Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (36 page)

So then, all we could do was wait. Wait, that is, for Dan and his connection and then see if Peter could convince Sam to go along with it. Naturally, Sparkle had something for us to do while we wiled away the hours. (Besides the fact that I had a store to run.) Within minutes of hanging up the phone with Peter, Sparkle had me looking through one tattoo magazine after another.

Having never given much thought to getting a tattoo before, it never dawned on me how major a decision it was to pick one out. After all, it was something that was going to be on his body for the rest of his life. And I seriously doubted that when I was eighty I’d want a Tasmanian devil on my ass. Still, the thought of a tattoo did intrigue me. (The pain of getting one, however, was a definite turnoff.)

“You know, Sparkle, I think that whatever you get should come out of your own head and not from one of these magazines,” I offered.

“Is this your tattoo? I think not. Keep looking,” said he, rejecting my proposal. His demeanor, sadly, made me want one even more. Just to show him who was boss. What a fucking trip. I mean, either he was the slyest asshole ever or I was the biggest idiot. (Shut up. I know what you’re thinking.) In either case, we spent most of the next couple of hours pouring through a dozen or so tattoo magazines, until I couldn’t bear to see one more black panther with its claws ripping across some stranger’s arm or one more Celtic pictogram just below someone’s neck or just above someone’s ass. Are people really that unimaginative?

Thank goodness Dan called back when he did, as I was quite over our little project by then. Fortunately, the news was good. There was room for Sam at the house, but only if he took it immediately. Space, like any other room in San Francisco, was at a premium. So it was now all in Peter’s capable hands.

Suffice it to say, between Sharon anxiously awaiting her date, Sparkle laboring over the tattoo decision, and all of us biting our nails thinking about Sam, it was a tense day, to say the least. I for one was glad when it was time to close up shop and head on home for the evening. We let Sharon lock up so she could be alone with Betty. Actually, she made us leave. I half expected to find some funky smelling towels in the morning in retaliation for my years-earlier sexcapade.

What I wasn’t expecting was to find just that when I got home, with Sparkle in tow. There was no sign of Peter or Sam, but I recognized the smell of sex just the same. (After all, it was rare that I got to smell it much around my home.
Sob
.)

“Um, Sparkle?” I asked, after retrieving the dirty come-rags from the bottom of my hamper, “do you think it might not have been a good idea to leave two attractive and, more than likely, horny teenagers alone in the apartment all day without any adult supervision?”

“Well, when you put it that way…,” he responded.

Just then, the culprits sauntered in. They took one look at us, noticed the soiled evidence, and turned beet red.

“Young man, may I see you in the bedroom?” I said, pointing at Peter. “You apparently already know the way.” He tried not to grin as he made his way there, but I could make out the suppressed smile just the same.

He didn’t look very repentant, either, as he stood there before me and I closed the door behind us. Still, I couldn’t really be that mad at him. After all, if the shoe had been on the other foot, I’d have probably done the same. And Sparkle, well I think we know how that scenario would’ve played out.

Peter explained what had happened, nonetheless. “Actually, it was easy to convince him to go once I walked him through The Castro and showed him the alternatives,” he told me. “Then we had nothing else to do the rest of the day and…”

“…and I can guess the rest. Well, at least you’re keeping it in the family,” I joked.

“That’s gross, Secret. Besides, he is awfully cute, even if he is your cousin.” He giggled and then jabbed me in the arm. “I guess your side of the family got the brains.”

“Ha, ha. That’s enough now. What say we pack Cousin Sam up and go show him his new digs? I’d say the sooner we get you two apart, the easier my life will be.”

“Hey, no problemo. I’ll know where to find him, anyway,” he said and opened the door. Sparkle and Sam were sitting there waiting for us as we exited my bedroom.

“Okay then, Sam, you know I would love to have you stay with me,” I lied, “but right now I think it’s best if we get you some help first. Once the drugs are out of your life, we’ll work on getting you a place to live.”

Peter broke in with, “And then we can enroll him in college with me.”

“Um… what?” I asked, with trepidation. The men in my life sure as hell had this awful way of throwing curve balls at me.

“Well,” Peter continued, “I sort of promised Sam that if he checked himself into the home that we would put him through college with me. You know, after the first year, it’s less than twenty bucks a semester per class.”

“Who’s this
we
you’re referring to, Peter?” Sparkle asked, knowing exactly who the we was.

“Never mind,” I spoke up. “We’ll worry about that later. Let’s just get Sam over there.” There was no sense arguing about it. If we backed out of Peter’s promise, Lord only knows what would happen to my cousin. Plus, I wanted him out of my home and quick. Blood may be thicker than water, but it’s a bitch to get out of the carpeting. So we packed Sam up and drove him over to the address that Dan had given us.

They were expecting him and gave us all a tour of the place. In fact, it was a hell of a lot nicer than my apartment. Hurray for my tax dollars doing some good. Maybe I should become a crackhead so that I can increase my standard of living. Truly, I eyed the place with jealousy. Sam seemed just fine to be there, too, so it was easy to leave him. We kissed him goodbye, Peter a might too long for my liking, and got our asses out of there. I knew he was in good hands, and I, for one, was glad they weren’t mine. One problem down, one to go: namely Sparkle’s tattoo. Oh, and I had an idea on that front, but I was saving it, for the time being.

***

The next morning, Peter went into work with me, where we were greeted by a downright blissful Sharon. Sparkle appeared five minutes later. He didn’t want to miss out on the dish, after all. For once, I couldn’t blame him. I mean, dating an exotic-dancer was just about the most exciting thing to happen to our trio in quite some time. (Sexually-speaking, I mean. And, uh, if you left Sparkle out of the equation, of course.)

“Well?” Sparkle asked, practically jumping on Sharon.

“Well what?” she responded, coyly.

“You know what. Spill it, bitch.” Blunt and to the point.

Sharon hesitated, then with a huge smile, shouted, “Oh… my… God! The earth shook.”

“Um, Sharon?” I interrupted, “was this about eleven last night?”

“Yeah, why?” She looked puzzled.

“Then the earth
literally
did shake. There was a five-point-one earthquake last night at exactly eleven,” I explained. (The hazards of living in San Francisco.)

“Oh,” she mumbled, slightly deflated. Still, she quickly rebounded. “Well, let’s say that I saw God, then. Okay?”

“That would work. No reported sightings of him at that time.” I hated to rain on her pride parade. She could’ve seen Him, I suppose. Maybe He was in town for an Almighty convention or something.

“Anyway,” she continued, “the woman is phenomenal; and not only in bed. Well, that was pretty incredible, too. She’s got a tongue like a fucking snake. I think she licked my kidney.”

“T.M.I.!” Sparkle and I shouted in unison. (Too Much Information, if you’re acronym impaired.)

“Get over it,” Sharon responded. “That’s not half as bad the crap you two, well, Sparkle, anyhow, come in here with. (Ouch.) Anyway, we talked all night after we had the incredible sex. There was, like, this total connection between the two of us. There’s just this one, little problem… well, not a problem, per se…”

“Oh, God, here comes that big
but
again,” Sparkle interjected.

“No, no big buts, just a little something I wasn’t expecting.” She hesitated as we sat there anxiously awaiting the dilemma.

“Please, Mary, I have enough in my life to worry about. Spill it!” What Sparkle had to worry about, I have no idea, but I wasn’t about to argue. Seriously, I couldn’t wait to hear what was troubling Sharon, and I could tell that she was itching to share it with us.

“Promise not to laugh?” she asked, before telling us.

“Um, Sharon,” I responded, “look who you’re making that request to. Let’s just say that we’ll try to keep it down to a low roar.”

She hesitated again, biting her lower lip, before blurting out, “She wants me to pose nude for her.”

To our credit, we didn’t start laughing for a full fifteen seconds. Then we couldn’t hold it in any longer. It wasn’t that Sharon wasn’t, well, for whatever it’s worth coming from me, attractive enough. It was just so completely out of character that it was unexpectedly very funny. Sharon, however, was not the least bit amused.

“Fine. Laugh. Never mind. I knew it was silly. I’ll just tell her I won’t do it. It’s not like I wanted to anyway.” She was pouting and looked quite pitiful sitting there. Sparkle stopped laughing just long enough to force out a, “Don’t be silly. We’re not laughing at you; we’re laughing with you.”

“I’m not laughing, Fuckhead,” she coldly said to him.

“Oh, then I guess we’re not laughing with you. Okay, then let’s just say it’s not something we can picture you doing,” he amended with.

“I agree. Let’s just forget that I brought it up. It was a silly idea.” She looked profoundly disappointed.

“No, Sharon,” I stood up and put my arm over her shoulder. “You should do it. Don’t listen to him. You’ve got a great… you’ve got great… well, you know… you’ve got it.” I wasn’t in the habit of complementing women on their attributes, and was plainly bad at it.

“What he’s trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to say is that you’ve got a nice rack,” Sparkle clarified.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I agreed, glad to not have to actually say it myself.

“Thanks, Sparkle. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” She was being sarcastic and was starting to look mighty pissed at us. “And it will be a cold day in hell before you ever get to see them!”

“Hey, it was a complement,” he insisted.

“Stick to being an asshole, Sweetie. You’re much better at it.” Uh-oh, the gloves were coming off.

“Okay now. Let’s just calm down. (I was scheming a plan… yippy!) Do you want to pose naked for Betty or not?” I asked her.

“Not!” she shouted at me.

“Well, I have a distinct feeling that you do want to, but that you also know that it’s out of character for you and so you won’t do it. Am I right?” I knew I was.

“Well… maybe. So what?” She was looking less pissed and more piqued.

“Well… what if I did something equally out of character at the same time that you do?” (I bet you know what’s coming up, but I don’t think they did.)

“Oh no. You’re not going to pose naked, too, are you?” Sparkle said, in mock terror.

“Sharon’s right. You are an asshole. And, no, I am not going to pose naked, but I will go get a tattoo with you if Sharon poses naked for Betty first.” They both immediately lit up.

“You will?” she shouted first.

“You will?” he shouted next. “No fucking way!”

“Okay then,” Sharon said and finally cracked a smile. “It’s a deal! If you, King Chicken-Shit, can get a tattoo, then I can get undressed in front of a camera.”

“Hey, I’m on your side. Keep picking on the asshole (gross, that didn’t come out right) and leave me out of it,” I objected.

“Hey, enough with the asshole stuff,” Sparkle complained, “besides, we still have a big problem.”

“Now what?” Sharon asked, though I already knew what he was going to say.

“Like, duh, first we had one queen with no idea what to get etched on his body and now we have two.” Yep, that’s what I was expecting. Could I, Bruce Miller, finally have one scheme work out?

“No, we don’t,” I calmly objected.

“We don’t?” he asked.

“Nope,” I answered.

“Well, don’t just sit there, fill us all in, if you please.”

I was all atwitter as they sat there staring at me. “You’re gonna love it,” I promised.

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said, skeptically.

“Okay… ready?” I stalled for effect.

“I’m gonna slap you…”

“Okay, okay… here goes… you get Sparkle across your upper back and I get Secret!” I shouted and jumped up.

He sat there with no expression on his face. For a second, I thought I’d figured it out wrong. Then he slowly stood up and, with a completely monotone voice, said, “I love it.”

“What?” I asked, not sure that I heard him right.

Then he burst about with, “I love it! I fucking love it!”

“Good job, Secret,” Sharon said and patted me on the back. Then she went back to the office. It was obvious that she was ecstatic that I gave her that added little push to do what she had wanted to do all along. I was glad for that, too. But I was selfishly even happier that I got to get a tattoo and that Sparkle didn’t trick me or cajole me into getting one.
Score one for the Bruce-man
, I thought.

Then Sparkle and I were left alone sitting there drinking our coffee. When I looked up at him, he had just the slightest smirk on his face.

“What?” I asked, nervously.

“What, what?” he said, returning the question.

“What’s with the grin?” I tried to be more specific that time.

“What grin?” But he wasn’t playing along. (Or was he?)

“You know what grin, fucker. Why are you grinning?”

“I was not grinning,” he said, adamantly, but was grinning even wider by that point.

“Okay, look, we both know you’re grinning about something, so you might as well tell me.”

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” He paused.

“
Just
…,” I echoed.

“Well, come on now, Secret; I know and you know that you came up with that one way too fast. You wanted that tattoo all along, didn’t you?”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.  I honestly though I won that one. I either needed stupider friends or better plans. In other words, I was crestfallen.