The mid-40s are that time in a gay man's life when his major paradigm shifts from sexy to Sansabelts. But when Barry Grooms's partner of twenty years is killed on Barry's forty-fifth birthday, his world doesn't so much evolve as it does explode.<br><br>After navigating through the surreal conveyor belt of friends and family, he can't eat another casserole or swallow much more advice on what constitutes grief. Still numb, he leaves his homestore and design business in the care of others as he escapes to Key West, then New York. There he gets a thankless new job working for a crazy lady in a poncho, then has too many drinks with a narcissistic Broadway actor. Next it's a nude exercise class that redefines flop sweat, and from there he's on to a relationship with a man twenty years his junior.<br><br>Yet no matter how great the retreat from the man he used to be, life's gravity spins Barry back to the small town where he grew up for one more ironic twist that teaches him how to say goodbye with grace.

The Cool Part of His Pillow

The sky quickly ebbs from sienna to mandarin. The dozen or so other male passengers cheer the final disc of sun with shots of Sambuca as it sinks into the Gulf. I hadn’t intended the cruise as a metaphor, but it works. 9: Apples


The Mother/Son scene Thornton Wilder and I collaborated on went something like this:


ME: My intent is to move to New York City one week from today, but I can’t without your blessing. And I’ll need a photo of you in that beautiful apron.


MOTHER: Oh, honey, it will be rather like a halfway house toward rehabilitating your life! New faces, new routine.


Finish your fresh-squeezed OJ while I get you a slice of cheddar for your apple pie, then we’ll hug.


Had I forgotten my mother keeps David Mamet on retainer as script doctor? The woman never holds back a sneeze; I should have anticipated the soaking spray of her invective.


Chapter 47