Part IX, by Cindy
Once inside the modest Gunn estate, they were whisked towards the kitchen where Momma Gunn was making a batch of her signature "Beaver Tails". Tim, sat down at the kitchen table and winced at the thought of the carb-ridden pastries as he quietly cursed the fact that he would likely put on a pound or two just by handling the greasy things.
"So Timmy, whatever brings you 'round to our neck of the woods?" Asked Momma Gunn with a sly smile that didn't quite hide the sadness in her eyes.
"Well, mother, you may not realize it, but I do miss home," replied Tim.
"Jesus Murphy, boy! You miss this? Ya hear that Pa? Mr. Shi-shi New York City misses his hometown? Now that's a riot!"
From the den, Poppa Gunn let out what sounded like a grunt of agreement.
"Mother, I do miss you and father. You know that," replied Tim softly in his defense.
"I know, dear. I know. But I reckon, I couldn't help my surprise. Forgive me. Good to see ya', son. You know Pa and I are thrilled."
Another grunt sounded out from the den.
"So... aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?" Asked Momma Gunn.
Perry had already started to overpower the place in his overbearing and larger-than-life way. All 16-pieces of his Louis Vuitton luggage set, including his personal-make up case, were strewn about in the front hall. After bringing in the last bag from the car, Perry effortlessly glided towards the kitchen, and then in a swirling whirlwind of purple, puce and sea blue silk, sat down beside Tim and beamed sweetly in Momma Gunn's direction.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance Mrs. Gunn. My name is Perrimond Montgomery Lewiston the fourth." He reached up to grab Momma Gunn's hand, leathery and worn by having worked at the Steel Mill for over 27 years. "Enchanté, indeed," breathed Perry as he took Momma Gunn's paw to his lips.
"Oh, my! Timmy, you've got quite a friend there. Honestly, Perrimond -"
"Oh, please Mrs. Gunn, call me Perry. Everyone does. All those gentrified names that run in my family, well, they just depress me and make me feel old."
"Well, then Perry, it's a pleasure. How do you know Tim?"
"Now that's a good story, Mrs. Gunn. Where do I start?" mused Perry.
"Oh Perry, Mother doesn't want to hear that story. Do you Mother? Now what's that you're making? Beaver Tails?" gulped Tim. "Wow, do they ever look, erm, good."
"Tim, don't be silly. You hate Beaver. Now let Perry finish the story he was just about to start."
"So as I was saying. It was the summer of 1983 and I was new to the New York scene. My face was fresh, my head was swimming with dreams and my ass had more sass than Bea Arthur. My godfather, James Lipton had invited me to his annual Mardi Gras bash, which was spectacular, might I add. I was drinking, dancing and on the prowl for a summer fling. When across the room, I see this striking silver fox, bashful, and yet immaculately dressed. What quiet intrigue. And those eyes! Oh, those eyse. I dare say, Mrs. Gunn, it was a decision I have never regretted once in my life..."
"So Timmy, whatever brings you 'round to our neck of the woods?" Asked Momma Gunn with a sly smile that didn't quite hide the sadness in her eyes.
"Well, mother, you may not realize it, but I do miss home," replied Tim.
"Jesus Murphy, boy! You miss this? Ya hear that Pa? Mr. Shi-shi New York City misses his hometown? Now that's a riot!"
From the den, Poppa Gunn let out what sounded like a grunt of agreement.
"Mother, I do miss you and father. You know that," replied Tim softly in his defense.
"I know, dear. I know. But I reckon, I couldn't help my surprise. Forgive me. Good to see ya', son. You know Pa and I are thrilled."
Another grunt sounded out from the den.
"So... aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?" Asked Momma Gunn.
Perry had already started to overpower the place in his overbearing and larger-than-life way. All 16-pieces of his Louis Vuitton luggage set, including his personal-make up case, were strewn about in the front hall. After bringing in the last bag from the car, Perry effortlessly glided towards the kitchen, and then in a swirling whirlwind of purple, puce and sea blue silk, sat down beside Tim and beamed sweetly in Momma Gunn's direction.
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance Mrs. Gunn. My name is Perrimond Montgomery Lewiston the fourth." He reached up to grab Momma Gunn's hand, leathery and worn by having worked at the Steel Mill for over 27 years. "Enchanté, indeed," breathed Perry as he took Momma Gunn's paw to his lips.
"Oh, my! Timmy, you've got quite a friend there. Honestly, Perrimond -"
"Oh, please Mrs. Gunn, call me Perry. Everyone does. All those gentrified names that run in my family, well, they just depress me and make me feel old."
"Well, then Perry, it's a pleasure. How do you know Tim?"
"Now that's a good story, Mrs. Gunn. Where do I start?" mused Perry.
"Oh Perry, Mother doesn't want to hear that story. Do you Mother? Now what's that you're making? Beaver Tails?" gulped Tim. "Wow, do they ever look, erm, good."
"Tim, don't be silly. You hate Beaver. Now let Perry finish the story he was just about to start."
"So as I was saying. It was the summer of 1983 and I was new to the New York scene. My face was fresh, my head was swimming with dreams and my ass had more sass than Bea Arthur. My godfather, James Lipton had invited me to his annual Mardi Gras bash, which was spectacular, might I add. I was drinking, dancing and on the prowl for a summer fling. When across the room, I see this striking silver fox, bashful, and yet immaculately dressed. What quiet intrigue. And those eyes! Oh, those eyse. I dare say, Mrs. Gunn, it was a decision I have never regretted once in my life..."
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