“Cosmo, fresh lime, shaken and strained,” Lori repeated mechanically.
“Seriously, Corban?” Matt asked, shaking his head sadly. “A fuckin’ cosmo? Could you be more faggy than that?”
“I’m not faggy, I’m metrosexual,” Corban said. “And you should try the cosmo, dude. It’s absolutely fabulous.”
“Stop fuckin’ calling me dude,” Matt barked.
“Sorry, Matt.”
“What’s metrosexual?” asked Lori, raising her eyebrows.
“It means I embrace the sense of fashion and fastidiousness of the male homosexual lifestyle without embracing the sexual practices of the demographic,” Corban explained.
“How’s that?” Lori asked.
“It means,” Matt paraphrased, “that he likes to mince around and wear designer underwear and go to a fuckin’ two-hundred-dollar hair stylist and drink cosmos like he’s a faggot, but he doesn’t suck schlong or let some dude stick a schlong up his ass.”
Lori pondered that for a moment, trying to wrap her brain around it. Finally, she nodded. “I see,” she said. She moved on, looking at Jim. “And you?”
Jim looked at his watch. It was only a few minutes past eleven. And he was on duty. But ... well, he was on a rock and roll tour, right? And, when in Rome... “I’ll have a vodka and tonic.”
“We only have Stolichnaya,” she said. “Is that all right?”
“Uh ... yeah, sure,” Jim said. “I think I can live with that.”
“Glad to hear it,” Lori said. She turned to Gahn. “And you?”
“Perrier, in a glass over six ice cubes,” he told her. “With a rinsed lemon slice.”
This earned another shake of the head from Matt. “Fuckin’ Perrier over six ice cubes,” he spat. “Tell me something, Greg. Does your old lady ever let you get on top?”
“The details of my sexual life are not your concern, Matt,” Greg said huffily.
“I really wouldn’t want them to be,” Matt said. He then brightened. “But you know what? I bet there are some people out there who would like to check it out. I mean, I’ve seen your old lady. She’s not bad for an older broad. Nice big titties. Decent ass. You should let Kim and one of her camera crews film the two of you getting it on.”
“What?” Greg asked, appalled. “We would never do anything like that!”
“Don’t reject this right away,” Matt said. “We could be onto something here. A couple of Mormons having typical Mormon sex! I mean, I’m sure it’s boring as fuck, but people would still pay good money to see that shit! I bet she could sell a couple hundred thousand copies, easy. And she’d give you at least a couple bucks per copy in royalties! That’s a couple hundred grand in your pocket! That’d be enough to let you get back on the blow full time!”
“You are disgusting, Matt!” Greg said angrily. “I will discuss this topic no further!”
“All right,” Matt said sadly. “But at least think it over.”
Greg said no further, as promised. Lori, her expression still neutral, said, “Okay then. I’ll go get these drinks going.”
She got the drinks going, mixing them up precisely as ordered and then bringing them forward and serving them one by one, giving each person a little white cocktail napkin with the name of the aircraft company printed on it. About the time everyone had drink in hand, the plane shuddered as first the left and then the right engine was started. Soon, they were taxiing.
“All right, guys,” Lori said, standing near the cockpit door and facing them. “Let me go over the standard safety spiel this one time and then we won’t do that on subsequent flights as long as everyone plays nice and does what they’re supposed to. Fair enough?”
“Bring it, baby!” Matt directed.
She brought it, telling them about the emergency exits, the seatbelts, the smoking policy, the life vests, and when they could take out their little entertainment devices. They all listened respectfully to her lecture. She asked if there were any questions. There were none. She then walked back to her little seat adjacent to the cockpit, talked to the pilots on the intercom again, and strapped herself inside.
Three minutes later, the engines wound up to full power and they were accelerating down the runway. Jim gripped his drink tightly during the takeoff roll. He had not flown all that many times in his life and was not entirely fond of the experience. The plane accelerated a lot faster, lifted from the ground a lot sooner, and climbed considerably steeper than any aircraft he had ever been in before. It also bumped and bounced more. But, in only fifteen minutes or so, they were at cruising altitude and in straight and level flight. Lori told them they were free to move about the cabin if they wished and let them know that she would be happy to refresh their drinks at the bar. Everyone except Greg unbuckled and headed for a refill.
After getting his second Stoli and tonic, Jim started to head back to the seat he had been in for takeoff, then decided to find somewhere else for the time being. They had another two hours or so until they started their descent, and he did not really want to have to talk to Ghan if he did not have to. He had already decided he did not care much for the guy. Instead, he went over to one of the couches and sat down, setting his glass in the holder on the armrest. The couch was very comfortable as he settled into it.
Corban took his Cosmo and returned to his seat, where he put on headphones attached to a CD player. Austin and Steve grabbed the other couch and began having an animated discussion that involved (strangely enough) lumber dimensions—they kept talking about two by fours and four by fours and one by threes. Jim wondered if they had backgrounds in the construction industry. Matt spent a few minutes—long enough to swallow down another Jack and Coke—talking to Lori at the bar. He then had her make him a third drink. After taking it from her he walked over and sat on the couch next to Jim.
“How’s it going, dude?” Matt asked him. “Having fun so far?”
“This is a very interesting experience,” Jim told him. He was still a bit nervous about this whole deal. Flying on small aircraft, practicing medicine without a license, being responsible for the cardiac resuscitation of a world-famous rock musician. Even just talking to Matt was weird and intimidating, although he had gotten some decent practice at it during the trip to Mexico.
“Welcome to the lifestyle,” Matt said with a grin, hefting his drink in salute. “Once you get used to this shit, it’s hard to go back to the middle-class.”
“I guess it will be,” Jim said.
“Maybe you won’t have to,” Matt said. “You seem like an alright motherfucker so far—maybe a little square, maybe with a little bit of a stick up your ass, but nothing too offensive. I mean ... I don’t feel a need to kick your ass whenever I’m in your presence. That’s a good thing, right?”
“Uh ... right,” Jim said, unsure if he’d just been insulted or complimented.
“What I like about you is that you’re always cool and collected. Nothing seems to faze you. I’m thinking that’s a good quality in a tour medic. If you work out on this road trip and they ask us to go to Europe and Asia, I’ll keep you around if you’re up for it. That’ll be at least another six months out. And then, after that, who knows? Maybe South America? Maybe another run through the states. All at the same pay rate of course. You could pull in some serious coin just for hanging out with us and making sure I don’t fuckin’ die.”
Jim was a little taken aback by this suggestion. “Stay with you for ... another year or so?” he asked. “Beyond what I’ve already signed on for?”
“It could be that long,” Matt said.
“That’s a long time to be away from home,” Jim said.
Matt simply shrugged. “You told me on the boat you ain’t got no permanent bitch or nothing, right?”