Different Circles

“That’s still a lot of money.”

“True,” he had to agree.

“But if you had just told me that it was something you really wanted, Jake, and if you had just showed me that we could really afford this thing—we can afford this, right?”

“We can,” he said. “The monthly payments will be around twenty-seven thousand. Insurance will be another eight hundred a month. California use tax—which is sales tax essentially—will be three hundred and eighty thousand, but that won’t be due until next year and it’s a one-time deal. And then there’s the one percent per year personal property tax that California will charge. That’ll run around forty-eight grand a year, gradually going down as the plane depreciates in value. A lot of money I will agree, but yes, we can afford it. As of the last quarterly meeting, I ... uh ... I mean we are pulling in more than nine million dollars a quarter in income when you add up the KVA disbursements, instrument endorsements, and Intemperance royalties. And that’s even before the next Brainwash album is factored in.”

Her eyes softened a little more. “That’s good to know,” she said softly. “Anyway, my point is that if you would have impressed upon me that you really wanted the plane and that we really could afford it, I would have said yes. You really didn’t need to go through all of this deception.”

“Well... now you tell me,” he said.

She sighed. “Jesus fucking Christ,” she said. “What am I going to do with you?”

He smiled, sensing the argument was now over and feeling a large weight of stress falling off his shoulders. “I think a good punishment would be to make me watch you have lesbian sex again.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she agreed. “Only this time, you don’t get to touch me, or even jack off.”

“Well ... I can live with that, I suppose.”

“Until the next day,” she added.

“Okay, now that’s just cruel and unusual.”

She smiled then, and now he really knew the argument was over. And he had learned something fundamental and profound from it. It really was better to ask for forgiveness than permission—just a little more painful in the immediate confession period.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

“All right,” he replied. “I’ll get breakfast going.”

While Laura headed naked to the main bathroom just off the entertainment room, Jake went and relieved his own bladder and had his morning BM. After washing up from these activities, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants and walked into the kitchen, shirtless. He opened the refrigerator and rummaged around for a minute. Their supplies were getting low, but he had what he needed to make them a couple of Denver omelets and some buttered toast. He got the coffee going and then began his construction project. Laura emerged from the bathroom, naked and fresh smelling, and walked back through the kitchen on her way back to the stateroom to get dressed. She returned five minutes later wearing a pair of denim shorts and a plain t-shirt over a bikini top (she still would not wear the bikini by itself anyplace she might be seen by someone other than Jake, but would wear it beneath a shirt).

“Looks good,” she said as Jake put their breakfast plates on the table.

“Naturally,” Jake replied as he poured each of them a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain.

They sat down and dug into their meal.

“Anything on the agenda for today?” Laura asked. “You know ... besides spending five million dollars on a bathroom?”

“Four point seven five,” he corrected. “And we’re starting to get low on supplies. I don’t have anything to make for dinner tonight, we’re all out of eggs, almost out of cheese, and we’re down to one bottle of wine.”

“That will simply not do,” Laura said. “Where can we get these things?”

“That little town where we gas up the jet skis,” he said. “Rockwood. It’s just a two-mile ride and they have that little grocery store there just a block or two up from the docks.”

“Won’t things be hideously expensive there?” she asked. “You know? Like the four dollar a gallon gas?”

“Undoubtedly,” he agreed. “But you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

“I guess you’re right,” she said. “And besides, if we’re going to spend four point seven five million dollars on a plane, why scoff at thirty dollars for a bottle of ten-dollar chardonnay?”

“How long are you going to keep making backhanded references to the four point seven five-million-dollar plane?” he asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Pretty much for the rest of your natural life,” she replied.

“That’s kind of what I thought,” he said with a sigh.