Rodney grabs the entire tray of champagne and gulps it down, one glass after the next. The flight attendant raises an eyebrow at him, but follows it with a plasticene smile and a tilted head that Rodney always takes as a sign of a below-average intelligence. Granted, Rodney takes everything as a sign of below average intelligence, but he's usually right.
When he finishes the champagne, he gets up to track down a flight attendant with more and better alcohol. When he can't find one, he goes into the drinks cart at the front of the cabin and makes himself a gin and tonic - minus the tonic. He turns around to find the cock-eyed flight attendant looking at him skeptically.
"I'm not a nervous flyer," he says to the woman, who smiles her fake smile at him. "No really," he says, ignoring the tilted head trick, "any second now, my date is going to show up in 3B, and I need him to look really, really good."
Rodney downs the drink and goes for another bottle or two when the woman says, low, "Well, hello, 3B."
Rodney turns around, drink in front of his face in case he needs to cover his eyes, but 3B is potentially the hottest guy Rodney has ever seen. He's pulling off his suit jacket and draping it over the seat, and when he finally turns toward Rodney, it's like he knows. He smiles, warm and slow and scarily sincere. Rodney has to remind himself he's paying $10,000 for this guy, and for him to be worth it, he'd have to be able to play it smooth. Rodney heads over, his hands fidgeting like they always do when he's nervous, and John Sheppard, male escort, leans in and kisses him sweetly on the cheek.
He tries really hard not to melt on the spot. It doesn't work.