Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (38 page)

“No, she’s as enamored of me as ever, but since I can’t get away during the day, Betty still takes pictures of the girls from the club. Anyway, it’s not like she’s here every day, you know,” she said, defensively. And I knew something was up. See, Sharon rarely took that tone with me.

“No, no, I know that. It’s just that, well, she is here most of the time.” I tried to be as non-judgmental as possible in the hope of avoiding any potential conflict.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Sharon asked and looked up from what she was doing in order to face me. Since I was into it up to my ears, I decided to take it all the way through.

“Do
you
?” I tried.

She paused for a moment, started to say something, and stopped. Then she sat down at a table and rested her head in her hands before answering my rather pointed question. “Secret, I really like this woman, but there are a few things that bother me.”

“Such as?” I asked and sat down with her at the table. See, I knew all was not right on the Western front.

“Such as this whole wanting to be with me every spare minute thing, for one. I’m not sure it’s exactly healthy. Do you?”

“Well I…”

“I mean, I barely know her and she’s already talking about maybe moving in with me. (Danger, Will Robinson. Danger, danger, danger.) She’s great and everything, but I’m not ready for that. Maybe in a month or two, but not right now. Right?”

“Well, of course, but…”

“No, you’re right, Secret, it’s crazy. We’ve only known each other a couple of weeks. She doesn’t even know the real me yet. She’s only seen the good side so far. Next week is my you know what time of the month. Wait until she meets
that
side of Sharon. Whoa, that should change her mind, right?”

“Actually, I don’t…”

“I know what you’re going to say, and keep it to yourself, Funny Man. I’m just saying that I don’t think we really know each other enough yet. Take for instance that morning she happened in here to look for that book on photography. Do you want to know the truth, Bruce?”

“Well, sure…”

“I know, I should’ve told you guys sooner, but I didn’t want any lectures. Anyway, it seems like that was just a ruse. Betty told me that she’d been walking by here for days trying to get the nerve to come in and meet me. Me! I mean, really. What’s that about? Look at her. She could have anybody she wants. Since when am I so special?”

“Now I…”

“I know, thanks, Secret. That’s not exactly what I meant. I just meant that this whole fascination with me is kind of, well,
unnerving
. Did you know that she calls me at least twice a night and meets me almost every morning to walk me to work?”

“Well, no, I…”

“Of course you didn’t, Secret. And did you know that she told her parents all about me after just a week. My parents don’t even know that I have a cat, and I’ve had Blacky for nearly three years. I seriously doubt that I would tell them about Betty after just under three weeks. That’s some scary shit. I just don’t know what to do about all this. Should I break up with her? Should I tell her to back off a little? I think she might freak if I tried that.”

“Well, I would…”

“No, you’re right, Secret. I’m gonna put my foot down and tell her that I need some space. And if she doesn’t think that she can do that, then I’m gonna have to tell her that it’s over. You know, Secret, I was a little apprehensive talking to you about this stuff, but you’ve really helped me decide what I need to do. Thanks for the great advice.”

“Well, it was no…”

“Oops, customer. Thanks, Secret. I’ll get it. You’ve been enough help already. You just sit there and take a break.”

“Glad I could help,” I said to myself.

Well, that was easy. Maybe I should’ve been a relationship counselor. After all, those who can’t, teach. I hoped that whatever it was I said, or didn’t say, would actually do some good. At least Sharon realized that there was a problem, because I was beginning to worry. Which brings me to Gay Rule #11. Ready? Got a pencil? Okay, here it is: never point your friend’s problems out to them when you already have enough of your own to worry about. You know, most people know they’re fucked up without other people calling attention to it.

The next morning, as it turned out, I found that I had good reason to be worried.

Sharon looked like she hadn’t slept a wink and the hopeful face that I’d left the night before had been replaced by a miserable one. She attacked me as soon as the door to the shop shut behind me.

“Well, Mister Advice Man, that was a horrible idea! Betty freaked out when I told her that it was either back off or get out. She was hysterical for nearly the entire night, and I had to swear up and down this morning that everything was alright before she’d let me leave to come in here this morning. I’ve never met a more obsessed person in my entire life. I should’ve known better than to take advice from someone whose longest relationship was with the milk carton in his refrigerator,” she hollered at me.

And I knew better than to argue. She was obviously working her brain cells and her mouth on nearly no sleep. So I did the only smart thing I knew that I could do in the circumstance. The situation, after all, called for someone sneaky and deceitful; it needed someone who was accustomed to breaking hearts and distancing themselves from unwanted paramours. Honesty wasn’t going to work with someone who was already clearly off the deep end. In other words, I got Sparkle to come down to the shop immediately. I probably should’ve done that the night before, though. The straightforward path hadn’t worked in any relationship that I or any of my friends had been in so far; why should this one have been any different? (Are you being judgmental up there? Well stop it! Most people are, at best, unstable, mentally and emotionally, and shouldn’t be treated like intelligent, rational human beings. Especially when dealing with relationships.)

And so, Sparkle swooped in for the rescue. Sharon filled him in on the details, blaming me for nearly everything. Naturally, I let her. Look, why make the situation worse, I figured. I told Sparkle later on, and in private, what really happened. He’d already figured as much, as it seemed extremely unlikely that I would offer up any advice that involved being honest or mature. (What great friends I have.) Thankfully, he had a better solution. And it was a doozie.

That night, before we closed up for the evening, Betty came by on her way to work. The three of us were there waiting for her and we were well-rehearsed.

“Hey, guys,” she said, with a wave and a smile, as she walked into the shop.

We all said hello back to her, but were obviously a bit standoffish. She caught on immediately. Pulling up a chair, she asked, “Everything okay?”

“Not exactly,” Sparkle responded. Sharon and I stood behind him and off to his sides. We figured we would look more formidable that way.

“What does that mean?” she asked, looking tense and, at the same time, ready to pounce. I could see why Sharon was afraid to face her alone; she was obviously a tad off kilter. I think working under those lights night after night might have made her loopy. You know what they say, after all, about the need for natural lighting.

“Well, Betty, it’s like this,” he started, keeping to the script, “I’m sure that Sharon told you that she’s bisexual, right?”

“What’s that got to do with the fucking price of tea in China?” she spat out. “Yeah, I know she’s bi. So what?” Now she was showing signs of anger, and Sharon and I were fidgeting in the background, nervous for what might happen. Sparkle, as usual, was cool, calm, and collected. He had dealt with his share of lunatics before, after all.

“Did she tell you that I was a bisexual as well?” he asked, with a straight (bi?) face.

“What? No fucking way. You’re as queer as Liberace at a gay pride parade. Maybe even more so.” She gave a small chuckle, making her seem even more menacing. I couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d react to what we’d cooked up.

“Be that as it may,” he continued, unperturbed, “I am. And, what’s more, Sharon and I have been seeing each other regularly for the last three years.” That did it. Betty rose up and threw the chair she was sitting on off to the side. The three of us gave a little jump backward, fearing that more furniture would soon follow.

“Bullshit!” she shouted at us. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about it then?”

“Because,” Sparkle began to explain, “Sharon and I have an arrangement. She experiments on the side and I experiment on the side, but we don’t officially date anybody except for each other. It’s how we keep our relationship, well,
fresh
. Unfortunately, this thing between the two of you has gotten a little beyond our agreement, and I’m afraid that it’s going to have to end. Sorry.”

“Sorry my ass!” she hollered and moved toward us. “I don’t believe a word of it. Is this true, Sharon?”

With a quiver in her voice, Sharon answered, meekly, “I’m afraid so, Betty, and I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you sooner.”

Now Betty was livid. We could see the rage in her eyes as she stood there, fists clenched and eyes staring right through us like two hot pokers. “Damned straight you should’ve told me. I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we had something special. You’re killing me here, Sharon.” Now her voice was shaking, and for a second I felt a twinge of guilt, but just for a second, because then she really let go. “Fine!” she raged, and moved to within inches of Sparkle. “I guess I have no choice in the matter.” Then she raised her fist in front of Sparkle’s face. “But I’ll tell you this, you three have made one big, fucking enemy here, especially you, you fucking, little fruit. (She was talking to Sparkle, of course). You better pray that you don’t run into me in some dark, deserted alley in the middle of the night because you’re gonna regret treating me like this some day. That I promise. Got it?” And she punched Sparkle on his chest to drive home the point. It sounded like it hurt, but my friend took it in stride and just stood there staring right back at her. Honestly, I had to give him credit; I would’ve beaten the shit out of her. (If I were a violent man, which I’m not, of course.)

With nothing else to say or do, Betty stormed out of the store and slammed the door behind her. The three of us let out an audible sigh and then reached for each other for a much needed group hug.

“Crazy bitch,” Sparkle chuckled.

“Told ya so,” Sharon agreed. “And thanks.”

“No sweat,” he said as we stood there hugging. “Guess I’m gonna have to avoid those alleys from now on, though.”

“Wow,” I piped in, “how will you ever meet any potential new boyfriends then?”

“The old fashioned way,” he replied. “Men’s bathrooms.”

“And locker rooms. Don’t forget those.” Sharon offered, regaining her composure and her sense of humor.

“Oh, definitely. And of course there’s always The Castro,” I added.

Sparkle shuddered. “No, let’s not get drastic here. I’d rather take my chances with the alleys. Anyway, let’s pray that’s the last time we ever see our nice stripper friend there. She packs quite a hard wallop,” he said, rubbing his chest.

“Amen,” Sharon and I chorused.

“By the way,” Sharon added as we all de-embraced, “now that we’re officially dating, Sparkle, I like irises, not roses, gin, not vodka, and I prefer Verdi to Wagner.”

“Get a grip, Mary,” he chuckled. “I prefer men to anything and that was my one foray into Straightsville. Got it?”

“Got it, Lover,” she said and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Good, now let’s get the fuck out of here and get us some booze,” he said, practically running for the door.

“Hey, I know a bar that serves great drinks,” I proclaimed.

“Forget it, Secret!” Sparkle shouted as he opened the door and stepped out into the cold, crisp evening. “You’ve forever lost the right to suggest places to imbibe. From now on, we’ll wing it without your troublesome help. Now let’s go. My liver is shouting up at me to feed it, and, you know, it’s never a good idea to argue with your internal organs.”

I, for one, couldn’t argue with that.

Chapter Nine

Queer and Present Danger

Okay, that didn’t help at all. Here I sit, yapping away, and Sparkle just lies there. And do you want to know something really sick? He looks fabulous. Even the gaunt look works for him. Anyway, it’s really no fun recounting a fairly riotous tale and having no one around to laugh at all the funny parts. (Present company excepted.) Peter, God love him, stops by every chance he gets, but it’s very lonely here without my Sparkle. I mean, yes, he’s here, in the bodily sense, but that’s not what counts. Not really. I have to say, even with all his many, many bad traits and severe character flaws, I miss him more than words can express. I’d give anything to hear a
Mary
or a
Miss Thing
right about now. But listen to me, all maudlin and sappy. If Sparkle can hear me, I’m sure he’s quite over my bitching and whining.

Well then, let’s try a different approach. The preceding recounting was one that Sparkle had already heard. Hell, he’s told it a million times himself. It’s not every day that you get threatened by a lesbian stripper, after all. So, let’s try a tale he hasn’t heard before. And while we’re at it, let’s go hog-wild and talk about the one event that everyone has been sworn to secrecy on. Sparkle would kill us if he found out, so, if he’s listening, it’s sure to bring him around. 

Wow, I never thought I’d be talking about this with him only a few inches away, but here goes…

It all started about three months after the whole Betty episode. Luckily for us, or Sparkle at least, we never did run into her again. Of course, we pretty much stay clear of Polk Street these days, just in case. Why tempt fate? That’s the funny thing about San Francisco: people flow in and out of your life so easily until they’re nothing but a distant memory. Unfortunately, just when you think you’ve seen the last of them, they float right back in. (Yep, there’s that nasty foreshadowing again.)