Marty, Enrico, and Jacque made a run to a grocery store to pick up the stuff for the meal tonight, which promised to be another feast. When they got back, Enrico got work while the rest of us relaxed. The sweet aroma of tomato sauce with herbs and spices filled the room and we all eagerly anticipated supper.
The two other suites did their thing, and it was a peaceful day until Charles walked by our suite with Barton and Brodowski. Our day was open, and the Frenchman could smell what was cooking. “It smells delicious,” he commented. “I sure hope so,” I replied. “We’re having pork chops,” he then said in an indifferent tone. “That sounds great, too,” I told him. “We should have a little pasta with our meal,” Charles continued. “I don’t have any pasta,” Brodowski replied. “Do you smell how great that smells,” Charles asked him. “Yes, Sir, but we’re having pork chops.” “Well, I want pasta.”
Rory then appeared.
“Charles, what the fuck you griping about this time,” he asked. “None of your business, now go away.” “I heard you, and it’s too bad what you want, now be appreciative and eat your pork chops like a good asshole.” “You little bastard, I ought to slap you!” “You ain’t my type.” “Filthy little creep!” “I think you’re related to Camille Agard, demanding that Brodowski cook you pasta. Well, that ain’t happening, Charlie, so deal with it, you diva dickbrain.” “Why you little bastard,” Charles bellowed as he stepped toward Rory. Brodowski intervened and told the Frenchman to pipe down. Jacque walked over to ask what was going on and Rory told him that his fellow Frenchman was demanding pasta. “I told him that he’s kin to Camille, which apparently pissed him off, but the truth hurts sometimes,” the bassist added. Jacque tried not to laugh as Charles wild eyes became utterly insane.
Kim then opened the door to his suite.
“I see Rory is causing more commotion,” he said. “Go sing Charles a song, he needs a little comforting,” Rory said. “I tell you, sometimes I want to explode,” Charles seethed. “Then jack off harder,” Rory replied, which caused Jacque and Brodowski to burst into laughter. “He’s not funny,” the Frenchman hollered. “Let’s end this conversation,” I suggested.
The sounds of someone singing “Born to be Wild” from inside Kim’s suite be heard.
“Who’s that,” I asked. “It must be Ray,” my brother replied. We all walked into the suite and found the old Cajun wailing away int the kitchen to the classic Steppenwolf tune. “Great song,” he declared. Ray’s growl certainly sounded cool and what he was cooking smelled awesome. “What’s for supper,” I asked. “Gumbo,” he replied. “Damn, that sounds scrumptious, too.” “Remember, I got stuffed pork chops,” Brodowski reminded us. “Stuffed chops, what kind of stuffing,” Rory asked. “Cornbread.” “And Charles is complaining, now I know he’s related to Camille.” “You little asshole!” “Born to be wiiild,” Ray sang with conviction.
Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.
“Okay, cook enough, so we all can have a taste. Pasta, gumbo, and chops sounds like a feast if there ever was one,” I said. “Plus, we have salad, cabbage, green beans, fresh bread, and potatoes,” Lacy added. “Shit, let the orgy begin,” Rory yelled.
“Pure Scum” then came on the radio.
The crew cheered and we all pitched in with the cooking while Rory’s rocking tune blasted through the speakers.
Pasta, gumbo, and chops–only this crew could come up with something like that.