Re: Studs Texas - Book 2- Still Sunday -- The Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman Fan Exchange

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Date Posted: 11:22:59 10/21/03 Tue
Author: Sunny
Subject: Re: Studs Texas - Book 2- Still Sunday
In reply to: Sunny 's message, "Re: Studs Texas - Book 2- Still Sunday" on 15:12:16 07/22/03 Tue

So THAT was how many people you could fit in an airplane bathroom!

Pulling his right arm free from the tangle of bodies long enough to jiggle the door handle, Buzz sent himself and his companions tumbling out into the aisle in a mass of well-tanned limbs, plump curves, flowing hair and lacy underthings.

"Right, ladies, thanks for helping me out. I always had wondered about that. Six, it is!"

There were giggles in reply and then the FASTEN SEATBELTS sign lit up. Buzz ignored it, got to his feet, leaned against a drink cart and lit a cigarette. The flight attendants began to scramble about, adjusting a skirt hem here, tucking a stray hair there. The pilot's voice crackled over the speakers.

"Sir, we're approaching a little turbulence. A typical Texas thunderstorm...nothing to worry about..."

The lights flickered on and off in the cabin and the oxygen mask in the seat in front of Buzz dropped down. He eyed it, as if it were no more than a common house fly, and continued to puff away.

"You should take your seat, sir." A passing attendant smiled calmly at him as she handed him his t-shirt and took her place seated beside her co-workers.

Buzz winked at her. "Sir, is it? And here you were calling me Buzzy-baby yet minutes ago." Buzz shook his head and feigned a pout. "I'm offended, Cheryl, really. I thought we had something special."

Cheryl began to giggle but it was interrupted by an involuntary gasp that escaped her glossy lips. The plane shook, several more masks dropped down and the pilot's voice crackled through the cabin, once more.

"There seems to be an issue with our electrical system, Mister...er, Buzz. This is...fairly routine...and will require a simple emergency landing. Please return your seat to its upright positions, put your tray up and fasten your seatbelt."

Buzz chuckled and the corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.

"A SIMPLE emergency landing, eh? Bloody American pilot blowing sunshine up me bum." He squashed out his cigarette, filled a tumbler from the drink cart with the contents of three vodka nips and took his seat. He neglected to buckle up, choosing instead to recline his seat and close his eyes. There'd been an emergency landing on just about every tour back in the days of Spit. Back before Rob had suffered his little breakdown and taken up ranching. Or rodeo. Or whatever one did in Texas.

Buzz yawned. He hadn't slept in days. He hadn't eaten but for a bag of honey roasted peanuts the attendant, Heather, had creatively opened with her teeth (an impressive display, to say the least). He'd had nothing but vodka to drink all weekend.

It reminded him, yet again, of Rob. No one had been better at depravity, and all that it entailed, than Rob Lawson. He would have still been in that bathroom, using every bump and bustle of the plane to his credit. There certainly wouldn't have been a drop of liquor left to be had.

At a signal from the cockpit, one of the attendant's (he was already forgetting thir names) rushed past and disappeared behind the doors. Buzz took this as his cue to, finally, buckle up.

The lights flickered, one last time, and then went out. Some warning signal in the cockpit began to sound. Buzz probably would have been alarmed if it hadn't been for one simple fact:

He'd passed out with his private jet circling somewhere over the town of Studs.

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