By the time Jennlynn and Phaedre made it back to the lobby, there was one of the "specials" boards from the restaurant set up on an easel there. On it was a rough drawing of a jet plane done in colorful marker and the words:

Jennlynn shook her head. "I guess George has gotten his jollies for the weekend," she said. "I really don’t like to be that blatant, but I guess I owe him enough over the years to let him have his fun once in a while."

"Hell," one of the girls smiled, a girl named Amber who Jennlynn had worked with several times. "You think that’s bad, you ought to see the sign out front."

Jennlynn rolled her eyes. "I wanted to show off a little by bringing the Lear up here," she said. "But I wasn’t planning on that. I guess I’m going to have to raise my prices and walk some guys back out so the rest of you can get at them. Damn, I’d really rather just be one of the girls."

"I know that, Jennlynn," Amber said. "I think most of us understand that, too. But you aren’t anymore. But if you bring the rest of us more business, I don’t think anyone is going to mind. They used to bring in porn stars to be headliners up where I used to be. This is the same thing, but like everything else with the Redlite, it’s got a heck of a lot more class."

The three of them headed into the dining room and found a table. Very quickly, a waiter came over. "And how may we serve you ladies tonight?" he asked.

"I think just the Caesar Salad," Jennlynn told him. "Keep it light."

"I think the same," Phaedre agreed. "You’re right, Jennlynn, I need to start watching my weight."

"Are you guys telling me something?" Amber snorted. "All right, Virgil, the same for me, too."

"You know," Amber said after he’d headed for the kitchen. "That’s one of the things that impresses me about this place. A waiter, and the food is free? At the last place, it was cafeteria style, not much of a selection, not very good food, and they charged like hell for it."

"George has always believed in nothing but the best for the ladies," Shirley said as she came over to join them. "He’s going a long way to improve the level of the whole industry. It’s changed a lot from Maybelle’s in Ely, or the Triangle River up by Reno. I think it’s changed for the better."

"Right," Jennlynn agreed. "I’m not sure how much I would have liked working back in those days. I got a taste of it up at the Mustang years ago, and one shift was enough."

"You probably wouldn’t have stayed with it like you did," Shirley agreed. "Hey, would you like me to tell George to tone it down with this ‘Learjet Jenn’ stuff? I know you’re not one to call attention to yourself like that."

"Oh, let him have his fun," Jennlynn shrugged. "I guess I should have realized that flying a Learjet in here wasn’t going to decrease my reputation."

"Oh, we can have some fun with it if you’ll go along," Shirley smiled, and handed Jennlynn an envelope. "By the way, I’ve got this letter for you. It was here the last time you were here, but I guess I forgot to give it to you."

"No big deal, probably," Jennlynn said, glancing at it. It was addressed to Jennlynn Swift at the post office box in Las Vegas, which was used as a mail drop for the girls who wanted to get mail at the Redlite but not give away where they were. The return address gave her pause: Emily Holst, her old schoolmate in Bradford, the class gossip who Jennlynn had used many years before to spread the word that she’d worked at the Mustang. She’d talked to Emily once since then, mostly trying to find out if her folks had had to move out of town in disgrace. Sadly, they hadn’t. Still, that was years ago. What now? And for that matter, how had Emily gotten the address?

There was nothing to do but open the envelope. She picked up a knife to use as a letter opener. In a few seconds, she was reading Emily’s neat handwriting:

– Emily

She all but tossed the letter on the table to forget about it. It had been a long time since she’d even thought about Bradford; those were bad days that were best left behind her, especially the way she’d left the last time.

Then a truly evil grin crossed her face. It would be interesting to touch base with those people, maybe revive the old rumors a bit and have a little fun. What was it she’d told Phaedre only a few minutes ago? That being a prostitute hadn’t kept her from being a college graduate with a Ph.D., an engineer, a pilot, a millionaire, a corporate executive, and a business owner? There were some classmates who needed their noses rubbed in that – and the stories going around after such an appearance would rub her parents’ noses in it even more.

"Hey, Shirley," she said. "You mind if I use the phone in the office?"

* * *

Emily Holst was nervous. She’d been nervous ever since she’d gotten the phone call from Jennlynn, and she had good reason to be.

She’d never believed that Jennlynn would actually show up for the reunion, and had only sent her the letter because Vicky had pressured her – it was only fair to let her know, Vicky had argued. Vicky had heard the rumors about Jennlynn a long time ago, of course – so had almost everyone else in their class – but not many people remembered that Emily had been the source of them. Emily remembered that phone call from Jennlynn eight years ago as if it had been yesterday. Jennlynn had never actually come out and said that she’d been working as a prostitute, but Kevin had just about shit when she’d asked him if he’d ever heard of the Mustang Ranch. She’d never gotten a straight answer out of him, but apparently he’d been there when he’d been in the service before they started going together . . .

Did Jennlynn know those rumors were going around? There’d never been a hint of that when she’d gotten another phone call several years later, and Dayna apparently hadn’t had any hint about it, either. But if she’d gotten it wrong, and Jennlynn found out, it would be embarrassing. At the least. And if she’d gotten it right – it wouldn’t be any better.

Emily had long since found out that Jennlynn was seriously on the outs with her parents, although she had no idea why. Really, it was entirely possible that Jennlynn had been telling the truth – maybe she’d had to be a prostitute for a while. But she couldn’t imagine a woman she knew doing that – especially a girl she’d liked in high school, had been smart as hell, the class valedictorian, for God’s sakes, a minister’s daughter? It was unbelievable! Jennlynn? It couldn’t be!

So, Jennlynn’s phone call came as a real shock, and there hadn’t been any way she could gracefully say "no" to her request to meet her at the Hawthorne airport to give her a ride to the Brass Lantern. After the phone call, she’d thought about it a bit and decided that it might be better if someone were with her when she went to the airport to pick her up, so if what happened really was the worst, there might be less of a scene.

Finally, she had no choice but to ask Vicky to come along to the airport with her. They both had plenty of getting ready to do, but it would turn into a case of having to make the time. So, here they were, sitting in her car at the fence beside Prentice Aviation at the airport, and not a lot was happening; there were a couple little planes flying around. "I hope she’s not going to be late," Vicky said. "We really need to be there early to greet everyone."

"She said she’d be a little tight for time but wouldn’t be late," Emily said. "If she’s going to get here, it ought to be any time now."

"I hope so," Vicky said as they heard the light whine of jet engines approaching. "Do you think it’s true?"

"What’s true?" Emily asked, a hard feeling in her gut.

"Those stories that used to go around about her."

"I don’t know," she replied. "I mean, if they were true, would she even be showing up here?"

"I suppose not," Vicky agreed. "You wouldn’t think she’d want to show her face. I mean, unless she doesn’t know they’ve been going around."

"True," Emily sighed. "It’s been an awful long time since she’s been in Bradford. I think the last time she was here was the time I brought her to this airport after she had that fight with her folks. Maybe she doesn’t know."

"I hope so," Vicky said. "It could be, well, awkward." She glanced up, to see a white business jet landing on the runway, probably a quarter mile away or more. It slowed to a crawl, and turned onto a taxiway to head toward them. "That couldn’t be her, could it?"

"I wouldn’t think so," Emily said. "The last time I saw her she was flying that little single-engine trainer that she’d flown here from California, and Dayna said she was still flying a single-engine high-wing plane when she met her three years ago. Maybe it was the same one."

"You’re probably right," Vicky nodded. "She might still have it."

The two women watched the jet taxi toward them. A man came out of the office, carrying a pair of wands, and made a wide signal to it. The jet taxied close to the fence where they were sitting in the car and went right past them so close they could read Skyhook Aviation LLC lettered on the nose, but they couldn’t see the pilot through the smoked glass windows of the cockpit. The man signaled the jet to turn toward him, and their eyes watered at the smell of burnt kerosene.

"Boy, that thing is loud," Vicky said once the engines died down enough to talk over the noise. "God, I wonder how much that thing costs! What would it be like to be able to travel in your own jet?"

"You’d have to have a lot more money than we’ll ever have," Emily agreed as they listened to the engines spool down. Everything was quiet for a minute, and Emily went back to scanning the skies again for the approach of a small single-engine plane. After a minute, the door of the white business jet opened, and they watched the man as he talked with the pilot for a second.

Then, the pilot stepped out the door, and both women let out a simultaneous "Oh, my God!!!"

It was Jennlynn, after all. Tall as ever, wearing a conservative black cocktail dress, with a big head of long dark hair, looking elegant and absolutely beautiful. She looked around, saw them and waved as the two women sat stunned at the sight. Finally, both Vicky and Emily, unable to say anything, opened the car doors and got out.

"Hi, Emily! Vicky!" Jennlynn called. "Long time, no see! How have you been?"

"Jennlynn," Emily finally managed to find her voice. "Is that yours?"

"Oh, yeah," she smiled. "It’s one of two I own."

"Two???" Vicky gasped.

"The scheduling was getting tight for one so I needed another," she replied. "This is an older bird but I got a good price on it. It was available this weekend so I figured I’d fly it up here. Have you ever had a close-up look at a Learjet?"

"No," Emily managed to say, her eyes wide with awe.

"Come on over, take a look, if we’ve got time, that is."

Very little could have stopped the two women. This was unbelievable! In a couple minutes, Jennlynn was helping them climb into the cockpit and let them sit in the front seats. "How do you know what all the dials and switches and stuff are for?" Vicky asked.

"Oh, you learn if you want to fly it," Jennlynn shrugged. "It’s actually a little simpler than my other plane, but Mike had that one out on a charter, so I brought this one."

"Mike? Who’s he?"

"My chief pilot," Jennlynn said. "He’s a retired Air Force general."

"A general?"

"Retired," Jennlynn said. "He has to do something besides play golf, and his wife doesn’t like him hanging around the house all the time. I’ve got a retired Army Colonel who flies for me once in a while, too."

"Jennlynn," Emily said, still in awe. "I don’t want to pry, but what’s this thing worth?"

"Over half a million," Jennlynn smiled. "It’s an old one, and I got a bargain on it."

"Half a million?" Emily gasped. "My God, what must the payments be like?"

"Oh, no payments," Jennlynn grinned. "I paid cash."

"Cash?" Emily gulped.

"This is what you do?" Vicky asked, equally astonished. "You own and fly these airplanes?"

"Not as much as I’d like," Jennlynn sighed. "It’s only a sideline; that’s why I have to hire pilots part time. I only get to fly charters when I can get away from my day job. That’s where I make my real living."

"What did you do?" Emily asked. "Marry some real rich guy?"

"Oh, no," Jennlynn told her. "I’ve never even gotten close to getting married. Emily, everything I have I’ve earned myself, either directly through my work or through investments. You’re sitting in an investment, but I’ll make a profit out of it."

"Never married?" Vicky said, a little surprised to find Jennlynn saying something she could grasp. "Not even a boyfriend?"

"Well, sort of a boyfriend," Jennlynn admitted. "More just close friends than anything romantic. He’s heir to a huge cattle ranch in Nevada, but I don’t see him much. He’s in Saudi Arabia right now, anyway."

"Jennlynn, I have to say that you’ve done really well for yourself," Emily shook her head after looking again at the Learjet. "I mean, really, really well."

"Oh, I’ve done OK," she shrugged. "I’ll admit to getting a couple of lucky breaks, but mostly I’m a workaholic and it shows. That’s part of why I’ve never gotten married. I figured out a long time ago that boyfriends or husbands take a hell of a lot more time and energy to maintain than airplanes."

* * *

"Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?" Scott Tyler asked as they stood around yakking in small groups in the Brass Lantern a couple hours later.

"Oh, no," Jennlynn told him. He still was a pretty neat guy, she thought, and his wife was, too. She was dark-skinned and pretty, and it had only taken her a few seconds to realize that she was pretty smart, too. "I have to fly back tonight. I rarely drink anyway, and then it’s just a glass of wine with a good dinner."

"I find it totally amazing, what Emily was saying," Scott shook his head. "I mean, I always knew you’d do well, but I never figured you for being a multi-millionaire with a couple of Learjets."

"Only one Learjet, the other one’s a Cessna," Jennlynn shrugged. Emily had sure spread that word fast, she thought – literally bragging to everyone who came in the door. With that established, Phase Two was mostly to stay as modest as possible – confirming the points, to be sure, but not bragging. Although she’d been selective with the truth, she had not yet told anything approaching a lie and didn’t plan to start.

"Is it too much to ask how much you’re worth?" he asked.

"Would it be too much to believe if I told you I really don’t know?" she replied. "A lot of my money is in the market, that’s going good now, but I think there’s a slide off in the future. A lot of my worth is tied up in the shares of the R&D company I work for. It’s privately held, so the value depends on dividends. We’re going through a bad patch right now, so the value is down. And the airplanes, of course, but their value depends on the sale price, and if I had to sell, I could take a beating. So, the answer is something well over a million, but I don’t know how much, and it changes day to day."

"The flying isn’t even your main job?" Scott’s wife, Sonja, asked.

"Oh, no," Jennlynn said. "That’s just one of a couple of sidelines to keep me busy and pick up a few bucks on the side. By day I’m a senior research engineer and project manager. It’s good money; there’s a lot of responsibility, but the stress level is rather high, and I put in a lot of hours. The sidelines are mostly a way to relax. How about you?"

"I’m an executive with Harvester Insurance, up in Lansing," he told her. "We’re doing OK, two kids, a nice home."

"I envy you that," she told him. "I especially envy you the kids, but I learned a long time ago that I’m not cut out to be a mother. But then, I like what I’m doing a lot, and I’m not anxious to change."

"It’s OK, but it’s dull," he said. "I really wish I’d thought about doing something more, well, interesting or exciting. God, it’s hard to believe that ten years have gone by, isn’t it?"

"It is," she admitted. "They’ve gone faster than I would have believed. People have changed some."

"Yeah," he admitted. "Everybody’s ten years older; some of the guys don’t look like punks anymore; a lot of the women have put on more weight than they should. But you – well, you weren’t bad looking in school, but you look better than ever."

"Ten years older has something to do with that," she said. "Besides, I learned not to dress like a slob and put some care into my appearance. I hadn’t learned that in high school."

"A lot of us didn’t, I guess," Sonja agreed. "I mean, I was a blue-jeans and T-shirt slob when I was in high school."

"So was I," Jennlynn laughed. "We have a sort of dress-down day where I work; we call it Tasteless T-Shirt Thursday. Some of them get really tasteless. I mean, really!"

"How tasteless is tasteless?" Scott smiled.

"Imagine walking into a company, and the receptionist meets you at the front desk wearing a T-shirt that says in big letters, LESBIAN – and proud of it!"

"That must go over like a lead balloon," Sonja laughed.

"Surprisingly, it doesn’t," Jennlynn laughed. "Our Senior Shareholder – that translates to CEO, the job titles are weird – says it demonstrates independence and refusal to accept limitations. We like to think of ourselves as innovative and different."

"We have a dress-down day once a month at Harvester," Scott replied, shaking his head. "That means no tie. I can’t imagine something like that."

"Oh, there’s worse," Jennlynn grinned. "Lots worse."

* * *

Jennlynn spent most of an hour schmoozing around the room, talking with people. By any comparison with others at this place, she’d done well. A few people were doing all right financially, but many were struggling – some who rather surprised her. In general, she had to say that the men looked better than they had in high school, but with only a few exceptions, the women on the whole hadn’t aged well. There was more excess weight than she’d expected, and several girls who had been slender in high school had put on a lot – one she estimated at over 200 pounds. Got that ring on her finger and quit trying, she thought. Only a couple of people besides Jennlynn had never been married, but there had been numerous divorces. One guy, John Engler, had gone through three different wives and was looking at a fourth in the near future.

Eventually they got around to dinner – not very good; Sarah would have done a lot better with a crowd this size – and sat around gossiping until Emily stood up in front of the room and got people to settle down a bit. "I know we’ve all been talking around," she said. "But let’s go around the tables, and I’d like everyone to tell us a little about what you’ve been doing since high school. I’ll start it off and give an example by saying that I’m Emily Jones Holst, I married Kevin Holst not long after we graduated. We still live in Bradford. Kevin works at Macy Controls, and I work at the Spee-D-Mart. We have two kids, Kayla and Jason, they’re eight and seven. Our hobbies, well, I knit, and I like to ride around on the back of Kevin’s Harley. With that, I’ll go to Vicki."

"Hi, I’m Vicky Varney, it was Pabst for a while, but I lost that 200 pounds of ugly fat by divorcing him . . . " Jennlynn had been wondering how she was going to bring off Phase Three, and it now looked like she’d been handed the perfect opening. She spent a little time rehearsing the words she wanted to say and how to say them. Fortunately, she would be toward the end so had some time to practice. She’d learned in her negotiation work that the key word had to come last.

Just before her, it was Dayna’s turn to speak. "I’m Dayna Berkshire, I’ve never been married. I dropped out of Central Michigan as a sophomore. Sandy Beach and I have been traveling together, performing as a two-girl group. We’ve cut some CDs, and play small spots, small colleges, renfaires, and yes, we still get out in a mall once in a while, open our gig bags and let people throw us money. Sandy and I live together in Bradford when we’re not on the road."

"We know you have some interesting stories to tell, Dayna," Emily grinned. "I don’t think anyone here has done better than Jennlynn Swift. I know Vicki and I were real surprised when she flew in with her own Learjet this afternoon. Jennlynn?"

She stood up, and gave everyone a big smile. "I’m Jennlynn Swift," she said. "I’ve never been married. I graduated from Caltech with a bachelor of science degree in electrical engineering in 1992. Working at it part time, I got my doctorate in the same field two years ago. As I’ve told everyone here, I’m a workaholic. I’m currently a senior engineer and project manager for Lambdatron Corporation in Phoenix, where I live. Along with that, I’m a pilot with several advanced ratings, including an Airline Transport Rating in the Learjet 24. A few years ago I started my own air charter service as a sideline, Skyhook Aviation. My chief pilot is a retired general, and we operate a Cessna and the Learjet. My parents physically threw me out of the house on my ass in 1990, so to get through college, and continuing part-time ever since, I’ve also worked in the state of Nevada as a licensed prostitute."

As she sat down, the silence, as they say, could have been cut with a knife.

"Jennlynn," Emily finally managed to speak. "Did you say what I think you said?"

"I said prostitute," she repeated. "It’s legal in some counties in Nevada, and I’ve only worked there. I’ve never worked at it elsewhere. I was going through my tax returns the other day, and was more than a little surprised to discover that I’ve grossed nearly half a million dollars at it, but that’s only a small fraction of my income in that time. I started at the old Mustang Ranch near Reno. The last several years, I’ve spent thirty to forty days a year working at the Redlite Ranch Bordello in Antelope Valley, Nevada."

"Jennlynn, you’re kidding," Emily said, wide-eyed. "Aren’t you?"

"No, I’m not," she smiled. "If anyone should happen to drop by to visit, I’m also known as Learjet Jenn, the fastest woman in the state of Nevada. If anyone wants further details, I’d be glad to talk about it later, but let’s get on with the introductions."

* * *

Jennlynn kicked off her high-heeled shoes, slid into some loafers, and settled into the pilot’s seat of Skyhook, giving a sigh of relief, and not just to be out of the heels. That bombshell went much better than she had expected.

She turned up the cockpit lights so the knot of people at the fence could see her wave, then turned down everything except a small spot so she could get started on the prestart checklist. It went quickly; she knew where the switches and things were now. In only a minute, she hit the left engine start button and heard the CJ-610 begin to spool up behind her. The other one followed; she turned on the nav lights, blinked them twice to say goodbye again, then turned on the landing lights for help in taxiing to the runway. A little power to get going, and she started to move.

Really, she was surprised at the fact that not only had she not been given the bum’s rush out of the place, or gotten a complete cold shoulder, but that at least a quarter of the class had stood around after the dinner and introductions, amazed to hear some of the stories she had to tell. She kept it pretty clean and told just the best ones, but there were still a lot of dropped jaws and wide eyes at points. One of the better times had been when she flatly stated she’d had over two thousand parties, which meant over a thousand different men at least, considering repeats and all. If that hadn’t thoroughly ruined her reputation in Bradford, nothing would.

Even then, she was surprised when three carloads of class members had ridden out to the airport with her, to bid her goodbye and see the Learjet with their own eyes, maybe for proof of the stories if nothing more. At one quiet moment, Dayna slipped her a card with her phone number and a whispered thanks for not outing her; Jennlynn told her she’d never knowingly do it, and that she was no longer the black sheep of the class. "Darn it," the musician grinned. She’d have to call Dayna in a few days and find out how things really went over after the stories had had time to get around Bradford. Once again, to be a fly on the wall of the Chicago Inn tomorrow morning . . . or, even better, of the Disciples of the Savior Church . . .

It only took a few minutes to taxi out to the runway. It would have been nice to spend the night since it was late, but she was used to late hours and would just as soon make a grand exit before the gallery. She touched the button on the yoke and called, "Hawthorne Traffic, Learjet five nine zero sierra hotel is departing runway two three," then with a glance toward the incoming direction – no hint of anyone out there – she turned onto the runway and pushed the throttles forward. She could hear the CJ-610s spool up to a roar that would shake windows a couple miles away, and then, in twin furies of burning kerosene raced down the runway and launched into the dark of the night sky.

She was leaving Hawthorne a hell of a lot happier than she had eight and a half years before, and she wasn’t planning on coming back here, or to Bradford, until she could expect a "local girl makes good" parade as a welcome. Which will be the day after the day hell freezes over, she thought.

Message delivered, she thought. In more ways than one.

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