"Queer Identities" -- Chapter 41 "Impressive"
Finally! Cynthia's Big Event.
This is Chapter 41 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Emmett Honeycutt, and features Brian Kinney, Justin Taylor, Cynthia Llewellyn, Scott Judson, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Cynthia's Wedding. Pittsburgh, August 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
By Gaedhal
Impressive!
There! I said it.
Not that I'm taking all the credit. Just some of the credit. Oh, what the hey? Most of the credit!
Of course, Vic also did a fabulous job, as befits Fabulous Catering & Party Planning. His bride and groom cakes, the pastries, and all the fixings were top notch, as usual. And all the servers were swell, too. Except for that bitch Kylie. For a cater-waiter he still thinks he's headlining a drag show at Uncle Arthur's! Hey, honey, a wedding isn't about YOU! It's about the bride. And the groom.
And about Brian Kinney.
Again, as usual.
Some things never change.
The weekend began with a scrumptious rehearsal dinner at Papagano's. That set the bar way, way high, which is why, I'm sure, Mr. Kinney invited Vic and I. He wanted us to know what he expected from Fabulous Catering. In other words, we had to be truly fabulous.
Or else!
Gulp!
Let's face it, Papagano's is a pretty steep act to follow. Brian practically bought out the entire place on a Friday night and pulled out all the stops. The food! My dear, even I wasn't sure what some of it was, and I am a culinary professional. Sort of Italian, sort of French, sort of... something. I think Brian told them to go wild -- and they certainly did!
There were all kinds of crazy pastas in every color of the rainbow. There was ceviche and Italian sushi (don't ask!) and an amazing pile of veggies with a purple foam on top. I think the foam was eggplant, but I'm not sure. And an amazing seafood risotto! And another amazing veal dish!
It was all so good! I swear, the Food Network should have been there filming it all.
Cynthia was like the Queen Bee, and her attendants were all squealing and clapping with each course. Naturally, they were more than slightly drunk -- Brian didn't skimp on the champage. Cynthia's mother, poor woman, seemed dazed by it all, while the rest of her family -- an aunt and uncle and some cousins -- took things in stride.
And then there was the groom.
May I say it now? Hubba hubba! I absolutely adore a boy named Scott. It's such an All American name. A Scott should be tall and handsome and clear-eyed, like a big old Boy Scout. And Cynthia's Scott fit the bill perfectly. And straight. Did I mention that? As in Straighty McStraightson. That's Mr. Scott Judson, which made him all the more delectable. Forbidden fruit, you know. Or anti-fruit! Tee-hee!
Scott's mommy and daddy looked like pioneers from an old Western movie -- tall and silent and made out of granite. I think they said they were from Minnesota or Missouri or one of those M-states that were settled by Vikings or some other strapping, lumberjack types. And his brother and his wife also looked so typically Midwestern, like a football coach who used to be the star quarterback, and his wife, the ex-head-pom-pom girl. They were all a bit grim. Didn't crack a smile all evening. They just poked at the food and stared at Brian Kinney. I couldn't decide whether they were intimidated by him because he's a movie star, or because they'd never seen a fag up close before. Or both.
Luckily, Scott also had some of his former fraternity brothers and a couple of New York actor friends to liven things up. Of course, they were all to-die-for good-looking! The Best Man especially -- shall I say it? -- was especially drool-worthy. I was oh-so-tempted to see if he was at least bi-curious, but Brian warned me before the dinner -- hands off the merchandise! So I refrained.
What this boy won't do to keep my professional integrity! Sigh.
But that Best Man... Yowsa! He certainly was! The best man, I mean.
After the rehearsal dinner was over and all the toasts had been made and the champage drunk, Miss Cynthia, her bridesmaids, and all the womenfolk went back to the Penn Hotel, where Brian had reserved a bunch of suites for all the out-of-town guests. Cynthia's mother is a widow and there's no way she and the newlyweds could have paid for a bash like this, so the Benevolent Mr. Kinney provided it all. He's kicking in for the honeymoon, too, from what Justin tells me. This whole thing must be setting the man back a pretty penny. Of course, he can afford it. Apparently nothing's too good for his former assistant and protege.
You can say a lot of things about Mr. Brian A. Kinney, but you can never say that he doesn't know how to do things right. And you can never say that he spares expenses -- he basically gave Vic and I carte blanche for the reception. Brian can be a shit and a half when he's in the mood. But he's also like an elephant -- he never forgets a friend and he rewards those who have been loyal to him. And that's Miss Cynthia. Damn, she must have put up with a lot of crap from him over the years, but it's paid off in spades!
As I was saying, the ladies went back to the hotel where Brian arranged for them all to have a spa evening -- massages, facials, pedicures, the whole treatment! When I heard that I wished I'd gotten in on the action. I'd adore to have one of those full-body mud packs, along with a Swedish massage by a blond god named Swen with ultra-talented hands!
But Brian had other plans for us boys.
I ask you -- how many straight men can say they had their bachelor party at Babylon? Well, Mr. Scott Judson can say it! And it was fabulous!
Brian reserved a private room upstairs for the straight guys to escape to, with an open bar and some ladies -- yes, actual females! -- to serve them. Looking at the females, in their tacky lingerie, cheap French manicures, and bad wigs, I assumed they weren't exactly as advertised, if you know what I mean, but Justin assured me that they were the genuine article.
"Brian didn't want any of the groomsmen or Scott's father and brother to come across something they weren't, um, expecting!" Justin laughed, giving me that funny little face he makes when he's being particularly evil. "So Brian made sure all the ladies were real ladies. And I mean that Brian vetted every one one of them personally!"
My jaw dropped. "You mean he... checked to... to..."
"To see that they didn't have dicks," Justin confirmed. "Yes, Brian Kinney looked at a passel of pussies. So what? It isn't like he hasn't seen one before!" Then the boy grinned. "I've seen at least one myself. And so have you, Em!"
The boy had to remind me of my past follies! "I know, but really! That's above and beyond the call of duty! Why in heaven's name didn't he have the stag party at some straight club?"
Justin rolled his eyes. "You know Brian. He wouldn't set foot in some pussy palace, so he just made a little corner of Babylon a little straight-friendly for one night. It's no stranger than when they have Dyke Night."
I shuddered at the thought of Dyke Night. But no matter! I watched in bemused amazement as the straight boys whooped and hollered and got lap dances. I mean, seriously! Lap dances! From females! In Babylon! Only Brian Kinney could make that happen!
After an hour or so, Scott's father and brother and Cynthia's uncle -- who, for the record, all declined the requisite lap dances -- went back to the hotel and Brian paid off the females and sent them on their merry way. In my opinion, he paid the floozies way too much for the services they provided, but Brian was in a generous mood. Besides, the gentlemen of the wedding party seemed to enjoy what was offered. Different strokes for different folks, I always say!
But then something interesting happened. Brian and Justin and Vic and I went downstairs to the main floor of Babylon to check out the action -- and the fellas followed! Yes! The straight boys! They stared at the lights and the confetti and the go-go boys as if they weren't sure what to do next.
"If you want, I can call you guys a cab," Brian offered. "Or..." He raised that devilish Kinney eyebrow. "You can stick around. The bar is over there, and the dance floor is over here."
"And the backroom is over..." added Justin.
"Can it, twerp!" said Brian, clapping his hand over his lover's mouth.
Well, the guys were pretty drunk by then, even Scott. They shrugged, looked at each other, and plunged forward onto the crowded, surging dance floor.
Let me say that none of them quite lost their straight boy credentials Friday night, but a couple of them stretched the notion of bi-curious a tad!
You know what they say -- as long as you're drunk, it doesn't really count!
When Vic and I left, around 2:00 -- we had a wedding to cater the next day, after all! -- the guys were still dancing their asses off, with their shirts off!
Justin told me later that Brian finally hustled the fellas back to their hotel around 4:00 a.m. And the next day they certainly seemed the worse for wear, which was hilarious, since Brian and Justin, who had out-drunk and out-danced all of them, looked like they had just stepped out of a 'GQ' photo-shoot!
I'm the first to admit that I've had issues with Brian's ass-hattery over the years, but when he does something decent, I'm willing to say so. And Miss Cynthia's wedding -- more than decent.
And, may I add, that no one looks better in a tux than The Great God Kinney, especially an Armani tux. Well, maybe Cary Grant would, but he's dead. Unfortunately!
Justin looked good, too. Good enough to eat, I must say! He's come a long, long way from that little chicken who put on his first tux and went off to the prom on that fateful night not so long ago. A little more than two years ago, in fact. My, my, how the time flies!
And Miss Cynthia -- because a wedding is all about the bride, correct? -- looked like an angel as Brian walked her down the aisle. A positive angel! She wore an ivory Vera Wang dress that I swear cost more than my combined salary from all five years I worked at Torso. Chic. A slight train. A lace overskirt, but not too campy. Off-the-shoulder, but not incorrect for her mother's Methodist church. And a wreath of roses on her head, like a Greek goddess. She looked like she was floating on a cloud! Perfect for an August wedding.
Poor Scott! He just seemed dazed. Or maybe he was still hungover. His Best Man -- yowsa! -- certainly was. His pretty eyes were so bloodshot I wanted to go right over and offer him my hanky. But Vic stopped me. The party pooper!
And Cynthia's mother didn't stop crying the entire time. Good gravy, that woman had a Niagara of water in her!
When we came out of the church, there were some paparazzi waiting to take pictures of Brian before he and the others hopped into the limos. Justin frowned and shook his head, but Brian's expression never changed. I imagine he's used to this sort of thing. Cynthia wasn't fazed at all, just smiled her little face off. She looked deliriously happy, while new hubbie Scottie looked stunned. All newly-married men look stunned -- at least the ones at the weddings Vic and I have catered do. I think they suddenly realize what they've gotten themselves into!
The reception was at a mansion out in the country, just over the border in West Virginia. It was a fabulous place to have a party, a sprawling Tudor-style pile with a vast backyard and a formal garden that was a perfect background for the wedding photos. We'd arranged for a marquee to cover the serving area and extra tables, in case it rained, but it was a gorgeous day, so everyone was at cafe tables with cute red and white umbrellas and matching checkered tablecloths.
Did I forget to mention the food? I should not, since that was the hightlight of the day! Vic and his little helpers outdid themselves. Since it was a picnic, he made fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, cornbread, and an assortment of summer greens -- a real Southern-style feast! I admit that I contributed the recipe for the cornbread -- it was my Great-Aunt Lula's -- as well as a few suggestions for little touches, like adding almonds to the greens. I bought gigantic red napkins and put them in sweet little baskets on each table, so it really would feel like an old fashioned picnic down in Hazelhurst. Everyone loved it, if I do say so myself!
And Vic's deluxe four-tiered buttercream and strawberries wedding cake? Simple. Elegant. And it tasted amazing!
Then there was the music. Brian hired a classical duo, cello and flute, to play while the guests ate, but afterwards everyone went into the ballroom, where he had a jazz combo that played swing music well into the wee hours. The musicians were ancient -- I think they actually formed during World War II, no joke! -- but they could play like anything! Brian bragged that the leader, Duke Jenkins, had been a protege of Duke Ellington, and I believe it. Hot-cha!
Brian led Cynthia onto the floor as they played the first song, 'Sentimental Journey' -- that song always makes me tear up! Cynthia's father died when she was still a little girl, so Brian has been a sort of father figure to her over the years. He's certainly helped her in her career, according to what Justin's told me. She's gone from his assistant, basically a glorified secretary, to an advertising executive in her own right. And soon she'll be mixing it up with the Big Boys on Madison Avenue in the Big Apple! She's come a long way, has Miss Cindy.
Then Brian turned Cynthia over to her new husband. Scottie is a fabulous hunk of man -- swoon! -- but he's no Fred Astaire, let me make that perfectly clear! Then Brian danced with Cynthia's mother, who was still crying! But after that Justin cut in and reclaimed his man! I saw Scott's parents do a double-take -- maybe they don't have queers in that M-state where they're from -- but they didn't say anything. Nope, they didn't say anything at all.
There wasn't much they could say, because the wedding WAS perfection.
Impressive.
If I do say so myself.
And I do!
This is Chapter 41 in the "Queer Identities" series.
The narrator is Emmett Honeycutt, and features Brian Kinney, Justin Taylor, Cynthia Llewellyn, Scott Judson, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings or spoilers.
Summary: Cynthia's Wedding. Pittsburgh, August 2003.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
By Gaedhal
Impressive!
There! I said it.
Not that I'm taking all the credit. Just some of the credit. Oh, what the hey? Most of the credit!
Of course, Vic also did a fabulous job, as befits Fabulous Catering & Party Planning. His bride and groom cakes, the pastries, and all the fixings were top notch, as usual. And all the servers were swell, too. Except for that bitch Kylie. For a cater-waiter he still thinks he's headlining a drag show at Uncle Arthur's! Hey, honey, a wedding isn't about YOU! It's about the bride. And the groom.
And about Brian Kinney.
Again, as usual.
Some things never change.
The weekend began with a scrumptious rehearsal dinner at Papagano's. That set the bar way, way high, which is why, I'm sure, Mr. Kinney invited Vic and I. He wanted us to know what he expected from Fabulous Catering. In other words, we had to be truly fabulous.
Or else!
Gulp!
Let's face it, Papagano's is a pretty steep act to follow. Brian practically bought out the entire place on a Friday night and pulled out all the stops. The food! My dear, even I wasn't sure what some of it was, and I am a culinary professional. Sort of Italian, sort of French, sort of... something. I think Brian told them to go wild -- and they certainly did!
There were all kinds of crazy pastas in every color of the rainbow. There was ceviche and Italian sushi (don't ask!) and an amazing pile of veggies with a purple foam on top. I think the foam was eggplant, but I'm not sure. And an amazing seafood risotto! And another amazing veal dish!
It was all so good! I swear, the Food Network should have been there filming it all.
Cynthia was like the Queen Bee, and her attendants were all squealing and clapping with each course. Naturally, they were more than slightly drunk -- Brian didn't skimp on the champage. Cynthia's mother, poor woman, seemed dazed by it all, while the rest of her family -- an aunt and uncle and some cousins -- took things in stride.
And then there was the groom.
May I say it now? Hubba hubba! I absolutely adore a boy named Scott. It's such an All American name. A Scott should be tall and handsome and clear-eyed, like a big old Boy Scout. And Cynthia's Scott fit the bill perfectly. And straight. Did I mention that? As in Straighty McStraightson. That's Mr. Scott Judson, which made him all the more delectable. Forbidden fruit, you know. Or anti-fruit! Tee-hee!
Scott's mommy and daddy looked like pioneers from an old Western movie -- tall and silent and made out of granite. I think they said they were from Minnesota or Missouri or one of those M-states that were settled by Vikings or some other strapping, lumberjack types. And his brother and his wife also looked so typically Midwestern, like a football coach who used to be the star quarterback, and his wife, the ex-head-pom-pom girl. They were all a bit grim. Didn't crack a smile all evening. They just poked at the food and stared at Brian Kinney. I couldn't decide whether they were intimidated by him because he's a movie star, or because they'd never seen a fag up close before. Or both.
Luckily, Scott also had some of his former fraternity brothers and a couple of New York actor friends to liven things up. Of course, they were all to-die-for good-looking! The Best Man especially -- shall I say it? -- was especially drool-worthy. I was oh-so-tempted to see if he was at least bi-curious, but Brian warned me before the dinner -- hands off the merchandise! So I refrained.
What this boy won't do to keep my professional integrity! Sigh.
But that Best Man... Yowsa! He certainly was! The best man, I mean.
After the rehearsal dinner was over and all the toasts had been made and the champage drunk, Miss Cynthia, her bridesmaids, and all the womenfolk went back to the Penn Hotel, where Brian had reserved a bunch of suites for all the out-of-town guests. Cynthia's mother is a widow and there's no way she and the newlyweds could have paid for a bash like this, so the Benevolent Mr. Kinney provided it all. He's kicking in for the honeymoon, too, from what Justin tells me. This whole thing must be setting the man back a pretty penny. Of course, he can afford it. Apparently nothing's too good for his former assistant and protege.
You can say a lot of things about Mr. Brian A. Kinney, but you can never say that he doesn't know how to do things right. And you can never say that he spares expenses -- he basically gave Vic and I carte blanche for the reception. Brian can be a shit and a half when he's in the mood. But he's also like an elephant -- he never forgets a friend and he rewards those who have been loyal to him. And that's Miss Cynthia. Damn, she must have put up with a lot of crap from him over the years, but it's paid off in spades!
As I was saying, the ladies went back to the hotel where Brian arranged for them all to have a spa evening -- massages, facials, pedicures, the whole treatment! When I heard that I wished I'd gotten in on the action. I'd adore to have one of those full-body mud packs, along with a Swedish massage by a blond god named Swen with ultra-talented hands!
But Brian had other plans for us boys.
I ask you -- how many straight men can say they had their bachelor party at Babylon? Well, Mr. Scott Judson can say it! And it was fabulous!
Brian reserved a private room upstairs for the straight guys to escape to, with an open bar and some ladies -- yes, actual females! -- to serve them. Looking at the females, in their tacky lingerie, cheap French manicures, and bad wigs, I assumed they weren't exactly as advertised, if you know what I mean, but Justin assured me that they were the genuine article.
"Brian didn't want any of the groomsmen or Scott's father and brother to come across something they weren't, um, expecting!" Justin laughed, giving me that funny little face he makes when he's being particularly evil. "So Brian made sure all the ladies were real ladies. And I mean that Brian vetted every one one of them personally!"
My jaw dropped. "You mean he... checked to... to..."
"To see that they didn't have dicks," Justin confirmed. "Yes, Brian Kinney looked at a passel of pussies. So what? It isn't like he hasn't seen one before!" Then the boy grinned. "I've seen at least one myself. And so have you, Em!"
The boy had to remind me of my past follies! "I know, but really! That's above and beyond the call of duty! Why in heaven's name didn't he have the stag party at some straight club?"
Justin rolled his eyes. "You know Brian. He wouldn't set foot in some pussy palace, so he just made a little corner of Babylon a little straight-friendly for one night. It's no stranger than when they have Dyke Night."
I shuddered at the thought of Dyke Night. But no matter! I watched in bemused amazement as the straight boys whooped and hollered and got lap dances. I mean, seriously! Lap dances! From females! In Babylon! Only Brian Kinney could make that happen!
After an hour or so, Scott's father and brother and Cynthia's uncle -- who, for the record, all declined the requisite lap dances -- went back to the hotel and Brian paid off the females and sent them on their merry way. In my opinion, he paid the floozies way too much for the services they provided, but Brian was in a generous mood. Besides, the gentlemen of the wedding party seemed to enjoy what was offered. Different strokes for different folks, I always say!
But then something interesting happened. Brian and Justin and Vic and I went downstairs to the main floor of Babylon to check out the action -- and the fellas followed! Yes! The straight boys! They stared at the lights and the confetti and the go-go boys as if they weren't sure what to do next.
"If you want, I can call you guys a cab," Brian offered. "Or..." He raised that devilish Kinney eyebrow. "You can stick around. The bar is over there, and the dance floor is over here."
"And the backroom is over..." added Justin.
"Can it, twerp!" said Brian, clapping his hand over his lover's mouth.
Well, the guys were pretty drunk by then, even Scott. They shrugged, looked at each other, and plunged forward onto the crowded, surging dance floor.
Let me say that none of them quite lost their straight boy credentials Friday night, but a couple of them stretched the notion of bi-curious a tad!
You know what they say -- as long as you're drunk, it doesn't really count!
When Vic and I left, around 2:00 -- we had a wedding to cater the next day, after all! -- the guys were still dancing their asses off, with their shirts off!
Justin told me later that Brian finally hustled the fellas back to their hotel around 4:00 a.m. And the next day they certainly seemed the worse for wear, which was hilarious, since Brian and Justin, who had out-drunk and out-danced all of them, looked like they had just stepped out of a 'GQ' photo-shoot!
I'm the first to admit that I've had issues with Brian's ass-hattery over the years, but when he does something decent, I'm willing to say so. And Miss Cynthia's wedding -- more than decent.
And, may I add, that no one looks better in a tux than The Great God Kinney, especially an Armani tux. Well, maybe Cary Grant would, but he's dead. Unfortunately!
Justin looked good, too. Good enough to eat, I must say! He's come a long, long way from that little chicken who put on his first tux and went off to the prom on that fateful night not so long ago. A little more than two years ago, in fact. My, my, how the time flies!
And Miss Cynthia -- because a wedding is all about the bride, correct? -- looked like an angel as Brian walked her down the aisle. A positive angel! She wore an ivory Vera Wang dress that I swear cost more than my combined salary from all five years I worked at Torso. Chic. A slight train. A lace overskirt, but not too campy. Off-the-shoulder, but not incorrect for her mother's Methodist church. And a wreath of roses on her head, like a Greek goddess. She looked like she was floating on a cloud! Perfect for an August wedding.
Poor Scott! He just seemed dazed. Or maybe he was still hungover. His Best Man -- yowsa! -- certainly was. His pretty eyes were so bloodshot I wanted to go right over and offer him my hanky. But Vic stopped me. The party pooper!
And Cynthia's mother didn't stop crying the entire time. Good gravy, that woman had a Niagara of water in her!
When we came out of the church, there were some paparazzi waiting to take pictures of Brian before he and the others hopped into the limos. Justin frowned and shook his head, but Brian's expression never changed. I imagine he's used to this sort of thing. Cynthia wasn't fazed at all, just smiled her little face off. She looked deliriously happy, while new hubbie Scottie looked stunned. All newly-married men look stunned -- at least the ones at the weddings Vic and I have catered do. I think they suddenly realize what they've gotten themselves into!
The reception was at a mansion out in the country, just over the border in West Virginia. It was a fabulous place to have a party, a sprawling Tudor-style pile with a vast backyard and a formal garden that was a perfect background for the wedding photos. We'd arranged for a marquee to cover the serving area and extra tables, in case it rained, but it was a gorgeous day, so everyone was at cafe tables with cute red and white umbrellas and matching checkered tablecloths.
Did I forget to mention the food? I should not, since that was the hightlight of the day! Vic and his little helpers outdid themselves. Since it was a picnic, he made fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, cornbread, and an assortment of summer greens -- a real Southern-style feast! I admit that I contributed the recipe for the cornbread -- it was my Great-Aunt Lula's -- as well as a few suggestions for little touches, like adding almonds to the greens. I bought gigantic red napkins and put them in sweet little baskets on each table, so it really would feel like an old fashioned picnic down in Hazelhurst. Everyone loved it, if I do say so myself!
And Vic's deluxe four-tiered buttercream and strawberries wedding cake? Simple. Elegant. And it tasted amazing!
Then there was the music. Brian hired a classical duo, cello and flute, to play while the guests ate, but afterwards everyone went into the ballroom, where he had a jazz combo that played swing music well into the wee hours. The musicians were ancient -- I think they actually formed during World War II, no joke! -- but they could play like anything! Brian bragged that the leader, Duke Jenkins, had been a protege of Duke Ellington, and I believe it. Hot-cha!
Brian led Cynthia onto the floor as they played the first song, 'Sentimental Journey' -- that song always makes me tear up! Cynthia's father died when she was still a little girl, so Brian has been a sort of father figure to her over the years. He's certainly helped her in her career, according to what Justin's told me. She's gone from his assistant, basically a glorified secretary, to an advertising executive in her own right. And soon she'll be mixing it up with the Big Boys on Madison Avenue in the Big Apple! She's come a long way, has Miss Cindy.
Then Brian turned Cynthia over to her new husband. Scottie is a fabulous hunk of man -- swoon! -- but he's no Fred Astaire, let me make that perfectly clear! Then Brian danced with Cynthia's mother, who was still crying! But after that Justin cut in and reclaimed his man! I saw Scott's parents do a double-take -- maybe they don't have queers in that M-state where they're from -- but they didn't say anything. Nope, they didn't say anything at all.
There wasn't much they could say, because the wedding WAS perfection.
Impressive.
If I do say so myself.
And I do!