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EMERGENCY LANDING!
A BEEGEES Fanfiction Story



By Rosanne Emily Esbrook-Iho/AngelaToo



PART ONE
[Note: This story was written in the Spring of 2001--shortly after “This Is Where I Came In”
was released, and before 9-11 and the stricter airport security regulations went into effect.]

Rick Hallis' first hint of trouble came, when the Lear he was piloting began an unauthorized descent. His expert eyes scanned the aircraft's electrical console. Not surprisingly, the plane's ant-icing system's warning light was on. He'd figured all along it was his wing de-icers. 'Probably, just a bad fuse…' he thought to himself and thumbed his radio transmitter. "Minneapolis Center," he calmly spoke into his headset mic', "This is Lear, Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero. IFR. Outbound L.A.X. Inbound LaGuardia. Course: Zero-Five-Zero True. Bearing: Three-Six-Zero. Heading: One-Zero-Three...at Three-Six-Five knots. Descending out of Four-Two-Zero. Requesting permission to descend to Seven Thousand, Over…"

"Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero," a voice came back through his headset’s earphones, "This is Minneapolis Center. We’ve got you on the scope. What is the nature of your request?"


"Minneapolis Center, Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero is experiencing mechanical difficulties. Our wing de-icers quit." He glanced out the cockpit’s window at the milky-white deposit on the leading edge of his left wing, "Rime buildup is causing us to lose altitude. Over…"

"Minneapolis Center. Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero, are you declaring an in-flight emergency at this time?"


"Negative, Minneapolis Center," Rick quickly came back, "All Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero needs right now is a lower altitude, some warmer air and, probably, a new fuse…"


"Minneapolis Center," the somewhat relieved and slightly amused air traffic controller came back, "There is traffic at your requested altitude. However, Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero is cleared for Five Thousand. Maintain your current radar vector heading…and keep us posted!"


"Roger that, and thanks, Minneapolis Center," Rick replied with a smile. "Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero descending to Five Thousand…"he finished speaking and flicked on the 'FASTEN SEATBELTS' sign, for his passengers.


******************************************


Speaking of his passengers…


The seven who were lounging in the Lear's main compartment looked up, as a loud 'ping' caught their attention.


"See!" one of three brothers on board exclaimed and gave the sibling seated on the sofa beside him a playful nudge. "I told you it felt like we were falling," he stated further, with a very British accent and pointed to the bright red sign that was now flashing above the entrance to their plane's cockpit.


There followed the unmistakable sound of metal seatbelts ‘clicking’ into place.


"Probably just dropping down to avoid some turbulence…" his equally English accented twin told him rather disinterestedly, but obligingly set his open book down so he could have both hands free to obediently ‘buckle-up’.


"Where’s big brother?" the bearded twin wondered, pulling his personal stereo’s in-the-ear headphones off and tossing the ‘Paint Ball Monthly’ magazine from his lap.


"He’s sprawled out on a bunk in the back, humming and strumming into his tape recorder…" the clean-shaven of the two told him before burying his face back into his mystery novel.


The questioner shoved his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose and gave his black, fedora-style hat an adjustment, as well, before rising stiffly to his feet.


***************************************


"Barry," Maurice Gibb called into the little cubicle containing a bunk, and his prone, but propped up--and also bearded--older brother, "Time to buckle-up…"

Barry looked rather perplexed and sat bolt upright on the bed, to gaze out the jet’s window. The sudden movement sent the portable tape recorder and acoustic guitar tumbling from his chest. "We can’t be landing already!" he determined, following a quick glance at his Rolex. Then he turned back to his younger brother and passed his observations along, "There are-en’t any airports down there…There are-en’t even any roads!"


"We’re probably just dropping down to avoid some turbulence," Maurice parroted. "Your back bothering you?" he wondered, as Barry carefully swung his long legs over and off of the bed.


"A little…" his now vertical sibling replied--er, lied, as his feet hit the floor. Barry’s back was bothering him a lot. He’d been cooped up in hotel rooms and limo’s--and airplanes--for over a week. He’d just flown over fifteen thousand miles. Now, he wanted--er, needed to walk. He snatched up his coat from the foot of the bed.


"Any luck?" Maurice asked, aiming his gaze at the now retrieved tape recorder.


When they’d arrived from Tokyo that morning, a rather cryptic faxed message was waiting for them at the airport. The hand-delivered note was from their good friend, David English, and it simply read:

‘"Boys, I need you to write me a song. Right away. I’ll explain later. Thanks. David."


Two of The Brothers Gibb had felt the whole thing was just a joke. But, Barry--who’d taken the request seriously--had been slaving away on the project, for the past two hours. "I’ve got the melody dead-to-rights," he announced, as he stepped into his shoes and out into the now slanting corridor.


"And the lyrics?"


"Nothing comes to mind…" the songwriter confessed, his heavily accented voice filled with frustration.


"Nothing?!" his baby brother queried in disbelief.


"Not one word!" Barry glumly admitted and followed his amazed sibling back up to the Lear’s main passenger compartment.


*************************************


"What's up, Rick?" Barry Gibb asked, ducking into the plane's cockpit and plopping himself carefully down into the co-pilot's seat--to buckle-up.


"The heating elements that run along the wings aren’t working," Rick calmly explained, "The ice is building up and causing us to lose ‘lift’…so we’re going down to where the air is warmer…to melt the ice off the wings…and change a fuse…"


"How low do we have to fly before we find some warmer air?" his visitor wondered, running his concerned gaze over the jet’s jumble of complicated-looking gauges and dials.


"We’ll be leveling off at 5,000 feet," Rick replied.


"So," the songwriter glanced at the altimeter and did some quick math, "about six more miles...and we’ll have nothing to worry about?"


The plane’s pilot flashed his famous passenger a reassuring smile and gave him a nod, "Nothing to worry about!"


Barry leaned back in his seat and breathed a deep sigh of relief.


**********************************************


Several minutes and six vertical miles later, another loud 'ping' caught the aircraft's occupants' attention.


All seven looked up in unison and watched the 'FASTEN SEATBELTS' sign go off. They continued watching, as the eldest Gibb brother ducked back out of the cockpit.


"There’s something wrong with the heater things on the wings," Barry announced, seeing their questioning stares. "We’ve descended to 5,000 feet, because the air is much warmer down here and the ice won’t build up. Rick figures it’s just a blown fuse. Nothing to worry about!" he added, passing along the pilot’s reassuring words and smile.


Everybody exhaled sighs of relief. The three bodyguards on board unbuckled and rejoined their in progress poker game…which--Barry noted--their friend and sound engineer, John Merchant, appeared to be winning.


Robin Gibb gave the good news bearer a grateful smile and then angled his deep-blue-tinted glasses back down to his book.


"C’mon, Marj’!" Maurice enthusiastically declared to the plane’s only female passenger, and quickly freed himself from his seat, "Let’s go rustle us all up something to eat--and drink!"


The Bee Gees’ personal secretary obligingly unbuckled her belt, rose to her unsteady feet and followed one of her three bosses over to the plane’s galley.


"How’s the new song coming along?" Robin asked, as his older brother collapsed carefully down into the heavily padded seat across the aisle from him.


"Incredibly well," Barry came back, "if you like ‘instrumentals’,"he sarcastically tacked on.


Robin glanced up and smiled again. "I really like the melody," he confessed, and then helpfully added, "You just need to take your mind off of it for awhile."


Speaking of distractions…


Barry was about to reply that what he really needed was Robin’s help--when the Lear suddenly lurched--rather sharply--to the left, jolting him--and the plane’s other unbelted passengers--clean out of their seats!


Cards flew from the table, and the players were pelted with poker chips.


Robin was the only one to remain seated. The bookworm hadn’t bothered to unbuckle.


Maurice cursed as he--and the carafe of scalding-hot coffee he was carrying--went careening across the plane’s plush passenger compartment and crashing into the outer hull--amazingly, without spilling a drop! Unfortunately, the coffee mugs in his other hand didn’t fair as well. Four out of five broke on impact.


Marj’ Griffith came toppling out of the galley and she--and the tray of catered food she was toting--slammed into an inside wall, sending sandwiches--and salami--sailing everywhere!


"Nothing to worry about, huh?!" Robin rather alarmedly remarked upon righting himself. "Something’s just gone very wrong! Something more than just the fuse for the heater things on the wings!" he added, in reference to the horrible grinding sound coming from the Lear’s left engine. He, and his fellow passengers, turned to stare out the plane’s blood-splattered? windows.


Barry was back on his feet and halfway to the cockpit before his bodyguard could even reach him. "I’m all right, Donny!" his boss assured him and brushed his steadying hand from his shoulder.


********************************


Speaking of the plane’s cockpit…


Pilot Rick Hallis had his hands full! One moment, they were flying smoothly along on auto-pilot and he was changing a fuse. The next, they were smashing into a freakin’ flock of birds! According to the Lear’s instrument panels, he was about to lose his left engine! He couldn’t tell if there was any other structural damage to the plane because his windshield was completely covered with bird guts, feathers and blood! Lots and lots of blood!


"Minneapolis Center," he spoke as calmly as he could, and turned his windshield wipers on. The blades didn’t budge. "This is Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero. No-ow I would like to declare an in-flight emergency! Acknowledge…"


"This is Minneapolis Center," the FAA controller anxiously acknowledged, "What is the nature of your emergency, Two-Four-Two-Zero?"


"Minneapolis Center, Two-Four-Two-Zero has just experienced a mid-air collision with an entire freakin’ flock a’ birds! I just lost my left engine and my right engine is running hot! Over…"


"This is Minneapolis Center. Roger that, Two-Four-Two-Zero! Any other visible structural damage?"


"Two-Four-Two-Zero has no visibility at the moment, Minneapolis Center. The birds took out my wipers and my cockpit windshield is a bloody mess! Over…"


"This is Minneapolis Center. Standby, Two-Four-Two-Zero…Two-Four-Two-Zero, advise you turn left Four Degrees to Radar Vector Seven-Three-Niner and try climbing to Seven Thousand--to aid VORTAC. ( Have better radar and radio contact.) That’ll put you on a direct course to Sawyer International. Sawyer is a converted Air Force Base and has more than enough runway for an emergency landing. It’s also the nearest airfield equipped to handle your...situation. You can reach the Sawyer controllers on emergency frequency Six-Zero-Niner Point Three. They have been alerted and are waiting for you to contact them. So, we’re going to sign off and turn you over to them. Good Luck, Two-Four-Two-Zero!"


"Left four degrees...Radar Vector Seven-Three-Niner...Flight Level Seven Thousand...and Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero thanks you once again, Minneapolis Center…" Rick paused only long enough to dial in the new radio frequency. "Sawyer International, this is Bravo Golf Sierra Two-Four-Two-Zero requesting emergency landing instructions. Over…"he heard the cockpit door close behind him and glanced back over his shoulder. Whoever his visitor had been, they’d left without saying a word.


**************************************


Speaking of the cockpit's wordless visitor…


The rest of the Lear's rattled passengers waited patiently for Barry to report back to them. But the eldest Gibb brother remained silent upon his return.


The somber look on his big brother’s face spoke volumes, however, and prompted Maurice to demand, "What the bloody hell happened?!"


Barry sank slowly down into his so-suddenly-vacated seat, propped his elbows up on the arm rests, clasped his hands together in front of his face and pressed two of his long, slender fingers to his tightly pursed lips. "It seems we just flew into a flock of birds. We’ve lost our left engine and will--very shortly--be making an emergency landing at a place called ‘Sawyer International’. I know the sign’s not flashing, but now might be good time to buckle--" something suddenly occurred to him and he stopped talking to start rummaging through the pockets of his jacket--which he’d left draped over the back of his chair. His right hand emerged from one of the coat’s pockets with the object of his search--his satellite cell phone. He hit the speed dial and then drew in a deep breath before raising the instrument to his once again tightly pursed lips. "Linda, darling! How wonderful it is to hear your voice! How are you and the children?…I know I just asked you that an hour ago, I just never get tired of hearing your answer. Have you finished packing?….She is? Marvelous!….Yes, that would have been a lovely surprise. But, I’m afraid I’ll be a little late arriving at LaGuardia…Why-y? Well, our plane’s developed a bit of a mechanical problem and we’re being diverted to ‘Sawyer International’….I have no idea whatsoever. Somewhere in the Midwest, I assume…I don’t know that, either. I suppose it depends on how long it takes us to get a flight out of ‘Sawyer International’. You know how Robin feels about chartered planes…"he glanced around and saw that his fellow passengers had followed his lead, for they all had cell phones pressed tightly to their ears, and were talking in hushed tones to their loved ones, as well.


*******************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART TWO



Speaking of loved ones…and Sawyer International...


Two women were sitting in the airport's main terminal at that very moment, waiting for a friend's plane to land. Rosanne and Alana's dear friend, Marion, had flown out to California two weeks earlier, to visit her son, Ron, and his new wife. The two women had offered to bring Marion to and from the airport, to save the elderly lady both the long drive home--following her fatiguing flight--and the five bucks per day 'Airport Parking' fee. (Hey, seventy dollars is $70.00!)


Rosanne was passing the time playing solitaire--and listening to The Bee Gees’ newest CD--on her laptop computer.


Alana was seated beside her, trying--in vain--to absorb the contents of the article she was reading--er, trying to read. "It’s no use," the blonde finally conceded. "I can’t concentrate. I’m too restless." She closed the magazine in her lap and then glanced at her wristwatch. "Marion’s plane was supposed to land over an hour ago. I hope nothing’s happened to her…"


"Her flight was probably delayed," Rosanne reasoned, not bothering to raise her gaze from the computer’s card-filled screen. "According to ‘NBC’s Nightly News with Tom Brokaw’, our airways are so congested now, that flights are being delayed all the time. That’s why I brought this," she confessed, tapping the instrument on her lap, to the rather catchy beat of the CD’s current selection.


"Yeah, well, I’m gonna go find out what’s goin’ on," Alana muttered rather annoyedly and started off in the direction of an airline desk. She didn’t bother to ask her card-playing companion to join her. She figured she’d be back before Rosanne could finish packing all her computer’s paraphernalia into its travel case.

She was right.


************************************

And so was Rosanne…

"You were right!" Alana announced upon her return, a mere five minutes later. "Marion's flight was delayed--two hours in San Diego, and another three hours at Dallas/Fort Worth! Which means she missed her connecting flights--and won't be landing for hours, yet! What are we supposed to do around here for five hou-ours, or more?!"


Rosanne replied by passing her peeved partner a Walkman and a cassette case full of Bee Gees’ tapes.


"Is ‘One Night Only’ in here?" Alana wondered, as she resignedly collapsed back into her window seat.

"Of course!" Rosanne assured her. "So is 'E*S*P'…" she added with a sly smile.


Alana smiled and popped an undisclosed tape into the walkman. Rosanne had been trying--for months now--to get her to listen to E*S*P. However, ONO was still Alana’s all-time favorite. She started reaching for the headphones, but then remembered something and stopped. "Oh, guess what. While I was waiting to ask about Marion’s plane, I heard these two guys talking and they said that all the airport’s traffic is being re-routed so that a private jet can make an emergency landing. Pretty exciting, heh? Maybe we’ll get to see it. What if we got to see it cra-ash?" she wondered somberly. " Would you watch? Or would you have to look away?"


"I don’t know," Rosanne confessed, looking and sounding equally somber. "What would you do?"


"I don’t know, either," Alana admitted. "Hopefully, it’ll land safely and we won’t get the chance to find out. Do you think they have parachutes?" she wondered and leaned forward to gaze up at the bright, blue, sunny, afternoon sky.


The two friends had an unrestricted view of the airport’s four main runways, so if anything were to happen out there, they’d be bound to see it…unless, of course, they looked away at the last minute.


***********************************************


Speaking of last minutes…


One and a half miles up and 68 miles southwest of them, all nine souls onboard the crippled Lear were making last minute preparations for whatever lay ahead of them. All bittersweet goodbyes had been said and all cell phones put away--to prevent any potential electrical interference during their--what would have to be--totally blind, instruments-only landing.

Rick Hallis heard the cockpit door open and felt the reassuring grip of someone’s steady hand upon his shoulder. He glanced back and was not surprised to find his oldest boss standing there, hunched over a bit, to accommodate his tall frame in their rather cramped quarters.


"How are things going, Rick?" his visitor wondered, in a solemn, hushed tone.


"So far, so good, Mr. Gibb," the plane’s pilot reported back, his voice sounding equally solemn and hushed. "I’ve just finished dumping the fuel. I saved just enough to get us to the airfield and on the ground. Right now, I’m preparing to make our first--and final--approach. We’re only going to be able to take one shot at it, so I’m going to have to aim as accurately as I can. Once we intercept the ILS, the instruments’ll take over from there."


"Then it is possible to land safely with zero visibility and only one engine," Barry ascertained. "So there’s really nothing to worry about, right?" There was a long silence. Too long a silence. "Ri-ight?!" Barry repeated, desperately needing to be reassured.


"I’ve made countless instrument landings, and I’ve even brought down a few planes with only one engine," Rick reassuringly replied, but then reluctantly added, "The problem is, the one engine we have left is running hot! Way too hot! Right now, it’s being air-cooled. But, when I begin decreasing our airspeed, it’s gonna get even hotter! Hot enough to seize up…It could even catch fire…"


"I see-ee…" Barry quietly acknowledged. "Thank you for your candor, Rick. I think I’ll get back to my brothers, now…and let you ‘do your thing’!" He gave the pilot’s shoulder another reassuring squeeze and then turned to go. However, something else occurred to him and he paused in the open cockpit doorway to pose a final question, "Does this thing gli-ide?"


Rick drew in a deep breath and then called back over his shoulder, " I certainly hope so, sir! I certainly do hope so. Look, Mr. Gibb...I know how your brother feels about the intercom, but in a few more minutes I’m going to have to use it…"


"Yes…of course," his boss quickly conceded. "May God be your...co-pilot," he fervently prayed and then quietly closed the door.


***************************************


'So many lose ends left to be tied…so many songs left to be written…so much life left to be lived…' the cockpit's visitor mused on the way back to his seat. Actually, the eldest Bee Gee changed his course and carefully collapsed onto the couch--to sit between his brothers--instead. "So far, so good,"he truthfully reported back, when he'd finished re-buckling. "Rick's dumped the fuel and is preparing to make our final approach."


"Oh-oh…"Maurice muttered under his breath, "I don’t like the sounds a’ tha-at!"


"A-and…?"Robin prompted his tight-lipped older brother.


"He says he’s made thousands of instrument landings and, as luck would have it, he’s even brought down several planes which were in much worse shape than ou-ours," Barry added--er, adlibbed.


"A-and…?" the still deeply-skeptical looking sibling seated on his left further coaxed.


"A-and so, you see, there’s really nothing to worry about…" the cockpit reporter casually summed up--er, lied through his teeth. He locked his solemn gaze upon John Merchant’s and quickly changed the subject. "I’ll bet you’re wishing you’d flown back to Miami, with Steve and Ben and Alan."


"They have birds in Florida, too…" the Bee Gees’ sound engineer reminded his troubled boss. His little reminder prompted the two long-time friends to exchange sad smiles.


"There’s ‘something’ you’re not telling us," Robin doggedly continued.


"Speaking of birds," Maurice suddenly piped up. "What sort of bird do you suppose it was?" When none of his fellow passengers deigned to reply, he narrowed his inquiry down to one, "Ro-ob?"


Robin replied by directing all of his attention back to the ‘Aerial Photo Atlas of the United States’ that was lying open across his lap.


"Probably a loon," Barry finally volunteered. "I mean, a bird would have to be looney to fly into a Lear, wouldn’t it."


"Undoubtedly!" Maurice agreed, "Or geese, perhaps. You know, I’ve heard of planes flying into fow-owl weather."


His twin continued to ignore them, but appeared to be having a harder time of it.


"Gawd!" Maurice exclaimed, as something else occurred to him, "Can you imagine being down there when suddenly it begins raining bits of bi-irds?!"


The corners of Robin’s mouth twitched slightly, but still he remained silent.


"Bloody bits...of bloody birds," Barry gruesomely concurred.


Their brooding brother’s head turned and he shot them a look which said: ‘You’re both a bloody bit off your bloody rockers!’


The two just smiled innocently back at him.


"It must’ve been a really big bird," Robin’s bodyguard, Paul Lewis, suddenly declared--in dead earnest. "Something on the order of a Sandhill Cra-ane."


The ludicrousness of the conversation, coupled with the seriousness of that last statement, was more than Robin and his brothers could bear. The three of them glanced at each other for a moment and then began to croon--in perfect harmony, (to the tune ‘Pennies From Heaven’) "Every time it rains, it rains…Sandhill Cra-anes…"


Their fellow passengers applauded--between snickers.


The three Gibb brothers exchanged grins and then enjoyed a good giggle, themselves.


The cockpit reporter knew then that he’d made the right choice. Their tears should be tears of laughter--not of sorrow. Barry blinked his vision clear and then gazed down at the book in Robin’s lap. "The Keewenaw…" he read aloud. "Is that where we’ll be landing?" he asked, in an attempt to take his mind off of the...unthinkable.


"I hope no-ot!" Maurice muttered. "It sounds like some sort of swamp!"


"Actually, it’s a peninsula," Robin corrected. "A rather large, uninhabited peninsula, in an even larger, uninhabited peninsula. Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, to be exact. And we will not be coming anywhere’s even remotely close to the Keewenaw. As near as I can tell, we’ll be landing here--" he paused to point to a paved plateau. "The closest city being ‘Gwinn’," he added, moving his index finger over about an inch.


His brothers nodded, thoughtfully.


"All right..." a voice suddenly came over the intercom on the wall behind them.


And Barry noted that, if it weren’t for the fact that his lap belt was secured, poor Robin would have been startled clean out of his seat.


"This is it..." their pilot calmly continued. "Assume emergency landing positions. And, when I say brace!, bra-ace!"


Robin glanced menacingly in the intercom’s direction, but then obediently stowed the book in his hands safely away, beneath their seat.


Maurice grabbed two of their sofa’s three pillows and began passing them to his brothers.


The other passengers procured pillows as well and placed them on their buckled laps.


The plane pitched slightly as the pilot began to throttle back on their one remaining engine.


"Does everyone here know the difference between an emergency landing position and a crash landing position?" Barry asked, just to keep himself from screaming. Because he suddenly had this overwhelming ur-urge to screa-eam. "It’s really quite simple," he quickly continued, "For an emergency landing, you bend over and brace yourself for a bumpy ride. For a crash landing, you bend over and kiss you’re a-ass good--" he stopped speaking as the jet’s damaged engine suddenly stopped whining. "--bye-ye’…" he forced himself to finish, his strained voice shattering the silence that now eerily engulfed them.


"I knew there was something you were-en’t telling us!" Robin blurted angrily, and shot their cockpit reporter a look which said he’d like to smother him with his pillow.


"This thing glides like a gull," Barry assured him, giving voice to his wishful thinking.


"Like we’re ever believing you, again!" Robin quickly came back, but then immediately realized his poor choice of words, and equally as soon regretted saying them. Flashbacks to the Hither Green Train Wreck he’d been in had been flooding his brain for the past fifteen minutes. Memories so vivid--so horrifying--that they threatened to swamp him. All the death…and the dying…and the mutilation! No-o! He shouldn’t go there! He couldn’t go the-ere…not agai-ain! And Barry knew it. Big brother was just being big brother--right up to the end. ‘And, when someone ‘rows out to rescue you’,’ Robin angrily reminded himself , ‘you don’t drill holes in his boat!’


Speaking of big brother…The eldest Gibb’s watering eyes were now filled with a look of unbearable sadness. "Sorry…" he somehow managed to say, as his already tight throat continued to tighten. "I just thou-ought--"


"--Ye-es, we-ell…" Robin suddenly interrupted, sensing that his rescuer was now only seconds away from sinking, himself. He drew in a deep breath and then began bailing--furiously. "If you expect us to go out with a giggle, you’re going to have to come up with a much better joke than tha-at!"


"The joke’s really not that bad," Maurice immediately joined in. "You just need to work on your delivery. I see it as more of a sight gag. For instance, I’m sure it would be a lot funnier if you were to stand up there in the aisle--like the Stewardesses do on the Commercial flights--and physically demonstrate the crash position for us…"


Barry’s younger brothers watched, as their comments caused the joke teller first to smile…then to grin…then to chuckle outright.


"Forget it!" the eldest Gibb brother advised, seeing as how they were now all waiting expectantly. "My back’s fused in several places," he quickly reminded them. "I-I could never come anywhere’s even remotely close to ‘kissing’ my ‘a-ass’!"


"That,"Robin reasoned lightly, "must be why he’s always telling everyone else to do it for him…"


And, this time, everybody cracked up!


*****************************************


Speaking of cracking u-up…


In the absence of any engine noise, the sound of their laughter made its way into the cockpit. And the pilot was forced to smile. If anybody could keep their sense of humor at a time like this, it would have to be his bosses. Hallis had never met a more fun-loving group a' guys. Rick reckoned that they had the right idea, too. Unfortunately, he had to keep all of his attention fully focused on the more serious, unthinkable matters at hand…like the 12 tons of free-falling steel and aluminum he was so desperately trying to guide--and gli-ide--safely down, onto some unseen runway at some unseen airport--somewheres! '235…230…225…220…' Rick continued to mentally count down.


They were just above six hundred feet when they lost their last engine--and their 'lift'. So, they were now, literally, flying like a rock! Airspeed was just below two hundred and forty knots when they lost their reverse thruster. Which meant that, even with full flaps, they'd be hitting the ground with the speed of an Indy race car! '155…150…145…140…' Despite exceeding Critical Flight Attitudes and the manufacturer's recommendations, Rick felt confident--and cocky--enough to allow himself to believe that he could…probably…pull off a controlled landing. What concerned him more, was bringing the racing jet to a controlled stop. He was concerned enough to thumb his transmitter button, "Tower, Two-Four-Two-Zero. Request runway length, Over…"

"Two-Four-Two-Zero, this is Tower. Be advised the landing strip you have been assigned is five mi-iles long…"


‘Five mi-iles!’ the crippled plane’s pilot mentally repeated. No wonder the FAA had directed them there! No need to risk frying the brakes or melting down the tires! Heck! With that much room, they could just ‘skip’ on in and coast to a stop! "Two-Four-Two-Zero is immeasurably relieved to hear that, Tower…" Rick quietly confessed. Then he flicked the intercom back on and began counting aloud, "70…65…60…55…50…"


******************************************


Speaking of confessions…


"Robin…Maurice…" the eldest Gibb solemnly spoke--over the countdown, and wrapped an arm around each of his brothers, "I love you guys…"


"We love you, too, Barry…" Maurice assured him.


"Ye-es…" Robin solemnly agreed, "You’ve been like a…brother to us ."


The three of them exchanged grins.


"45…40…35…30…" their pilot’s voice droned on.


The Brothers Gibb ended their group hug.


Reflecting back on their forty year career, Barry quietly confided, "It's been one hell of a ride…" Then, he buried his face into the pillow on his lap and crossed his arms in front of his knees. The other passengers quickly followed suit.


"And it ain’t over yet!" came back Maurice’s muffled reminder. "There are no large women on board."


"And even if she were large," Robin’s equally muffled voice agreed, "Marj’ couldn’t sing…"


Following a few muffled snickers, the Bee Gees latched onto each other’s hands and began singing into their pillows a tune of their’s , appropriately entitled: ‘A Wing And A Prayer’.


"10…5…Brace! Brace! Bra-ace!"


**************************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART THREE



Speaking of bracing...


Rosanne and Alana had been watching the tiny, shiny object since it first appeared in the sky southwest of the airport. They continued watching the growing speck, as it continued its approach. However, when they realized how dangerously fast the crippled aircraft was falling--and saw how ridiculously steep its angle of descent was...well, the two friends had such a high regard for the sanctity of life, they just couldn’t bear to witness its tragic loss. So they averted their eyes and braced themselves for the inevitable...CRA-ASH!%#!


But several seconds passed, and the only sounds coming from the airfield were those of racing engines and sirens. They slowly reopened their eyes and turned back to the window. Instead of the expected fireball, there was just a lot of smoke--a whole lot of thick, black smo-oke.


The two women turned to each other and asked--in complete and utter amazement--and perfect unison, "What happened?!"


****************************************************


Speaking of what happened...


Two deafeningly loud 'SQUEA-EAL!'s came from the falling aircraft’s main whee-eels as their tires hit the pavement--with an unbelievable amount of force and velocity! (Over 200 MPH!) The 'SQUEA-EAL!'s were closely followed by a positively ear-drum piercing 'SCREA-EACH!' from the nose wheel, as its tire was forced to bear a truly tremendous amount of force and weight as well--way more than was safely recommended by the Lear’s manufacturers.


The crashing plane’s passengers grimaced and gasped as they received a sort of lap-belt version of the Heimlich Maneuver. Then, there was silence and they were airborne again. But only for a few moments.


The tires 'SQUEA-EAL!'ed and 'SCREA-EACH!'ed again, as the bouncing plane made another brief but violent connection with the concrete runway.


More grimaces and gasps escaped from the aircraft’s occupants as they were ‘belted’ a second time.


The 'SQUEA-EAL!'ing and 'SCREA-EACH!'ing and ‘grimacing’ and ‘gasping’ continued for some time, as the whole ‘hitting the pavement hard and bouncing’ process was repeated--over and over again.


Until, at long last, the racing Lear touched down and stayed down. But still it didn’t sto-op. And its occupants were beginning to think that their pilot had decided to drive them the rest of the way to New York. They were still expecting to cra-ash! They figured for sure they were going to run out of runway at any moment and start plowing into fences, trees, houses or something!


But they never did. They just kept coasting quietly along.


Finally, the gradually slowing aircraft rumbled to a stop.


"Sorry for the rough ride," Rick announced over the intercom, "But my ‘attitude’ was all wrong and--in order to save the gear--I had to ‘skip’ the landing..."


The plane’s roughed up a bit passengers slowly sat back up in their seats and exchanged amazed glances. They couldn’t believe their pilot was actually apologizing for having just saved their lives.


Speaking of their pilot...


Hallis exited the cockpit, and as he did so, he was greeted with a raucous round of cheers and applause, which, following some unbuckling and back flexing, turned into a standing ovation. "Thank you," Rick said with a smile, and then modestly added, "But if this airport hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t be standing here right now, either..."


His passengers’ joyous demeanors turned thoughtful...and solemn, as the import of the unpretentious pilot’s statement was not wasted on them.


Barry assured his concerned siblings that he was truly all right, and, after helping him on with his coat, they reluctantly released him. He stepped forwards to give his valued employee a hearty handshake...which was closely followed by a big hug. "Way to go, Ri-ick! I told George to find us the best pilot on the planet--and he apparently did!"


"Thanks, Mr. Gibb!" Hallis told his boss with a broad grin. "But I’m only one of the best..." Rick humbly tacked on. Then he stepped over to pop the compartment’s exit door/disembarking ramp open and into place. "I don’t think there’s any real danger, but we should probably leave anyway...Just in case..." he further reminded his passengers, and began waving them over to the open doorway. "Watch your step..." he strongly advised, and steadied Ms. Griffith, as she obligingly exited the potentially dangerous plane.


Barry was the second to last to leave the Lear. And, as he was obediently ‘watching his step’ as he disembarked, he was unaware of his surroundings...until his feet hit terra firma...well, pavement, actually. He glanced up to find that they--and their crippled plane--were completely encircled by strange, rather futuristic looking vehicles--and even stranger looking figures wearing, for the lack of a better description, some bizarre sort of space suits. There was an awkward spell, where no one spoke. Then, seeing all the deck guns and various nozzle-type devices that were aimed at them, Barry slowly raised his hands--in surrender--and boldly blurted, in his most British of accents, "We bring you greetings from the planet Earth! We come in peace...in behalf of all mankind..."


That having been said, the tension of the moment eased--considerably.


Earth’s envoy smiled and slowly lowered his arms.


The nozzle pointers slowly lowered their aim, amidst muffled chuckles.


Barry flashed their rescuers a broad grin, but then said--in all earnestness, "No, seriously...We appreciate your efforts and your willingness to risk your lives to save ou-ours. We truly do have the greatest admiration for you...and the work that you do."


One of the aliens climbed down from one of the fire fighting apparatus and stepped forwards, pulling his gloves and hooded, gold-plated, heat-reflecting visor off along the way. "Captain Mark Olander..." he declared with a warm smile and extended his now bare right hand.


"Barry Gibb..." The planet’s goodwill ambassador announced, and returned both the good Captain’s smile and his hearty handshake.


"I imagine everyone in the world--over the age of ten--knows who you guys are!" the Captain confessed. Then he turned to the plane’s pilot, as he finished descending the stairs, and offered him his hand as well. "Mister, I don’t know how you managed to bring that thing down! We fully expected to be scraping you people up off the pavement back there!"


"Rick Hallis..." ‘that thing’s’ Skipper introduced. "I knew the ‘attitude’ was all wrong," he went on to explain, "so, I just ‘skipped’ the landing. That way, the gear absorbs the impact gradually..."


Barry and his brothers shook a dozen or so more hands and exchanged a dozen or so more smiles. They were even asked to autograph several of their rescuers’ space suits.


Finally, they finished with the amenities, and turned their attention back to their plane. It was the first real chance they’d had to survey the damages since their arrival. The fuselage was plastered with bird blood, making the relatively new plane appear all rusted-out. Both engines were toast...as were the ti-ires.


"Obviously not ‘Firestones’..." Maurice muttered, seeing as how Rick had smoked the rubber right off of their wheels.


His brothers grinned.

The three of them could not comprehend how the tires could bounce so ha-ard and not blow-out.


Speaking of bouncing so ha-ard...

"Barry, are you sure your back’s all right?" Maurice suddenly inquired, his face and voice filled with concern. "Maybe you should let one of the medics over there check you out..." he solemnly suggested and motioned to the two crews of medical personnel that were there--on stand by.


Maurice’s oldest older brother flashed him an appreciative smile, but passed on his suggestion--choosing instead, to finish his inspection of their badly damaged mode of transportation.


"So-o..." Barry muttered finally, "Where do we go from here?"


"You mean ‘how’ do we go from here..." Robin quickly corrected.


The three brothers glanced at each other and came to an unspoken agreement of sorts.


Barry dug his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, flicked it open and hit his speed dial. "George, we’re in a bit of a jam. We have to be at a banquet in New York in less than--" he paused to glance at his Rolex again, "--six hours, and we just lost our jet...Right now?" he stared around him. Rows of pine trees and strips of concrete stretched for as far as the eye could see. "We’re standing in the middle of a ridiculously long runway in the middle of the middle of nowhere...That’s not important. What matters now is how we all get out of here. We need a new plane--and I emphasize the word ‘ne-ew’. Preferably, a very large Lear. Find us one and then have someone fly it to ‘Sawyer International’...I don’t know. Somewhere near a place called ‘Gwinn’ in Michigan’s ‘Upper Peninsula’..." he paused to glance at Robin, "Chartering is out of the question...Yes, we know it’s insured and it probably can be fixed but none of us ever want to step foot on the damn thing again, so get rid of it!...The money doesn’t matter...That doesn’t matter, either. Put it on the Internet and auction it off on Ebay, for all we care!...Yes...All right, George...Yes, and get back to me. Thanks!"


The eldest Gibb brother stared up at their broken wings for a few moments, feeling a bit overwhelmed. The three of them could never look at ‘BGs Two-Four-Two-Zero’ again without being reminded of just how close the aircraft had come to being their...coffin! Barry winced at the thought and then turned his back on the plane. Not want to step foot on it? He never wanted to see the thing again! A stiff, but gentle, breeze was tugging at his shoulder length hair. He inhaled some of the air. It was the freshest he’d ever breathed...and the sky--it was the bluest he’d ever seen. The afternoon sun was glaring up off the pavement at him. It was the brightest, most beautiful sun he’d ever laid eyes on! "The Grim Reaper had us by the coat tails..." he muttered philosophically, and slipped his sunglasses on, "But we got away! We could--and probably should--be dead right now...but we escaped with our lives! Do you know what that calls for? That calls for a celebration! A celebration of li-ife!" he determined.


His brothers exchanged anxious glances.


"You know, you actually scare us when you get like this..." Robin informed him.


"In order to fee-eel fear you first have to be ali-ive..." their scary brother reminded them with a smile.


"Then we must be very much ali-ive..." Robin wryly reasoned, and stood there, dreading his older brother’s next move.


Barry’s smile broadened. He hit the speed dial on his cell phone again and raised it back up to his right ear. "Linda, I love you, Darling! I love you with all my heart--and soul--with every essence of my being!...I know I just told you that twenty minutes ago...Why am I telling you again?... Because I ca-an!" he replied, with a grin on his face and tears in his eyes. "A-and because it’s true! And because as long as I’m ali-ive, I swear, I’ll just never get tired of telling you that...That’s great to hear...Where are you now?...I see. Well, have a safe flight, Darling, and give my love to the children...Yes...See you soon. Call you even sooner..." He replaced his cell phone and started striding off in the direction they’d just rolled in from.


His brothers exchanged anxious glances again. Then they hurried over to the hiker and latched onto him by his arms.


"Where do you think you’re going?!" Maurice demanded.


"For a wa-alk," Barry informed them.


"You can’t just go strolling down the middle of an airport runway!" Robin reminded him. "Someone might land a plane on you or something..."


"But, I really must wa-alk..." Barry insisted.


"Why no-ow?" Maurice wondered with growing impatience.


‘Because I have this sharp, searing pain shooting down the back of my right leg!’ Barry thought to himself. "Because I ca-an!" he announced aloud, with another grin and began striding off again.


The twins turned and summoned reinforcements.


Donald Glazier, Paul Lewis and Philip Ryder stepped in front of the ‘wanna be walker’ and shook their heads ‘no-o’.


Barry exhaled a sigh of surrender. Then he reluctantly spun on his heels and headed back over to their plane. "Ma-arj’, be a dear, will you, and fetch my guitar for me. It was on a bunk in the back..."


"Could you also get my camera?" Maurice wondered.


"And my boo-ook?" Robin tacked on.


Ma-arj’ nodded her willingness to comply and disappeared into the plane. She reappeared a few moments later with the requested items.


The eldest Bee Gee was delighted to discover the instrument was still in one piece...like the-em! And he flashed the guitar fetcher a grateful grin.


**************************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART FOUR

"I’ve always wanted to do that!" Barry confessed with a broad grin, as he and his bodyguard stepped down from the back of their big, yellow taxi. He adjusted the instrument which was strapped to his back and then strolled over to the fire truck’s open passenger window to beam his grin up at their host, "Thanks for the lift, Captain!"


"Thanks for phoning my wife!" Mark called down, returning the grin, "There’s no way she would have believed me-e!"


"My pleasure!" the eldest Bee Gee assured him. Then he held his right hand up in a spread-finger Vulcan salutation and told all twelve of their alien-looking rescuers to "Live long and prosper!"


The firemen smiled and waved. Then, they and their neon yellow trucks disappeared down the airfield.


Barry turned his attention to the building in front of which they had been deposited. His grin vanished and his jaw went slack. He lifted his dark glasses and did a beautiful double take.


"Something wrong, Mr. Gibb?" Donald Glazier nervously inquired.


"No-o..." Barry rather dazedly assured him, "...I’m just having a ‘Twilight Zone’ moment..." He stared at the drab, windowless, light concrete building for a few more moments, then lowered his glasses and asked, "Donny, doesn’t this...pla-ace...look vaguely familiar ?"


Donny studied the pla-ace in question and then commented, "It looks a lot like The Bunker, doesn’t it..."


"It certainly does!" his charge wholeheartedly agreed and glanced around.


"Where are you going?" Donny wondered, as the body he was supposed to be guarding began walking off across the tarmac--towards a newer looking, dark brick building--full of windows.


"Anywhere but in the-ere!" Barry called back over his shoulder.

"Bu-ut, this is the private terminal!" Donny reminded him.


"No-o..." Barry corrected, "This is ‘The Twilight Zone’!" he reminded Donny, and kept right on walking--away-ay!


****************************************************


"Do you guys still want to go to the private terminal?" the ambulance driver called back to his passengers, "Or do you want to go with your brother?"


His four riders glanced at one another and grimaced.


"I knew one of us should have stayed with him," Maurice muttered under his breath.


"Where is our brother going?" Robin almost dreaded to inquire.


"Right now, he’s headed towards the public terminal," the driver informed him.


The Gibb Brothers turned to their security detail.


Paul Lewis and Philip Ryder exchanged solemn glances.


"It would be best if we all stayed together," Philip quickly determined.


"Then I guess we’re going with our brother," Robin glumly announced, answering the driver’s question at last.


********************************************************


"You know," Alana realized aloud, "From here, that guy with the guitar looks just like Barry Gibb! Don’t yah think?"


Rosanne studied the figure in question. She and her friend had been watching the two men on the tarmac since they’d first stepped down from the back of one of the fire trucks. Though still almost a quarter of a mile down the airfield, the guy in front did indeed resemble Barry Gibb--same build, same hair, same aviator-style sunglasses she’d seen him wearing in photos. "Now that you mention it..."she was forced to concede.


They continued watching as an ambulance pulled up to the Barry Gibb look alike. It’s back doors popped open and Robin Gibb and Maurice Gibb look-alikes appeared--along with two other brawny looking bodyguard types. The uncanny coincidence did not go unnoticed. The two ladies turned to stare at each other in shock and disbelief.


"It i-is Barry Gi-ibb!" they declared in unison--when they finally got their voices back.


***************************************************


Speaking of look alikes...


"That’s the wrong terminal!" Robin rather irritatedly informed his older brother.


"I know!" Barry called back over his shoulder and kept right on walking.

"Then why are you going there?!" Robin inquired, sounding even more annoyed.


"Because he ca-an!" Maurice determined, his voice filled with equal measures of irritation and sarcasm.


Barry stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face his siblings. "Have you seen the private terminal?" he wondered curiously and pointed the right building out to them.


His brothers turned their attention to the structure in question and pretty much had the same initial reaction that he had had. The private terminal was a dead ringer for The Bunker--the Bee Gees’ nickname for their windowless, concrete recording compound back in Miami Beach--‘Middle Ear Studio’. The twins experienced a Twilight Zone moment of their own, and then turned back to Barry.


"What if they won’t let us in?" Robin wondered, as he and Maurice caught up to their older brother.


"Then we’ll sit out here on the pavement until our plane arrives," Barry determined, as the three of them--and their bodyguards--and a second ambulance’s two passengers--started off together, towards the public terminal.


*********************************************


"C’mon!" Alana urged, as the private jet’s famous passengers approached the terminal’s guarded doors to the tarmac, "Let’s go say ‘Hi’ to them!"


"Wai-ait!" Rosanne suggested, latching onto her friend’s arm and pulling her to a stop. "They almost died out there! They must be all shook up! They’d probably appreciate being left alone for awhile..."


******************************************


Barry knocked--politely--on the terminal door’s glass and the lady security guard obligingly opened the portal for him. "Hello!" he declared with a warm smile. "May we please come in?...Thank you!" the eldest Bee Gee tacked on, as the guard returned his smile and waved them all inside.


The private jet’s passengers stared at each other in confusion. Except for two women standing by the windows and two airport security people--the public terminal was completely deserted!


"When you said this place was uninhabited," Barry muttered to Robin under his breath, "you wer-en’t joking..." He drew his shoulders back and then beamed a broad smile at his audience of four. "I’ve come here to celebrate li-ife !" he boldly declared. "And you’re all invited!"


"You’ll have to forgive our brother," Maurice apologized. "You see, he’s just cheated death , and now he’s feeling a bit cocky..."


"You mean," Robin corrected, "a bit balmy!"


"At least I’m never boring !" Barry tacked on, in his defense.


"Never?" Robin skeptically inquired.


"Well...seldom, then..." Barry allowed.


Alana shot Rosanne a ‘like I’m ever listening to you again !’ look and tried to leave once more. But, again she was held back.


Barry paused in his party planning to pose a question. "Is there a restaurant in this terminal?"


"The Red Fox Snack Shop," the lady security guard told him, "But it’s closed for renovation. There are several vending machines in the outter waiting area..."


Life’s celebrator was momentarily dismayed. But then he turned to his secretary and said, "Very well, then, Ma-arj’... sta-ale potato chips and really bad coffee--for everyone!"


The guards grinned.


Rosanne and Alana laughed outright.


Barry flashed them another smile and then looked pensive, "No-o...on second thought...nix that notion! We’re going to need something more substantial. You see, we lost our lunch on the plane."


"Oh-oh..." Maurice winced, "Way to go, bro’..."


"Ye-es..." Robin agreed, wincing as well. "What an appetizing mental image that conjures up!"


The two women standing at the windows glanced at each other...grinned...and grimaced.


Barry looked thoughtful again. "Ah, yes--I mean, no-o. That’s not what I meant. I mean we did lose our lunch on the plane, but not like tha-at. We didn’t hu-url...well, actually we did quite a lot of hurling...but we didn’t ra-alph."


"He has a…way...with a phrase," Robin determined.


"He’s adopted..." Maurice confessed.


Their audience was amused to no end.


"Find a phone book and check the Yellow Pages," Barry told Marj’. "There must be someplace we can call for take-out. Possibly pizza delivery? See what everyone wants. And remember--I’m buying...so don’t hesitate to order the extra toppings or the double cheese!" he continued to tease.


Marj’ obligingly left to find a phone book.


"And, while we’re waiting for the food to arrive, let’s go say ‘Hello’ to our fans over there..." Barry suggested and motioned to the two women still standing at the windows.


"What makes you think those women are ou-our fans?" Robin wondered.


"Because they laugh at our jokes," Maurice reasoned lightly.


"If they were ou-our fans," Robin continued, "wouldn’t they have approached us by now?"


"They obviously respect our right to privacy," Maurice lightly suggested.


"Because they look like they know how to celebrate li-ife!" Barry answered--at long last. "And because they’ve downloaded ou-our screen saver onto their computer."


"Maybe it came that way when they bought it and they just don’t know how to take the damn thing off?" Robin stubbornly insisted.


The three brothers exchanged grins and then they--and their remaining traveling companions--headed over to where the two women with the computer were standing.


"Hello, ladies!" the eldest Bee Gee greeted his party guests with a grin. "May we join you?" he inquired, motioning to the eight empty window seats beside theirs.


"Plea-ease, do-o!" Rosanne pleaded and motioned for the group to make themselves at home. "And--if you’re here to celebrate life--you’ve come to the right place, because that’s what we were doing." She paused, to pull the headphones’ jack from her computer. The Bee Gees’ song ‘The Extra Mile’ filled the air. "Your music is a celebration of li-ife!"


The song’s writers exchanged stra-ange stares.


"That clinches it," Barry calmly conceded. "We’ve definitely descended into ‘The Twilight Zone’. First, the private terminal turns out to be an exact copy of 'The Bunker’…and now, two of the only four people--in the enti-ire public terminal--just happen to be ou-our fans...and they just happen to be playing the new album, as well. It just does’nt get any weirder than this…"


Rosanne plugged her earphones back in and then calmly informed their famous visitors, "The reason the private terminal resembles your ‘Bunker’ is because it is a bunker. All of the buildings around here are bunkers. This brand new terminal is the only structure in the entire airport with any windows in it. Up until a few years ago, K.I. Sawyer was one of the most strategic air bases in the country…home to long-range B-52 bombers--and ground zero for World War III. There’s only four people here, because ‘Sawyer International’ has very limited air service and there are no arrivals or departures scheduled for hou-ours. And your plane could come down in Kathmandu--and there’d be people there who appreciate you! You have such a…passion for what you do. You pack so much energy and emotion into your music, that it gets passed on to us listeners. You guys always give your audiences your very best! And I’m not sure you realize how much we appreciate that! So...Thank you! Very much! For sharing your gifts of musical genius--your ‘celebration of li-ife’--with the rest of us!"


"And you can make that three out of four!" the security guard at the door called over.


"Four out of four!" her colleague quickly corrected.


Barry exchanged glances with his brothers again and noted that they appeared to be every bit as overwhelmed as he was. "Ye-es...We-ell...We assure you--it is ou-our pleasure. You see, we love what we do…I’m Barry," he cordially declared, and extended his right hand.


"Rosanne," the woman introduced, and gave the eldest Bee Gees’ proffered palm a heartfelt shake. "We love what you do, too-oo," she added with a grin.


Barry grinned, "We-ell, Rosanne, we are always happy--not to mention tremendously relieved--to hear that our listeners like--"


"--love," his brother Mo' corrected. "I’m Maurice," he announced and exchanged a grin and a handshake, as well.


"--lo-ove," Barry obligingly substituted, "what they hear."


"In short," Maurice’s twin summed up, with a broad smile and handshake of his own, "your appreciation is greatly appreciated. And I’m Robin."


"It’s nice to meet you guys!" Rosanne realized, making, perhaps, the greatest understatement of her enti-ire li-ife, "Welcome to the U.P.!"


"The yoopee?" Robin wondered in confusion.


The woman nodded, "The Upper Peninsula."


"Ah-ah, ye-es…" Robin acknowledged, nodding as well, "The U.P."


"This is my friend, Alana…"


Their famous visitors exchanged smiles and handshakes with Alana.

Barry then turned his attention to the middle-aged woman who came walking up, with a phone book in her hands and a frown on her face. "This rather attractive young lady is our secretary, Marj’ Griffith. That handsome fellow over there is our good friend--and terrific sound engineer--Mr. John Merchant. And these three distinguished-looking gentlemen are ou-our families’ answer to the age old question: What do you get the guys who’ve got everything? Ou-our very own personal bodyguards...Mr. Donald Glazier…Mr. Philip Ryder…and Mr. Paul Lewis…"


The two women at the windows exchanged smiles and nods with the rest of the Bee Gees’ entourage.


"Ou-our pilot, Rick Hallis, is off somewhere, securing us a hangar...and filing a ‘Bird Incident Report’ with the FAA people," Barry added, noting their heroic associate’s conspicuous absence.


"Speaking of your pilot," Rosanne suddenly spoke up, "is everyone all right?!"


"Yes, thank you. Just some bruised belly buttons, is all. We’re a bit shaken up, but no one needs to go to hospital," the eldest Gibb assured her.


"So fa-ar…" Maurice tacked on, and gave his older brother another concerned once over.


Which Barry pretended not to notice.


"What happened out there, anyways?" Alana asked in complete confusion.


Barry stared out the terminal windows for a few moments and then turned to their questioner, looking more than a bit confused, himself. "Were-en’t you watching?"


"Yeah," the little lady admitted, "But when it looked like you were all going to die-ie, we couldn’t watch anymore."


The Bee Gees appeared to find the ladies’ outlook on life most admirable…not to mention, refreshing.


"Well," Barry began, assuming his best lecture stance, "Rick’s ‘attitude’ was all wro-ong, so he decided to ‘skip’ the landing. That way, the gear absorbs the impact gradually, you see…"


The lecturer’s brothers glanced at each other and rolled their eyes.


Rosanne and Alana did not see, but refrained from further questioning.


"Any luck?" Barry inquired of the still frowning female with the now open phone book.


"I don’t know where any of these places are, or even if they’re any good!" Marj’ bemoaned. "Where on earth--in relation to G-wi-inn--is Mar-kwe-ette?!"


"Marquette--pronounced with a ‘k’ sound--is about 25 miles northeast of here," Rosanne obligingly informed her, "But, if I may make a suggestion…?"


"By all mea-eans!" Marj’ practically pleaded.


"If you don’t already have your hearts set on pizza, and if you’re willing to try something new…The U.P. is famous for its pasties--which consist of diced carrots, potatoes and onions baked in a light pastry crust. They come in chicken, ground beef or vegetarian, and you can get them with or without rutabagas. And, visitors brave enough to try them, are not disappointed," Rosanne reassured them.


"C’mon, people!" life’s celebrator urged, seeing the looks of uncertainty in his guests’ faces. "If we can survive a crash landing, I’m fairly certain something baked in a light pastry crust isn’t going to kill us…That’s the spirit!" he commended, as their shoulders sagged--one by one--in surrender. "How does one procure a pasty?" he inquired of the idea’s originator.


"There’s a restaurant about five miles from here. They don’t deliver, but we can phone in our orders and I can go pick them up."


"You’re sure it’s not too much bother?" the party’s planner pondered.


"It’s no bother at all," Rosanne assured him, "My car’s right outside and I know the way. I’ve eaten there before. They have goo-ood pasties…"


"It’s all settled then!" Barry determined, with a smile of deep satisfaction.


Marj’ passed the pasty procurer the open book and her cell phone.


Following Rosanne’s hearty recommendation, the diners summoned up even more courage, and decided to go with the rutabagas. Which was really bra-ave, considering that none of them even knew what a rutabaga was.


Rosanne finished placing their orders. She even managed to procure pasties for their missing pilot and the security guards. Then she handed the Bee Gees’ secretary back her phone and began taking her leave. "I’ll be back with lunch in twenty minutes."


"Don’t forget thi-is," the banquet’s benefactor insisted, pulling several crisp, new, one hundred dollar bills from his wallet and passing them on to the departing volunteer.

"My treat!" the woman called back and waved his very generous offer off.


"No, no, no. I can’t have you paying for my party," the eldest Gibb brother re-insisted. "I simply won’t hear of it."


"Well, then since we have sort of a joint celebration going on here," Rosanne diplomatically determined, "what d’yah say we split it, 50/50?"


Barry considered the compromise over for a few moments before--reluctantly--conceding. "All right. It’s a deal. It’s not a particularly good deal, but it’s a deal."


"Fi-ine! Thirteen pasties at three dollars a piece…with drinks...and tax…Your half comes to twenty-five bucks."


"That’s it?" the party’s co-host queried in disbelief.


"Yup!" the lady replied, "They’re tasty a-and economical."


"I’ll say!" Barry exclaimed, exchanging the larger bills in his hand for a twenty and a five. "You couldn’t feed thirteen people for fifty bucks back in Miami. If you wanted to walk around here, where would you go?" he inquired--out of the clear blue.


"That’s easy," Rosanne replied as she latched onto his share of their ‘lunch money’. "There’s a brand new highway right outside that is still closed to traffic. It’s paved and secluded--the perfect place to walk. C’mon, I’ll show you," she further volunteered.


Barry took the instrument--which was still strapped to his back--and handed it over to their sound engineer, with the request that he hang on to it--for safekeeping.


Then, the two--er, three of them began walking off again.


The rest of the new arrivals slowly began settling into their window seats.


Speaking of arrivals…


Robin opened the book in his lap. But something Rosanne had said earlier was intriguing him more than the plot of his mystery novel. So, he leaned forwards in his seat, to see around his brother, and addressed Alana, "May I ask you something?"


"Su-ure!" the blonde confidently came back.


"If there are no arrivals or departures scheduled for hou-ours…What are the two of you doing here? I mean, do you have a thi-ing for airport terminals where you just like to come here and hang out, or wha-at?"


Alana laughed, "We were supposed to meet our friend’s plane, but it never came in…well, actually, it turns out that it did come in…our friend just wasn’t on it. You see, her other plane was delayed--for five hou-ours…so she missed her connecting flight out of O’hare…And we live so far away, that--rather than driving all the way home and then having to come all the way back again--we decided to wait--right here--for the next plane from Chicago…which Marion will be on…hopefully."


Her questioner contemplated all that over for a few moments. "Thank you for clearing that up for me," he simply said, and resumed his reading.


"Was your friend flying in from the West Coast?" the Bee Gee seated beside her inquired, sliding his brand new, state-of-the-art, digital camera from its sleak, black, leather case. "Then I can tell you why her plane was delayed," he went on when the lady nodded. "Rick said that a series of storm cells across the Great Plains had air traffic pretty much stalled west of the Rockies. So, he changed our flight plan to a more northerly route…and flew us around all the bad weather. Although, now that I think of it," he paused, as his twin--in anticipation of what was to come--suddenly grimaced and groaned alou-oud, "we di-id hit just a bit of fo-owl weather…" he stubbornly finished, and then quickly changed the subject. "We just got back from a whirlwind promotional tour for the new album. Would you care to see some of the digital pictures I took?"


"I wou-ould!" Alana enthusiastically replied.


"Goo-ood! Could I borrow your laptop? It’s so much easier to view these things on a larger screen…"


"I’m sure Rosanne wouldn’t mind," the little lady determined, and passed the device on to the famous photographer. "Especially, if you were to leave her some of your pictures…"


Maurice was in the process of plugging his camera into the computer, when he had to pause to answer his ‘beeping’ cell phone. "It’s Barry…" he announced, noting the number on his caller i.d.. "Ye-es?…That was fast…No-o…Because it has a wing span of over 60 feet…It matters because it won’t fit in ou-our hangar…We could probably get a bigger hangar, all right. But, then, we’d have to move to a different airport…Because there are no more available hangars at Miami-Dade…I kno-ow. Neither do we. You’ll just have to tell him to keep looking…All right…That’s nice," he turned to his twin, "He says he’s having a wonderful walk."


"I’m...happy for him," Robin stated, not sounding too sincere, and kept his attention centered on his book.


"Rob says he’s happy for you...Ye-es. We’re both delighted…Carry on, then. And, don’t go getting lost--just because you ca-an," he teased and quickly terminated their conversation. And, speaking of getting lost…Maurice stowed his cell phone away and then sat there, staring down at the tangle of electrical cords in his lap. "No-ow…where were we?" he wondered, sounding most sincere.


***********************************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART FIVE

The hiker--and his shadow--made it back to the boarding area in just under twenty minutes. They had apparently discovered the airport gift shop on their return route, for Barry had three, large, stuffed, cute and cuddly critters with him. The contents of his arms--and coat pockets--were placed onto the security check point's conveyor belt. He tossed his sunglasses, his watch and jewelry and the contents of his pants' pockets--some loose change and a set of keys--into a metal tray. The walker then walked through the metal detector--no sweat! Barry snatched up the glasses, watch, jewelry, coins and keys and then stepped over to the other end of the conveyor belt to retrieve the rest of his belongings--which had also passed through the x-ray screening--no problem!


Unfortunately, things did not go as smoothly for Mr. Glazier. When the Bee Gee's bodyguard flashed his security badge, and announced that he was carrying a loaded gun--in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket--the two boarding guards immediately radioed for reinforcements.


The head of airport security arrived on the run--and in under a minute--with two more guards and a sheriff's deputy!


The center of all their attention exhaled a resigned sigh and obligingly began supplying the security people with everything from his concealed weapons permit to his passport.


Rosanne returned just then, carting a box filled with some incredibly delicious smelling food--and beverages. Curious as to the cause of all the commotion, she calmly inquired of her co-host, "What's goin' on?"


"They've discovered that Donny, here, is packing heat," Barry replied, failing miserably to hide his amusement, "and now they're checking to see that his credentials are all in proper order."


His personal protector flashed him back a look which said that he did not see the humor in his current…situation.


But his boss' smile only broadened.


"All right. You can go through," the head of airport security finally determined.


And Donny exhaled another sigh--this one of relief.


"What happens when people start showing up to see our famous visitors?" the sheriff's deputy wondered. "We could have ourselves a rea-eal mess here…"


The boss lady considered his comments over carefully and apparently came to the same conclusion because she turned to the original two guards and sternly ordered that, "Only ticketed passengers are to enter the boarding area from here out."

(Can you tell this was written before 9/11? This is the way it is all the time no-ow.)


"She's with us…" Barry announced, as all eyes suddenly riveted on Rosanne. "It's true. She had to pop out to pick up ou-our pasties," the eldest Gibb went on to explain, seeing the deputy's look of deep skepticism.


The boarding guards shot their supervisor questioning glances.


The head of airport security found the thought of The Bee Gees eating pasties most amusing, and she nodded for the boarding guards to allow the lunch lady through. "But she's the last. Understood? I don't care if Elvis, himself, shows up here! If he doesn't have a ticket, he doesn't get through!"


The boarding guards suppressed grins and nodded their willingness to comply with her order.


The boss lady began taking her leave, but then remembered something and turned back to Barry, "By the way, I lo-ove the new album!"


"Thank you!" the famous trio's eldest member acknowledged, and flashed their fifth fan a grateful smile, "And thanks for letting us stay here. We're shopping for a new plane. If all goes well, we should be out of your hair shortly."


"Take your time!" their actual host advised, with a broad smile of her own. And then, she and her rescue party departed--almost as quickly as they had appeared.


"That was clo-ose…" Barry realized, and exchanged wry grins with his guests.


And, speaking of orders…


Rosanne gave the guards theirs'. Then she picked her lunch box up from the end of the conveyor belt and accompanied Barry and his bodyguard back over to the remainder of their party…where she continued to dispense their procured provisions.


"Look what I found," the walker exclaimed, and held up an enormous stuffed bird with incredibly long legs and an equally lengthy beak. "You'll never guess what it's supposed to be…" he insincerely added.


"A Sandhill Cra-ane!" his fellow travelers replied--in unison.


"Exactly! It's for Rick. The moose is Ali's. And, of course, Linda gets the wolf…" he announced, and set the animals in his arms down--one by one--on the window ledge.


"His wife loves dogs," Maurice explained--for Alana's benefit.


Barry turned to his bearded brother and curiously inquired, "Have you heard anything more from Geo-eorge?"


Maurice nodded, "He's got a line on a brand new Lear 60--in Minneapolis, of all places. That's only a few hundred miles away--as the jet flies. It's the right size…the right price…and they can have it here in four hou-ours."


"Four hou-ours!" his big brother repeated, going from delighted to dismayed. "Why so long, if Minneapolis is so close?"


"They claim they have to find a pilot…fuel up…file a flight plan, etc. etc.. I told him that--if it could be here in two hou-ours--we'd take it," he stopped speaking to respond to the incessant 'beeping' of his cell phone. "This could be good news…" he realized, following a quick glance at his caller i.d.. "Plea-ease say that you have good news for us, George…" he pleaded into his phone's mouthpiece, "It'll be close, but they claim it's do-able!" he relayed--rather relievedly--on to his business associates.


And the brothers again exchanged thoughtful glances.


"So-old!" Maurice said, following a silent consensus with his fellow Bee Gees.


"Which reminds me…" Barry muttered to himself, and pulled a small roll of paper from his coat pocket. "Thi-is is for the new pla-ane…" he declared--with a broad, devious grin. Then he held the little scroll up and uncurled and unfurled it--for all to read. It was a bumper sticker, and it sai-aid: "Say yah ta da U.P., hey!"


Several members of his rather mystified audience were quick to point out that planes do not have bumpers.


Undeterred, the sticker's purchaser simply replied, "Then I shall paste it upon the cockpit door!"


Robin stared disgustedly up at his brother's little banner. "It should read: 'THIS PLACE IS FOR THE BIRDS!'" he corrected, sounding a bit bitter.


"Actually, we were flying over northeastern Wisconsin when the birds hit us," Rick informed them, as he came strolling up. "And, what is that incredible smell?"


"Lunch," Rosanne replied and passed their no longer missing pilot his pasty and a drink.


"I found you a co-pilot…" Barry teased and pointed to his present--setting there on the window ledge.


"Thanks," Rick told the lady who had handed him his lunch. "And thank you-ou--for your little momento," he added, and exchanged grins with his eldest boss. Then he took a seat on the ledge beside his crane and continued, "I'm afraid you may have the wrong bird, though. The FAA folks claim that--at that altitude--it was probably turkey vultures."


His passengers paused in their pasty devouring to exchange amazed, amused glances.


Rosanne passed Barry his lunch.


He flashed her a grateful grin and then set his drink--and himself--down on the ledge beside their pilot. "We just bought a 2001 Lear 60." Barry glanced around and noted that everyone was eating their pasties right out of the paper sacks they came in. He opened the little white bag in his hands, "It should be arriving in a couple of hours, and--when it gets here--we would appreciate it if you would fly us on to New York…If you feel up to it, that is…" he added, before bravely taking a big bite of the U.P. Specialty. "This is fantastic!" he quickly determined, and turned to his co-host, looking pleasantly surprised.


His equally courageous companions unanimously concurred.


Rosanne was happy--not to mention tremendously relieved--to hear that their visitors liked--er, loved their lunch.


Their pilot's face had lit up at the very prospect of flying the brand new, multi-million dollar--state-of-the-art--aircraft. "I gotta have the greatest job in the world…" he muttered, half to himself.


"Goo-ood!" his eldest boss exclaimed, "We'll take that as a ye-es."


"I'll get a couple a' guys to off-load the old plane while I file a new flight plan…" Rick continued muttering, under his breath. "About the new plane…I'm gonna need some more detailed information for the FAC…"


"We'll get a hold of George again--right after lunch," Barry said, upon seeing that Maurice had already concluded his conversation with the man with all the needed details.


Speaking of needed details...


David's very vague fax had left much to be desired. He needed a song. Yes...But, what kind of song? For what purpose?


Barry set his scrumptious lunch down on the ledge and dug his satellite cell back out. The frustrated songwriter tried--and failed, for the umpteenth time--to reach their mysterious friend. "David, call me! A.S.A.P.!" he requested, before disconnecting to punch in another number from his speed dial. "Carolyn, Barry here. What's up with David? I've been trying to reach him all day. Doesn't he ever check his voice mail?!...O-Off?! How odd!...I see...But, you're certain he's all right?..." David's very worried friend exhaled an audible sigh of relief. "Yes...Thanks. And, if you should happen to hear from him again, tell him to turn his bloody phone back o-on!" The still frustrated songwriter replaced his cell and retrieved his lunch. 'What was up with David?' he silently wondered.


********************************************************


What was up with David, indeed!


Turns out, their friend's mysterious behavior was the result of a chance encounter in a hotel elevator, earlier that very morning.


David had flown in to New York to attend the UN banquet, honoring The BEEGEES with a Humanitarian Award, for all of their fund-raising efforts--in behalf of UNICEF. Of course, the boys weren't interested in public accolades. However, they had agreed to accept the award because, to quote the United Nations High Commissioner For Refugees, "... any media coverage of the event might serve to promote public awareness to the plight of refugee children and their families." (Not to mention that, at over a thousand dollars a plate, and, with almost a thousand seats available--and, sold out--the banquet, itself, would add--considerably--to the coffers of this most worthwhile of charitable causes.)


At any rate, David was in the lift--descending to his hotel's lobby--when he was joined, on the twenty-seventh floor, by a family of four: two teenage girls, accompanied by their parents.


The younger of the two girls was listening to some music on her Walkman. Without even realizing it, she began singing along--rather loudly--to the CD's current song. "...Caught up in sorrow...lost in my soul...But if you don't come back...come home to me, darlin’...Don't you know there's nobody left in this world to hold me tight...Don't cha know there's nobody left in this world to kiss goodnight...goodnight...goodnight..."


David immediately recognized both the catchy tune and the slightly tweaked lyrics...and smiled.


Apparently, he wasn't the only one familiar with the melody, because the girl’s father suddenly inquired, "What’s that you’re listening to, Erica?"


"My new 'Destiny's Child' CD. Why?"


"I know that song!"


"I don't think so, Dad," Erica quickly came back and exchanged amused glances with her older sister.


"‘Survivor’ only came out yesterday," his eldest daughter announced.


"That may be, Tanya. But, I distinctly remember--when I first got my driver's license--I can remember cruising around town with my friends, listening to that song playing on the radio."


The girls giggled outright. "That’s not possible, Dad!" Tanya determined.


"Yeah," Erica joined in, "'Destiny's Child' ain't that old of a group!"


"Isn't," mom corrected her once again giggling girls.


"Your dad's right," David declared, coming to the poor outnumbered man's defense. "The BEEGEES wrote that song waaaaay back in 1978."


"Are you sure?" papa pondered. "Because, I seem to recall a woman singing it..."


"Samantha Sang recorded three BEEGEES' songs on an album. Their title song, 'Emotion', was released as a single and quickly rose to the top of the charts. 'Destiny's Child' just recorded a cover version of their fabulous song, for their ‘Survivor’ CD."


They reached the lobby. And, the whole incident might have ended right then and there--if the now amazed girls’ mother hadn't issued the following statement...using the past tense.


"I remember The BEEGEES," the woman fondly admitted, just as they were all exiting the elevator. Then, she added, for her daughters' benefit, "Now, they were a great group! If you listened to music like that, I wouldn't complain so much about the volume."


"Actually, The BEEGEES are still going strong. They've never stopped writing...and recording chart topping tunes," David informed their former fan.


"Really? They just sort of dropped out of sight. I haven't heard anything from them in decades! I just assumed the group had dissolved."


"Yes...well...The BEEGEES were unfairly targeted during the big disco backlash...toward the end of the seventies. They were actually black-listed by American dee-jays. To this very day, many American radio stations refuse to give their remarkable music any airplay. The BEEGEES have just released their 32nd studio album, ‘This Is Where I Came In'. The new songs are fantastic! I'm sure that--given a chance--one or more of them would make it into the Top Ten. But, you'll have to go out and buy the CD, if you want listen to them. Because, I'm afraid you'll never hear any of them on the radio. "


"Thirty-two albums?! That is remarkable! And...It's funny you should mention radio stations," the woman went on. "You see...my husband, here, collects them. In fact, that's why we've come to New York. Richard is about to add another station to his ever-growing collection. What is this? Number 384? "


"387."


"Really?" David turned to the radio station collector and extended his hand, "David English."


"Richard Jameson," the woman's husband introduced, and gave the Englishman's proffered palm a firm shake.


"Mr. Jameson--"


"--Rich’."


"Rich’, perhaps I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime...? I have a little business proposition I'd like to discuss with you."


"Why don't the three of you go on," Richard told the three now-fidgeting females. "And, when you've finished shopping, we'll all meet back here for lunch...or--more likely--dinner."


His wife gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "First stop is going to be a music store," the former BEEGEES' fan informed her daughters. "I have some major catching up to do!"


******************************************************


"Let me see if I've got this straight," Richard Jameson said, following his fourth cup of coffee, "I play their song on my radio stations--for a month. If it reaches number one on the charts, you don't owe me a dime. If it doesn't make number one, you will pay for all the airtime?"


Those were the agreed upon terms of the bet--er, business proposal. So, David flashed him a smile of deep satisfaction and nodded.


"You realize we must be talking close to a million bucks..."


David managed another confident smile and nod.


Richard shook his head, in absolute amazement. "You really think The BEEGEES can write a number one song--in the time it takes them to fly from Los Angeles to New York?!"


"I don't think they can do it," David calmly corrected, "I know they can do it!"


Mr. Jameson, being the shrewd businessman that he was, realized it was a sound wager--er, proposal. So, Rich’ proffered his palm, this time, and the two gentlemen sealed the deal with yet another firm, hearty handshake.


David was delighted! As far as he was concerned, their friendly little wager was a win/win proposition. Either way, he would get to hear The BEEGEES back on the radio--where they belonged! Besides, Mr. English knew something that Mr. Jameson didn't know: Barry, Robin and Maurice always give their best to their friends. And, with that little realization, their friend's confident smile broadened into a confident grin.


***************************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART SIX


Fast-forwarding again to Sawyer International Airport...


Rosanne assumed her seat and wondered, in a whisper, "Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"


"I got to go on a photographic whirlwind, world-wide promotional tour with The BEEGEES!!!" Alana whispered back, with a broad grin. "That was pretty darn interesting."


"Ah-ah...Not fair!!! Not fair!!!" her BEE GEE buddy bemoaned, still speaking beneath her breath.


"Fair! Fair!" the blonde corrected. "Maurice downloaded all of his incredible pictures onto your laptop. And, he hasn't deleted any of them...yet."


Her forlorn friend's face suddenly lit up, at the very prospect of being able to view the fab' photos--firsthand.


"I've tasted rutabagas before," Robin suddenly determined. "Only, in England, we refer to them as 'swedes'. We have a dish like this, as well. In fact, the pasty originated in Great Britain...Cornwall, I believe."


"I've heard that, too," Rosanne confessed. "The Cornish immigrants brought the pasty over with them, when they came to work in the U.P.'s iron and copper mines."


"Speaking of the U.P.," Robin continued, and directed his gaze towards Barry. "Does our new plane's cockpit door sticker come with a translation?"


"The girl at the gift shop just said it was one of their hottest selling souvenirs," big brother replied, with a shrug. "Is was a toss up--between that...and a button, which said: 'Holy Wha!'"


The four U.P. natives exchanged highly amused glances with their guests.


"'Holy Wha!' is a Yooperism," Rosanne helpfully explained. "It's sort of a cross between 'Holy Cow!' and 'What the hell?!', hey?"


Alana nodded, and then joined in taking a light-hearted jab at U.P. Jargon. "Yah. Der's no doubt about it. Us Yoopers have our own unique way a' talkin', hey?"


"Imagine..." Robin mused, "If the three of us had been born Yoopers, instead of Limeys...'I've Gotta Get A Message Ta You, Hey!'"


Maurice considered his twin's comment over for a moment, and then added, "‘Too Much Heaven, Hey!'"


"'Holy Wha! Tragedy'," Barry quickly contributed.


The three of them glanced at one another.


"Na-ah..." the songwriters simultaneously determined.


Then, the Limeys and the Yoopers exchanged grins again.


Rosanne suddenly leaned forwards in her seat. "Remember when you were online a few weeks back?"


Maurice nodded.


"Well, we got to chat with you...sort of."


"Really? What was your question?"


"We had sent in over 20 questions. But, the one they picked to pass on to you was asking about all the really neat sound effects on your songs...like the phone ringing on 'Alone'...and the bat wings flapping on 'Haunted House'."


"Oh-oh...Ri-ight! I remember that one. Was my answer satisfactory?"


The questioner smiled and nodded. "I always have my headset on, listening to your music...the whole time I'm on my computer. You would not believe how many times I reached over and picked up my phone, before it finally dawned on me that the 'ringing' must be coming from your 'Still Waters' CD! Sure enough! There it was: 'Well, since I --'riiiing'--got no message on your answer phone."


"Do you ladies have a favorite song, or album?"


"I love 'One Night Only'," Alana announced, "And, she loves 'E*S*P'."


"I'll never forget the first time I heard 'E*S*P'," her companion confessed. "It was just like your lyrics said: It took my breath away...my breath away. Bu-ut, my favorite BEEGEES' song is...whatever one I happen to be listening to at the moment," she finished, with a wry grin. "You guys do such a masterful job of crafting your music! Beginning with your incredible lyrics and awesome melodies...and continuing right on down to the minutest of details--like 'ringing' phones and 'flapping' bat wings. I tell yah...it's positively impossible to pick out a particular song when all of your music blows me completely away!"


The BEEGEES flashed their most avid of fans appreciate smiles.

"You're too kind," the talented trio replied--in unison.


"The three of us--being perfectionists--are ou-our toughest critics," Maurice continued. "If something doesn't blow us away, it doesn't get released."


"Speaking of your music not being released," Alana began, and got elbowed by her seatmate, for her effort. The blonde ignored her friend's frantic requests to 'shhhush!' and continued, "Rosanne is trying to collect your music. She's been looking for some of your songs for years, now! She is soooooo bummed because she's dying to hear those songs! I mean, she is really miffed! Because, she can't buy them anywhere! At least, not legally..."


"Alana thinks you guys are pretty great," her BEE GEES' buddy retaliated. "But, she says you guys could be even greater, if you would write a song about a girl named...Alana."


"Uh-oh..." Robin amusedly declared, "There seems to be some dissension in ou-our ranks."


"We're interested in producing music," Maurice admitted, "Just not in that fashion. We leave the actual production of our records up to the record companies with their CD factories."


"You don't need a record company with a factory full of equipment to produce your CDs," Rosanne assured him. "The people selling bootleg copies of your songs don't have factories. All it takes is a post office box and a CD burner. And, if you wanted to avoid all the legal hassles and income taxes and lawyers, you could always arrange for the profits from any authorized sale of your songs to go to your favorite charities..."


"That's an interesting thought," Maurice confessed. "But, for now, we prefer to put all of our time and energy into singing and songwriting," he patiently summed up.


Speaking of energy...and writing songs...


Barry set his empty lunch sack down on the ledge and took one last, long swallow from his ice cold bottle of Evian. His blood sugar level was back to normal, and he was ready to roll--er, rock and roll. "I need some opposites..." the songwriter nonchalantly announced, and stepped up to their sound engineer to swap his tape recorder...for his acoustic guitar. The musician tossed the strap over his head and then began strumming--and adjusting--the instrument's strings.


Rosanne and Alana glanced at each other and grinned, in eager anticipation of what was hopefully to come--following all that fine tuning.


"Day and night. Black and white," Maurice offered.


"Fire and ice," Robin volunteered.


Big brother flashed them both a grateful smile, "Very nice!" Then, he nodded in Mr. Merchant's direction.


John thumbed the 'record' button, and Barry went into action.


Following an incredibly upbeat intro, the guitar player launched into some hastily improvised lyrics:

"Baby, it's a well-known fact

Opposites attract

And the two of us collided heart on

We were worlds apart

Da da da da da da da," he began scatting, when he ran short of words.

"But then, the two of us collided heart on

Heart o-on...heart o-on...heart ah ah ah ah ah ah ah...heart on."

As he sang, his right heel tapped out the song's upbeat tempo.

Following another lengthy guitar solo, the singer launched into the song's chorus:

"We were black and white

We were day and night

We were fire and ice

We really paid the price

When the two of us collided heart on

Heart o-on...heart o-on...heart ah ah ah ah ah ah...heart on--"

Barry stopped, suddenly, and stared up at the terminal's ceiling--in amazement. "This place has some killer acoustics!"


Speaking of amazement...and being blown completely away...


It's a good thing the two girls were sitting down, because Barry's brilliant impromptu performance would have bowled them right over!


"Whe-ere did that come from?" Maurice wondered.


"Ye-es," Robin added, "That's not the melody you were strumming on the plane."


"I told you that I was having a wonderful walk," their big brother calmly reminded them. "The idea came to me, as I was walking down the center of this brand new highway."


"He was inspired by a virgin highway," Robin painstakingly pointed out.


His light-hearted comment prompted a round of chuckles.


"'Virgin Highway'..." Maurice repeated. "That would make a really great song title!"

There followed another round of laughter.


"'Virgin Highway' is certainly more attention grabbing," Barry conceded, with a grin. "But, 'Heart On' has more actual relevance to the song."


Robin looked somewhat astonished. "'Heart On'?! Sounds like 'Hard On'. Talk about attention grabbing--" The rest of his comment was drowned out, as the partyers found themselves--once again--convulsed with laughter.


"Be that as it may," Barry began, when he'd regained some semblance of composure. "'Heart On' is the whole point of the song. Which, ideally, should be sung as a duet. Because, it's really about two very tough individuals, who face everything in life 'head on'. Except, of course, when it comes to love. They learn--too late--that, where emotion is involved, their hearts have the ability to override their brains."


Robin looked even more astonished. "And, you managed to come up with this whole concept--complete with melody--while taking a ten minute walk on your virgin highway?"


Barry nodded."There's nothing quite like a near death experience, to get the old creative juices flowing!"


Anxious to contribute to the creative process, Maurice immediately began making suggestions. "Since the whole song seems to be about opposites, why not have the 'heart on' s in the chorus alternate? You could have one ascending: heart o-on and, the next descending: heart o-on ."


"Oh...Yeah..." Barry quickly determined, "That works!"


Robin procurred pen and paper from their secretary and began recording the lyrics.


The Brothers Gibb spent the next ten minutes or so, working skillfully away at crafting their new song--er, David's new song.


Rosanne quietly commented to Alana that it reminded her of the 'Middle Ear' segment on their 'Keppel Road' video. It was soooooo incredibly cool--and such an honor--to be able to witness the actual birth of a BEEGEES' song!!!


"Sorry to interrupt you," one of the airport security gals sincerely, and suddenly, said. "But, there are some reporters...and, a TV camera crew here. They want to know if you guys would be willing to grant them some interviews..."


The BEEGEES glanced thoughtfully at one another.


"Sorry," Barry said, giving voice to the group's unspoken descision. "No cameras. No interviews. No publicity. People might get the misguided notion that this was all just some silly stunt to promote the new album," he solemnly explained.


Donny, Philip and Paul quickly moved into position.


Barry assumed the vacated seat beside Robin and the three celebrities sat there, facing the airfield.


The BEEGEES' bodyguards stood behind them, shoulder to shoulder, facing the lobby and the closed glass entrance doors to the boarding area. Their brawny bodies effectively shielded the three seated songwriters from the reporters...and their cameras' prying lenses.


"Let's finish the song on the plane," Robin suggested. "It'll be nice to have something to take our minds off of flying..."


"I'm just going to step outside," Maurice suddenly announced. "For some dessert," he added, patting the pack of cigarettes in his front coat pocket.


"Take your camera with and get some pictures of the private terminal, while you're at it," his twin suggested. "I think the guys back in Miami might find them...interesting."


Maurice unplugged his camera from the laptop and began taking his leave. "To say the least. Here..." Mo’ paused, to pass their pilot his satellite cell. "You should probably keep this with you, for now. If you use the speed dial, Barry’s *4, Robin’s *5 and George--the person with all the plane info--is *8."


"Thanks!"


The phone’s owner--and his bodyguard, Philip--began heading for the exit again. But then, something suddenly occurred to the musician, and he called back over his shoulder, "Oh...And, when the new plane gets here, could you see to it that a crate marked ‘MOBY JR.’ gets placed in the passenger compartment?" (The case contained the songwriter’s portable keyboard. Which he would be needing later on...in flight.)


"It’ll be stowed topside, sir!" Rick assured him.


Maurice flashed the obliging fellow a grateful grin--and was gone.


*****************************************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART SEVEN

Just before departing, himself, the new plane’s Captain snatched up his gangly-legged co-pilot and then happily informed his human cargo, "Great Lakes Air has kindly offered us the use of their boarding space--right out front, here. So, just sit tight...and...I should be back--shortly--to pick yous all up."

The stranded passengers appeared both pleased and relieved to hear that little announcement.

Hallis flapped the comical-looking crane’s furry wing ‘Bye-Bye’ a few times, and then left--to formulate and file a new flight plan.

"That man deserves a medal for bravery," Barry quickly determined. "It takes a great deal of courage to go traipsing around a public airport terminal...with an absurd fuzzy bird protruding from your armpit."

"You ought to know," Robin replied, recalling his brother’s return from the gift shop.

"Ahhh...Yes. But, when I did it, there wasn’t anybody about," the crane’s purchaser reminded his younger brother with a grin and turned in his seat, to peer around his snickering bodyguard’s back. His own highly amused look vanished. The cameramen were still standing there...along with the television news crew. ‘Captain Olander’s wife may not have found it so difficult to believe her husband, after all...’ he mused.

Rosanne glanced over her shoulder and stared back--in amazement--at all the people who were staring at them. "Wow!" she exclaimed, "I’ve never seen so many reporters all in one place before!"

"Those people can’t all be ‘reporters’," Alana concluded, following a quick glance of her own.

"They must all be reporters," Rosanne reasoned. "The U.P. doesn’t have any paparazzi."

The Gibb Brothers exchanged amused glances--briefly.

The celebrities seats faced west. Which meant that--with his back no longer to the windows--Barry’s sensitive eyes were now exposed to the full onslaught of an early-afternoon sun. The squinting songwriter exhaled a sigh--of sheer frustration--and then redonned his shades, to lessen the glare.

Barry breathed another audible sigh--of sheer boredom--and squirmed restlessly in his assumed seat...which neither rocked nor rolled. There was no way he was ever going to be able to just sit there. The news peoples’ appearance had put a real damper on their creative flow, leaving the new song’s composers with a lot of pent up creative energy. He needed to find an outlet for all that energy. He needed something to do! "I could go for another walk right now, meself," he realized--aloud.

"You should put a treadmill on your new plane," Alana helpfully suggested. "That way, you could walk around the world."

"That’s not a bad idea," Barry admitted and turned to their secretary. "Make a note to have someone check into the feasibility of it."

Marj’ nodded and duly noted.

Her boss swung back around in his seat and suddenly caught sight of their fans’ cassette case. The BEE GEE nudged his younger brother and pointed to the black object, setting there on the floor beside them. "They think we ROCK!!!" he whispered--with a grin.

Robin gazed down at the cloth applique`s that had been glued to the nylon case’s cover. There was a bright yellow and black embroidered bee...some equally colorful GGG s...and a large, lumpy grey cut-out object--followed by no fewer than three exclamation marks !!!. He studied the symbols for a few moments and then whispered back, "Depends on the age of the thing. The case could be from the late sixties, or early seventies..."

The implications of the younger BEE GEE’s quiet comments caused his older brother to crack up.

Barry would never again be able to gaze upon the object--without seeing "BEE GEES STONED!!!" symbolically pasted across its cover. He quickly regained his composure, and then, curious as to the case’s contents, he queried, "May we?"

"Of course!" Rosanne replied and passed them the tapes.

Barry still had his instrument in his lap, so Robin opened the case in his.

"Since record players aren’t portable," their fan informed them, "I put all of your vinyl LP’s onto cassette tapes."

The Gibb Brothers stared down at the case’s contents. Inside were dozens of 110 minute audio cassette tapes.

"Wow! That’s a lot of music!" Barry exclaimed, and exchanged glances with his equally amazed brother. The eldest BEE GEE then leaned forwards in his seat, to address the music transferer. "I assume you must be here to meet someone’s plane. Exactly how lo-ong were you expecting to have to wait?"

"That’s nothin’!" Alana responded, seeing as how her companion was laughing too hard to reply. "She has hundreds more of your tapes, at home. Plus, there’s about a dozen of your CDs in her computer case."

"You can’t hang around an airport for hours and hours and hours without having something to do," Rosanne finally declared, in her defense. "You could become terminal’y ill," she added, with a wry smile.

"She carries that case everywhere she goes!" her companion announced.

"And--as long as the AA batteries hold out--I’m never bored!"

The Brothers Gibb exchanged grins, themselves--and then continued their inspection of the case’s contents. The tapes bore labels like:

"The BEEGEES Down Under (Early to Mid ‘60s)"

"The BEEGEES 1965-1972 28 Super Hits On The SOFTER SIDE"

"The BEEGEES 1972-1975 The SOFTER SIDE II"

There were ‘SOFTER SIDE’ s III-VI, covering the eighties and nineties.

As well as an entire I-VI series of tapes titled "The BEEGEES ROCK!!!" and "The BEEGEES Sing The Blues".

With the exception of a tape titled "Samantha Sang, Olivia Newton John, Barbara Streisand, Kenny Rogers, Dionne Warwick and Diana Ross IN THE KEY OF B&G", all of the songs were performed by The BEEGEES.

Barry exchanged amazed glances with his fellow BEE GEE--again...and again leaned forwards in his seat--to address the music transferer. "Surely you must listen to other artists, as well...other styles of music..." he stated, hopefully.

"I could," Rosanne confessed, "I have tons of other music! Sometimes, I’ll even play some of it. But then, I always end up asking myself, ‘Why am I listening to this? When I could be listening to The BEEGEES?’ I don’t know...I guess the quality of your incredible songs must have me spoiled, or something. Because, after hearing your music, I just don’t care to listen to any other artists. As far as other styles go...You guys have five decades worth of an endless variety of Soft Rock, Blue-eyed Soul, Pop Rock, Rock&Roll--or whatever you’d call them--songs. And, if I wanted to listen to Country, I could play your country-flavored music. You even have a few Classical numbers, like ‘Seven Seas Symphony’, ‘The British Opera’, and ‘With All Nations (International Anthem)’. You guys have it all!!! And, that’s why I call you ‘The Men For All Seasons With The Music For All Moods’."

‘The Men For All Seasons With The Music For All Moods’ exchanged amazed glances--for a third time.

Robin closed the cassette case. As he leaned over to set it back on the floor, the novel fell from his lap.

"Good book?" Alana wondered, retrieving the tome and passing it back to its reader.

"Not really," Robin confessed, with a grateful smile. "However, I’ve decided to give it a few more chapters before chucking it....simply because I love the period in history that’s covered in the story-line."

His big brother--who didn’t have any historical novels, interesting or otherwise, to entertain his thoughts--exhaled another sigh of extreme boredom, and began drumming his fingers on his guitar.

"Finger tapping must be one of the first symptoms of terminal illness," Robin hinted.

"Sorry..." the musician said and immediately ceased his drumming. Barry bent forwards in his seat again, to see around his bugged brother. "Great ‘play on words’, by the way."

"Thanks," Rosanne replied. "Puns are fun. So are limericks."

"We know a lot of limericks--" Barry began.

"--Unfortunately," his younger brother quickly cut in, "none that can be repeated in polite company..."

Robin’s timely little reminder caused his older brother’s wry grin to vanish. "Oh...quite right...quite right."

Their polite company just sat there, looking highly amused.

Maurice returned from his cigarette break/photo safari just then.

"Did you get some good shots of the Yooper Bunker?" his twin wondered.

"I believe so. But, I’ll just pop them on the computer and let you be the judge," the photo snapper suggested.

Before plugging his camera back into the laptop, however, Maurice took the time to document their little ‘Life Celebration’...taking tons of terminal pictures. He even had Marj’ photograph them--with their party guests.

Finally, the photographer assumed his vacated window seat and his bodyguard resumed his protective position. The cameraman then downloaded his latest digital images onto the DELL Latitude and clicked on the ‘slide show’. "That is the most appropriately named city of Singapore," Maurice narrated, as his photos flashed upon the screen, "Where we sang while it poured!...That’s Tokyo...where a typhoon kept the airport closed--for two da-ays!...Flooding the city’s streets...knocking out power...and leaving us stranded in our hotel rooms--with nothing to do!...So, we all gathered in Barry’s suite for ‘Talent Night’...I performed a few new feats of prestidigitation...Rob’ did his ‘Medieval Rapper’ routine...and Barry played a nervous Diva on opening night at the opera..."

His audience laughed delightedly at the amusing images and memories.

"Notice the clever concealment of facial hair," the nervous Diva proudly pointed out, with reference to the ornately-decorated Japanese fan in front of her--er, his face.

More snickers ensued.

"So-o...Who won?" Alana amusedly inquired.

"Donny did his impersonation of ‘Barry In A Bad Mood’," Robin replied, "and brought down the house."

The memory ellicited even more giggling.

"He only won because he bought off the judge!" Barry bitterly responded, and the chuckling escalated.

"You-ou were the judge!" Robin reminded him.

"Ye-es. And, I was bought off!" his big brother blatantly admitted.

The partyers were once again convulsed with laughter.

"Tsk...tsk..." Maurice’s twin sadly continued. "Talent should never be determined by the number of Gummi Bears one possesses."

"The judge has a weakness for Gummi Bears," Maurice explained, for the benefit of their guests.

"I’m particularly fond of the red ones," Barry shamelessly added. Then, he turned to Robin and asked--semi-seriously, "Do you really think the music world is ready for ‘Medieval Rappers’?"

"The music world will never be ready for them," Robin teased right back. "They’re coming anyway...bearing Gummi Bears...large quantities of red ones."

"That’s us finally boarding the Universal plane, to head back to the States," Maurice continued narrating, once the latest round of laughter had subsided. "It wasn’t as posh as the 55 seat Boeing 707 we once leased for our ‘Spirits’ tour. But, it was quite comfortable...There we are...switching planes at LAX. Universal flew the rest of the band home, to Miami...well, except for Matt, who wanted to stay and visit some friends...and John, who’s on his way to his niece’s wedding, in Rhode Island..."

(The original plan had called for all of them to be back home in Miami--48 hours ago--already! But, ‘This Is Where I Came In’’s release date had been bumped back--four months. That, coupled with an airport closing typhoon, had led to the current conflict between fullfilling contractural promotional obligations and assisting the UN High Commissioner For Refugees with their award banquet fundraiser thingy.)

"That’s what our old plane looked like, before it became all charred and bloodied up...That’s a view of The Rockies, from eight and a half miles up...Okay. Here’s the Yooper Bunker...The architectural blueprints had to have been identical," Maurice surmised, as the building appeared on the computer’s LCD display, "Because, it really is an exact copy of our Miami Bunker. Even the overhang above the entrance is the same!"

His siblings gazed at the series of faux ‘Bunker’ shots in absolute amazement.

"Did you venture indoors, at all?" Barry nervously inquired.

"I managed to take a quick peek," the cameraman confessed and continued with his little slide show. "You’ll be relieved to hear there’s not a spiral staircase in the place!...As you can see, the layout of the Yooper Bunker’s Interior is totally different from ou-ours...Several lounges occupy the ground floor...Upstairs are three or four offices for the various private airlines, operating out of the terminal..."

"No-ow what?" Barry glumly wondered, as the last of Maurice’s distracting documentary photos flashed across the computer’s screen.

No one else said anything. So, Rosanne helpfully--and hopefully--suggested, "We could play ‘Stump The Band’..."

The three band members glanced thoughtfully at one another.

"Obviously not a game with a high degree of difficulty," Robin quipped and succeeded in cracking his brothers--and everybody else--up, yet again.

"I recently catalogued my entire music collection," Rosanne continued...when she could. "Every album...every artist...every CD...every single...is now recorded on my computer. I could go down the list of singles and give you a song’s title. You’d score 5 points, if you know the artist...5 points, if you remember some of the lyrics...and 5 points, if you can hum--or play--a little snippet of the melody."

"All right!" Maurice declared, following another exchange of thoughtful glances with his fellow bored band members. "Let’s have a go at it!" He pulled his camera’s cords from the laptop and passed the device back to its owner.

Rosanne closed out the photo program and opened a file in Lotus Wordpro labeled ‘Music_Music_Music’. "These songs were all recorded completely at random," she announced and double-clicked on the ‘Singles’ folder that appeared. "I’m just going to go right down the list..."

Barry turned to their secretary. "Marj’, you have a calculator. So, you can keep score."

Marj’ grinned and opened the briefcase in her lap.

"I’ll go first," her eldest boss volunteered. Then, he flexed his fingers a few times and declared, "Let the games begin!"

The game’s grinning moderator glanced down and read the first song title on the first page of her lo-o-ong list, "‘Long Cool Woman In A Black Dress’..."

Barry got rather stiffly up out of his window seat and slowly turned to face his fellow partyers. Being careful to keep their bodyguards between himself and the cameras, he then began strumming the song’s rockin guitar intro. "Saturday night I was downtown," Barry began singing, his right heel tapping out the rockin’ tune’s rockin’ tempo.

"Workin' for the FBI
Sittin' in a nest of bad men
Whiskey bottles pilin' hi-i-igh

Bootleggin' boozer on the west side
Full of people who are doin' wro-ong
Just about to call up the DA man
When I heard this woman singin' a so-o-ong

A pair a’ 45's made me open my e-e-eyes
My temperature started to ri-i-i-i-ise
She was a long cool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9" beautiful ta-all
With just one look I was a bad mess
'Cause that long coo-ool woman had it a-a-all."

Barry then launched into the song’s incredibly rockin’ guitar solo--complete with the "Whe-ew!" in the middle.

"I saw her headin' to the table
Well a tall walkin' big black cat
An' Charlie said I hope that you're able, boy
'Cause I'm tellin' yah she knows where it's a-at

Well suddenly we heard the sirens
An' everybody started to ru-un
A' jumpin' under doors and tables
Well I heard somebody shootin' a gu-u-un

Well the DA was pumpin' my left hand
And she was holdin' my ri-ight
Well I told her, "Don't get scared
'Cause you're gonna be spared"

I gotta be forgivin'
If I wanna spend my livin'
With a long coo-ool woman in a black dress
Just a 5'9" beautiful ta-all

Well, with just one look I was a bad mess
'Cause that long coo-ool woman had it a--a-all
Had it a-a-all
had it a-a-all...had it all...had it all...had it all
Oooooooh...had it a-all...yeah...had it all!..."

"Thank you," he humbly acknowledged, as his audience whooped and whistled their appreciation for his rockin performance.

"He really does know what a little snippet is," Maurice dryly commented. "He was just showing off."

"Showing off nothing," Robin quickly corrected. "He was stalling for time, because he can’t come up with the name of the artist!"

Their comments cracked their big brother up again and he collapsed carefully back into his window seat. "I was hoping there might be a fifty point bonus, or something, if we’re able to sing the song from beginning to end," he half-jokingly announced, when he could finally speak again. "Oh...And, The Hollies took that song all the way to number two in the summer of ‘72," he confidently tacked on.

"He’s right," the game’s still-grinning hostess eagerly conceded. "There should be a fifty point bonus, if you ace the song."

Barry smiled--rather smugly--at his younger brothers.

"Have you been slipping her Gummi Bears?" Robin accusingly inquired and succeeded in sparking another round of hearty laughter.

*****************************************************

This message has been edited. Last edited by: AngelaToo,

PART EIGHT

And, the partyers were still laughing, ninety minutes later...

Contrary to Robin’s earlier comment, it was proving dang near impossible to ‘stump the band’! In fact, since they had only missed a few songs from the early sixties, all three of The Brothers Gibb had astronomically high scores!

Maurice’s mastery of swamp music had paid off, as he was able to ace CCR’s 'Green River'. His friendship with a certain Beatle helped him pull off 'It Don’t Come Easy'. Being a big fan of The Beach Boys, he’d managed an impressive, memory-taxing rendition of 'Girl, Don’t Tell Me'. And, everyone went crazy over his incredible cover of Paul Davis’ 'I Go Crazy'.

Unlike his twin, who’d borrowed their big brother’s guitar to accompany himself, Robin chose to sing a` cappella. He’d picked up a perfect 15 points per song and had even received 100 bonus points--and standing ovations--for Crowded House’s 'Don’t Dream It’s Over' and Simply Red’s 'Holdin’ Back The Years'-- cutting edge music compared to the rest of Rosanne’s single’s collection. Which is why, when the woman announced the title of his next challenge--and he took center stage--his audience stared up at him in disbelief.

"Wha-at?" Robin innocently inquired. "I memorized the song for Earth Day. The lyrics make an extremely eloquent environmental statement." And, with that, he launched into an extremely eloquent presentation of Alan Menken’s and Stephen Schwartz’s Oscar-winning musical score.

"You think you own whatever land you land on
The earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know ev'ry rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grins?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what they're worth

The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, of a hoop that never ends

Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or let the eagle tell you where he's been
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountain?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

How high does the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you'll neve-er know

And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper-skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountain
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind
You can own the earth and still
All you'll own is earth until
You can paint with all colors of the wind Mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmmm..."

Robin’s misty-eyed--and rather awed--audience gave him another standing ovation.

"Wow! That was amazing!" Barry exclaimed, and then added, "The Earth is very fortunate to have you on its side!"

His younger brother grinned gratefully. "Vanessa Williams," he correctly replied and resumed his window seat.

It was back to Barry.

The game’s moderator announced the next title on her lo-o-o-ong list, "Cycles."

"Not another Sinatra so-ong!!!" Robin bemoaned. Then, he leaned toward his twin and whispered--rather loudly, "I can smell the Gummi Bears on her breath from here."

The group giggled.

Rosanne laughed delightedly and then declared, in her defense, "Hey...What can I say? Everybody loves ‘Old Blue Eyes’!"

"Some more so than others..." Robin continued to tease, and drew another round of snickers.

Barry, who had scored bonus points for The Hollies’ 'Long Cool Woman', Elvin Bishop’s 'Fooled Around And Fell In Love', John Stewart’s 'Gold' and Frank Sinatra’s 'Love’s Been Good To Me', grinned but then glumly confessed, "That’s one of the few I don’t know all the words to. Let’s see...I’ve been told and I believe that life is meant for livin’and, even when my chips are low, there’s still some left for givin’...I’ve been many places...maybe not as far as you...so, I da da da da da...and see if some dreams come true...There isn’t much that I ha-ave lea-ea-earned...in all my foolish years...except that life keeps running i-in cy-y-cles...first, there’s laughter...then, there’s tears...And, that’s all that I can remember."

"Talk about amazing..." Robin further teased, and more snickers ensued.

"Excuse me--" a woman’s voice suddenly came over the terminal’s P.A. system, "Barry, Robin and Maurice, if you look out to your left, you should be able to see your new plane landing..."

The BEEGEES--and everybody else--turned to gaze out at the airfield. Sure enough! A stream-lined Lear gracefully descended and then delicately touched down on the same runway they had just ‘crash-landed’ on--a mere three hours earlier.

The plane’s sudden appearance, and the memory of that incredibly harrowing experience, caused the aircraft’s new owners to exchange anxious glances. The trio positively dreaded having to leave the ground again. But, they would find the courage to climb aboard. They’d do it for the kids...for the ‘Children Of The World’.

"Okay," Maurice suddenly spoke up, "Looks like this will hafta be the final round. Bragging rights are on the line, here. So-o, plea-ease, just give me something I can work with..."

Rosanne glanced back down at her list. "Do you know ‘Him’?"

Maurice looked positively delighted and declared, "Yes! I do know ‘Him’. In fact, I happen to know ‘Him’ rather well." He then proceeded to borrow his big brother’s guitar again and prove it.

"Over by the window, there's a pack of cigarettes.
Not my brand you understand,
Sometimes the girl forgets

She forgets to hide them
I know who left those smokes behind
She'll say, oh, he's just a friend,
And I'll say, oh, I'm not blind to..

Him, him, him, what's she gonna do about him?
She's gonna have to live without him,
It's him or it's me, me, me,
No one gets to get it for free
It's me or it's him.

Don't know what he looks like,
Don't know who he is.
Don't know why she thought that I
Would say what's mine is his.

I don’t want to own her,
But I can't let her have it both ways.
Three is one too many of us,
She leaves with me or stays with..

Him, him, him, what's she gonna do about Him?
She's gonna have to live without him,
It's him or it's me, me, me,
No one gets to get it for free
It's me or it's him.

If she wants him she can have him,
Just exactly how we once were,
It’s good-bye to he and I,
and back to me and her, without..

Him, him, him, what's she gonna do about him?
She's gonna have to live without him,
It's him or it's me, me, me,
No one gets to get it for free,
Time for me to make the girl see,
It's me or it's him."

He repeated the chorus a final time and then allowed his voice and the guitar to fade. "Rupert Holmes, I believe..." he modestly stated, as everyone within earshot began applauding wildly.

"Nicely done!" Robin determined, and gave his twin a congratulatory pat on the back.

"Nicely done, indeed!" Barry agreed, and then he and Robin turned to their scorekeeper.

"You two were tied. That bonus just put him twenty points ahead of you--both," Marj’ informed them and then regrettably told the leader’s twin, "I’m afraid that means you’ll have to ace your last one in order to pull out a win." Cuz, fifteen points just wasn’t gonna cut it.

Rosanne glanced down at the next song title on her list and snorted with poorly suppressed laughter.

"That certainly doesn’t bode well..." Robin nervously announced and then went on to woefully grumble, "And me, without a Gummi Bear to my name..."

"'Used...To Be'," the moderator managed to get out, between giggles.

For some reason, the entire audience found that particular selection rather amusing.

Robin had to wait awhile, for the laughter to subside. "Ahhh...yes...Stevie Wonder and Charlene. I’ve never sang a duet with myself," he quietly confessed, "...before," he slyly added and proceeded to do just that.

"Superman was killed in Dallas
There's no love left in the palace
Someone took the Beatles' lead guitar

Have another Chivas Regal
You're 12 years old and sex is legal
Your parents don't know where or who you are

Used to be the hero of the ball game
Took the time to shake the loser's hand
Used to be that failure only meant you didn't try
In a world where people gave a damn

Great big wars in little places
Look at all those frightened faces
But don't come here, we just don't have the room

Love thy neighbors wife and daughter
Cleanse your life with Holy water
We don't need to bathe, we've got perfume

Used to be a knight in shining armor
Didn't have to own a shiny car
Dignity and courage were the measure of a man
Not the drugs he needs to hide the scar

Can your teacher read, does your preacher pray
Does your president have soul
Have you heard a real good ethnic joke today

Mama took to speed and daddy ran away
But you mustn't lose control
Let's cut the class, I got some grass

The kids are wild we just can't tame 'em
Do we have the right to blame them

We fed them all our indecision
We raped their minds with television
But what the hell, they're too young to feel pain

But I believe that love can save tomorrow
I believe the truth can make us free
Someone tried to say it, and we nailed him to a tree
I guess it's still the way it used to be..." his voice trailed off.

"Thank you," Robin appreciatively stated, upon receiving his fourth standing ovation.

"What a beautiful and touching way to end our little ‘Life Celebration’!" his big brother realized, with tears once again in his eyes. The terminal’s killer acoustics coupled with his brother’s killer vibrato and the song’s incredibly poignant lyrics were all a bit overwhelming.

"Amen!" Maurice agreed and gave his triumphant twin’s hand a congratulatory shake. Mo’ then set about stowing all of his photographic paraphernalia back in it’s black, leather case.

"Don’t forget this," the lady with the laptop advised, ejecting his camera’s install ware from her computer’s CD ROM and passing it to him.

"Oh. Thanks, Luv..."

The CD wasn’t all that he’d left in her laptop. "And...what about all of your incredible pictures?" their fan forced herself to ask.

"Do what I do," the photographer suggested with a wry grin. "Keep the best and delete the rest."

Rosanne hadn’t recovered from that incredibly generous gesture, when something even more unbelievable occurred.

Barry turned to their secretary. "Marj’, get Rosanne’s address," he instructed. "Then see to it that she receives one of everything."

"Everything?" Marj’ reiterated.

Her benevolent boss nodded. "All of our albums, demos, CDs, pictures, posters, movies, music videos--everything! We want her collection to be completely complete!"

Rosanne was rendered speechless. Well, momentarily... "OH! WOW! THANK YOU!!! THANK YOU!!! THANK YOU!!! SOOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!! OH! WOW! THANK YOU!!! THANK YOU!!! THANK YOU!!!"

"I don’t think she’s miffed anymore," Robin told his twin with a grin.

"Oh...And we have a little something for you, as well..." Barry told Alana. He slipped a fresh tape into his recorder and then handed the device back to John, to hold. "In our never-ending quest to achieve greatness’..." he teased, and tossed his guitar strap back over his head. He paused to pull a little tube from his coat pocket. "Onions," he explained. Barry took a few ‘blasts’ from his breath freshener, before passing it on to his brothers. Once the onions were out of the way, the trio moved in to the recorder’s mic’ and Barry began strumming...and singing. "Alana’s gone..."

"She left toda-ay..." Maurice joined in, when Barry’s gaze fell upon him. He turned to stare at his twin.

"She stole my heart, then ran awa-ay..." Robin contributed.

"I couldn’t laugh..." Barry came back.

"I wouldn’t cry-y..." Maurice stubbornly stated.

"That ain’t no way to say good-bye-ye..." Robin quickly determined.

Barry inserted a guitar solo. All three brothers began tapping their right heels to their impromptu tunes developing tempo. "From the Keewenaw..." Barry continued, beginning the chorus.

M: "To Kathmandu-u..."

R: "Alana, I have looked for you-ou..."

B: "I’ve traveled this great world around..."

M: "From the Ivory Coast..."

R: "To Nassau Sou-ound..."

B: (Following another brief guitar solo) "Another year..."

M: "Has come and go-one..."

R: "Now, at last, my search is do-one..."

B: "For, in a card..."

M: "That came my wa-ay..."

R: "She spoke of her Wedding Da-ay..."

B: "I couldn’t laugh..."

M: "I wouldn’t cry-y..."

R: "I just sent back this reply-y..."

Barry shot his brother a ‘gee, thanks’ look and then continued, (speaking instead of singing): "Congratulations! I have enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Do me a favor, will you, darling..."

M: "Set me free-ee..."

R: "Please, return my heart to me-e..."

This time, they went into the chorus together and sang in perfect, three-part harmony: "From the Keewenaw...To Kathmandu-u...Alana, I have looked for you-ou...I’ve traveled this great world around...From the Ivory Coast...To Nassau Sou-ound..."

B: "Alana’s gone..."

M: "She went awa-ay..."

R: "There’s really nothing left to sa-ay..."

B: "I couldn’t laugh..."

M: "I wouldn’t cry-y..."

All three in perfect harmony again: "That ain’t no way to say good-bye-ye..." Their voices trailed off.

"Alana’s go-one...." Barry sadly summed up and gave his guitar strings a final strum.

The songwriting trio exchanged triumphant grins.

Their audience whistled and applauded wildly.

Barry flipped his instrument behind his back and hit the eject button. The tape popped up. He and his brothers signed it. Then, Barry handed it to Alana, with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. But, that was the absolute worst we could do in only two minutes," he teased.

"Ye-es," Maurice joined in. "Had we more time, it could have been even more worse."

"Much, much worse!" Robin concurred. "No need to wait for the lab reports. That tape is indisputable proof that we have--indeed--been sitting in this building fa-ar too long!"

Everybody grinned.

Inspired by Robin’s statement, Rosanne immediately began jotting something down.

Her companion was still just standing there, staring silently down at her autographed copy of an original BEEGEES’ tune titled: ‘Alana’s Gone’.

The three brothers noted the star of their little impromptu number’s continued silence and exchanged thoughtful glances.

"She’s not saying anything..." Barry nervously acknowledged.

"Either she’s too polite to tell us what she really thinks..." Robin realized.

"O-Or, she liked it and we’ve rendered the poor woman speechless..." Maurice summed up--on a brighter note.

"I didn’t ‘like’ it," Alana declared at last. " I LOVED IT!!! I’ll ALWAYS love it!!! THANK YOU ALL SOOOOO MUCH!!! You are definitely GREATER, no-ow!!! A LOT greater!!!"

"We have something for you, too..." Rosanne said and passed them a folded slip of paper. "Don’t open it until you’re on the plane."

Robin took the folded note and stuck it in his book. "All right. Thank you. It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice ‘celebrating life’ with you," Rosanne assured him right back.

Rick taxied the new plane up to the terminal, parked in the Great Lakes Air space and popped the combination hatch/boarding platform into place.

Barry retrieved his stuffed critters from the window ledge and then handed them off to his siblings. "Do we have any V.I.P. packets left?" he suddenly asked their secretary.

"I believe we may still have a few," the lady acknowledged, "Yes."

Barry nodded in their guests’direction.

Marj’ obligingly opened her briefcase and removed four manila envelopes, which she passed on to the four women.

"Don’t open them until we’re on the plane," Barry requested, with a sly smile.

Everybody exchanged good-bye hugs.

"THE BEEGEES ROCK!!!" Rosanne and Alana called out, as The Brothers Gibb began heading for the door. "THANKS AGAIN!!! AND, HAVE A SAFE FLIGHT!!!"

The BEEGEES flashed their Yooper hosts--er, fans some final grins and then, those that could, managed one last wave.

"We’re definitely going to be late!" Maurice realized, as they exited the terminal.

"Fashionably late," Barry commented, as they started off across the tarmac, towards their new plane.

"I believe it’s only considered fashionable when you’re not the ‘guests of honor’," Robin reminded them. "What do we tell the wives? They’re going to want to know why we’re so late..."

"We simply tell them the truth," Barry began, "We’re late--because Rick blew a fuse..."

"Then, we were attacked by vultures and lost our lunch on the plane..." Maurice joined in.

"Rick copped a really bad ‘attitude’," Robin contributed.

"So, we just ‘skipped the landing’..." Mo’ added.

"And, dropped in on some fans in the U.P.!" Barry summed up.

The three of them glanced at each other.

"We’ll think of something..." Barry glumly surmised.

They reached the base of the boarding platform.

Robin drew a deep breath before starting up the steps. "Friedrich Nietzsche once said: What does not kill me makes me stronger."

Not to be outdone, his big brother also paused at the bottom step to utter some immortal words. "Barry Alan Crompton-Gibb once said: Flying is for the birds!"

Their pilot appeared in the plane’s open doorway.

Maurice passed up his opportunity to be profound.

"Welcome aboard Bravo Golf Sierra Three-Three-Niner-Zero," Rick declared with a grin and motioned them all in.

"Don’t you just love that new plane smell?" Robin lightly commented and succeeded in easing some of the tension of the moment.

********************************************************

"All right! They’re on the plane!" Alana declared. "Let’s open them up!"

The V.I.P. packets contained personally autographed photos of The BEEGEES--singly and in group shots...autographed copies of their newest CD and--best of all--tickets and backstage passes to The BEEGEES next ‘One Night Only’ concert!!! The bowled over BEEGEES’ fans hugged each other and did a little happy dance, right there in the Public terminal!

*********************************************************

"All right! We’re on the plane!" Maurice declared, following a thorough exploration of their new Lear 60. "Read the note!"

Robin slipped the piece of paper from his book and began perusing it.

"Alou-oud!" Mo’ impatiently requested.

"It’s a limerick," Robin realized, and obediently began reading alou-oud:

"Three Lads from the Isle of Man
Used to love to sing in the can.

Their plane took a spill
They became terminal'y ill

And wrote a quick song for a fan."

The ‘Three Lads’ leaned back in their new plane’s plush seats and enjoyed a good giggle.

The End

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EPILOGUE

The BEEGEES had two new songs written, by the time their new plane touched down at LaGuardia: 'Heart On' and 'Once More (With Feeling)'.


Barry was not pleased to learn there would be no airport reunion with his family...or, that their limo had been turned into a helicopter and that they were to be flown directly to the UN. "We've had enough flying for one day, thank you. We've been traveling for over 24 hours! We really need to go to our hotel and freshen up a bit."

"We need to freshen up a lot," Maurice corrected.

Robin, who was on a limerick kick, quickly came up with:

"If you really want to travel in style, here is what you do:

Forget the treadmill in the aisle and install a shower in the loo.

Some critics think

The BEEGEES stink

Tonight, we prove them true."

His light-hearted prose put their big brother back in a better mood. In fact, Barry cracked up laughing--and he was still laughing--when David showed up at the Helipad with a Mr. Jameson--five minutes later.

"Approach at your own risk!" Barry advised. He pulled a cassette tape from his coat pocket and passed it to their friend. "We're a bit sou-our...and they're not going to let us shower."

"Why are you so late?" David wondered, as he popped the tape into a Walkman, and pressed PLAY. He and Rich' shared a pair of headphones and had a little listen.

Barry and his brothers thought about regailing David with the truth. But, there simply wasn't time. Their UN chopper was about to land and they were about to be whisked away. "It’s a lo-ong story."

"This is quite lovely," David declared, upon hearing the piece. "But, there are-en't any words..."

"Sorry...Wrong song," Barry realized and swapped tapes with their elusive friend. "If that one's not what you had in mind, don't blame us. We couldn't reach you!" He shouted, over the 'chop-chop-chopping' of the descending copter's rotor blades.

Mr. English and Mr. Jameson cranked the volume up and listened to 'Heart On'.

David recognized immediately that the song would be a smash hit--if given the airplay.

Rich' realized it, as well.

"This is exactly what I had in mind!" David assured the talented trio, as they were ushered away. "Thanks!...A million!" he called out and flashed his vanishing friends a triumphant grin. "See yous a bit later...at the banquet!"

The BEEGEES waved and were gone.

[ 'Heart On' would turn out to be a song with a life all its own. Ahhhh...But, that’s a whole 'nother story...he he he]

*********************************************************************

Hey, a fan can DREAM, can't she?

Hope you enjoyed the story.

Rosanne/Ross/AngelaToo

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