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

Then I deal with Kerrick. He has brainstormed a goodbye party. He extols how it will be divided into four distinct sections with a common thread: the Muses of Manhattan!


“Okay, first you’re Anne Welles, fleeing dreary Lawrenceville for the Valley of the Dolls. We’ll run a real toy train around the dining room, rain down multicolored Tic-Tacs.”


I foresee at least one person falling, but I play along. “And maybe play old Dionne Warwick before nicotine got the better of her.”


He screams, “Yes! Then, cut to Ann Marie, That Girl, same train, soaring toward Donald Hollinger. Everyone has to wear a center part, like she did in the final season. Morph into Rhoda Morganstern. Headscarves for everyone. Right into Looking for Mr. Goodbar…disco music, strobe lights, I’ll hire someone to do push-ups in a jockstrap.”


Chapter 50