Post by RUSSELL JACOB CHARLESTON on Dec 30, 2010 15:06:54 GMT -5
25-year-old Russell Charleston had never flown on a private jet before and he had to admit that, well, it sure beat flying commercial. Of course, he had only flown, in general, a handful of times before and always in coach. The Gulfstream G550 jet was coming in for a graceful landing at a small private airport on the outskirts of New York City. Although private aircraft could make use of the larger airports such as JFK or LaGuardia, one avoided a lot of red tape, as well as the potential wake of larger aircraft, by finding a smaller out-of-the-city place to land. Since he had been told that the plane would be met and Russell would be driven into town, he had no reason to be too concerned about landing in suburbia.
The airplane, like virtually everything else that belonged to Russell Charleston, had belonged to his uncle--specifically his uncle's mega-corporation, American Limited Fashion and Magazine Outlet. He had barely known his maternal uncle, but apparently Russell was his closest living relative and, before his passing, dear uncle Jacob (whom Russell gets his middle name from) had willed his corporate empire and personal wealth to his only nephew. Russell had gone from being a struggling grad student at the University of Central Florida to being a billionaire or something (well, the company was worth into the billions, but his uncle's personal wealth merely made him a multi-multi-millionaire). It had all come so suddenly that Russell counted himself lucky he had not had a nervous breakdown or something. To think, a worthless loser like him is now...well...not so worthless, at least in monetary terms.
Having napped during the flight up from Orlando--his uncle's Gulfstream had a small private suite at the back with its own mini-bedroom and bathroom--he was quite refreshed as the plane began its descent, but he was a little hungry. Although the plane had its own small galley and chef, there was not enough time for any of that before they landed. At the moment, Russell was in the main cabin, strapped into an overstuffed armchair that counted as the form of primary seating on the aircraft. He could even swivel to look out one of the windows as they made their final approach.
The landing went as expected and, after the plane came to a stop and the engine's were idling, the flight attendant opened the plane's main door and the steps lowered automatically. They were here. Russell was dressed quite casually: a pair of khaki slacks, a brown polo shirt and tennis shoes. All of it was off-the-rank, Wal-Mart or something like that, and a couple years old. It was what he was used to wearing...after all, he had been a struggling grad student before all this mess. It still all seemed more than a little surreal for him.
After lowering the stairs, the flight attendant approached Russell, a slightly servile smille on the former's face, "You can deplane, sir. Sorry about the noise of the engines, but we have the plane to the hangar after you're off."
Russell nodded, not used to being served like this, and undid his seat-belt and stood up. He was reaching up as to grab luggage from the upper compartment when he realized that there was no ceiling storage...all the luggage was stored in the hold under his feet. Feeling a little embarrassed, he smiled slightly when the steward spoke up, "Don't worry about the luggage, sir, we'll get it once you're off the plane."
Russell nodded again, "Thanks," and walked towards the plane's side exit. At the back of his mind, he still wondered if this was some crazy dream and if he would wake up any minute to his dismal life.
Strolling down the few steps, he finally hit terra firma, glancing around, finding the chilly late afternoon air quite exhilarating--he had grabbed and donned his jacket, an old windbreaker that always sufficed back down in Florida, before leaving the plane. It appeared there was a car to meet him. With little else to do, he walked towards the waiting car.
The airplane, like virtually everything else that belonged to Russell Charleston, had belonged to his uncle--specifically his uncle's mega-corporation, American Limited Fashion and Magazine Outlet. He had barely known his maternal uncle, but apparently Russell was his closest living relative and, before his passing, dear uncle Jacob (whom Russell gets his middle name from) had willed his corporate empire and personal wealth to his only nephew. Russell had gone from being a struggling grad student at the University of Central Florida to being a billionaire or something (well, the company was worth into the billions, but his uncle's personal wealth merely made him a multi-multi-millionaire). It had all come so suddenly that Russell counted himself lucky he had not had a nervous breakdown or something. To think, a worthless loser like him is now...well...not so worthless, at least in monetary terms.
Having napped during the flight up from Orlando--his uncle's Gulfstream had a small private suite at the back with its own mini-bedroom and bathroom--he was quite refreshed as the plane began its descent, but he was a little hungry. Although the plane had its own small galley and chef, there was not enough time for any of that before they landed. At the moment, Russell was in the main cabin, strapped into an overstuffed armchair that counted as the form of primary seating on the aircraft. He could even swivel to look out one of the windows as they made their final approach.
The landing went as expected and, after the plane came to a stop and the engine's were idling, the flight attendant opened the plane's main door and the steps lowered automatically. They were here. Russell was dressed quite casually: a pair of khaki slacks, a brown polo shirt and tennis shoes. All of it was off-the-rank, Wal-Mart or something like that, and a couple years old. It was what he was used to wearing...after all, he had been a struggling grad student before all this mess. It still all seemed more than a little surreal for him.
After lowering the stairs, the flight attendant approached Russell, a slightly servile smille on the former's face, "You can deplane, sir. Sorry about the noise of the engines, but we have the plane to the hangar after you're off."
Russell nodded, not used to being served like this, and undid his seat-belt and stood up. He was reaching up as to grab luggage from the upper compartment when he realized that there was no ceiling storage...all the luggage was stored in the hold under his feet. Feeling a little embarrassed, he smiled slightly when the steward spoke up, "Don't worry about the luggage, sir, we'll get it once you're off the plane."
Russell nodded again, "Thanks," and walked towards the plane's side exit. At the back of his mind, he still wondered if this was some crazy dream and if he would wake up any minute to his dismal life.
Strolling down the few steps, he finally hit terra firma, glancing around, finding the chilly late afternoon air quite exhilarating--he had grabbed and donned his jacket, an old windbreaker that always sufficed back down in Florida, before leaving the plane. It appeared there was a car to meet him. With little else to do, he walked towards the waiting car.
