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

One club-goer in leg warmers near me yells, “Why do I hear ‘Everything’s Comin’ Up Roses’?”


I am so startled as I reach for my cell, I drop it. “That’s me, that’s me!”


Leg Warmers makes a go at this. “I’m a pretty gurl, Mama.”


This can’t be good, not after one o’clock in the morning. The Theatrilicious alarm has been tripped, Testosterina didn’t unplug the curling iron and burnt down the house, Sarajane’s ass dialed me again, Olivia has a sty, something. I kneel frantically. Jarod finds it among the sandals and tablets carelessly dropped.


It’s a local number. I plug my ear. “Hello? Hello? Luke? You’re what? Where, Luke?”


Soon, I hop into the front of Jarod’s limousine, parked one block away. We make our hasty way toward midtown. The streets glitter like they’re paved with crystals. We pass a Ghost Bike, milky and aglow at a lamppost. Its planes vaguely suggest a skull-and-crossbones X-ray.


Chapter 84