Bill N HaleyChapter 9
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Bill And Haley And DeenaChapter 29 free porn video
Deena’s turn:
Cindy let the prop stop spinning before she jumped out. “Bathroom!” she said.
I ran along with ‘er to the office. I have a key. “There!”
“Thanks!” and she hit the restroom. From behind the door came, “What y’all got to drink?”
“Choices,” I said. “Look in the fridge.”
The door popped back open. “Coffee! Shouldn’t’ve had the second mug.”
“You coulda let Mandy watch the cockpit and you coulda used that bucket...”
“Haven’t had to resort to the bucket yet, besides, rated pilot MUST be in the cockpit...”
“Sure, get all technical on me,” I laughed. “Well, you made it.”
“Uncomfortable.” She swung the refrigerator door open. “Ah-hah! Ginger ale!”
“Grab me one!”
She grabbed a second one, bumped the door closed with a swing of her hip.
We popped tops together. I raised mine. “To a good trip and a good wedding!”
Her eyes sparkled. “Skoal!” she saw the look on my face. “Norse toast, not that shit in a redneck’s pocket.”
“Gotcha,” I laughed. “Health and prosperity...”
We walked out of the office door. I hollered, questioning if anybody else needed inside. There was a bit of activity around the plane as the Gleason and Johnson clans showed up.
No takers, so Cindy and I walked back out to the plane.
“How are we on fuel?” I asked.
“Enough to get to New Mexico,” she said. “Full when I left. Plenty. And I hate payin’ the prices some of those FBOs charge.”
I sort of chuckled. “Six hundred bucks an hour and you’re concerned about fuel costs?”
“First, dearie,” she chided, smirking, “they’re over two bucks a gallon more here, so a couple of hundred bucks ... That’s a lot of Happy Meals. Second, it’s the idea. Third, I’d’ve had to land there, top off, take off, land here, five miles away. I’d rather not...”
“Haley says takeoffs and landings are some of the most fun...”
“She’s right,” Cindy said. “But sometimes I gotta be mature...”
“Only ‘sometimes’?” I tittered.
Her head turned, flashing green eyes and a grin. “Only sometimes.” She looked into the open hangar. “Are y’all running the Stearman any?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Need to run it for a while once a week. Good for the rings.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Now you do.”
“If we had the time, you could take her around the block,” I said.
“Boy, I want to, but we got everybody waiting,” she sighed. “Maybe when I bring y’all home Monday...”
We were walking to the plane.
“When’s YOUR Stearman gonna be there?”
“Talked to Mister Jester Friday. Next week’s looking good.”
“Really? You excited?”
“Kinda,” she said. “Real flying. This thing’s almost like a video game. Literally on autopilot most of the time.”
“I need to think about that,” I said.
“You choose what you like, then think about how to do more of it.”
That, as I watched Haley and Bill climbing the steps ahead of us. I like that.
I ascended the steps into the plane, noted that Mandy was in the co-pilot seat, found one in the cabin, plopped down in it.
Cindy closed the door, sat herself down. Next thing were the instructions over the intercom. “Seatbacks up, seatbelts tight, tables folded, no electronics, yada yada,” she told us.
I could see into the cockpit. TWO redheads clad in headphones. Mandy’s a little bit lighter red than Cindy and oddly about the same height, okay, maybe a bit shorter. Cindy’s a couple of inches taller than me. Mandy, just a tad taller.
And from the sounds in the cockpit, they’re running the startup checklist. In a minute, that beautiful five-bladed propeller is spinning, then we’re taxiing off the apron onto the north end of our runway.
“Regional tower, Pilatus zero seven tango sierra at Dukes Field for departure on one eight, right turn after takeoff.”
“Pilatus seven tango sierra, roger, no traffic known. Thanks for the call.”
“Seven tango sierra, thank you. Good day.”
Then we’re pushed by the thrust of the engine and we’re off the ground and I’m looking at familiar terrain receding behind us. This thing climbs faster than my little trainer’s top speed.
I have a question, but Cindy’s already answering it. “We’re headed for flight level two one zero. We’ll be cruising at two hundred and seventy knots. We’ve got four hundred twenty miles to go and we’re gonna gnaw off a chunk at both ends climbing and descending, but a bit over an hour and a half should see us home.”
“Why that high?” Sandy asks. Sandy’s learning.
“Fuel burn drops ten percent, speed increases ten percent. Turbines suck the juice hard at low altitudes. Anything over a hundred miles, I’m getting’ up here. IFR, yes, but so much more efficient. Saves the planet. Polar bears smile. All that.”
“Didn’t know it made that much difference,” Sandy replied.
“I can send you a link to the Pilot Information Manual,” Cindy said. “It makes for good reading for an aviation geek.”
“Do that,” Sandy said. “I’m curious.”
She looked at me, did a quick read of my face. Giggled. “You already got it, don’t you?”
“Wanna see it on my MacBook?”
“Shoulda known. Cindy, are we clear for electronics?”
“Yeah. Go for it.”
I reached under my seat to get my backpack. ‘Backpack’, as in mom saying, “Young ladies carry purses, Deena...”
“I have a purse, but most places I go, I want this thing. Got my MacBook and some notebooks and...”
“Purse, Deena...”
“Okay, when we’re out in public together, I’ll carry a purse, but I have everything in this backpack that I’d carry in a purse...”
“But it looks...”
“It looks like a serious college student on campus, Mom...”
Heavy sigh. “My daughter’s in college...”
“Don’t say it like THAT, Mom. You’re supposed to be proud...”
“You’re supposed to be eighteen...” Weighty pause. “But yes, I’m proud. It’s just that you don’t look...”
“I look like I’m serious about my studies.”
“Make-up.”
Ah, now we get down to it. Mom, before I moved in with Dad and Haley, had me herded towards a regimen of preparation before any appearance in public. Now, frankly, that’s time I’m NOT gonna waste. “Mommmm,” I said. Little whine for effect. “I’m as beautiful as YOU ‘n’ Dad (unspoken ‘whoever he might be’) made me.”
“You’re right. You’re perfect. But as you age...”
“Mom, YOU’VE aged and you STILL don’t need as much as you use...”
“Thank you, dear, but I believe otherwise.”
I don’t think it’s an argument Mom’s really that serious about winning. After all, when I said that I’d consent to carrying a purse when I was with her, that was a major afternoon at the Galleria in Houston. I have THE purse. I’m using THE backpack.
I pulled out my MacBook Air, that’s THE official laptop of the Sisterhood. It boots up like lightning, so I launched the app to open the manual for the plane that was carrying our butts over the countryside.
“Here!” I said, handing it to Sandy. “It’s indexed, so you can jump around as your dreams dictate...”
“Holy crap!” Sandy said. Nina squealed, “Sandy!”
“Sorry. That’s thirteen hundred pages...”
“Lot of it’s fluff,” I said. “But you can look, anyway. And remember that Cindy’s flying it and she’s a whole two years older than you.”
“More like three.”
“And everybody’s NOT Cindy,” Brindy said.
“Oh, come on,” Haley inserted. “D’ya think that every pilot we fly with has a PhD in physics?”
“Well, no...”
“They don’t,” Bill said. “Lot of ‘em’s got some college, but like Rob. He’s got a two-year degree in production technology.”
“Yeah,” Haley said. “Him and the other one, Matt. Matt’s using his. He took a job at a petrochemical plant. Rob REALLY wanted to fly...”
“Matt’s probably making more money,” Bill said.
“But Rob’s chasing his dream,” Haley allowed.
“And neither of ‘em’s starving,” Bill countered.
“I know, Dad,” I said. “I remember your ‘chasing your dreams’ speech.”
I could see the side of Carlita’s head in the next row of seats. She turned. “We should’ve bought matching dresses. Made an entrance.”
“Believe me,” Dave said. “Just the herd of us showing up is ‘entrance’ enough. Bigger question – we’re going to the wedding of a fourteen year old girl.”
“You think that’s a BAD Thing?” Haley asked. We both know that Carlita’s real age was fourteen. A fake birth certificate made her eighteen, and they married.
“No, not at all. But you know when you start plotting these things...”
“Data,” Bill injected. “Dots on a graph. Sometimes it means something, sometimes it doesn’t.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Sometimes a random distribution can form transient patterns that can be misinterpreted in their significance.”
“Huh?” Dave said.
Carlita’s my defense. “That’s okay, baby. She does things like that all the time.”
“And Terri being fourteen, she’s not the FIRST to get married that young,” I kept on. “Cindy was...”
“And totally in love and committed,” Cindy injected. “Terri’s timeless. Ever since I first met ‘er, there’s been something different. S’posed to be chasing Pokemon and boy bands at her age. Chose robotics. S’posed to be TV and streaming video and social media. Lectures at Auburn.”
Dave raised his hands in surrender. “That’s not where I was going with any of this ... Heaven knows, that whole ‘teenaged bride’ thing...”
I wonder if he’s gonna admit the secret that Carlita and Brindy’ve told us.
No.
“I’m not a social sciences professor, though, trying to fit everybody into the same neat boxes. People can vary widely,” Dave said.
“Baby,” Carlita countered, “We’re an example. In this little plane, there are all kinds of examples. And we’re going to be in the middle of a whole lot more.”
Tammi
- 10.07.2021
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