Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (33 page)

“Yeah, Ma, I really am.” And I really meant it, too. Especially at that very moment.

“That’s good, Bruce. Your happiness is all that’s important to your father and me.”

“I’m sorry I can’t give you grandkids, Ma,” I added. That always weighed heavily on me, you see.

“Oh, we’re fine with that now that we see that you have your own family. It’s not the one I imagined you with, but it looks like it works for you.” Again she giggled. “That William is a gas, by the way.”

“I know, Ma. I know. And, Ma?”

“Yes, Bruce?”

“I love you very much.”

“I love you too, Son, but can you do me just one favor?”

“Sure, Ma, anything you want.”

She nodded and walked over to one of the cabinets. “Can you just
try
this cereal? It won’t kill you to eat healthy you know.”

“Fine, Ma,” I replied, wiping the tear from my cheek. “I’d be happy too.”

This one time, anyway.

Chapter Eight

Tit for Tat

Tits are cool. Now, seeing as that’s just about the straightest (and strangest) thing you’re ever gonna hear me say, I promise I won’t repeat it or dwell on it all that much. But they do play a relatively major part in the story I’m about to tell you, and I wanted to get it out in the open so as not to confuse or upset you later on. Okay? Are you ready to move on? You’re looking a little green around the gills up there.

Fine, I’ll continue then…

First, let me say that, back in the present, Sparkle hasn’t gotten much better. Granted, he hasn’t gotten any worse, either, thankfully, but a little cooperation on his part would be nice. It’s been three full days now since he was brought to the hospital and, basically, he’s just been lying there in that awful coma. The doctors told me yesterday that his brain functions were normal and his heart rate and other vitals were looking better all the time, and that it’s just up to him to snap out of it. They also warned me that the longer he stayed asleep, the worse off he would be when he did finally come back to us.

But it’s what the police told me that truly had me concerned. (I mean, really, Sparkle barely uses the remaining brain cells he has. What’s a few more down the drain in the grand scheme of things?) See, apparently, Sparkle has a gun registered under his name, and the bullet that shot through him matched to the type of gun he owns. That, oddly enough, can mean two things. One, it’s merely a coincidence and whoever shot Sparkle used the same kind of gun; or two, he was shot with his very own gun. I told the police that there’s no way in hell that Sparkle tried to commit suicide, seeing as he loves himself way too much to do that, but they pointed out that there was no forced entry into the apartment and that his gun was still in the house with only his fingerprints on it. I knew that meant that the police would barely keep up the search for whoever did shoot Sparkle, but I also knew better than to think that Sparkle tried to take his own life. Besides, right now the most important thing is that he comes out of the coma, not who put him there in the first place.

In order to accomplish that goal, the snapping out of it, as they put it, the doctors encouraged me to talk to Sparkle and rub his arms and legs in the hope that he could possibly hear and or feel me and decide that he was better off out in the real world and not wherever the hell he was. I didn’t know if it would do any good, but I decided to give it a try. That’s why I’m here in his room right now telling you this little tale. After all, it’s one of his favorites. It’s also got the requisite amounts of sex, drugs, booze, and woe. Oh, and there’s a smidge of good-deediness as well. After all, I like to tell a well-balanced story, in case you hadn’t guessed that already.

So, in order to tell you what happened, I’m gonna have to jump a few years from where we left off. I guess, if I’m figuring right, it was during the summer of 1999. That seems about right. Did lots of exciting and life changing events occur doing those few years? Nah, not really. I mean, we all grew a little older and maybe a little wiser, but just a little. Peter, naturally, grew the most, though.

Firstly and literally, he grew. By the time he turned eighteen, he’d grown something like five inches and was a strapping and devilishly handsome, six-two, slim and trim, young man. For the most part, he stayed on the directionally forward (see, I avoided that
straight
word, finally) and narrow path and rarely was in trouble either at home or in school. For that, we were grateful. So were the folks at Social Services. They commended us time and time again on how well we raised Peter. Honestly, I never really had any doubts. (Well, maybe just a few.) And, when Peter turned eighteen, he was legally considered an adult and the State no longer had any control over his or our lives.

Naturally, the first thing we did (surprise, surprise) was restock the bar in Sparkle’s apartment. Not that we wanted Peter to take up drinking, mind you, but it was nice to be able to not have those pesky social workers watching over our shoulders for a change, and we wanted to celebrate. Besides, we trusted Peter. After all, he never gave us a reason not to. (Okay, mostly we just missed the damn bar. Drinking in my tiny apartment was no fun at all, and the local watering holes, well, I think you know our opinion of those already.)

The next big change for Peter was when he graduated from high school. That truly was exciting. We went through two rolls of film and a box of Kleenex during the graduation ceremony. Peter, much to out delight, decided to stay on at the bookstore during the summer and then he would start school at San Francisco State in the fall. We all agreed, also, that he would stay at Sparkle’s apartment while he was in college. It was certainly cheaper than getting his own place, and, just between you and me, we wanted to keep tabs on him. I think, by that time, we truly felt like his parents and we would’ve been heartbroken to see him move out.

Now on to the two of us. You know, I think you reach a certain point and then you just kind of coast. Basically, those three years went pretty much the same as the three years prior, except that we had the added responsibility of raising Peter. I think that that kept our lives rather routine and humdrum. No complaints, though, mind you; I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Watching Peter grow up and mature before our very eyes was a wonderful experience. Honest.

Still, it would’ve been nice to have found a husband somewhere along the way. (Or at least a long-term boyfriend. Hell, I’d have settled for a steady fuck-buddy.) Sparkle, of course, was content with his boyfriends du jour, but I wanted something more than that. Unfortunately, between the store and Peter, there wasn’t enough time left over for romance. Not to mention, the guys in San Francisco tend to be on the flaky side and could care less about a long-term monogamous relationship. Oh well, c’est la vie. The old bottle of lube got used from time to time, so who am I to complain?

Okay then, with all that out of the way, where were we? Oh, yeah, back to the summer of ‘99. It all started one fine morning at the bookstore. Peter, Sharon, and I had just opened up and were sitting down to our first cup of coffee. Oh, um, yeah, see, when Peter turned eighteen we let him start his first bad habit. We figured, what the heck, it was better than cigarettes or crack or something else that could kill you. And, besides, how could we tell him that it was bad for him and then go ahead and do it ourselves. (I couldn’t wait for him to turn twenty-one, so I could see how Sparkle would try to convince him that drinking alcohol was bad for him. Maybe show the kid an x-ray of our livers, right?)

Anyway, we were shooting the shit when a very attractive young woman walked into the store and proceeded to look around. I could see immediately that Sharon’s eyes were locked in on her. “Down, girl,” I said, just under my breath.

“Woof,” she responded in kind. The customer heard her and looked up from a book that she was holding. She caught Sharon’s stare, a sly grin appearing on her beautiful face. Then, bold as she could be, the stranger set the book back on the shelf and proceeded to walk over to our table.

“Hi,” she said, reaching out her hand to Sharon, “name’s Betty.”

Sharon reached up to shake Betty’s hand and then introduced the three of us. Betty straddled the remaining chair at out table and sat down. She had some incredible sex appeal, I must say. I mean, you pretty much never see women straddle chairs like that anymore. I’m sure, had I any tendencies that way, it would’ve been erotic. In any case, it did at least have a very impressive air about it. And Sharon, well now, she was fairly mesmerized.

“So, Betty, what brings you into our little store?” I asked, breaking the ice.

“Oh, just passing by, and, since I’d been looking for a certain book on photography, I thought I’d check to see if you had it in stock. Here’s the title and author,” she said, handing me a little scrap of paper that she pulled out from her purse. I sent Peter off to look for the book as we got comfortable.

“Are you a photographer?” Sharon asked, once she got her wits back.

“Sometimes. At least I like to think of myself as one. It doesn’t pay the bills, yet, but some day, maybe,” she answered, not telling us what, exactly, did pay the bills. Not that we cared, really. See, Betty, whoever she was, was nothing if not fascinating. She had this, this certain, well, I guess you could say
aura
about her.

Peter came back and said that we didn’t have the book in stock, but that we could order it for her. “Sure,” she said and handed Peter a card. “Call me when it gets here.”

Then she de-straddled herself, stood up, said that it was nice meeting all of us, but that she had to run. She then began to saunter out of the store, turning to wink at Sharon before she left. As soon as she was down the street a bit, Sharon and I, naturally, both made a grab for the card.

“Damn,” she said, reaching it a split second before I did, “all it says is her name and number. I can’t believe I’ve never seen her before. This town is just way too small to miss someone like that,” she said, looking clearly perplexed. “Peter, you let me know as soon as that book comes in and let me call her, okay?” Peter nodded as we both stood there smiling at her. “What?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing,” I taunted and then sing-songed, “Just that… Sharon’s got a girlfriend, Sharon’s got a girlfriend.”

“Real mature, Bruce? How old are you, anyway? Shouldn’t you be setting and example for Peter?” she said, hands on hips.

“I am,” I responded, “watch.” And I pointed to Peter, who then mimicked me with, “Sharon’s got a girlfriend, Sharon’s got a girlfriend.”

“See,” I said, proudly, “chip off the old block.”

Peter and I laughed. Sharon merely shook her head and went back to the office.

“Bruce,” Peter started, when she was out of earshot (he rarely, if ever, called me Secret), “I think I know where Betty works, and I don’t think Sharon’s going to like it.”

“Ooh, you better tell your Uncle Bruce right this minute,” I commanded and sat back down in my chair. Peter knew far too much for his own good, but I was never one to miss a chance to dish before, so why start now. Anyway, I always liked to have something over on Sharon, as she was forever one step ahead of me and almost dead even with Sparkle. And, heck, that was hard to do, seeing as Sparkle had his feelers practically everywhere. In any case, I was glad to be the first (almost) on something for a change.

“Well,” he began, “I may be wrong. I mean, I’ve never actually been in the place, but I’m pretty sure it’s her picture out in front.”

“Out front of what? Where?” Fuck, I couldn’t wait to find out.

“Er, oh, um…,” Peter turned red and looked down. “The, uh, The Snatch.”

“The Snatch!” I nearly shouted. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. It looks just like her, but, like I said, I’ve never been in, so I can’t be totally sure.”

“Well, I should say not,” I said, not because he was underage so much as that it was a straight tittie club along Polk Street and I would hope that he wouldn’t want to be in such a vile establishment. (Yuck.)

“Should we tell her?” he asked. 

Probably, yes, but I had a better idea. “No, I want to make sure first. Let me handle it, but thanks for telling me. It’s always good to be honest.” Sometimes I almost believed the stuff I was trying to impress upon Peter. See, honesty, though not wrong in its purest sense, is not nearly as fun or as easy as, say, underhanded trickery. Yes, my friends, Sparkle at long last had turned me over to the dark side. Plus, I was leaning a tad toward the wicked that day and wanted to have some fun for a change.

“Secret,” Peter said, looking down at me as I stared into the abyss, “you have that same look on your face that Sparkle sometimes gets. Are you planning something?”

“Moi? Never. I was just… just… thinking about…hey, go order that book for Betty and let me enjoy my coffee in peace, please.”

“Fine, but I’ve been around long enough to know when something is up. Can’t kid a kidder, ya know,” he said. “But shouldn’t you let Sparkle come up with the bad ideas? At least then we’d know that a professional is handling it.” We
had
raised him well; he truly was daddy’s little boy.

“Peter, nothing is up. Now stop using that vivid imagination of yours and go order that book, okay?” I knew better than to fill him in. He may have been an adult in the strictest sense of the word, but he still had a big mouth, and I, for one, wanted this to be Secret’s little secret for the time being.”

“Fine, fine,” he said and then added, “but when you play with fire…”

“That reminds me, never take up arson. Now go.” Nope, it’s never enjoyable to be lectured by someone much younger than yourself. Especially when they’re probably right. Besides, the game was already underfoot, the match already lit.

***

The next night, just before closing, I casually mentioned to Sparkle and Sharon that the three of us hadn’t gone out to dinner, just the three of us, in, like, forever. They agreed and started making suggestions, when I told them that there was this fabulous, little Thai place on Polk and that we should try it out. No, I had no idea if there really was a Thai restaurant anywhere near The Snatch, but, this being San Francisco, there’s a fabulous, little Thai restaurant on almost every corner in every neighborhood, so, I figured, my odds were better than good.