by Jerry Cole
“I brought somebody for you to meet. This is Sparkle,” Simon said, indicating the silent visitor with his hand.
“Nice to meet you, young lady,” Victoria said with a toothy smile.
“Nice to meet you too, ma’am,” Sparkle said, taking her outstretched hand. Well, not a hand exactly—three fingers extended limply.
“So, you are my son’s new paramour,” Victoria said, heaving with the effort.
“Yes, I am.” Sparkle looked up at Simon’s unreadable expression and nodded slightly. If meeting his mother meant that much to Simon, then Sparkle would endure it well and answer honestly.
“Well, in my day we didn’t go around with the blacks. But I think things have changed,” Victoria said, wheezing as she spoke.
Sparkle almost burst into laughter. Of all the problems he expected to encounter, it never occurred to him that his blackness would be an issue for the octogenarian.
“They certainly have,” Sparkle agreed.
“You know,” Victoria grabbed Sparkle’s hand and leaned forward. Sparkle did the same. “They think I don’t know I’m dying. Of course, I know. I have had this body for almost eighty years. I know I’m dying. But I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about my Simon. He never liked being alone. Not since he was a baby.”
Victoria stopped talking, her face going slack and that pale as she tried to catch her breath. Sparkle sat still and waited for the woman to continue talking.
“He can’t be alone…he needs somebody. So, you make sure you make him marry you. I can’t do it. I’m too old. You marry him and take care of my Simon. Don’t let him be alone,” Victoria said, panting, her voice growing more high pitched and desperate as she spoke.
The sight brought tears to Sparkle’s eyes. Even in her last moments, with disease snatching her memories from her, she could still worry about her son. She could still remember him as a child who hated to be left alone. She could still beg a stranger to take care of him when she was gone.
“I promise I won’t let him be alone. We’re family,” Sparkle said, looking over Victoria’s shoulder at her stone-faced son.
“Bobby, could you get me some water,” Victoria said, looking at Simon.
“Sure thing,” Simon said, walking out of the room and leaving Sparkle alone with his mother.
“Now, you need to know that my son is gay,” Victoria whispered. “But don’t worry. He will take care of you.”
Sparkle let a tear fall for the sadness of the situation. Grasping the woman’s hands, he gave her a wry smile.
“That’s okay. I’m a man. We’ll get along just fine.”
Victoria’s eyes went wide with shock as she looked up at Sparkle. The dark jeans, loafers and tangerine sweater he wore didn’t indicate masculine or feminine. His hair was swept up into a messy knot with the unruly strands kissing the back of his neck and earlobes. Although Sparkle was not wearing makeup, his sultry eyes, arched eyebrows and nearly flawless skin were enough to fool most people in passing. Her eyes were probably failing her as well. He could hardly blame her for the confusion.
Victoria dissolved into another fit of coughing, choking as she struggled to catch her breath and clear her lungs. After several minutes, Sparkle called for a nurse, holding Victoria’s slight body to keep her from tumbling out of bed. Sparkle’s eyes were wide with panic as Simon burst into the room with Melissa in tow.
“Just lay her back against the pillows,” the medical officer said, as she opened a kit she brought in with her.
Sparkle stepped outside the room and watched as the nurse suctioned mucus out of Victoria’s airway, helping her to breathe a little easier. He looked up at Simon who watched on silently. This was obviously not the first time he had seen this scene.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told her I’m not a girl. I think I startled her,” Sparkle said to his lover.
“No, it was going to happen eventually.” Simon’s eyes and tone were both flat and calm.
“She was warning me that her son is gay, but he’ll still be very good to me,” Sparkle explained.
“She remembers?”
“Yes Bobby, she remembers,” Sparkle assured him.
“Bobby was my dad,” Simon explained.
“Why don’t you talk to her? She is obviously waiting for you. Tell her you’re Simon, not Bobby, and say your goodbyes.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye.”
“But you’ll have to one way or the other. So, make it a good one. Go in there and tell her the truth while you can.”
Simon stood outside the room as Melissa helped to settle Victoria, administering a breathing treatment to stave off the discomfort of slowly drowning in your own mucus.
“That one took a lot out of her. She’s okay for right now,” said the pretty medical officer.
“I’ll stay out here. You go,” Sparkle said, pushing Simon towards the open door.
“So you’re really his lover?” Melissa asked as soon as Simon was out of earshot.
“Nobody is more shocked than me, believe me.”
“He doesn’t seem like the type,” the brunette sneered.
“Well, never judge a book by its cover.”
“It’s a damned shame. Freaks like you taking good men while real women like me are still single.”
“News flash, if it weren’t me it would be another man. He’s gay. Always has been, always will be. Spare me the eulogy while you mourn your fantasies,” Sparkle replied, shutting the conversation down with a wave of his hand, a slow eye roll, and a sashay to the rocking chair in the corner.
“I can’t believe she said that,” whispered another caretaker who had been quietly observing the whole scene.
Neither could Sparkle. This would never have happened if he had worn his suede ankle boots.
Chapter Twelve
“Oh…Bobby…” Victoria wheezed.
“No, Mom. I’m Simon. Bobby is dead.”
“Simon? I get so confused,” Victoria said, her face lighting up with a smile.
“It’s okay.” Simon sat beside his mother’s bed, holding her soft, frail hand in his.
“Oh…Simon. Your girlfriend is a man! Did you know?”
“Yes, I know. What do you think?”
“She is pretty, and she looks like nice people. I didn’t think she would be black, but I have no problems with you going around with the black people. Look at Sammy Davis!”
“You like her?”
“Yes, I think I scared her away. I’m sick you know?”
“We know. I just wanted you to meet once.”
“Such a pretty girl, are you sure she’s a man? Well, I guess you like it better that way.”
“Yes, I like her that way.”
“This one should be real, not like that Damon. Be good to this one,” Victoria said, reclining back on her pillows, her strength waning.
“I will. I love you, Mom. I don’t know what I would do or who I would be without you,” Simon let the tears flow down the bridge of his nose. She almost seemed like herself. Was it too much to hope that she was going to beat the odds and recover? Even if she only lived for a few days more than expected, he would take whatever he could get.
“Call that girl in here. I want to apologize,” Victoria commanded in a voice so strong it didn’t seem like it could come from her body.
Simon got up obediently and walked out of the room, motioning for Sparkle to come in with a quick scooting motion. Sparkle got up and walked over, giving the medical officer in purple a nasty look as he passed.
“Are you fighting with Melissa?”
“She started it,” Sparkle quickly replied before stepping past him and plastering a million-dollar smile on his face for Victoria.
“Mrs. Burns, are you okay? You scared me to death!” Sparkle took his perch on the corner of the mattress, next to Victoria.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I was so shocked; I couldn’t catch my breath. But, when the negroes became the blacks I learned to acce
pt it, and now if the boys are also the girls I will have to live with that too.”
“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t work that way.” Sparkle patted Victoria’s hand, unsure how to clear up her confusion, or if it would even matter.
“However it goes is fine with me. Don’t let my Simon hang around here and wait for me to die. I don’t want him to see that. Go play. Just be a good wife.” Victoria closed her eyes as she spoke.
“Still pretty sure that’s not the way it goes,” Sparkle replied.
Simon shook his head slightly, discouraging Sparkle from explaining further. Some things were better left unsaid.
“That’s fine, dear. Bobby, can you tell Phyllis to bring my tea? I’m going to take a nap.”
“Sure thing,” Simon said without hesitation.
The two men walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind them.
“Thank you for that,” Simon said as they approached the door to the stairs.
“No problem. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”
“She’s asleep anyway. I will come back later tonight,” Simon said, feeling like he had just won a gold medal in the marathon.
“Are you sure?”
“No. But I said the things I needed to say, and if I don’t get some sleep soon I’m going to end up in a hospital bed of my own. I’ll just nap for a few hours and come back. She probably won’t wake up for a while.”
“So, I got your mother’s stamp of approval. Does that mean I get my key to the penthouse back?”
Simon fished the spare key and security card out of his coat pocket and handed it to the exuberant younger man.
“You knew?” Simon asked, smirking at Sparkle as he slipped the keys into his pocket.
“Call it women’s intuition.”
“But you aren’t a woman.”
“Okay, it’s a misnomer. Don’t get technical baby, it will only hurt your head.” Sparkle wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue, teasing the straight-laced older man.
Simon laughed as they exited Sunset Gardens, hand in hand, and made their way back to the city.
Victoria Burns never woke up from her nap.
***
“Are you ready?” Simon stood in the doorway watching Sparkle apply the finishing touches to his makeup.
“Are you sure you want me to go with you?”
“I need you today,” Simon said with a deep sigh.
“Say it again.” Sparkle got up from the vanity and walked over to Simon, wrapping his arms around Simon’s strong body and looked up at him.
“I need you,” Simon said. Sparkle stood on his toes and kissed the soft salt and pepper stubble along Simon’s chin, the only real indication of his age.
“You need me. Then I’m there. Stuck-up, hypocritical relatives be damned,” Sparkle said, wiggling his eyebrows.
The pair arrived at the church ahead of most of the guests. Simon did his duty as the only son, greeting the mourners and well-wishers, holding his grief in check for a more private moment. Sparkle did his duty as well, offering smiles and warm handshakes to those assembled, peering out at them from beneath the thick net veil draped across half of his face from the bottom of his “church hat.” The modified black velvet top hat was as eye-catching as the man himself, with a large satin bow, feathers in black and gray, and a thick curling brim.
“The gloves are a nice touch,” Simon whispered as the pair prepared to enter the church.
“Ready or not, here we go,” Sparkle said, showing his discomfort with the situation for the first time since they pulled up to the hundred-year-old church an hour ago.
“I can go in alone. You can just sneak in and take your seat,” Simon offered.
“No, if we are going to do this, we have to do it right. There’s no use in hiding. It’s just been a while since I’ve been to church,” Sparkle assured him, fanning himself.
“Sparkle, you don’t have to.” Simon grabbed Sparkle’s gloved hand and looked him in the eye. “You have been amazing so far, and it’s not going to get any easier today.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk with you down that aisle and take my seat next to my man,” Sparkle fluffed the ruffles on the front of his shirt and straightened his jacket over his slim hips.
Simon clutched Sparkle’s hand in his and entered the sanctuary with Sparkle beside him. Sparkle strutted down the aisle as if it were his personal runway, and the gawking mourners were his adoring fans. When one woman gasped audibly and clutched her rosary, Sparkle looked her way and winked at her from beneath his hat. By the time the pair took their seat in the front pew, the entire church was scandalized.
Simon seemed oblivious, his eyes glued to the large stately casket holding the tiny body of Victoria Burns. As the pastor began to eulogize the deceased, Simon let the tears slip silently down his cheeks, his Adam’s apple bobbed sporadically as he tried to keep his throat clear. When he was asked to say a few words, Simon mounted the podium and gave a clear and somber message of love from his mother to the friends and family left behind. At the end of the service, Sparkle hustled out of the church and waited for Simon beside the limo.
“It’s a little uncomfortable, isn’t it?” A senior woman approached Sparkle slowly, smiling broadly. Though her back was bent with age, the mischief in her eyes was unmistakable.
“Uncomfortable? I was sweating like a whore at Sunday services,” Sparkle admitted, pulling his gloves off and fanning himself with them.
“Don’t worry so much. Victoria was a beautiful woman but she was surrounded by tight asses,” the woman said viciously. The pair laughed.
“You said it, not me,” Sparkle replied.
“You just keep holding that man’s hand and don’t pay any attention to those old fuddy-duddies. Fuck ‘em!” The obscenities sounded particularly offensive coming from the old woman’s lips.
The milky-eyed senior shook her fist as she moved on to the car waiting for her on the corner. Sparkle shook his head and smiled inwardly. A few minutes later, as Simon and family escorted his mother’s body to the hearse, Sparkle renewed his determination. Try as he might, he wasn’t impervious to the stares and whispers. But Simon needed him, and he didn’t want to let him down.
“Will you be riding in the limo with the family?” Sparkle had been introduced to the woman as Aunt Belinda earlier in the day.
“I-uh...” Sparkle started to say.
“Yes, he’ll be riding with me,” Simon answered, taking Sparkle’s elbow.
“Do you really think that is appropriate? We don’t even know this person.”
“You don’t know him, but I know him and mother knew him. He’s riding with me. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Simon’s steely-eyed response shut the older woman up. Sparkle tried to contain himself as the heavy-set woman wobbled away on her high heels, her dark skirt swirling around her knees as she walked.
“Come on, let’s lay your mother to rest,” Sparkle said, pressing his palm to Simon’s cheek before sliding into the waiting limo. In the end, they rode alone.
Sparkle had never been to a funeral that didn’t include graveyard shenanigans. In his experience, at least one person was guaranteed to shout and faint before the body made it into the ground. Sitting in near silence as the casket descended into the ground seemed unnatural to him. He could feel the outpouring of sadness and loss piling up in the chests of all of the mourners, like flood waters behind a dam. He simply couldn’t understand why it had yet to burst. Watching Simon’s face made him feel congested, and for Sparkle Jones, there was only one way to deal with that feeling. It was time to “show out.”
“Precious Lord, take my hand,” Sparkle began to sing, his soulful alto lifting the notes high and piercing the heavens as he moved through the verses of the old hymn. Sparkle reached down into himself and found the boy who once stood beside his mother in church and prayed that today would be different. Today he would be like other boys. Today God would hear him an
d fix all of the broken things in his life. He found that pain and poured it on thick to every note and every word.
“Lead me on, let me stand,” he wailed. The song had been done by the best. Elvis Presley and Nina Simone had both recorded popular versions of it. It was not long before soft humming and gentle rocking accompanied him, though nobody dared join him in singing the words.
“When my day grows drear, precious Lord linger near,” he called, begging an unseen force with such sincerity and clarity of purpose that even the jaded elders assembled seemed to be touched.
Simon broke first, weeping openly as the casket came to its final resting place. Others wept and wailed as they cast roses and fists full of dirt into the open grave. In the end, no heart was left unmoved.
Sparkle launched into the final verse of the song, his voice just as robust as when he intoned the first notes. A painful rapture painted itself across his delicate features. Eyes closed, head back, arms thrown wide, he sang for all of the hurting people whose names he may never remember, but who would always remember Sparkle Jones.
“I’m tired, I’m weak, I’m alone. Through the storm, through the night, take my hand and lead me into the light. Precious Lord, take my hand. Lead me home. Lead me home.” Sparkle let the song die on the wind, just as mysteriously as it began. The sound of sobbing and the sight of tears surrounded him, but he felt above it all. Instead of sadness he felt gratitude. If there was a reason for everything, then he was sure that he was here today to do this, and help send Mrs. Victoria Burns off in the most fabulous way possible. Muddy high-heeled boots be damned.
The looks Sparkle got on the way back from the gravesite were ones of begrudged respect and gratitude.
“Thank you,” Simon said on the ride back home.
“I think everybody needed a good cry.” Sparkle waved off the implied compliment.
“You certainly know how to change people’s minds about you.”
“They can hate my hat or my heels, but everybody respects talent,” Sparkle giggled, clicking his heels together.
Sparkle moved closer to Simon and scoured his rugged good looks with his sultry gaze. Simon’s face was still alluring, despite the slightly haggard quality that grief gave him.
