Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love

SPARKLE

The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love

By Rob Rosen

Copyright 2011 Rob Rosen

All rights reserved. Except for brief passages quoted in newspaper, magazine, radio, television, or online reviews, no part of this ebook may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Fierce Publishing

www.fiercegaybooks.com

Second Edition

To Kenny…

The best husband a guy could ever wish for!

Praise for Sparkle

“The charm of this glorious read rests in Rosen’s wit and sense of timing. The characters literally leap off the page as the story effortlessly unfolds and blossoms before your eyes… If you’re looking for an uplifting gay romp of a read then look no further, as Sparkle is most definitely the queerest book you’ll ever love.” – GaydarNation

“Rosen spins a fresh and colorful tale with style and wit of which to be envious. Don't be surprised when you actually laugh aloud as he weaves this account of comedy, intrigue, and suspense. Rosen gives the reader a glimpse of Gay Life. And what fun it can be!” – StoneWall Society

“Sparkle is the epitome of why everyone should want to be a gay male – and gives the reader a complete blueprint on how to do it! My hope is that this book tops some lists this year. (Oprah, you listening, hon?)” – Quest Magazine

“Add a little alcohol, drugs, and sex, and the unpredictable kinds of people you’re likely to find on the streets of Baghdad by the Bay, and you have one of the most unusual novels to come out of gay San Francisco in quite some time.” – The Letter

“Rosen’s writing is hip and provocative. His characters don’t pull any punches and they don’t mince words. The narrator’s blunt manner is especially appealing as he describes his lurid coming of age with Sparkle as mentor and friend… Somewhere between Queer as Folk and Hedwig and the Angry Inch lies Sparkle, which may well be the queerest book you’ll ever read.” – X Factor

“This book has all the potential for becoming the next gay cult classic! Because if you read it, you’re sure to love it and tell at least a half dozen friends to get their hands on it, too.” – OurBookShelf

“Readers will find themselves laughing right out loud as Rosen’s comfortable style pulls them into Sparkle and Secret’s twisted lives… An absolute perfect way to take a San Francisco vacation without actually hopping on a plane.” – The Texas Triangle

Foreword

Welcome to the 10
^th
Anniversary Edition of
Sparkle: The Queerest Book You’ll Ever Love
, reworked, reedited, and bigger, badder, bitchier than the original. This is the book that started it all for me, my first attempt at writing, launching me on the path that I’m still travelling gaily along today.

So, as a little background information before you start your journey into my characters’ rather twisted lives, let’s begin at the beginning. See, from the moment I read my first gay book,
The Best Little Boy in the World
, I’ve had this fondness for the coming out story. Only, back then, most books in this genre were rather on the sad side: bleak, tragic, 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s gay-life-depressing. And I wanted my first book to be anything but these things. I wanted it to be in-your-face, un-P.C., upbeat, and quirky. Meaning, it had to take place in San Francisco and definitely deep within The Castro.

All it took was for me to get my first home computer, and then I hit the ground running. Six months later, I had my book:
Sparkle
. Within a year, it was on the shelves, getting rave reviews, and I was doing readings up and down the California coast. See, I’d always wanted to be a writer, always knew I had it in me to be a writer, and, suddenly, my dreams had come true. Seriously, holding that book in my hands, with my name splashed across the cover, it was like, well,
magic
.

And it was just the start, too. Because one dream leads to another, and yet another.

Divas Las Vegas
followed
Sparkle
, was nominated for a Lammy, and won the 2010 TLA Gaybie for Best Gay Fiction.
Hot Lava
followed closely on its heels. In between all this, I’ve written short stories for well over 150 anthologies and wrote erotica for 5+ years for
MEN
,
Freshmen
, and
[2]
Magazines. Twenty of my favorite stories from those magazines can be found in my collection,
Good & Hot
.

But
Sparkle
always holds a special place in my heart. Always has, always will. And, so, ten years later, I decided to do a bit of editing and get it back out there for you to enjoy. And now, for the first time, it’s also available for all eReaders. Meaning, fingers crossed, it will find a whole new audience.

All that being said, dear friend, I hope
Sparkle
will hold a special place in your heart as well!

Chapter One

From Queer to Eternity

Honestly, I can’t say that being at San Francisco General at two in the morning is any great surprise to me. I mean, I had a feeling this would happen someday. And though I can’t say for sure who shot Sparkle, I’m sure he deserved it. My best guess is that it was probably some bitter trick. Of course, in my years of experience, when it comes to Sparkle, they’re pretty much all bitter. Go figure. In any case, since I’m up and you’re up, let’s try to figure out who pumped that little, old bullet into my best friend’s magnificent shaved chest.

Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking.
Poor, jealous Bruce, mocking Sparkle while he lies fragile at death’s door.
Well, you haven’t met Sparkle; this is, in fact, the perfect time to mock and deride. Fucker’s dangerous as all hell when he’s lucid. In other words, don’t be so surprised that I’m making fun of the man while he lies there drooling, possibly in an irreversible coma. Ooh, doesn’t that sound all melodramatic-like: irreversible coma. Such a soap-operie condition. Well, friend, that’s Sparkle all over. One big-ass soap opera. Big enough for Susan Lucci to play him if this shit ever gets televised. (Don’t worry; the names will be changed to protect the innocent. If there actually are any.)

Anyway, Sparkle and I are indeed best friends, as I mentioned back there. Have been for many these long years. The
how
you’re soon going to learn; the
why
is a mystery of the ages. I mean, if you knew Sparkle, you’d wonder how he manages to have any friends at all, really. And, yet, he does. Scads of them. And
way
more enemies. See, there’s a mascara-thin line between love and hate, and I’ve seen one dude after the next skip over said line. Well, I think you get the point. I mean, you look pretty bright up there. But, just to make it perfectly clear, Sparkle is plain, old evil. (And mean, vindictive, cruel, plotting, snide, crude, and lewd.) And, suffice it to say, I love him with every fiber of my being. God help us all.

So here we are, very early in the morning, too early if you ask me, but here nonetheless. And since we have nothing better to do or, sadly, any
one
, I might as well fill you in on myself and my life with that drooling, comatose son of a bitch. Now, first comes first, but you might be surprised to learn that I didn’t used to talk this way, or act this, or even look this way. I mean, I was just your average small-town, confused, slightly neurotic, somewhat cute, and very closeted kind of guy. As straight acting, looking, walking, and talking as you can possibly get.

By the way, don’t you just hate that term: straight acting? I mean, as if. Who in their right minds would choose to
act
straight? Oh, but now I’m sounding like Sparkle. Guess he’s worn off on me over the years. Anyway, back to the story.

See, I met him fresh out of college. I’d just earned my Bachelors degree in English Literature and was doing what any normal college graduate would be doing: I was waiting tables. The place was called Joe Joe’s, the owners both being named Joe. How original, right? In any case, I absolutely hated that job, but at the time I had no idea what I could do with my degree. I mean, what was I thinking? When did Jane Austen ever open up any doors for anyone? In any case, that’s where and when that into my life walked Sparkle. Well, sauntered, at any rate. Heck, cat-walked was more like it. (Dude could give Naomi Campbell some pointers.)

Joe Joe’s was, as usual, packed for Sunday brunch. Normally, very few gay men ate there, but on Sunday, between ten and three, watch out. Every queer worth his weight in Pradas could be seen downing a mimosa and eating one of the dozen or so mediocre omelets they had on the menu. Honestly, the restaurant was nothing to write home about, but it was certainly the place to see and be seen, even with the bad location, absolutely no parking, and, at best, so-so food. It did, however, boast several mirror-covered walls, so the cruisabilty level was way high. Also, it had the slammingest jukebox ever, filled to the brim with the best tunes of the day. Music-wise, I was in rhinestone-studded heaven.

So there I was, twenty-one, fresh out of the proverbial closet, and knee deep in queer every Sunday. I hadn’t even done
it
with a man yet and I was surrounded by testosterone-coated yumminess, with nary a shred of a clue of how to get me some. Or what to do should,
gulp
, that even happen. I mean, I might as well have been from a different planet as I had no idea what these boys were talking about half the time. Truthfully, I was quite in need of an unabridged Webster’s Gay English Dictionary. (This being long before
Sex in the City
, it certainly would’ve come in handy. Oh, Samantha, where for art thou?)

I can remember that day like it was yesterday, by the way. Even after all the drugs and booze. I mean, please, I can’t possibly have more than a few brain cells left, and a couple of those are about to forever blink out. But that day, that day I remember perfectly, and it still gives me the chills just thinking about it. Because that’s the day I took my first baby gay steps into the man you see standing before you today. (Well, teetering, at any rate.)

It was close to eleven, with a minimum half-hour wait to get into the place. All my tables were crammed full as soon as the doors were open, and I hadn’t caught a breath since. Thank God they made a mean cup of coffee or I have no idea how I could’ve made it through those awful Sundays. Thankfully, too, the music had been incredibly fierce that morning. Lots of techno and industrial dance stuff: Bizarre Inc., Lords of Acid, and, at that very moment, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult’s mega-hit,
Sex on Wheelz
. Just as the song started, in came a party of six. I’d seen this group before. All pretty, all buffed, and all tweeked out on one thing or another. Miraculously, they’d rarely slept the night before and still always seemed to look fabulous. Better living through chemistry, I figured. The only difference this time, however, was the stranger they soon had in their ranks.

He was, be still my heart (and hard-on), six feet tall, with short-cropped, jet-black hair, not quite a buzz-cut, steel-blue eyes, a slightly aquiline nose, studded ears, and an immaculately shaved goatee. And, of course, he donned a deep even tan on his perfectly complected skin. Like the rest of then, he had on a form fitting muscle tee, blue jeans, and black boots. The dude was thin and tight and too, too dreamy. He was called, as I was later to learn,
a clone
. But, no, friend, because if there where others like him out there, life would be unbearable for us ordinary folk. And,
gasp
, he was coming straight (directionally forward) toward me.
Kathump
went my heart again.
Kapow
went that bulge in my work slacks.

Breathe, Bruce, breathe,
I thought.
He’s just like any other of the queers in the place, just a little more, well, um, perfect.
Seriously perfect. Serious as a heart attack. Or, as in our present case, a coma. (We can turn Susan’s head to the side for those scenes, away from the camera. A body-double would be much cheaper, yes?)