They awoke on the couch, which smelled of burning lust. They woke up sticky and smelling like musty damp lettuce and mildewed cabbage, their body odor intermingling and forming a mist of lust that floated from the couch to steam of the picture window overlooking the meadows, streams, mountains, and forests of Gunn's estate.
The lust mist obscured the Thornhill Mountains, upon which, in 1863, Colonel Ornes "The Bearded One" Jordan led an expedition in search of the renegade rebel Samuel Thompson, who, as it turned out, was really a dandy chess player from Amherst who dreamed of playing football in the NFL, which, as we all know, didn't exist in 1863--but it should have. Maybe there wouldn't have been a Civil War if professional football had been around to give folks the chance to vent, paint their faces, and wear pig noses and dresses. They could have had the first Blue vs. Gray game and gotten the war over and done with in sixty minutes, thereby ridding the world of 140+ years of Civil War books including nearly a thousand pages of Stonewall Jackson: The Man, the Soldier, the Legend, Gone With the Wind, and The Red Badge of Courage.
Later, Gunn bought Cat a new nose to replace her old nose that jingled like loose change because of the exploding airbag in her Geo Storm. He bought her one red contact to cover one of her green eyes so she could look festive and blend in at Christmas.
Cat bought Gunn a new blade for his blender and one cufflink because she was dirt poor and had gone barefoot until she was seventeen. She was so poor she had to lay away clothes at K-Mart for several years, and by the time she had finished paying for them, her clothes had gone out of style everywhere except in Amish country. She was so poor she couldn't afford to fix the horn on her Geo Storm, yelling, "Honk!" at other drivers instead. She was so poor she had to use her last scented candle to heat her apartment. She had shivered a lot, but she had cinnamon apple-smelling goose bumps.
They talked of marriage. They talked of kids. They talked of a lifetime together cuddling morning, noon, night, and sometimes during the between times like when the sun is just coming up or going down or when there's an eclipse and you really can't tell day from night.
Gunn wanted twelve kids.
Cat wanted fifteen.
"We'll need more bathrooms," Gunn said often in a needy manner, and Cat flushed whenever he said it.
He was her everything, and she was his everything, and they shared everything together all day long and all night long, and neither had to go to work because of The Settlement. His lawyers at Gregg, Muse, and Berger had seen to that.
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