimes, there could be a real surprise.

Jennlynn didn’t always go late on a Saturday night; if the action slowed, she might just find herself in bed early with orders given to call her if someone came in asking for her. That meant that she’d get up in the morning, rather than noon or later as was usual for girls who partied until four or five AM.

The dining room was almost empty one such morning. It was a little late for the breakfast crowd of locals, not yet time for lunch. Jennlynn was sitting at one of the tables, finishing a light breakfast and trying to drag out a cup of coffee when a slightly heavy-set girl with dirty blonde hair who she’d never met before came in. "Come join me," she offered, always ready to talk; although she was a part-timer, she was now the most senior girl in the place, at least as far as Bettye’s and Redlite experience went, and always liked to chat with new ones.

"Sure thing," the girl smiled, came over and sat down. "I’m Sandy, I’m new here. You’re Jennlynn, right?" she asked. "The one who flies her own plane in here?"

"That’s me," Jennlynn grinned. "People may not know me by name, but they know me by my plane. Is this your first shift?"

"Yeah, it’s the first time I’ve worked in a house, although I’ve done tricks as an indie now and then the past few years."

"How you liking it?"

"It’s all right," Sandy shrugged. "It’s not something I’d care to spend years doing, but I’m sitting out the six weeks residency until I can get a divorce, so it’s better than sitting around on my dead butt."

"I have to say it’s not the first time I’ve heard that story, and it probably won’t be the last," Jennlynn smiled. "I’ve never even gotten close to getting married, and every time I hear that story it reminds me of why."

"Uh, can I ask you something?" Sandy frowned. "By any chance are you the Jennlynn Swift from Bradford, Michigan?"

"Yeah, I am," Jennlynn nodded, just a little surprised to hear the word "Bradford." It had been several years since it had been spoken in her presence. "You’ve heard of me?"

"Well, yeah," Sandy admitted. "In fact, you’re a little bit of the reason why I’m here. I used to play guitar on the road with a girl by the name of Dayna Berkshire. She told me the story was that you were making big bucks working in the houses out here, so when I had to make some money and find a place to stay, I thought I’d check this out."

"Dayna," Jennlynn shook her head, letting her mind page back. "I haven’t heard anything about her in years." All of a sudden a half-forgotten conversation with the class gossip, Emily, years before came to mind. "Yeah, I remember hearing that you and she used to play guitar together . . . " she frowned for an instant and continued. "Something seems to come to mind about the two of you busking renfaires in corsets with your boobs about popping out."

"We made quite a few bucks that way," Sandy laughed. "Occasionally we turned it into a paying date, too. It was kind of fun. Once I get this damn divorce settled, I’m hoping we can get back together and head back out on the road. She kept on playing after my folks sort of pushed me into marrying the dickhead I’m getting rid of."

"Damn, Dayna," Jennlynn shook her head, thinking back to that long-ago phone call when she’d hinted to Emily that she’d been working at the Mustang. This was the first confirmation that the gossip had indeed gotten out! Her folks had to have heard about it! "We went to school together. I know you’re not from Bradford, but it slips my mind where you’re from."

"Warren, up by Detroit," Sandy told her. "Dayna and I started playing together, working the bars and turning the occasional trick while we were at Central."

"I’ll be darned," Jennlynn smiled. "You say the two of you are going to hit the road playing gigs again?"

"Yeah, well, I hope to, anyway, and it won’t be a damn bit too soon," Sandy shook her head. "I’ve been away from it for a year and I’ve missed it every minute."

"You guys were doing all right, I take it," Jennlynn asked, just making conversation while the back of her mind was running full bore. It had been a long time since she’d had any real news out of Bradford, not that she particularly cared – but it would be nice to have an idea of how wide Emily had spread the rumor, whether it got to her folks for sure, how they had reacted. Sandy wouldn’t know them, but Dayna might know – and if she’d been turning tricks on the side, she’d understand, too.

"We weren’t getting rich, but we made a living and having a hell of a lot of fun," Sandy nodded. "I got sick, then I got stupid and let my folks push me into getting married. They weren’t real cool about me being out on the road. Well, it didn’t work out, and the hell with them. Dayna’s mom is a lot cooler about it; I understand Dayna goes home every now and then when she needs a break from the road."

"Damn, I wouldn’t mind seeing her again," Jennlynn submitted. "I never hear anything from back there anymore."

"I hope she’ll be coming through in a while," Sandy replied. "The last I heard, she’s got some gigs in Nebraska and northern Colorado, and after that I’m not sure. She might not be sure, either."

"Keep me posted," Jennlynn said. "Maybe we’ll have to work out a way to get together."

* * *

The discussion with Sandy gave Jennlynn much to think about later that day when she cranked up Soiled Dove and headed back to Phoenix.

Other than the one indirect contact through her counselor at Caltech almost four years ago, she’d had no news of her parents whatsoever. In most respects that suited her just fine. They’d wanted her out of their lives and that’s what they got. The resentment at the treatment she’d received from them was not a bit less than it ever was, but she realized that she’d buried it over the last several years. Now, just those few words from Sandy had brought it back to the surface.

She found herself wallowing in resentment, hoping that her folks were damn well satisfied with what they’d accomplished. It would be nice to know if she’d really hurt them, to be able to taste their pain, but that would mean getting back in touch with them directly or indirectly, and really, she didn’t want to do that because it might reveal that she was successful and happy in her life, despite what they’d done to her.

Or, maybe that was even better revenge, to make sure they knew that she was happy and successful and making lots of money – and still a prostitute. Sandy and Dayna might not be the best conduit to feed the Bradford rumor mill, since Sandy had made it clear that she’d be just as happy if what she was doing didn’t become known in Bradford.

That was something to think about. Maybe a call to Emily was in order sometime, to plant a few new rumors. But, maybe not. There might be a better way to rub their noses in it, and it had been too long since her last rubbing . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud tick-tick-tickticktickTICKTICKTICKTICK from the Mooney’s engine, followed immediately by a CLANK! then a somewhat-quieter POWPOWPOWPOW. With no time for thinking, just reacting, she cut the throttle and the switches, and pulled the nose up to slow the plane down, all almost entirely in one move. She had no idea of what was wrong withSoiled Dove’s engine, but with that noise it was clear that continuing to let it turn wasn’t doing it any good. The Mooney’s constant-speed prop wouldn’t go to full feather, but by fiddling with the pitch and slowing the plane, she could bring the propeller to a stop – which would improve her gliding distance.

The Mooney was no sailplane, but it had a fair glide ratio. Once problem number one was dealt with – getting the engine shut down and the prop stopped – it was time to deal with problem number two: getting Soiled Dove on the ground safely.

Fortunately, Jennlynn had been doing more than just sitting back and musing about how much she hated her folks – she was also keeping track of her location. Kingman was not far ahead; she had lots of altitude, and within a couple minutes was sure she was in gliding distance of the airport.

In fact, she reached the airport with plenty of altitude in hand. She dropped the landing gear early, just in case it got cranky and she had to finish it up with the hand backup, but the battery handled it, and she got three green lights, so there was no concern there. She was high enough that she had to sideslip a little to get on the runway in a reasonable distance, but once she landed she just let it roll to the taxiway turnout close to the main airport building. She didn’t have enough momentum left to coast all the way, so just let Soiled Dove roll off the side of the taxiway into the dirt as the last of her speed died out.

She knew she’d handled it well; her training had come through for her, and everything had been done in a calm, professional manner.

Now she could treat herself a good case of the shakes. She was damn glad the engine had blown where it did. Back in Magic Carpet days she’d been pretty careful about staying in gliding distance of roads when she’d been flying over the desert, but she’d gotten sloppy with Soiled Dove. It was just pure damn luck that the engine had let go when it did; in another few minutes, she’d have been over a rather inhospitable, lumpy patch of desert.

From back in Magic Carpet days, she knew that the airport office at Kingman was closed on Sundays, but there was a sign on the side of the building giving a number to call in case of emergencies. In twenty minutes or so, a young man showed up to help out; he was one of the flight instructors, it proved. They had to hook a rope to his car to drag Soiled Dove up to the tie downs and fasten it down. She wasn’t sure what could be done about the Mooney, but nothing tonight; so she talked the flight instructor into taking her to a nearby motel, where she spent a boring evening watching cable TV.

Early in the morning, she called Angela at home, told her that she was in Kingman with engine trouble, and wasn’t sure when or how she was going to get back. Angela offered to hunt around the company and find someone without something heavy in both hands to drive up and pick her up.

With that done, she walked to a local restaurant for breakfast, sat around until about the time the airport service was to open, and managed to beg a ride back over to the airport where she had a talk with the chief mechanic. They pulled Soiled Dove into a hangar, and he and another mechanic started in on it. "Can’t tell you what it’s going to be yet, ma’am," he said. "But I can tell you it ain’t going to be simple. I ought to be able to give you a better idea on it tonight, or tomorrow morning."

There really wasn’t much she could do but tell him she’d call in the morning and find out how bad it was. Fortunately, Angela herself showed up around the middle of the day, and the two rode together back to Phoenix, with it seeming to take forever.

There was still some of the day left at Lambdatron after she and Angela drove by the airport to pick up her car. There was a flight to Los Angeles scheduled for the next day, and it was getting late to be arranging airline tickets. "Oh, hell," she told Sam and Stan, who were concerned about what had happened. "Hernando Aviation has a Cessna 182 Skylane I can rent to fly us there. I know you’ve been reimbursing me for the Mooney, so if you want to cover the cost of the rental, I’ll fly the trip."

It was a little more expensive than using the Mooney – she’d been giving Lambdatron a sweetheart deal, one to cover her flying expenses, not calculated to make her any profit, but the 182 was a for-profit deal and the rental was more expensive. On top of that, it was a little heavy on the fuel use, and was thirty miles an hour slower. But it would do in a pinch.

The meeting the next day wasn’t set until afternoon, but they made arrangements to leave a little early so she could fly through Kingman and check on Soiled Dove. Jennlynn had been hoping against hope that she’d get there and find the Mooney ready to go, but realized that the chances were pretty slim. So it proved; she found the Mooney sitting in the hangar, cowling off, and the engine torn partially apart. "Swallowed a valve," the mechanic reported. "The piston doesn’t look damaged since you managed to shut it down pretty quick. But we ran a compression check on the other cylinders, and your compression is getting pretty marginal."

"It was at the last annual," Jennlynn conceded.

"We can patch up the cylinder," he told her. "But it’s going to have to get torn right down again, since you’re probably looking at a major overhaul before you can get it annualled again. That’s going to be around eight thousand bucks. We could give it a top overhaul for about thirty- five hundred doing all six jugs, and it’d probably squeeze another year or two out."

Jennlynn would rather have had the work done at Hernando, but there was no way to get Soiled Dove there. She had talked to her mechanic friend, and he was of the opinion that the people at Kingman were pretty decent. She’d already known she was looking at a major pretty soon, and the cost would pretty well be paid back in the sale price. "How long is a major going to take?" she asked.

"We’re backed up a little, we can’t get to it for a while, and there’s parts we’ll have to send out to have tested. I’d say a month. We might get a little lucky and be able to get it in a few days less."

"Well, hell, major it, I guess," she replied. After all, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford it.

She went back out, got her two passengers reinstalled in the 182, and headed for Los Angeles, being a lot more careful to stay near roads than she’d been the day before. The passengers, of course, knew all about what had happened but weren’t aviation people. "Aren’t you a little bit worried about flying single engine?" Bob asked.

"A little," she explained. "Multi-engine is fine, but I figure if you lose an engine, some planes still won’t climb on one engine, so about all you do is extend and control your glide. A twin is a lot more expensive to fly. After all, you’ve got two engines burning gas, and two to maintain."

"Still," he said nervously. "I think I’d be more comfortable with two engines, especially for flying over country like this."

"It is something to think about," she conceded.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.