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 letter, addressed to her current management, required a signature. Our rent will be almost doubling, I immediately gleaned. I had been led to believe Marjorie owned the building outright. From italicized legalese, it seems Marjorie has steadfastly dodged four previous registered letters. Most disturbingly, this increase is due to several late remittances and, at least once, a check returned due to insufficient funds.


I call the leasing office on the letterhead and ask for the man named. He’s apologetic but firm. Marjorie’s tardiness triggered the clause.


“Her imperious attitude sure doesn’t help her case,” he adds.


I should have known things never come this easy.


Internet research I should have undertaken before I accepted the job swiftly pieces it all together.


Chapter 58