It was a long but busy day. They got a cab over to Bronco Aviation, and there they hired a mechanic who knew Learjets to give the plane a good going over. That lasted a couple of hours, which Jennlynn and Mike used to look at the logs and manuals. "Amazingly enough," the mechanic said. "I don’t see anything particularly wrong with it. It’s out of annual, so you’ll have to go over to the FAA and get a ferry permit."

"No problem," Jennlynn told him. "We half expected that, anyway. I hope you don’t mind, but we’d really rather have the people we deal with in Phoenix do the annual. They do a lot of jet work, and they’ve done my work for years."

"Oh, I understand. Go with who you know."

By the time they had all the paperwork ironed out and got the tanks topped up with jet fuel, the afternoon was getting along. "Suppose there’s not much to do but do it," Mike shrugged. "You want to fly it?"

"Mike," she said, suddenly a little intimidated by this plane. In spite of considerable experience built up over eight and a half years, this was way above anything she’d ever flown before. "Maybe you ought to do it."

"Oh, no big deal, I can do right seat," he said. "Best chance for you to get a little dual in it for a while, anyway. Might as well get it when you can, I know you’re going to be itching to get out and fly it up to Nevada at the first opportunity."

"Well, yeah," she snickered. "I will admit to looking forward to seeing the looks on a few faces. Mike, I bought this thing as much for the fun of flying it as I did to charter it. I mean, what the hell is the kind of money I make worth unless I spend it on something? I admit, I’m a bit of a clothes horse, but I don’t have a fancy car, I don’t have a big mortgage, I don’t really have any fancy tastes. Why not spend it on jet fuel?"

"That settles it, you’re in the left seat," he smiled. "Don’t worry; I’ll talk you through it. Realistically, this plane is no more complicated to fly than the 310, and it’s easier in some ways. There are a number of things that are different, and some things happen more quickly since you’re going faster. It’ll take a little learning, but you won’t have any problem with it."

It may have been easy for Mike to say, but it didn’t keep Jennlynn from being more than a little nervous sitting next to Mike in the cockpit as he took her through the start-up checklist. In fact, she hadn’t been so nervous in an airplane since her first lesson in a Cessna 150 many years before. The checklist was a little longer than Songbird’s, but not much – then when she pushed the start button for the left engine and heard it start to spool up behind her, the reality struck home. God, this was so much more airplane than Magic Carpet, now over five years in the past! Still following Mike’s guidance from the checklist, once the left engine was running she pushed the button for the right. Even at idle, she could feel the power of the two CJ-610s toward the back of the plane.

Mike touched a button on the wheel on his side; they’d already agreed he’d handle the radios and the navigation to help Jennlynn through the first few minutes with the Learjet. "Hobby Ground," he called. "Lear two zero three zero golf at Bronco, taxi for takeoff."

"Roger, three zero golf," a voice came over the boom-miked headphones both wore. "Taxi left to runway two niner; hold short of the active."

"Three zero golf, roger," Mike replied in that flat, almost bored tone affected by pilots all over the world. Was that why he wanted to handle the radios, Jennlynn wondered, because he knew she might sound excited enough to pee her pants? Well, he was certainly correct! "OK, release the parking brake and give the throttles a nudge to get us moving. It won’t take much."

He was right; soon they were rolling. Using her feet to steer, like in most planes, Jennlynn started for the taxiway, making a couple of short turns to get a feeling for how it handled on the ground. Not bad, not as hard to taxi as the 310. Maybe Mike was right. Maybe this would work out . . .

They took care of several more items on the checklist while taxiing. Soon they were at the end of the runway and had finished the pretakeoff checklist. Mike contacted ground control, who told them to switch to the tower frequency. He reached up, twirled a dial on the radio, and called on the tower frequency, "Hobby Tower, Lear two zero three zero golf at two niner, ready for takeoff."

"Ah, roger three zero golf," the tower replied. "Take the active and hold."

"All right, you heard the man," Mike smiled. Jennlynn reached out for the throttles again, and gave them a nudge to get moving. A glance down the runway showed a just-landed airplane getting set to turn off the runway. "OK, to go over it again," he said. "You won’t get the torque effect that you get with the 310 it’s well behaved. VR about 110 and it’ll tell you when it wants to go. Once we get the gear up, we’ll reduce power from takeoff to climb, mostly to keep from knocking out all the tooth fillings in houses around the airport, because this thing is louder than somewhat. Climb speed is about 180 until we’re through ten thousand. Don’t worry Jennlynn, it won’t bite."

"Lear three zero golf, Hobby Tower. Cleared for takeoff."

"Roger, three zero golf rolling," Mike said into the microphone, then over the intercom, "All right Jennlynn, let’s rock and roll."

She put out her hand and could almost feel the raw power those two white-knobbed throttles controlled. She let up on the brake with her toes, then brought the throttles forward together smoothly. Behind them, the light whine of the twin CJ-610s rose to a loud roar, and the Learjet started to accelerate down the runway – and quickly, too; there was a lot of power back there. The airspeed indicator began to dial around, and she could feel the wheel beginning to get light in her hands as runway speed built up. At 110, she eased back on it, and could feel the nose come up; the rumble of the wheels died out. Glancing out the corner of her eye, she could see the ground going down. Comfortable that they were going to fly, she reached out for the switch to raise the landing gear, and in only seconds felt the "clunk" of it raising as the airspeed indicator continued to dial around. Even after reducing power as the wheels were coming up, it was taking a pretty healthy up angle to keep the speed down to 180. This thing was all GO!

"Lear three zero golf, Hobby tower," came the voice over the headphones. "Come left to course two four zero and contact Houston TCA on one one eight dot three two five. Have a good day."

"We’re having one, and thank you, Hobby," Mike called, then changed channels again. "Houston TCA, Lear two zero three zero golf out of Hobby, VFR to Phoenix."

"Roger, three zero golf, squawk 6100 and ident."

Mike spun the dials on the transponder and hit the ident button as he called, "Three zero golf, identing."

"Three zero golf, radar contact, no joy on altitude code."

"Houston, three zero golf is going through eight thousand," he replied as Jennlynn glanced at the altimeter. Good grief, Mike was right! A mile and a half up and they’d just taken off! Does the shuttle go up this fast? "Guess we just found something that doesn’t work on this bird."

"Ah, roger three zero golf. Maintain course and climb, report Richmond."

Mike leaned back, and thumbed the intercom. "Climbs pretty good, doesn’t it?"

"My God, Mike!" she shook her head. "This thing rocks!"

"Yeah, it’s pretty cool," he agreed. "I just took you through a nice conservative takeoff, since we’re on a ferry permit and we’re not real sure about this bird. Once you get used to it a little, I’ll show you how to do a high-performance takeoff."

"That wasn’t high performance?" Jennlynn said incredulously.

"Not particularly," Mike said. "A jet fighter under the right conditions can do it quite a bit better, but there’s not much in the way of civilian birds that can touch it." He let out a yawn. "The transponder doesn’t seem to handle altitude codes, but that may be in the wiring to the altimeter rather than the transponder itself. We’ll have to put that on the fix list. You know, really, the panel on this thing is old-fashioned but adequate if you grew up with it. The radios are kind of primitive."

"I think I had better radios in the Mooney," Jennlynn agreed. "Not even close to Songbird. Oh, well, so long as I’m spending money, maybe we’d better price an avionics upgrade."

"So long as everything works, you can probably get away with it for a while."

"I notice no area navigation, no LORAN, and no GPS. The first two don’t surprise me much, but I do wonder a bit at the last if those druggies were doing over-ocean."

"Ours is not to reason why," Mike shook his head as he touched the button on the yoke. "Houston TCA, Lear three zero golf reporting Richmond."

"Roger three zero golf. Say your altitude."

"Three zero golf is out of one three thousand for one six five."

"Roger, three zero golf is leaving the Houston TCA. Squawk VFR and have a good day."

"OK, so much for that," Mike said, spinning the dials on the transponder again. "Damn shame we have to stay so low, but with the instruments expired, we can’t file IFR and get into the high country. Swing right to course two eight zero, drop the nose some, climb about 250, and we’ll start to level off a little. There’s one big difference between this and the 310 or anything else you’ve ever flown. Have you ever gotten much above, oh, fourteen thousand?"

"A couple times real briefly crossing high ridges in the Rockies," Jennlynn admitted.

"Since we have a pressurized cabin, that’s low for this thing. Generally speaking, the higher up you are the less fuel you burn. Of course, on a short flight you might burn that much fuel just getting that high, but on one this long I’d just as soon be up in the thirties, anyway."

"Right up there with the airliners," Jennlynn nodded.

"Damn right," Mike said. "In many respects we have even better performance. We’re still climbing pretty fast and getting close to altitude. At about fifteen-five, drop the nose some more, let it build to 400 or so." As the Learjet reached their projected cruising altitude, she leveled it out and let the speed build, remembering for an instant her excitement the first time Soiled Dove reached toward 200 miles an hour – but now, they were going twice that and still accelerating rapidly. "Ease the throttles back to cruise power," he told her. "An important thing with this bird is that you’ve got way more power than it takes to blow you through never-exceed speed and right into transsonic country. It’s not built for that. You see the Mach ring on the airspeed? Your never-exceed speed is Mach dot eight six. I’d say never try to cruise over about dot seven. That’s still around 500 true."

One word made the reality of the Learjet strike home: Mach – airspeed stated in relation to the speed of sound. Jennlynn had never before flown an airplane where it mattered. She glanced down at the DME, which gave their distance to their upcoming VOR, a radio navigation range. Every few seconds, another mile would drop off the distance. "I see what you mean things happen more quickly," she smiled.

You like it so far?"

"Like it?" Jennlynn shook her head. "Mike, it’s not as good as good sex. Not quite. But my God!"

"Oh, yes," he grinned. "You are going to have some fun with this toy!"

* * *

Over a month had passed, but the Learjet’s speed still took some getting used to. Jennlynn remembered well the long, slow flights from Phoenix to the Redlite in Magic Carpet – about four hours of watching the desert drift slowly by, with a fuel stop to drag it out. In practical terms it took half a day. Given a couple of good breaks from ground control and the tower at Sky Harbor, she ought to be able to do the run in the Lear in under an hour, startup to shutdown. A distance that had been agonizingly, boringly long now wasn’t even worth the trouble of filing IFR to get up to the more efficient high altitudes – she’d no more than get this airborne white shark to cruising altitude when she’d have to start a letdown.

It even took a long time to let down from 16,500 with the engines in idle. She was still south of Lake Mead, not even past Las Vegas, when she had the throttles pulled back for the most efficient descent, but with a huge grin on her face.

She remembered when she and Mike first flew the Learjet into Phoenix and taxied it up to Hernando Aviation. She hadn’t told Stew Dozier what was coming down since she hadn’t been absolutely sure it was going to happen, but he was waiting on the ramp when she and Mike got out, just absolutely grinning ear to ear, both of them. She laughed to herself as she remembered telling him she’d just bought it and asking if they could do an annual on it for her; he just shook his head and said, "Jennlynn, you give new meaning to the phrase ‘hauling ass.’"

She’d just smiled, "I’m just damn grateful Mike didn’t let me waste the name Skyhook on the 310."

They’d tied right into the annual, to find that the plane was in astonishingly good condition. After some discussion, they’d decided the avionics were good enough to serve for a while, but a GPS navigation system had been added, which was expensive enough that Jennlynn had to sell some more stock. It also covered the cost of having a HAZMAT cleaning team go through the whole interior just to be sure that all traces of cocaine were removed. As long as she was spending money and enjoying it, she’d decided that she’d had enough of having airplanes sunbeaten by being kept outside, so had leased a hangar at Sky Harbor big enough for both Skyhook and Songbird.

She was still getting used to the plane. Another of the complications she hadn’t considered was that the Learjet was heavy enough that it took an advanced license to fly it commercially – an Airline Transport Rating. Even Mike didn’t have one, but with his experience it was only paperwork for him. For her, it was a little more complicated – she needed to have some formal dual instruction from a regular instructor, and some time in the airplane before she could take a flight test. She could fly it noncommercially; that was no problem, and the flight to the Redlite this weekend offered the promise of knocking another couple hours off the time needed. She remembered back to her early Magic Carpet days, when to build time she’d hop in the little Cessna and fly to an airport an hour or so out to get a cup of coffee, just to get the time in her logbook. Weren’t they supposed to make a pretty good cup of coffee in, say, New Orleans?

Now about ten miles out from the old bomber runway, she was slowed to not much more than the speed of the 310, since there was a speed limit below 10,000 feet. She spun the dial on the #1 radio to 122.8, the frequency used for traffic announcements on uncontrolled airports, keyed the button on the yoke and called, "Antelope Valley traffic, Learjet five nine zero sierra hotel is on a long final for two eight." Since the Learjet had been a drug bird, Stew had suggested that a renumbering might be in order, and feeling amused, she’d suggested that one – the month and year she’d turned out at the Mustang, the letters, of course, really standing for Sky Hooker.

She knew that Shirley kept an aviation radio in her office, just to keep an ear out if someone might be landing, but she might not hear it, and she’d changed her voice a little, hoping it wouldn’t be recognized. The length of the old runway lay ahead of her, the buildings of the hamlet and the Redlite barely visible as she started the prelanding checklist.

The normal gate for the Redlite Ranch was on the highway side of the building, facing the parking lot to the west, but there was a service gate facing the aircraft tie-down area on the east side. George had a window in his office facing the runway, and when he saw a strange business jet land and start to taxi toward the Redlite’s tie downs, he figured with good reason that there was some VIP trade on the way in. He always liked to show that kind of trade special deference, so he put down the tax report he’d been working on, hustled up to the front of the building, and grabbed Shirley and a couple girls. The four went out the service gate to greet them, just as the white Learjet swung around and came to a stop in a stench of burnt kerosene.

"Wonder who that is?" one of the girls said.

"Don’t know," the other one shook her head. "Odds are that they didn’t stop in for a two-hundred-dollar quickie, though."

"Unless it’s just the pilot with time to kill," Shirley snorted.

There was a wait while the unseen pilot finished shutting down the airplane; George and the three women walked over close to the front of the plane to wait. After a moment, the door was opened, and he called out, "Good afternoon, and welcome to the Redlite Ranch."

"What, no red carpet?" they heard a female voice say as Jennlynn stepped out of the plane.

"Jennlynn!" Shirley cried. "My God, what is that thing?"

"Oh, my new sex toy," she laughed. "A Learjet."

"Yeah," one of the girls laughed, her disappointment at the fact that it wasn’t a big paying customer overshadowed by the discovery of who was flying it. "It looks like you could make it into the mile high club with that, all right."

"Actually, you could make it into the ten-mile-high club," she grinned. "This thing is incredible."

"How fast does it go?" the other girl asked.

"Only about five hundred," she replied. "Nowhere near the sound barrier."

"God," Shirley shook her head. "You and your airplanes already make you probably the best known hooker in the state, but this kicks it into a whole new level. When the word of that gets around, you could double your prices."

"I might have to," Jennlynn laughed. "You would not believe how fast this thing burns jet fuel at over two bucks a gallon. I’ve gotten addicted to it. It’s more expensive than heroin, but it literally gets me high."

By now, there were more than the four of them; someone had looked out from inside, and saw that it wasn’t a big customer – it was Jennlynn, flying in to work for the weekend in a Learjet! People came streaming out the back gate to cluster around.

"Yeah," George laughed. "I can see it now. Learjet Jenn, the fastest woman in the state of Nevada."

"Hey, that’s pretty good," Jennlynn laughed. "We could have some fun with that."

* * *

Less as a result of her reputation than her seniority, Shirley usually assigned Jennlynn to one of the older, more comfortable rooms near the front of the building, closer to the lounge and lobby. It was nicely decorated, and Jennlynn was putting the few things in her suitcase away in the back room when she noticed a woman standing in the outer doorway. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"No," the girl said softly as she shook her head. "I guess I was just wondering and wishing."

"I’ve done that a bit," Jennlynn said. "I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Are you new?"

"Yeah," the medium-height blonde said. "I’m Phaedre. This is my first shift."

"Well, hi, Phaedre," she replied. "That’s a pretty cool work name. Where’d you come up with that?"

"I read too many fantasy books," the newcomer shook her head, acting very shy.

"I never did, I guess," she sighed. "I spent too much time studying. I’m Jennlynn, and it’s been a long time since my first shift. What were you wondering about?"

"Just wondering how nice it would be to have enough money to own your own jet."

"A little envious, huh?"

"Yeah," she nodded, even more shyly. "I mean, I know I shouldn’t be, but . . . well, damn. It’s got to be nice to have money."

"Phaedre, why don’t you come in and sit down?" Jennlynn said. "I guess I don’t blame you for being envious. I mean, I would be too, if I was in your shoes."

The blonde just stood in the door, and now Jennlynn could see tears in her eyes as she said, "Yeah, but to have it like that. I mean . . . hell, I don’t know how to say what I mean."

"Phaedre, please," Jennlynn said in a soft, understanding voice. "Come sit down." Reluctantly, wordlessly, the girl came in and sat down on the bed. "Let me guess," she continued. "You were broke and desperate when you came here, and you’re having trouble getting your mind around it, right?"

"Yeah," the girl said softly. "I didn’t see much other way, and to see how you’ve fallen into it, well, I guess it makes me jealous."

"Phaedre, I didn’t fall into it," Jennlynn told her. "Nobody gave me anything. What I have, I worked for."

"Yeah, but my God! Your own jet!"

"And I’m still working in a room in a Nevada cathouse, the same as you," Jennlynn told her. "Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but eight and a half years ago I had maybe twenty bucks to my name. If you don’t believe me, go ask George. He was my first customer. Phaedre, everything I have today is out of money that I’ve earned, either directly, or from investments that came out of that money. Everything. I’ve worked damn hard for it. I know the days and weeks here seem long – and they are – but a lot of the time when you’re on duty you’re reading or playing cribbage, killing time."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It gets a little boring."

"Phaedre, I work even longer weeks on my main job, and I bust my ass doing it almost all the hours I spend there. I got to the point where I didn’t have to work in a bordello for money a long time ago. Now I come here to only be on duty twelve hours a day for a couple days about every other week, play a little cribbage, shoot the shit, and get some sex."

"Yeah, but you’ve got a degree, you’ve got a good job."

"So, how do you think I managed that? I paid for it in rooms just like this, that’s how. Phaedre, I’ll bet you think of yourself as something of a failure because you had to come here, right?"

"Well . . . yeah. But you dug your way out, I guess."

"So can you," Jennlynn told her. "There are women who earn more money than I do just working in rooms like this, and from the investments they make with that money. There aren’t many, but it can be done."

"I don’t know how . . . it just seems impossible."

"I would have thought the same thing when I was on my first shift up at the Mustang Ranch," Jennlynn told her. "It doesn’t come easy. You have to build a reputation for giving a fair value for the money. People will pay high if they think they’re getting what they pay for. That means you have to work at your end of the deal, and work very hard at it. You have to learn all the tricks, learn how to enjoy it, and show your customer that you do enjoy it. But it’s like anything else. If you want to be good at it, you have to work at it. Have you talked with Shirley much?"

"Not really," she replied.

"Shirley has been in this business longer than you and I are in years old combined. She has been there and she’s done it all. There’s a lot she can teach you, and you won’t be the first girl she’s taught. Same for LouAnn, some of the others. If you work at it, you’ll make money. Now, do you know how to become rich at it?"

"By being real good, finding some guy who will pay you a lot."

"No," Jennlynn told her. "That’s not it at all. You work at it, and work hard. You save your money, invest it wisely. You don’t blow it on cars or good times while you’re off; you don’t support some pimp with it; you don’t drink it up; you don’t do drugs. You use the money you make to make more money. That investment may be college; it was for me in the beginning. One of the women I mentioned before who makes more money than I do owns a string of apartment buildings. She probably makes more out of them than she does with her body. A lot of my money is in the stock market, and some is in my aviation business. Phaedre, do you know why I bought that jet? It wasn’t to run my prices up here. In fact, I never thought of it until Shirley mentioned it today. I will admit, I bought that jet to play around a bit, since I spend most of my time making money, I thought the time had come to have a little fun with it. But in the long run, that airplane will show a profit for me, and not from here."

"That’s easy for you to say," she said.

"Phaedre, like I told you, I know it’s hard to believe, but I started from the same place you’re at now. I didn’t get where I’m at overnight. It took a lot of time and a lot of work, and I had to give up a lot of things like good times and family to get where I’m at. It’s a tough way to do it, but I’m proof it can be done. I’m a prostitute, yes, just like you. That hasn’t kept me from being a college graduate with a Ph.D., an engineer, a pilot, a business executive, and a business owner with her own Learjet. In fact, it’s been much of the reason for it. It was the seed money to get started. The hardest thing I’ve had to learn is to take pride in it."

"Pride?"

"Yes, pride. Phaedre, when I first pushed that button on the gate at the Mustang Ranch, I was beyond pride. I thought my life had reached the lowest point possible, and I was right. I knew pushing that button was going to change my life forever. But I pushed it, and it paid off, though it took a while. It did change my life forever, and thank God it did. There’s no reason it can’t be the same for you."

"It . . . it just seems so hard to believe."

"You know the nice thing about being at the bottom?" she laughed. "There’s no way out but up. Believe it or not, you’re in a good place to start that climb. Now, Phaedre, let me change into some work clothes and we’ll go out and see what Sarah has for supper."

"All right," she said, brightening. "You know, I’ve eaten better in the last week here than I have in years."

"That’s one thing that you want to watch out for, overdoing it, and it’s easy to do on Sarah’s cooking. Has anyone here mentioned Claudia to you? Probably not; I think only Shirley and George and Sarah and I remember her anymore."

"I can’t say as I’ve heard the name."

"She used to be one of the girls back when Shirley and I were at Bettye’s Ranch, and in the first days here. As often as not she doubled as the cook. She loved to cook Cajun, and she was good at it. The only problem was that it made you fart like a bull. I’ve had some of the most agonizing moments of my life trying to keep from farting while some guy was going down on me."

"Oh, GOD!" Phaedre laughed. "That would probably make the guy not want to give you a tip, all right." She shook her head. "You’re all right, Jennlynn. And thanks. I guess I needed the pep talk."

"I needed a couple when I was back at your stage, and it was a woman by the name of Belle who gave them to me," Jennlynn told her. "I’ve never seen her since, and I’ve always been sorry, because I really need to thank her. So, I thank her by passing it along. You stay in this business a while, and sooner or later it’ll be your turn."

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