“Gus!” Shawn called.
Gus cringed at his friend’s enthusiasm. “I can hear you,” he complained. “And so can the whole diner, Shawn!”
Shawn lazily slipped into his spot beside his lover, then patted the Formica countertop. “Sir! Two coffees for me and one large chocolate shake for my fiancé.”
Gus spun toward Shawn and glared. “Oh no you did not! I did NOT say yes to that proposal,” Gus replied.
“Oh, Gus, my sweet, naive lover from another mother….” Shawn said, slinging an arm around his shoulders.
“Don’t call me that in public,” Gus said, shrugging Shawn off. “Anybody could be watching us right now! They don’t need to know our business, or what we’re doing together or the fact that you tried to jam your grandmother’s ring onto my pinkie finger…”
“That’s beside the point! You were sweaty, it was dark, Hugh Jackman was crooning about bread. And, you should have told me you swell up when you have pretzels.”
“I’m very sensitive to salt!”
“I’m going to warn you, Gus – I’m not good at taking no for an answer. I may have to shout it from the rooftops that I’m a proud homosexual man and you are now my homosexual luvahh.”
Gus buried his face in his palm. “Stop yelling,” he demanded. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be just to come out to my mom? Do you have to keep screaming about this to a bunch of total strangers?”
“Hey, little buddy. Don’t worry. ‘Cause you, my droll chum, are with me now. We are together. We are a unit. When you eat eggs, I eat eggs! When you sweat, I sweat! When you ask the waitress for more non-dairy creamer, I ask…”
“I get your point, Shawn,” Gus grunted.
“No you don’t! My point is that we’ll always be together! Just like a dippity ding de dong! Shama lama ding dong, Gus,” he said with great feeling. “Clang clang bip de dip de dop.”
“Stop quoting Grease to me, man,” Gus demanded. “Rizzo may be a very handsome woman for a sixty year old, but even the smooth vocal stylings of Olivia Newton John won’t get us out of this mess.”
“I don’t want to be out of it, Gus!” He extended himself to his full height and spread out his arms. “We are in, in fact! I was hoping to be in it forever!”
“Shawn…” Gus glowered at him, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Do you hear that, world?” Shawn shouted, standing upon a vacant stool, hopping from it to the Formica countertop and then spreading his arms wide. “I, Shawn Spencer, am a proud ho-mo-shectual!”
“You’re standing in my rancheros huevos, Shawn,” complained Gus.
“It’s like a whole new world’s opened up for me!” Shawn enthused, wrapping an arm around Gus’ shoulders. “Colors look brighter! Drinks taste more awesome, and I can finally color-coordinate my sock draw.”
“You oughta be ashamed of yourself! Shawn, you’re playing into every single stereotype in the book!” Gus cried. “If you don’t take it down a peg or two I won’t introduce you to Greg and Bob.”
“Who’re they? Your swinging friends from the discotheque?”
“No, my real estate agents,” Gus said primly. “I was considering getting us a new apartment, but with you acting the fool like this….”
“I’ll be good!” Shawn said instantly. “I’ll be the most modest, sweetest, smartest gayist this side of the gaydom!”
“Shut up, Shawn,” Gus demanded, and leaned in for a kiss.
At least that quieted his friend for awhile – not long enough, but enough to give Gus time to think. When the kiss broke, a dazed Shawn smiled up at him. “Boy, I need to get you excited more often.”
“I have a heart condition and a sensitive tummy,” Gus replied.
“Which is why I’m handling the reception!” Shawn grinned. “I wonder if the Yuma Yuma guy’s still doing bookings.” He stood up and ran to the nearest pay phone.
“I am NOT dancing at our wedding to the Yuma Yuma song, Shawn!” Gus complained, following right behind. He knew his determination would be tested – but he had faith that Shawn would listen to reason.
For his sake, if nothing else.