Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (14 page)

“Oh my God. What? What’s wrong?!” he shouted, terrified that he was killing me or something. Or maybe I’d just had a bad bout of Tourette’s.

I quickly shot out of bed, raced to the bathroom mirror, and flicked on the light to make sure that my poor nipple was still in one piece. Thankfully, it was. Not even a scratch. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, but now I had to explain what had happened. Poor Slim, who was hovering nearby trying to see what I was staring at, looked white as a sheet in his reflection in the mirror. That’s when I crossed my arms (gently) and turned to face him.

“Um, I’m, like, so sorry. I’m fine, really. It was just… um… you just, well, sort of, accidentally yanked on
this
,” I explained, poorly, exposing my chest for him to see. This caused a quick gasp from him. Then he looked up at me, back at my nipple, and then started laughing uncontrollably. Of course, I began laughing right along with him, without having the slightest idea why.

When my giggles subsided, I asked him, “And this is funny why?”

And he answered, “Because I can’t believe you went to so much trouble to hide that from me.” And then he started laughing all over again.

“Well, you made it sound so gross over brunch today.” I offered up the excuse that made the most sense.

“True, it is sort of gross, but not gross enough to not have sex with you,” he countered.

“Oh… oops.” I guess that honesty is the best policy, sometimes. (No, that’s not even almost a Gay Rule, so don’t go writing it down. Mostly, it just gets you into a lot of trouble.)

“Come here,” he said and reached out for me. Then he hugged me nice and soft so as not to do any more damage to myself
or
his hearing.

We ended up making love the entire night. In truth, once the terror subsided, it was incredible. Was it worth waiting that long for it? Probably. I don’t think I was really ready for it before then. Not mentally, anyway. I guess everybody’s different when it comes to making contact for the first time. Some people are prepared for it as soon as they reach puberty, and for some, like myself, it just takes a bit longer. I certainly enjoyed the hell out of it, though, let me tell you. And, once I started, man oh man, watch out, because there was no stopping me then.

As for Slim, we both agreed that it wouldn’t be in our best interests to continue with a relationship, seeing as he was about to be my boss in just a few short hours. (Of course, that didn’t stop us from fooling around every now and then after we closed up shop.)

Thankfully, I still have fond memories of that night. Slim was a great teacher to me, both at work and in the sack. Probably the most important thing I learned was how joyous it can be to be held softly as you’re drifting off to sleep. That’s what he did for me as I lay there, barely able to move after so much exertion. He just held me close and nuzzled my neck with his cheek. But just before I totally drifted off, he shook me a little and whispered in my ear, “Don’t you want to take your contacts out before you go to sleep?”

I grinned and answered, “They’ll be okay, thanks. And good night, Slim.” (Yummy.)

Chapter Four

Mary, Mary Quite Contrary

Well then, I suppose by now you’re wondering how our old comatose friend is doing. As for that, honestly, I really don’t know. It’s been, like, four hours since I got to the hospital, with Sparkle just lying there in his white gown, basically not moving a muscle. (If he knew he was wearing white before Labor Day, he’d be mortified.) The doctor told me that we would just have to wait and see. The bullet, apparently, went through his chest and out the back, just barely missing his lungs and heart. But he did lose a lot of blood before the paramedics could get to him. (The five-story walk up is great if you want a nice view, but it’s a bitch if you’ve been shot.)

The scary part was just a little while ago, when the police came and started to ask me questions. The doozie, as you can well imagine by now, was, “Did he have any enemies, anyone that would’ve wanted to kill him?” Surely, an honest answer would’ve taken hours, and they would’ve ended up questioning half the population of San Francisco. And, really, I didn’t want to put all those people through that. (Plus, it would’ve given way too many people the satisfaction of knowing that someone finally did try to kill Sparkle.) So I fibbed a bit and said that no one wanted to shoot him any more than your average person (if your average person was Hitler, Mussolini, or Jesse Helms). I’m sure they’d find out for themselves in the short run, anyhow.

After all, if you were paying attention up there, there were several death threats already. Batboy Benny ring a bell? Or Lance, his brother? Or that angry Jeff dude, both from the party and the beach? I mean, come on, how was I going to answer the police when these were just the tip of the iceberg?

Then, just when I thought they were about to leave, they asked me yet another tough one: did I know that Sparkle had been arrested several years earlier for assault with a deadly weapon and that the person he’d assaulted had threatened to kill him? They also wanted to know if I knew where I could find that person.

Oh yeah, I knew all right. (And you better sit down for this.)

“Yes sir, sir, I know who threatened Mister Astan,” I stammered.

“And do you know where we can find this person,” the cop asked me, poised to write down my answer.

“You’re looking at him, officer.” (Told you to sit down. Betcha weren’t expecting that one, huh?)

“And, Mister Miller, where exactly where you last night?” the cop asked, menacingly.

“Oh… er… um, well you see… oh, come on now, you don’t really think it was me? I’m his best friend. Why would I want to shoot him? And if I did, would I be here right now, worried sick about him?”

“Sir, he was arrested for attacking you, and you were heard threatening his life at the time of the arrest. It was documented and a half dozen people were witness to it.” (You know, if policemen didn’t look so macho in their tight, little polyester uniforms, I would find it really difficult to like them.)

“Well, yes, if you want to be technical about it, he did attack me and I did threaten him, but there were extenuating circumstances. Besides, that was years ago. I would never hurt him, let alone try to kill him. Never.” I was shaking a little by then. I was telling the truth, though. I mean, I love Sparkle with all my heart and, even though I could see why someone would have shot him, it wasn’t me. Honest!

“Sir, if you say you didn’t shoot Mister Astan, then where were you at approximately eleven last night?” the cop persisted.

“Oh, yes, that. Well, I was out at the time, and several people can vouch for me,” I replied, knowing that this wasn’t what they were after.

“And where was
out
exactly?” he asked.

A hot flush of red rose up the side of my neck. “Blow Buddies,” I whispered.

“Excuse me? Where?” he asked again, cupping his ear.

“Blow Buddies. From ten until around midnight last night I was at Blow Buddies, and there are at least a dozen people who saw me there (or at least saw parts of me).”

“I see,” said the officer, also now a little red in the face. “I’ll check into that, but until then, please don’t leave the city without notifying the police.”

“No, sir, officer; I won’t,” I promised, crossing my heart. (It’s hard to turn off the nelly sometimes.)

And then the police left and I was alone again with my thoughts. It’s funny, I hadn’t thought about that afternoon for a long time. Who knew it would come back to bite me in the ass? I suppose you’re just waiting for me to tell you all about it, huh? Well, it is sort of a funny story in retrospect, but at the time it was all pretty miserable.

***

The whole mess had started three weeks prior to the actual confrontation. I was, by then, running Classics II for Slim. Business in both stores had been great, and once I got the hang of the bookkeeping, Slim pretty much left me on my own. On occasion, we’d meet to discuss how things were going in both locations (and every now and again we would slip into the back room and
play
), but, for the most part, I was pretty autonomous and happy as a clam. As a matter of fact, I was a might too busy at times and had decided to hire a full-time assistant. During those first two years, Slim and I had shared a girl named Sharon who would go between the two stores and help out wherever needed, but even that wasn’t enough on some days.

So it was decided that Sharon would work full-time for Slim and I would get my very own
Boy Friday
. And, since Slim let me do the hiring, I made sure that my assistant would be gay by placing help-wanted ads only in the gay rags. I know that seems extremely heterophobic, but if I was going to spend eight hours a day with someone, they sure as hell better be gay. I mean, it wasn’t that I thought I couldn’t get along with a straight person as much as I didn’t think a straight person could get along with me. Mostly, though, since Sparkle spent quite a lot of time at the store, I also made sure that there wouldn’t be any
run-ins
. (Oh boy, was I wrong on that one.)

In a week, I interviewed about a couple of dozen men and a few women for the position. None of them were even almost as qualified, though, as my last interviewee, Mack. Just like I’d been, he was fresh out of college with a degree in English Literature, but he knew what he wanted to do with his studies. See, at night, he was taking courses towards his Masters Degree and was hoping to find a day job where he could study a bit and also have some flexible time off to take exams. If that wasn’t enough, his ultimate dream was to teach Queer Studies in college. Now
that
I was totally floored by. I mean, I had no idea that such a career even existed (and back then, it just barely did). Needless to say, I hired him on the spot.

And let me just add this as a side note: Mack was P-I-P-I-N-G hot.  Like, Sssssizzlin’, friend. Blond hair, blue eyes, and an almost white goatee on top of a lean, tight, gym-toned body.  And I mean this with all sincerity; I hired him for his ideals and his dreams. A man like Mack, I figured, could change the future for the next generation of gay men and women. I say this because it does have some significance to this recounting.

Immediately, I was thrilled with my decision to hire him, too. Not only was he bright, but he also had a gift for schmooze. Heck, he talked up almost every customer that came in; and when you’re as good looking as Mack is, people just like talking to you. (Sad but true.) The first week he was at Classics II, I watched him from the sidelines and I was amazed. A customer would come up to the register and, within seconds, Mack was in full conversation with them. And not just about books, but about the entire range of small talk: the weather, news, TV, science, children, and on and on. It was incredible to watch. And what was even more spectacular than his ability to make seemingly uninteresting and bookish people open up was the way he got them to buy even more books than they’d come in for.
Cha-ching
!

A person would come in to buy children’s classics and they’d leave with child psychology books or computer books. I was glad that Slim had decided to include current books in Classics II, because Mack was selling the shit of everything. That first week alone, business was up fifteen percent. And when Mack needed to study, I was only too glad to let him sit in the back and pour over his work. It was wonderful to see such a dedicated young man. Every so often, I’d take a break and go back and sit with him, and he would tell me what he was studying.  If I hadn’t loved my job so much, I’d have been jealous of him. I mean, I’d been so ready to graduate from college that I never really considered signing on for another three or four more years of it.

Now, what really got Mack psyched was when the topic of gay literature came up. And, naturally, he wanted to know why we didn’t carry any gay classics. Funny that two stores that were run by gay guys didn’t carry any gay books. But, since Slim’s expertise by that time was in classic editions and rare books, that’s pretty much what both stores sold, stuff dating much farther back than most of the gay books did. When he opened up the second store, he had a larger space to work with, so he decided to put in some additional sections of books, ones that would appeal to a more brainier and refined clientele. He never even thought of a gay section. Mack, however, had other ideas and was eager to share them with me.

I guess with my upbringing and background, I never really had access to gay literature. Actually, until I moved to San Francisco, I didn’t even know that there was such a thing. (The only gay reading I did was in between the covers of the Playgirl’s I stole, and I doubt the male models’ stats could be considered
literature
.) Still, I never so much as went into a gay bookstore since I moved here. I mean, I worked in a bookstore all day; why would I go into another one in my free time? (I wonder if straight gynecologists avoid pussy at home. But, don’t you worry, I don’t think about that conundrum all that often. Too much of a visual.
Yuck
.)

In any case, in between reading his books and selling the store’s books, Mack would tell me about the authors that had paved the way for the gay writers of the nineties: Randy Shilts, Gertrude Stein, Edmund White, Andrew Holleran, Robert Ferro, James Baldwin, Oscar Wilde, Rita Mae Brown, and Paul Monette, just to name a few. These were openly gay people who made money (albeit limited amounts) writing queer books. And listening to Mack, I could see why the customers were so taken with him. He had such a charm about him, speaking with such authority and zeal about whatever topic he was engaged in, that you gladly got sucked into the conversation. By the end of that first week, he’d convinced us to start carrying gay classics in Classics II, with him in charge of stocking the books. In truth, I can’t even begin to tell you how exciting the prospect was for me.