Sparkle: The Queerest Book You'll Ever Love (17 page)

“Well, they both have that same tired smell to them then.” He was right about that. The women reeked of dead flowers and the men all smelled like they’d just come from the office or a bar. Honestly, I couldn’t wait for the gay influx. (Maybe, I hoped, I could even get a date out of it.)

***

The next few days had been especially hectic for me. Besides my normal duties at the store, I was busy helping Mack pick out the gay books and then ordering them. It was fun, though, because I was getting a crash course in gay literature. I also had the added bonus of being too busy to play with Sparkle, so there were no more confrontations at the store. Two birds, one stone. Then again, one is all it takes to do some heavy damage.

By Friday, we’d ordered all the books and had set up some new bookcases in what was to be our gay section
.
And, really, I couldn’t have been more proud. I mean, I was actually doing my small part for gay culture. I felt so… so… Quentin Crisp-ish (but with much less eye shadow).

When it was finally time to close up shop, Mack and I were both exhausted, but also exhilarated. To celebrate our achievement, I suggested that we grab a bite to eat at a nearby Italian restaurant. He was all for it, and so we headed on out. When we got to the restaurant, it was dark and crowded and it smelled wonderful. We were quickly seated and given a hard baguette to nibble on. That’s when I reached over the table, shook Mack’s hand, and congratulated him on a job well done, and he, in turn, shot me a smile and thanked me for the opportunity to help out.

Just then we were greeted
not
by our happy waiter, but by a very unhappy Sparkle. I instantly knew what he was thinking, and pulled him to the back by the bathrooms so that we could have our conversation in private (or at least not smack-dab in the middle of the restaurant and in front of Mack).

“Before you start screaming at me and accusing me of whatever it is you’re about to accuse me of, let me just say that Mack and I are here just as friends and nothing more. Nothing. I swear,” I protested, but I could tell that it was falling on deaf ears.

“Please, Secret, I saw you two playing handsies. You’re obviously here on a date, even after I told you to lay off of him. I cannot believe that after all I’ve done for you, you slap me in the face by coming here with him. You’re one lousy mother-fucker!”

“All you’ve done for me?” I shouted. “All you ever do for me is get me into trouble or embarrass me. If anything, I’m always the one doing things for you. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even have any real friends. And besides, Mack can’t stand you!”

At that point, the restaurant manager came over and politely asked us to either stop shouting or to please leave. Neither, of course, was about to happen. If anything, the battle escalated and the manager, seeing that we weren’t quieting down or leaving, walked away. That should’ve been our clue to stop, but we were too hot under the collars to pay attention.

Sparkle let the next volley go. “You’re nothing but a jealous little twerp. I can’t believe I’ve let you hang around me this long. If I really wanted Mack, I would’ve had him already. You, on the other hand, are way out of your league. It must really kill you to watch me have any man I want while you have to scrounge around for anything you can get.” (Ouch.)

That’s when Mack came over to try and intercede. “Boys, boys, please stop with the yelling. Remember that you’re best friends, okay? Is this really worth your friendship?”

Sparkle turned to him and, with a sneer, said, “Um, excuse me, Miss Mary Mack, but this is an AB conversation, please C yourself out of it.” (Uh-oh, that did it.)

“Why, you snide asshole,” Mack shouted, “you’re so full of yourself that you can’t even see that you’re fighting over a man that absolutely despises you and you’re doing it with your best friend. You have to be the biggest jerk on the entire face of the planet. As a matter of fact, I can’t stand to even be in the same room as you.” Mack turned to look at me and frowned. “Bruce, I’m sorry, but I’m leaving and I quit. I never want to see this reprehensible excuse for a human being ever again.”

Mack turned and walked back to get his jacket, while I ran after him to try and convince him that we could work it out. (Not that I thought we could, mind you, but I had to give it a shot.) Sparkle followed close behind, and, a split-second later, we were all back at the table. I tried my darndest to try and talk some sense into Mack, but he had his mind made up and was intent on leaving. I, of course, was frantic. I not only needed Mack to help me with the new section, but also I wanted to continue working with him. It was hopeless, though, as he was quickly out the door before I could think of good reason for him to stay. And, to make matters worse, as I turned to say something mean and nasty to Sparkle, he beat me to the punch by calling me a wanna-be before throwing his I.D. bracelet down to the floor.

Well, that did it. I exploded and proceeded to call Sparkle every bad name I could think of. This, sadly, ended with my final words of the event: “William Astan, I hope the next time I see you you’re cold and dead and in a morgue somewhere, and you better watch out, because it may be me that put you there.” At the same time I was saying this, Sparkle reached over, grabbed the baguette, and smacked me over the head with it. Also at that same moment, the police came in and heard and saw the entire thing. Hence, assault with a deadly weapon for Sparkle and a threat against his life by yours truly. (Talk about your bad timing.)

By that point, the two of us were really ready to kill each other and were about to lunge when the police interceded and separated us. I went immediately limp and let the policeman bring me to a corner of the restaurant. Sparkle, suffice it to say, was not so helpful. He put up quite a fight before several policemen had him under control. To make matters worse, as if they weren’t God-awful already, the restaurant manager had come over and was pointing a finger at Sparkle and was telling the police that he had started the whole thing. Of course, this was true, but I immediately felt sorry for him as they dragged him out of the restaurant and into the street. Seconds later, I could hear them reading him his rights as they handcuffed him and threw him into the back of their car.

I, however, was substantially luckier. After I told the police what had happened (or at least the abridged version), they released me and gave me a warning. They also said that I should be careful not to threaten any more lives. Needless to say, I haven’t. Then I asked them where they were taking Sparkle and how could I get him out of this mess. They were shocked by my request, of course. For that matter, so was I, but that’s what being best friends is all about. (Peaks and valleys, Sweeties. Peaks and valleys.) Besides, I couldn’t picture Sparkle lasting more than a few hours in prison without becoming someone’s bitch.

The police released me, and I made hasty apology to the restaurant manager. I also left the waiter a huge tip, even though we never ordered any food; I figured he deserved something for the trouble we caused. I probably shouldn’t have bothered, though, as I was pretty sure that I would never be eating at that restaurant ever again (not that they would have let me, anyway). Luckily for me, there was a phone booth just outside, because I knew immediately who I needed to call.

“Hello, Kiki, this is Bruce. I sort of need a favor,” I began, guiltily.

Kiki and I had remained good friends over the years, but since he didn’t particularly get along with Sparkle, or vice-versa, I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with him much anymore. Still, we did see each other periodically, and he knew all about Sparkle’s shenanigans over the years, so he wasn’t at all surprised at the story I told him. Still, it wasn’t Kiki that I needed, you see, so much as Larry, mainly because he was pretty much the only
adult
I knew and certainly the only professional I had for a friend. I seriously doubted that any of our other friends had an attorney or even personally knew one. (Bail bondsman, maybe. But that was only a quick fix.) Meaning, Larry was our only hope. At least I prayed as much.

Kiki put me on hold and went to get him. As I stood there in the cold and ruminated on the events of the past hour, I started to cry. I mean, I had lost two friends in a matter of seconds and was relying on a third to help me out of the sad state of affairs I was in. What, I thought, had happened? Certainly, I tried my best to make it work out, but my good intentions just weren’t good enough in this case. I swore that if I could put things back to normal, I would only tell the truth from then on out. (Stop your snickering up there. Dire situations call for desperate measures. Besides, you and I both know that that wasn’t really ever going to happen, right?)

The next voice on the phone was Larry’s telling me to calm down. As soon as we got off the phone, he said that he would call his lawyer and the three of them would meet me at the police station. He also told me not to worry and that everything would be okay. I felt at least a little better upon hearing this. I mean, at least I’d made one good decision that day.

I hung up the phone, hailed a cab, and was at the police station in no time flat. This was not necessarily a good thing, however, because I then had to wait for Kiki and Larry. Needless to say, police stations are downright creepy, and the ones in San Francisco are no exception. Between the drug dealers, prostitutes, and homeless derelicts, I was beginning to feel dirty just by being there. (Especially with the baguette crumbs still tenaciously hanging around in my hair.)

As for the station itself, the least they could do was hire a good interior designer, I thought. I mean, come on, was all that overhead fluorescent lighting really necessary? It gave everyone that washed out look. And they hadn’t bought a new stick of furniture in something like ten years. It was pitiful, really, but the prospect of redecorating (at least in my head) gave me something else to think about besides Sparkle behind bars. (Sounds like a made for TV movie:
Sparkle Behind Bars,
with Richard Chamberlain as Sparkle and co-starring Tom Cruise as his faithful sidekick, Secret. What? It could happen.)

I was still thinking about whether or not to go with hardwood floors and chintz rugs when Kiki and Larry came swooping in with what must have been Larry’s lawyer in tow. Introductions were made before I hastily told the lawyer, Mister Horowitz, what had happened. He told me that since I wasn’t going to press charges and he doubted that the restaurant would either that he should be able to get Sparkle out sometime that evening and that we should all just sit tight. (Had there been a bar there,
tight
is exactly what I would’ve been. Alas, there wasn’t one, but in my redecorating fantasy there certainly would be.)

Larry went with Mister Horowitz to post Sparkle’s bail, while Kiki tried his best to cheer me up. I mean, I was feeling pretty lousy at that point. Plus, I was uncertain how Sparkle would react to seeing us all there. After all, we hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. To top it all off, I remembered that Mack had quit and I would have no one to help me in the store the next morning. So I decided to call Slim and tell him what had happened. Maybe he could send Sharon over, I figured.

I reached Slim quick enough; he told me that he’d already heard the whole story. Mack had called him to apologize for quitting and then explained why. Since Slim was old friends with Sparkle, he completely understood. He also offered to switch Sharon over to Classics II and offered Mack a job at Classics. Sparkle never went over there, and Mack happily took the job. Score one measly point for yours truly. I was so relieved that I started to cry all over again. Thank God Kiki was with me because I was fast becoming a total wreck. Naturally, I thanked Slim up and down, and, by the time I hung up, Larry and Mister Horowitz were already on their way back.

“Well?” I asked the lawyer, anxiously, with tears streaming down my face.

“He’ll be out in an hour. They just need to process the paperwork. Plus, the clerk owes me a favor. (Mister Horowitz winked at me as he said this.
Hmm
. A gay, Jewish lawyer. I really needed to hang out with Kiki more often if this was the company he was keeping.) No one is pressing charges, but he’ll still have to go before a judge for disturbing the peace and resisting arrest. Oh, and don’t worry about your friend; they let me go back to see him, and an hour before they arrested him, they raided an illegal gay dance party. He’s back there with a dozen of the cutest drugged-out boys you’ve ever seen. He actually told me to take my time.”

“Sounds like Sparkle,” I said, with a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much for your help. I can’t even begin to express my gratitude for all you’ve done.”

“Well, perhaps I can find a way for you to do just that,” he said, with a wink, and handed me his business card. Maybe the night wasn’t going to be a total loss after all, I thought, and shot him a smile while tucking the card into my wallet.

“You guys don’t have to wait with me anymore,” I said, with a relieved sigh. “I’m sure you’d all rather be anyplace else but here, and I doubt Sparkle will want a huge reception when he gets out.” I was hoping they’d agree, and, knowing Kiki’s feelings toward Sparkle, they did. I thanked the three of them repeatedly and walked them outside. Then I gave Kiki an extra long hug, telling him how lucky I was to have friends like them. He said that I was right about that and he would call me in the morning to see how I was doing. He also said, rather cryptically, that Sparkle and I would get our chance to make it up to him, and soon. Not wanting any more surprises, I let it go and went back inside the station.

Twenty minutes later, Sparkle came walking toward me. My heart was pounding a mile a minute and I was nervous as all hell. Would we still be friends? Would the feud still be in full-force? My questions were answered as soon as he got within a few feet of me, because he reached out his arms and beckoned me toward him. I gladly hugged him while he apologized over and over again. Both of us were crying up a storm and swore we’d never fight again, especially over a man. (A good pair of jeans, though, were fair game.) We stood there like that for about ten minutes and cried and laughed until we had no more tears left.