“That iz one good looking boy, dah-leengs,” Rey said with a Zza Zza Gabor accent as we resettled in the lanai.
Kent had just left. As was habit, Button was happily ensconced on “Auntie” Linda"s lap while she provided a generous belly rub. Holding forth an empty glass like a queen brandishing a scepter, my cousin was sprawled on an armchair like a bendable toy figure, with long legs suspended over an armrest and an arm draped over the headrest.
“As many have said, the man should be gracing a magazine or runway,” I agreed, “but he tends to rub me the wrong way.” Pouring hefty glassfuls from a new bottle of red, this one a merlot, I took a seat beside Linda on the sofa. If enough alcohol hadn"t been ingested earlier to promote glassy gazes and beaming faces, it would do so shortly.
“Why"s
