by Jerry Cole
“I will do my best to come back early,” Sparkle said, prying Simon’s hand off his knee and lacing his fingers through Simon’s large digits.
***
When Sparkle arrived at the new brownstone home, things were already in swing. His gift was a ridiculously expensive kitchen appliance that, combined Jerrod’s obsessive need for economy of space and time, with Aaron’s domestic flare. Normally, he would have skipped the item, but Simon insisted that he buy it and order a second for the house they were now sharing. Even the thought made Sparkle a little uneasy and he had yet to work up the carriage to call it “our house”.
Sparkle swept into the front room wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a pink calf-length duster coat with daisies embroidered on the lapel. It had been the daisies that finally sold him on the item. With his flamenco style boots with “too much heel,” Sparkle cut a startling figure as he made his way to the hosts. Well, one of the hosts.
“Congratulations, sweetie.” Sparkle air kissed Aaron.
“Thank you so much for coming. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to make it and then Jerrod would spend the rest of the night hiding or scowling at me,” Aaron confessed.
“You stuck the poor boy in a house full of people he doesn’t know. You’re lucky if he talks to you ever again,” Sparkle scolded.
“Oh, luck has nothing to do with it.” Aaron lifted his eyebrows and smiled as he spoke, making sure Sparkle caught his meaning.
“Well, there is that,” Sparkle chuckled.
“Let me show you around the house,” Aaron offered, but Sparkle declined, in favor of ferreting Jerrod out of his hiding place to have a chat. Bestie to bestie.
“Maybe you can give him some pointers on how to smile at my friends and mingle.” Aaron’s impatience with Jerrod’s reserved manner made his youthful face grim.
Jerrod was a creature of habit, and finding him was not a problem, if you knew where to look. Sparkle found him sorting through a box in what looked like the makings of a master bedroom.
“Were you just waiting for me to show up and distract everybody so that you could get back to your box?” Sparkle took a seat next to his friend, handing him a glass of water that he snagged from the kitchen.
“I just don’t know how he does it. I don’t know anybody downstairs. I didn’t even want this party. He did. So why do I have to stand around with people I don’t know and pretend to be comfortable?”
“Because that is your man, and he’s doing this for you.”
Jerrod stared blankly at Sparkle, not comprehending how anything about this evening was for his benefit.
“He wants everybody to know you’re his man. He’s making a very public declaration of his love for you. Those people down there are all his good friends. Maybe they aren’t all close, but each one of them matters to Aaron. Their opinions matter to him. He’s trying to show them all that he has a wonderful and supportive man and you’ve decided to build a life together. He wants you to know he isn’t hiding. He’s proud of you. Can’t you see that?”
“I don’t need those people to think I’m great.”
“Maybe not, but he does. He needs them to think you’re great.”
Jerrod looked at Sparkle over the rim of his wire-framed glasses. “Since when did you start imparting words of wisdom? Where have you been the last few days?”
“Making the world a more fabulous place for you and me,” Sparkle said innocently.
“Met somebody, huh?”
“Why is it that everybody assumes that?” Sparkle rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“The sex is that great, huh?” Jerrod’s smirk let Sparkle know that he wasn’t fooled at all.
“Oh my God, so good we named it!” Sparkle cried aloud and covered his face with his hands.
“You named it? What did you name it?” Jerrod’s clueless expression was as infuriating as it was endearing.
“Ronnie Peterson! What the hell does it matter, Jerrod?” Sparkle threw his hands in the air dramatically.
“So?”
“So, nothing. He has his work. I have mine. Now is not the time to be getting serious and heavy. I just…” Sparkle choked on the words.
“Just what?”
“I just wonder if I’m ever going to get a day like this. I mean, you barely leave the house and you’ve been engaged twice.”
“They both left me for other guys.”
“Yeah, but they wanted to keep you, at least for a little while. Meanwhile, I’m pretty, funny, caring, financially independent and disease free. Why doesn’t anybody want to keep me?”
“You sell yourself short.”
“Bitch, please. A diva never settles for less than top billing. I’m the one who brings all the boys to the yard. I bounce this booty so nice, they try to hit twice,” Sparkle recited, offended by the idea that he might not be getting everything he deserves.
“That is true when it comes to being ‘Sparkle Jones’, but what about Sean?”
Sparkle shot Jerrod a sidelong glance and sneered.
“Listen, you worked hard to get here,” Jerrod said. “I would never keep you from doing the things you love and being yourself. But the person who’s lonely right now isn’t Sparkle Jones. It’s Sean. A good kid from a small town who prefers generic hot chocolate to the name brand. He draws pictures of angels and couples in love on the inside flap of his notebooks. His mother still sings in the gospel choir, and he got his first real kiss from the pastor’s youngest son.”
Sparkle gasped as he recalled the memory and Jerrod chuckled softly.
“I bet you forgot about that.”
“No, but I wish you would.” Sparkle punched Jerrod in the side with his freshly manicured hand.
“My point is, stop dating guys that Sparkle Jones should like. Try dating the guys that my best friend Sean would like. “
Sparkle gave Jerrod a tight-lipped smile, blinking away his emotion. As much as things were changing, this would stay the same. Jerrod would always know him best, and always tell him the things he needed to hear.
“What the hell would you know? You’ve seen one dick other than your own in your whole life, and now you’re some kind of queer-love expert,” Sparkle teased.
“I didn’t know spending the night tied up in your lover’s trunk was a prerequisite for giving relationship advice.” Jerrod got up from his seat and made his way to the bedroom door.
“ONE TIME! It only happened one time. Are you ever going to let me live that one down?” Sparkle jumped to his feet and followed Jerrod out of the room.
“How many times before it’s officially a good reason to break up?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. I got several designer bags out of that deal,” Sparkle chuckled.
“And the guy who couldn’t eat anything round?”
“It was a childhood trauma!”
Chapter Nine
Simon was reaching the point where he had to admit something was wrong. He had spent most of his night running from the sofa to the shitter. His first instinct was to fire Lupita. His second thought was much more sinister. He crept around the house, looking in drawers and cabinets he never opened, discovering several gifts he had intended to give but never got around to sending.
Not finding what he was looking for, he approached the bedroom with dread. He needed to know, one way or the other, but he was praying that it was the other. The few short days that he spent with Sparkle were some of the best, sweetest days of his life. The last time he felt like this was long ago when he knew it could never last. This time, he was hoping that it would.
Simon pulled open the drawer that he set aside for Sparkle’s effects. He riffled through the appliances Sparkle used to construct his “look” each day. Also, condoms, lube, handcuffs, body glitter, nothing out of the ordinary. Moving into the bathroom, he opened Sparkle’s makeup kit, looking for anything that wasn’t makeup. He almost gave up, overwhelmed by the number of powders, serums, and creams, until a small dark bottle caught his eye
.
The label was in Hanzi, and Simon couldn’t make heads or tails of the Chinese script, despite spending some time in Hong Kong before the handover. The contents of the bottle smelled gross and the thought of what it might be made him feel sick, as he recalled seeing Sparkle with it in hand several times. He didn’t think anything of it at the time. Now all he could think about was that bottle.
When he was ten-years old, his great-grandmother paid him a visit with a similar bottle. The gross liquid she forced him to drink made him gag several times before she agreed to mix it with her tea to help the “medicine” go down. Simon remembered his mother’s eyes, when she saw the empty bottle on the floor beside his bed as he laid there, doubled over in pain, sweating profusely.
Simon spent the next three nights in the hospital.
His great-grandmother, at the hearing to declare her mentally unfit, confessed to poisoning the boy because he was an obvious “sodomite” who would shame the family and keep her out of heaven. He had no idea what that meant then. He learned a lot about that word after that and realized that most people could mind their own business as long as he wasn’t “obvious.”
What was more obvious than sleeping with a man like Sparkle Jones?
***
It was after midnight when Sparkle finally arrived. Simon had spent the last hour standing beside the fireplace, staring at the front door. When Sparkle came through the door, he felt like his whole being was engulfed in flames.
“You’re still up? Don’t you have work in the morning?” Sparkle shuffled across the floor, letting the heel of his boots make soft dragging sounds as he walked towards Simon.
“I told you I’d be waiting.”
“And so you are. How was your night?” Sparkle leaned against Simon’s sturdy frame and kissed the cleft in his chin.
“I spent all night on the toilet. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me.”
“What? Like a vegetable?”
“Maybe, but you and I both know that I’m not a fan of green leafy things.”
“Then tell me, what kind of things are you a fan of?” Sparkle wiggled his eyebrows as he shoved his hands down Simon’s pants.
“Honest things.”
Sparkle stopped short and looked up at Simon’s face.
“And who is not honest, Simon?”
“I’m hoping it's nobody.”
“Why don’t you just ask me what you want to ask?” Sparkle crossed his arms across his chest and sat down on the large teak coffee table.
“What is this?” Simon handed Sparkle the bottle he found.
“A laxative.”
“Why do you need a laxative?”
“Occasionally I need to cleanse.”
“You can’t just buy something over the counter?”
“That is over the counter.”
“It’s in Chinese!”
“So what?”
“How do I know it is what you say it is? How do I know you aren’t trying to make me sick and feeble so that you can take advantage?”
“Are you serious?”
“Lots of guys do it. They latch on to an older man who might be a little sick and lonely—”
“Are you listening to yourself? What part of you seems sick? Where are you feeble? And in case you haven’t noticed, we’re BOTH lonely!” Sparkle stormed into the bedroom, offended by what Simon was implying and disgusted at himself for allowing himself to believe that Simon was different.
“Then why am I sick?”
“I don’t know! You’re human too! Maybe your body has had enough! You aren’t twenty anymore. But you know what? It’s not my problem any longer.” Sparkle began throwing his belongings into the overnight bag he had been using to ferry his belongings back and forth between apartments.
“Then tell me the truth! What is this?” Simon held the bottle out for Sparkle to examine. His eyes were wild with fear and desperation. He wanted to believe Sparkle. He wanted it more than he thought he would ever want anything. But he was too old to make mistakes. He couldn’t afford to be trusting.
Sparkle took the bottle from Simon and emptied the contents down his throat. “It’s a laxative.” Sparkle stared into Simon’s eyes, his face alight with fury.
Simon watched in disbelief as Sparkle separated the things he owned from the things that Simon bought for him. He packed and folded silently, without looking up once. When he was satisfied that he had everything, he took the building access card and apartment key off of his key ring and left it on the nightstand.
Simon watched Sparkle sling the bag over his shoulder and walked to the front door. His heart beat faster as he realized that if he did nothing, Sparkle would be gone. His pride wouldn’t let him move.
“I’m sorry.” Simon’s words were so soft Sparkle wasn’t sure that he heard them.
“Me too.”
Sparkle tapped his foot nervously as the elevator descended. He was so mad, he could spit. After his heart-to-heart with Jerrod, he had been thinking about being honest with Simon about what he wanted in life. He knew that he might not get it. Simon might not be the one, and coming clean could mean that he would lose him. Once a player, always a player. Right? But he never thought he would have to convince Simon that he wasn’t trying to poison him.
There was no point in sticking around if Simon wasn’t even sure that Sparkle wasn’t a homicidal maniac trying to take his money.
“Who the hell does he think he is?” Sparkle said out loud as the elevator came to a stop.
Sparkle hailed the first cab he saw and slid into the passenger seat without bothering to look back at the splendid building he just left. The driver, experienced enough to know heartbreak when he saw it, said nothing, and waited patiently for his fare to give him an address. Sparkle leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes.
“We’re going across town. Empire Heights,” Sparkle said.
Sparkle recalled the first time he drove through the city at night. The skyline seemed almost magical to him. All of the neon lights and high-rise buildings cast a strange kind of magic over him. He wanted to be a part of the glittering, glistening hum of the city. He wanted to be at the center of it.
As he watched the skyline whizz past his window, he couldn’t help but feel a little empty. All of those lights didn’t give any warmth, no matter how brilliantly they shone. While the city was still pretty and exciting, on a night like this, he would trade it all for the feast of stars he used to see outside of his window.
Maybe he was getting too old for this. Maybe it was time for him to pivot and try something new. He couldn’t keep clubbing and doing campy cabaret shows forever. He had a strong portfolio with some very serious and diverse projects under his belt. Maybe now was time for him to retire Sparkle, the diva and let the world meet Sean, the artist. The guy who drew angels and couples in love. The irony was, he spent his whole life looking for somebody to love Sparkle Jones only to discover that the person who really wanted to be loved was Sean.
As the driver turned into the courtyard of his apartment complex, Sparkle decided that this would be the last time he would return home with his tail tucked between his legs. Tomorrow would be a better day, with a better Sparkle and a brand-new future.
“You have a good evening, Miss. Stay safe out here. There are a lot of nut jobs out,” said the driver, pulling away from the curb. Sparkle looked over his shoulder and smiled seductively, slowly walking back to the building entrance in his boots with too much heel. The driver smiled broadly and waved goodbye, nearly crashing into a fire hydrant as his gaze lingered on the sight of Sparkle’s long legs and ample behind in his skinny jeans.
“He may not want it, but I still got it,” Sparkle said to the night sky, giggling at the driver’s misfortune.
The following morning, Sparkle contacted his agent and set up a meeting. Then he got to work doing “the hard stuff.” He turned off his phone, unplugged his computer, dragged out all of his arts and crafts supplies and began la
ying the foundation for the new and improved Sparkle Jones. Maybe what he needed was a fresh start and a new direction. He just needed to decide what it was that he ultimately wanted.
Art helped Sparkle clear the cobwebs and gain clarity. Although he wasn’t a visual artist, there was something about making things—collages, oil paintings, even sculpting in clay—that helped him reconnect with himself. It helped him find the Sean behind the Sparkle.
He turned on his music, letting the soulful strains of the gospel and jazz selections on his playlist fill the space in the room. His mother may not agree, but Sparkle was sure that God still loved him. He was convinced that, whatever power there was out there that he called God, had a purpose and plan for him. Sometimes, in the quiet and lonely moments, when life hurt and disappointments weighed him down, Sparkle would still get on his knees and pray the way his mother taught him to. Then he would take out his art supplies, just like today, and let the rest simply happen.
Today was no different. Sparkle prayed, because, as much as he knew that walking away from Simon was the right thing to do, it still hurt. And then he looked at all of the things he had collected over the years. The whole collection hurt his eyes. It all felt garish and false. In the end, he picked up a large, almost unused drawing pad and a set of colored pencils he forgot he had and let it all flow.
Who was he?
Why couldn’t anybody see him?
Where was he going?
He drew all day long—visions of a possible future and a happier self. He cried and sang and drank red wine. By the end of the day, he had seven detailed drawings and one that he couldn’t seem to complete. It was a picture of a couple in love. One was obviously Sparkle, hair flowing down his back and smiling happily. But the other? That one gave him trouble. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to get it right. The shoulders always seemed too broad. The legs too long and powerful. The chin maintained a hint of a cleft, no matter how many times Sparkle tried to straighten it out.
No matter how hard he tried, Sparkle couldn’t seem to imagine Mr. Right as anybody but Mr. Wrong—Simon Burns himself.
